Visuit The warm spring sun, filtered through the canopy of the forest, lent a greenish hue to the

still air. Nehael smiled as she approached. Behind the manse, above a small stream which gurgled enthusiastically, a figure lounged in a wicker hammock suspended between two young birch trees, chewing thoughtfully on a long blade of coochgrass. He wore one of Mostin's favorite hats: an ochre felt, sporting a wide brim, and suitable for lazy afternoons. Through many perceptions, the goddess apprehended him in a thousand guises: a fey; a mortal youth; an emperor, resplendent and dreadful; incandescence a sliver of the Sun; the Will to Become. Here was the great Antinomos; the Nameless Fiend, exempt from the Law of Oronthon. Space and time warped in his vicinity: he was a singularity around whom cosmoii turned. Still, his totality eluded her. Deceiver. The Adversary opened an eye as she drew closer. "You were never Nehael. What are you?" He asked, half-amused. Nehael tilted her head. "Am I so opaque to you?" "Oh, yes," he answered. "There is much I might show you," Nehael suggested. "You are empowered to realize the full potential of the urn?" "Yes," Nehael replied. "I suspected as much." "Thank-you for letting Rintrah pass," Nehael nodded politely. "Will you trust me?" "Let me think about it," the Adversary replied. He pulled Mostin's hat down over his eyes. "Do you fear me?" Nehael inquired directly. The Adversary gave a shrug. "Perhaps. I haven't yet decided as to whether I ought, or no." "I should like to offer some advice," Nehael smiled. "Feel free," the Adversary smiled drowsily. "Read me. I am open to you." "I cannot. That is my dilemma. But thank-you for your consideration." "You cannot?" "Humility becomes you, Who-Were-Never-Nehael. As does your genuine lack of guile. The Tree weaves a net around you so subtle that even you can't perceive it." "And you can?" "No," the Nameless Fiend sighed. "But I can infer it. I am in Nizkur. I have no power here, save by

your grace. Or that of the Tree. Or Uedii. The puzzle intrigues me: I am an inquisitive sort." "Why would you reveal these things to me? They diminish you and empower me. That is contrary to your nature." "My Nature normally my preferred topic of discussion is of no consequence in this matter. Because I am not your Adversary. Do you doubt your invulnerability here?" "I had not, until you asked me that very question," Nehael admitted. "Touch," the Adversary tipped the brim of Mostin's hat. "Observe." Without warning, he struck her with enough power to raze a continent. Nehael merely witnessed him scattering a handful of acorns. "What of the Claviger?" She asked. "I'm wholly ignorant," the Adversary sighed. "I cannot believe anything you say." "Well, naturally," the Adversary smiled. "And there's the great irony, of course." "Decide what you want to do," Nehael turned and walked away. "Think of a name for me," he called after her. "Maybe I'll like it." **

Nwm's interdiction, as Mostin dubbed the spell although the Preceptor himself had not thought to

name it was a compound ward which excluded certain creatures of the unnatural order from proximity to the Sela. It was less comprehensive than Nwm would have secretly preferred, but given that the bulk of the power required to evoke it was derived from Temple Adepts and Flamines it would have been less than gracious of Nwm to exclude celestials from its zone of effect. Nwm refused to relax the primary ward to allow the nascent devils of the Dark Choir access, regardless of their professed loyalty. This vexed many of the Irrenites present, who entertained notions of discourse with the fallen celestials. "I'll not have them within a league of me. Nor will you unless you think that you're immune to subterfuge." Nwm had a point, Eadric conceded. The interdiction was quickly followed by a Nwm's mantle which settled upon those marching south necromancies would henceforth prove ineffective against the Wyrish forces and a Nwm's quickening which bestowed miraculous regenerative powers. The primary ward moved as Wyre's armies moved, encapsulating an oblate hemisphere some six miles in diameter, and invisible to mortal perception. It was potent, but demanded a renewal at dawn every day: a substantial investment of time, and an effort of magic to effect; the mantle and quickening required less frequent reinforcement. Although bolstered to withstand disjunctions, to contrive a superb dispelling of sufficient magnitude to counter

the interdiction was certainly within the ability of the Cheshnite leadership, were one or more of them to set their mind to it. Nwm's concerns were justified, and Anumid initially approached Idyam with the task of devising a spell for such a purpose. The demilich feeling such a chore was beneath him ignored the request and continued his necromancies. Idyam felt in no hurry. Malign spirits attended him now: deathshriekers spawned by the horrors visited upon Jashat. Nwm's ward could not be used offensively; they would effectively need to cut a swathe forward for it at some point. Choach accepted Anumid's offer, although with a counterbid for two hundred which made the Mouthpiece glower. Still, resources were plentiful: all of the Anantam were now able to act without fear of retaliation from the Claviger. Anumid felt pressure from the increasingly frenzied politicking of certain cliques within the cabals. It was only a matter of time before the assassinations began in earnest. For four hundred, Choach offered to eliminate Fumaril's defense as well. "How quickly can the spell be ready?" "In twelve hours." "I will give a provisional yes," Anumid grimaced. The Mouthpiece subsequently gave thought to assailing Fumaril. Although the host which had set forth with Dhatri was immense, the chambers below the Temple of Cheshne were far from empty; Naatha and Guho otherwise uncommitted might be persuaded to undertake the magical leaguer of Fumaril if offered sufficient inducements. The balance of power between the greatest of the Cheshnite immortals and the cabals was beginning to shift, Anumid observed. He found himself thankful that his own position until that point had been one of reserve; over-caution as Yeshe had preferred it. * Yeshe anointed herself with blood beside her pavillion and prepared to commune. Something was evading her notice, and she was determined to find out what. Her divinations were interrupted by Visuit. "We strike immediately. My instinct tells me the time is now," the Butcher growled. "We must bring down the ward first," Yeshe retorted. Dreadful runes kindled about Visuit as her mood darkened. Mortals nearby ran screaming. The goddess drew her weapon: a huge curved sword. "Do not seek to instruct me in the art of war." "Your bloodlust must wait," Yeshe snapped. She was rapidly losing her temper. Without warning, with a peal of thunder, the goddess smote Yeshe; a single blow which would have slain any mortal and many a godling. The Binder's armor, titan-forged, buckled but did not break. Yeshe staggered back, insensible. Visuit thrust out an arm and caught her by the throat. The goddess kicked Yeshe's legs from beneath her, and pushed the immortal to her knees.

