The Rape of Morne [Final Update]
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
I'm delurking to add my voice to the chorus of praise. The writing is superb and the way the huge power level of the PC's is handled without having them stomp over everything in their path or unfairly countering their abilities should be an object lesson to anyone running a high-power campaign. I've already taken several notes for a game of Exalted I'll be running in a couple of weeks.
Plotwise, there's a real sense of storm clouds gathering. And since every time I've thought "No, no way he can top that last thing.", I've been proved wrong, I'm anticipating future developments with eagerness.
Plotwise, there's a real sense of storm clouds gathering. And since every time I've thought "No, no way he can top that last thing.", I've been proved wrong, I'm anticipating future developments with eagerness.
Terwox
First Post
More praise from another whom just caught up
I'm so sad that I'm caught up with the story...
It is absolutely inspiring. The way the characters are all so real and special in their paradigms is excellent. I daresay this story handles issues of paradigm far better than most games of Mage: The Ascension, a game that is based around paradigm and belief.
The characters, and their reactions, are quite real, inspired, and more quotable than many phrases that are written, meant to be quoted.
Incredible stuff. Really inspiring.
Anyway. Can someone provide me with a .doc or whatnot? I want to pass this around to my friends through a file or printout, not a series of posts on a forum foreign to them.
It's funny. This story hour has me half inspired to finally write up my own campaign, and half feeling insufficient to write anything worth reading.
So good! Reading these logs has been great, and I can count on updates bringing my day up, whenever they occur.
Time to use subscribe to thread for the first time now, I guess.
Did I mention the religious system is the best I've ever seen? Anyway...
I'm so sad that I'm caught up with the story...
It is absolutely inspiring. The way the characters are all so real and special in their paradigms is excellent. I daresay this story handles issues of paradigm far better than most games of Mage: The Ascension, a game that is based around paradigm and belief.
The characters, and their reactions, are quite real, inspired, and more quotable than many phrases that are written, meant to be quoted.
Incredible stuff. Really inspiring.
Anyway. Can someone provide me with a .doc or whatnot? I want to pass this around to my friends through a file or printout, not a series of posts on a forum foreign to them.
It's funny. This story hour has me half inspired to finally write up my own campaign, and half feeling insufficient to write anything worth reading.
So good! Reading these logs has been great, and I can count on updates bringing my day up, whenever they occur.
Time to use subscribe to thread for the first time now, I guess.
Did I mention the religious system is the best I've ever seen? Anyway...
Re: More praise from another whom just caught up
Unless you own stock in the paper industry, I would suggest not printing it out. My copy is currently 183 pages long, and growing. And that's without the stuff from the rogues gallery.
If you (or anyone else out there) still want a copy, feel free to drop me a line.
Terwox said:
Unless you own stock in the paper industry, I would suggest not printing it out. My copy is currently 183 pages long, and growing. And that's without the stuff from the rogues gallery.
If you (or anyone else out there) still want a copy, feel free to drop me a line.
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Thanks so much for the map!
I love maps!
I love maps!
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Another update - kind of. Much of this actually consists of backstory, but if I don't include it then subsequent events are likely to make no sense.
**
Stuff Going On
The sprite, who had proven skittish and elusive, finally showed himself to the Shamaness after she had entered a trance and invoked some strange power. Orolde – paranoid beyond reason, and constantly looking over his shoulder for Demons – had felt a strange compulsion.
She was there, in his mind. Probing.
"Who are you?" He later asked nervously from behind the castle door. "And what do you want?"
Mesikämmi did not understand his words until she had spoken an appropriate string of powerful syllables.
"I am Mesikämmi. I am seeking a Wizard called Kothchori. I understand that he requires healing. Is he here?"
"Kothchori is beyond help," Orolde replied unsurely. "I tend to his needs as best I can. He is harmless now, and there is nothing of value left in this place. You are wasting your time. Please, leave us in peace."
"You do not understand. I am Mesikämmi. I have yet to find one who is beyond my help, dead or living. I wish to heal him."
So, reluctantly and suspiciously, Orolde opened the door.
A strange but delightful spirit, Mesikämmi thought as he revealed himself to her. Half the height of a man, with greenish skin and webbed feet like a duck. He had welts on his arms, and covered them self-consciously when the Shamaness saw them.
"Did Kothchori do this to you?" She asked.
"He is not in command of his faculties," Orolde replied defensively, "and becomes easily confused."
"Show me to your Master," she said.
Orolde took her through an untidy clutter of broken furniture, boxes and shattered glass devices, into a small room. An unkempt man with a ragged beard, dressed in filthy robes sat at a chair. His eyes had been burned from his head. He said nothing.
"Other than his blindness, what is his malady?" Mesikämmi asked.
"He is deranged," Orolde replied. "He has moments of lucidity, but soon slips into ranting again. Most often, he just sits. Occasionally, he beats me – usually when I try and feed him."
"Your loyalty is admirable, if inexplicable. Has he no friends who could have revived him?"
"None who cared enough," Orolde said bitterly. "Or who are willing to invest any of their own precious energy in him. And his works are gone – stolen, like everything else of value. He would awaken to find himself deprived of his most vital sense: his magic would be denied to him. It may be better for him in this way. The only thing worse than being crazy and confined to this forsaken island, is being sane. Believe me."
I know where his books are, the slippery spirit had said to her.That is enough.
The Shamaness took a bear’s claw which hung around her neck, and pressed it firmly against each of Kothchori’s eyes in turn. She chanted in a language which contained many vowels, and paced around the Wizard. She sprinkled diamond dust over him, and spoke yet more words. The air around her was alive with spirits.
Somehow, remarkably, his eyes began to grow back. The madness which possessed him evaporated. He looked at her.
