Aeon (updated 10/9/14)
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
Remember the very first one?
LADY DESPINAS VIRTUE
One of the PCs, a 14th level Paladin, the prized possession of its player for 10 years or so (he was converted from 2E), is currently attempting to CONVERT a succubus, and demonstrate to her the error of her ways...
LADY DESPINAS VIRTUE
One of the PCs, a 14th level Paladin, the prized possession of its player for 10 years or so (he was converted from 2E), is currently attempting to CONVERT a succubus, and demonstrate to her the error of her ways...
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Joshua Randall
Legend
Best... story teaser... evar....
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Fumaril: Part 2
Within a fortified palace of marble and serpentine – which the demilich Idyam had caused to rise between Jashat and Thond – three powerful Cheshnite immortals gathered together: Idyam himself; the Ak'Chazar, Temenun; and Naatha, an ambassador of the now firmly-entrenched northern party. Godlings, Death Knights, Naztharunes and compacted fiends were gathered nearby. Many legions were encamped about them.
The topic of debate was strategy on the largest scale, including the pressing question of how to deal with Kaalaanala, which was necessarily addressed obliquely. None of the immortals had been directly suborned by the Dark Goddess, and her terrible will could not act directly on them as they were beyond the geographical limit imposed by the Tree. Nonetheless, the concern which consumed each was how do I react if she summons me? In this, it was desirable to seek consensus. Hours passed as a variety of strategems were outlined. Throughout, Temenun listened, but did not speak.
Finally, the Tiger-Who-Waits stood, and silence fell. His tone was at once contemptuous and magnetic. His position, bordering on heretical and schismatic. He smiled.
"I am an ancient spirit, not like you others: corrupt abominations, skeletons, demons, sad remnants of former selves. I am noble and cruel; born of fear and hatred. And I know the Green. I am of this world.
"I see possibilities you do not; I apprehend truths you barely glimpse. This is fact; to deny it would be futile. We must position ourselves carefully in this emerging disorder if we are to realize Tamasah.
"The Fires of Death abide in Jashat now. Through diligence, we have helped accomplish this task. A great Bhiti dwells among us. And what now? Should we turn our attention to breaking this net which the Tree has cast between us and the Truth? I am patient. We should admit that some tasks are beyond our ability to immediately accomplish.
"Another spirit arises in the Forest. Some monstrous priapic expression of Aliikaghana* which acts only from instinct to satisfy its immediate desires. Again, it is demonstrated that ens merely hinders its own devices. We should avoid premature conflict with this entity at all costs; if an understanding can be reached which will hasten the downfall of the Wyrish theocracy, so much the better.
"Our sister Guho strikes compacts with the avanim; necessity now forces our hand. Powerful analas move within Dream, but I foresee a stalemate with those celestials in thrall to the Tree. Other agencies are now moving.
"Which brings us to an impasse…" Temenun paused. Impulses were intruding on his unconscious. His prescience rippled through a host of Nows.
Incredulity.
No! How DARE you!
His message, carried on a sending, reached the Claviger's unruffled perception.
**
Bells rang within the palace compound at Fumaril, signalling another invisible dawn beneath the Pall of Dhatri.
The Ahma stood with Nwm and Lai upon a tall minaret, staring into the gloom. The Butcher's main force had still to deploy, although spectres, outriders and flights of succubi – acting in the capacity of aerial scouts – had been encountered by his own piquets in an area of low hills ten miles to the east. Eadric watched nervously as Mostin floated upwards from the courtyard below and alighted before them.
"What is keeping them?" The Ahma inquired.
"I can only infer," Mostin replied. "Visuit's mote is coming into sharp resonance with that of the Dark Goddess. As the latter cannot act substantively beyond a certain area, this probably means that the Butcher has returned to Jashat temporarily."
"By which you infer what, exactly?"
"Kaalaanala is warding her champion," Nwm replied.
"That would be my reading," Mostin nodded.
"Sh*t," Eadric muttered.
"That would also be my reading," Mostin concurred.
"How long before she rejoins her army?" Nwm asked.
"An hour? Two at most." The Alienist shrugged. "I am assuming she will try to wind walk back to her encampment. Mulissu can make the weather uncomfortable and may be able to pin her down for a while. But if more Dao nobility have been co-opted, she may go…earthy…and be there in an instant." The word earthy was pronounced with considerable distaste.
Eadric pondered for a moment before issuing a silent mental command. A quartet of devas appeared presently.