Still, Yeshe could not make her limbs respond. "You would presume?" Visuit threatened to break her neck. Incapacity. The Binder crumpled to the ground. "I am making a sortie," Visuit boomed; her voice carried for a mile, drowning all other sound. "Those who wish to accompany me, may." "You will serve me," she hissed to the form at her feet. "Goddess." Choking, Yeshe abased herself. Visuit focused momentarily. The enemy would be breaking camp soon. She reached out with her mind, searching for purchase: a place in proximity to the Sela, where she might recently have been invoked by word or deed. An anchor in space. Her deific perception penetrated every ward erected by the Temple Adepts. At the last, a green veil, supple but unyielding: Nehael's blessing. Her concentration evaporated, and her thought retreated. Visuit cursed. Several of the Ushabam who pressed too close went mad. Holding her dark blade aloft, she clove open a gate. "Follow!" War demanded utter obedience. She mounted Narh; steed and rider leaped through the rift. A great press of demons and undead clamored behind her. After Yeshe, Prahar unhinged as he already was was the first to follow. On the Plain of Infinite Portals, the Sorrowsworn mustered hungrily. ** Tensions ran high in Mostin's Infernal tower. Eleven mages, in addition to Mostin and Orolde, were now ensconced in various chambers some of them all-too-comfortably, Mostin ruefully considered. And Hlioth remained, which made Mostin suspicious and more than a little nervous: she had appropriated a stone courtyard, and modified it greenified it to her satisfaction and Mostin's chagrin. Inevitably, the habits of certain of the Wizards and all were guilty of odd behaviours of one kind or another had come into conflict. Creq exuded a charnel reek which many found distasteful. Daunton pestered the Alienist constantly for use of the web of motes. Tozinak transmogrified various mundane objects for no apparent reason. Waide who maintained a disciplined hauteur insisted on an afternoon nap in one of Mostin's preferred spots: a conservatory in which various Hellish fruits grew on thorny trees. Mulissu's mephits and Jalael's quasits were on the verge of open warfare: spined devils ineffectively policed an uneasy truce between the two groups, until the Alienist conjured a barbazu to act as a more effective deterrent to hostilities. Mostin himself sat poring over formulae, performing impossible contortions upon immutable laws of

magic in his head. Graz'zt's jar sat before him on the desk. Upon it, placid, the dominated, polymorphed linnorm rested, coiled in miniscule. Mostin's prolepsis had generated a number of uncomfortable arcs, which involved the scorned Queen Soneillon, the Region of Dreams and Uzzhin combining in some dreadful resonance. He tapped upon the sphere with his quill until the demonic countenance of Prince Graz'zt appeared. "What is your intuition?" Mostin asked. "Thou hast exceeded thy authority, and made something unholy," Graz'zt replied, sneering. "Be more specific!" Mostin snapped. Graz'zt's face vanished. Mostin cursed him for his willfulness and tormented the captive demon, finally forcing his visage to reappear. Graz'zt's intractability seemed only moderately diminished; his hatred was palpable. "Answer the question," Mostin groaned. "And dispense with the archaisms: they are tedious." "You have sent What-is-Not to Where-it-Cannot-Be. As though realities do not bleed freely enough, Mostin the Metagnostic punches holes in continua to turn drips into torrents." "You speak of Soneillon's pilgrimage?" the Alienist hissed. "Vhorzhe made the same mistake," Graz'zt smiled wickedly. "Except it was no chthonic he sent hurtling into Delirium." "Your teminology is outmoded," Mostin corrected him. "And the analogy is inexact, in any case. I have demonstrated this!" "Rimilin will bring her back, for all your prattle." Graz'zt was obviously taking some pleasure in his words. "Rimilin does not concern me," Mostin sighed. "Then you will lose the race for Azzagrat." Mostin scowled, and waved Graz'zt away irritably. The demon remained, glowering at him. "Bugger off." Mostin shoved the linnorm off its perch, picked up the globe, and dropped it in a drawer, slamming it shut. He returned to his problem. * An hour later, Mostin announced his plan. The mages were to accompany him to a location within what had been the Argent Palace in Azzagrat, after the Alienist had established a modicum of stability on the planar flux in its vicinity. Thereupon, Mostin would invoke his quiescence of the spheres. They must next disjoin the chthonic gates, to permanently arrest the upwelling; subsequently,

the quiescence could be dispelled, and the offending gates would be gone. After Pharamne's urn was recovered Mostin purported to know its exact location, now the Alienist would hold a splendid party in celebration. Various concerns were voiced: Would chthonics in manifest form still be nearby? Would the gates even be present after the reality maelstrom had been suppressed? How many demiplanes removed from Azzagrat was the urn in any event? "And how many gates are there Mostin?" "I have calculated twenty-two," Mostin confessed. "But their usage has diminished considerably; a new equilibrium has already been established." "You require twenty-two disjunctions?" Hlioth laughed. "Certainly. This can be achieved with single-minded purpose." "And the predicted length of our tenure in these regions?" Tozinak inquired, sniffling dismally. "Around thirty minutes, if all goes to plan," Mostin grinned eagerly. "Alas!" Tozinak wailed. "I may not live to see my egg hatch!" ** "I am perplexed," Teppu admitted, looking at Neheal. "The exchange would indicate that you have him at a gnostic disadvantage so to speak." "He was thwarted in Afqithan; his prescience failed. This is a new experience for him. He claims the Viridity is inscrutable to him." "And Saizhan?" Teppu inquired. "That relationship is more complex. I don't profess to understand it. I suspect that he is somehow instrumental." ** They manifested in the fading half-light, within a bowshot of the interdiction, and within plain sight of the celestial guards who policed the perimeter. A ragged hole in the fabric of reality, slashed open by Visuit, through which a stream of demons poured. The Dark Choir was upon them in an instant, wreaking havoc with maces and flaming swords; within Nwm's presidio, news spread like lightning, and clarions sounded: knights and Templars sprang to arms. Visuit, who trusted her instincts, smiled. In the Aethers below, something stirred. To those who were sensitive adepts and celestials a ripple of Darkness ran across the still waters of Mind. The Butcher gestured with her clenched fist.

