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<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1513490" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-29-06, 12:51 AM</em></p><p></p><p><strong>Recollection</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p><em>Soneillon</em>. </p><p></p><p>The name echoed in his mind, and caused his stomach to turn.</p><p></p><p>The <em>Ahma</em> stood alone upon the porch of Mostin's manse in the cold pre-dawn, mist rising from his mouth and nostrils. A waning moon, riding high in the West, illuminated the grassy hills of Scir Cellod on the borders of Wyre with a silver-blue sheen, and cast long, violet shadows. </p><p></p><p>Eadric brooded: he had dreamed of her again. Her shadow clung to him like an insubstantial mist, gnawing at the corners of his awareness. For the hundredth time, he reenacted the events in Afqithan in his mind, searching for clues which may have eluded him, attempting to gain new perspectives. </p><p></p><p>“Her vestige remains in Dream,” Teppu had assured him in the aftermath of the Confrontation. “She will fade, if you allow it. If you permit her echo to intrude upon your consciousness, it will lend her memory substance. A semblance of <em>ens</em> will crystallize. Remember – <em>Nothing Becomes</em>. And you are the <em>Ahma</em>: your thought will become manifest before most others. Let her go. Let her remain cradled in the bosom of the Ancient.”</p><p></p><p>Eadric's throat and chest tightened with the memory of what had gone before. A single, tiny, corner of reality, subject to the strain of so many competing Infinities. Graz'zt's main force crumpling under the assault of Soneillon and her horde of augmented monsters. The Horror, unleashed by Mostin, and its frenzy of destruction in the West, abruptly ended by a swift stroke of Kostchtchie's hammer. The untimely evaporation of the <em>Quiescence of the Spheres</em>, and the onslaught of devils which had followed, sweeping everything before them. <em>Gates</em> opening, and rifts appearing, space buckling as demons fled to Azzagrat at their master's behest: Graz'zt working desperate magic in his sanctum as the greater threat of Orcus overrode all other concerns.</p><p></p><p>Eadric had sought relentlessly for Ainhorr within Irknaan's Fortress, and as Chaya had invoked gruesome necromancies, Shomei had hurled compacted devils at their foes and burned the lesser demons away with a celestial fire which had caused him to gape in wonder. The <em>Ahma</em> had hewn his way through Nalfeshnee bodyguards to reach the Balor. But even in his moment of triumph, as he had struck Ainhorr down, an ecstatic scream of extinction had echoed in his mind, rushing in a wave across the battlefield. Soneillon had fallen. </p><p></p><p>His mind had darkened as a spell of terrific force settled upon them. Impotent, Eadric had watched as the <em>Akesoli</em> had descended upon Shomei, and, in a trice, flayed her body – stripping her essence away and binding it in a subtle net of Amaimon's devising. Infernal justice – for her numerous misdemeanours – swiftly served upon she who had broken compacts, and flouted the iron law of Dis. The <em>Ahma</em>, burned and bloody, with armour rent and shield shivered, his strength all but spent, had nonetheless brandished <em>Lukarn</em> defiantly. But the devil Nahuzihis had raised a clawed hand.</p><p></p><p>“Stay,” the word had issued like a foul breeze. “You have no authority here.”</p><p></p><p>Despite his wards, their power had washed over him, and <em>Lukarn</em> had fallen limp at his side. The devils vanished, and as the glamour lifted, he had turned to face Chaya. She stood naked and scarred, her black gem smoking with the spirits of the fiends it had consumed. Her mistress vanquished, her hatred for him had suddenly become palpable.</p><p></p><p>Still, she was no match for him. She had withdrawn. </p><p></p><p>Briefly, the <em>Ahma</em> had stood alone in the wreck of the throne room, the mangled corpses of demons – and Shomei's diabolic servitors – all about him. He had made his way uncertainly to a balcony, and gazed upon the blasted landscape below. Narzugon cavalry thundered through the glades, slaying at will, their stained pennants bearing flies and mantises. Legions of bearded devils bearing hooked glaives followed. Ahead of them, unassailable, the standard of Hell had moved with ruthless purpose.</p><p></p><p>And then, suddenly and without warning, the declamation issued by Nwm, within whose titanic mental voice were overlaid the soft tones of Nehael – <em>Nehael</em> – and Teppu, and Hlioth, and Mesikämmi, and Lai and her handmaidens. The voice which penetrated into every corner of Afqithan, stirring sprites in their tumps; buckawns and quicklings in dark places; and the genii of trees, pools, rocks and glades from their languor. Within the awareness of every woodland spirit in Afqithan, was conjured a vision of what could be. The Druid had forged an empathic continuum, embracing everything which contained a vestige of Green, allowing energy to flow freely like water. Consciousness had unified and Goddess manifested.</p><p></p><p><em>If you be Fae, lend us now your strength.