"Who are you?" He asked. "Why have you come to me?"
Orolde, excited beyond words, skipped and clapped his hands.
"I am called Mesikämmi," the Shamaness replied. She took the talisman which the bright servant had given her, and showed it to Kothchori. "Do you know what this is?" She asked.
The Wizard seemed to shiver. "Yes," he replied.
"A spirit gave it to me, and said I was to deliver it to you. That you would know what it meant. He says I know where his books are. What is this talisman?"
"It is a seal," Kothchori replied. "A mark of identification."
"It belongs to a spirit?" Mesikämmi asked. "A powerful one?"
"Yes," he answered, "a very powerful spirit."
"What is his name?" Mesikämmi asked.
"His name is Graz’zt," Kothchori replied.
**
Over sixty Templars stood before Eadric. A third of them were composed of veterans: Penitents who had sworn themselves to him in the aftermath of Deorham, or those who had stayed in Trempa after Tahl had assumed control of the Temple there.
The others, including Brey, were new. All were captains and lieutenants in the ranks of the Magistratum. Many had observed the Second Descent of Grace at the Battle of the Crossings of the Nund, where doubt, and the realization that they were wrong had finally overcome them. Eadric spoke openly to them.
"The Curia must be dissolved, and ambiguities settled. This must be resolved quickly, and as peaceably as possible. A new Prelate must be allowed to ascend the throne. The temporal power of the Temple will be greatly diminished in the aftermath: this is a necessary thing."
"It is likely that much suffering will accompany this transition. Many do not trust me, others do not trust the Temple in any form, others do not trust Oronthon himself. The secular authorities will not allow unhindered access to Morne – despite my assurances that this is an internal matter. This is regrettable."
"I have experienced visions of Morne in chaos. The Temple destroyed. Murder in its cloisters. I have no desire to initiate such terror, but I cannot say that ‘it will not come to pass’ or that I can prevent it happening. I command you to instruct your troops that, whatever happens, even if we have to take Morne by force, that the normal ‘spoils of war’ – perquisites such as rape, murder and looting, which soldiers generally enjoy – are utterly denied them. This applies as equally to the auxiliaries and mercenaries as it does to you yourselves. If it happens, I will myself execute the offenders, and their officers for dereliction. Take note: I hold you responsible for the actions of your subordinates. Absolute discipline will be maintained at all times."
"Morne is five days away, although I suspect we will meet resistance long before we reach it. I will brook no petty rivalries, either amongst knights of the Temple, or between Templars and any of Trempa’s aristocracy, or with any other group. You will not arrogantly assume that you are the elite in this matter, or that others should defer to your experience or piety. You will treat all with equal courtesy and respect, be it myself or a Uediian peasant. You will offer such leadership as you can, neither grudgingly nor haughtily, but freely and with an attitude of service, not command. If acts of pride and conceit come to my notice regarding Templar officers, they will be summarily disciplined. Reoffenders will be flogged, and stripped of their rank: they will act as exemplars in one way or another."
"If any have an issue with these instructions, now is the time to make themselves heard. Likewise, if any doubt me, I will furnish them with a horse and they may ride where they will."
(Silence).
"Finally, you should note that amongst my closest confidants, I count a Demoness, a Wizard, a Pagan and a Fey. Whilst, initially, you may find these presences difficult to accept, in time you will become more open to them. And you will remain open to the inevitability of change, or you will break, and fail."
Eadric turned away.
"Ahma has spoken," Tahl said.
The Templars nodded and murmured.
**
Nwm returned to the meadows near the Nund Crossings to find that Eadric’s camp had shifted onto the western bank, and had assimilated a large Temple contingent. He sought the Paladin out, and relayed news of events on the northern borders of Trempa.
Using his torc to pinpoint the enclaves of Temple troops – also supported by cadres from Tomur and Thahan – the Druid had simply appeared before their leaders in vaporous form, and issued dire warnings if they did not withdraw back across the river and disband. A few, aware of Nwm’s reputation, fled there and then. Others, who did not heed his advice, were later subjected to entangling plants, insect plagues, inclement weather, and pilfering by summoned Feys. Their swords and armour turned into wooden replicas, irascible horses refused their commands, and odd gravitational effects and magical booby traps afflicted them. Summoned Earth Elementals wreaked havoc in the camps, smashing gear and snapping the weapons of those who tried to strike them. None noticed the sparrow who sat on a nearby branch, chirping happily to itself, watching these events with unconcealed glee.
After three days of harassment, Eisarn, the Temple commander, decided that it would be wise to retreat his eight hundred or so troops before the Druid’s apparent good humour left him and he began employing Fire Storms instead. Eadric had, in fact, specifically asked Nwm to ‘go easy’ on the enemy troops.
The inevitable meeting between Nwm and Brey was tense and difficult, despite Eadric’s best efforts to smooth things over between them. The Templar’s character – which demanded a rigid adherance to dogma - had not changed, although the focus of his zeal had shifted. After stiff words and obvious discomfort between the two, Eadric dismissed Brey and conferred in private with the Druid.
"He will never forgive me," Nwm sighed. "I can’t really blame him. I constantly remind him of his humiliation. I think the same can be said for most of his captains."
"Good," Eadric replied unsympathetically. "It will give them something to work on. I’d hate to think that this was easy for any of them."
"Tomorrow, the Tagamuos begins," Nwm said. "It is three days until the Solstice. I have yet to decide what to do – whether to go to Hethio and attend Hullu, or to stay here with Trempa’s Uediians. In either event, I will probably be called to lead the celebrations."
The Paladin groaned. "I’d completely forgotten about the Solstice. This is inconvenient timing. Is there any way that the festival could be, er, toned-down a little? Discipline is paramount at the moment."
