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<blockquote data-quote="Mortepierre" data-source="post: 2359541" data-attributes="member: 9765"><p>Apologies for the delay. Here we go.</p><p></p><p>Actually, the post was longer than this but I realized that if I finished writing all I wanted to put in there, it would be a (very) late delivery. So, let's call this <strong>2.3 - part I</strong>, with <strong>part II</strong> already under way <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite2" alt=";)" title="Wink ;)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=";)" /></p><p></p><p><u>2.3 Dark Deeds at Dead of Night - part I</u>:</p><p></p><p>Night found the five companions trudging across sodden fields some three miles northeast of Weston. The spring-downpour had begun at dusk, just as they were leaving the village, and the steady staccato of the rain drops had accompanied them ever since like a mournful marching band. In other circumstances, they would probably have welcomed it, interpreting it as a good omen (11). In this case, however, and given what they had set out to do, it felt more like an ominous warning.</p><p></p><p>They were all following Siubhan for once. The priestess had apparently spent the last few days secretly searching for the suitable location to conduct the ritual whenever she wasn’t busy helping the villagers, further proof that her decision had been anything but hasty. Now, she was walking in silence, mentally reviewing for the hundredth time the security measures she had taken to insure nothing dramatic would happen. The scroll had been crystal clear about it: contacting the soul - or spirit - of an evil creature entailed great risks. Thus, she needed to be extra careful to reduce them to an acceptable level.</p><p></p><p>While she was still convinced that this was the only solution at their disposal, she felt more than a little guilty for forcing her friends’ hand. She vowed to make it up to them later, especially to Kalveig. The holy warrior had barely spoken to her since her earlier outburst and looked almost despondent. She sighed and berated herself for having lost her calm. Not only had it been a deplorable incident, but the repercussions now threatened her concentration when she could least afford it!</p><p></p><p>Musadoc was close behind, weapon at the ready in case they ran into an unfriendly encounter. Kalveig and Pelrind were next, carrying a flat, rectangular-shaped object between them. Eirak was last, dragging a travois on which a rather large bundle had been strapped. He was careful to stay some twenty feet behind the others and the lower part of his face - almost up to the eyes - was covered by a piece of cloth, as if he was trying to avoid smelling something bad.</p><p></p><p>As they were walking side by side, Pelrind had been able to observe Kalveig carefully. The latter’s face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes.. those were a different story. The elf had once heard a human say that ‘eyes were the window of the soul’. If there was any truth in that statement, then the holy warrior’s soul must have been experiencing a storm of epic proportions.</p><p></p><p>“A bronze common for your thoughts...”</p><p></p><p>“Excuse-me?”</p><p></p><p>“Isn’t that the expression humans use when they wish to inquire about what others are thinking?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, that.. aye, sorry, my mind was elsewhere..”</p><p></p><p>“A ‘15 feet ahead’ elsewhere?” asked the elf, giving a quick nod in Siubhan’s direction.</p><p></p><p>Kalveig stared at him for a few seconds before looking down at the ground, with a rueful smile on his lips. “That plain, uh?”</p><p></p><p>“To one who would call you ‘friend’, yes.”</p><p></p><p>The holy warrior stared at him again, puzzlement warring against mistrust in his eyes, till common sense won the day and he slowly relaxed. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p></p><p>Pelrind nodded.</p><p></p><p>“Do you - elves, I mean - ever experience.. regrets?”</p><p></p><p>“We do. Your race and mine aren’t that different, despite what some may have you believe. But we are taught early on to control that particular emotion. Hmm.. do you know what a <em>tri’iak</em> is?”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig looked at him blankly.</p><p></p><p>“No, of course, I didn’t think you would. Well, try to picture a small bear-like creature (12), albeit half of Musadoc’s size and with dark-green fur. They are placid animals who spend most of their time in the trees of my forest-kin’s home. You can detect them from afar because they smell strongly of peppermint - their favorite food. Our children love them. They like being patted and, in fact, will go out of their way to be. Moreover, when you do, they emit a sort of humming sound that is highly soothing. Elven mothers occasionally use them to help younglings reach their first meditative trance.”</p><p></p><p>“Sounds like a nice animal to have around, no?”</p><p></p><p>“Well, they would be if they hadn’t an annoying shortcoming: they are insanely jealous of each others. When one of them finds a good spot on a tree, you can bet that within an hour at the most that spot will be so overcrowded as to be entirely uninhabitable. If you start patting one, pretty soon you’ll be surrounded by an army of tri’iaks all competing for your attention. And if you dare hold one in your arms, others will jump on you from nearby trees! In short, while one is fine, it tends to ‘multiply’ rather quickly and what was once an enjoyable experience soon turns into a nightmare.”</p><p></p><p>“And the moral is..?”