Chthonics manifested. The proto-devils cautiously withdrew to consider their options. Visuit sliced open another gate, and vanished. The rent in space remained open; through it, yet more demons and monsters began to rush. * As the alarm spread, Nwm who was stationed in the centre of the encampment with most of the spellcasters reached out his mind to Eadric, whose tents were closer to the periphery. [Nwm]: She is opening a gate every thirty seconds or so; they at appearing at apparently random locations around the circumference. Teleportation circles are also now beginning to open. The strongest has predictably asserted herself. [Eadric]: I had hoped she might be more direct. Still, they cannot penetrate the ward. Something very dark just came. [Nwm]: It is called Narake. [Eadric]: How do you know? [Nwm]: Uedii whispers it to me. [Eadric]: What is our best recourse? [Nwm]: Fortification. [Tahl]: We are ready. [Mesikammi]: As are we. [Lai]: And we. [Brey]: And we. "I will brook no celestial interference!" Nwm hissed through gritted teeth. "There will be none," the Ahma vowed. The words emerged from the mouths of all within the communion. Nwm evoked a spell. The Green Benediction settled upon Eadric and those nearest him. ** Lying in Mostin's hammock, the Adversary opened an eye. Now that was impressive, by any standards.

This is what impressed the Adversary (copied from the Plots and Places thread)

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 04-18-09

Dug this one out as it's topical. One of Nwm's more complicated spells Green Benediction Transmutation [Green] Spellcraft DC: 0 [1276] Components: V, S Casting Time: 1 round Range: See text Targets: Living creatures within a 400-ft. radius burst Duration: 20 minutes Saving Throw: Will negates (harmless); Fortitude half; see text Spell Resistance: Yes (harmless) [Fortify (+17), enhancement bonuses (+158)] + [Fortify (+27), +49DR (+196)] + [Fortify (+17), +100SR (+200)] + [Fortify (+17), +49 natural armor (+98)] + [Transform (+21), Transport (+27), Grant Supernatural Ability (+10), Emulate Transport via Plants (+27), quickened ability (+28)] + [Energy (+19), Green (+10), +8d6 (+16), increase die (+40)] + [Contact (+23)] + [Reveal (+19)]; 1 round (+20), Area (+10), Area +3900% (+156), +50 CL vs Dispel (+100), Other Flexible Provisions (ad hoc +20); Ritual (-1276) Nwm forms an empathic and physical communion between Uedii and all designated living creatures within a 400-ft burst radius. The area affected may be anywhere within range of Nwm's clairvoyant vision, but must be on the Prime Plane. Sentient creatures who wish to avoid the effects of the Green Benediction may make a Will saving throw (DC 39); animals are automatically affected. Whilst the Green Benediction is in effect, designated targets gain the following benefits:

A +20 Enhancement bonus to Strength, Constitution, Wisdom and Charisma A +50 Natural armor bonus to armor class Damage Reduction 50/Spell Resistance 100 The supernatural ability to use transport via plants as a swift action once per round Creatures under the effect of the Green Benediction emanate a viridescent light to 10 feet which deals 10d20 points of damage per round to extraplanar creatures of a type designated at the time of the spell's casting. A Fortitude Saving Throw (DC 39) halves this damage. Creatures are subject to the light every round they remain within its range. For purposes of attempts to dispel the effects of the Green Benediction, Nwm is treated as an 85thlevel caster.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 05-10-09

Eadric

The Goddess inhaled sharply; her head span in an ecstasy. Her communion became perfect, and her

form blazed as the Viridity flowed through her. Nwm had invoked her again as the conduit for a spell of staggering power. Trees nearby erupted briefly into spontaneous sapience. Teppu capered madly. "Excellent," he clapped his hands. Nehael's consciousness was immediately drawn to focus on Eadric and the thousand or so most stalwart knights in the Wyrish encampment; those whose tents were in proximity to those of the Ahma. Thence it extended to settle upon every griffon, every horse, every dog, every bird, every ant. Nehael shook her head. "It will not be enough. Nwm must try harder. I hope he knows this." ** Eadric's head hummed, as though he had imbibed some heady green wine which evoked an urge to pure enjoyment. Around his core, a warmth which nourished and sustained him. The Eye of Palamabron revealed the Aethers thick with archons and devas; myriads dispatched by Enitharmon to intercept the Chthonic threat and prevent further bleed into the World of Men. Here and now, the twilight tasted fresh and new. Eadric's skin tingled. He mounted the griffon Hauhuts and took to the skies. Below him the camp stretched, many fires were burning: casting his eyes around, he noticed that three main fronts had opened, all to the east of the Interdiction, which thankfully still held. Northernmost, a cluster of gates through which Prahar's undead cavalry poured, swiftly and repeatedly dispersing and reforming in cadres. Their movements seemed in execution of a longprepared plan, although maybe the phenomenon was spontaneous; formations rippled like schools of black fish beyond the protective walls of the spell. They were followed by blood fiends, abyssal ghouls, and other things which ate flesh. In the centre, Yeshe, Pazuzu, and the violet banners of the Ushabam held by their giant bodyguards; their leaders were burning dozens of candles of invocation, and balors were appearing in the skies above them. Others were conjuring lesser demons, as their ability permitted. Still more demons were simply manifesting. To the south, in an arc, the chthonic menace. Narake, evoked last of all, was easternmost. Irel had determined his reaction quickly: more than half of the Dark Choir under the archon Hemah remained in the fight with Yeshe and her minions, and were attempting to eliminate the spellcasters. Shokad, Oraios and Irel himself with a smaller number of former celestial stalwarts moved to intercept the chthonics. Knights and Templars under the effects of the Benediction were already materializing within the ranks of the enemy, immolating with green fire and quickly routing the half-giants, whilst enduring a barrage of blasphemies from the Ushabam themselves. In response, demons were being invoked even more rapidly; the balors were being flung against them. From above, Eadric's vision rested on a heaving mass of nullity shaped like a demon, which emanated a destroying fire. All other creatures shunned it.

