Defenders of Daybreak, The Early Years.
Sialia
First Post
The Passage
of the
White Swallow
Dylrath sat alone.
He’d been alone for a couple of weeks now, more alone than he had been for years. Since the disastrous day of the Defense, it had been pretty lonely. But today was worse.
He stared at his friend Kelsey’s body, waiting, watching for any indication that breath was still flowing in and out of it. He was so still. Kelsey’s body wasn’t the first body he had seen die--far from it--but he’d never been so uncertain about the actual moment of death. Had it happened already? Was it about to? He laid his hand on Kelsey’s chest to feel for a heartbeat. Impossible to tell.
The body was cooling, the fever broken at last. Broken.
Imbindarla’s fall had broken so many things.
The plague that swept across the city--probably across the whole world--left a lot of broken things behind. Families among other things. But Dylrath couldn’t go get Kelsey’s family. Couldn’t even tell Cadrienne about her foster son’s passing. Oblivious on the other side of the world in Daybreak, she wouldn’t arrive in time to heal him, or bury him.
The fall of the goddess of undeath had broken all the magic in the world. Not for long--an eternity of several minutes--but long enough. Dylrath’s contact with the mirror Htarlyd was broken.
And without Htarlyd, his flippant travel anywhere at will was over. It was as though in addition to having lost half of his soul, he had also lost both legs. And his eyes. And his voice.
And that was bad enough before he had started losing his lunch as well, here in this wretched boat. Now he was losing his best friend, and there was nothing, nothing at all to be done.
He still had the key. He could use it to reactivate the link, begin again, just as he had at the beginning.
If he had any idea where Htarlyd was.
Or if it still existed.
He didn’t know whether to rejoice or despair that he had been outside the mirror room when Imbindarla fell. The room was poised at the junction of the planes of smoke, magma and fire. Besides Htarlyd, there were three standing gates to those planes in that room. When the magic that controlled them went away, what had happened? Had they closed? Opened? Dylrath imagined, not for the first time, what it would have been like to stand on his father’s beautiful parquet flooring and watch those planes consume the 147 leather-bound, handwritten volumes of his thesis and census of Oursk, and the floor-to-ceiling black walnut bookshelves they sat on. And little volume 148, still snugly tucked in his vest pocket. He imagined that part frequently.
He didn’t know whether that improbable room still stood, after the magics that held it in existence vanished. Was it burned back to its original bare stone foundations, or simply gone forever? Without Htarlyd, there was no way to get there to find out.
The mirror must have forgotten Dylrath during the Time of no magic, if, indeed, it had survived at all. He had called and called. There had been no answer.
Dylrath had been in the middle of the Defense of his Thesis when it had happened. Well, not the middle, as such. More like the part just before that. Before he’d had a chance to open his mouth, really.
It wasn’t just that the universe had a cruel sense of humor. A guy who flouts the Divination Faculty by writing a thesis that turns their world upside down really ought to expect this sort of thing. Scheduling stuff the old fogies are pretty damn good at.
Several of Dylrath’s classmates had cheerily predicted that Dylrath was going to fail abysmally, but Dylrath had replied that he didn’t believe prognostications were ever immutable. There was always some kind of loophole, and his life’s work was all about loopholes. That had started a betting pool of some serious proportions.
Of course, Dylrath suspected something was up when the faculty insisted that instead of a private review in front of his thesis committee, he would have to present his project before the full faculty and students. It was unheard of, but there it was. The serving staff not required to be present had been given the day off as a holiday, and no one needed to be a professional gossip to find out that most of them were planning on spending their leisure day attending what they hoped would be the entertainment of the season. But knowing the faculty was up to no good was part of the test itself. A Diviner who can’t tell when something bad is in the wind and do some risk analysis is no Diviner. In this respect, Dylrath had failed utterly. There was no way he could possibly have prepared for what came.
The students showed up with snacks, and settled in for a good time. Whether Dylrath passed or failed, everyone was sure it was going to be spectacularly amusing to watch him try. Dylrath’s excuses were almost as famous as his practical jokes and pratfalls, and they were sure that the closer he got to failing, the more likely he was to try to pull off something special. There were notably few people in the audience who knew how seriously he took his thesis and were prepared to actually listen to him talk about it.
The Defense room was packed like a barrel of herring. Once the crowd got settled in, it smelled like one, too. It was not designed for large crowds. It was designed for students to demonstrate highly unpredictable experimental magics in. It was warded in every conceivable way, windowless, and built of good solid dwarven construction that could withstand a siege. Fortunately.
Professor Kaspe got up to explain the protocol of the Defense. Dylrath remembered being anxious and eager, and then bored. The professor droned on and on and on. It seemed as though he would never finish describing the test and actually administer it. Then, at last, he called Dylrath forward to the podium to introduce him to the crowd. Which was odd, because everyone in the room knew him well already. Dylrath was embarrassed at the litany of his deeds, as no doubt he was intended to be, even though the Professor kept mostly to things he was reasonably proud of having done, and the crowd cheered and laughed at appropriate places. The Professor kept a vise-like grip on Dylrath’s shoulder the entire time.
And then, before Dylrath ever got a chance to speak, Imbindarla had fallen.
And so had most of the University.
In the time of no magic, ancient architecture that had been shored up by mending spells for generations had simply given way. Dorms, kitchens, halls, laboratories--all had crumbled of their own decay or been crushed by their falling neighbors.
The Defense Room alone stood. No one was hurt.
It took some little while for Professor Kaspe to convince the assembly that the catastrophe was not, in fact, Dylrath’s fault. He apologized on behalf of the faculty for arranging the small bit of misdirection at Dylrath’s expense that had rescued the University’s entire population. He explained that he, using traditional divination, had been able to read the portents of the week previous and thus been able to predict the cataclysmic moment, despite not having been able to determine the precise nature of the cataclysm. He congratulated himself on his foresight in gathering them all in the one safe place available, and offered to dismiss everyone.
Everyone cheered at being saved, and then booed at the thought of not actually getting to hear the promised entertainment.
Feeling desperate that his moment was slipping away, his one chance to show the world something new, the day he had worked so hard for for so long, Dylrath had grandly volunteered to proceed despite the circumstances. As they had rehearsed a thousand times, he called dramatically for Htarlyd to open so that he could begin.
And there had been no reply.
There had been no reply ever since.
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BSF
Explorer
Oh my. So we get to see the rest of the world unfold through Dylrath? Well, at least parts of it.
And now I think I begin to see where those pictures you posted a year ago came from. I think I am going to feel very sad reading the entirety of this tale, aren't i?
Still, I think it will be a _very_ good read.
And now I think I begin to see where those pictures you posted a year ago came from. I think I am going to feel very sad reading the entirety of this tale, aren't i?
Still, I think it will be a _very_ good read.
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Cool, I'd forgotten that you were waiting for the White Kingdom story to finish up before you posted more. Really looking forward to this.
GW
GW
Sialia
First Post
Despite the rest of the world’s preoccupation with the other disasters that accompanied Imbindarla’s fall, such as the plague, Dylrath’s own personal disaster overwhelmed any interest he might have had in these interesting times.
Word got around.
His pal Kelsey had come to take him sailing for a few weeks to get his mind off it. Kelsey was the navigator of a fine merchant ship, The White Swallow, and the crew all knew Dylrath. Dylrath had often popped in to visit Kelsey, and liven their weeks at sea with fresh supplies and entertainments. They were all glad of a chance to help him through a tough spot with a change of scenery and some fresh sea air. Also, getting well out to sea seemed a sensible idea, what with so much festering, aching and puking going on ashore. The farther out they were, they reasoned, the less chance they’d catch it.
And then the plague had hit the ship anyway, too far from anywhere for Dylrath to find them a cleric without Htarlyd’s help. With aching limbs, they had tried to man the ship and return home, but too many were weak and dizzy with fever, falling from the rigging to die quicker deaths. Dylrath had done what he could, but he was neither sailor nor cleric. After a while there had been little to do but comfort the dying.
Dylrath knew he was infected with the plague, too, but his experiences had made him stronger than most men. He ached and vomited, and his skin had taken on the gray, splotched pallor of the stricken, but it would take a whole lot of killing to finish him. The final fever and suffocating paralysis had not gripped him yet. He knew what it would look like. He had watched it consume so many of others.
Kelsey had been one of the last to succumb.
Dylrath laid his head on Kelsey’s chest to listen. Yes? No? The boat was quiet apart from the noises of wind and ocean working on drifting wood.
No moans trickled through from above anymore, not a footfall or creaking floorboard. But if there was a heartbeat, it was too quiet to hear over the throbbing in his own temples. Kelsey’s breath had been too shallow to hear for several minutes, but sometimes it almost seemed there was still movement in him--perhaps nothing more than the motion of the ship drifting aimlessly in a calm and empty sea.
Word got around.
His pal Kelsey had come to take him sailing for a few weeks to get his mind off it. Kelsey was the navigator of a fine merchant ship, The White Swallow, and the crew all knew Dylrath. Dylrath had often popped in to visit Kelsey, and liven their weeks at sea with fresh supplies and entertainments. They were all glad of a chance to help him through a tough spot with a change of scenery and some fresh sea air. Also, getting well out to sea seemed a sensible idea, what with so much festering, aching and puking going on ashore. The farther out they were, they reasoned, the less chance they’d catch it.
And then the plague had hit the ship anyway, too far from anywhere for Dylrath to find them a cleric without Htarlyd’s help. With aching limbs, they had tried to man the ship and return home, but too many were weak and dizzy with fever, falling from the rigging to die quicker deaths. Dylrath had done what he could, but he was neither sailor nor cleric. After a while there had been little to do but comfort the dying.
Dylrath knew he was infected with the plague, too, but his experiences had made him stronger than most men. He ached and vomited, and his skin had taken on the gray, splotched pallor of the stricken, but it would take a whole lot of killing to finish him. The final fever and suffocating paralysis had not gripped him yet. He knew what it would look like. He had watched it consume so many of others.
Kelsey had been one of the last to succumb.
Dylrath laid his head on Kelsey’s chest to listen. Yes? No? The boat was quiet apart from the noises of wind and ocean working on drifting wood.
No moans trickled through from above anymore, not a footfall or creaking floorboard. But if there was a heartbeat, it was too quiet to hear over the throbbing in his own temples. Kelsey’s breath had been too shallow to hear for several minutes, but sometimes it almost seemed there was still movement in him--perhaps nothing more than the motion of the ship drifting aimlessly in a calm and empty sea.
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Sollir Furryfoot
Explorer
*cheer*, an update!
I must admit I had forgotten about just how interesting Dylrath's own tale was, and with this turn of events things grow even more complicated. There's snobby diviners and apocalyptic-type signs, what's not to like?
This is an excellent read Sialia, thanks!
I must admit I had forgotten about just how interesting Dylrath's own tale was, and with this turn of events things grow even more complicated. There's snobby diviners and apocalyptic-type signs, what's not to like?
This is an excellent read Sialia, thanks!
Sialia
First Post
I am alone in the midst of a vast ocean, he thought. The Defenders are in the Underdark. My parents are in Gaunt. And I do not know if any of them are alive. I have no way to find out. Not even the Outgrabe knows where I am.
The Outgrabe was still missing with Teliaz. It had been gone for weeks. “Never Loan Anything to Anyone With an Immortal’s Sense of Time,” he added to his list of Good Tips to Remember.
He felt empty.
Hungry, actually, he realized.
Really, really hungry. And thirsty.
He wondered how long he had been sitting here watching Kelsey die. He’d grown used to the queasy plague feeling, but now he felt queasy and hungry at the same time, as if not eating were going to make him sick-up.
He dug through Kelsey’s ration box for some biscuits, but could not bring himself to eat them. What he wanted, he realized, was a steak. A good, rare steak, and a glass of red wine. Maybe a bottle.
Off the top of his head, Dylrath knew a dozen or more good seafood restaurants right in Oursk, but none that really knew how to prepare a steak. Steak wasn’t something Oursk excelled in. If Htarlyd were here, he could have gone anywhere in the world to find just the right place. A really good, really pink all the way through steak. Not one of those tough, leathery, overcooked jobs, but one that was truly “bleu,” as they say, really almost still cold and purple at the middle. Juicy, dripping. If only Htarlyd were here to take him from this forsaken crypt of a ship, he would walk into the finest butcher in Sigil and demand a steak so rare it had hardly breathed its last breath yet . . . Dylrath realized, with a certain sense of elation, that he was being watched, and by a very familiar person. Himself.
He lifted his head and peered hopefully around the room. Nothing? Surely, just for a moment there, he had felt the familiar tingle of being watched by the mirror of his own soul?
But no, nothing there. And yet, still, that familiar tingle, that sense of being watched that was Dylrath’s gift. And the soul watching him was so very like his own . . . he was sure of it. Perhaps, if Htarlyd were watching him, then it had found it’s way back at last? Perhaps it would open if he called again. One more time. Right after he got something to eat--and drink--definitely something to drink--he’d have another go at it. Maybe at last he would be whole again, and free. And not alone anymore, not ever again.
Yeah, that. Or maybe the standard plague hallucinations were arriving at last.
And then, a coalescence of vapor--mist--no, smoke--a roiling cloud of pale gray smoke spilled in to the room, from the very center of the room. A dim glow appeared in the middle of the smoke, and then a ring of red-violet pin-points of light, staring like eyes. Eyes hovering below a pale disk, white as the moon.
“Outgrabe?” Dylrath whispered hesitantly. It didn’t look exactly like the Outgrabe, but the soul looking at him from its glowing eyes was the spitting image of his own. “Is that you?”
“Can you doubt it? The new look is definitely me. Love it?” It spun around to show off its new splendor. No longer a wooden disk, the whole Outgrabe now seemed to be made out of bone. The wooden inlay of flames were gone, replaced by ivory inlay of . . . snakes? worms?
“Intestines!” it announced cheerfully. “Cool, eh? I’ve been upgraded again. Look what I can do.” It practiced flaring and dimming its glowing eyes a few times, fading slowly in and out of visibility with varying amounts and shades of smoke.
“I . . . see,” Dylrath managed. “A week. I loan you out for a week and . . .”
“Hey, it’s not every Outgrabe gets a chance at ascending. I had to take the opportunity when it came up.” It paused to reflect on that thought. “Actually,” it qualified, “since I’m unique, every Outgrabe did, but that’s beside the point. I’m not your hobby anymore,” it added proudly. “I’m Divine Regalia now.”
“You’re what?” said Dylrath. He blinked a few times, processing that. “You mean, Teliaz ascended--he did it? He actually did it? And you were with him when he went?”
“Yup!” it said, with contagious enthusiasm.
Dylrath’s elation flattened itself with a terrible sinking feeling. “He’s . . . not the new god of adventurers, is he?”
“Nope!”
A terrible sureness settled into Dylrath with a coldness that brought his feverish body to shivering again. “He’s the new god of undeath, isn’t he?”
“Yup!”
“But . . . you were supposed to keep him out of trouble!”
“I did,” the Outgrabe insisted indignantly. “Halcyon never got near him.”
“Who?”
“And you would not believe the speed record we broke getting to the Defenders. Voooom. You should have heard the clang when we hit their tower. We were a hurricane.”
“And . . . and . . . they . . . the Defenders . . . they let him go for the whole undead thing?”
“Yup!”
“And Malachite was ok with this?”
“It was practically his idea. It was either Teliaz or a whole lot of choices they liked less. Most of them liked less. But Stone Bear won’t barehand Teliaz again anytime soon. Hah. Serves him right.”
“Who? You took him to our Defenders, right?”
“Yah, yah. And then Tao kicked him through a gate. Those Defenders, right?”
That sounded about right.
“We caught up with ‘em a few days later in Nacreous,” the Outgrabe added. “Oh, and here’s a tip I picked up you might want to add to your list: ‘Never Say “Bite Me,” to Evil Godlings,’ ok? Bad Idea. Even if you can make a horrific fireball. Fireballs aren’t necessarily fatal to god wanna-bes, ‘k?”
“What?”
“But it did make it a lot easier for Teliaz to finish the job, so if you bump into Nol while you’re planewalking, give him our thanks.”
“Planewalking?” Dylrath squeaked, trying to get a grasp on what he thought he was hearing. “Where?”
“No idea. Never heard him invoke anybody. No idea who’s got ‘im.”
Dylrath didn’t know whether to believe the Outgrabe or not, or just what he was supposed to be believing. “If you had a head, I’d bang it upside down on the pavement.”
“If you were a girl, I’d look up your skirts while you were doing it.”
“You deserve to spend eternity as Teliaz’s footstool.”
“I certainly hope so,” it crowed.
The Outgrabe was still missing with Teliaz. It had been gone for weeks. “Never Loan Anything to Anyone With an Immortal’s Sense of Time,” he added to his list of Good Tips to Remember.
He felt empty.
Hungry, actually, he realized.
Really, really hungry. And thirsty.
He wondered how long he had been sitting here watching Kelsey die. He’d grown used to the queasy plague feeling, but now he felt queasy and hungry at the same time, as if not eating were going to make him sick-up.
He dug through Kelsey’s ration box for some biscuits, but could not bring himself to eat them. What he wanted, he realized, was a steak. A good, rare steak, and a glass of red wine. Maybe a bottle.
Off the top of his head, Dylrath knew a dozen or more good seafood restaurants right in Oursk, but none that really knew how to prepare a steak. Steak wasn’t something Oursk excelled in. If Htarlyd were here, he could have gone anywhere in the world to find just the right place. A really good, really pink all the way through steak. Not one of those tough, leathery, overcooked jobs, but one that was truly “bleu,” as they say, really almost still cold and purple at the middle. Juicy, dripping. If only Htarlyd were here to take him from this forsaken crypt of a ship, he would walk into the finest butcher in Sigil and demand a steak so rare it had hardly breathed its last breath yet . . . Dylrath realized, with a certain sense of elation, that he was being watched, and by a very familiar person. Himself.