</p><p></p><p>“I thought that was rather obvious. Regrets may seem like a useful thing at first because they allow you to revisit the past and dream about how ‘good’ life <em>could</em> have been had certain events turned out differently. However, the more you dwell on them, the more you get depressed.. which in turn leads to other regrets, etc... It’s a vicious circle. In other words: it’s healthier to concern oneself about the future than the past because the former can still be influenced while the latter is fixed.”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig nodded slowly. “I don’t think my kinsmen realize just how deep the wisdom of your race runs. You are very different from what I had been taught to expect from a ‘typical’ elf. Er.. no offense intended.”</p><p></p><p>“None taken. We are <em>all</em> guilty of using stereotypes. As I said before, your race and mine aren’t that different. And now, if you don’t mind, I have a question of my own.”</p><p></p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p></p><p>“I am curious as to why you didn’t react more strongly when Eirak made clear his intention of keeping Nemesis whether we agreed with his decision or not.”</p><p></p><p>“Do you want the official version or the officious one?”</p><p></p><p>Pelrind grinned. “Both, call me curious.”</p><p></p><p>Kalveig chuckled but then turned serious again. “If I had to justify my actions, I would say that my role - as a Faithful Son - is to prevent conflict, not foster it. The dwarf managed to get under my skin several times already, something I am not particularly proud of. Moreover, I am not one of the heirs. Thus, it wasn’t for me to oppose his arrogance. There was something else though.” His face hardened. “Did you notice that he was the only one who showed up at the meeting fully armored? Not to mention wielding Nemesis, a magical weapon whose properties we still know next to nothing about.”</p><p></p><p>The elf couldn’t help it; he stole a glance at Eirak. “You think he would have become violent if we had tried to part him from his new ‘toy’?”</p><p></p><p>The holy warrior remained silent for a while before answering. “Given his behavior in the Vault, it was a possibility I couldn’t disregard.. and thus a risk I couldn’t afford.”</p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p>It had taken them almost 3 hours to reach the secluded spot the priestess had chosen. It was a sort of small island that had formed in the middle of the river at a point where the latter widened. To call it an ‘island’ was an exaggeration though for, in truth, it was no more than a big pile of mud mixed with branches and various debris which had been carried along by the stream. Perhaps the remains of a beavers’ dam? No matter, it would serve its purpose which was to isolate the ceremony from the mainland by surrounding the officiants with running water (13).</p><p></p><p>A makeshift altar had been raised at the highest point of the ‘island’, the item Kalveig and Pelrind had transported rested on top of it, covered by a black sheet. At its foot lay Eirak’s bundle, wrapped in hessian.</p><p></p><p>Siubhan was right next to it while her companions were surrounding her at equal distance. Thus, they formed a rough cross-shaped pattern with the altar (and priestess) at the center (14). This would insure that, if the spirit came, the life-forces surrounding it would act as ‘anchor points’ (15).</p><p></p><p>They all wore somber clothes, most having opted for a large, hooded earth-brown cloak (16). At the priestess’ urging, they had also carefully smeared the metallic parts of their equipment with soot (17).</p><p></p><p>“Now, remember: do not speak up while I interrogate the spirit. At the very least, your voice would be a distraction. At the worst, it could remind her of her last moments, thus ruining any chance of cooperation. Incidentally, that’s the reason why I insisted on large hoods. Keep them pulled tightly over your head so that your face stays hidden. Of the five of us, I am the only one who had no direct involvement in her death. I wouldn’t want her to freak out because she saw the face of one of her killers. The situation may get tense at times, so please refrain from intervening unless things get really out of hand.</p><p></p><p>The scroll warned that there would be a fair bit of bullying, insults and/or whining involved, especially when dealing with an ‘evil’ spirit. Do not let her words trouble you, and do not let her anger you. They sense negative emotions, and can ‘feed’ on them. If anyone is still uncomfortable with what is going to happen, I would ask him to leave now. Halfhearted support is no support at all in such endeavor.”</p><p></p><p>Siubhan observed a two minute silence, giving time to each of her companions to weigh the risks and - possibly - reconsider. None of them made a move to leave but Pelrind made an unexpected request.</p><p></p><p>“I know you will be busy concentrating on the ritual but, if at all possible, I would like you to.. ah.. ‘inform’ us of what you are doing at each step along the way. Just so we aren’t caught unaware or tempted to do something rash.” He winked once to reassure her.</p><p></p><p>The priestess smiled. “Fair enough.” She looked up at the sky. The moon was hidden behind clouds. Not so much that one couldn’t see it, but enough to obscure its silvery brilliance. A bit like a woman wearing a diaphanous gown. “Veiled moon, perfect. If it wasn’t for the rain, we-”</p><p></p><p>The rain stopped, as if on cue. It happened so suddenly the five adventurers were left bewildered. The “Uh oh..” from Musadoc that followed was a perfect translation of their apprehension.</p><p></p><p>“It.. it must be a simple coincidence. The spring-rains are highly unpredictable. Everyone knows that, right?” Siubhan’s voice betrayed her lack of confidence in her own statement. She coughed a few times to give herself time to refocus while the others exchanged worried looks.