Narake, Nwm confirmed.

Bathed in green radiance, Eadric grunted and urged his steed to a dive; his plummet brushed aside a flight of chthonic succubi which strove to block his path, burning many from the sky. His task was simple: he should strive to slay as many as he could. He smote Narake a great blow as he wheeled past, only to have Hauhuts plucked in turn from the sky by a fiery tendril. Griffon and rider were flung to the ground; the earth shook as he struck it. Visuit thundered past, slaying Hauhuts with a single blow which continued on to Eadric, striking Lukarn and causing the blade to shiver powerfully along its length. A death spell spoken by Narake slid over him, dissipating harmlessly. In a trice, the demon dwarfing the Ahma leapt upon him, striking him with an object shaped like a mace and forged out of malice. In the vicinity of the chthonic, matter was beginning to smoke and evaporate. Eadric fended the blow easily with his shield, and the sledge carved a hole in the earth next to him. Four more strikes he turned or withstood; black fire engulfed him, but nothing adhered. By instinct, he moved his form subtly; or maybe the World shifted around him, reordering itself in response to some impulse of Uedii which he could not articulate. He followed invisible green tracheids, emerging instantly from the grass on the other side of the demon. He launched a powerful assault.

Lukarn opened huge, gaping wounds; Light poured into naked Void. Narake vanished from sight;
whether destroyed or fled, Eadric could not tell: and perhaps it made no difference. Before he could even draw breath, Visuit sped past again upon Narh and struck a great blow upon his shield, shearing the celestial metal from edge to edge, cleaving it cleanly in two. Her curved sword if such it was continued through the rerebrace on his shield-arm into sinew. Visions of carnage passed through his mind, and voices called to him from unnamed hells. He felt warm blood flow over his elbow and down to his wrist. Sixty yards past Eadric, Visuit leapt from her saddle and with surprising elegance twisted in the air like a cat, landing firmly to face him. She smiled. Life withered. Casting off the remains of Melimpor's Shield, the Ahma gripped his weapon in both hands and materialized immediately in front of the goddess, hewing at her ferociously with every ounce of strength he could muster, and burning her with green flames which issued from him in sheets. Lukarn fulminated, illuminating the battlefield as he smote her. She struck back, and with terrible speed. Raining blows down hard upon him, hammering him through helm and armor and forcing him backwards. He bled profusely. Thus they exchanged buffets. Visuit had quickly gained the upper hand. The Ahma prudently withdrew. He followed a strand of Green and appeared instantly before Nwm. "I need more," he said simply. "There is no more. Try harder," Nwm scowled as he healed him. "Nwm" "My resources are not infinite!" Nwm snapped. "And a new front is about to open. And there will be others. Timing is critical. Do not be distracted. Now keep them at bay." The Ahma nodded, understanding. Moments later, the lich Choach together with a large number of Anantam magi arrived a league to the west, collapsing Nwm's Interdiction.

Demons began teleporting: probing unlocked areas closer to the centre of the camp. Every plant whispered; green ripples moved across the ground, as hundreds of Templars rapidly transported themselves back from the now-vanished periphery. Two hundred yards from Eadric and Nwm, Narake reappeared. Nwm vomited as the demon invoked a spell, enveloping everything within a mile in a maelstrom of black fire. Thousands died. Though many adequately warded survived, all plant matter was turned to ash. Nwm coughed, regaining his composure. It has to be Now. [Tahl]: We are ready. [Mesikammi]: As are we. [Lai]: And we. [Brey]: And we. A silent green nova. Eadric knew it: he had felt it before in Afqithan. This was of more modest scope, but subtler. A frequency attuned to a specific vibration, married to a wave of banishment. Every demon, every chthonic vanished. Pazuzu and Visuit, vanished. Each expunged; shunted away to its proper place. Yeshe cursed. Gating Visuit again would not be possible until the prescribed length of time had elapsed. The thirty-or-so balors who had been interposed between the dark celestials and the Ushabam had disappeared; Hemah and his brethren were already in their midst, sweeping their fiery swords in great arcs, and hewing them down. Ablaze with her own magic, she emptied her reservoir and struck the former episeme with a pillar of blackness, slaying him. Wearily, the Binder opened yet another gate, and another; she drew now on a rod of ancient potency to fuel her magic. She staggered. Exhausted, she vanished with a word of recall. Those amongst the Ushabam who were able, followed her lead. ** The earth was black in the gathering night: Narake's carnage was ugly. Outside of the wasted area, the Temple forces were assembling. Eadric stared at the body of Hemah; he had expected it to vaporize, or at least to smoulder. The great archon seemed serene in extinction. The devil's expression might have been one of mild perplexity. They were one and the same. Irel alighted silently next to the Ahma.

Whither? Eadric wondered.

"To a lake of fire," the fallen deva replied. "Or to an Ocean?"