"Muster all of the celestials, all of the Flamines, and any amongst the Templars and the Illuminated who are already in harness. Nwm, I need everyone flying, wind walking, mind blanked, invisible and warded against blasphemies and the consumptive attacks of undead. We are making a sortie. We have thirty minutes."
Nwm sighed.
Eadric considered briefly. "As soon as we break out beyond the limit of the Tree's ward, Kaalaanala will perceive us; at that point Visuit will rush back from Jashat, assuming she is not already en route. The goddess will inform those in the camp of our imminent arrival – I am assuming Yeshe will be in command."
Ortwine, who was apparently with them but invisible, whispered softly.
Nwm – sensitive to such sudden changes – immediately scowled suspiciously. He looked around, attempting to pinpoint the fey. "How did you do that?"
Ortwine allowed herself to manifest and looked vaguely puzzled. "Do what?"
"She invoked the Hazel-ludja," Mostin seemed distracted by some elusive thought. "This is substantially to our advantage."
Ortwine felt irked that Mostin knew of her activities, but remained outwardly calm.
"Would you care to explain?" The Ahma asked. "But swiftly. Time is not now best spent in idle conversation."
"Kaala-anala is effectively blind," Nwm replied. "Hazel just suffocated her divine vision in a number of different locations, including the Cheshnite camp ahead."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. What is the cost, Ortwine?"
"Potent artifacts seem to work just fine," the sidhe replied drily. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"I have none," Nwm smiled. "You are an agent of the Tree. If you find you have a problem, then I offer my counselling services. I understand these matters far better than you."
"I doubt it."
"You have debts yet to pay to Mesikammi," Nwm sighed.
"My High Priestess trusts in my capacity to deliver benefactions."
The Ahma unbuckled Lukarn and handed it to Nwm. "Let's try this again."
"You have high expectations for a thirty minute window," the Preceptor grumbled and departed.
Eadric inquired gingerly. "I assume a fully warded Visuit is likely to be invulnerable?"
"Not if we can drop a couple of big ones on her," the Alienist replied.
[Nwm]: Mostin. Mulissu. Tozinak. Jalael. Daunton. Waide. Get down here now. I need your reservoirs: everything else is empty.
"This better work," the Alienist scowled.
[Hlioth]: Snap! Snap!
[Mostin]: That's all we need.
**
**
Gihaahia, the Enforcer of the Great Injunction, stood within a low chamber. It was the sanctum sanctorum of Wyrish Wizardry, the abode of the Claviger: that mysterious entity which governed the moral conduct of Wyre's arcanists. Before her, the great slab bearing the Articles: itself a gateway connecting the Claviger's awareness to the primal Dream of which it was an aspect. A Dream of Magic.
The Infernal was waiting. The Claviger meditated, its processes isometric with rational thought. It had been dreaming Spells.
It was absorbed in a particular, nightmarish substrate; one of those several which comprised the impending confrontation between Carasch and the Viridescent Seraphim. After an indeterminable time, the Claviger finally emoted an aesthetic appreciation which caused a frisson of excitement in Gihaahia.
Quickly, the Claviger reconfigured the Enforcer and transposed her into the dreamscape, asserting a hegemony which threw the chthonics into violent rages and discomfited the episemes.
The Claviger cast the Spell, and quickly retreated into an idle waking fantasy.
Manipulating unconscious vestiges emanated by every dormant mind from Harland to Ardan, as far south as the blight which afflicted the Thalassine, the Claviger swiftly span a new dream, using magic of tremendous power. A net which might have encapsulated an area far greater than that of the Wyrish Injunction had its real dimensions been spatial.
In Nizkur, Hummaz – abruptly subject to the superimposition – grunted in his wine-soaked sleep. Nymphs nearby became suddenly histrionic.
The Claviger emoted surprise. Carasch, alone of the chthonics, had somehow eluded the dream-lure and had incorporated himself into the new substrate. The hypoabyssal connection was maintained.
Do not presume. I yet Dream
The thought – directed from beyond the Veils – almost erased the Claviger in its intensity.
**
The Collegiate Wizards corporeated briefly in the darkness as the Temple forces flowed around them like a swift breeze. The Alienist reached out with his thoughts to contact an unseen spy high above the Cheshnite camp.
[Mostin]: Well?
[Ortwine]: I believe Visuit is still absent. The Anantam are gathered [here] and [here], but they are few. Guho is [here]. There are many of the Keshaa-Dirghaa [here]. Spectres and wraiths move around the periphery in unguessable numbers; they appear as a screen of fog.
