Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Tales of Wyre
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1430838" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 07-11-2004</em></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>AFQITHAN: PROLOGUE (Part 1)</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>[Soneillon]: If you should happen to slay Ainhorr today, you should grieve for him.</p><p>[Eadric]: (Contempt.)</p><p>[Soneillon]: Arrogance! You, at least, should lament his passing. A great warrior. Ever loyal to the master he loves and despises.</p><p>[Eadric]: Loves? Love is never that ugly.</p><p>[Soneillon]: Love is often that ugly, Eadric.</p><p>[Eadric]: And if you should perish today? How should I then react?</p><p>[Soneillon]: Exult in your memory, Eadric. Because nothing will ever again compare to me.</p><p>[Eadric]: For that, at least, I will be thankful.</p><p>[Soneillon]: You will be diminished.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>[Eadric]: What does Hell have to do with this?</p><p>[Shomei]: I don't know.</p><p>[Eadric]: I fear its agenda.</p><p>[Shomei]: That is wise. Many forget the single, overarching truth.</p><p>[Eadric] (Wrily): And what might that be?</p><p>[Shomei]: Hell is merely a vehicle for expressing the Will of the Nameless Fiend. Despite all appearances, it acts with one purpose.</p><p>[Eadric]: I had not forgotten.</p><p>[Shomei]: Do you believe the Will of Oronthon and the Will of the Adversary to be one and the same, <em>Ahma</em>?</p><p>[Eadric]: They are not unidentical.</p><p>[Shomei]: Do you believe that you are a focus through which the Will of the Adversary is expressed? </p><p>[Eadric]: Perhaps.</p><p>[Shomei]: Do you <em>trust</em> the Will of the Adversary?</p><p>[Eadric]: No.</p><p>[Shomei]: How do you resolve this paradox?</p><p>[Eadric]: I meditate to realize <em>Saizhan</em>.</p><p>[Shomei] (Exasperated): Must you always proselytize?</p><p>[Eadric] (Laughing): Do I? Good.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>[Eadric]: Will you exercise restraint?</p><p>[Mostin]: I doubt it.</p><p>[Eadric]: <em>Can</em> you exercise restraint? Is it within your nature?</p><p>[Mostin]: I don't know. I've never tried, and have no plans to.</p><p>[Eadric]: Your lack of moral responsibility concerns me.</p><p>[Mostin]: A surfeit of it would concern me more. I abide by certain…axioms…Eadric, which you cannot hope to comprehend. You can rest assured that within your own framework, I am completely mad.</p><p>[Eadric]: And within yours?</p><p>[Mostin]: I am utterly pedestrian. There are things far madder than I. </p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>[Eadric]: What of Iua?</p><p>[Ortwin]: She can look after herself. </p><p>[Eadric]: You have betrayed her.</p><p>[Ortwin]: Not so! Our arrangement made provision for outside interests.</p><p>[Eadric]: I am referring to <em>how</em> you went about this. Flaunting a lover in front of her is not discreet. You could have been more sensitive.</p><p>[Ortwin]: I have not lied to her. Are you suggesting that I should have?</p><p>[Eadric]: She is eighteen years old.</p><p>[Ortwin]: Life is full of hard lessons, Ed.</p><p>[Eadric]: That is facile. You have a duty towards her.</p><p>[Ortwin]: What can I say? I'm selfish.</p><p>[Eadric]: Koilimilou is a sidhe and a cambion, Ortwin. She venerates Rhyxali. She is without remorse or compassion. What can she offer you?</p><p>[Ortwin]: Inventiveness, and insatiability. Relief from the boredom of existence. </p><p>[Eadric]: Once you had principles, as much as you pretended not to.</p><p>[Ortwin]: Once, I was mortal. My perspective has changed.</p><p>[Eadric]: Your essential nature has changed.</p><p>[Ortwin]: No more than yours. And Eadric of Deorham is the one f*cking the Demon Queen of Throile.</p><p>[Eadric]: I remain conflicted in my actions, Ortwin. I am neither complacent nor fixated on sensation. I do what I must.</p><p>[Ortwin]: Oh, bullsh*t Ed. Grow up. You're just doing what we all have to do. It's biological. It's just been a long time coming for you, and you've decided to take an unconventional route. Guilt is an outdated emotion. </p><p>[Eadric]: Why are you even here, Ortwin?</p><p>[Ortwin]: I feel it in my blood, Eadric. I can smell it. Every tree whispers it to me.</p><p>[Eadric]: ?</p><p>[Ortwin]: Good things, Ed. Good things. Something stirs.</p><p> </p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Why the Nameless Adversary acts in the way he does is a cosmic imponderable. His reasonings are so complex, his plots so byzantine, his vision so broad in its imagining, that no real hope exists in penetrating his motives.</p><p></p><p>The Irrenites – who had been generally sympathetic to the Adversarial paradigm – maintained the position that if the Oronthon beyond Oronthon was utterly ineffable, then the Adversary was the distillation of pure rationality. Every move that he made – to augment one incomprehensible factor, or to reduce another – was calculated with the utmost precision and played out within the framework of eternal potentiality. He nurtured tendrils of possibility which might not yield fruit for a billion years.</p><p></p><p>The nodality in Afqithan – although complex and multi-faceted – was itself only a minor aspect of a larger process of change: or so it could be interpreted, if one was inclined towards such speculation. The mind of God – which, from an Urgic perspective, included every iota of consciousness in existence at any time and every possible combination thereof – was engaged in a reorganization of its own, internal structure. This manifested in the World of Men in a number of ways: a resurgence in the cult of Cheshne, as concepts of Nothingness were articulated within the physical plane; long periods during which the <em>Sela</em> was engaged in intense meditation; and finally, the beginnings of a schism regarding the interpretation of the best way to implement and realize <em>Saizhan</em> itself. </p><p></p><p>Because Cheshne – who, if the cosmos possessed an objective truth, might be identical with Demogorgon, and might not – had stirred. Or maybe she shifted slightly in her sleep. In any event, a torrent of contradictory truths were suddenly unleashed upon an already strained Dialectic, forcing an explosion of insights to occur. Cheshne was real again, and always had been. </p><p></p><p>The liaison between the <em>Ahma</em> and Soneillon – it was suspected – was merely a physical symptom of the articulation of Nothingness within the Ideal realm. Eadric did not know it, but his relationship with the demoness was to have profound and far-reaching consequences for Oronthonian mysticism. Not with respect to the <em>definition</em> of <em>Saizhan</em> – after all, how can a state devoid of all qualities be rendered in sensible terms? But as far as praxis was concerned – the <em>method</em> by which one came to the final realization which <em>Saizhan</em> claimed to be – the <em>Ahma</em> was blazing a path which would appeal to a particular minority: those of antinomian bent within the broad and complex set of perspectives which comprised Oronthonian religion.