"If you decree it." "Let it be so." Eadric heard a soft hoof-fall approaching; he turned to observe the stallion Narh pacing gently toward him. Somewhat behind, a lone figure wearing a worn studded jack and spattered with ichor. Ortwine gave a hint of a smile as she approached, and tossed Sibud's head to the ground at the Ahma's feet. "One for me," she said. Eadric gaped. "In order to write lays of one's exploits, it is necessary to first perform them," she explained. [Nwm]: It must wait. A magical wind was rising: the slightest breeze, invoked by Prahar, but tenacious: it rendered all flight impossible. Those who remained aloft across the battlefield found themselves without purchase, and plummeted. Ortwine gazed north and east. Night had now fallen fully, but the sky through Mesikammi's arts was clear as crystal and the stars were bright. A tremor pulsed through the ground. Ancient carynxes were sounding brazenly, as evil godlings ordered their undead ranks. "Prahar is preparing to charge with his death knights," the sidhe observed drily. "By lucky happenstance, the greatest horse ever sired is your eager steed." The Ahma muttered an earnest prayer of thanks to Uedii. "You may also thank me. You may not criticize me for my gnomes again," Ortwine smiled coldly. "Thank-you," Eadric nodded. "And agreed. What will you do?" Ortwine reached into her vest and withdrew a talisman which reeked utterly of evil. "I plan to sow discord which appears to be my forte."

*Unfortunately for Eadric, Visuit resolves her melee attacks as touch attacks. DR 50/- helped a lot. DevCrits didn't work for either of them as they were both fortified. At this point, they were pretty evenly matched. Don't let her charge was the informed consensus.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 05-23-2009

Mostin Ex Machina Temenun meditated in Dream. His ancient consciousness elevated by powerful magics and attuned to destructive urges rapidly took stock of the changing situation. Prescient impulses crowded his mind, each seeking to assert its own augury as truth.

Sibud had fallen; the Vampire had been an arrogant fool, and the Tiger felt only contempt. To taunt vindictive sidhe-queens entailed certain risks, and departing one's own fortifications to slake an urge as base as feeding brought the consequences it deserved. Masquerading as an agent hired by herself, Ortwine had infiltrated Thond, gained news of Sibud's whereabouts, and penetrated the spirits which attended him during his glut. A dirty, ignoble assassination. Temenun smiled. Eventually, his Naztharunes would have accomplished the same task. But the sidhe had also succeeded in instigating a bloody feud between two opposing factions within the Truzha leadership; Thond's cohesion would soon be lost. Part of Dhatri's main force bent on Jompa, where mortals were more abundant would have to divert to Thond and resecure it. Yeshe had vanished, presumably departing to a hidden sanctum to recoup. As many as half of the Ushabam were destroyed, and her authority was now questionable at best. But not her power; Temenun would not underestimate that. The Tiger considered Idyam now the greatest threat to his own supremacy; the demilich, virtually indestructible, had been quietly extending his power base. Temenun knew through his spies that Anumid had spoken with him at least three times, but Idyam played a cool courtship and patiently bided his time. Imperceptible to the oneiric guard which the Servants of the Sun had set in defense, Temenun dreamed his way in darkness to Scir Cellod to watch events as they unfolded. ** Choach, and the thirty Anantam who accompanied him, were entrenching quickly. They had cordoned a half-acre with walls of force and fortified their position with dimensional locks, symbols and a complex pattern of selective antimagic, overlayed by the lich himself. In unlocked areas, teleportation circles were opened; a quartet of compacted balors herded goristros through with goads of adamant. A ruddy glow illuminated the magical beachhead. Perched on a skeletal dragon, Choach gazed across the dark of the rising plain, bending his thought north and east. Sunbursts strobed on the horizon over a low rise. He reached out with his mind to observe the main conflict, almost four miles away. Lacking adequate aerial support of his own, Prahar had pinned down the devas and griffons and forced a ground engagement. By now, Choach knew, the nature-priest must be spent. The lich contacted Anumid.

The situation is precarious. You will need to send reinforcements if you deem victory important.
In Jashat, the Mouthpiece pondered. This might have been an ill-advised sortie, but one could hardly gainsay Visuit. With exquisite timing, Temenun's voice purred into his mind. I am also here, Anumid. I can strike the

decisive blow.

"How much?" Anumid asked aloud through gritted teeth.

Two thousand.
Anumid almost laughed. It was a preposterous sum; almost two thirds of the liquid assets of the convocations. "Even were your solution watertight, I could not persuade the cabals to invest so much."

Shvar Choryati, was Temenun's response.

The blood left Anumid's face. "I will communicate your offer."

Do not tarry in your deliberations. You have less than an hour before Nashhte sets.
Anumid swore, and commanded a dozen babau to ring the gongs and summon the remaining Anantam and as many of the Kesha-Dirghaa as could be persuaded. He sent entreaties to Naatha and Rishih to reinforce Choach with their compactees as soon as they might. ** In the chill night air, Ortwine soared undetected above the melee, ignoring Prahar's spell of impeded flight, and gazed at the spectacle below. The enemy's initial charge had been brutal, and backed by a magical impetus which had broken the half-ordered Temple ranks. Now three great kanistas, led by the Penitents and the Illuminated, had rallied and penetrated the Cheshnite front. Ahead of them all, the goddess Ninit rode with the five Boars, cutting a swathe through everything in her path. Magical and supernatural detonations echoed across battlefield. Devas of varying moral persuasions acted as bulwarks around which Wyrish knights rallied. Nwm had dismantled the ritual configuration; the saints, priests and adepts who had been involved were now free to engage the enemy: a task which they undertook with predictable gusto. Lai was reordering her handmaidens with Mesikammi; the shamaness was readying another rite. Ortwine descended behind the Cheshnite lines, and wrought a powerful glamour: what was to pass here must go undetected, for a little while at least. She reached into a soft leather pouch and withdrew a slender black taper. Igniting it with a cantrip, she held the candle as it burned rapidly. A balor appeared in a cloud of fire and smoke. It looked around suspiciously, its true seeing unable to pinpoint Ortwine. "Wait there for a while," the sidhe commanded, her voice issuing from somewhere close by. "I will have further instructions for you presently." Her eyes penetrated the darkness ahead to observe Mesikammi as she invoked a massive resurrection: hundreds of corpses sprang to life again; those who had been disintegrated incarnated in pristine forms. Ortwine raised an eyebrow; even the death knights had been afforded random living bodies. Clothed in flesh again, some rejoiced, some wept, others fled or waxed furious; their variety was utterly bewildering: strange goblins and sprites; satyrs, mephits, nymphs and sylphs; animal spirits of every conceivable type. Other spirits for which Ortwine had no names.