[Eadric]: Where is Yeshe?
[Ortwine]: I would guess within the focal utterdark. There are other defensive magics. They are potent.
[Mostin]: Show me.
[Ortwine]: [These].
[Mulissu]: Transvalents. Ortwine, do not enter the presidio.
[Mostin]: [Moment of Prescience]. They are four-hundredth order. As soon as we pass the screen, we will be precipitated out of wind walking and all our wards will be collapsed.
[Nwm]: I can bring them down. It will leave only one for Visuit.
[Mostin]: Two would be better.
[Eadric]: Then we strike fast and eliminate Yeshe, Guho and as many of the magi as we can. Then we get the Hell out, and worry about Visuit later.
[Ortwine]: I believe Rishih to be [here]. And more Anantam.
[Eadric]: That complicates matters.
[Ortwine]: Leave him to me.
[Hlioth]: Three immortals will perish today. I will not be one of them.
[Ortwine]: Thanks for that.
[Mostin]: We have to take Visuit.
[Eadric + Nwm + Ortwine]: …..?
[Mostin]: We must. She won't be getting any weaker from here on in. Her wards will last for months, and may become compounded. Kaalaanala will just keep augmenting her.
**
In the Garden of Mind, in the fortress recently appropriated from the daemon Tholhaluk, Soneillon awoke to physicality, sank into a throne of flesh, and considered.
Events were not transpiring to her liking. Energies were moving too subtly to comprehend. Her prescience had grown; her understanding of formlessness deepened. But not enough.
She considered her essential inessence.
Tendrils of impossibility reinforced her now; her emptiness might be seen to writhe with a palpable insanity. Old paradoxes had crumbled away. She was the Void in which the Urn was hid. But whether Soneillon dreamed or woke, or became another Nothing or a mad parody thereof, she might not act within the world without the permission of some other. In so doing, she would necessarily compromise her position unfavorably.
And Soneillon pondered a question: Why had Kaalaanala not stripped her of the Urn when she had manifested ex nihilo? She must have known of it; how could she have failed to apprehend its presence and significance in an instant? How could she not want it, having known of it? Had she chosen to let it remain with Soneillon for some other purpose? Did she fear it?
Or was the Urn somehow inscrutable to the Fires of Death?
The exiled queen of Throile pulled the jug from its hiding place on her person, and felt its weight.
You serve only to neuter me, she directed her resentment toward the vessel. It seemed to observe her impassively.
She would have to make a choice. An alliance. Concessions. Carasch was too dangerous; Vhorzhe too mad; the Cherry too unpredictable – its agenda was utterly opaque to her. It seemed to want the Urn. Or her.
Briefly – and ironically – Soneillon considered that Graz'zt's counsel would have been useful.
A sound like thunder, echoing through a million imaginings.
The ripples in Dream were subsiding when the magnitude of the Claviger's act became apparent to her. Squabbling seraphs and chthonics had been swept away, lost in conflict in all but the darkest of long-forgotten nightmares. The Claviger had replaced the dreamstuff with a no-less convoluted matrix of color, texture, smell and substance; of correspondences and hierarchies, symmetries and order. A new arcane rationale. To Wizardry, and its subset – the emergent Wyrish High Arcanie – it granted an assured ascendancy.
The demoness cursed.
A whisper reached her from a distant grove: Tree's Own Shadow. Unwarded – as no magic she possessed would be effective in any event – Soneillon transported herself to what had once been Azzagrat.
The maelstroms had subsided, and matter had been reordered. A vast Blackthorn, with barbs ten inches long reared a hundred fathoms into a ruddy sky; about it, swathes of viper-trees glowered menacingly. Chthonics roosted in its upper branches.
The great ludja regarded her as it might an aphid.
"I desire ingress." Soneillon announced undaunted.
Echoes rippled beyond the Veils.
The Blackthorn silently opened a path.
Soneillon appeared in the courtyard at Kyrtill's Burh, stepping from beneath what she knew must be a Scion; that tree once raised by Nwm in defiance of the chthonic threat, now serving as a tendril of the darkest of Tree's facets. As with its sibling in Jashat – the Blackthorn within the Cheshnite inner temple itself – it seemed dormant. But its sleep was more troubled, and if it would soon strive to awaken.
Clasping the Urn, Soneillon glanced over her shoulder. The way back was closed. And something else was here.
The demoness observed the devas patrolling the skies around the keep: they were of small magnitude, and could not perceive her. A middle-aged man – one whose resemblance to Eadric informed Soneillon that he must be close kin – exited the door from the chapel nearby and peered in her direction.