</p><p> </p><p>Many who had been Irrenites – before such labels became superfluous – immediately understood what Eadric of Deorham was attempting to do. They applauded his revolutionary vision, his rejection of conventional mores, and his apparent transcendence of notions such as good and evil – although the matter was far from resolved within the <em>Ahma</em>'s own mind. Several adepts – including the thaumaturges Sineig and Wrohs* – went as far as to compact succubi in their exploration of <em>Saizhan</em>. Not so much in emulation of the <em>Ahma</em>, but in recognition that rapid deconstruction of conventional reality required radical tools, and demons were about as radical as it got.</p><p></p><p>The subschool which arose, <em>Skôhsldaúr</em> – the gate of demons – would produce works of extraordinary genius and subtlety. Its validity as an authentic vehicle for <em>Saizhan</em> was doubted by few, but its suitability as a universal tool – which many of its proponents advocated – was regarded with dubiety by more conservative elements. It was too controversial. Too hazardous. Too <em>Adversarial</em> for the tastes of many. It was the beyond even the most questionable of Goetic practices. It should be reserved only for those whom the <em>Sela</em> deemed ready.</p><p></p><p>Of course, the <em>Sela</em> himself declined to make such judgments. </p><p></p><p>It was in foreknowledge and anticipation of these events – and others beside – that the schemes of Hell were set into motion. To the amazement of the nobles Furcas and Murmuur, Azazel – and the Infernal Standard – arrived in Afqithan, together with three other devils of unusually wicked temperament. Sachir, Zaare and Nahuzihis were <em>Akesoli</em>, serving the arch-fiend Amaimon, and dispensing pain upon powerful and intractable thralls both mortal and diabolic. There was no question of challenging Azazel's authority in the demiplane by either of the entrenched Dukes. He needed neither seals nor letters of precedence to validate his assumption of command: he was <em>Azazel</em>. That was enough. </p><p></p><p>The presence of the <em>Akesoli</em> caused fearful speculation amongst Murmuur and his various captains and lieutenants – decorated narzugons high in the Order of the Fly. Murmuur was a straightforward soldier, and although subtle in the way that all Infernal aristocrats are subtle, he lacked the calculated finesse of intellectuals such as Furcas and Titivilus. He was not privy to the machinations of his liege in Malbolge, nor of his liege's liege in Maladomini. It was evident that the <em>Akesoli</em>'s presence must have been authorized at the <em>highest</em> level: sanctioned by the Adversary himself, the Quatriumvirate, and possibly the silent council of the thirteen great Antagonists.** </p><p></p><p>Murmuur was, however, relieved that Azazel had been appointed the task of commanding the effort. Azazel was – like himself – a warrior, with little interest in devious schemes. Although a harsh taskmaster, Hell's standard-bearer recognized accomplishment upon the battlefield above all else, and Murmuur excelled in battle and deeds of martial prowess. The Duke mused drily whether Azazel's arrival had been a strategic decision designed to make Murmuur himself more tractable, or whether it in some way reflected the involvement of the <em>Ahma</em>: although Agalierept might have been a more obvious choice, he would possess less <em>gravitas</em> as far as mortals were concerned.***</p><p></p><p>Murmuur waited impatiently, eager to simultaneously align the nine <em>gates</em> within his tower to Malbolge, in order to permit his troops through: thirty legions, plus their auxiliaries. There were bearded devils, malebranche, horned devils and erinyes. And his knights, who numbered several thousand, would lead the narzugon charge – if and when it came. </p><p></p><p><em>If it came</em>. Murmuur realized that he still had no idea what was really happening. But unlike Furcus or Titivilus, his political ignorance was a source of comfort rather than distress. </p><p></p><p>He grunted. Spined devils flapped silently around him, strapping his breastplate and vambraces – constructed of an unknown, greenish metal – over a fine mesh of infernal steel.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>The galley – a vast, ponderous quadrieme from Shûth – lumbered at dusk into the bustling port of Jashat, and moored close to the weathered marble of an ancient wharf, fast by a sleek Thalassine jabeque. Her timbers groaned as she eclipsed the smaller ship, blotting out the sunset and irritating the dozen or so sailors who smoked and relaxed upon the jabeque's deck after a hard week's work. The quayside – stretching below a vast plaza crammed with temples to a hundred gods – was a riot of colour and activity.</p><p></p><p>The Gentleman from Thond – whose own preference for colour in his clothing was understated at best, and muted at worst – stood in the cool evening air upon wide steps, below a timeworn shrine to the god Pe’ahj. Six retainers attended him. He squinted through the scented clouds exuded by temple censers in an effort to suppress the effect upon his humours. His humours exhibited a particularly delicate balance. He was nervous, and agitated.</p><p></p><p>He watched impatiently as pulleys span and counterweights soared upon two great derricks near the stern, and the galley lowered a gangway half as wide as the road to Fumaril. She began to unload dozens of crates, chests and boxes from her hold, lugged by huge slaves who bore intricate brands upon their arms and shoulders: the Gentleman from Thond wondered they were a giant-breed from some distant corner of Shûth. Before them, a company of guards – of similar type, but clad in dull breastplates and wearing cloaks of sombre red – marched silently down the walkway and arrayed themselves in a wide semicircle, blocking half the quayside and causing merchants and vendors to curse and grumble. Long, sharp glaives pointed outwards like a thicket, oblivious to the laws and customs of Jashat.