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<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 5881460" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 04-26-2012</em></p><p></p><p><strong>Effluxion – Part 1: Annihilation </strong></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>[Nehael/<em>Eleos</em>]: Soneillon…</p><p></p><p>[Soneillon]: …</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Nehael shot.</p><p></p><p>Eadric sat upon the rampart of the outer defense at Galda with his back against the parapet and regarded her. She had been standing in the same position for more than nine hours, discharging arrows with an unwavering rhythm which seemed to measure time itself. The goddess had loosed thirty-three thousand and eleven missiles; she had killed thirty-three thousand and eleven ghouls: Nehael herself included the Abyssal type, ghasts and bonedrinkers – as well as several more obscure varieties of undead – in the rather broad category of <em>ghoul</em>. Eadric could not see the ghouls which Nehael had targeted; they were more than five miles away.</p><p></p><p>“Don’t you get bored?” He asked.</p><p></p><p>Her pace slowed; she drew a single arrow and released it. At the limit of his hearing, an <em>earthquake</em> rumbled. She resumed her previous rhythm.</p><p></p><p>“That would seem a more effective strategy,” he observed.</p><p></p><p>“It is,” she replied. “But I do not wish to create a fault zone.”</p><p></p><p>“Exactly how many are there, altogether?” Eadric inquired.</p><p></p><p>“Altogether?” Her measure did not falter. “About fifteen million. Coming this way? Only around four.”</p><p></p><p>“Fifteen <em>million</em>?”</p><p></p><p>“That’s just the ghouls,” Nehael continued shooting. “The vampires, spectres, wraiths and other heliophobes remain under the <em>Pall of Dhatri</em> for the time being; as soon as its magic fails and they find safe holes, they will begin to migrate north and operate by night.”</p><p></p><p>“Safe holes?”</p><p></p><p>“Villages which have been evacuated and overrun,” Nehael explained.</p><p></p><p>“But why such enormous numbers?” Eadric asked. </p><p></p><p>She smiled, but the tempo of her archery remained unchanged. “The Thalassine was a rich and populous region, Eadric; now everyone is <em>dead</em>.” As her bowstring hummed, the last word was spoken with what may have been anger: an emotion which Eadric could not recall Nehael having before evinced. </p><p></p><p>Ten thousand yards away, a ghoul dropped to the ground, its throat pierced by an arrow.</p><p></p><p>“Nwm informed me that you believe that some kind of <em>reconquista</em> is possible,” Eadric spoke dubiously.</p><p></p><p>She nodded. “It is both possible and desirable. It also requires that you <em>grow up</em>.”</p><p></p><p>“You deem me…unready?”</p><p></p><p>Nehael nodded. “Your values are childish from my perspective. The world you would seek to build requires a more objective love.”</p><p></p><p>“Nehael, when we spoke at Shomei’s cottage, you implied that some <em>potential</em> existed between us…”</p><p></p><p>She shook her head, and continued shooting. “Still, you are fixated on these quaint notions. What you inferred was not what I clearly stated. Whatever <em>lustfulness</em> I might possess, I would not cause suffering to any.”</p><p></p><p>“You speak of Soneillon?”</p><p></p><p>“Why not? Soneillon is no less deserving than any other.”</p><p></p><p>“And your own needs?”</p><p></p><p>“There is no <em>I</em>, Eadric. That is Shomei’s province.”</p><p></p><p>He groaned. “I cannot hold these contradictory truths. I wish only to relate simply.”</p><p></p><p>A look of exasperation crossed her face. She drew an arrow, nocked it, turned, and aimed it toward him.</p><p></p><p>“You wouldn’t…” He said nervously.</p><p></p><p>She shot it into his leg. Eadric screamed in agony.</p><p></p><p>“Are you <em>insane?</em>” He gasped with wide eyes.</p><p></p><p>“No. You are being selfish, <em>Ahma</em>,” Nehael said calmly. “You need to lose that.”</p><p></p><p>“For a deity of compassion, you have some pretty strange ideas.” Eadric groaned and shook.</p><p></p><p>“Well, that would be the wrathful part,” she resumed her previous rhythm, shooting at the southern horizon.