"So what are you going to do with it?" He asked her, nodding his head towards the Urn.
"Ah, the heretical Brother makes a pilgrimage." Soneillon stared at him through narrowed eyes. He made her uncomfortable. "I haven't decided. But whatever it is, it has to be in here and not out there."
"Well that much is obvious," Orm said.
"You should probably leave," Soneillon smiled. "I'm staying, and celibates are too easy. I'll be making some renovations, and inviting some friends over to play."
"I had anticipated a painful and degrading death."
"If you desire. When I have devised one suitable, I will come and find you."
"My anticipation is not wishful," Orm explained.
"Tastes differ," Soneillon shrugged.
"What of the others within the Burh? And the village?"
"They may stay or leave, as they will," the demoness replied easily. "Let them make their own choice. They know who I am. Or they have seen me in their dreams."
"Your presence here may be less enduring than you imagine," Orm suggested.
"Ignorance!" Soneillon snapped. "I have apprehended that chapel in a Moment. Can you claim the same? Do not speak to me of tenacity, nor the length of my own shadow. Now begone!"
She issued a massive sending. It echoed across Wyre.
"I suggest you hasten," Soneillon added. "I cannot speak to the courtesy of my fellows. If you stumble across your anointed sibling or his friend Mostin the Metagnostic, tell him I want Graz'zt back."
Orm hurried to raise a warning and begin the evacuation of Kyrtill's Burh, Deorham, and the surrounding countryside: for those who would listen.
Soneillon turned her eyes skyward, and solemnly regarded the celestials. Inexplicably, they darted away as though alerted to her presence.
She glowered after Orm. There had been not one iota of fear in him. She knew a Flame was with him: a visceral unease was her only inkling, as her senses were otherwise incapable of perceiving it.
Awaken she willed desperately toward the Blackthorn.
It remained quiescent.
I need allies, she thought to herself. Soneillon watched as one of the devas teleported away.
Teleported? She smiled widely.
Around her, demons were appearing.
**
Mostin felt it coursing through him: first a rumour, then a vibration, and finally a roaring noise which vanished suddenly into silence.
His skin tingled. It reminded him of Afqithan. But more cogent; more focused.
Mulissu looked at him. "What now?"
"I think the Claviger just changed the Arcane Morphic," Mostin said.
"The Claviger acted?"
"It dreamed," Hlioth replied. "It is much the same."
Another pulse, of great depth and profundity, as though in response to the first.
"What the…" Mostin's eyes widened grotesquely.
This time, Nizkur was its source. A surge of power which unlocked the Interdiction which lay across the world, finalizing boundaries. The Tree described its own limit; the cosmos reshaped itself in accordance. All was Tree. The Alienist knew that it moderated all prior infinities now: neither demon nor celestial might tread here again without passing through it; without itself becoming Green, and other than that which it previously was. Those that were stranded here were here to stay.
But Mostin's surprise was that the new shape permitted a path Outside. And that Outside was really Outside.
From a great distance, Nehael touched his mind: Please exercise restraint.
Mostin's response was wry. Had I had warning, then my answer should have been "not bloody likely." Unfortunately, I did not.
Ahead, Nwm had materialized and was gathering the power necessary to collapse the wards which protected the Cheshnite camp.
Around them, demons were suddenly appearing, teleporting as an apprehension that the lock had ended spread through their ranks.
"Things will now become confused," Mostin sighed.
"I suppose one must take the bad with the good," Mulissu remarked drily.
"Fortunately, their numbers are limited." Mostin issued a sending to Sho: Bring the Tower.
And then, another sending to Shomei herself: I told you my Infinity was bigger.
Power surged as Nwm struck the defensive spells below, shattering them. The wind walkers descended rapidly, materializing with lances lowered.
In Rishih's pavillion, Ortwine cursed. The Thaumaturge had vanished, although not before the sidhe had opened his chest and belly with Heedless. Now she found herself surrounded by his retainers. She smiled: still, they could not see her.
Outside, the massive edifice of the Infernal Tower, piloted by Sho, suddenly appeared.
As Narh's hooves touched the ground, Eadric unsheathed Lukarn and a great light sprang forth. Wraiths and shadows turned to vapour; vampires dessicated. For a little while, the darkness of the Pall of Dhatri was banished; the morning Sun shone warm upon the field.
*The Cloud of False Wisdom. Construed as a feminine aspect of the Abominable Light.