</p><p></p><p>“Anyway.. as I was saying, the conditions are <em>now</em> perfect. It’s currently <em>faoilleach</em>, also known as the ‘wolf-month’, a time of dearth. However, the ancients used to call it <em>a’ marbh mhiòs</em>, which means the ‘dead-month’. It is said spirits find it easier to travel back to the world of the living during this period of the year. Let us hope this is more than an old superstition...”</p><p></p><p>She pulled two candles from her bag, set them out on both sides of the altar, and lit them. “These will act as a beacon to guide the spirit to us, just as a boat needs a lighthouse to find its way into a safe haven (18).”</p><p></p><p>Next, she slowly unwrapped the bundle Eirak had brought to the site. She wrinkled her nose and had to bite her tongue not to show her disgust as the contents came into view: the corpse of the woman they had defeated in the Vault a week earlier. As per the tradition, it was largely intact but had been covered thoroughly in quicklime (19) by the locals.</p><p></p><p>“The lime will prevent me from talking directly to her cadaver, thus I brought this.” She unveiled the item placed on top of the altar, revealing a large mirror borrowed from the NeMoren’s manor.</p><p></p><p>“Alright, here goes nothing..” She pulled out the scroll from its case and, gently, unrolled it. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on the words and symbols, trying to avoid any mispronunciation of the celestial tongue. As she read, power awakened within the sacred ink and letters began to disappear after being briefly outlined in bright-blue flames.</p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p>Most members of the Races of the Tree believe in a simple fact: do something sufficiently evil and, at the time of your death, Maal will judge you guilty and send you to Hell. The truth, as always, is a bit more complicated than that...</p><p></p><p>Those few beings from the Prime who are versed in planar lore understand that Hell is only one of three ‘Prison Planes’. Which one you end up in supposedly depends on the kind of ethical behavior you displayed during your mortal life. Disciplined evil belongs to Hell. Self-centered evil earns you Gehenna. And anarchic evil goes to the Abyss.</p><p></p><p>Alas for these esteemed scholars, they couldn’t be more wrong. While it is true that fiends inhabiting those planes can be expected to display a certain kind of conduct according to their place of ‘birth’, they couldn’t care less for what a soul did when it was still bound to a body of flesh and bones. To the demons, daemons and devils alike all such a soul represents can be summed up in two words: nourishment and power!</p><p></p><p>Eventually, if a soul is lucky and/or resourceful enough, it will ‘adapt’ to its surroundings and ‘evolve’ into a fiendish creature that will prey on others just as it was once preyed upon.</p><p></p><p>Another common misconception about the Prison Planes is that they are separate. After all, demons call the first layer of the Abyss the ‘Howling Threshold’, while daemons refer to the top layer of Gehenna as the ‘Circle of Wrath’, and devils use the name ‘Avernus’ for the entrance to Hell. The last thing many aspiring summoners experienced was their utter surprise at seeing, say, a demon step through a gate they had opened to what they believed was the upper level of Hell!</p><p></p><p>Actually, while those planes’ lower layers <em>are</em> separate, their topmost one isn’t. They simply all share the same! Celestials and loremasters call it the ‘Infernum’. Fiends nicknamed it the ‘dumping grounds’.</p><p></p><p>In an alternate reality, an Italian poet will one day experience a brief vision of Hell. His shattered mind - for who could witness such spectacle and retain sanity? - shall try to translate into words what cannot be described adequately through such limited medium. To him, the first layer of Hell will be known as ‘Limbo’, a place of sorrow without torment where the light of reason illuminates the virtuous pagans. Well, suffice it to say he got it all wrong...</p><p></p><p>Imagine a vast sea of fire beneath an unending sky that is always dark, stormy, and full of seething red light. From this nightmarish ocean emerge outcrops of red-black rocks. Some are nothing but craggy, featureless peaks in the middle of roaring flames, while others are large enough to support a multitude of cities, outposts and estates. These ‘islands’ are the territories that fiends claim and fight over endlessly. Not only because they hold entrances to the deeper layers of the three Prison Planes, but also - and especially - because this is where evil souls (and spirits) ‘crash down’ constantly, ‘raining’ from the sky. Thus, the larger territory one controls, the more souls one can reap.</p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p>Infernum</p><p>Disputed Territories - Dustbone Desert</p><p></p><p>The creature stopped and sniffed the air in search of its quarry. Its body, resembling an emaciated and hairless ape, was pale and sickly, covered with a layer of the coarse red sand prevalent in the region. It had a toothless mouth and a cyclopean orifice instead of eyes and nose.</p><p></p><p>There was nothing in sight but more sand and the occasional screaming cactus. Not even a dung mound, telltale sign of a titanic stalker.. which in itself was rather good news as it meant there were no competitors around.</p><p></p><p>It had been traveling for 7 days straight, heading ever deeper in the desert. A risky proposal as the eastern portion was currently under control of an invading demonic army. Yet, the scout believed it was well worth it. A week earlier, a Hellwarden from the Skull Ridge area had reported witnessing the passage of a ‘blazing red star’ above this region. Normally, souls that fall to the ground leave only a temporary trail of purplish vapor stretching down from the lowest cloudbank. To be described as a falling star meant it was bigger than usual, and thus contained more iliaster (20).. or that it was a newly fallen celestial. In both cases, a highly valuable commodity which House Haimon had to secure at all costs. Hence the dispatching of a Soulsniffer (21).