</p><p></p><p>A second gangplank – less massive than the first – was hauled into place and dropped by a hundred muscled arms.</p><p></p><p>The Gentleman from Thond licked his lips apprehensively. A slow procession of magi began to issue from the galley. Some were cowled and hooded, others bare-headed, yet more bore hair arranged in long, intricate braids – all according to their station and function, at which the Gentleman could only guess. In the rear, a number of veiled palanquins – attended by servants or neophytes – swayed rhythmically, in time with the steady footsteps of their muscled bearers.</p><p></p><p>He swallowed, and strode forwards. Several of the guards – each a cubit taller than himself – immediately brought their weapons to bear on him. He smiled uncertainly, and coughed. Before he had the chance to speak, he heard another voice issue from behind them.</p><p></p><p>The wall of steel parted, to reveal a slender man with a terse manner dressed in a loose, silk robe of greenish-black.</p><p></p><p>"I have made the necessary arrangements, but…" the Gentleman from Thond began.</p><p></p><p>"Good," the other interrupted. "I am Anumid. You will address me – and me only. Here is a list of our requirements."</p><p></p><p>Anumid handed a long scroll to the Gentleman, who raised his eyes in surprise.</p><p></p><p>"The temple precinct has been cleared," the Gentleman from Thond said. "Vagrants were…"</p><p></p><p>"The details are irrelevant," Anumid interrupted again. "The site will be reconsecrated, in any case."</p><p></p><p>"I have had to call in many favours and line many purses, to make this happen, Anumid. I have had numerous unforeseen expenses."</p><p></p><p>"You will be recompensed," Anumid smiled. "Do you wish to continue in the capacity of our agent?" </p><p></p><p>"Yes, but…"</p><p></p><p>"Will fifty thousand be sufficient to begin with?"</p><p></p><p>"Yes." The Gentleman from Thond bowed perfunctorily.</p><p></p><p></p><p>As the train made its winding progress through the city of Jashat, they passed by two Wizards of middling power: a local enchantress named Luthlul, and her recent acquaintance Menniz, a conjurer who originally hailed from Lang Herath in Wyre.**** Luthlul gave Menniz a meaningful look.</p><p></p><p>"This is an unexpected development," Menniz said uncomfortably, scratching his neck. "Do you think they're genuine?"</p><p></p><p>Luthlul invoked her <em>arcane sight</em> and gaped. </p><p></p><p>"I assume from your expression that the answer is an unqualified <em>yes</em>," Menniz said laconically. </p><p></p><p>"The four in the palanquins are off the scale," Luthlul whispered. "I'm not getting anything from half a dozen others – they're probably <em>mind blanked</em>."</p><p></p><p>"Why aren't they using a more conventional mode of transport? Is it a ritual thing?"</p><p></p><p>"Probably," Luthlul nodded. "What should we do?"</p><p></p><p>"We can't <em>do</em> anything, Luthlul. But I'll issue a <em>sending</em> to Daunton in a while: he should probably know. Frankly, if they're staying here, I'm inclined to return to Wyre. At least it's safer there."</p><p></p><p>"From less than half of them," Luthlul grimaced. "I wonder if any more are coming."</p><p></p><p>"I doubt it. I'm surprised that there are that many in the whole of Shûth. What have they been doing for the past eight hundred years?"</p><p></p><p>"Preserving the tradition, apparently."</p><p></p><p></p><p>After Daunton received the <em>sending</em> in Gibirazen, news quickly became current among those mages he knew – and subsequently, through his friend Prince Tagur, passed into both temporal and spiritual circles.</p><p></p><p>When it reached the ears of the <em>Sela</em>, Tramst evinced neither surprise nor concern.</p><p></p><p>Within a day more rumours were circulating, and Daunton determined to visit Jashat himself – none of his divinations were proving effective in the matter.</p><p></p><p>Three miles outside of the city, the temple of Cheshne – abandoned and overgrown for a millennium – had risen again from its crumbling ruins. By their arts the magi – and now none doubted their authenticity – had restored the compound overnight. </p><p></p><p>Towers soared skywards to giddying heights, icons and statues of tormented spirits – the <em>ugras</em> or 'fierce protectors' of the faith – adorned walls and bastions: they bore an uncanny resemblance to figures which, in the faith of Oronthon, were understood to be fallen celestials. In the beliefs of Shûth, however, their rôle was subtler and more complex. And far older. Embodiments of fear, lust or violence which must be both placated and overcome in order for reconciliation with Nothingness to be achieved.</p><p></p><p>Mostin – who had been inwardly concerned about the missing tendril in his convergence – received a <em>sending</em> from Daunton while he sat at the table in the Great Hall at Kyrtill's Burh. His face remained impassive.</p><p></p><p>Queen Soneillon, who rested across from him in contemplative pose, looked into his eyes.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p>Iua's defiance of her mother's wishes was rooted in her need to refamiliarize herself with Fumaril – from which she had been absent for a year – almost as much as her obstinacy when it came to obeying Mulissu's commands. Despite her mother's insistence that Iua remain inconspicuous and protected by the wards of faith, the Duelist's own curiosity and wanderlust – traits for which Mulissu herself had once been renowned – found her in any number of dubious locales. She took to the streets with a mind to finding anything which might distract her from brooding upon her brief, eccentric and ultimately empty relationship with Ortwin.</p><p></p><p>Mulissu herself was cloistered within one of several small temples to Jeshi – into whose cult, in her youth, she had been initiated.