"Good luck in trying," Nwm said unhelpfully.
"If you choose to go to Hethio, any information regarding Hullu’s progress would be appreciated," Eadric pointed out.
"Ed!" Nwm said with mock horror. "I hope you’re not suggesting that I go and spy on those of my own faith? I am a High Priest. Seriously, though, the same had occurred to me – but I’m not sure whether I should leave here."
Eadric looked quizzical.
"For the next three days, your camp will be filled with drunken Uediians fornicating and celebrating heathen rites, Eadric. This might prove somewhat inflammatory. My presence might stop things getting out of hand."
"Hmm." The Paladin answered.
"I think a short period of segregation might be appropriate," Nwm suggested.
"Normally, I’d disagree," Eadric said. "But perhaps an exception might be in order. The river may prove a useful barrier. Who will lead the celebrations here if you decide to go to Hethio?"
"Nehael is the obvious choice," Nwm answered.
Eadric looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Nwm smiled sympathetically.
**
The Dreamer drifted within a sea of colours which had no name in any mortal tongue. The Celestial, exalted even amongst his own kind, floated before him. Hundreds of motes of light hovered in front of the Dreamer, and he scrutinized them carefully.
"There is a sixty-two percent chance that the main arc becomes asymptotic in seventeen days," he said.
"That is why you must act," the Celestial replied, "or there will be multiple Gates."
"More than at Khu?" The Dreamer asked sarcastically.
"Khu was exceptional," the Celestial replied, smiling. "Enitharmon authorized a cascade. It was a necessary lesson for Graz’zt."
"Graz’zt does not frighten me," the Dreamer said. "His flux is dwindling – I suspect he has too many other concerns to deal with."
"Not so," the Celestial replied. "The reason that you discern a diminishment is that he has just facilitated the translation of four Succubi. He will force agency on this one here." He pointed to a dim mote, which appeared relatively innocuous.
"It is the Wizard Kothchori. There is a tight resonance with this one, and this one, and this one," the Dreamer said, pointing at several other motes.
"I will take your word for it," the Celestial said ruefully. "Such subtleties elude me. What is the power of this Kothchori?"
"I’m surprised that you don’t know. He is a Transmuter of significant ability."
"Wizards tend to escape my notice," the Celestial confessed. "Unless they are Summoners."
"Or Dreamers," the Dreamer remarked wrily.
"Or Dreamers," the Celestial agreed.
"Is he aligned?"
"Not to my knowledge," the Dreamer answered. "I recall him being pragmatic rather than philosophical. He was one of Feezuu’s targets in her search for Mostin. He was originally from Shûth, if I recall."
"In which case he is outside my purview in any case. The Sleeping Gods take care of their own. Interference would be undiplomatic."
"As at Khu?" The Dreamer jibed.
"Must we always return to Khu?" The Celestial asked, exasperated. "It was a finely balanced nodality. Oronthon’s action was not unilateral."
"Still, it risked offending those whose power still resides there," The Dreamer pointed out.
"They have slept long," the Celestial said.
"Sleep is no obstacle to action," the Dreamer observed. He pointed to other motes in succession. "This one is the Shamaness Mesikämmi, this one is the sword Melancholy. They are connected vicariously through Hullu, Nwm the Preceptor and Eadric before they touch Tramst."
"And this one here?"
"Is another Wizard, called Rimilin. He is despicable."
The Celestial nodded knowingly.
"This connotes resonance between Graz’zt, Rimilin and Mesikämmi. But I still cannot see the strand between Kothchori and Graz’zt."
"Perhaps not all tendrils are visible to you?" The Celestial suggested. "Oronthon sees such things."
"I am not omniscient," the Dreamer admitted. "But neither is he – no, please, Rintrah, let’s not start that argument again."
"What will you do?" The Celestial asked.
"At the moment, nothing," the Dreamer replied. "I will not act preemptively, based upon this probability."
"A second cascade is not out of the question if fiends are invoked – but it would still require a catalyst. I doubt that Mulissu would act in that capacity again. Would you?"
"I will reserve judgement on that request," the Dreamer said. "Although my instinct is to say no. I have issues about opening Gates in order to solve problems caused by opening Gates, let alone because of some Binding. The possible escalatory nature of this is exactly what I am trying to avoid, not to compound."
"But you have already admitted the possibility of action." Rintrah said. "At what point?"
"If the main arc becomes asymptotic, not before." The Dreamer answered.
"After Morne is sacked?"
"My first duty, as far as possible, will always be to the Injunction. I will not violate it lightly. You must understand that."
"I do Jovol. And so does Oronthon."
**
Mostin, having left Ortwin to ingratiate himself with the dignitaries in Ulao’s court, returned once more to his lodging in the city of Magathei, passed through the mirror-portal to his extradimensional retreat, and pondered.
Since his exchanges with Shomei, the Alienist had spent much time reflecting upon the nature of compacts. Her success with Devils – which was undeniable – came at a price which Mostin found wholly unacceptable. This, compounded by the fact that she had overextended herself, had led to her current predicament. Nonetheless, as with all ideas with which the Alienist came into contact, he wondered which parts he could improve upon, and exploit.
He considered Vhorzhe, his former mentor. What exactly had happened?, he wondered. The Alienist suspected that it had been an Entity of the higher order which had dragged Vhorzhe – body and spirit – off to some unknown reality. One of those from beyond Beyond, as it were.
They can be called, and bound, he had told Shomei. But he was unsure whether he believed it himself.
And were there other things, beyond even them? A third order of Pseudonaturals? A fourth? The metaphor of a series of mathematical constructs, possessing an increasing number of dimensions, was hard to avoid.