Next: Fumaril, Part 3
Within a fortified palace of marble and serpentine – which the demilich Idyam had caused to rise between Jashat and Thond – three powerful Cheshnite immortals gathered together: Idyam himself; the Ak'Chazar, Temenun; and Naatha, an ambassador of the now firmly-entrenched northern party. Godlings, Death Knights, Naztharunes and compacted fiends were gathered nearby. Many legions were encamped about them.
The topic of debate was strategy on the largest scale, including the pressing question of how to deal with Kaalaanala, which was necessarily addressed obliquely. None of the immortals had been directly suborned by the Dark Goddess, and her terrible will could not act directly on them as they were beyond the geographical limit imposed by the Tree. Nonetheless, the concern which consumed each was how do I react if she summons me? In this, it was desirable to seek consensus. Hours passed as a variety of strategems were outlined. Throughout, Temenun listened, but did not speak.
Finally, the Tiger-Who-Waits stood, and silence fell. His tone was at once contemptuous and magnetic. His position, bordering on heretical and schismatic. He smiled.
"I am an ancient spirit, not like you others: corrupt abominations, skeletons, demons, sad remnants of former selves. I am noble and cruel; born of fear and hatred. And I know the Green. I am of this world.
"I see possibilities you do not; I apprehend truths you barely glimpse. This is fact; to deny it would be futile. We must position ourselves carefully in this emerging disorder if we are to realize Tamasah.
"The Fires of Death abide in Jashat now. Through diligence, we have helped accomplish this task. A great Bhiti dwells among us. And what now? Should we turn our attention to breaking this net which the Tree has cast between us and the Truth? I am patient. We should admit that some tasks are beyond our ability to immediately accomplish.
"Another spirit arises in the Forest. Some monstrous priapic expression of Aliikaghana* which acts only from instinct to satisfy its immediate desires. Again, it is demonstrated that ens merely hinders its own devices. We should avoid premature conflict with this entity at all costs; if an understanding can be reached which will hasten the downfall of the Wyrish theocracy, so much the better.
"Our sister Guho strikes compacts with the avanim; necessity now forces our hand. Powerful analas move within Dream, but I foresee a stalemate with those celestials in thrall to the Tree. Other agencies are now moving.
"Which brings us to an impasse…" Temenun paused. Impulses were intruding on his unconscious. His prescience rippled through a host of Nows.
Incredulity.
No! How DARE you!
His message, carried on a sending, reached the Claviger's unruffled perception.
**
Bells rang within the palace compound at Fumaril, signalling another invisible dawn beneath the Pall of Dhatri.
The Ahma stood with Nwm and Lai upon a tall minaret, staring into the gloom. The Butcher's main force had still to deploy, although spectres, outriders and flights of succubi – acting in the capacity of aerial scouts – had been encountered by his own piquets in an area of low hills ten miles to the east. Eadric watched nervously as Mostin floated upwards from the courtyard below and alighted before them.
"What is keeping them?" The Ahma inquired.
"I can only infer," Mostin replied. "Visuit's mote is coming into sharp resonance with that of the Dark Goddess. As the latter cannot act substantively beyond a certain area, this probably means that the Butcher has returned to Jashat temporarily."
"By which you infer what, exactly?"
"Kaalaanala is warding her champion," Nwm replied.
"That would be my reading," Mostin nodded.
"Sh*t," Eadric muttered.
"That would also be my reading," Mostin concurred.
"How long before she rejoins her army?" Nwm asked.
"An hour? Two at most." The Alienist shrugged. "I am assuming she will try to wind walk back to her encampment. Mulissu can make the weather uncomfortable and may be able to pin her down for a while. But if more Dao nobility have been co-opted, she may go…earthy…and be there in an instant." The word earthy was pronounced with considerable distaste.
Eadric pondered for a moment before issuing a silent mental command. A quartet of devas appeared presently.
"Muster all of the celestials, all of the Flamines, and any amongst the Templars and the Illuminated who are already in harness. Nwm, I need everyone flying, wind walking, mind blanked, invisible and warded against blasphemies and the consumptive attacks of undead. We are making a sortie. We have thirty minutes."
Nwm sighed.
Eadric considered briefly. "As soon as we break out beyond the limit of the Tree's ward, Kaalaanala will perceive us; at that point Visuit will rush back from Jashat, assuming she is not already en route. The goddess will inform those in the camp of our imminent arrival – I am assuming Yeshe will be in command."
Ortwine, who was apparently with them but invisible, whispered softly.