***** Whilst the Savant had maintained a relatively low profile amongst wizardly circles in Wyre and beyond, her reputation amongst the clergy of Jeshi – who shared many of the same aerial contacts as the Elementalist – was somewhat different. Her progress had been watched: lauded by some, criticized by others, and, by more than a few, recognized as a potential source of revivification for the cult's flagging fortunes.</p><p></p><p>Mulissu, who abhorred politics almost as much as organized religion, avoided all attempts to convince her to renew her vows to Jeshi. But the <em>hallowed</em> ground of the temple was – from her perspective – too useful a defense to ignore, so she grudgingly acquiesced to the demands of the High Priestess to attend revels held in Jeshi's name. In return, the Elementalist was granted several perquisites: the use of the roof-space above the Chamber of Chimes, a feigned ignorance of any magic that she might work, and assurances that she would be otherwise left alone.</p><p></p><p>Mulissu's unique spirituality – cerebral in the extreme – had developed to regard devotional practices as bizarre and inexplicable. There was no reconnection with a deeper source, no feeling of unity or succour, no camaraderie, and no appreciation of a symbolism which might – to an initiate – possess profound revelatory significance: to Mulissu, it appeared as an alphabet inaccurately scrawled by a toddler. </p><p></p><p>But in Fumaril – which lay beyond the purview of the Claviger – Mulissu could <em>summon</em>. She haggled <em>ad nauseum</em> with powerful djinns in an effort to replenish her diminished supply of spells, and co-opted the services of a novice called Naimha to act in the capacity of a broker. Naimha scoured every marketplace and every hidden shop which dealt in oddities in an attempt to procure magical paraphernalia – mostly without success. Mulissu opened lines of communication with Tozinak, whom she liked; with Jalael, whom she distrusted; and with Waide, whom she found intolerable. She also began to cultivate the friendship of Ehieu, a sorcerer from Pandicule whose flightiness made Mulissu seem positively stable. Ehieu roamed the seas south of Fumaril and – when not alternately vexing or aiding sailors – made infrequent visits to the Temple. </p><p></p><p>She pointedly – and somewhat petulantly – snubbed Shomei, who by virtue of close association with Mostin, was considered an undesirable acquaintance. Shomei was, to some degree at least, responsible for the Elementalist's decline in fortunes.</p><p></p><p>She sighed. She should have known better than to deal with Alienists and Infernalists, even if they were among the handful of people whose intellects she actually respected. </p><p></p><p>When Mulissu therefore received a <em>sending</em> from Daunton – who had been apprised of her presence on the Prime – her heart sunk:</p><p></p><p><em>Cult of Cheshne resurfaced in Jashat. Powerful necromancers and blood-magi. Suspect at least six first-order wizards and four transvalent hierophants. Will advise further. Daunton.</em></p><p></p><p>Mulissu groaned, and wondered if it was related to the nonsense that Mostin had involved himself in. She would keep all of her possessions on hand, in case a speedy exit from Fumaril proved necessary.</p><p></p><p>Jashat, after all, was only forty miles away.</p><p></p><p>She brooded briefly, and wondered whether relaying the information to Iua would be wise. He daughter was brilliant, but her judgment frequently poor.</p><p></p><p>Iua herself did not return until the early hours of the next morning. She was flushed from a number of encounters – some involving crossed blades, others not – and moderately inebriated.</p><p></p><p>Mulissu sighed. Parenting was not her strong suit. She chided Iua inexpertly and gestured, vaguely conscious that this might be the correct way to address a child.</p><p></p><p>Iua ignored her, and her eyes widened: she seemed to be looking at something <em>behind</em> Mulissu. The Elementalist's hackles rose, and she wheeled about, prepared to unleash a powerful necromancy.</p><p></p><p><em>I see nothing</em></p><p></p><p>The thought passed through Mulissu's mind a fraction of a second before she experienced an acute, stabbing agony, rapidly followed by a succession of further intense pains. Her eyes glazed over, and she glanced down to notice that around a foot of cold, slender steel was protruding from her stomach, and that blood was flowing freely from her. She felt Iua's blade withdraw from her, and as she collapsed and died, she idly wondered why her own daughter had slain her.</p><p></p><p>Thus passed Mulissu: counted among the greatest of evokers in Wyre's history, although she was not herself a native of that place. And this time, Mostin the Metagnostic experienced no feeling of foreboding prior to the danger in which the Savant found herself, no presentiment of her demise. Not even the faintest inkling of prescience remained to him now, and some time would pass before news of her death reached him. Mulissu, whom he had loved in his own, strange fashion. </p><p></p><p>Her spirit fled, and was dispersed upon the winds.</p><p></p><p>Iua screamed silently from within the prison which her body had become, and watched, helpless, as her hands began to rifle her mother's still-warm corpse for items beyond worth. She grabbed rings from Mulissu's fingers, ripped an amulet from her breast, and pulled the <em>sapphire of mutable coruscations</em> from its collar around her throat. She smiled wickedly as she delved into a <em>glove of storing</em> and felt the <em>web of motes</em>, and something else. She pulled forth a small lump of obsidian, shaped like a horse.</p><p></p><p><em>How fortuitous</em>, the thought manifested with savage irony within Iua's mind, although it was not her own.</p><p></p><p>Iua, and her possessor – a demon named Surab – <em>plane shifted</em> to the Abyss upon a fantastic steed.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>*Although Orthodoxy had boasted few magically potent priests in its heyday – and many had been slain during the war with Trempa – the heretical Irrenite fringe sheltered a number of competent thaumaturges.</p><p></p><p>**Hell's hierarchy is, of course, immensely complex, and various devils exercise varying degrees of power in different areas. Governance is executed through Asmodeus, Astaroth, Baalzebul and Belial – amongst whom precedence is hotly contested. The Thirteen Great Antagonists are fallen seraphs who have no place in the day-to-day administration of Hell, and concern themselves entirely with the war against Heaven. Many scholars of diabolic politics insist that the arrangement is purposely tense and ambiguous – a dynamism in the hierarchy enforced by the Adversary to prevent stagnation.</p><p></p><p>***Agalierept is the commander of Hell's second legion and Grand General of Hell. Among Hell's foremost soldiers, his cruelty and vindictiveness are legendary. The armoured cornugons who serve him are likewise renowned for their ruthless brutality.</p><p></p><p>****After the Claviger’s Injunction in Wyre, many wizards of more independent mind moved outside of the magically proscribed area. Of them, most found their way south to the Thalassine.</p><p></p><p>*****Mulissu's initial vocation – that of a priestess – had been quickly rejected. Jeshi is a Thalassine goddess of the winds, with a widespread but uninfluential following. The names <em>Jeshi</em> and <em>Jashat</em> are etymologically connected.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 1430838, member: 141"] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 07-11-2004[/i] ** [B]AFQITHAN: PROLOGUE (Part 1)[/B] [Soneillon]: If you should happen to slay Ainhorr today, you should grieve for him. [Eadric]: (Contempt.) [Soneillon]: Arrogance! You, at least, should lament his passing. A great warrior. Ever loyal to the master he loves and despises. [Eadric]: Loves? Love is never that ugly. [Soneillon]: Love is often that ugly, Eadric. [Eadric]: And if you should perish today? How should I then react? [Soneillon]: Exult in your memory, Eadric. Because nothing will ever again compare to me. [Eadric]: For that, at least, I will be thankful. [Soneillon]: You will be diminished. * [Eadric]: What does Hell have to do with this? [Shomei]: I don't know. [Eadric]: I fear its agenda. [Shomei]: That is wise. Many forget the single, overarching truth. [Eadric] (Wrily): And what might that be? [Shomei]: Hell is merely a vehicle for expressing the Will of the Nameless Fiend. Despite all appearances, it acts with one purpose. [Eadric]: I had not forgotten. [Shomei]: Do you believe the Will of Oronthon and the Will of the Adversary to be one and the same, [I]Ahma[/I]? [Eadric]: They are not unidentical. [Shomei]: Do you believe that you are a focus through which the Will of the Adversary is expressed? [Eadric]: Perhaps. [Shomei]: Do you [I]trust[/I] the Will of the Adversary? [Eadric]: No. [Shomei]: How do you resolve this paradox? [Eadric]: I meditate to realize [I]Saizhan[/I]. [Shomei] (Exasperated): Must you always proselytize? [Eadric] (Laughing): Do I? Good. * [Eadric]: Will you exercise restraint? [Mostin]: I doubt it. [Eadric]: [I]Can[/I] you exercise restraint? Is it within your nature? [Mostin]: I don't know. I've never tried, and have no plans to. [Eadric]: Your lack of moral responsibility concerns me. [Mostin]: A surfeit of it would concern me more. I abide by certain…axioms…Eadric, which you cannot hope to comprehend. You can rest assured that within your own framework, I am completely mad. [Eadric]: And within yours? [Mostin]: I am utterly pedestrian. There are things far madder than I. * [Eadric]: What of Iua? [Ortwin]: She can look after herself. [Eadric]: You have betrayed her. [Ortwin]: Not so! Our arrangement made provision for outside interests. [Eadric]: I am referring to [I]how[/I] you went about this. Flaunting a lover in front of her is not discreet. You could have been more sensitive. [Ortwin]: I have not lied to her. Are you suggesting that I should have? [Eadric]: She is eighteen years old. [Ortwin]: Life is full of hard lessons, Ed. [Eadric]: That is facile. You have a duty towards her. [Ortwin]: What can I say? I'm selfish. [Eadric]: Koilimilou is a sidhe and a cambion, Ortwin. She venerates Rhyxali. She is without remorse or compassion. What can she offer you? [Ortwin]: Inventiveness, and insatiability. Relief from the boredom of existence. [Eadric]: Once you had principles, as much as you pretended not to. [Ortwin]: Once, I was mortal. My perspective has changed. [Eadric]: Your essential nature has changed. [Ortwin]: No more than yours. And Eadric of Deorham is the one f*cking the Demon Queen of Throile. [Eadric]: I remain conflicted in my actions, Ortwin. I am neither complacent nor fixated on sensation. I do what I must. [Ortwin]: Oh, bullsh*t Ed. Grow up. You're just doing what we all have to do. It's biological. It's just been a long time coming for you, and you've decided to take an unconventional route. Guilt is an outdated emotion. [Eadric]: Why are you even here, Ortwin? [Ortwin]: I feel it in my blood, Eadric. I can smell it. Every tree whispers it to me. [Eadric]: ? [Ortwin]: Good things, Ed. Good things. Something stirs. ** Why the Nameless Adversary acts in the way he does is a cosmic imponderable. His reasonings are so complex, his plots so byzantine, his vision so broad in its imagining, that no real hope exists in penetrating his motives. The Irrenites – who had been generally sympathetic to the Adversarial paradigm – maintained the position that if the Oronthon beyond Oronthon was utterly ineffable, then the Adversary was the distillation of pure rationality. Every move that he made – to augment one incomprehensible factor, or to reduce another – was calculated with the utmost precision and played out within the framework of eternal potentiality. He nurtured tendrils of possibility which might not yield fruit for a billion years. The nodality in Afqithan – although complex and multi-faceted – was itself only a minor aspect of a larger process of change: or so it could be interpreted, if one was inclined towards such speculation. The mind of God – which, from an Urgic perspective, included every iota of consciousness in existence at any time and every possible combination thereof – was engaged in a reorganization of its own, internal structure. This manifested in the World of Men in a number of ways: a resurgence in the cult of Cheshne, as concepts of Nothingness were articulated within the physical plane; long periods during which the [I]Sela[/I] was engaged in intense meditation; and finally, the beginnings of a schism regarding the interpretation of the best way to implement and realize [I]Saizhan[/I] itself. Because Cheshne – who, if the cosmos possessed an objective truth, might be identical with Demogorgon, and might not – had stirred. Or maybe she shifted slightly in her sleep. In any event, a torrent of contradictory truths were suddenly unleashed upon an already strained Dialectic, forcing an explosion of insights to occur. Cheshne was real again, and always had been. The liaison between the [I]Ahma[/I] and Soneillon – it was suspected – was merely a physical symptom of the articulation of Nothingness within the Ideal realm. Eadric did not know it, but his relationship with the demoness was to have profound and far-reaching consequences for Oronthonian mysticism. Not with respect to the [I]definition[/I] of [I]Saizhan[/I] – after all, how can a state devoid of all qualities be rendered in sensible terms? But as far as praxis was concerned – the [I]method[/I] by which one came to the final realization which [I]Saizhan[/I] claimed to be – the [I]Ahma[/I] was blazing a path which would appeal to a particular minority: those of antinomian bent within the broad and complex set of perspectives which comprised Oronthonian religion. Many who had been Irrenites – before such labels became superfluous – immediately understood what Eadric of Deorham was attempting to do. They applauded his revolutionary vision, his rejection of conventional mores, and his apparent transcendence of notions such as good and evil – although the matter was far from resolved within the [I]Ahma[/I]'s own mind. Several adepts – including the thaumaturges Sineig and Wrohs* – went as far as to compact succubi in their exploration of [I]Saizhan[/I]. Not so much in emulation of the [I]Ahma[/I], but in recognition that rapid deconstruction of conventional reality required radical tools, and demons were about as radical as it got. The subschool which arose, [I]Skôhsldaúr[/I] – the gate of demons – would produce works of extraordinary genius and subtlety. Its validity as an authentic vehicle for [I]Saizhan[/I] was doubted by few, but its suitability as a universal tool – which many of its proponents advocated – was regarded with dubiety by more conservative elements. It was too controversial. Too hazardous. Too [I]Adversarial[/I] for the tastes of many. It was the beyond even the most questionable of Goetic practices. It should be reserved only for those whom the [I]Sela[/I] deemed ready. Of course, the [I]Sela[/I] himself declined to make such judgments. It was in foreknowledge and anticipation of these events – and others beside – that the schemes of Hell were set into motion. To the amazement of the nobles Furcas and Murmuur, Azazel – and the Infernal Standard – arrived in Afqithan, together with three other devils of unusually wicked temperament. Sachir, Zaare and Nahuzihis were [I]Akesoli[/I], serving the arch-fiend Amaimon, and dispensing pain upon powerful and intractable thralls both mortal and diabolic. There was no question of challenging Azazel's authority in the demiplane by either of the entrenched Dukes. He needed neither seals nor letters of precedence to validate his assumption of command: he was [I]Azazel[/I]. That was enough. The presence of the [I]Akesoli[/I] caused fearful speculation amongst Murmuur and his various captains and lieutenants – decorated narzugons high in the Order of the Fly. Murmuur was a straightforward soldier, and although subtle in the way that all Infernal aristocrats are subtle, he lacked the calculated finesse of intellectuals such as Furcas and Titivilus. He was not privy to the machinations of his liege in Malbolge, nor of his liege's liege in Maladomini. It was evident that the [I]Akesoli[/I]'s presence must have been authorized at the [I]highest[/I] level: sanctioned by the Adversary himself, the Quatriumvirate, and possibly the silent council of the thirteen great Antagonists.** Murmuur was, however, relieved that Azazel had been appointed the task of commanding the effort. Azazel was – like himself – a warrior, with little interest in devious schemes. Although a harsh taskmaster, Hell's standard-bearer recognized accomplishment upon the battlefield above all else, and Murmuur excelled in battle and deeds of martial prowess. The Duke mused drily whether Azazel's arrival had been a strategic decision designed to make Murmuur himself more tractable, or whether it in some way reflected the involvement of the [I]Ahma[/I]: although Agalierept might have been a more obvious choice, he would possess less [I]gravitas[/I] as far as mortals were concerned.*** Murmuur waited impatiently, eager to simultaneously align the nine [I]gates[/I] within his tower to Malbolge, in order to permit his troops through: thirty legions, plus their auxiliaries. There were bearded devils, malebranche, horned devils and erinyes. And his knights, who numbered several thousand, would lead the narzugon charge – if and when it came. [I]If it came[/I]. Murmuur realized that he still had no idea what was really happening. But unlike Furcus or Titivilus, his political ignorance was a source of comfort rather than distress. He grunted. Spined devils flapped silently around him, strapping his breastplate and vambraces – constructed of an unknown, greenish metal – over a fine mesh of infernal steel. ** The galley – a vast, ponderous quadrieme from Shûth – lumbered at dusk into the bustling port of Jashat, and moored close to the weathered marble of an ancient wharf, fast by a sleek Thalassine jabeque. Her timbers groaned as she eclipsed the smaller ship, blotting out the sunset and irritating the dozen or so sailors who smoked and relaxed upon the jabeque's deck after a hard week's work. The quayside – stretching below a vast plaza crammed with temples to a hundred gods – was a riot of colour and activity. The Gentleman from Thond – whose own preference for colour in his clothing was understated at best, and muted at worst – stood in the cool evening air upon wide steps, below a timeworn shrine to the god Pe’ahj. Six retainers attended him. He squinted through the scented clouds exuded by temple censers in an effort to suppress the effect upon his humours. His humours exhibited a particularly delicate balance. He was nervous, and agitated. He watched impatiently as pulleys span and counterweights soared upon two great derricks near the stern, and the galley lowered a gangway half as wide as the road to Fumaril. She began to unload dozens of crates, chests and boxes from her hold, lugged by huge slaves who bore intricate brands upon their arms and shoulders: the Gentleman from Thond wondered they were a giant-breed from some distant corner of Shûth. Before them, a company of guards – of similar type, but clad in dull