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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Sepulchrave II" data-source="post: 5742982" data-attributes="member: 4303">Midwinter GoddessAfter the fall of Visuit the Butcher, Nwm lingered for a day in Sisperi in order to aid Lai with the resurrections. Mostin removed his tower to eastern Nizkur, attaching it again to his manse – now the home of Orolde and Mei. Rhul and Mesikammi travelled to Afqithan to assess the danger in that realm with Ortwine. Eadric returned with Hlioth, his saints and remaining knights to Galda, there to receive mixed news. Prahar had withdrawn his cavalry – their raids had been punishing for both sides in the conflict – and established a more distant perimeter. Obfuscatory magicks prevented Temple scriers from penetrating the Cheshnite ranks and determining their exact movements, but it was known that the main host was again marching, taking many hours to pass through the gates at Thond."She can be no worse than Visuit.""You should not underestimate Dhatri," Hlioth cautioned. "She is a symbol. An all-consuming mouth and gullet. She has had long to prepare; she must time her momentum precisely. The Pall is more than half expired, and there are too few now amongst the cabals to renew it: many have died; some have moved to new centers of power. But she has had a month to work her necromancy uninterrupted. And a million ravenous undead accompany her. Sheer numbers may prevail.""And when they meet the perimeter established by the scions?" Eadric asked."A test occurs." "Then our lever must be at this point.""We have a brief lacuna," Hlioth advised him. "Use the time wisely."**Mulissu sat in Mostin's – now Orolde's – study, brooding. A fire burned steadily in the hearth, and the smell of musty books and burned toast filled the air. Outside, snow piled heavily against the window, diffusing the afternoon light as it streamed in. The savant had been absorbed in her own thoughts since witnessing the destruction of the city she had sworn to protect. Mostin could not determine whether it was guilt, rage, or some other emotion which consumed her and had caused her fugue."Crumpet?" The Alienist asked, proudly presenting a long fork which displayed an over-charred circle of dough.Mulissu sighed, and took the proffered dainty, scraping off carbon before smothering it with butter and jam. "We need to find a way to eliminate the effluxia," she remarked distractedly. "That would involve finding and confronting," Mostin observed. "I suspect that our energies would be better deployed elsewhere.""I assume that you are speaking of your Ús""I am," Mostin nodded sagely. "I am also of a mind to reengineer the Quiescence to allow for selective teleportations amongst those whom I designate. Furthermore, Daunton informs me that a number of wizards are willing to demonstrate a more unified front in the face of the latest events.""Which?" Mulissu sounded suspicious. "Why this sudden reversal?""The threat is now more imminent. Daunton himself, Hlioth, Jalael, Wigdryt, Gholu, Creq, Droom, Poylu, Troap, Muthollo, Sarpin. Even Waide. Tozinak appears to be sulking, and refuses to answer Daunton's sendings.""And Shomei?""Her path, as always, is her own," Mostin sighed. "But Sho is willing to participate.""And her sibling?""Still awaits her pseudogenesis: as to that, I have given thought to a spell.""What did you have in mind as a basis?"[Mostin]: Look: A_N = \int D\mu \int D[X] \exp \left( -\frac{1}{4\pi\alpha} \int \partial_z X_\mu(z,\overline{z}) \partial_{\overline{z}} X^\mu(z,\overline{z}) \, dz^2 + i \sum_{i=1}^N k_{i \mu} X^\mu (z_i,\overline{z}_i) \right) [Mulissu]: You can reduce it to this: A_N = \int D\mu \prod_{0<i<j<N+1} |z_i-z_j|^{2\alpha k_i.k_j}[Gihaahia]: You are both idiots. Use this: \int_{-\infty}^\infty \exp({a x^4+b x^3+c x^2+d x+f}) \, dx = e^f \sum_{n,m,p=0}^\infty \frac{ b^{4n}}{(4n)!} \frac{c^{2m}}{(2m)!} \frac{d^{4p}}{(4p)!} \frac{ \Gamma(3n+m+p+\frac14) }{a^{3n+m+p+\frac14} }[Mostin]:!! (Gratitude)[Mulissu]: Eleven dimensions works for me. I suppose that's as good a place to start as any.