There were no limits. To anything. Mostin knew this. Not as an article of faith, but revealed to him through his hypercognitive faculties. The Metagnostic Reality.
He fidgeted, paced, brooded, and sighed. He spent an hour consulting his books.
Outside – ‘Uzzhin,’ or the ‘Far Realm.’ How did one get there? Cryptic references led him to believe that Plane Shift was an ineffectual method of transportation. It was beyond the power of the spell.
Is a Gate possible? He wondered. Or is it too dangerous to attempt? Is it really a place at all, or simply a state of being – although that argument was unsustainable. After all, what were any of the Planes, if they were not ‘states of being?’
The atemporal nature of the place caused conundrums to appear in the Alienist’s mind. If, by some means, he could come there, he could spend an infinity there, and, upon returning to the Prime, would still arrive at exactly the same time that he departed.
And would the aggressive, insanity-provoking nature of the place affect him? He was, after all, an Alienist. He had transcended his physical form, and was privy to secrets which few had ever gained. Secrets which could not be apprehended by a mind limited by conventional rational thought. Would the place embrace him, or extinguish his consciousness?
He needed answers.
Nervously, he opened a Gate.
**
Aside from Iald and Thahan, where concentrations of troops still existed, the Temple forces were thinly spread and ineffective. The Temple compound in Morne was almost empty of warriors, and only a few hundred others were scattered across Wyre, attached to the various Episcopal sees. Brey’s defection – along with sixty percent of the Magistratum – was a sore blow.
In Morne, the Curia – or part of the Curia – convened. Daunton’s assertion to Prince Tagur that the body was ‘irrelevant’ was only partially true. The Bishops of Mord, Tomur, Thahan and Gibilrazen – who, together with Hethio had formed the core dedicated to Eadric’s impeachment almost a year before – could, despite a diminishment in military clout, still bring a considerable degree of diplomatic pressure to bear. As a group, they lacked the cohesion and direction that they enjoyed under the Prelacy – or even under Rede’s brief protectorship. The spritual solidarity which so many people expected of the Curia, real or apparent, was also absent. As individuals, however – individuals who still commanded significant resources, and the threat of anathematization – they were not entirely toothless.
They lobbied the King and the Royal Council for action. Again. Shiel, the Duke of Jiuhu, and Sihu of Tomur, who, together with Foide the Lord Chamberlain and the boy Tiuhan IV, received all four of the Bishops, were sympathetic.
But Eadric was not their immediate concern.
"Our diviners have informed us that the threat which needs to be countered lies in Hethio," Foide said in a cracked voice. "The Uediian uprising presents more of an immediate danger."
"Eadric is an instrument of the Adversary," Gibilrazen countered. "What could be more pressing than his defeat? He has taken the blasphemous title of ‘Breath of God,’ and has corrupted yet more of the devout. He is an insidious snake, and must be stamped on. The survival of Orthodoxy depends upon it."
Sihu, devout in the extreme, shifted uneasily. "No decision regarding how to deal with Eadric can be made without Tagur," she said. "His consent will be crucial to whatever course of action we decide. His men are already on the move."
The Bishop snorted. "My see is three weeks away. The Adversary is five days from here. Morne will be lost before the Prince can come here."
"If so, then not to Deorham," Shiel remarked drily. "The Uediian movement must be crushed immediately and totally, before it gains any more momentum. And, respectfully your Majesty," he turned to the boy, "screw Tagur. We cannot wait for his men, or his prevarications. The Prince himself should be in Morne before nightfall tomorrow – he has ridden hard from Gibilrazen. He can make his case then. I myself have already ordered a thousand of Jiuhu’s finest to rout the Uediians and execute any rebels who surrender. An example must be made."
"Troops which could have been better deployed along the road to Trempa!" The Bishop objected.
Shiel gave a peremptory gesture. "They still will be. Just a day or two later. Kaurban’s forces may still intercept and delay the Heretic – he is already in the field. And Sihu’s troops will soon be hastening to join him. Deorham is unlikely to attempt to invest Morne with an army at his back, is he? And he lacks siege engines – Morne is safe for now."
"From the Pagan, Nwm?"
"He may be with the Uediians. Which is why we must eradicate that threat. If he is there, we will deal with him also."
The Bishop of Gibilrazen laughed harshly. "You would send a thousand men to deal with the Pagan? Do I need to remind you of the fiasco on the Nund? They will all be dead within an hour."
"No," Shiel replied. "A thousand men will be deployed to disband the Uediian rebellion. One man will deal with Nwm."
The Bishop looked blank.
"Rimilin has sworn to defend Wyre against the chaos. He has shown his true colours in this time of crisis – those of a loyal patriot."
"Are you insane?" The Bishop asked in disbelief. "Rimilin is an accursed demonist. And you would risk loosing this canker on Wyre with royal sanction? Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider."
"Rimilin will not violate the Injunction," Sihu said shakily. "He will not be deployed in the field. He will merely contain the threat of Nwm, if the Pagan is present."
"That is a violation," the Bishop said, exasperated. "It is a political act. If he gets away with it, who is to say what else he will attempt?"
"Fear of retribution will dissuade him from any such attempt."
"And what have you promised Rimilin for the aid that he lends you?" The Bishop asked bitterly.
"Nothing," Shiel replied. "That is precisely the point. I believe that he acts out of genuine concern – so much, that he is willing to risk even his own reputation."
"Bah!" The Bishop of Gibilrazen didn’t buy a word of it and, despite a universal suspicion directed at all things arcane, in this case he was right. Because Rimilin acted under direction from Prince Graz’zt, and with the promise of protection and great reward.