</p><p></p><p>“And as to the causation of suffering? What do you call this?”</p><p></p><p>“Pain, <em>Ahma</em>.”</p><p></p><p>“A simple remonstration would have been sufficient,” he spoke through a clenched jaw, and winced as he tried to extract the arrow.</p><p></p><p>“I am not the <em>Sela</em>, <em>Ahma</em>,” she replied. “I do not have the time or luxury to be <em>kind</em> to you, and algesis may impel you. Leave the dart; I will see to it in due course.”</p><p></p><p>“Even so…”</p><p></p><p>She paused, and sighed. “Eadric. You need to put this romantic nonsense behind you; it cannot dictate your thoughts or actions. One may not discriminate as to <em>where</em> to apply compassion, only <em>how</em>, and sentimental notions will interfere with your capacity to demonstrate it most effectively. Concentrate. The pain will help you focus.”</p><p></p><p>“I…”</p><p></p><p>“No.” </p><p></p><p>He entered <em>saizhan</em>. The pain remained, but was only one amongst millions: the living, the dead; birds, animals; faeries, demons, celestials. Their combined magnitude was unguessable, and the totality struck his awareness as a barrage of sensation which screamed torment and misery at his very substance, overwhelming his identity. But the fundamental perspective observed it calmly, and did not falter.</p><p></p><p>“Much better.” Nehael spoke softly, and knelt beside him. She carefully removed the arrow; no mark of the wound remained. He looked at her, and a kernel of desire for her began to form; immediately, his sense of self reasserted itself. The Moment was gone.</p><p></p><p>He inhaled sharply, and stared at her in amazement. “You perceive this suffering always?”</p><p></p><p>“It is always there.” She laughed. </p><p></p><p>“How do you bear it?” He felt utterly chastened.</p><p></p><p>“No <em>I</em> could, so it is a non-issue. Do not <em>worry</em>. Midwinter has passed; the days are lengthening. The Sun is returning.” She smiled.</p><p></p><p>Nehael stood, and shot.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Thousands of tents and pavillions comprised the camp at Galda, occupying an area of some eighty acres. It was enclosed by a crenellated stone wall forty feet thick and sixty high which had been erected by the diligent efforts of a hundred flamines and scrollbearers over the course of several months. <em>Walls of stone</em> and indentured elementals summoned by Uediian priests had completed the initial construction; the entire edifice had been augmented and <em>hardened</em> by Nwm, Mesikammi, Teppu and Hlioth to withstand both physical and magical assault. The Preceptor had raised seven enormous bastions around its circuit, two of which flanked the single gate of adamant which gave access to the place. Upon the outer face of the valves were the most potent <em>symbols</em> ever wrought: runes of Tree and Sun which described a swift demise for things which should already be dead.</p><p></p><p>The camp was removed from the town proper – of comparable dimension – at a closest distance of around a half-mile; an outer earthwork faced with stone and with a circumference of more than a league encompassed both. The walls of Galda town itself had likewise been buttressed; most of its natives had departed some weeks earlier. The two were connected by <em>teleportation circles</em> and <em>tree portals</em> to allow the swift redeployment of troops.</p><p></p><p>Nwm stood within the centre of the encampment beside a muddy field which had been cleared of tents, soldiers and horses, and sighed. Although it pained him, there was no denying the logic of Mostin’s suggestion; it would save resources, and nothing within the combined power of those present could rival it for effectiveness. The Preceptor gave a resigned look to Hlioth, who returned one of equal sympathy.</p><p></p><p>[Nwm]: Very well. The space is ready.