Nwm – sensitive to such sudden changes – immediately scowled suspiciously. He looked around, attempting to pinpoint the fey. "How did you do that?"
Ortwine allowed herself to manifest and looked vaguely puzzled. "Do what?"
"She invoked the Hazel-ludja," Mostin seemed distracted by some elusive thought. "This is substantially to our advantage."
Ortwine felt irked that Mostin knew of her activities, but remained outwardly calm.
"Would you care to explain?" The Ahma asked. "But swiftly. Time is not now best spent in idle conversation."
"Kaala-anala is effectively blind," Nwm replied. "Hazel just suffocated her divine vision in a number of different locations, including the Cheshnite camp ahead."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. What is the cost, Ortwine?"
"Potent artifacts seem to work just fine," the sidhe replied drily. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"I have none," Nwm smiled. "You are an agent of the Tree. If you find you have a problem, then I offer my counselling services. I understand these matters far better than you."
"I doubt it."
"You have debts yet to pay to Mesikammi," Nwm sighed.
"My High Priestess trusts in my capacity to deliver benefactions."
The Ahma unbuckled Lukarn and handed it to Nwm. "Let's try this again."
"You have high expectations for a thirty minute window," the Preceptor grumbled and departed.
Eadric inquired gingerly. "I assume a fully warded Visuit is likely to be invulnerable?"
"Not if we can drop a couple of big ones on her," the Alienist replied.
[Nwm]: Mostin. Mulissu. Tozinak. Jalael. Daunton. Waide. Get down here now. I need your reservoirs: everything else is empty.
"This better work," the Alienist scowled.
[Hlioth]: Snap! Snap!
[Mostin]: That's all we need.
**
**
Gihaahia, the Enforcer of the Great Injunction, stood within a low chamber. It was the sanctum sanctorum of Wyrish Wizardry, the abode of the Claviger: that mysterious entity which governed the moral conduct of Wyre's arcanists. Before her, the great slab bearing the Articles: itself a gateway connecting the Claviger's awareness to the primal Dream of which it was an aspect. A Dream of Magic.
The Infernal was waiting. The Claviger meditated, its processes isometric with rational thought. It had been dreaming Spells.
It was absorbed in a particular, nightmarish substrate; one of those several which comprised the impending confrontation between Carasch and the Viridescent Seraphim. After an indeterminable time, the Claviger finally emoted an aesthetic appreciation which caused a frisson of excitement in Gihaahia.
Quickly, the Claviger reconfigured the Enforcer and transposed her into the dreamscape, asserting a hegemony which threw the chthonics into violent rages and discomfited the episemes.
The Claviger cast the Spell, and quickly retreated into an idle waking fantasy.
Manipulating unconscious vestiges emanated by every dormant mind from Harland to Ardan, as far south as the blight which afflicted the Thalassine, the Claviger swiftly span a new dream, using magic of tremendous power. A net which might have encapsulated an area far greater than that of the Wyrish Injunction had its real dimensions been spatial.
In Nizkur, Hummaz – abruptly subject to the superimposition – grunted in his wine-soaked sleep. Nymphs nearby became suddenly histrionic.
The Claviger emoted surprise. Carasch, alone of the chthonics, had somehow eluded the dream-lure and had incorporated himself into the new substrate. The hypoabyssal connection was maintained.
Do not presume. I yet Dream
The thought – directed from beyond the Veils – almost erased the Claviger in its intensity.
**
The Collegiate Wizards corporeated briefly in the darkness as the Temple forces flowed around them like a swift breeze. The Alienist reached out with his thoughts to contact an unseen spy high above the Cheshnite camp.
[Mostin]: Well?
[Ortwine]: I believe Visuit is still absent. The Anantam are gathered [here] and [here], but they are few. Guho is [here]. There are many of the Keshaa-Dirghaa [here]. Spectres and wraiths move around the periphery in unguessable numbers; they appear as a screen of fog.
[Eadric]: Where is Yeshe?
[Ortwine]: I would guess within the focal utterdark. There are other defensive magics. They are potent.
[Mostin]: Show me.
[Ortwine]: [These].
[Mulissu]: Transvalents. Ortwine, do not enter the presidio.
[Mostin]: [Moment of Prescience]. They are four-hundredth order. As soon as we pass the screen, we will be precipitated out of wind walking and all our wards will be collapsed.
[Nwm]: I can bring them down. It will leave only one for Visuit.
[Mostin]: Two would be better.
[Eadric]: Then we strike fast and eliminate Yeshe, Guho and as many of the magi as we can. Then we get the Hell out, and worry about Visuit later.