Of those four Succubi whom Graz’zt had dispatched onto the Prime, the first, Chr’ri, was directed to Mesikämmi - to incite her to seek Kothchori, to heal him, to bring him the seal, and then to receive aid in her quest to win back Hullu. Afterwards, the Demoness repaired to the Uediian camp to gauge the mood and to await the arrival of the Shamaness herself. The triangle between Mesikämmi, Hullu and the sword Melancholy had great potential to wreak havoc.
The second Demoness, sent to Rimilin, bore news of the imminent collapse of the Great Injunction. The fact that Rimilin himself would be instrumental in effecting it, encouraged rather than dissuaded the Acolyte. Invoking a new era of madness and death was certainly appealing, especially if there were no fears of repercussions. The name of the Succubus was Kalkja, and she bore a hatred for Oronthon exceptional even amongst demons. Henceforth, she would act as the Rimilin’s concubine, and Graz’zt would shower favours upon him.
The third, Chomele, was ordered to approach Kothchori himself. She manifested shortly after Mesikämmi departed, bearing a page ripped from one of his own books. Reluctantly, he agreed to compact with her. The price of exchange – the return of his spells to him – was more than he could refuse. And to him, Wyre, and its Injunction, held no special meaning.
The fourth Succubus, Aelial, appeared before Shomei with the promise of rewards beyond anything she had theretofore imagined. Shomei raised her rod, obliterated the messenger, and immediately contacted Belial for advice.
In the Abyss, Graz’zt, exhausted from the efforts of opening access to the Prime for his Demons, retired to his sanctum and brooded. War always brought ample opportunity for chaos, deceit, horror and death.
He smiled.
**
Stuff Going On
The sprite, who had proven skittish and elusive, finally showed himself to the Shamaness after she had entered a trance and invoked some strange power. Orolde – paranoid beyond reason, and constantly looking over his shoulder for Demons – had felt a strange compulsion.
She was there, in his mind. Probing.
"Who are you?" He later asked nervously from behind the castle door. "And what do you want?"
Mesikämmi did not understand his words until she had spoken an appropriate string of powerful syllables.
"I am Mesikämmi. I am seeking a Wizard called Kothchori. I understand that he requires healing. Is he here?"
"Kothchori is beyond help," Orolde replied unsurely. "I tend to his needs as best I can. He is harmless now, and there is nothing of value left in this place. You are wasting your time. Please, leave us in peace."
"You do not understand. I am Mesikämmi. I have yet to find one who is beyond my help, dead or living. I wish to heal him."
So, reluctantly and suspiciously, Orolde opened the door.
A strange but delightful spirit, Mesikämmi thought as he revealed himself to her. Half the height of a man, with greenish skin and webbed feet like a duck. He had welts on his arms, and covered them self-consciously when the Shamaness saw them.
"Did Kothchori do this to you?" She asked.
"He is not in command of his faculties," Orolde replied defensively, "and becomes easily confused."
"Show me to your Master," she said.
Orolde took her through an untidy clutter of broken furniture, boxes and shattered glass devices, into a small room. An unkempt man with a ragged beard, dressed in filthy robes sat at a chair. His eyes had been burned from his head. He said nothing.
"Other than his blindness, what is his malady?" Mesikämmi asked.
"He is deranged," Orolde replied. "He has moments of lucidity, but soon slips into ranting again. Most often, he just sits. Occasionally, he beats me – usually when I try and feed him."
"Your loyalty is admirable, if inexplicable. Has he no friends who could have revived him?"
"None who cared enough," Orolde said bitterly. "Or who are willing to invest any of their own precious energy in him. And his works are gone – stolen, like everything else of value. He would awaken to find himself deprived of his most vital sense: his magic would be denied to him. It may be better for him in this way. The only thing worse than being crazy and confined to this forsaken island, is being sane. Believe me."
I know where his books are, the slippery spirit had said to her.That is enough.
The Shamaness took a bear’s claw which hung around her neck, and pressed it firmly against each of Kothchori’s eyes in turn. She chanted in a language which contained many vowels, and paced around the Wizard. She sprinkled diamond dust over him, and spoke yet more words. The air around her was alive with spirits.
Somehow, remarkably, his eyes began to grow back. The madness which possessed him evaporated. He looked at her.
"Who are you?" He asked. "Why have you come to me?"
Orolde, excited beyond words, skipped and clapped his hands.
"I am called Mesikämmi," the Shamaness replied. She took the talisman which the bright servant had given her, and showed it to Kothchori. "Do you know what this is?" She asked.
The Wizard seemed to shiver. "Yes," he replied.
"A spirit gave it to me, and said I was to deliver it to you. That you would know what it meant. He says I know where his books are. What is this talisman?"
"It is a seal," Kothchori replied. "A mark of identification."
"It belongs to a spirit?" Mesikämmi asked. "A powerful one?"
"Yes," he answered, "a very powerful spirit."
"What is his name?" Mesikämmi asked.
"His name is Graz’zt," Kothchori replied.
**
Over sixty Templars stood before Eadric. A third of them were composed of veterans: Penitents who had sworn themselves to him in the aftermath of Deorham, or those who had stayed in Trempa after Tahl had assumed control of the Temple there.
The others, including Brey, were new. All were captains and lieutenants in the ranks of the Magistratum. Many had observed the Second Descent of Grace at the Battle of the Crossings of the Nund, where doubt, and the realization that they were wrong had finally overcome them. Eadric spoke openly to them.
"The Curia must be dissolved, and ambiguities settled. This must be resolved quickly, and as peaceably as possible. A new Prelate must be allowed to ascend the throne. The temporal power of the Temple will be greatly diminished in the aftermath: this is a necessary thing."