[Gihaahia]: Don't disappoint me, Mostin."What is her involvement in this?" Mulissu asked, confused."I have no idea," Mostin was dubious. "She has never evinced any interest in my work prior to now. Although, she reconfigured Daunton's transvalent repertoire, and bestowed the Instant Convocation on him. Perhaps she will do the same for me?" [Inquiry?]…"Apparently not," Mulissu said drily. "Still, you have something to work with. What will you need?"(Calculation)."You, me, Sho, Orolde…and Mei herself. That is all." Mostin was dumbfounded."Where is Mei?""In the parlour," the Alienist said intensely, his eyes rotating in excitement. "I will inform her immediately. Her time is close…two or three days will be enough.""Can we afford even that much?""Mei has placed her trust in me without question!" Mostin was aghast. "I won't fail her now.""You are an odd one," Mulissu sighed. "I don't believe I'll ever understand you."**The errand-runner was beside himself with terror. Only moments before, archons had apprised Eadric telepathically."Ahma, a messenger from Shomei the Infernal. He purports to be one Yeqon; he styles himself the Fifth Prosecutor."Hlioth scowled. Shomei was making a point. No Goetia so grand as the binding of one such as this had ever before been accomplished. Prosecutors, Antagonists – among the greatest of fiends and the most recondite. Signatories to the pact. Now atavisms, whom Shomei alone possessed the power to conjure and coerce. The Agent of Will had dispatched him as an errand-boy.Oronthon! Eadric swore silently and reflexively upon encountering the devil.Yeqon towered above him, and – saving Hlioth – none others amongst those present might even approach the devil, such was the magnitude of his presence. A fallen seraph, close kin to Enitharmon: vast, dark wings shrouded his form. The Fifth Prosecutor had been brooding in grim obscurity for an aeon, hatching impossible schemes for the renewed assault upon Heaven. A Heaven which might be no more; or one so far removed from thought and knowledge that it might as well no longer be. Yeqon knelt and sat upon his heels, his eyes meeting the Ahma's."What do you want?" Eadric sighed. The Fifth Prosecutor briefly pressed his forehead to the ground at the Ahma's feet."Saizhan," the devil replied.Eadric squinted suspiciously. "Then it is to the Sela you must speak, not I.""In due course," Yeqon's voice was calm and mellifluous. "But what I want and why I am here are two separate questions. My mistress has sent me as an ambassador; she is reconvening the Dark Choir. Bolstering its numbers. She asks that you remember your prior words to her, and that you continue to trust her.""Pah!" Hlioth spat.Eadric raised his hand, and addressed the Prosecutor. "Reconvening? With what? Only Irel remains.""No devil is lost to Shomei the Infernal," Yeqon replied. "But some are more freshly-fallen. Did you not stand with Rintrah above the Blessed Plain?"The Ahma recalled the Migration of Light he had witnessed; that some of the Host, in their haste to enter the burgeoning Viridescence, had crashed in smoking ruin. But to where?"Into the Thickets of the Four Kings," Yeqon read his face precisely. "Nets cast by the Hazel?""Yes," the Fifth Prosecutor answered. "And the Holly."[Hlioth]: Beware this devil, Ahma. Blackthorn may rot and putrefy and eliminate; Hazel dominate and involute; Cherry lust and crave. But, for sheer wickedness, none can match Holly."And which words would Shomei have me remember?" Eadric asked wrily."That you need not miss the opportunity of a good friendship," Yeqon replied."And I assume that some demonstration of my friendship is asked for?""Those arms and armor which you have under guard. Of Visuit the Butcher; Yeshe the Binder; Prince Graz'zt.""She suggests I release these items to her?" The Ahma was incredulous. "Is there even any savage enough to bear Visuit's sword?" "I, for one," the devil said steadily.Eadric scowled. "I would speak with her directly.""She is presently indisposed, but I will convey your request," Yeqon bowed, and departed in a pillar of dark fire."Indisposed?" Eadric turned to Hlioth."Shomei conjures," the Green Witch replied. "Goddess help us all."He issued a mental summons to his steed."Wherever you are going, I can get you there faster," Hlioth observed."I need to ride," Eadric replied.Straddling Narh, he sped away.