[Ortwine]: I believe Rishih to be [here]. And more Anantam.
[Eadric]: That complicates matters.
[Ortwine]: Leave him to me.
[Hlioth]: Three immortals will perish today. I will not be one of them.
[Ortwine]: Thanks for that.
[Mostin]: We have to take Visuit.
[Eadric + Nwm + Ortwine]: …..?
[Mostin]: We must. She won't be getting any weaker from here on in. Her wards will last for months, and may become compounded. Kaalaanala will just keep augmenting her.
**
In the Garden of Mind, in the fortress recently appropriated from the daemon Tholhaluk, Soneillon awoke to physicality, sank into a throne of flesh, and considered.
Events were not transpiring to her liking. Energies were moving too subtly to comprehend. Her prescience had grown; her understanding of formlessness deepened. But not enough.
She considered her essential inessence.
Tendrils of impossibility reinforced her now; her emptiness might be seen to writhe with a palpable insanity. Old paradoxes had crumbled away. She was the Void in which the Urn was hid. But whether Soneillon dreamed or woke, or became another Nothing or a mad parody thereof, she might not act within the world without the permission of some other. In so doing, she would necessarily compromise her position unfavorably.
And Soneillon pondered a question: Why had Kaalaanala not stripped her of the Urn when she had manifested ex nihilo? She must have known of it; how could she have failed to apprehend its presence and significance in an instant? How could she not want it, having known of it? Had she chosen to let it remain with Soneillon for some other purpose? Did she fear it?
Or was the Urn somehow inscrutable to the Fires of Death?
The exiled queen of Throile pulled the jug from its hiding place on her person, and felt its weight.
You serve only to neuter me, she directed her resentment toward the vessel. It seemed to observe her impassively.
She would have to make a choice. An alliance. Concessions. Carasch was too dangerous; Vhorzhe too mad; the Cherry too unpredictable – its agenda was utterly opaque to her. It seemed to want the Urn. Or her.
Briefly – and ironically – Soneillon considered that Graz'zt's counsel would have been useful.
A sound like thunder, echoing through a million imaginings.
The ripples in Dream were subsiding when the magnitude of the Claviger's act became apparent to her. Squabbling seraphs and chthonics had been swept away, lost in conflict in all but the darkest of long-forgotten nightmares. The Claviger had replaced the dreamstuff with a no-less convoluted matrix of color, texture, smell and substance; of correspondences and hierarchies, symmetries and order. A new arcane rationale. To Wizardry, and its subset – the emergent Wyrish High Arcanie – it granted an assured ascendancy.
The demoness cursed.
A whisper reached her from a distant grove: Tree's Own Shadow. Unwarded – as no magic she possessed would be effective in any event – Soneillon transported herself to what had once been Azzagrat.
The maelstroms had subsided, and matter had been reordered. A vast Blackthorn, with barbs ten inches long reared a hundred fathoms into a ruddy sky; about it, swathes of viper-trees glowered menacingly. Chthonics roosted in its upper branches.
The great ludja regarded her as it might an aphid.
"I desire ingress." Soneillon announced undaunted.
Echoes rippled beyond the Veils.
The Blackthorn silently opened a path.
Soneillon appeared in the courtyard at Kyrtill's Burh, stepping from beneath what she knew must be a Scion; that tree once raised by Nwm in defiance of the chthonic threat, now serving as a tendril of the darkest of Tree's facets. As with its sibling in Jashat – the Blackthorn within the Cheshnite inner temple itself – it seemed dormant. But its sleep was more troubled, and if it would soon strive to awaken.
Clasping the Urn, Soneillon glanced over her shoulder. The way back was closed. And something else was here.
The demoness observed the devas patrolling the skies around the keep: they were of small magnitude, and could not perceive her. A middle-aged man – one whose resemblance to Eadric informed Soneillon that he must be close kin – exited the door from the chapel nearby and peered in her direction.
"So what are you going to do with it?" He asked her, nodding his head towards the Urn.
"Ah, the heretical Brother makes a pilgrimage." Soneillon stared at him through narrowed eyes. He made her uncomfortable. "I haven't decided. But whatever it is, it has to be in here and not out there."
"Well that much is obvious," Orm said.
"You should probably leave," Soneillon smiled. "I'm staying, and celibates are too easy. I'll be making some renovations, and inviting some friends over to play."
"I had anticipated a painful and degrading death."
"If you desire. When I have devised one suitable, I will come and find you."