"It is likely that much suffering will accompany this transition. Many do not trust me, others do not trust the Temple in any form, others do not trust Oronthon himself. The secular authorities will not allow unhindered access to Morne – despite my assurances that this is an internal matter. This is regrettable."
"I have experienced visions of Morne in chaos. The Temple destroyed. Murder in its cloisters. I have no desire to initiate such terror, but I cannot say that ‘it will not come to pass’ or that I can prevent it happening. I command you to instruct your troops that, whatever happens, even if we have to take Morne by force, that the normal ‘spoils of war’ – perquisites such as rape, murder and looting, which soldiers generally enjoy – are utterly denied them. This applies as equally to the auxiliaries and mercenaries as it does to you yourselves. If it happens, I will myself execute the offenders, and their officers for dereliction. Take note: I hold you responsible for the actions of your subordinates. Absolute discipline will be maintained at all times."
"Morne is five days away, although I suspect we will meet resistance long before we reach it. I will brook no petty rivalries, either amongst knights of the Temple, or between Templars and any of Trempa’s aristocracy, or with any other group. You will not arrogantly assume that you are the elite in this matter, or that others should defer to your experience or piety. You will treat all with equal courtesy and respect, be it myself or a Uediian peasant. You will offer such leadership as you can, neither grudgingly nor haughtily, but freely and with an attitude of service, not command. If acts of pride and conceit come to my notice regarding Templar officers, they will be summarily disciplined. Reoffenders will be flogged, and stripped of their rank: they will act as exemplars in one way or another."
"If any have an issue with these instructions, now is the time to make themselves heard. Likewise, if any doubt me, I will furnish them with a horse and they may ride where they will."
(Silence).
"Finally, you should note that amongst my closest confidants, I count a Demoness, a Wizard, a Pagan and a Fey. Whilst, initially, you may find these presences difficult to accept, in time you will become more open to them. And you will remain open to the inevitability of change, or you will break, and fail."
Eadric turned away.
"Ahma has spoken," Tahl said.
The Templars nodded and murmured.
**
Nwm returned to the meadows near the Nund Crossings to find that Eadric’s camp had shifted onto the western bank, and had assimilated a large Temple contingent. He sought the Paladin out, and relayed news of events on the northern borders of Trempa.
Using his torc to pinpoint the enclaves of Temple troops – also supported by cadres from Tomur and Thahan – the Druid had simply appeared before their leaders in vaporous form, and issued dire warnings if they did not withdraw back across the river and disband. A few, aware of Nwm’s reputation, fled there and then. Others, who did not heed his advice, were later subjected to entangling plants, insect plagues, inclement weather, and pilfering by summoned Feys. Their swords and armour turned into wooden replicas, irascible horses refused their commands, and odd gravitational effects and magical booby traps afflicted them. Summoned Earth Elementals wreaked havoc in the camps, smashing gear and snapping the weapons of those who tried to strike them. None noticed the sparrow who sat on a nearby branch, chirping happily to itself, watching these events with unconcealed glee.
After three days of harassment, Eisarn, the Temple commander, decided that it would be wise to retreat his eight hundred or so troops before the Druid’s apparent good humour left him and he began employing Fire Storms instead. Eadric had, in fact, specifically asked Nwm to ‘go easy’ on the enemy troops.
The inevitable meeting between Nwm and Brey was tense and difficult, despite Eadric’s best efforts to smooth things over between them. The Templar’s character – which demanded a rigid adherance to dogma - had not changed, although the focus of his zeal had shifted. After stiff words and obvious discomfort between the two, Eadric dismissed Brey and conferred in private with the Druid.
"He will never forgive me," Nwm sighed. "I can’t really blame him. I constantly remind him of his humiliation. I think the same can be said for most of his captains."
"Good," Eadric replied unsympathetically. "It will give them something to work on. I’d hate to think that this was easy for any of them."
"Tomorrow, the Tagamuos begins," Nwm said. "It is three days until the Solstice. I have yet to decide what to do – whether to go to Hethio and attend Hullu, or to stay here with Trempa’s Uediians. In either event, I will probably be called to lead the celebrations."
The Paladin groaned. "I’d completely forgotten about the Solstice. This is inconvenient timing. Is there any way that the festival could be, er, toned-down a little? Discipline is paramount at the moment."
"Good luck in trying," Nwm said unhelpfully.
"If you choose to go to Hethio, any information regarding Hullu’s progress would be appreciated," Eadric pointed out.
"Ed!" Nwm said with mock horror. "I hope you’re not suggesting that I go and spy on those of my own faith? I am a High Priest. Seriously, though, the same had occurred to me – but I’m not sure whether I should leave here."
Eadric looked quizzical.
"For the next three days, your camp will be filled with drunken Uediians fornicating and celebrating heathen rites, Eadric. This might prove somewhat inflammatory. My presence might stop things getting out of hand."
"Hmm." The Paladin answered.
"I think a short period of segregation might be appropriate," Nwm suggested.
"Normally, I’d disagree," Eadric said. "But perhaps an exception might be in order. The river may prove a useful barrier. Who will lead the celebrations here if you decide to go to Hethio?"
"Nehael is the obvious choice," Nwm answered.
Eadric looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Nwm smiled sympathetically.
**
The Dreamer drifted within a sea of colours which had no name in any mortal tongue. The Celestial, exalted even amongst his own kind, floated before him. Hundreds of motes of light hovered in front of the Dreamer, and he scrutinized them carefully.
"There is a sixty-two percent chance that the main arc becomes asymptotic in seventeen days," he said.
"That is why you must act," the Celestial replied, "or there will be multiple Gates."
"More than at Khu?" The Dreamer asked sarcastically.
"Khu was exceptional," the Celestial replied, smiling. "Enitharmon authorized a cascade. It was a necessary lesson for Graz’zt."
"Graz’zt does not frighten me," the Dreamer said. "His flux is dwindling – I suspect he has too many other concerns to deal with."
"Not so," the Celestial replied. "The reason that you discern a diminishment is that he has just facilitated the translation of four Succubi. He will force agency on this one here." He pointed to a dim mote, which appeared relatively innocuous.
"It is the Wizard Kothchori. There is a tight resonance with this one, and this one, and this one," the Dreamer said, pointing at several other motes.
"I will take your word for it," the Celestial said ruefully. "Such subtleties elude me. What is the power of this Kothchori?"
"I’m surprised that you don’t know. He is a Transmuter of significant ability."
"Wizards tend to escape my notice," the Celestial confessed. "Unless they are Summoners."
"Or Dreamers," the Dreamer remarked wrily.
"Or Dreamers," the Celestial agreed.
"Is he aligned?"
"Not to my knowledge," the Dreamer answered. "I recall him being pragmatic rather than philosophical. He was one of Feezuu’s targets in her search for Mostin. He was originally from Shûth, if I recall."
"In which case he is outside my purview in any case. The Sleeping Gods take care of their own. Interference would be undiplomatic."
"As at Khu?" The Dreamer jibed.
"Must we always return to Khu?" The Celestial asked, exasperated. "It was a finely balanced nodality. Oronthon’s action was not unilateral."
"Still, it risked offending those whose power still resides there," The Dreamer pointed out.
"They have slept long," the Celestial said.
"Sleep is no obstacle to action," the Dreamer observed. He pointed to other motes in succession. "This one is the Shamaness Mesikämmi, this one is the sword Melancholy. They are connected vicariously through Hullu, Nwm the Preceptor and Eadric before they touch Tramst."
"And this one here?"
"Is another Wizard, called Rimilin. He is despicable."
The Celestial nodded knowingly.
"This connotes resonance between Graz’zt, Rimilin and Mesikämmi. But I still cannot see the strand between Kothchori and Graz’zt."
"Perhaps not all tendrils are visible to you?" The Celestial suggested. "Oronthon sees such things."
"I am not omniscient," the Dreamer admitted. "But neither is he – no, please, Rintrah, let’s not start that argument again."
"What will you do?" The Celestial asked.
"At the moment, nothing," the Dreamer replied. "I will not act preemptively, based upon this probability."
"A second cascade is not out of the question if fiends are invoked – but it would still require a catalyst. I doubt that Mulissu would act in that capacity again. Would you?"
"I will reserve judgement on that request," the Dreamer said. "Although my instinct is to say no. I have issues about opening Gates in order to solve problems caused by opening Gates, let alone because of some Binding. The possible escalatory nature of this is exactly what I am trying to avoid, not to compound."
"But you have already admitted the possibility of action." Rintrah said. "At what point?"
"If the main arc becomes asymptotic, not before." The Dreamer answered.
"After Morne is sacked?"
"My first duty, as far as possible, will always be to the Injunction. I will not violate it lightly. You must understand that."
"I do Jovol. And so does Oronthon."
**
Mostin, having left Ortwin to ingratiate himself with the dignitaries in Ulao’s court, returned once more to his lodging in the city of Magathei, passed through the mirror-portal to his extradimensional retreat, and pondered.
Since his exchanges with Shomei, the Alienist had spent much time reflecting upon the nature of compacts. Her success with Devils – which was undeniable – came at a price which Mostin found wholly unacceptable. This, compounded by the fact that she had overextended herself, had led to her current predicament. Nonetheless, as with all ideas with which the Alienist came into contact, he wondered which parts he could improve upon, and exploit.
He considered Vhorzhe, his former mentor. What exactly had happened?, he wondered. The Alienist suspected that it had been an Entity of the higher order which had dragged Vhorzhe – body and spirit – off to some unknown reality. One of those from beyond Beyond, as it were.
They can be called, and bound, he had told Shomei. But he was unsure whether he believed it himself.
And were there other things, beyond even them? A third order of Pseudonaturals? A fourth? The metaphor of a series of mathematical constructs, possessing an increasing number of dimensions, was hard to avoid.
There were no limits. To anything. Mostin knew this. Not as an article of faith, but revealed to him through his hypercognitive faculties. The Metagnostic Reality.
He fidgeted, paced, brooded, and sighed. He spent an hour consulting his books.
Outside – ‘Uzzhin,’ or the ‘Far Realm.’ How did one get there? Cryptic references led him to believe that Plane Shift was an ineffectual method of transportation. It was beyond the power of the spell.
Is a Gate possible? He wondered. Or is it too dangerous to attempt? Is it really a place at all, or simply a state of being – although that argument was unsustainable. After all, what were any of the Planes, if they were not ‘states of being?’
The atemporal nature of the place caused conundrums to appear in the Alienist’s mind. If, by some means, he could come there, he could spend an infinity there, and, upon returning to the Prime, would still arrive at exactly the same time that he departed.
And would the aggressive, insanity-provoking nature of the place affect him? He was, after all, an Alienist. He had transcended his physical form, and was privy to secrets which few had ever gained. Secrets which could not be apprehended by a mind limited by conventional rational thought. Would the place embrace him, or extinguish his consciousness?
He needed answers.
Nervously, he opened a Gate.
**
Aside from Iald and Thahan, where concentrations of troops still existed, the Temple forces were thinly spread and ineffective. The Temple compound in Morne was almost empty of warriors, and only a few hundred others were scattered across Wyre, attached to the various Episcopal sees. Brey’s defection – along with sixty percent of the Magistratum – was a sore blow.