</p><p></p><p>It was near; it could feel it. Perhaps over the next dune? As it cleared the obstacle, the fiend finally found the object of its quest. There, in a small crater, the sand had been simultaneously vitrified and shattered by the impact of a gem-like meteor which lay even now half-buried.</p><p></p><p>Cautiously, the scout drew nearer, letting its senses attune themselves to the surroundings just in case this was an elaborate trap. It wouldn’t be the first time...</p><p></p><p>Sensing nothing wrong, it crept up to the ‘meteor’ and examined it. Oblong, its outer shell had been smoothed by the intense heat that accompanied its arrival. It was red-tinted and translucent. A shape could be discerned inside.. a humanoid shape.</p><p></p><p>The tracker sniffed a few times and frowned. Whatever or whoever was inside had a spirit, not a soul. In itself, it wasn’t that unusual. Many races on the Prime owed their existence to the Fiery One but none of them had been born on the accursed Tree of Life. More the pity, for spirits were a poor substitute for souls when it came to providing iliaster.</p><p></p><p>More puzzling was the fact that it was encased in a memory-cyst (22), a rare event indeed! The Soulsniffer slowly circled the cyst, looking for clues to the identity of its creator. If it was a fiend, then the latter would have left its mark to insure safe delivery (23). Ah yes, there it was.. and it belonged to..</p><p></p><p>The scout froze, its body held in the grip of an emotion it hadn’t experienced since the time of the Celestial War, when the Renegade and his fallen angels had been exiled to Hell: unadulterated fear.</p><p></p><p>It didn’t have time to ponder the implications of its discovery as motes of blue light suddenly materialized around the cyst, circling it counterclockwise and filling the air with the heavy smell of incense. Abruptly, they penetrated through the protective material, suffusing the form inside, and then vanished as quickly as they had appeared.. leaving the crystalline coffin empty.</p><p></p><p>The fiend’s genuine surprise at this turn of event was short-lived. One second it was considering how best to capitalize on the unexpected information to advance itself, and the next it was choking on the blade that now emerged from its scrawny throat.</p><p></p><p>As it fell to the ground, it caught a brief glimpse of its murderer. Normally, the sight of an Ashmede would have been enough to astonish it but, given what he had just witnessed, it was oddly fitting...</p><p></p><p>**********</p><p>(11) The Cataclysm ended in 6 AC when unusually heavy (some say, divine) rains finally dissipated the Mists of Chaos. Thus, since that time, folklore has associated raining with salvation.</p><p></p><p>(12) Actually, something like the unlikely cross between a koala and a sloth.</p><p></p><p>(13) All evil spirits are supposedly held at bay by it, not just those of the ‘pointy-teeth’ variety. The key word here being <em>supposedly</em>...</p><p></p><p>(14) The ‘cross’ Siubhan’s companions formed symbolized the crossroad between Life and Death. As they stood in a circle around her, it also represented the cycle of the seasons, the four stages of a human’s life, as well as the cardinal directions. In this case: Eirak to the North (winter/old age), Musadoc to the East (spring/childhood), Pelrind to the South (summer/adulthood), and Kalveig to the West (fall/maturity).</p><p></p><p>(15) The spirit would be drawn instinctively to nearby life-forces but, the latter being equally distant in the four cardinal directions, would find itself caught in a kind of necromantic tug of war, thus ending up immobilized at the center of the pattern. Well, that was the theory anyway...</p><p></p><p>(16) Bright (= cheerful) colors could distract the spirit or even, at worst, anger it. Another reason why the ritual had to be conducted at night.</p><p></p><p>(17) Reflective surfaces are a dangerous thing to have around during such a ritual as - supposedly - spirits can use them as ‘windows’ to the material world.</p><p></p><p>(18) Actually, the marine analogy is an apt one as the spirit has to go upstream the Dark River (also known as the ‘River of Souls’). The latter flows from the Prime Material to the Land of the Dead (Maal’s plane) through the Astral Plane, and is coterminous with the majority of the other planes along the way. Usually, this is a ‘one-way trip’, but there are a few spells that can help a soul (or spirit) travel upstream.</p><p></p><p>(19) The bodies of dead witches (and warlocks) pose an interesting conundrum to superstitious folks. Burning them is out of the question. First, because cremation is associated with rebirth and, second, because fire is also associated with the Deceiver, their ultimate lord and master.</p><p></p><p>Burying them would be like planting a seed of pure evil, so that has to be avoided too.</p><p></p><p>However, their spirit <em>has</em> to travel to Hell eventually or it risks haunting the living as a vengeful ghost.</p><p></p><p>Thus, commoners usually ‘drench’ them in quicklime and then hang them from a tree (not necessarily by the neck though). They believe that the lime will ‘bind’ their evil to the decaying corpse (thus preventing it from ‘leaking’ into the material world) long enough for the elements to ‘wear it away’, piece by piece. It is said black necromancers greatly prize the grey-white dust coming from such bodies.</p><p></p><p>(20) Iliaster is the substance fiends extract from souls through torture. It is their primary source of nourishment.</p><p></p><p>(21) A rare breed of devil that can track down a soul (or spirit), even over enormous distances.</p><p></p><p>(22) All those who ‘fall’ to the Infernum do so through the Lethe Clouds which rob them of their memories (making them easier preys for the fiends). Many never recover (not to mention that few survive long enough for that recovery to take place...). Some rare individuals have developed spells which can protect them from such a fate in the event of their death.. or made a deal with powerful fiends to the same effect.</p><p></p><p>(23) Any fiend powerful enough to create a memory-cyst is someone you do <em>not</em> want to cross.</p><p></p><p>**********</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mortepierre, post: 2359541, member: 9765"] Apologies for the delay. Here we go. Actually, the post was longer than this but I realized that if I finished writing all I wanted to put in there, it would be a (very) late delivery. So, let's call this [B]2.3 - part I[/B], with [B]part II[/B] already under way ;) [U]2.3 Dark Deeds at Dead of Night - part I[/U]: Night found the five companions trudging across sodden fields some three miles northeast of Weston. The spring-downpour had begun at dusk, just as they were leaving the village, and the steady staccato of the rain drops had accompanied them ever since like a mournful marching band. In other circumstances, they would probably have welcomed it, interpreting it as a good omen (11). In this case, however, and given what they had set out to do, it felt more like an ominous warning. They were all following Siubhan for once. The priestess had apparently spent the last few days secretly searching for the suitable location to conduct the ritual whenever she wasn’t busy helping the villagers, further proof that her decision had been anything but hasty. Now, she was walking in silence, mentally reviewing for the hundredth time the security measures she had taken to insure nothing dramatic would happen. The scroll had been crystal clear about it: contacting the soul - or spirit - of an evil creature entailed great risks. Thus, she needed to be extra careful to reduce them to an acceptable level. While she was still convinced that this was the only solution at their disposal, she felt more than a little guilty for forcing her friends’ hand. She vowed to make it up to them later, especially to Kalveig. The holy warrior had barely spoken to her since her earlier outburst and looked almost despondent. She sighed and berated herself for having lost her calm. Not only had it been a deplorable incident, but the repercussions now threatened her concentration when she could least afford it! Musadoc was close behind, weapon at the ready in case they ran into an unfriendly encounter. Kalveig and Pelrind were next, carrying a flat, rectangular-shaped object between them. Eirak was last, dragging a travois on which a rather large bundle had been strapped. He was careful to stay some twenty feet behind the others and the lower part of his face - almost up to the eyes - was covered by a piece of cloth, as if he was trying to avoid smelling something bad. As they were walking side by side, Pelrind had been able to observe Kalveig carefully. The latter’s face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes.. those were a different story. The elf had once heard a human say that ‘eyes were the window of the soul’. If there was any truth in that statement, then the holy warrior’s soul must have been experiencing a storm of epic proportions. “A bronze common for your thoughts...” “Excuse-me?” “Isn’t that the expression humans use when they wish to inquire about what others are thinking?” “Oh, that.. aye, sorry, my mind was elsewhere..” “A ‘15 feet ahead’ elsewhere?” asked the elf, giving a quick nod in Siubhan’s direction. Kalveig stared at him for a few seconds before looking down at the ground, with a rueful smile on his lips. “That plain, uh?” “To one who would call you ‘friend’, yes.” The holy warrior stared at him again, puzzlement warring against mistrust in his eyes, till common sense won the day and he slowly relaxed. “Can I ask you something?” Pelrind nodded. “Do you - elves, I mean - ever experience.. regrets?” “We do. Your race and mine aren’t that different, despite what some may have you believe. But we are taught early on to control that particular emotion. Hmm.. do you know what a [I]tri’iak[/I] is?” Kalveig looked at him blankly. “No, of course, I didn’t think you would. Well, try to picture a small bear-like creature (12), albeit half of Musadoc’s size and with dark-green fur. They are placid animals who spend most of their time in the trees of my forest-kin’s home. You can detect them from afar because they smell strongly of peppermint - their favorite food. Our children love them. They like being patted and, in fact, will go out of their way to be. Moreover, when you do, they emit a sort of humming sound that is highly soothing. Elven mothers occasionally use them to help younglings reach their first meditative trance.” “Sounds like a nice animal to have around, no?” “Well, they would be if they hadn’t an annoying shortcoming: they are insanely jealous of each others. When one of them finds a good spot on a tree, you can bet that within an hour at the most that spot will be so overcrowded as to be entirely uninhabitable. If you start patting one, pretty soon you’ll be surrounded by an army of tri’iaks all competing for your attention. And if you dare hold one in your arms, others will jump on you from nearby trees! In short, while one is fine, it tends to ‘multiply’ rather quickly and what was once an enjoyable experience soon turns into a nightmare.” “And the moral is..?” “I thought that was rather obvious. Regrets may seem like a useful thing at first because they allow you to revisit the past and dream about how ‘good’ life [I]could[/I] have been had certain events turned out differently. However, the more you dwell on them, the more you get depressed.. which in turn leads to other regrets, etc... It’s a vicious circle. In other words: it’s healthier to concern oneself about the future than the past because the former can still be influenced while the latter is fixed.” Kalveig nodded slowly. “I don’t think my kinsmen realize just how deep the wisdom of your race runs. You are very different from what I had been taught to expect from a ‘typical’ elf. Er.. no offense intended.” “None taken. We are [I]all[/I] guilty of using stereotypes. As I said before, your race and mine aren’t that different. And now, if you don’t mind, I have a question of my own.” “Shoot.” “I am curious as to why you didn’t react more strongly when Eirak made clear his intention of keeping Nemesis whether we agreed with his decision or not.” “Do you want the official version or the officious one?” Pelrind grinned. “Both, call me curious.” Kalveig chuckled but then turned serious again. “If I had to justify my actions, I would say that my role - as a Faithful Son - is to prevent conflict, not foster it. The dwarf managed to get under my skin several times already, something I am not particularly proud of. Moreover, I am not one of the heirs. Thus, it wasn’t for me to oppose his arrogance. There was something else though.” His face hardened. “Did you notice that he was the only one who showed up at the meeting fully armored? Not to mention wielding Nemesis, a magical weapon whose properties we still know next to nothing about.” The elf couldn’t help it; he stole a glance at Eirak. “You think he would have become violent if we had tried to part him from his new ‘toy’?” The holy warrior remained silent for a while before answering. “Given his behavior in the Vault, it was a possibility I couldn’t disregard.. and thus a risk I couldn’t afford.” ** It had taken them almost 3 hours to reach the secluded spot the priestess had chosen. It was a sort of small island that had formed in the middle of the river at a point where the latter widened. To call it an ‘island’ was an exaggeration though for, in truth, it was no more than a big pile of mud mixed with branches and various debris which had been carried along by the stream. Perhaps the remains of a beavers’ dam? No matter, it would serve its purpose which was to isolate the ceremony from the mainland by surrounding the officiants with running water (13). A makeshift altar had been raised at the highest point of the ‘island’, the item Kalveig and Pelrind had transported rested on top of it, covered by a black sheet. At its foot lay Eirak’s bundle, wrapped in hessian. Siubhan was right next to it while her companions were surrounding her at equal distance. Thus, they formed a rough cross-shaped pattern with the altar (and priestess) at the center (14). This would insure that, if the spirit came, the life-forces surrounding it would act as ‘anchor points’ (15). They all wore somber clothes, most having opted for a large, hooded earth-brown cloak (16). At the priestess’ urging, they had also carefully smeared the metallic parts of their equipment with soot (17). “Now, remember: do not speak up while I interrogate the spirit. At the very least, your voice would be a distraction. At the worst, it could remind her of her last moments, thus ruining any chance of cooperation. Incidentally, that’s the reason why I insisted on large hoods. Keep them pulled tightly over your head so that your face stays hidden. Of the five of us, I am the only one who had no direct involvement in her death. I wouldn’t want her to freak out because she saw the face of one of her killers. The situation may get tense at times, so please refrain from intervening unless things get really out of hand. The scroll warned that there would be a fair bit of bullying, insults and/or whining involved, especially when dealing with an ‘evil’ spirit. Do not let her words trouble you, and do not let her anger you. They sense negative emotions, and can ‘feed’ on them. If anyone is still uncomfortable with what is going to happen, I would ask him to leave now. Halfhearted support is no support at all in such endeavor.” Siubhan observed a two minute silence, giving time to each of her companions to weigh the risks and - possibly - reconsider. None of them made a move to leave but Pelrind made an unexpected request. “I know you will be busy concentrating on the ritual but, if at all possible, I would like you to.. ah.. ‘inform’ us of what you are doing at each step along the way. Just so we aren’t caught unaware or tempted to do something rash.” He winked once to reassure her. The priestess smiled. “Fair enough.” She looked up at the sky. The moon was hidden behind clouds. Not so much that one couldn’t see it, but enough to obscure its silvery brilliance. A bit like a woman wearing a diaphanous gown. “Veiled moon, perfect. If it wasn’t for the rain, we-” The rain stopped, as if on cue. It happened so suddenly the five adventurers were left bewildered. The “Uh oh..” from Musadoc that followed was a perfect translation of their apprehension. “It.. it must be a simple coincidence. The spring-rains are highly unpredictable. Everyone knows that, right?” Siubhan’s voice betrayed her lack of confidence in her own statement. She coughed a few times to give herself time to refocus while the others exchanged worried looks. “Anyway.. as I was saying, the conditions are [I]now[/I] perfect. It’s currently [I]faoilleach[/I], also known as the ‘wolf-month’, a time of dearth. However, the ancients used to call it [I]a’ marbh mhiòs[/I], which means the ‘dead-month’. It is said spirits find it easier to travel back to the world of the living during this period of the year. Let us hope this is more than an old superstition...” She pulled two candles from her bag, set them out on both sides of the altar, and lit them. “These will act as a beacon to guide the spirit to us, just as a boat needs a lighthouse to find its way into a safe haven (18).” Next, she slowly unwrapped the bundle Eirak had brought to the site. She wrinkled her nose and had to bite her tongue not to show her disgust as the contents came into view: the corpse of the woman they had defeated in the Vault a week earlier. As per the tradition, it was largely intact but had been covered thoroughly in quicklime (19) by the locals. “The lime will prevent me from talking directly to her cadaver, thus I brought this.” She unveiled the item placed on top of the altar, revealing a large mirror borrowed from the NeMoren’s manor. “Alright, here goes nothing..” She pulled out the scroll from its case and, gently, unrolled it. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on the words and symbols, trying to avoid any mispronunciation of the celestial tongue. As she read, power awakened within the sacred ink and letters began to disappear after being briefly outlined in bright-blue flames. ** Most members of the Races of the Tree believe in a simple fact: do something sufficiently evil and, at the time of your death, Maal will judge you guilty and send you to Hell. The truth, as always, is a bit more complicated than that... Those few beings from the Prime who are versed in planar lore understand that Hell is only one of three ‘Prison Planes’. Which one you end up in supposedly depends on the kind of ethical behavior you displayed during your mortal life. Disciplined evil belongs to Hell. Self-centered evil earns you Gehenna. And anarchic evil goes to the Abyss. Alas for these esteemed scholars, they couldn’t be more wrong. While it is true that fiends inhabiting those planes can be expected to display a certain kind of conduct according to their place of ‘birth’, they couldn’t care less for what a soul did when it was still bound to a body of flesh and bones. To the demons, daemons and devils alike all such a soul represents can be summed up in two words: nourishment and power! Eventually, if a soul is lucky and/or resourceful enough, it will ‘adapt’ to its surroundings and ‘evolve’ into a fiendish creature that will prey on others just as it was once preyed upon. Another common misconception about the Prison Planes is that they are separate. After all, demons call the first layer of the Abyss the ‘Howling Threshold’, while daemons refer to the top layer of Gehenna as the ‘Circle of Wrath’, and devils use the name ‘Avernus’ for the entrance to Hell. The last thing many aspiring summoners experienced was their utter surprise at seeing, say, a demon step through a gate they had opened to what they believed was the upper level of Hell! Actually, while those planes’ lower layers [I]are[/I] separate, their topmost one isn’t. They simply all share the same! Celestials and loremasters call it the ‘Infernum’. Fiends nicknamed it the ‘dumping grounds’. In an alternate reality, an Italian poet will one day experience a brief vision of Hell. His shattered mind - for who could witness such spectacle and retain sanity? - shall try to translate into words what cannot be described adequately through such limited medium. To him, the first layer of Hell will be known as ‘Limbo’, a place of sorrow without torment where the light of reason illuminates the virtuous pagans. Well, suffice it to say he got it all wrong... Imagine a vast sea of fire beneath an unending sky that is always dark, stormy, and full of seething red light. From this nightmarish ocean emerge outcrops of red-black rocks. Some are nothing but craggy, featureless peaks in the middle of roaring flames, while others are large enough to support a multitude of cities, outposts and estates. These ‘islands’ are the territories that fiends claim and fight over endlessly. Not only because they hold entrances to the deeper layers of the three Prison Planes, but also - and especially - because this is where evil souls (and spirits) ‘crash down’ constantly, ‘raining’ from the sky. Thus, the larger territory one controls, the more souls one can reap. ** Infernum Disputed Territories - Dustbone Desert The creature stopped and sniffed the air in search of its quarry. Its body, resembling an emaciated and hairless ape, was pale and sickly, covered with a layer of the coarse red sand prevalent in the region. It had a toothless mouth and a cyclopean orifice instead of eyes and nose. There was nothing in sight but more sand and the occasional screaming cactus. Not even a dung mound, telltale sign of a titanic stalker.. which in itself was rather good news as it meant there were no competitors around. It had been traveling for 7 days straight, heading ever deeper in the desert. A risky proposal as the eastern portion was currently under control of an invading demonic army. Yet, the scout believed it was well worth it. A week earlier, a Hellwarden from the Skull Ridge area had reported witnessing the passage of a ‘blazing red star’ above this region. Normally, souls that fall to the ground leave only a temporary trail of purplish vapor stretching down from the lowest cloudbank. To be described as a falling star meant it was bigger than usual, and thus contained more iliaster (20).. or that it was a newly fallen celestial. In both cases, a highly valuable commodity which House Haimon had to secure at all costs. Hence the dispatching of a Soulsniffer (21). It was near; it could feel it. Perhaps over the next dune? As it cleared the obstacle, the fiend finally found the object of its quest. There, in a small crater, the sand had been simultaneously vitrified and shattered by the impact of a gem-like meteor which lay even now half-buried. Cautiously, the scout drew nearer, letting its senses attune themselves to the surroundings just in case this was an elaborate trap. It wouldn’t be the first time... Sensing nothing wrong, it crept up to the ‘meteor’ and examined it. Oblong, its outer shell had been smoothed by the intense heat that accompanied its arrival. It was red-tinted and translucent. A shape could be discerned inside.. a humanoid shape. The tracker sniffed a few times and frowned. Whatever or whoever was inside had a spirit, not a soul. In itself, it wasn’t that unusual. Many races on the Prime owed their existence to the Fiery One but none of them had been born on the accursed Tree of Life. More the pity, for spirits were a poor substitute for souls when it came to providing iliaster. More puzzling was the fact that it was encased in a memory-cyst (22), a rare event indeed! The Soulsniffer slowly circled the cyst, looking for clues to the identity of its creator. If it was a fiend, then the latter would have left its mark to insure safe delivery (23). Ah yes, there it was.. and it belonged to.. The scout froze, its body held in the grip of an emotion it hadn’t experienced since the time of the Celestial War, when the Renegade and his fallen angels had been exiled to Hell: unadulterated fear. It didn’t have time to ponder the implications of its discovery as motes of blue light suddenly materialized around the cyst, circling it counterclockwise and filling the air with the heavy smell of incense. Abruptly, they penetrated through the protective material, suffusing the form inside, and then vanished as quickly as they had appeared.. leaving the crystalline coffin empty. The fiend’s genuine surprise at this turn of event was short-lived. One second it was considering how best to capitalize on the unexpected information to advance itself, and the next it was choking on the blade that now emerged from its scrawny throat. As it fell to the ground, it caught a brief glimpse of its murderer. Normally, the sight of an Ashmede would have been enough to astonish it but, given what he had just witnessed, it was oddly fitting... ********** (11) The Cataclysm ended in 6 AC when unusually heavy (some say, divine) rains finally dissipated the Mists of Chaos. Thus, since that time, folklore has associated raining with salvation. (12) Actually, something like the unlikely cross between a koala and a sloth. (13) All evil spirits are supposedly held at bay by it, not just those of the ‘pointy-teeth’ variety. The key word here being [I]supposedly[/I]... (14) The ‘cross’ Siubhan’s companions formed symbolized the crossroad between Life and Death. As they stood in a circle around her, it also represented the cycle of the seasons, the four stages of a human’s life, as well as the cardinal directions. In this case: Eirak to the North (winter/old age), Musadoc to the East (spring/childhood), Pelrind to the South (summer/adulthood), and Kalveig to the West (fall/maturity). (15) The spirit would be drawn instinctively to nearby life-forces but, the latter being equally distant in the four cardinal directions, would find itself caught in a kind of necromantic tug of war, thus ending up immobilized at the center of the pattern. Well, that was the theory anyway... (16) Bright (= cheerful) colors could distract the spirit or even, at worst, anger it. Another reason why the ritual had to be conducted at night. (17) Reflective surfaces are a dangerous thing to have around during such a ritual as - supposedly - spirits can use them as ‘windows’ to the material world. (18) Actually, the marine analogy is an apt one as the spirit has to go upstream the Dark River (also known as the ‘River of Souls’). The latter flows from the Prime Material to the Land of the Dead (Maal’s plane) through the Astral Plane, and is coterminous with the majority of the other planes along the way. Usually, this is a ‘one-way trip’, but there are a few spells that can help a soul (or spirit) travel upstream. (19) The bodies of dead witches (and warlocks) pose an interesting conundrum to superstitious folks. Burning them is out of the question. First, because cremation is associated with rebirth and, second, because fire is also associated with the Deceiver, their ultimate lord and master. Burying them would be like planting a seed of pure evil, so that has to be avoided too. However, their spirit [I]has[/I] to travel to Hell eventually or it risks haunting the living as a vengeful ghost. Thus, commoners usually ‘drench’ them in quicklime and then hang them from a tree (not necessarily by the neck though). They believe that the lime will ‘bind’ their evil to the decaying corpse (thus preventing it from ‘leaking’ into the material world) long enough for the elements to ‘wear it away’, piece by piece. It is said black necromancers greatly prize the grey-white dust coming from such bodies. (20) Iliaster is the substance fiends extract from souls through torture. It is their primary source of nourishment. (21) A rare breed of devil that can track down a soul (or spirit), even over enormous distances. (22) All those who ‘fall’ to the Infernum do so through the Lethe Clouds which rob them of their memories (making them easier preys for the fiends). Many never recover (not to mention that few survive long enough for that recovery to take place...). Some rare individuals have developed spells which can protect them from such a fate in the event of their death.. or made a deal with powerful fiends to the same effect. (23) Any fiend powerful enough to create a memory-cyst is someone you do [I]not[/I] want to cross. ********** [/QUOTE]
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