</em></p><p></p><p>It was both a command and a plea. The ancient inhabitants of the demiplane had answered. Teppu had gathered their power into himself, and a viridescent nova had purged Afqithan of interlopers, sealing every rip and fracture in the fabric of space. </p><p></p><p>As uncounted varieties of fiend and monster were expelled, so too were Eadric and Mostin: forced violently and abruptly away from Afqithan and into the sphere of Man. A nightmare was suddenly replaced with a cold, sick, wakefulness. </p><p></p><p>Alone, in the neatly tended fields of Hethio in Wyre, anger and frustration had utterly consumed the <em>Ahma</em>. He had screamed, and cursed Graz'zt, and Rhyxali, and the Adversary, and Soneillon. </p><p></p><p>“You are bewildered,” the voice, soft and familiar, had spoken to him from the very soil.</p><p></p><p>The blood had hammered in his temples. “Show yourself,” he had said, trembling.</p><p></p><p>A sapling had broken through the earth nearby, and quickly gained height and girth: it grew into a young ash, with black buds cracking with fresh, delicate leaves. She had stepped out of the tree, and stood before him. There had been a lightness and ease about her that he did not remember; and a confidence rooted in some other power which he could not know. No vestige of angel or demon remained, and an aura of deep jade surrounded her. Her eroticism – free and guiltless and profound – had somehow shamed him with its purity. </p><p></p><p>Madness had threatened to seize him.</p><p></p><p>“You teeter uncertainly,” she had said softly.</p><p></p><p>He had nodded, and hung his head.</p><p></p><p>Gently, she had embraced him, caressing hair caked with venom, blood and ichor. As he wept, she had sung quietly.</p><p></p><p>But the voice – the voice of the other demoness – had stayed in his mind. Soft, seductive syllables which repeated in a circle without end.</p><p></p><p><em> Exult in your memory, Eadric. Because Nothing will ever again compare to me.</em></p><p></p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p></p><p>Eadric turned to see Orolde patiently standing close by, mindful to avoid intrusion upon his reverie. The sprite, aware of the other's sudden perception of him, offered Eadric a goblet of mulled firewine. The <em>Ahma</em> nodded briefly and quickly drained it. In the East, the sky was brightening.</p><p></p><p>“Is Mostin abroad yet?” Eadric inquired.</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” Orolde replied. “But he is in his study. He finds the mornings most conducive to work. I will inform him, if you wish to speak?”</p><p></p><p>“It can wait.” <em>They</em> can wait. Titivilus and Murmuur were still bound with magic below, as the painful process of extracting information from the – now former – Nuncio of Dis continued.</p><p></p><p>“Can you feel it, Orolde?” Eadric asked the Sprite.</p><p></p><p>“What would that be, <em>Ahma</em>?”</p><p></p><p>“This…<em>Viridity.</em>”</p><p></p><p>“Ah. Yes." Orolde nodded.</p><p></p><p>“What is it like?”</p><p></p><p>“For me? I suppose it is like jumping into a lake, and then suddenly remembering that I can breathe underwater.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 1513490, member: 141"] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-29-06, 12:51 AM[/i] [b]Recollection[/b] [i]Soneillon[/i]. The name echoed in his mind, and caused his stomach to turn. The [i]Ahma[/i] stood alone upon the porch of Mostin's manse in the cold pre-dawn, mist rising from his mouth and nostrils. A waning moon, riding high in the West, illuminated the grassy hills of Scir Cellod on the borders of Wyre with a silver-blue sheen, and cast long, violet shadows. Eadric brooded: he had dreamed of her again. Her shadow clung to him like an insubstantial mist, gnawing at the corners of his awareness. For the hundredth time, he reenacted the events in Afqithan in his mind, searching for clues which may have eluded him, attempting to gain new perspectives. “Her vestige remains in Dream,” Teppu had assured him in the aftermath of the Confrontation. “She will fade, if you allow it. If you permit her echo to intrude upon your consciousness, it will lend her memory substance. A semblance of [i]ens[/i] will crystallize. Remember – [i]Nothing Becomes[/i]. And you are the [i]Ahma[/i]: your thought will become manifest before most others. Let her go. Let her remain cradled in the bosom of the Ancient.” Eadric's throat and chest tightened with the memory of what had gone before. A single, tiny, corner of reality, subject to the strain of so many competing Infinities. Graz'zt's main force crumpling under the assault of Soneillon and her horde of augmented monsters. The Horror, unleashed by Mostin, and its frenzy of destruction in the West, abruptly ended by a swift stroke of Kostchtchie's hammer. The untimely evaporation of the [i]Quiescence of the Spheres[/i], and the onslaught of devils which had followed, sweeping everything before them. [i]Gates[/i] opening, and rifts appearing, space buckling as demons fled to Azzagrat at their master's behest: Graz'zt working desperate magic in his sanctum as the greater threat of Orcus overrode all other concerns. Eadric had sought relentlessly for Ainhorr within Irknaan's Fortress, and as Chaya had invoked gruesome necromancies, Shomei had hurled compacted devils at their foes and burned the lesser demons away with a celestial fire which had caused him to gape in wonder. The [i]Ahma[/i] had hewn his way through Nalfeshnee bodyguards to reach the Balor. But even in his moment of triumph, as he had struck Ainhorr down, an ecstatic scream of extinction had echoed in his mind, rushing in a wave across the battlefield. Soneillon had fallen. His mind had darkened as a spell of terrific force settled upon them. Impotent, Eadric had watched as the [i]Akesoli[/i] had descended upon Shomei, and, in a trice, flayed her body – stripping her essence away and binding it in a subtle net of Amaimon's devising. Infernal justice – for her numerous misdemeanours – swiftly served upon she who had broken compacts, and flouted the iron law of Dis. The [i]Ahma[/i], burned and bloody, with armour rent and shield shivered, his strength all but spent, had nonetheless brandished [i]Lukarn[/i] defiantly. But the devil Nahuzihis had raised a clawed hand. “Stay,” the word had issued like a foul breeze. “You have no authority here.” Despite his wards, their power had washed over him, and [i]Lukarn[/i] had fallen limp at his side. The devils vanished, and as the glamour lifted, he had turned to face Chaya. She stood naked and scarred, her black gem smoking with the spirits of the fiends it had consumed. Her mistress vanquished, her hatred for him had suddenly become palpable. Still, she was no match for him. She had withdrawn. Briefly, the [i]Ahma[/i] had stood alone in the wreck of the throne room, the mangled corpses of demons – and Shomei's diabolic servitors – all about him. He had made his way uncertainly to a balcony, and gazed upon the blasted landscape below. Narzugon cavalry thundered through the glades, slaying at will, their stained pennants bearing flies and mantises. Legions of bearded devils bearing hooked glaives followed. Ahead of them, unassailable, the standard of Hell had moved with ruthless purpose. And then, suddenly and without warning, the declamation issued by Nwm, within whose titanic mental voice were overlaid the soft tones of Nehael – [i]Nehael[/i] – and Teppu, and Hlioth, and Mesikämmi, and Lai and her handmaidens. The voice which penetrated into every corner of Afqithan, stirring sprites in their tumps; buckawns and quicklings in dark places; and the genii of trees, pools, rocks and glades from their languor. Within the awareness of every woodland spirit in Afqithan, was conjured a vision of what could be. The Druid had forged an empathic continuum, embracing everything which contained a vestige of Green, allowing energy to flow freely like water. Consciousness had unified and Goddess manifested. [i]If you be Fae, lend us now your strength.[/i] It was both a command and a plea. The ancient inhabitants of the demiplane had answered. Teppu had gathered their power into himself, and a viridescent nova had purged Afqithan of interlopers, sealing every rip and fracture in the fabric of space. As uncounted varieties of fiend and monster were expelled, so too were Eadric and Mostin: forced violently and abruptly away from Afqithan and into the sphere of Man. A nightmare was suddenly replaced with a cold, sick, wakefulness. Alone, in the neatly tended fields of Hethio in Wyre, anger and frustration had utterly consumed the [i]Ahma[/i]. He had screamed, and cursed Graz'zt, and Rhyxali, and the Adversary, and Soneillon. “You are bewildered,” the voice, soft and familiar, had spoken to him from the very soil. The blood had hammered in his temples. “Show yourself,” he had said, trembling. A sapling had broken through the earth nearby, and quickly gained height and girth: it grew into a young ash, with black buds cracking with fresh, delicate leaves. She had stepped out of the tree, and stood before him. There had been a lightness and ease about her that he did not remember; and a confidence rooted in some other power which he could not know. No vestige of angel or demon remained, and an aura of deep jade surrounded her. Her eroticism – free and guiltless and profound – had somehow shamed him with its purity. Madness had threatened to seize him. “You teeter uncertainly,” she had said softly. He had nodded, and hung his head. Gently, she had embraced him, caressing hair caked with venom, blood and ichor. As he wept, she had sung quietly. But the voice – the voice of the other demoness – had stayed in his mind. Soft, seductive syllables which repeated in a circle without end. [i] Exult in your memory, Eadric. Because Nothing will ever again compare to me.[/i] * Eadric turned to see Orolde patiently standing close by, mindful to avoid intrusion upon his reverie. The sprite, aware of the other's sudden perception of him, offered Eadric a goblet of mulled firewine. The [i]Ahma[/i] nodded briefly and quickly drained it. In the East, the sky was brightening. “Is Mostin abroad yet?” Eadric inquired. “Yes,” Orolde replied. “But he is in his study. He finds the mornings most conducive to work. I will inform him, if you wish to speak?” “It can wait.” [i]They[/i] can wait. Titivilus and Murmuur were still bound with magic below, as the painful process of extracting information from the – now former – Nuncio of Dis continued. “Can you feel it, Orolde?” Eadric asked the Sprite. “What would that be, [i]Ahma[/i]?” “This…[i]Viridity.[/i]” “Ah. Yes." Orolde nodded. “What is it like?” “For me? I suppose it is like jumping into a lake, and then suddenly remembering that I can breathe underwater.” [/QUOTE]
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