In Morne, the Curia – or part of the Curia – convened. Daunton’s assertion to Prince Tagur that the body was ‘irrelevant’ was only partially true. The Bishops of Mord, Tomur, Thahan and Gibilrazen – who, together with Hethio had formed the core dedicated to Eadric’s impeachment almost a year before – could, despite a diminishment in military clout, still bring a considerable degree of diplomatic pressure to bear. As a group, they lacked the cohesion and direction that they enjoyed under the Prelacy – or even under Rede’s brief protectorship. The spritual solidarity which so many people expected of the Curia, real or apparent, was also absent. As individuals, however – individuals who still commanded significant resources, and the threat of anathematization – they were not entirely toothless.
They lobbied the King and the Royal Council for action. Again. Shiel, the Duke of Jiuhu, and Sihu of Tomur, who, together with Foide the Lord Chamberlain and the boy Tiuhan IV, received all four of the Bishops, were sympathetic.
But Eadric was not their immediate concern.
"Our diviners have informed us that the threat which needs to be countered lies in Hethio," Foide said in a cracked voice. "The Uediian uprising presents more of an immediate danger."
"Eadric is an instrument of the Adversary," Gibilrazen countered. "What could be more pressing than his defeat? He has taken the blasphemous title of ‘Breath of God,’ and has corrupted yet more of the devout. He is an insidious snake, and must be stamped on. The survival of Orthodoxy depends upon it."
Sihu, devout in the extreme, shifted uneasily. "No decision regarding how to deal with Eadric can be made without Tagur," she said. "His consent will be crucial to whatever course of action we decide. His men are already on the move."
The Bishop snorted. "My see is three weeks away. The Adversary is five days from here. Morne will be lost before the Prince can come here."
"If so, then not to Deorham," Shiel remarked drily. "The Uediian movement must be crushed immediately and totally, before it gains any more momentum. And, respectfully your Majesty," he turned to the boy, "screw Tagur. We cannot wait for his men, or his prevarications. The Prince himself should be in Morne before nightfall tomorrow – he has ridden hard from Gibilrazen. He can make his case then. I myself have already ordered a thousand of Jiuhu’s finest to rout the Uediians and execute any rebels who surrender. An example must be made."
"Troops which could have been better deployed along the road to Trempa!" The Bishop objected.
Shiel gave a peremptory gesture. "They still will be. Just a day or two later. Kaurban’s forces may still intercept and delay the Heretic – he is already in the field. And Sihu’s troops will soon be hastening to join him. Deorham is unlikely to attempt to invest Morne with an army at his back, is he? And he lacks siege engines – Morne is safe for now."
"From the Pagan, Nwm?"
"He may be with the Uediians. Which is why we must eradicate that threat. If he is there, we will deal with him also."
The Bishop of Gibilrazen laughed harshly. "You would send a thousand men to deal with the Pagan? Do I need to remind you of the fiasco on the Nund? They will all be dead within an hour."
"No," Shiel replied. "A thousand men will be deployed to disband the Uediian rebellion. One man will deal with Nwm."
The Bishop looked blank.
"Rimilin has sworn to defend Wyre against the chaos. He has shown his true colours in this time of crisis – those of a loyal patriot."
"Are you insane?" The Bishop asked in disbelief. "Rimilin is an accursed demonist. And you would risk loosing this canker on Wyre with royal sanction? Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider."
"Rimilin will not violate the Injunction," Sihu said shakily. "He will not be deployed in the field. He will merely contain the threat of Nwm, if the Pagan is present."
"That is a violation," the Bishop said, exasperated. "It is a political act. If he gets away with it, who is to say what else he will attempt?"
"Fear of retribution will dissuade him from any such attempt."
"And what have you promised Rimilin for the aid that he lends you?" The Bishop asked bitterly.
"Nothing," Shiel replied. "That is precisely the point. I believe that he acts out of genuine concern – so much, that he is willing to risk even his own reputation."
"Bah!" The Bishop of Gibilrazen didn’t buy a word of it and, despite a universal suspicion directed at all things arcane, in this case he was right. Because Rimilin acted under direction from Prince Graz’zt, and with the promise of protection and great reward.
Of those four Succubi whom Graz’zt had dispatched onto the Prime, the first, Chr’ri, was directed to Mesikämmi - to incite her to seek Kothchori, to heal him, to bring him the seal, and then to receive aid in her quest to win back Hullu. Afterwards, the Demoness repaired to the Uediian camp to gauge the mood and to await the arrival of the Shamaness herself. The triangle between Mesikämmi, Hullu and the sword Melancholy had great potential to wreak havoc.
The second Demoness, sent to Rimilin, bore news of the imminent collapse of the Great Injunction. The fact that Rimilin himself would be instrumental in effecting it, encouraged rather than dissuaded the Acolyte. Invoking a new era of madness and death was certainly appealing, especially if there were no fears of repercussions. The name of the Succubus was Kalkja, and she bore a hatred for Oronthon exceptional even amongst demons. Henceforth, she would act as the Rimilin’s concubine, and Graz’zt would shower favours upon him.
The third, Chomele, was ordered to approach Kothchori himself. She manifested shortly after Mesikämmi departed, bearing a page ripped from one of his own books. Reluctantly, he agreed to compact with her. The price of exchange – the return of his spells to him – was more than he could refuse. And to him, Wyre, and its Injunction, held no special meaning.
The fourth Succubus, Aelial, appeared before Shomei with the promise of rewards beyond anything she had theretofore imagined. Shomei raised her rod, obliterated the messenger, and immediately contacted Belial for advice.
In the Abyss, Graz’zt, exhausted from the efforts of opening access to the Prime for his Demons, retired to his sanctum and brooded. War always brought ample opportunity for chaos, deceit, horror and death.
He smiled.
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