breastplates and wearing cloaks of sombre red – marched silently down the walkway and arrayed themselves in a wide semicircle, blocking half the quayside and causing merchants and vendors to curse and grumble. Long, sharp glaives pointed outwards like a thicket, oblivious to the laws and customs of Jashat. A second gangplank – less massive than the first – was hauled into place and dropped by a hundred muscled arms. The Gentleman from Thond licked his lips apprehensively. A slow procession of magi began to issue from the galley. Some were cowled and hooded, others bare-headed, yet more bore hair arranged in long, intricate braids – all according to their station and function, at which the Gentleman could only guess. In the rear, a number of veiled palanquins – attended by servants or neophytes – swayed rhythmically, in time with the steady footsteps of their muscled bearers. He swallowed, and strode forwards. Several of the guards – each a cubit taller than himself – immediately brought their weapons to bear on him. He smiled uncertainly, and coughed. Before he had the chance to speak, he heard another voice issue from behind them. The wall of steel parted, to reveal a slender man with a terse manner dressed in a loose, silk robe of greenish-black. "I have made the necessary arrangements, but…" the Gentleman from Thond began. "Good," the other interrupted. "I am Anumid. You will address me – and me only. Here is a list of our requirements." Anumid handed a long scroll to the Gentleman, who raised his eyes in surprise. "The temple precinct has been cleared," the Gentleman from Thond said. "Vagrants were…" "The details are irrelevant," Anumid interrupted again. "The site will be reconsecrated, in any case." "I have had to call in many favours and line many purses, to make this happen, Anumid. I have had numerous unforeseen expenses." "You will be recompensed," Anumid smiled. "Do you wish to continue in the capacity of our agent?" "Yes, but…" "Will fifty thousand be sufficient to begin with?" "Yes." The Gentleman from Thond bowed perfunctorily. As the train made its winding progress through the city of Jashat, they passed by two Wizards of middling power: a local enchantress named Luthlul, and her recent acquaintance Menniz, a conjurer who originally hailed from Lang Herath in Wyre.**** Luthlul gave Menniz a meaningful look. "This is an unexpected development," Menniz said uncomfortably, scratching his neck. "Do you think they're genuine?" Luthlul invoked her [I]arcane sight[/I] and gaped. "I assume from your expression that the answer is an unqualified [I]yes[/I]," Menniz said laconically. "The four in the palanquins are off the scale," Luthlul whispered. "I'm not getting anything from half a dozen others – they're probably [I]mind blanked[/I]." "Why aren't they using a more conventional mode of transport? Is it a ritual thing?" "Probably," Luthlul nodded. "What should we do?" "We can't [I]do[/I] anything, Luthlul. But I'll issue a [I]sending[/I] to Daunton in a while: he should probably know. Frankly, if they're staying here, I'm inclined to return to Wyre. At least it's safer there." "From less than half of them," Luthlul grimaced. "I wonder if any more are coming." "I doubt it. I'm surprised that there are that many in the whole of Shûth. What have they been doing for the past eight hundred years?" "Preserving the tradition, apparently." After Daunton received the [I]sending[/I] in Gibirazen, news quickly became current among those mages he knew – and subsequently, through his friend Prince Tagur, passed into both temporal and spiritual circles. When it reached the ears of the [I]Sela[/I], Tramst evinced neither surprise nor concern. Within a day more rumours were circulating, and Daunton determined to visit Jashat himself – none of his divinations were proving effective in the matter. Three miles outside of the city, the temple of Cheshne – abandoned and overgrown for a millennium – had risen again from its crumbling ruins. By their arts the magi – and now none doubted their authenticity – had restored the compound overnight. Towers soared skywards to giddying heights, icons and statues of tormented spirits – the [I]ugras[/I] or 'fierce protectors' of the faith – adorned walls and bastions: they bore an uncanny resemblance to figures which, in the faith of Oronthon, were understood to be fallen celestials. In the beliefs of Shûth, however, their rôle was subtler and more complex. And far older. Embodiments of fear, lust or violence which must be both placated and overcome in order for reconciliation with Nothingness to be achieved. Mostin – who had been inwardly concerned about the missing tendril in his convergence – received a [I]sending[/I] from Daunton while he sat at the table in the Great Hall at Kyrtill's Burh. His face remained impassive. Queen Soneillon, who rested across from him in contemplative pose, looked into his eyes. ** Iua's defiance of her mother's wishes was rooted in her need to refamiliarize herself with Fumaril – from which she had been absent for a year – almost as much as her obstinacy when it came to obeying Mulissu's commands. Despite her mother's insistence that Iua remain inconspicuous and protected by the wards of faith, the Duelist's own curiosity and wanderlust – traits for which Mulissu herself had once been renowned – found her in any number of dubious locales. She took to the streets with a mind to finding anything which might distract her from brooding upon her brief, eccentric and ultimately empty relationship with Ortwin. Mulissu herself was cloistered within one of several small temples to Jeshi – into whose cult, in her youth, she had been initiated.