"My anticipation is not wishful," Orm explained.
"Tastes differ," Soneillon shrugged.
"What of the others within the Burh? And the village?"
"They may stay or leave, as they will," the demoness replied easily. "Let them make their own choice. They know who I am. Or they have seen me in their dreams."
"Your presence here may be less enduring than you imagine," Orm suggested.
"Ignorance!" Soneillon snapped. "I have apprehended that chapel in a Moment. Can you claim the same? Do not speak to me of tenacity, nor the length of my own shadow. Now begone!"
She issued a massive sending. It echoed across Wyre.
"I suggest you hasten," Soneillon added. "I cannot speak to the courtesy of my fellows. If you stumble across your anointed sibling or his friend Mostin the Metagnostic, tell him I want Graz'zt back."
Orm hurried to raise a warning and begin the evacuation of Kyrtill's Burh, Deorham, and the surrounding countryside: for those who would listen.
Soneillon turned her eyes skyward, and solemnly regarded the celestials. Inexplicably, they darted away as though alerted to her presence.
She glowered after Orm. There had been not one iota of fear in him. She knew a Flame was with him: a visceral unease was her only inkling, as her senses were otherwise incapable of perceiving it.
Awaken she willed desperately toward the Blackthorn.
It remained quiescent.
I need allies, she thought to herself. Soneillon watched as one of the devas teleported away.
Teleported? She smiled widely.
Around her, demons were appearing.
**
Mostin felt it coursing through him: first a rumour, then a vibration, and finally a roaring noise which vanished suddenly into silence.
His skin tingled. It reminded him of Afqithan. But more cogent; more focused.
Mulissu looked at him. "What now?"
"I think the Claviger just changed the Arcane Morphic," Mostin said.
"The Claviger acted?"
"It dreamed," Hlioth replied. "It is much the same."
Another pulse, of great depth and profundity, as though in response to the first.
"What the…" Mostin's eyes widened grotesquely.
This time, Nizkur was its source. A surge of power which unlocked the Interdiction which lay across the world, finalizing boundaries. The Tree described its own limit; the cosmos reshaped itself in accordance. All was Tree. The Alienist knew that it moderated all prior infinities now: neither demon nor celestial might tread here again without passing through it; without itself becoming Green, and other than that which it previously was. Those that were stranded here were here to stay.
But Mostin's surprise was that the new shape permitted a path Outside. And that Outside was really Outside.
From a great distance, Nehael touched his mind: Please exercise restraint.
Mostin's response was wry. Had I had warning, then my answer should have been "not bloody likely." Unfortunately, I did not.
Ahead, Nwm had materialized and was gathering the power necessary to collapse the wards which protected the Cheshnite camp.
Around them, demons were suddenly appearing, teleporting as an apprehension that the lock had ended spread through their ranks.
"Things will now become confused," Mostin sighed.
"I suppose one must take the bad with the good," Mulissu remarked drily.
"Fortunately, their numbers are limited." Mostin issued a sending to Sho: Bring the Tower.
And then, another sending to Shomei herself: I told you my Infinity was bigger.
Power surged as Nwm struck the defensive spells below, shattering them. The wind walkers descended rapidly, materializing with lances lowered.
In Rishih's pavillion, Ortwine cursed. The Thaumaturge had vanished, although not before the sidhe had opened his chest and belly with Heedless. Now she found herself surrounded by his retainers. She smiled: still, they could not see her.
Outside, the massive edifice of the Infernal Tower, piloted by Sho, suddenly appeared.
As Narh's hooves touched the ground, Eadric unsheathed Lukarn and a great light sprang forth. Wraiths and shadows turned to vapour; vampires dessicated. For a little while, the darkness of the Pall of Dhatri was banished; the morning Sun shone warm upon the field.
*The Cloud of False Wisdom. Construed as a feminine aspect of the Abominable Light.
Next: Fumaril, Part 3
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Salthorae
Imperial Mountain Dew Taster
I don't check the story ONE night, and that is the night it gets updated!
Amazing stuff as always. Not sure if I truly comprehend all of what is going on in this post, did the Claviger just change magic in Wyre? Eadric's brother Orm has a Flame accompanying him? A manifestation of Oronthon's attention and Will being directed towards something
Amazing stuff as always. Not sure if I truly comprehend all of what is going on in this post, did the Claviger just change magic in Wyre? Eadric's brother Orm has a Flame accompanying him? A manifestation of Oronthon's attention and Will being directed towards something
That should worry Soneillon more than it does I think...Flames pg 48 said: