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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1029929" data-attributes="member: 141">Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-15-2003An Untitled UpdateEadric stood next to Sercion upon the roof of the Temple in the warm autumn sun, and gazed out across Morne. Much of the damage caused to a thousand private residences in the wake of the wave of hate had been repaired, although, in places, clusters of blackened buildings remained. Industrious craftsmen still busied themselves with numerous minor projects, and from sunrise until dusk the tap-tapping of stone hammers, and the rasp of saws echoed across the city. The scaffolding which surrounded the Fane itself, however, was silent and abandoned – no mason or carpenter had worked there for two weeks. The Temple coffers were empty. Many of Wyre’s aristocrats – appalled at the fact that the new Primate had distributed huge quantities of gold to Uediian peasants – had ceased to pay the now-voluntary tax. Promissory notes issued some months before had been delayed by church bureaucrats to such an extent that most of the guilds in Morne now refused to deal with the Temple at all.Eadric scowled. “What is the debt, Sercion?”The Templar grimaced. “Around two hundred thousand crowns, Ahma. Or so I am told.”“I will honour it,” Eadric sighed. “Good,” the Sela said, ascending onto the roof behind them.Eadric bowed.“For long term sponsorship, we need to look to Sihu and Tagur to set the example,” Sercion said. “Unfortunately, they are still paying for the war. Wars are expensive.”“There needs to be a coherent financial strategy,” the Sela remarked wrily. “Alas, Oronthon chose one with no expertise in this area to be his representative – hence I depend upon a staff who are more competent in these matters than I.”“The Temple estates are vast,” Eadric pointed out.“But undergoing a sweeping monasticization,” Sercion added. “Negotiating their relationship with the secular order will be a huge challenge. Foide and Skilla are already grumbling about the tax differentials.”“I confess that I am somewhat behind the times,” Eadric said. “How is your relationship with Skadding?” Sercion asked.Eadric looked confused.“Will you be attending the investiture, Ahma?” The Templar continued.“He will be sworn in as Duke of Trempa in ten days,” the Sela explained. He seemed rather amused.Eadric sighed, and shrugged. This was news to him. The mundane affairs of Wyre – even those which concerned him directly – seemed a world away.Tramst gestured for Eadric to follow him. “Come. We need to talk.”*The Sela – whose demeanour that particular morning, Eadric noted, seemed more mortal than divine – opened a small cabinet, retrieved a bottle of amygdala, and gestured for Eadric to sit in a wooden chair with a worn leather cushion. The reception room – once sumptuously furnished during Cynric’s tenure as Archbishop – was now bright, airy and spartan. Eadric smiled. The Sela had, after all, achieved his perfection in the company of Urgic Mystics in Ardan, renowned for their austerity and modesty.“How is Titivilus?” The Sela asked ironically, handing Eadric a carved wooden goblet filled with the almond liqueur.“He is enigmatic and confusing,” Eadric replied. “And Soneillon?”“Doubly so. I have yet to comprehend her place in the scheme of things.”“It will doubtless become clear in due course,” Tramst said opaquely.“I should like to voice my concerns, and ask some questions, if I might,” Eadric ventured.“Try to avoid metaphysics,” the Sela smiled.“I will address them tangentially, if at all,” Eadric replied. “Pharamne’s Urn…” Eadric began.The Sela groaned.“I am not about to ask questions regarding the ‘truth’ in what was previously considered heretical doctrine, nor am I about to inquire regarding the properties of this thing. But if such an object were to exist – is there any reason that I should not allow it to fall into the hands of the Demoness. Actually, I do not seek an answer to that question either, Sela, I merely wish to impress upon you that it is something which currently preoccupies me.”“As it should,” Tramst agreed.“There is also the question of those I number my allies: A demon queen – or possibly two, if I include Rhyxali – and a variety of umbral fiendish feys and their cohorts. Not to mention Mostin and Shomei, who have dubious connections, to say the least.”“And Nwm?” The Sela inquired.Eadric laughed. “Once, I considered my friendship with Nwm to be scandalous. Others felt that it compromised my faith. These days, we argue little – our philosophical differences are relatively minor compared to the others with whom I deal.” “What is your relationship to me, Eadric?” Tramst asked unexpectedly.“I do not understand…”“I mean, do you regard me as your confessor? As your teacher? The absolute spiritual authority whom you follow? Your Archbishop? Or do you regard yourself as my equal in some ways?”Eadric looked horrified. “You are the Sela. You are…”Tramst held up his hand. “Yes, yes. The Infinite Perception of God. No value judgement is implied in the question, Ahma. What is your function? What is the purpose of the Ahma?”“To pave the way for you.”“Well, now I am here. You remain the Ahma, however. What is your purpose now?”“I think I am still defining it,” Eadric answered carefully.“I once asked you if vengeance and retribution were within your purview. Have you come to a conclusion yet?”“To define my rôle purely in those terms makes me somewhat uncomfortable.”“I said nothing about vengeance and retribution being exclusive qualities. They do not preclude mercy, for instance. But the question remains: is this now the primary purpose of the Ahma? Is this why he wages war on Graz’zt?”Eadric shook his head. “I would bring aid to Nehael. None other will come.”“For mercy or love then? Perhaps you resent the fact that Enitharmon has not ordered a host to descend into Azzagrat?”“I do not resent it – who am I to dictate action to the Celestial Marshal?” Eadric sighed. “Although, sometimes, I regret it,” he added ruefully.“But if Oronthon were to appoint a powerful representative in order to expedite Nehael’s release, and to bring justice to Graz’zt, you would deem it appropriate?”“Yes, I would.”“Despite the fact that she turned her back upon Rintrah when he extended Oronthon’s grace to her?”“Perhaps because of it,” Eadric answered. “She seeks a higher perspective.”“Maybe Rintrah was sent to tempt her,” the Sela said, smiling. “To offer her an easy way out.”“That is a peculiar inversion of conventional truth.”“The fact that it can be inverted is the quality which defines it as conventional, Eadric. And perhaps Enitharmon cannot act, because he relates to that aspect of Oronthon which is conventional, bounded and finite. It is not within his remit.”“That is unfortunate for Nehael,” Eadric said grimly.“I don’t see why. Oronthon has merely opted to use a more unconventional tool.”Eadric looked confused.The Sela sighed. “You, Ahma, you. Whilst your humility is an endearing trait, sometimes it can be painfully difficult to make you understand your own importance. You are a liminal entity, Eadric. You relate to facets of reality which have no place within the beliefs of Orthodoxy, or the understanding of celestials. This is why the acceptance of  self-determination is most important to you –  perhaps Cynric himself foresaw this. After all, whatever you do, it is the Will of Oronthon.”“But I can still Fall.”“Oh yes,” Tramst nodded. “And harder, faster and with more brilliance than any have done for a long while. Do not make the mistake of thinking that you have transcended the paradox, or even that the paradox can be transcended.”“You give most conflicting lessons, Sela.”“Thank-you,” Tramst said. “I have another question,” Eadric said, averting his eyes. “It is somewhat presumptuous. You may feel the need to chastise me for asking it.”The Sela smiled. “This should be interesting.”“It regards your nature – both finite and unbounded. I recognize that this is a necessary dialectic for the transmission of saizhan: you cannot be purely Man or purely God.”“I had not perceived it in those terms. It is an interesting speculation. You are also trespassing dangerously near the province of metaphysics, now.”“Sometimes, you appear as more mortal than divine to me. At others, you are the Godhead manifest. Is this merely a reflection of my understanding, or does it have a basis outside of my own experience?”“Is there a difference?” Tramst asked.The Ahma nodded. Saizho. The capacity for the human mind to perceive is also something which I frequently meditate upon. I refer to Mostin’s plans…“You are concerned that his expanded awareness may be dangerous?”“Yes,” Eadric replied. “Especially with regard to the web of motes. The idea that he can acquire as much prescience as that offers. And Shomei…”“Do not concern yourself with Shomei. She has a healthier perspective than Mostin, although she will soon be confronted with an enormous burden.” Do you wish to know what it is?Will the knowledge benefit her, or anyone else?“It might,” the Sela replied. A look of sympathy briefly crossed his face. “Shomei will soon die.”Eadric’s jaw dropped. “But…”“She will perceive her own demise when she inspects the web of motes, just as Jovol did.”“It cannot be averted?”“She can choose to make the manner of her passing meaningful.” Tramst explained.“But Nwm can…”“I have opened the door for her, Eadric. Death will be a less unpleasant experience for her, the second time around. She may be unwilling to give it up. Bliss is not easily surrendered.”“Then she will have failed, according to her own philosophy,” Eadric sighed. “When the struggle ceases, what then for Shomei? It defines her being. It is the essence of what she is.” The Sela smiled. “I think that, for Shomei, overcoming her desire to overcome may be the ultimate antinomian act.”Eadric grimaced, and nodded.“That is all, for the moment. Has this conversation helped you?”“Oddly, yes,” Eadric replied.“Good. And beware of Soneillon, Eadric.”“Yes,” the Ahma replied. He stood, bowed, and exited the reception room, and began to walk down the steps towards the cloister. But before he had descended even half-way, he was met by a familiar figure – hooded in purple, bearing an ornate rod, and about whom the faintest hint of cinnamon hung. He swallowed, and his mind span. For a fraction of a second, he wondered what she and Tramst would talk about. He wondered how often that – since their initial exchange – she had come here to see the Sela. It was hardly the kind of detail that she would be inclined to share.“Hello, Ahma,” she said with a wry half-smile.He nodded in acknowledgement, but did not meet her eyes. Passing out of the cloister, beneath the scaffolding and across the courtyard, Eadric made his way to the stable, where three score Temple steeds – many of celestial descent – were quartered. The place was strangely serene and, aside from the horses and two grooms, entirely empty. Contundor’s stall, like the others, was open and ungated. The destrier bore no harness, and stood waiting patiently.“I will not ask you to come with me…” Eadric began.I will come.“Thank-you,” he smiled.**Ortwin and Iua – together with the sidhe-cambion, Koilimilou – sped through the twilit skies of Afqithan. They were mind blanked, invisible, polymorphed and buoyed by several other augmentations. Ortwin was, for once, serious in his attitude and demeanour. There were demons everywhere: they could afford to take no risks.Koilimilou said nothing during their progress. Her face remained impassive. Ortwin found her presence and demeanour utterly disconcerting.They were bound for Chaltipeluse, the castle of Ytryn, a Loquai noble who preferred the style of ‘duke’ rather than ‘king’ – although it reflected nothing on the actual power at his command. His fortress, carved by indentured dao from the rock of a mountain-peak long ages before, would – in a more conventional conflict – have been altogether unassailable. In Afqithan, it was no less vulnerable than an unwalled village upon an open plain. Ytryn was, as Irknaan had been, an aristocrat with two demonic sponsors – although Koilimilou didn’t doubt that he had been one of the first to support Ainhorr when the Balor had invaded the demiplane. Loyalty to either Graz’zt or Rhyxali was not so much an issue as the opportunity offered by service to one, or the other, or both. Ortwin, in order to demonstrate his glibness and power of persuasion, had volunteered to address Ytryn, and win him on board – or at least find a way to compromise him sufficiently to turn Ainhorr’s suspicious eye towards the Duke. If his position became untenable, he might be forced to rally to Nhura out of desperation.It was a dirty plan, Ortwin thought, but then again they were hardly observing the niceties of Wyrish chivalry. Not that anyone really observes them in Wyre, either, the Satyr mused.If all else failed, Koilimilou would – hopefully – ensorcel Ytryn with a geas*. They would likely also need to eliminate the Duke’s consort, a hag named Chavrille. And anyone else present when Ytryn was enchanted.Ortwin felt his pouch nervously, to check that the two scrolls hastily scribed by Mostin and Shomei, a plane shift and a sending – to be used only in emergencies – were still there. It had been a long time since he had read a spell from a scroll. He hoped they wouldn’t backfire.“Will there be demons there?” Ortwin asked. “Or has Ainhorr granted a modicum of autonomy to his new subjects?”“There will be demons,” Koilimilou replied stonily.“Is that speculation, or do you know for a fact?”“The palace will be crawling with Ainhorr’s agents. Some will be disguised. Others will be openly present in the capacity of ‘advisors.’ There may or may not be a garrison – which may be of a temporary, permanent or indefinite nature.”“Then how can we even gain a private audience with Ytryn?” Ortwin groaned. “I mislike the idea of attempting to coerce him in the presence of a marilith and half a dozen glabrezu…”“You work it out,” Koilimilou snapped. “You are the one who claims to be able to talk his way out of anything. And to think you had the presumption to assert your ability to dupe Graz’zt himself.”“Actually, I am more concerned that my innuendo will need to be so subtle, that Ytryn himself may not understand it.”Koilimilou scowled. This satyr was a braggart.  Iua sighed. “The real problem is, as Mostin continually points out, that any demon in Afqithan – and I include Ainhorr himself in that statement – is only two teleports away. Ten seconds.”“If we see any demons abruptly vanish, then so should we,” Ortwin replied.“And if we don’t see them at all?”“Then we’re screwed,” Ortwin admitted. He groaned. “How can we fight this war? I see only repeated guerilla raids of teleporting demons, and umbral sidhe who vanish back to Shadow after brief forays. Is there nothing which can be likened to a conventional force?” The Satyr considered Mostin – the Alienist had, amongst other duties, agreed to reflect upon possible strategies for combating large numbers of demons.“That is a conventional force,” Koilimilou said irritably. “At least by Loquai standards. They favour campaigns of bloody, tit-for-tat attrition. Graz’zt knows this, and has deployed leaping demons as his main troops – they are teleporters. Dretch would be of no use at all to him, even in vast numbers. Hence, also, the kelvezu, although no-one knows how many – their services are exceedingly expensive. There again, Graz’zt is unfathomably rich. Strike and retreat. Intimidate. But every Loquai stronghold has areas which are dimensionally locked to prevent precisely this kind of assault. And many sit on gates to one plane or another. Some are known, some are jealously guarded secrets.”“And Ytryn’s fortress?” Ortwin asked.“Has a portal which leads to Faerie,” Koilimilou answered. “But I do not know its location, or its appearance.”“But his inner chambers – wherever his Ducal seat is – will be in a place which is proof against extradimensional movement?”“And scrying,” Koilimilou replied.“And his sanctum – where he practices magic?”“Pah,” the Cambion sneered. “Ytryn has no great ability. He is a warrior, nothing more. Chavrille is a necromancer of some skill, however.”“And, aside from the Loquai and any demons, is there anything which we should expect?”“Gargoyles and manticores. Displacer beasts.”“Of the umbral fiendish variety, no doubt?”“Naturally,” Koilimilou replied humourlessly.“Does this…quality…which Afqithan possesses have a source?” Ortwin had been about to say taint, but decided that it might be undiplomatic. “A wellspring? A locus? Is there a place where the umbral bleed is strongest?”“You adequately demonstrate your cosmogonic ignorance with regard to Afqithan,” Koilimilou sneered.“Shomei speculated that it may be a splinter of Faerie which was shivered during the Fall…”A look of contempt crossed Koilimilou’s face.“Pray enlighten me,” Ortwin said drily.“Afqithan is Afqithan, just as Azzagrat is Azzagrat. Speculate all you like. The umbral flux ebbs and flows. Sometimes, Shadow is closer, at others it is further away.”“But the pure malignancy,” Ortwin asked, deciding that diplomacy was wasted on the Cambion. “That is not a trait native to Shadow.”Koilimilou smiled darkly. “That is the touch of the Lady Rhyxali.”“But…”“She was venerated here long before the name of Graz’zt was known. This place is sacred to her. And whatever temporary steward takes control, Afqithan is, and always has been, hers.”“Ah,” Ortwin nodded dubiously, raising his eyebrows.**“There is too much to do,” Mostin grumbled. “And too little time.” Within the extradimensional space of his manse, his desk – normally immaculate in its organization – was strewn with books and papers. Several imps – temporarily compacted – acted as scribes: finding references, bringing books to Mostin, or taking notes as required. The Alienist’s mind held every title of each of the nine hundred volumes which Shomei had loaned him. He merely needed to decrypt them and scan them for relevant information – during the time that he wasn’t working on the second in the series of spells designed to interpret the web of motes. His head span.Pharamne’s Urn. Carasch. The Horror. Rhyxali. Soneillon. Titivilus. Murmuur’s Tower. Graz’zt. The Ahma. Nehael. Throile. Afqithan. Azzagrat. Lehurze. Ainhorr. Nhura. “Perhaps you should retreat to a slower time-stream,” Orolde suggested unhelpfully, eyeing one of the devils suspiciously. It leered back at him. “Perhaps you could retrieve Tersimion’s Last Diatribes against Arcanism and insert it into your fundament,” Mostin replied with uncharacteristic vulgarity. “It would be a fitting resting place for that tome, in any case.”“I will make some tea,” the Nixie sniffed.“That is an excellent idea,” Mostin nodded. “Orolde, in case my attention lapses, do not allow any imps into the house proper. If I were censured for violating the Injunction at this time, it would be highly regrettable.”Orolde nodded, and withdrew.The Alienist issued a sending to Ortwin:What progress? Ytryn ally? News of Titivilus? Soneillon? Do we have timeline? Need viable, secure base of operation.Patience. No contact made yet. Still considering options. Dimensional Locks in Chaltipeluse may prove defensible.Mostin sighed, and idly tapped upon the nigh-indestructible sphere of black crystal which sat in front of him.Nufrut’s head appeared. She scowled.“Your knowledge of strategy and tactics in the sphere of Abyssal warfare is immense,” Mostin said.“Yes,” the Marilith sighed.“And your knowledge of Afqithan itself, not inconsiderable.”“That is correct. Get to the point, Mostin. You are being boring.”“I would remind you that you are the disembodied head, and I am the powerful wizard whose patience has recently been tried overmuch,” Mostin said drily.“The point is well made,” Nufrut admitted.“If you had eighteen thousand bar-lgura, a thousand or so chasme, several hundred nycadaemons, as many succubi and palrethees, a hundred goristros, and – how many kelvezu do you think Graz’zt has had the opportunity to enlist, by the way?”“Now that is an interesting question, isn’t it?” Nufrut smirked.“In any case,” Mostin continued, “is there a classical model or scenario for annexing or invading a demiplane such as Afqithan?”“I’m sure there are several hundred, at least,” Nufrut answered.“But their organization – presuming they have any?”“Do not make the error of assuming that because of their philosophical inclination towards freedom and satiation, that demons are an undisciplined rabble when gathered en masse,” Nufrut chided. “Who are the Generals? Captains?”“Seven mariliths. And more recently arrived – according to Nhura – two dozen nalfeshnees and a hundred or so glabrezu.”“Seven? Graz’zt is taking no chances, it would appear,” Nufrut’s condescending smile was beginning to irk Mostin. “You should give up now, Mostin. You have no hope at all.”“Correct me if my analysis is wrong,” Mostin said, ignoring the Marilith’s  enjoinment to despair. “Goristros are, being largely immobile, confined to the capacity of point-defense and guarding important tactical positions; succubi and palrethees act as scouts, messengers and aerial light cavalry, so to speak…”“That is correct,” Nufrut replied enthusiastically. “They are seldom deployed in units of more than six to twelve. Also, the capacity of some succubi to act as infiltrators should not be underestimated.”“But the chasme are deployed in larger groups?”“Squadrons of forty or fifty,” Nufrut replied. “They are extremely effective when massed. Their collective drone will be close to irresistible.”Mostin’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t even begun to consider the implications of that. “And the heavy-hitters? The nycadaemon mercenaries?”“Three or four companies are sufficient to use as shock troops,” Nufrut leered, “and expendable. But I wouldn’t anticipate a pitched battle, in any case.”The Alienist’s mind was already developing a plan. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He needed to address the root of the problem. “Let me pose another question, Nufrut: if I could force a pitched confrontation. If the ability of these demons to teleport was temporarily suspended…”“That is pointless speculation,” the Marilith sneered.Mostin ignored her. Formulae were flooding through his psyche. He picked up Nufrut’s sphere, and handed it to the imps.“Take a five-minute break,” he said to his compacted scribes. “Do not leave this extradimensional space.”As the diminutive fiends gleefully tossed Nufrut’s head to one another, Mostin brushed all of his collected books and papers from his desk with a swift sweep of his arm. He retrieved a single, blank sheet of paper, and with a quill pen which made him feel particularly dangerous – boldly still bearing its feather – he wrote at the top:Mostin’s Grand Astral Flux InhibitorHe sighed, crossed it out, and pondered briefly, before writing:Mostin’s Quiescence of the SpheresMuch better, he thought. Not that he really had time to begin this. But it couldn’t hurt to analyze a few formulae. Just to see if it was a plausible idea.  Within five minutes, he had decided that it was plausible, and all thoughts of Pharamne’s Urn and Carasch had left his mind. He now had seventeen days to develop two transvalent spells.Orolde returned shortly thereafter with a large pot of tea, which Mostin liberally fortified with a variety of alchemical stimulants.*Koilimilou would use a limited wish to achieve the desired effect. 1 action being better than 10 minutes.</blockquote>

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