*As he rode northwards, winter began to assert itself: not merely by virtue of latitude, he noted, but because of distance from the unnatural energies which lay over the whole of the Thalassine and Wyre's southern marches. He reached Hrim Eorth by mid-morning; by noon he had passed Groba and was galloping over frosty fields in Hethio. In the wan sunlight, Nizkur loomed. Narh knew the route well, and required no prompting from Eadric. The forest – although quiescent by season – seemed unusually subdued. With barely a faltering of pace, the stallion ran through webs and thickets impenetrable to those without permission: the Green bulwark which surrounded Qinthei, the Womb of the Goddess. Snow blanketed the ground; the air was frigid. A slender figure stood waiting beneath the Tree. Eadric reined in before her. Nebulous figures – the barely perceptible shades of vanquished foes – moved like mist in some adjacent world, but did not seem to register his presence.Steam rose from Narh's flanks and nostrils; Nehael extended her hand, rubbing the horse's muzzle, tugging at his forelock, and sending him into an ecstasy."I come for counsel," Eadric dismounted and bowed. "Come," she said. "Walk with me."*"The thing which destroyed Fumaril – Kaalaanala's avatar – what has become of it?"Nehael paused and pointed at the frozen earth beneath her feet. "It is below us. A cancer at the heart of the world. It will irrupt again if the goddess at Jashat becomes sufficiently angry.""Mostin said there were others," Eadric grimaced.Nehael nodded. "One rages amid nightmares; another has set itself up in mockery of the Enforcer; the last…may prove the most dangerous.""You offer little reassurance," the Ahma said bleakly. "This last – what can you tell me of it?""It is her," Nehael spoke carefully. "The Fires of Death. Or as close as you will come to encountering her without actually meeting her. She may bring cohesion to the remaining hierophants amongst the Cheshnite sect. She is abroad, but I do not know where, or exactly why. Powerful magic obscures her.""Even from you?""Especially from me.""And there are no limits imposed upon her actions? Why was I led to believe that Kaalaanala was confined; her remit strictly curtailed?""So it is," Nehael scowled. "Or all of Wyre should burn.""Then is it as Nwm asserts? That the Goddess grows dark?""Our mood is various," Nehael observed laconically. "Or had this fact escaped you?""The movement is chaotic. I cannot find purchase," Eadric stopped walking.A long silence followed."What of Soneillon?" Nehael inquired archly. Her gaze penetrated him.Eadric replied with a pointed look. "It is a meeting which I am content to forestall for as long as possible.""I ask because you should expect her. She perceives your Flame, albeit indirectly; she knows how bright it burns. She covets it, or is drawn to it like a moth. And it is Midwinter; the Sun is weakest.""Your words are not comforting. Mostin informs me that she has undergone a 'great rapture.'""Her power is formidable," Nehael said plainly. "She is her own locus: of Dream, Oblivion, Delirium – imbued by the Blackthorn. Trace her passage, Eadric: she has been celestial, infernal, demonic; unbecome, a nightmare; something impossible, now perylene. More infinities collide in her than can be counted. She may be insane – psychotic – by  your standards, but to characterize her as evil would be to reduce her complexity to a single dimension. Although I believe you already know this.""You sound sympathetic.""That would be natural: it is who I am. She is as I, maybe, on a different path. Perhaps we run contraparallel; each anathema to the other. Force cannot overcome her now, unless some sovereign strength is invoked. And it is she who is in possession of the Urn.""Then how would you suggest that I deal with her?" He groaned."Naturally," Nehael laughed, "…naturally. But I see this prospect somehow disturbs you?""She remains my greatest weakness," Eadric acknowledged. "Or one of them.""Maybe less than you are hers. And what of Shomei?""Must you always be so perceptive?""Goddess is manifold," Nehael smiled. "And little escapes my notice. Perhaps you understand Nwm's dilemma a little better.""Shomei makes inquiries in my direction to gauge my disposition.""You sound sympathetic," Nehael remarked