He lifted his head and peered hopefully around the room. Nothing? Surely, just for a moment there, he had felt the familiar tingle of being watched by the mirror of his own soul?
But no, nothing there. And yet, still, that familiar tingle, that sense of being watched that was Dylrath’s gift. And the soul watching him was so very like his own . . . he was sure of it. Perhaps, if Htarlyd were watching him, then it had found it’s way back at last? Perhaps it would open if he called again. One more time. Right after he got something to eat--and drink--definitely something to drink--he’d have another go at it. Maybe at last he would be whole again, and free. And not alone anymore, not ever again.
Yeah, that. Or maybe the standard plague hallucinations were arriving at last.
And then, a coalescence of vapor--mist--no, smoke--a roiling cloud of pale gray smoke spilled in to the room, from the very center of the room. A dim glow appeared in the middle of the smoke, and then a ring of red-violet pin-points of light, staring like eyes. Eyes hovering below a pale disk, white as the moon.
“Outgrabe?” Dylrath whispered hesitantly. It didn’t look exactly like the Outgrabe, but the soul looking at him from its glowing eyes was the spitting image of his own. “Is that you?”
“Can you doubt it? The new look is definitely me. Love it?” It spun around to show off its new splendor. No longer a wooden disk, the whole Outgrabe now seemed to be made out of bone. The wooden inlay of flames were gone, replaced by ivory inlay of . . . snakes? worms?
“Intestines!” it announced cheerfully. “Cool, eh? I’ve been upgraded again. Look what I can do.” It practiced flaring and dimming its glowing eyes a few times, fading slowly in and out of visibility with varying amounts and shades of smoke.
“I . . . see,” Dylrath managed. “A week. I loan you out for a week and . . .”
“Hey, it’s not every Outgrabe gets a chance at ascending. I had to take the opportunity when it came up.” It paused to reflect on that thought. “Actually,” it qualified, “since I’m unique, every Outgrabe did, but that’s beside the point. I’m not your hobby anymore,” it added proudly. “I’m Divine Regalia now.”
“You’re what?” said Dylrath. He blinked a few times, processing that. “You mean, Teliaz ascended--he did it? He actually did it? And you were with him when he went?”
“Yup!” it said, with contagious enthusiasm.
Dylrath’s elation flattened itself with a terrible sinking feeling. “He’s . . . not the new god of adventurers, is he?”
“Nope!”
A terrible sureness settled into Dylrath with a coldness that brought his feverish body to shivering again. “He’s the new god of undeath, isn’t he?”
“Yup!”
“But . . . you were supposed to keep him out of trouble!”
“I did,” the Outgrabe insisted indignantly. “Halcyon never got near him.”
“Who?”
“And you would not believe the speed record we broke getting to the Defenders. Voooom. You should have heard the clang when we hit their tower. We were a hurricane.”
“And . . . and . . . they . . . the Defenders . . . they let him go for the whole undead thing?”
“Yup!”
“And Malachite was ok with this?”
“It was practically his idea. It was either Teliaz or a whole lot of choices they liked less. Most of them liked less. But Stone Bear won’t barehand Teliaz again anytime soon. Hah. Serves him right.”
“Who? You took him to our Defenders, right?”
“Yah, yah. And then Tao kicked him through a gate. Those Defenders, right?”
That sounded about right.
“We caught up with ‘em a few days later in Nacreous,” the Outgrabe added. “Oh, and here’s a tip I picked up you might want to add to your list: ‘Never Say “Bite Me,” to Evil Godlings,’ ok? Bad Idea. Even if you can make a horrific fireball. Fireballs aren’t necessarily fatal to god wanna-bes, ‘k?”
“What?”
“But it did make it a lot easier for Teliaz to finish the job, so if you bump into Nol while you’re planewalking, give him our thanks.”
“Planewalking?” Dylrath squeaked, trying to get a grasp on what he thought he was hearing. “Where?”
“No idea. Never heard him invoke anybody. No idea who’s got ‘im.”
Dylrath didn’t know whether to believe the Outgrabe or not, or just what he was supposed to be believing. “If you had a head, I’d bang it upside down on the pavement.”
“If you were a girl, I’d look up your skirts while you were doing it.”
“You deserve to spend eternity as Teliaz’s footstool.”
“I certainly hope so,” it crowed.
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![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
the Jester
Legend
I really like this thread. 
Thanks, Sialia!
Thanks, Sialia!
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