***** Whilst the Savant had maintained a relatively low profile amongst wizardly circles in Wyre and beyond, her reputation amongst the clergy of Jeshi – who shared many of the same aerial contacts as the Elementalist – was somewhat different. Her progress had been watched: lauded by some, criticized by others, and, by more than a few, recognized as a potential source of revivification for the cult's flagging fortunes. Mulissu, who abhorred politics almost as much as organized religion, avoided all attempts to convince her to renew her vows to Jeshi. But the [I]hallowed[/I] ground of the temple was – from her perspective – too useful a defense to ignore, so she grudgingly acquiesced to the demands of the High Priestess to attend revels held in Jeshi's name. In return, the Elementalist was granted several perquisites: the use of the roof-space above the Chamber of Chimes, a feigned ignorance of any magic that she might work, and assurances that she would be otherwise left alone. Mulissu's unique spirituality – cerebral in the extreme – had developed to regard devotional practices as bizarre and inexplicable. There was no reconnection with a deeper source, no feeling of unity or succour, no camaraderie, and no appreciation of a symbolism which might – to an initiate – possess profound revelatory significance: to Mulissu, it appeared as an alphabet inaccurately scrawled by a toddler. But in Fumaril – which lay beyond the purview of the Claviger – Mulissu could [I]summon[/I]. She haggled [I]ad nauseum[/I] with powerful djinns in an effort to replenish her diminished supply of spells, and co-opted the services of a novice called Naimha to act in the capacity of a broker. Naimha scoured every marketplace and every hidden shop which dealt in oddities in an attempt to procure magical paraphernalia – mostly without success. Mulissu opened lines of communication with Tozinak, whom she liked; with Jalael, whom she distrusted; and with Waide, whom she found intolerable. She also began to cultivate the friendship of Ehieu, a sorcerer from Pandicule whose flightiness made Mulissu seem positively stable. Ehieu roamed the seas south of Fumaril and – when not alternately vexing or aiding sailors – made infrequent visits to the Temple. She pointedly – and somewhat petulantly – snubbed Shomei, who by virtue of close association with Mostin, was considered an undesirable acquaintance. Shomei was, to some degree at least, responsible for the Elementalist's decline in fortunes. She sighed. She should have known better than to deal with Alienists and Infernalists, even if they were among the handful of people whose intellects she actually respected. When Mulissu therefore received a [I]sending[/I] from Daunton – who had been apprised of her presence on the Prime – her heart sunk: [I]Cult of Cheshne resurfaced in Jashat. Powerful necromancers and blood-magi. Suspect at least six first-order wizards and four transvalent hierophants. Will advise further. Daunton.[/I] Mulissu groaned, and wondered if it was related to the nonsense that Mostin had involved himself in. She would keep all of her possessions on hand, in case a speedy exit from Fumaril proved necessary. Jashat, after all, was only forty miles away. She brooded briefly, and wondered whether relaying the information to Iua would be wise. He daughter was brilliant, but her judgment frequently poor. Iua herself did not return until the early hours of the next morning. She was flushed from a number of encounters – some involving crossed blades, others not – and moderately inebriated. Mulissu sighed. Parenting was not her strong suit. She chided Iua inexpertly and gestured, vaguely conscious that this might be the correct way to address a child. Iua ignored her, and her eyes widened: she seemed to be looking at something [I]behind[/I] Mulissu. The Elementalist's hackles rose, and she wheeled about, prepared to unleash a powerful necromancy. [I]I see nothing[/I] The thought passed through Mulissu's mind a fraction of a second before she experienced an acute, stabbing agony, rapidly followed by a succession of further intense pains. Her eyes glazed over, and she glanced down to notice that around a foot of cold, slender steel was protruding from her stomach, and that blood was flowing freely from her. She felt Iua's blade withdraw from her, and as she collapsed and died, she idly wondered why her own daughter had slain her. Thus passed Mulissu: counted among the greatest of evokers in Wyre's history, although she was not herself a native of that place. And this time, Mostin the Metagnostic experienced no feeling of foreboding prior to the danger in which the Savant found herself, no presentiment of her demise. Not even the faintest inkling of prescience remained to him now, and some time would pass before news of her death reached him. Mulissu, whom he had loved in his own, strange fashion. Her spirit fled, and was dispersed upon the winds. Iua screamed silently from within the prison which her body had become, and watched, helpless, as her hands began to rifle her mother's still-warm corpse for items beyond worth. She grabbed rings from Mulissu's fingers, ripped an amulet from her breast, and pulled the [I]sapphire of mutable coruscations[/I] from its collar around her throat. She smiled wickedly as she delved into a [I]glove of storing[/I] and felt the [I]web of motes[/I], and something else. She pulled forth a small lump of obsidian, shaped like a horse. [I]How fortuitous[/I], the thought manifested with savage irony within Iua's mind, although it was not her own. Iua, and her possessor – a demon named Surab – [I]plane shifted[/I] to the Abyss upon a fantastic steed. *Although Orthodoxy had boasted few magically potent priests in its heyday – and many had been slain during the war with Trempa – the heretical Irrenite fringe sheltered a number of competent thaumaturges. **Hell's hierarchy is, of course, immensely complex, and various devils exercise varying degrees of power in different areas. Governance is executed through Asmodeus, Astaroth, Baalzebul and Belial – amongst whom precedence is hotly contested. The Thirteen Great Antagonists are fallen seraphs who have no place in the day-to-day administration of Hell, and concern themselves entirely with the war against Heaven. Many scholars of diabolic politics insist that the arrangement is purposely tense and ambiguous – a dynamism in the hierarchy enforced by the Adversary to prevent stagnation. ***Agalierept is the commander of Hell's second legion and Grand General of Hell. Among Hell's foremost soldiers, his cruelty and vindictiveness are legendary. The armoured cornugons who serve him are likewise renowned for their ruthless brutality. ****After the Claviger’s Injunction in Wyre, many wizards of more independent mind moved outside of the magically proscribed area. Of them, most found their way south to the Thalassine. *****Mulissu's initial vocation – that of a priestess – had been quickly rejected. Jeshi is a Thalassine goddess of the winds, with a widespread but uninfluential following. The names [I]Jeshi[/I] and [I]Jashat[/I] are etymologically connected. [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Tales of Wyre
Top