I have decided that I like your style, Ortwine spoke with deific benevolence into Mesikammi's mind. If you wish it, I will sponsor you. Power is power, and I accept; although I fear I might be too fickle a priestess. You may come to realize the absurdity of that sentiment.
Refocusing, Ortwine reached into her pouch and withdrew another candle.

* The Ahma fought upon Narh; on his left arm he bore a light buckler lent by Ortwine. The stallion seemed to anticipate his thought even before he did, and moved with a deadly, fluid grace. Already brimming with primal energy, Narh had been infused yet further with Green power by Nwm. Sundry wards and both the Mantle and the Quickening protected Eadric still, but the ecstasy of the Benediction had passed, and the grim reality of the conflict had returned to him. It was a confused riot: cadres of dismounted knights formed protective rings around Flamines as they worked magic; Abyssal blasts issued from death knights, penetrating the Temple ranks. Celestials moved amongst the Wyrish troops, bringing respite wherever they showed themselves; Temple Scrollbearers were evoking flame strikes and sunbursts, wasting squadrons of undead cavalry. A hundred other magical lights had been struck. Protected by Nwm's Quickening, the Templars were proving exceptionally hard to kill. The Dark Choir slew everything in its path. Overhead, the stars winked as the fume generated by lesser magics was dispersed by the persistent breeze of Prahar's spell. Hyne winded Hemah's horn, a piercing call which echoed across the battlefield. Striking down the enemy rapidly, the Ahma attempted to run a gauntlet of undead knights with Rede, Tarpion and Tahl in order to reach Prahar's standard; he hewed his way forwards until the press became so thick he could no longer move; the reek of the Cheshnite horses drawn from demonic stock was suffocating. He spoke a holy word, burning away the knights ahead and allowing him to push forward another twenty yards. Tarpion and Rede flanked him, pronouncing dicta and rendering the enemy insensible. Behind, Saint Tahl grown ten feet tall now fought on foot. Prahar, also in the thick of combat but a furlong distant, uttered a profanity and struck Eadric and his company with a horrid wilting, which the Mantle deflected easily. As the Ahma fended the blows from some petty godling, he caught glimpses of Prahar's manner in battle. It made him more than a little nervous. The undead warrior exhibited a slavering rage whilst raining down magical fire. And when any came within reach of his sword, he killed them instantly, with one stroke. Always. Eadric cursed as he cut down his opponent, looking past him; now another gate was opening near Prahar. The Ahma groaned as a great Ugra, hugely muscled and bearing a massive rod lurched through, smashing everything in his path. A distended gut hung over grotesque genitalia; vast horns curved down, then up, then out. Rank hair covered him. Aja, the Great Goat. Eadric knew him as Orcus. Matters worsened. * Ortwine clapped her hands. Twelve balors suitably screened and veiled now attended her. All were dominated. "Your primary target with whom I am sure you are all familiar is Prince Orcus. Perhaps some of you may have been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Kill Orcus. Kill Prahar. Kill Choach. Kill any other members of the Cheshnite faction. Then return here." Ortwine waved a hand dismissively. The twelve balors teleported away.

And bring me trophies, she reminded them.

** The Tiger dreamed his way back to Jashat; he would evoke his spell from a safe distance. Proximity to such a thing as this was never advisable. Beneath a great dome, the assembled magi were waiting for him. Gathering his energies, Temenun reached out through Dream. Drawing on the pattern generated by the Anantam, he penetrated layers of veils, deep into ancient nightmares. His mind rested, still, within the primordial Dark. He breathed deeply.

Shvar Choryati, he whispered, and turned his thought back two hundred miles to the north.
** The meticulous preparations for the Abyssal descent were nearing completion. Thirteen Wizards now worked magic furiously. They conjured allies and warded themselves, haggling over access to one another's spells like children at a fig stand. Mostin had been forced to revise his plan; yet another delay, but one insisted upon by a vocal minority led by Waide and Tozinak. They must first target the entire area in Azzagrat with the largest expulsive spell they could muster, before the Quiescence was evoked, ridding the area of chthonic nuisances before proceeding. Mostin had been forced to reconfigure another spell, a process which took valuable time. When he was finally ready, the Alienist consulted the web of motes again. Soneillon's significator was beginning a resonance with Rimilin; the wizard would soon bind her, as Graz'zt had indicated. Mostin felt uneasy. He hated it when demons told the truth; it made things so much more complicated. Even as he observed, possibilities multiplied; an area of flux was causing dozens of motes to swerve along unlikely cateneries. Mostin swore profusely.

No! Not now! Why was it always now? Why couldn't it wait?
Eadric's mote suddenly careened towards him at breakneck speed, engulfing him. Mostin snapped out of his reverie as he was struck by a desperate sending issued by Tahl.

Mostin. Help. Please.

"This is a most unfair choice," Mostin protested. * Scenes of battle passed across the surface of the Mirror of Urm-Nahat. A ravenous darkness, rolling across the conflict, appeared to be consuming Wyrish troops by the company. "It's simple," Daunton sighed. "Do you know nothing of committees? We vote; and quickly. Abstentions must also abide by the majority decision. Mostin, as host, must vote last. In the event of a