</p><p></p><p>In the middle of the camp at Galda, a three-hundred foot tall edifice of infernal adamant appeared, blotting out the sun and immediately drawing the attention of everyone within the circuit of the stronghold. Massive bartizans flanked a central tower, from which machiolated platforms and corbels depended. Wide nozzles of unknown purpose protruded from its walls. </p><p></p><p>There was a brief silence, and then a tall doorway opened onto a balcony at a height of thirty fathoms. Six creatures with many mouths and appendages slowly floated out, bobbing in the breeze, and blew on clarions: a discordant fanfare of tremendous volume which shook the ground and made all who heard it nauseous. Great purple drapes unfurled; lights of every known hue – and some of wholly unfamiliar color – strobed brilliantly in the sky. Mostin – wearing an ornate puce mitre, three feet high and bedecked with jewels – strode forth onto the platform, and spread his arms wide.</p><p></p><p>“I have arrived,” he announced to the world.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>Around thirty wizards – including eight from the ruling body of the Collegium – had accompanied Mostin, on the condition that they might abide within the tower and come and go at their leisure: a stipulation supported by Daunton, who recognized the relative safety of Mostin’s fortress. Mostin had grudgingly assigned suites to Waide, Jalael, Muthollo, Creq, Droom, Troap, Sarpin and Daunton himself. Lesser mages had been forced to share chambers; despite the enormous extradimensional volume of the <em>Infernal Tower</em>, Mostin preferred to keep a large portion out of bounds.</p><p></p><p>The presence of the wizards was met with mixed emotions; many of the more conservative and influential Templars viewed them with suspicion or disdain. Ortwine received them graciously, and immediately procured a well-furnished pavillion from Troap, with whom she had enjoyed long-standing good relations. Their presence in the camp, the sidhe nodded appreciatively, would inject a much-needed <em>civility</em> into affairs; even with the numerous Wyrish aristocracy, the prevailing religious sobriety was far too <em>austere</em> for Ortwine’s tastes.</p><p></p><p>Eadric spied a dimimutive figure who walked purposefully through the camp, wearing a cloak of deep blue – Irknaan’s cloak, he knew. His leg still tingling from its recently-experienced trauma, he intercepted her, intent on determining her disposition.</p><p></p><p>Sho turned to him, and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, <em>Ahma</em>?”</p><p></p><p>“It has been some time,” Eadric regarded her with curiosity. “I am intrigued: your vehicle – Goetia – would seem to be a path with its end in sight. Your maker has a certain…dispensation in this regard; but other wizards do not have the luxury of calling upon the previous Hell.”</p><p></p><p>She looked at him <em>that way</em>. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. </p><p></p><p>“There will always be devils, <em>Ahma</em>,” Sho answered. “You should not trouble yourself on that count.”</p><p></p><p>“I do not mean to offend, Sho, but there is a question which I would like to ask you.”</p><p></p><p>“My ego is robust, <em>Ahma</em>,” Sho said drily. “You are unlikely to cause me discomfort.”</p><p></p><p>“Do you have a <em>religious</em> vision, Sho? Some article of faith by which you abide?”</p><p></p><p>“No. I am a <em>wizard</em>, <em>Ahma</em>; such notions are uncommon amongst my kind.”</p><p></p><p>“And devils?” He asked. “Their…perspective is one for which you have some special sympathy?”</p><p></p><p>“Devils are <em>tools</em>, <em>Ahma</em>,” she replied. “But I confess a certain fondness for some of them, especially those who might be deemed high in the <em>Old Order.</em>”</p><p></p><p>“You speak of Azazel and his ilk?”</p><p></p><p>Sho nodded. “They are of a particular vintage.”</p><p></p><p>“Hence my comment regarding Goetia as an increasingly obscure vehicle.”</p><p></p><p>Sho raised an eyebrow. “The world is smaller than it used to be, and two hundred legions is a <em>lot</em> of devils, <em>Ahma</em>.” </p><p></p><p>“Yes, I suppose it is.” His expression was one of concern. “Do you consider yourself…unique, Sho? Authentic? I ask because there are certain <em>resonances</em> with your progenitor.”</p><p></p><p>“I am very much my own <em>self</em>, <em>Ahma</em>,” she gave a quizzical look. “Whatever similarities you perceive are entirely superficial.”</p><p></p><p>“It’s just that your <em>personae</em> are so similar.”