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Aeon (updated 10/9/14)
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<blockquote data-quote="Sepulchrave II" data-source="post: 2813870" data-attributes="member: 4303"><p>The real update is after this one. <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite5" alt=":confused:" title="Confused :confused:" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":confused:" /> </p><p></p><p>Note that inconsistencies referring to eyelids have been removed <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite7" alt=":p" title="Stick out tongue :p" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":p" /> </p><p></p><p></p><p>*******</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><em>She is magnificent</em>, Nwm observed as the goddess rode down the babau. <em>Drengh</em> was a bloody blur, flashing red about her head. The Druid was in a state of perfect, dynamic meditation: they had honed their rapport to the point of a wordless, instinctive knowledge of intent, where Nwm had become the agent of her thought.</p><p></p><p>Their quarry were diminishing in numbers: their leaders, and the most war-hardened among them, had been redeployed to another arena – a distant, violent conflict between two old enemies. Those that remained were diminished, and lacking the discipline enforced by the direct agents of Graz'zt's will, they had disintegrated into a violent rabble of clans, ruled by the most ruthless and cunning amongst them. They became easy prey for the bands of godlings and ancestors who rode forth to engage them.</p><p></p><p>Of the Nireem, Ninit had proven the most difficult to relate to. She seemed oblivious to the needs of Mulhuk, and countenanced no argument which conflicted with her desire. She was utterly impervious to reason. Her passion was only to ride, and to hunt.</p><p></p><p>Immediately, Nwm had adored her.</p><p></p><p>He had allowed himself to become subsumed in her, and relinquished himself utterly. An act of devotion inevitable, he wrily observed, when any aspect of <em>Goddess</em> presented itself to him. But the communion which Ninit provided for Nwm led to a reciprocity which The Rider had not anticipated. She needed him in order to slay more effectively, and now she guarded and protected him. Ninit had grown accustomed to a lack of worship – her cult had been extinct for centuries. Nwm's adoration – when directed towards her – had stirred certain deific <em>needs</em> which had been suppressed for too long. Ninit craved worship, once again. And the details of Nwm's broader henotheism were irrelevant to the goddess.</p><p></p><p>Nwm's mind reached out, connecting with the soil of Sisperi, and energy coursed through him. A profound agony – familiar and reassuring – fired every nerve in his body. His skin cracked like the bark of an ancient tree and began to bleed, green fire coursed over him, and a necromantic impulse of terrible potency exploded outwards from him in all directions. Demons dropped like flies.</p><p></p><p>In his thoughts, Ninit smiled savagely.</p><p></p><p>As the few remaining monsters winked out, Nwm <em>healed</em> himself of his self-inflicted trauma and mustered his strength again.</p><p></p><p><em>You are weary,</em> Ninit's voice echoed in his mind. <em>Return to Mulhuk.</em></p><p></p><p>Nwm bowed. He might have continued, but one did not gainsay The Rider. He would return to Mulhuk, and then make his way to Wyre and his appointed meeting with Ortwine.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>When not hunting, Nwm would spend long hours instructing Lai and her handmaidens in the arts he had mastered. His favoured location was a courtyard graced with crystal trees, where a warm sun always shone in the afternoon; demonstration was his preferred method. And the knowledge with which Nehael had imbued him, he eagely disseminated. His role was paradoxical: both mentor and worshipper; teacher and priest.</p><p></p><p>At other times, he and Lai would leave Mulhuk, and walk beneath the trees in the region of Sisperi which had been called Soan, where the Werud – a confederation of tribes who had venerated the Nireem – had once dwelt. The desolation was absolute, as all sapience had been extinguished by the tide of demons which had ravaged the world.</p><p></p><p>One cold morning, not far from where Eadric had slain the babau Uort,* Druid and Goddess had come across the remains of a settlement, its inhabitants driven off or butchered a century before. The stench of death and decay still clung to the place; a pall of Abyssal misery, which might take millennia to clear. Nwm sat upon a moss-covered outcrop – all that remained of an ancient granary.</p><p></p><p>"What of Saes?" He had sighed. "Little can proceed without her."</p><p></p><p>"I have tried. She will not respond. The gate to Ruk is closed. She is mad. Bloated on Death.**"</p><p></p><p>"You must persist. She may, in time, be persuaded,"</p><p></p><p>Lai laughed drily. "You do not know her as I do. Another way must be found. But somrthing else has occurred to you."</p><p></p><p>"There may be alternatives," Nwm said carefully. "There are tribes in the North of my world. Some may be willing to undertake the journey here. To begin afresh. But I will not decieve them: demons lurk around every corner, and I suspect Sisperi will never be rid of <em>them</em> entirely. How would they even understand an entreaty made by you or Rhul? And they would bring their own gods with them, Lai. It might serve only to speed your demise."</p><p></p><p>"A chance I am willing to take."</p><p></p><p>Nwm shrugged. "Others can come, and when they die, Saes will claim them. Trees can be <em>awakened</em>, and when they die, Saes will claim them too. Saes is the key – all other solutions are merely temporary."</p><p></p><p>"If another could be persuaded to go and speak with her. Eadric perhaps?"</p><p></p><p>Nwm shook his head. "It is unlikely. He has discharged his vow, and other matters concern him. And Saes might entrap him: Graz'zt would trade a whole world for the <em>Ahma</em>. I lack the necessary tact – or guile. No, I think Ortwine might be the answer."</p><p></p><p>Lai's lip curled, and the sky darkened momentarily. "I will return to Afqithan, if I must. But I mistrust her."</p><p></p><p>"And she, you. But her mendacity may be your ally." He smiled grimly, and became serious. "She is no pawn, Lai. If she condescends to aid you, it will be on her terms."</p><p></p><p>"I will send her a <em>dream</em>. It will be neutral territory."</p><p></p><p>"It might be preferable if I speak to her," Nwm suggested. "We have a bond that endures across four lifetimes, and she knows I will not decieve her."</p><p></p><p>"If you deem it best," the Goddess reluctantly agreed.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>"I would like to extend my gratitude to the Assembly for allowing me to speak," the Alienist began. "My particular thanks to Daunton, for acting as my sponsor in this matter."</p><p></p><p>They had convened at Mostin's – formerly Shomei's – estate outside of Morne: thirty-one mages gathered in an audience hall around a great, oval table, carved from ebony and inlayed with scenes from Irrenite myth. Some sat. Some stood, or leaned on staves. Most were human. Rimilin of the Skin was there: he sat alone, shunned by all others.</p><p></p><p>Even Waide remained silent, aware that an untimely display of sarcasm might earn the ire of many of those present. Mostin – it was rumoured – was about to make some grand philanthropic gesture, and most were concerned that the Alienist was sufficiently eccentric to change his mind for no other reason than mild annoyance. Nothing should jeopardize this improbable event. </p><p></p><p>Mostin's lidless eyes scanned those present as he fondled Mogus, the obscene, fist-sized pseudonatural which lived in a nondimensional space within his tunic. In sympathy, the orbs on his <em>robe of eyes</em> rotated in a disturbing fashion, fixing first one, and then another of those present.</p><p></p><p>"Mulissu and Shomei are gone," Mostin continued. "Two great lights have left us – to whichever fates they have chosen for themselves. We are diminished. I am left with the burden of being the greatest living Wizard in Wyre, although perhaps not on this plane - something I will come to in due course. Many of you consider me both aloof and deranged, and I will deny neither. I am, however, indisputably, a genius."</p><p></p><p>Waide sighed.</p><p></p><p>Mostin ignored him. "Jovol's legacy remains with us, and if we dwell within the borders of Wyre, we must abide by it. For those of us with the resources – and I count myself fortunate in this regard – the option of continuing our conjurations is open, if we have another base from which to operate. I have erected my <em>portable manse</em> outside of Wyre's borders in order to facilitate this. This has proven controversial amongst some of you gathered here, as it might be claimed that it circumvents the spirit – if not the letter – of the Second Injunction. I am not alone in this regard, however."</p><p></p><p>Mostin stared pointedly at the Hag Jalael, Rimilin, and Wigdryt – a smoke mephit.</p><p></p><p>"This is a testing time for us," Mostin continued, "but we must not waver in our faith in Jovol's wisdom. His vision was more complete than we can appreciate, and he had access to methods which are now lost to us."</p><p></p><p>A murmur rippled through the gathered mages. Rumour of the <em>web of motes</em> had been heard by all, although only a few knew of its true significance.</p><p></p><p>"I am about to make several assertions which may, on the surface, appear contradictory or paradoxical. Let me posit a scenario," Mostin sighed. "As one who has experienced the power of the <em>web of motes</em> first-hand, this is not as improbable as it might sound. Jovol <em>knew</em> of the explosion of religious power which Tramst – the so-called <em>Sela</em> – exemplifies. He <em>knew</em> of an impending conflict with the Cult of Cheshne. Furthermore, he chose death – <em>in violation of his own Injunction</em> – as a course preferable to allowing a second conjuration of Graz'zt. He knew that a renaissance in Uediian power would act as the best balance on all other concerns. The entity who was Fillein, then Jovol, has self-incarnated again, in the guise of a fey named Teppu."</p><p></p><p>The revelation left all of those present – except for Rimilin – dumbstruck. The brief silence was quickly replaced by thirty chattering voices.</p><p></p><p>Mostin held up his hand, and a gong sounded.</p><p></p><p>"Please allow me to continue," he smirked despite himself. An uneasy silence returned to the room. "There will be time for questions after I have spoken, but there are a number of other issues I would like to address first.</p><p></p><p>"Most importantly, <em>Teppu is not Jovol</em>, at least in any meaningful sense, any more than Jovol was Fillein. I am unsure of the extent to which even his memories are retained. Teppu's agenda is not Jovol's agenda. He is driven by a different set of desires and philosophies, although there is, somehow – perhaps hyperconsciously – a commonality of purpose. This higher purpose is related somehow to Dream, and was partially illuminated by the oblique references that Jovol made to his understanding of the dialectical process.</p><p></p><p>"If we deal with Teppu – and I suspect we must – we should not expect to enjoy any kind of special rapport. Teppu is <em>Green</em>. His concern is a complex of energies involving feys, nature spirits, the goddess Uedii, and the natural world – something which he refers to as the <em>Viridity</em>: a burgeoning node of elemental power centered around these principles. The Viridity may be arising as some kind of mediating effect to resolve the polarization of Oronthonian belief and the Cult of Nihilism from Shûth.</p><p></p><p>"Its effect in Afqithan <em>superseded the designs of Oronthon's Adversary</em>. Accordingly, I have designated it a Greater Infinity. Its relationship with Oronthon himself is unclear, as is the relationship between the two foci – the <em>Sela</em> on one hand, and Nehael on the other. When I inspected the <em>web of motes</em> the sympathetic energy between the two was astounding, which leads me to suspect that a higher order of Intelligence is at work – perhaps the same order which drives Teppu, perhaps not. In any event, the final turn of the wheel in Afqithan revealed the Adversary as nothing more than a cog in some transcendental purpose. He had no inkling of the Viridity, and knowledge of it was – or is still – shrouded from him."</p><p></p><p>Waide could no longer contain himself. "Nehael is the succubus who started all this mess in the first place, am I correct?"</p><p></p><p>"Not exactly," Mostin said smugly. "Nehael is no longer what she was. In fact, she may have never been what she formerly was – the Viridity is concerned primarily with the Now, the Moment. As such, what is past, and what is yet to come are in large measure irrelevant. According to that paradigm, all history is vacuous – and mutable."</p><p></p><p>"This is mystical babble," Jalael interjected. "I had expected more from you, Mostin."</p><p></p><p>"Indulge me!" Mostin snapped. "And Waide, kindly allow me to speak without further interruption. I am trying to contextualize my actions, not justify current trends in religious thought."</p><p></p><p>Daunton coughed. "Perhaps you might be a little more succinct, Mostin."</p><p></p><p>"Oh very well," the Alienist grumbled. He inhaled deeply, and thought for a moment.</p><p></p><p>"Let me speak of <em>artifacts</em>," Mostin clearly enunciated the last word, and was not disappointed by the effect that it had on all of those present. "You have, doubtless, heard rumours regarding the <em>web of motes</em>. Its whereabouts is currently undetermined: its last known guardian was the demon Surab, who possessed Mulissu's daughter, Iua, and was responsible for the death of the Savant. The <em>web of motes</em> itself is unlocatable by any means available to me. Surab is <em>mind blanked</em> by some device. It is of paramount importance that we retrieve this object. There is hope: I have made a <em>metagnostic inquiry</em> of a Pseudonatural entity named <em>Ghom</em> which dwells beyond the middle region. I believe that Surab is unaware of the true nature of the <em>web of motes</em>. I also believe that Iua is still alive – her form, which is young and nubile, may be pleasing to the demon. Surab may be unwilling – or unable – to reenter Azzagrat, and has retreated to the unnamed regions between Hell and the Abyss.</p><p></p><p>"Also, the chthonic demoness Soneillon spoke of something named <em>Pharamne's Urn</em> – an object of which she claimed ownership, but which had been appropriated by Prince Graz'zt at some point in the past. This item is of Aeonic potency: one in full possession of its powers – something which the Prince of Azzagrat <em>is not</em> – can <em>create universes</em>. Naturally, Graz'zt guards it jealously. Queen Soneillon could unlock it to a greater degree although, I suspect, she could not manifest its ultimate power: she was unusual for a demon in her command of ritual magic, something which is antithetical to the Abyssal mindset. She was also unique in many other ways." An ironic smile crossed the Alienist's face.</p><p></p><p>Mostin paused to take a sip of tea, and was mildly surprised – and gratified – to find his audience utterly enrapt.</p><p></p><p>"We are delicately poised," Mostin continued. "Currently, as I am sure even the most politically ignorant of you are aware, the <em>Sela</em>, Oronthon's proxy, is on the field of battle, south of Wyre's borders. Whilst Prince Tagur attempts to rally support for the campaign in secular circles, the Temple – <em>and I trust we all recall that particular monolith</em> – has effectively reformed, albeit with a more thoughtful perspective and without the stigma attached to the name <em>Temple</em>. I'll say the name again, for those of you who didn't hear me: <em>Temple</em>. It is the same band of lance-waving zealots as it was three years ago, and we must trust that Tramst has inculcated some measure of insight and tolerance in those involved.</p><p></p><p>"<em>This war is magical</em>. The initial skirmishes – which have proven inconclusive – have demonstrated that the <em>Sela</em> is fallible in this arena. His purview is enlightenment – whatever that means to an Oronthonian – and not conflict. We must decide – collectively – a policy in this matter. We are, of course, bound by the Injunction, <em>although we can act beyond Wyre's borders.</em> But of the three main sects within the Cult of Cheshne, only one is technically subject to the law of the Claviger, and this has yet to be tested in practice.</p><p></p><p>"A friend once described such a conflict as <em>arcanoreligious</em> and I scoffed at the term. I am, however, beginning to think he – now she – was correct. It is fraught with legalistic complexity, which the Injunction must adapt to – although I have no doubt that the Claviger itself can anticipate many of the vagaries. If I am a theurge, and I conjure a demon within Wyre's borders using arcane power, am I subject to the same set of laws as I would be if I used a divinely granted boon to do the same? And we should not doubt that the devotees of Cheshne are both willing and able to do these things. Their vision is apocalyptic, in the extreme.</p><p></p><p>"This rather circuitous speech – and I apologize, Daunton, if I was less <em>succinct</em> than you had hoped, brings me to the main thrust of my argument today: there are mages and hierophants within the Order of Cheshne who wield considerable power. Possibly more than me, even. Their exact names, numbers and dispositions are hidden from us, but there are undoubtedly transvalent casters amongst them. We know only <em>Anumid</em>, who is their mouthpiece, and with whom Daunton was granted a brief audience.</p><p></p><p>"Their veneration of Cheshne is absolute. They regard demons – even demonic nobility – in an entirely different light to those of us exposed to Oronthonian dogma. <em>Ugras</em> – fierce protectors – of ancient methods and teachings. This is their Truth, and who are we to gainsay it?</p><p></p><p>"We cannot hide from this. We must adopt a position – even if it is one of noninvolvement: something, incidentally, which I most emphatically discourage. I am not asking you to submit to my whim in this matter, but I do request that my counsel is acknowledged, if nothing else. Waide distrusts and despises me – and the feeling is entirely mutual. But we have agreed to go to the Claviger for direction in our antipathy for one another, because both of us realize that our personal feelings for one another cannot be allowed to interfere with the larger picture.</p><p></p><p>"My appeal today is complex. First, I ask for help in recovering the <em>web of motes</em>. It is a tool which we can use to great effect – <em>let me finish, Waide</em>. Furthermore – as unlikely as this might seem – I owe it to Mulissu to see her daughter returned safely: I am rather fond of Iua.</p><p></p><p>"Second – and I will preempt cries of 'foul' before they are issued – I believe, for a variety of reasons, that it is within our mutual interest to confine the Demon Prince Graz'zt. He is one of the chief <em>Ugras</em> and we run the risk of him being conjured by our enemies and sent against us. The prize, if we can accomplish this, is <em>Pharamne's Urn</em> – if we can get to it before anyone else. I am in the possession of a transvalent spell bequeathed to me by Jovol which I believe can accomplish this infallibly <em>if I have the unqualified support of the Assembly in this matter.</em> The spell – which is outmoded, and I suspect against which Graz'zt has developed defenses – can be modified. Even a demon of Graz'zt's stature cannot withstand our combined power.</p><p></p><p>"Third, we must develop a coherent strategy to counter the threat from the Cult of Cheshne. We cannot be sidelined in this matter; neither can we allow ourselves to be overcome piecemeal, one-by-one. We must unite to address this danger. This runs counter to a thousand years of tradition, I know, but change is upon us. We live in a new world. We must adapt, or we <em>will</em> be broken. I have considered various possibilities as to how this can be accomplished, and I am willing to discuss them at length when the debate begins."</p><p></p><p>Mostin took another sip of tea – which had gone cold – before continuing, He swallowed reflexively, as if in great doubt.</p><p></p><p>"Word has probably already spread that I am willing to make Shomei's library available to the arcane community. This is so. But, in case any of you have doubts as to my earnestness in regard to the matters of which I have spoken – and my sense of urgency – I would like to go further. I have a well-deserved reputation for miserliness, I know, and this may come as something of a shock. So consider this as a display of enlightened self-interest.</p><p></p><p>"I would like to turn over Shomei's entire estate <em>in perpetuity</em> to the Wizards of Wyre, as the starting point of a collective endeavour. I will donate my own library to the enterprise, and urge you all to do the same. I propose a repository of learning, and a testing ground for intellects as yet undiscovered. An <em>Academy</em>, if you will. We should embrace the Injunction, and display it above our gates as our Law, but also recognize it as our guiding principle. And I should like to nominate Daunton to be elected as our first President."</p><p></p><p>Thirty-one jaws, including that of Rimilin of the Skin, dropped.</p><p></p><p>When Waide had recovered his composure, he smiled bitterly. He knew that Mostin had finally won, and left his indelible mark on history.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>* This story may have to wait for some time.</p><p></p><p>** Saes, the Nireem goddess concerned with death, had allied herself with Graz'zt when the demon invested the plane, seeing an opportunity to augment her own power when the inevitable tide of slaughter followed. She gathered the spirits of all dead things to herself, swelling her strength, and guarded her prizes jealously. When Graz'zt withdrew his main force to defend Azzagrat, Saes sealed the entrance to Ruk, the underworld. Nwm's efforts to use remains he had discovered to <em>reincarnate</em> some of those who had died in the conflict, in order to repopulate Sisperi, were foiled: Saes refused to relinquish their souls.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sepulchrave II, post: 2813870, member: 4303"] The real update is after this one. :confused: Note that inconsistencies referring to eyelids have been removed :p ******* [I]She is magnificent[/I], Nwm observed as the goddess rode down the babau. [I]Drengh[/I] was a bloody blur, flashing red about her head. The Druid was in a state of perfect, dynamic meditation: they had honed their rapport to the point of a wordless, instinctive knowledge of intent, where Nwm had become the agent of her thought. Their quarry were diminishing in numbers: their leaders, and the most war-hardened among them, had been redeployed to another arena – a distant, violent conflict between two old enemies. Those that remained were diminished, and lacking the discipline enforced by the direct agents of Graz'zt's will, they had disintegrated into a violent rabble of clans, ruled by the most ruthless and cunning amongst them. They became easy prey for the bands of godlings and ancestors who rode forth to engage them. Of the Nireem, Ninit had proven the most difficult to relate to. She seemed oblivious to the needs of Mulhuk, and countenanced no argument which conflicted with her desire. She was utterly impervious to reason. Her passion was only to ride, and to hunt. Immediately, Nwm had adored her. He had allowed himself to become subsumed in her, and relinquished himself utterly. An act of devotion inevitable, he wrily observed, when any aspect of [I]Goddess[/I] presented itself to him. But the communion which Ninit provided for Nwm led to a reciprocity which The Rider had not anticipated. She needed him in order to slay more effectively, and now she guarded and protected him. Ninit had grown accustomed to a lack of worship – her cult had been extinct for centuries. Nwm's adoration – when directed towards her – had stirred certain deific [I]needs[/I] which had been suppressed for too long. Ninit craved worship, once again. And the details of Nwm's broader henotheism were irrelevant to the goddess. Nwm's mind reached out, connecting with the soil of Sisperi, and energy coursed through him. A profound agony – familiar and reassuring – fired every nerve in his body. His skin cracked like the bark of an ancient tree and began to bleed, green fire coursed over him, and a necromantic impulse of terrible potency exploded outwards from him in all directions. Demons dropped like flies. In his thoughts, Ninit smiled savagely. As the few remaining monsters winked out, Nwm [I]healed[/I] himself of his self-inflicted trauma and mustered his strength again. [I]You are weary,[/I] Ninit's voice echoed in his mind. [I]Return to Mulhuk.[/I] Nwm bowed. He might have continued, but one did not gainsay The Rider. He would return to Mulhuk, and then make his way to Wyre and his appointed meeting with Ortwine. * When not hunting, Nwm would spend long hours instructing Lai and her handmaidens in the arts he had mastered. His favoured location was a courtyard graced with crystal trees, where a warm sun always shone in the afternoon; demonstration was his preferred method. And the knowledge with which Nehael had imbued him, he eagely disseminated. His role was paradoxical: both mentor and worshipper; teacher and priest. At other times, he and Lai would leave Mulhuk, and walk beneath the trees in the region of Sisperi which had been called Soan, where the Werud – a confederation of tribes who had venerated the Nireem – had once dwelt. The desolation was absolute, as all sapience had been extinguished by the tide of demons which had ravaged the world. One cold morning, not far from where Eadric had slain the babau Uort,* Druid and Goddess had come across the remains of a settlement, its inhabitants driven off or butchered a century before. The stench of death and decay still clung to the place; a pall of Abyssal misery, which might take millennia to clear. Nwm sat upon a moss-covered outcrop – all that remained of an ancient granary. "What of Saes?" He had sighed. "Little can proceed without her." "I have tried. She will not respond. The gate to Ruk is closed. She is mad. Bloated on Death.**" "You must persist. She may, in time, be persuaded," Lai laughed drily. "You do not know her as I do. Another way must be found. But somrthing else has occurred to you." "There may be alternatives," Nwm said carefully. "There are tribes in the North of my world. Some may be willing to undertake the journey here. To begin afresh. But I will not decieve them: demons lurk around every corner, and I suspect Sisperi will never be rid of [I]them[/I] entirely. How would they even understand an entreaty made by you or Rhul? And they would bring their own gods with them, Lai. It might serve only to speed your demise." "A chance I am willing to take." Nwm shrugged. "Others can come, and when they die, Saes will claim them. Trees can be [I]awakened[/I], and when they die, Saes will claim them too. Saes is the key – all other solutions are merely temporary." "If another could be persuaded to go and speak with her. Eadric perhaps?" Nwm shook his head. "It is unlikely. He has discharged his vow, and other matters concern him. And Saes might entrap him: Graz'zt would trade a whole world for the [I]Ahma[/I]. I lack the necessary tact – or guile. No, I think Ortwine might be the answer." Lai's lip curled, and the sky darkened momentarily. "I will return to Afqithan, if I must. But I mistrust her." "And she, you. But her mendacity may be your ally." He smiled grimly, and became serious. "She is no pawn, Lai. If she condescends to aid you, it will be on her terms." "I will send her a [I]dream[/I]. It will be neutral territory." "It might be preferable if I speak to her," Nwm suggested. "We have a bond that endures across four lifetimes, and she knows I will not decieve her." "If you deem it best," the Goddess reluctantly agreed. ** "I would like to extend my gratitude to the Assembly for allowing me to speak," the Alienist began. "My particular thanks to Daunton, for acting as my sponsor in this matter." They had convened at Mostin's – formerly Shomei's – estate outside of Morne: thirty-one mages gathered in an audience hall around a great, oval table, carved from ebony and inlayed with scenes from Irrenite myth. Some sat. Some stood, or leaned on staves. Most were human. Rimilin of the Skin was there: he sat alone, shunned by all others. Even Waide remained silent, aware that an untimely display of sarcasm might earn the ire of many of those present. Mostin – it was rumoured – was about to make some grand philanthropic gesture, and most were concerned that the Alienist was sufficiently eccentric to change his mind for no other reason than mild annoyance. Nothing should jeopardize this improbable event. Mostin's lidless eyes scanned those present as he fondled Mogus, the obscene, fist-sized pseudonatural which lived in a nondimensional space within his tunic. In sympathy, the orbs on his [I]robe of eyes[/I] rotated in a disturbing fashion, fixing first one, and then another of those present. "Mulissu and Shomei are gone," Mostin continued. "Two great lights have left us – to whichever fates they have chosen for themselves. We are diminished. I am left with the burden of being the greatest living Wizard in Wyre, although perhaps not on this plane - something I will come to in due course. Many of you consider me both aloof and deranged, and I will deny neither. I am, however, indisputably, a genius." Waide sighed. Mostin ignored him. "Jovol's legacy remains with us, and if we dwell within the borders of Wyre, we must abide by it. For those of us with the resources – and I count myself fortunate in this regard – the option of continuing our conjurations is open, if we have another base from which to operate. I have erected my [I]portable manse[/I] outside of Wyre's borders in order to facilitate this. This has proven controversial amongst some of you gathered here, as it might be claimed that it circumvents the spirit – if not the letter – of the Second Injunction. I am not alone in this regard, however." Mostin stared pointedly at the Hag Jalael, Rimilin, and Wigdryt – a smoke mephit. "This is a testing time for us," Mostin continued, "but we must not waver in our faith in Jovol's wisdom. His vision was more complete than we can appreciate, and he had access to methods which are now lost to us." A murmur rippled through the gathered mages. Rumour of the [I]web of motes[/I] had been heard by all, although only a few knew of its true significance. "I am about to make several assertions which may, on the surface, appear contradictory or paradoxical. Let me posit a scenario," Mostin sighed. "As one who has experienced the power of the [I]web of motes[/I] first-hand, this is not as improbable as it might sound. Jovol [I]knew[/I] of the explosion of religious power which Tramst – the so-called [I]Sela[/I] – exemplifies. He [I]knew[/I] of an impending conflict with the Cult of Cheshne. Furthermore, he chose death – [I]in violation of his own Injunction[/I] – as a course preferable to allowing a second conjuration of Graz'zt. He knew that a renaissance in Uediian power would act as the best balance on all other concerns. The entity who was Fillein, then Jovol, has self-incarnated again, in the guise of a fey named Teppu." The revelation left all of those present – except for Rimilin – dumbstruck. The brief silence was quickly replaced by thirty chattering voices. Mostin held up his hand, and a gong sounded. "Please allow me to continue," he smirked despite himself. An uneasy silence returned to the room. "There will be time for questions after I have spoken, but there are a number of other issues I would like to address first. "Most importantly, [I]Teppu is not Jovol[/I], at least in any meaningful sense, any more than Jovol was Fillein. I am unsure of the extent to which even his memories are retained. Teppu's agenda is not Jovol's agenda. He is driven by a different set of desires and philosophies, although there is, somehow – perhaps hyperconsciously – a commonality of purpose. This higher purpose is related somehow to Dream, and was partially illuminated by the oblique references that Jovol made to his understanding of the dialectical process. "If we deal with Teppu – and I suspect we must – we should not expect to enjoy any kind of special rapport. Teppu is [I]Green[/I]. His concern is a complex of energies involving feys, nature spirits, the goddess Uedii, and the natural world – something which he refers to as the [I]Viridity[/I]: a burgeoning node of elemental power centered around these principles. The Viridity may be arising as some kind of mediating effect to resolve the polarization of Oronthonian belief and the Cult of Nihilism from Shûth. "Its effect in Afqithan [I]superseded the designs of Oronthon's Adversary[/I]. Accordingly, I have designated it a Greater Infinity. Its relationship with Oronthon himself is unclear, as is the relationship between the two foci – the [I]Sela[/I] on one hand, and Nehael on the other. When I inspected the [I]web of motes[/I] the sympathetic energy between the two was astounding, which leads me to suspect that a higher order of Intelligence is at work – perhaps the same order which drives Teppu, perhaps not. In any event, the final turn of the wheel in Afqithan revealed the Adversary as nothing more than a cog in some transcendental purpose. He had no inkling of the Viridity, and knowledge of it was – or is still – shrouded from him." Waide could no longer contain himself. "Nehael is the succubus who started all this mess in the first place, am I correct?" "Not exactly," Mostin said smugly. "Nehael is no longer what she was. In fact, she may have never been what she formerly was – the Viridity is concerned primarily with the Now, the Moment. As such, what is past, and what is yet to come are in large measure irrelevant. According to that paradigm, all history is vacuous – and mutable." "This is mystical babble," Jalael interjected. "I had expected more from you, Mostin." "Indulge me!" Mostin snapped. "And Waide, kindly allow me to speak without further interruption. I am trying to contextualize my actions, not justify current trends in religious thought." Daunton coughed. "Perhaps you might be a little more succinct, Mostin." "Oh very well," the Alienist grumbled. He inhaled deeply, and thought for a moment. "Let me speak of [I]artifacts[/I]," Mostin clearly enunciated the last word, and was not disappointed by the effect that it had on all of those present. "You have, doubtless, heard rumours regarding the [I]web of motes[/I]. Its whereabouts is currently undetermined: its last known guardian was the demon Surab, who possessed Mulissu's daughter, Iua, and was responsible for the death of the Savant. The [I]web of motes[/I] itself is unlocatable by any means available to me. Surab is [I]mind blanked[/I] by some device. It is of paramount importance that we retrieve this object. There is hope: I have made a [I]metagnostic inquiry[/I] of a Pseudonatural entity named [I]Ghom[/I] which dwells beyond the middle region. I believe that Surab is unaware of the true nature of the [I]web of motes[/I]. I also believe that Iua is still alive – her form, which is young and nubile, may be pleasing to the demon. Surab may be unwilling – or unable – to reenter Azzagrat, and has retreated to the unnamed regions between Hell and the Abyss. "Also, the chthonic demoness Soneillon spoke of something named [I]Pharamne's Urn[/I] – an object of which she claimed ownership, but which had been appropriated by Prince Graz'zt at some point in the past. This item is of Aeonic potency: one in full possession of its powers – something which the Prince of Azzagrat [I]is not[/I] – can [I]create universes[/I]. Naturally, Graz'zt guards it jealously. Queen Soneillon could unlock it to a greater degree although, I suspect, she could not manifest its ultimate power: she was unusual for a demon in her command of ritual magic, something which is antithetical to the Abyssal mindset. She was also unique in many other ways." An ironic smile crossed the Alienist's face. Mostin paused to take a sip of tea, and was mildly surprised – and gratified – to find his audience utterly enrapt. "We are delicately poised," Mostin continued. "Currently, as I am sure even the most politically ignorant of you are aware, the [I]Sela[/I], Oronthon's proxy, is on the field of battle, south of Wyre's borders. Whilst Prince Tagur attempts to rally support for the campaign in secular circles, the Temple – [I]and I trust we all recall that particular monolith[/I] – has effectively reformed, albeit with a more thoughtful perspective and without the stigma attached to the name [I]Temple[/I]. I'll say the name again, for those of you who didn't hear me: [I]Temple[/I]. It is the same band of lance-waving zealots as it was three years ago, and we must trust that Tramst has inculcated some measure of insight and tolerance in those involved. "[I]This war is magical[/I]. The initial skirmishes – which have proven inconclusive – have demonstrated that the [I]Sela[/I] is fallible in this arena. His purview is enlightenment – whatever that means to an Oronthonian – and not conflict. We must decide – collectively – a policy in this matter. We are, of course, bound by the Injunction, [I]although we can act beyond Wyre's borders.[/I] But of the three main sects within the Cult of Cheshne, only one is technically subject to the law of the Claviger, and this has yet to be tested in practice. "A friend once described such a conflict as [I]arcanoreligious[/I] and I scoffed at the term. I am, however, beginning to think he – now she – was correct. It is fraught with legalistic complexity, which the Injunction must adapt to – although I have no doubt that the Claviger itself can anticipate many of the vagaries. If I am a theurge, and I conjure a demon within Wyre's borders using arcane power, am I subject to the same set of laws as I would be if I used a divinely granted boon to do the same? And we should not doubt that the devotees of Cheshne are both willing and able to do these things. Their vision is apocalyptic, in the extreme. "This rather circuitous speech – and I apologize, Daunton, if I was less [I]succinct[/I] than you had hoped, brings me to the main thrust of my argument today: there are mages and hierophants within the Order of Cheshne who wield considerable power. Possibly more than me, even. Their exact names, numbers and dispositions are hidden from us, but there are undoubtedly transvalent casters amongst them. We know only [I]Anumid[/I], who is their mouthpiece, and with whom Daunton was granted a brief audience. "Their veneration of Cheshne is absolute. They regard demons – even demonic nobility – in an entirely different light to those of us exposed to Oronthonian dogma. [I]Ugras[/I] – fierce protectors – of ancient methods and teachings. This is their Truth, and who are we to gainsay it? "We cannot hide from this. We must adopt a position – even if it is one of noninvolvement: something, incidentally, which I most emphatically discourage. I am not asking you to submit to my whim in this matter, but I do request that my counsel is acknowledged, if nothing else. Waide distrusts and despises me – and the feeling is entirely mutual. But we have agreed to go to the Claviger for direction in our antipathy for one another, because both of us realize that our personal feelings for one another cannot be allowed to interfere with the larger picture. "My appeal today is complex. First, I ask for help in recovering the [I]web of motes[/I]. It is a tool which we can use to great effect – [I]let me finish, Waide[/I]. Furthermore – as unlikely as this might seem – I owe it to Mulissu to see her daughter returned safely: I am rather fond of Iua. "Second – and I will preempt cries of 'foul' before they are issued – I believe, for a variety of reasons, that it is within our mutual interest to confine the Demon Prince Graz'zt. He is one of the chief [I]Ugras[/I] and we run the risk of him being conjured by our enemies and sent against us. The prize, if we can accomplish this, is [I]Pharamne's Urn[/I] – if we can get to it before anyone else. I am in the possession of a transvalent spell bequeathed to me by Jovol which I believe can accomplish this infallibly [I]if I have the unqualified support of the Assembly in this matter.[/I] The spell – which is outmoded, and I suspect against which Graz'zt has developed defenses – can be modified. Even a demon of Graz'zt's stature cannot withstand our combined power. "Third, we must develop a coherent strategy to counter the threat from the Cult of Cheshne. We cannot be sidelined in this matter; neither can we allow ourselves to be overcome piecemeal, one-by-one. We must unite to address this danger. This runs counter to a thousand years of tradition, I know, but change is upon us. We live in a new world. We must adapt, or we [I]will[/I] be broken. I have considered various possibilities as to how this can be accomplished, and I am willing to discuss them at length when the debate begins." Mostin took another sip of tea – which had gone cold – before continuing, He swallowed reflexively, as if in great doubt. "Word has probably already spread that I am willing to make Shomei's library available to the arcane community. This is so. But, in case any of you have doubts as to my earnestness in regard to the matters of which I have spoken – and my sense of urgency – I would like to go further. I have a well-deserved reputation for miserliness, I know, and this may come as something of a shock. So consider this as a display of enlightened self-interest. "I would like to turn over Shomei's entire estate [I]in perpetuity[/I] to the Wizards of Wyre, as the starting point of a collective endeavour. I will donate my own library to the enterprise, and urge you all to do the same. I propose a repository of learning, and a testing ground for intellects as yet undiscovered. An [I]Academy[/I], if you will. We should embrace the Injunction, and display it above our gates as our Law, but also recognize it as our guiding principle. And I should like to nominate Daunton to be elected as our first President." Thirty-one jaws, including that of Rimilin of the Skin, dropped. When Waide had recovered his composure, he smiled bitterly. He knew that Mostin had finally won, and left his indelible mark on history. * This story may have to wait for some time. ** Saes, the Nireem goddess concerned with death, had allied herself with Graz'zt when the demon invested the plane, seeing an opportunity to augment her own power when the inevitable tide of slaughter followed. She gathered the spirits of all dead things to herself, swelling her strength, and guarded her prizes jealously. When Graz'zt withdrew his main force to defend Azzagrat, Saes sealed the entrance to Ruk, the underworld. Nwm's efforts to use remains he had discovered to [I]reincarnate[/I] some of those who had died in the conflict, in order to repopulate Sisperi, were foiled: Saes refused to relinquish their souls. ** [/QUOTE]
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