tie, I have the casting vote. My vote is for a return to Wyre." "To Azzagrat," Jalael said immediately. "No vote," Tozinak sighed. "I simply cannot. I am overwrought." "To Azzagrat," Muthollo concurred. "To Azzagrat," Hlioth nodded. Mostin cocked his head. Now that was unexpected. "No vote," said Creq. "I have a mortuary in southern Hethio, and I would be loath to see it despoiled. But I am greedy, and wish to increase my power. I am genuinely conflicted." "I cast no vote," Mulissu waved her hand dismissively. "I do not recognize the authority of the Wyrish Collegium, and reserve the right to ignore any decisions the committee reaches." "To Wyre," Sho said unexpectedly. Mostin wondered which sentiment moved her; an inkling suggested it might be some sense of obligation to Nwm, but he had no evidence to support the theory. "To Wyre, also," Troap nodded. "I am a mundane sort, by nature. Which makes me wonder as to which voice Hlioth is responding." "Now is not the time to analyze motivation." Daunton groaned. "To Wyre," Orolde answered. "No vote," Waide growled. "At the moment, neither choice appeals. I am hungry, and I am late to bed." "To Azzagrat," Droom of Morne spoke. "I would hate more to see the vote so uncontested." Mostin glared at him. Daunton looked desperately at the Alienist. "Wyre," Mostin nodded. "Although I feel bound to point out that the target area is not actually in Wyre, either politically or magically. Ladies and gentlemen, we are unconstrained." "If you insist on this course of action," Hlioth sighed wearily, "you must first neutralize Choach, before he disperses his demons and becomes a further nuisance." "An opinion or a prophecy?" Mostin asked acidly. "Quiet your ego!" Hlioth snapped. "And for once, do as I say. I will be busy dying elsewhere. Do not mourn. I will be back ere sunrise." "Hence, I mourn." "After you have eliminated Choach, evacuate as many as you can," Hlioth sighed. "You cannot overcome this darkness." **

Daunton pinpointed one of the gaps in Choach's protective net with a potent divination. The Infernal Tower appeared, unmasked by any illusion, within the lich's rapidly deploying force. The Collegiate mages stood on a wide balcony which Mostin had caused to be projected from the tower's wall at a height of fifty feet. The Alienist smashed the lattice of antimagic protecting the Cheshnite magi with a powerful dispelling. A barrage of disjunctions previously prepared by the Wyrish wizards for the purpose of sealing the twenty-two chthonic gates of Azzagrat instead rained upon Choach and the Anantam, stripping them of protections, collapsing walls of force and rendering teleportation circles inert. Mulissu struck Choach with a Glance of Thunder; before he could teleport, she struck with another. Mostin detonated a massive sonic. "Take out the balors, you idiots!" Mostin barked at the other wizards, who seemed to be targeting groups of demons indiscriminately. Tozinak grew wings and hovered exitedly. "My egg has hatched! My egg has hatched!" Mulissu collapsed unconscious, blood pouring from her nose. Deprived of his physical form, Choach fled back to his phylactery. Five miles away, Eadric was alerted to the presence of the wizards by a peal of distant thunder. Moonrise Hlioth appeared before Nwm. The Preceptor looked haggard. "Go to Mostin and sort things out," she instructed. "Then start thinking of a way to get rid of that." The witch gestured irritably to a billowing void which absorbed everything in its path. "I am spent," Nwm shook his head. "But you cannot be!" Hlioth groaned. "Mostin is missing me from his ritual; I had elected you my substitute." Nwm glared at her. He was spent; aside from a few restorative spells, he had almost nothing left. "Work something out," Hlioth said irritably. "Is this all there is?" She glanced around: Lai and her handmaidens, a few Uediian priests and priestesses. Most seemed exhausted; at least Lai retained some of her power. "You are late to the party," Nwm smiled stonily. "It will have to do. Give me what you've got." Hlioth drew on their magic, invoked a powerful ward on herself alone and then vanished. "Charming," Nwm sighed. He looked at Lai. "I'll go," the goddess said. She vanished into the earth.

* Eadric was closer to it: an inky darkness which slithered across the ground like malign fog. It emanated terror; those which it touched, it snuffed out. Everything recoiled from it; it seemed bent only on destroying vibrancy and life. The telepathic screams issued by celestials which had encountered it still echoed in the Ahma's mind. He had no time to muse on such things. Orcus's mace slammed into his buckler, numbing his left arm; a sting like a wyvern's tail punched through a gap in his armor and potent venom threatened to overwhelm him. Horns, a maw, claws. A foul, rank, cloying smell. Aja was a bastion around which all evil things rallied and from which all that was good was moved to flee. Lukarn was impotent against the demon's defenses; the Prince of the Undead had erected a ward of indomitability about himself. Orcus spoke a dark blasphemy. Eadric endured it; Rede and Tarpion reeled. Others nearby exploded into dust. Eadric groaned. Balors were now manifesting all around him.

They're on your side, Ortwine's voice echoed in his head. Your timing is a little tight. Orcus is warded. Noted.
The dominated balors targeted Aja with dispellings. ** The stars shone brighter still. Mesikammi had now waxed to her full power; the spell which she had wrought an hour before came into effect. Reaching skywards, she plucked a meteor from the heavens and pulled it to the earth; the light as it struck the ground illuminated the countryside for miles around. Its impact vaporized an entire company of undead mercernaries, and left a smoking hole a hundred feet wide. Nwm glanced upwards. More stars seemed to be shifting. "How many more do you have?" He asked. "Three," Mesikammi smiled. "Make 'em count," Nwm cautioned her.

Mind my balors, Ortwine's voice carried to the shamaness.

** The Ahma enjoyed a brief lacuna in the combat; everything within a hundred feet was dead. Orcus had fled or obscured himself a dozen balors was enough to cause even him pause for thought. Prahar had done the same, although Eadric anticipated that either or both would soon reappear.

In their absence, the demons had set upon the enemy knights. Ortwine became visible and descended to the ground, her hand upon the pommel of her weapon. Eadric leaned heavily on Lukarn, and spat blood. She gave a cool smile, and bowed. "I should apologize for doubting your capacity to keep me entertained. I have burned all but one of my candles; unfortunately, those fellows cannot linger too long. Still we're not doing so badly." Eadric gestured with Lukarn towards the consuming Void. "There is that," Ortwine conceded. Her face became deadly serious. "You should consider sounding a general retreat. " Eadric nodded. He knew it. ** Hlioth materialized within a translucent jade sphere atop a precipice; below her, waves crashed at its base, the foam catching starlight. The moon was still a rumor on the eastern horizon. Nearby, an iron tower reared high into the sky.

You. Rimilin spoke into her mind.