</p><p></p><p>Sho shrugged. “A <em>persona</em> is exactly that, <em>Ahma</em>, and nothing more. Deeper truths are more often concealed.”</p><p></p><p>“Shomei, I…”</p><p></p><p>“I am Sho, <em>Ahma</em>,” she smiled.</p><p></p><p>“Indeed; I apologize. There is a profundity surrounding you,” Eadric sighed. “In any iteration. Do you have a <em>goal</em>, Sho? A <em>purpose</em>?” </p><p></p><p>“Only to become myself, <em>Ahma</em>,” Sho replied. “Although I have yet to define what that is to my satisfaction. I am on the verge of transvalency; it may provide additional insights.”</p><p></p><p>He gaped. “<em>Already?</em> You are something extraordinary, Sho.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, <em>Ahma</em>. I know. I will not forget it: of that, you can be sure.”</p><p></p><p>“And Mei? She is here?” He asked.</p><p></p><p>“She is within the tower,” Sho nodded. “With Orolde.”</p><p></p><p>“Are you…close? By which, I mean, do you hold her in any special regard?”</p><p></p><p>“No, <em>Ahma</em>,” Sho shook her head. “Sho is Sho and Mei is Mei. And Shomei is Shomei.”</p><p></p><p>“I see,” he said. “But both you and your <em>sister</em> – if that term is appropriate – have a particular loyalty to Mostin.”</p><p></p><p>Sho nodded; her expression was one of mild confusion. “Of course. He has been a source of unconditional support. Mostin is uncommonly <em>generous</em> for a wizard, <em>Ahma</em>. His absurd pomp and egotism are merely a <em>persona</em>. And he will always advocate for that thing which he values most.”</p><p></p><p>“And what might that be?” Eadric inquired, raising his eyebrows.</p><p></p><p>“Potential,” Sho smiled. “And the will to realize it.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>The Embassy – the Fourth Effluxion of Kaalaanala – sat in her saddle and gazed north, her sight piercing all veils. The hood which framed where her visage might have been was empty: within was a blankness which admitted no light; an impalpable void. Disintegrating fire wreathed her; an aura wherein all trace of being was extinguished. Although the shape of her mount was equine, its nature was also chthonic: a powerful <em>anala</em> bound and confined by her terrible will to serve as the steed for the avatar of the Fire of Death.</p><p></p><p>Undead surrounded her in numberless droves, driven unsconsciously by her intention into some coherence of purpose. Few amongst her living slaves might even approach her: Rishih and Naatha – feared potentates and great immortals in their own right – cowered in her presence. Anumid lavished praise upon her; an unctuous sycophant regarded with contempt amongst most of the remaining Cheshnite magnates, but still commanding the respect of the remnant of the Convocations. A fourth part of Dhatri’s host accompanied the Embassy. The rest, which moved with the bloated goddess and the entourage of the demilich Idyam had struck out toward the northeast and crawled or lurched toward Wyre: a great swell of hunger which, now beyond the darkness of the <em>Pall</em>, was revealed as a relentless tide of death and putrefaction which consumed everything in its path.</p><p></p><p>Galda was encompassed entirely; a cordon of rotting flesh at a distance of two leagues, beyond the ambit of the scions which nestled in the vale north of the town. The Embassy was acutely aware of the diminishment which the Oak and Elm would force upon her undead minions, and had prepared magicks to counteract the effects of the Trees on her troops; until she had positioned herself exactly for the assault, her spells were held in reserve. Three great hubs were established – south, northeast and northwest of the Wyrish defenses – which, although beyond the inner purlieu of the scions, still fell within the circuit established by the <em>ludjas</em>. Magical scrutiny by the Cheshnites was denied by quercine power within the area, and reconnaissance was achieved by flights of shadow demons, succubi and palrethees: fiends which, by virtue of their scarcity, were now viewed as a valuable resource by the immortal elite.</p><p></p><p>Choach – returned again from his concealed phylactery – had entrenched in the westernmost presidio. To Prahar’s chagrin, the Embassy had appointed the lich – despite his own clear seniority in such matters – as her general above him: Prahar’s own instability might make him a liability, and the situation was too precarious to risk a whimsical assault by the great death knight, whatever his own prowess, or that of his troops. The range east and north of Galda was commanded by Naatha, with a bulwark of magi beneath Rishih, together with many of the staunchest remaining demons and those troops whom Temenun had abandonded. The southernmost concentration – the largest by number, if not in native power – Kaalaanala’s avatar had taken to herself directly: a sea of rotten flesh which, when the time came, she would imbue with Void and ferocious hunger.</p><p></p><p>The Embassy bided her time for a while. </p><p></p><p>Void moved in deep, imperceptible currents.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 5881460, member: 141"] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 04-26-2012[/i] [B]Effluxion – Part 1: Annihilation [/B] [Nehael/[I]Eleos[/I]]: Soneillon… [Soneillon]: … ** Nehael shot. Eadric sat upon the rampart of the outer defense at Galda with his back against the parapet and regarded her. She had been standing in the same position for more than nine hours, discharging arrows with an unwavering rhythm which seemed to measure time itself. The goddess had loosed thirty-three thousand and eleven missiles; she had killed thirty-three thousand and eleven ghouls: Nehael herself included the Abyssal type, ghasts and bonedrinkers – as well as several more obscure varieties of undead – in the rather broad category of [I]ghoul[/I]. Eadric could not see the ghouls which Nehael had targeted; they were more than five miles away. “Don’t you get bored?” He asked. Her pace slowed; she drew a single arrow and released it. At the limit of his hearing, an [I]earthquake[/I] rumbled. She resumed her previous rhythm. “That would seem a more effective strategy,” he observed. “It is,” she replied. “But I do not wish to create a fault zone.” “Exactly how many are there, altogether?” Eadric inquired. “Altogether?” Her measure did not falter. “About fifteen million. Coming this way? Only around four.” “Fifteen [I]million[/I]?” “That’s just the ghouls,” Nehael continued shooting. “The vampires, spectres, wraiths and other heliophobes remain under the [I]Pall of Dhatri[/I] for the time being; as soon as its magic fails and they find safe holes, they will begin to migrate north and operate by night.” “Safe holes?” “Villages which have been evacuated and overrun,” Nehael explained. “But why such enormous numbers?” Eadric asked. She smiled, but the tempo of her archery remained unchanged. “The Thalassine was a rich and populous region, Eadric; now everyone is [I]dead[/I].” As her bowstring hummed, the last word was spoken with what may have been anger: an emotion which Eadric could not recall Nehael having before evinced. Ten thousand yards away, a ghoul dropped to the ground, its throat pierced by an arrow. “Nwm informed me that you believe that some kind of [I]reconquista[/I] is possible,” Eadric spoke dubiously. She nodded. “It is both possible and desirable. It also requires that you [I]grow up[/I].” “You deem me…unready?” Nehael nodded. “Your values are childish from my perspective. The world you would seek to build requires a more objective love.” “Nehael, when we spoke at Shomei’s cottage, you implied that some [I]potential[/I] existed between us…” She shook her head, and continued shooting. “Still, you are fixated on these quaint notions. What you inferred was not what I clearly stated. Whatever [I]lustfulness[/I] I might possess, I would not cause suffering to any.” “You speak of Soneillon?” “Why not? Soneillon is no less deserving than any other.” “And your own needs?” “There is no [I]I[/I], Eadric. That is Shomei’s province.” He groaned. “I cannot hold these contradictory truths. I wish only to relate simply.” A look of exasperation crossed her face. She drew an arrow, nocked it, turned, and aimed it toward him. “You wouldn’t…” He said nervously. She shot it into his leg. Eadric screamed in agony. “Are you [I]insane?[/I]” He gasped with wide eyes. “No. You are being selfish, [I]Ahma[/I],” Nehael said calmly. “You need to lose that.” “For a deity of compassion, you have some pretty strange ideas.” Eadric groaned and shook. “Well, that would be the wrathful part,” she resumed her previous rhythm, shooting at the southern horizon. “And as to the causation of suffering? What do you call this?” “Pain, [I]Ahma[/I].” “A simple remonstration would have been sufficient,” he spoke through a clenched jaw, and winced as he tried to extract the arrow. “I am not the [I]Sela[/I], [I]Ahma[/I],” she replied. “I do not have the time or luxury to be [I]kind[/I] to you, and algesis may impel you. Leave the dart; I will see to it in due course.” “Even so…” She paused, and sighed. “Eadric. You need to put this romantic nonsense behind you; it cannot dictate your thoughts or actions. One may not discriminate as to [I]where[/I] to apply compassion, only [I]how[/I], and sentimental notions will interfere with your capacity to demonstrate it most effectively. Concentrate. The pain will help you focus.” “I…” “No.” He entered [I]saizhan[/I]. The pain remained, but was only one amongst millions: the living, the dead; birds, animals; faeries, demons, celestials. Their combined magnitude was unguessable, and the totality struck his awareness as a barrage of sensation which screamed torment and misery at his very substance, overwhelming his identity. But the fundamental perspective observed it calmly, and did not falter. “Much better.” Nehael spoke softly, and knelt beside him. She carefully removed the arrow; no mark of the wound remained. He looked at her, and a kernel of desire for her began to form; immediately, his sense of self reasserted itself. The Moment was gone. He inhaled sharply, and stared at her in amazement. “You perceive this suffering always?” “It is always there.” She laughed. “How do you bear it?” He felt utterly chastened. “No [I]I[/I] could, so it is a non-issue. Do not [I]worry[/I]. Midwinter has passed; the days are lengthening. The Sun is returning.” She smiled. Nehael stood, and shot. ** Thousands of tents and pavillions comprised the camp at Galda, occupying an area of some eighty acres. It was enclosed by a crenellated stone wall forty feet thick and sixty high which had been erected by the diligent efforts of a hundred flamines and scrollbearers over the course of several months. [I]Walls of stone[/I] and indentured elementals summoned by Uediian priests had completed the initial construction; the entire edifice had been augmented and [I]hardened[/I] by Nwm, Mesikammi, Teppu and Hlioth to withstand both physical and magical assault. The Preceptor had raised seven enormous bastions around its circuit, two of which flanked the single gate of adamant which gave access to the place. Upon the outer face of the valves were the most potent [I]symbols[/I] ever wrought: runes of Tree and Sun which described a swift demise for things which should already be dead. The camp was removed from the town proper – of comparable dimension – at a closest distance of around a half-mile; an outer earthwork faced with stone and with a circumference of more than a league encompassed both. The walls of Galda town itself had likewise been buttressed; most of its natives had departed some weeks earlier. The two were connected by [I]teleportation circles[/I] and [I]tree portals[/I] to allow the swift redeployment of troops. Nwm stood within the centre of the encampment beside a muddy field which had been cleared of tents, soldiers and horses, and sighed. Although it pained him, there was no denying the logic of Mostin’s suggestion; it would save resources, and nothing within the combined power of those present could rival it for effectiveness. The Preceptor gave a resigned look to Hlioth, who returned one of equal sympathy. [Nwm]: Very well. The space is ready. In the middle of the camp at Galda, a three-hundred foot tall edifice of infernal adamant appeared, blotting out the sun and immediately drawing the attention of everyone within the circuit of the stronghold. Massive bartizans flanked a central tower, from which machiolated platforms and corbels depended. Wide nozzles of unknown purpose protruded from its walls. There was a brief silence, and then a tall doorway opened onto a balcony at a height of thirty fathoms. Six creatures