drily."I am," Eadric admitted. "Insofar as I trust her; I understand her.""As she was, maybe. But as she is?"Eadric considered. "Shomei is always in process; I think she would reject any static characterization.""I have spoken with her," Nehael's voice was subdued. "She has set herself tasks which are suitably unattainable. My concern is that she may drag the World into ruin in her effort toward self-mastery. Her revelation within the Fane at Morne: what is your reaction to that?""I am unsure," Eadric said apprehensively. "Although I find myself in a state of at least partial agreement with the Irrenite faction, and how they have chosen to interpret it."Nehael raised an inquisitive eyebrow."They are calling it the Third Turning of Saizhan.""The Third?" A look of mild puzzlement crossed the face of the goddess. "Did I miss one?""Skôhsldaúr, the Gate of Demons," Eadric explained. "I am designated as its unfortunate patron and exemplar. And there are enough demons left in the World. Faheth, any advice you have to offer on how to proceed would be appreciated.""You choose now to name me thus?""It is how I would relate to you."Nehael sighed. "Somehow you must impress the notion of compassion upon Shomei. She still conflates it with sentiment; she needs to understand that it is rational.""I was unable when she was mortal; how am I to believe that it will be possible now that she is a devil?""I didn't say it would be easy," Nehael smiled. "I, for one, have met with little success. But, as you have pointed out, she is in process.""And otherwise?""Exercise compassion yourself. You cannot teach what you do not demonstrate."**Nivorn – a rocky peninsula eighty miles long, extending into the sea to the east of the conflict – was attached to Wyre by a broad isthmus and boasted impressive natural defenses. Much of its coast was sheer cliff, pierced by a handful of protected harbors. An encircling row of peaks enclosing a high plateau, cloven by a wide, deep lake comprised Nivorn's interior. Successive Wyrish kings had attempted to annex the foreland; all had met with failure. By their own vows, the lairds were bound in tribute to Morne. In practice, it had not been exacted for generations from most: like the inhabitants of Ardan – to whom they were related – the Nivornese were generally considered intractable, often maniacal, and best left to their own devices. They feuded interminably amongst themselves; vendettas a thousand years old still raged. A previous king, Tulgus – regarded as the greatest of the Gultheins – had established a line of border forts in southern Wyre to prevent major incursions; drunken raids to abduct womenfolk and livestock still occasionally occurred, but were immediately met with fierce punitive strikes. An uneasy truce prevailed.It was upon a densely wooded island within the lake – called Sooile by the natives – that Temenun had elected to establish a stronghold, placing himself under the protection of the Cherry which now grew there.The Tiger’s choice to defy the other immortals – and the Fires of Death herself – was not made lightly. But Temenun was ever his own master; he would not bow now, even to a Bhiti such as Kaalaanala, and throwing himself at the mercy of the Cherry – on the surface a highly risky proposition – was made in full consciousness: whatever dark prolepsis had served the Ak’Chazar for twenty millennia and had prompted him to his action, was the same faculty – the only thing, in fact – that he had come to trust.His Naztharunes, who may have numbered in the dozens or in the thousands, accompanied their overlord without question. A clique of Anantam magi – those most uncomfortable with the current political climate and the direction offered by Anumid – also joined him. His armored legions, for the most part half-giants from Danhaan, the Tiger had left to whatever fate might befall them – such were the vicissitudes of service to an immortal such as Temenun.Only hours after he had established his redoubt – a region of twisted vines and briars, from the center of which the Cherry scion itself emanated invisible lures across the island – news reached the Tiger of Kaalaanala’s fourfold effluxion, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. Here, at least, he was now safe from the Embassy; the last, most potent, most deadly of the avatars. The one which might force him to do the bidding of the Fires of Death. The others – even Idyam – would necessarily capitulate to whatever demands were imposed upon them.Thoughts of Void, of Tamasah – the final darkness – he allowed to slip from his mind. Nothing was so pressing; or rather, Nothing now seemed less pressing. The poisoned fruits which grew nearby – familiar fruits, from beyond the southern deserts – were a source of comfort to him. And, finally, it was warm.Temenun relaxed. Throile was but a footstep away. Perhaps he would pay a visit: the jungles there held many secrets. And Soneillon’s cabal – now that their mistress had abandoned them – might prove amenable if offered sufficient inducements.** It was dark when Eadric returned to Galda. Wearily, he dismounted and gave an ironic smile: Narh was tireless, and despite having been ridden hard for six hundred miles that day, the steed seemed fresh as though led from a month's pasturing. He realized that he himself had had no real rest for weeks – since long prior to his own reincarnation. Eadric unharnessed the stallion, bade him run free until dawn, and trudged through the camp on foot, his saddle cast over his shoulder. Bestowing nodding blessings upon sentries as he went, and a glare in the direction of rowdy Ardanese mercenaries celebrating the winter Tagamuos, he made his way to his pavillion.He pulled the heavy fur drape closed across the opening to the tent, and illumination was dimmed; canvas filtered the light of campfires to a dull, flickering glow. Eadric unbuckled Lukarn, set his shield upon its stand, threw off begrimed armor, and sat for an hour in saizhan before entering the Fultum meditation: a steadfastness in the face of all doubt, and a protection against forces – or impulses – which might otherwise assail him. He lit a narrow taper and placed it on a simple altar with a winter garland, and offered prayers to the Eleos: for the protection of the souls around him; for the safe passage of those lost at Fumaril; for mercy upon those within the orbit of the scion at Deorham; for the succour of his servants and those within his own household. Finally, he arose, extinguished the light, and cast himself, exhausted, onto his pallet. As visions and half-remembered ideas played across his consciousness, for a fleeting moment, the recollection of an insight which had been instrumental in shaping his understanding of the World.Immediately, the familiar scent of lotus and sandalwood as lips and hair brushed his cheek; a soft body pressed eagerly against him. An oval face. Eyes, like pits of ravenous darkness. Power, as he had never before sensed. Somehow, Eadric wondered whether he had himself, in fact, invoked her."This tack will not be effective," he said plainly. "May I stay?" Her whisper conveyed urgent need. "I am in no mood to argue, Soneillon. I am tired. Let me sleep."Fingernails briefly threatened to become talons – or something far worse – and then relaxed."As you wish, Ahma." Her eyelids closed; a fuliginous wing cracked open and encompassed him, settling over him like a blanket."Your egregiousness would seem undiminished," Eadric sighed. "Although I see you are not otherwise as you were. What do you hope to achieve by this? Do you really expect me to trust any façade which you present to me? That I can say with surety that you have not previously placed a spell on me? Perhaps I'm now to believe that I am the last thread of sanity to which you cling?"But the demoness was silent; she was already enmeshed in some chthonic nightmare. Or do not. Again, as always, her passivity – her apparent vulnerability – confounded him. In the dim light he studied her, touching her neck and shoulders uncertainly and tracing brutal scars: the legacy of wounds bestowed by his own hand. After so long, were they real, or an artifice? Was she? Did it matter? And what reason did he actually have to doubt her? Had she ever been anything other than entirely honest with him? No, he was obliged to concede. Saizha, Ahma? One must encounter the Void on its own terms.She stirred uneasily.He closed his eyes, and slept.*</blockquote>

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