with many mouths and appendages slowly floated out, bobbing in the breeze, and blew on clarions: a discordant fanfare of tremendous volume which shook the ground and made all who heard it nauseous. Great purple drapes unfurled; lights of every known hue – and some of wholly unfamiliar color – strobed brilliantly in the sky. Mostin – wearing an ornate puce mitre, three feet high and bedecked with jewels – strode forth onto the platform, and spread his arms wide. “I have arrived,” he announced to the world. * Around thirty wizards – including eight from the ruling body of the Collegium – had accompanied Mostin, on the condition that they might abide within the tower and come and go at their leisure: a stipulation supported by Daunton, who recognized the relative safety of Mostin’s fortress. Mostin had grudgingly assigned suites to Waide, Jalael, Muthollo, Creq, Droom, Troap, Sarpin and Daunton himself. Lesser mages had been forced to share chambers; despite the enormous extradimensional volume of the [I]Infernal Tower[/I], Mostin preferred to keep a large portion out of bounds. The presence of the wizards was met with mixed emotions; many of the more conservative and influential Templars viewed them with suspicion or disdain. Ortwine received them graciously, and immediately procured a well-furnished pavillion from Troap, with whom she had enjoyed long-standing good relations. Their presence in the camp, the sidhe nodded appreciatively, would inject a much-needed [I]civility[/I] into affairs; even with the numerous Wyrish aristocracy, the prevailing religious sobriety was far too [I]austere[/I] for Ortwine’s tastes. Eadric spied a dimimutive figure who walked purposefully through the camp, wearing a cloak of deep blue – Irknaan’s cloak, he knew. His leg still tingling from its recently-experienced trauma, he intercepted her, intent on determining her disposition. Sho turned to him, and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, [I]Ahma[/I]?” “It has been some time,” Eadric regarded her with curiosity. “I am intrigued: your vehicle – Goetia – would seem to be a path with its end in sight. Your maker has a certain…dispensation in this regard; but other wizards do not have the luxury of calling upon the previous Hell.” She looked at him [I]that way[/I]. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. “There will always be devils, [I]Ahma[/I],” Sho answered. “You should not trouble yourself on that count.” “I do not mean to offend, Sho, but there is a question which I would like to ask you.” “My ego is robust, [I]Ahma[/I],” Sho said drily. “You are unlikely to cause me discomfort.” “Do you have a [I]religious[/I] vision, Sho? Some article of faith by which you abide?” “No. I am a [I]wizard[/I], [I]Ahma[/I]; such notions are uncommon amongst my kind.” “And devils?” He asked. “Their…perspective is one for which you have some special sympathy?” “Devils are [I]tools[/I], [I]Ahma[/I],” she replied. “But I confess a certain fondness for some of them, especially those who might be deemed high in the [I]Old Order.[/I]” “You speak of Azazel and his ilk?” Sho nodded. “They are of a particular vintage.” “Hence my comment regarding Goetia as an increasingly obscure vehicle.” Sho raised an eyebrow. “The world is smaller than it used to be, and two hundred legions is a [I]lot[/I] of devils, [I]Ahma[/I].” “Yes, I suppose it is.” His expression was one of concern. “Do you consider yourself…unique, Sho? Authentic? I ask because there are certain [I]resonances[/I] with your progenitor.” “I am very much my own [I]self[/I], [I]Ahma[/I],” she gave a quizzical look. “Whatever similarities you perceive are entirely superficial.” “It’s just that your [I]personae[/I] are so similar.” Sho shrugged. “A [I]persona[/I] is exactly that, [I]Ahma[/I], and nothing more. Deeper truths are more often concealed.” “Shomei, I…” “I am Sho, [I]Ahma[/I],” she smiled. “Indeed; I apologize. There is a profundity surrounding you,” Eadric sighed. “In any iteration. Do you have a [I]goal[/I], Sho? A [I]purpose[/I]?” “Only to become myself, [I]Ahma[/I],” Sho replied. “Although I have yet to define what that is to my satisfaction. I am on the verge of transvalency; it may provide additional insights.” He gaped. “[I]Already?[/I] You are something extraordinary, Sho.” “Yes, [I]Ahma[/I]. I know. I will not forget it: of that, you can be sure.” “And Mei? She is here?” He asked. “She is within the tower,” Sho nodded. “With Orolde.” “Are you…close? By which, I mean, do you hold her in any special regard?” “No, [I]Ahma[/I],” Sho shook her head. “Sho is Sho and Mei is Mei. And Shomei is Shomei.” “I see,” he said. “But both you and your [I]sister[/I] – if that term is appropriate – have a particular loyalty to Mostin.” Sho nodded; her expression was one of mild confusion. “Of course. He has been a source of unconditional support. Mostin is uncommonly [I]generous[/I] for a wizard, [I]Ahma[/I]. His absurd pomp and egotism are merely a [I]persona[/I]. And he will always advocate for that thing which he values most.” “And what might that be?” Eadric inquired, raising his eyebrows. “Potential,” Sho smiled. “And the will to realize it.” ** The Embassy – the Fourth Effluxion of Kaalaanala – sat in her saddle and gazed north, her sight piercing all veils. The hood which framed where her visage might have been was empty: within was a blankness which admitted no light; an impalpable void. Disintegrating fire wreathed her; an aura wherein all trace of being was extinguished. Although the shape of her mount was equine, its nature was also chthonic: a powerful [I]anala[/I] bound and confined by her terrible will to serve as the steed for the avatar of the Fire of Death. Undead surrounded her in numberless droves, driven unsconsciously by her intention into some coherence of purpose. Few amongst her living slaves might even approach her: Rishih and Naatha – feared potentates and great immortals in their own right – cowered in her presence. Anumid lavished praise upon her; an unctuous sycophant regarded with contempt amongst most of the remaining Cheshnite magnates, but still commanding the respect of the remnant of the Convocations. A fourth part of Dhatri’s host accompanied the Embassy. The rest, which moved with the bloated goddess and the entourage of the demilich Idyam had struck out toward the northeast and crawled or lurched toward Wyre: a great swell of hunger which, now beyond the darkness of the [I]Pall[/I], was revealed as a relentless tide of death and putrefaction which consumed everything in its path. Galda was encompassed entirely; a cordon of rotting flesh at a distance of two leagues, beyond the ambit of the scions which nestled in the vale north of the town. The Embassy was acutely aware of the diminishment which the Oak and Elm would force upon her undead minions, and had prepared magicks to counteract the effects of the Trees on her troops; until she had positioned herself exactly for the assault, her spells were held in reserve. Three great hubs were established – south, northeast and northwest of the Wyrish defenses – which, although beyond the inner purlieu of the scions, still fell within the circuit established by the [I]ludjas[/I]. Magical scrutiny by the Cheshnites was denied by quercine power within the area, and reconnaissance was achieved by flights of shadow demons, succubi and palrethees: fiends which, by virtue of their scarcity, were now viewed as a valuable resource by the immortal elite. Choach – returned again from his concealed phylactery – had entrenched in the westernmost presidio. To Prahar’s chagrin, the Embassy had appointed the lich – despite his own clear seniority in such matters – as her general above him: Prahar’s own instability might make him a liability, and the situation was too precarious to risk a whimsical assault by the great death knight, whatever his own prowess, or that of his troops. The range east and north of Galda was commanded by Naatha, with a bulwark of magi beneath Rishih, together with many of the staunchest remaining demons and those troops whom Temenun had abandonded. The southernmost concentration – the largest by number, if not in native power – Kaalaanala’s avatar had taken to herself directly: a sea of rotten flesh which, when the time came, she would imbue with Void and ferocious hunger. The Embassy bided her time for a while. Void moved in deep, imperceptible currents. [/QUOTE]
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