As demons materialized around her, the Green Witch struck her staff upon the rock, sending forth a massive vibration which caused the ground to heave and ripple. Like a rising bore, it rapidly carried the tower and its contents over the edge of the cliff, toppling it into ocean below. The air around her was suddenly thick with fiends teleporting away from the collapsing structure, hurling magic and bodies against her. Unperturbed, Hlioth pronounced a swift banishment of great power; green light flashed. Abruptly, all was quiet. Rimilin arose from the wreck of his abode and alighted on the cliff-top twenty yards away. "Are you done?" He asked. He struck her with a disjunction and blasted her with arcane fire. Hlioth smiled. The spell she cast possessed of immense penetrative power could not be turned. Rimilin knew that it had been crafted just for him. A look of mild astonishment crossed his face; he had not expected another of that magnitude. And not this Rimilin vanished. Hlioth sighed. The presence of another. A void with many tendrils. She saw Queen Soneillon quietly walking towards her, even as an annihilating fire consumed her. "You have seen too much," the witch whispered, as she expired. **

Mostin grumbled. Goristros were hurling themselves at the base of the tower, and palrethees were appearing before him. The threat of the balors had fortunately been eliminated in quick measure: Jalael had dominated one and hurled it at another; the two remaining had wisely chosen to avoid the same fate, and vanished. The Alienist sighed. They were probably loose in the world. Somewhere. Tracking them and dispatching them was not a chore which concerned him. Mostin invoked a chained polymorph; the demons directly ahead were transformed into trout and dropped to the ground. Those who were fortunate enough to avoid the hooves of the goristros flapped briefly before dying. Creq was administering some necromantic elixir to Mulissu in order to revive her. Tozinak made encouraging sounds. "Can't you do something?" Mostin asked of Tozinak, incredulous. "Even Waide is doing something." The other transmuter had reversed gravity, causing three of the enormous demons to bob in the air unceremoniously. Tozinak pursed his lip Mostin had no doubt that he had taken genuine offense and pointed. A goristro began to dance. Lai sprang out of the ground, assumed the form of a falcon, shot upwards, dived, and landed on the balcony, resuming her normal shape in a single, seamless movement. Mostin blanched. "Hlioth indicated that you need another for your spell," Lai explained. She reached down and healed Mulissu, saving her from Creq's dubious ministrations. Mostin's prolepsis warned him of an impending explosion of planar conduits. Naatha and Rishih, with their allies. Too many; the force previously gathered to assault Fumaril. More teleportation circles began to appear, a quarter-mile to the north. Three gates flashed open. Demons, giants, magi. Immortals. Mostin knew they were loaded with magic. They were coming through fast. "Sh*t," the Alienist cursed. "Well?" Mulissu asked groggily. "We have to," Mostin nodded glumly. Drawing on the cabal, he invoked a massive Quiescence of the Spheres. The air became still, and all dimensional traffic within ten miles was stifled. Silence. An acidic storm struck the tower. Orolde, Troap, Creq and Daunton perished. "That it should come to this," Mulissu erected an antimagic field. "Deploy the compactees," Mostin screamed, skin hanging from his nose like molten wax. A portal to the tower no small postern, but a great gate was opened. Dozens of compacted daemons, devils, hags and elementals retained as security against Abyssal entanglements poured forth. Quasits and mephits bickered in the air above them. "After we get out of the vacuum, please tell me you can wind walk?" Mostin asked Lai.

"Only to a certain point," Lai said. "Prahar has forbidden flight beyond it." Mostin groaned. An old moon a slender sickle, the colour of deep rust finally arose from behind distant hills, casting morbid rays across the field. ** Prahar had invoked a pitch darkness which defied all attempts to dispel it. It encapsulated an area of fierce combat, where a great mob of undead horsemen were attempting to push through to a heavily defended Temple centre. Within the shadow, the void famished and profane rolled forward and consumed. Hysteria descended on the Wyrish forces. Their enemy seemingly unaffected struck at them ruthlessly. Tahl, separated from the others and finally surrounded and overwhelmed, selfimmolated in a swirling column of fire and vanished, burning the enemy in a wide circle. Nwm stumbled blindly toward the Sela's redoubt, where he knew many of the hardiest knights were stationed; even his supernatural vision had been subdued. He cursed himself, assumed the shape of a wolf, and sniffed his way forwards. More than a few hacked at him in panic as he moved, mistaking him for the enemy; he shrugged off their blows. Behind him, it was coming. He could feel it; Green was buckling like a warped plank to accommodate it. *

Shvar Choryati encroched. Now it phased nearby in contempt of the Quiescence of the Spheres, first here and then there, slaying hundreds each time it appeared; half at random, but always closer, as if
some instinct drew it obliquely inwards. Nwm stilled his thought and considered his options. He observed its pattern, and pondered. "You will not escape it," Nwm spoke to the Sela. "No magic can speed you fast enough now; all has been stilled. It hungers for you, albeit circuitously; it is does not perceive the route to you in linear fashion. Many are dying as it seeks you; we may never recover them. It will eat everything near you. Will you trust me and do as I say?" Nwm asked. "Yes," Tramst replied. Even in the darkness, Nwm knew that his expression was open. Nwm reached out and felt the Sela's helm, and placed a hand on either side. "Invoke her," the Preceptor said. "Nehael," Tramst whispered. A supplication. "Rest until the morning. I will wake you at sunrise." With a strong twist, Nwm snapped the Sela's neck. His death passed unnoticed by all except the Darkness. Become an enormous hunting cat, Nwm bounded north and west. Two minutes later, beyond the range of Prahar's invocation, he assumed the form of a great eagle, and powered his way away, in search of a likely refuge.

Meanwhile, the void turned its attention to the brightest remaining source of light. ** Lai led six wizards Mostin, Mulissu, Jalael, Tozinak, Waide, and Droom north and west across the battlefield in vaporous form. Sho and Muthollo had retreated into the Tower, in the event that one amongst the Cheshnite immortals was to prove intent upon and capable of breaching it. Disjoining the wards upon the solar in the vestibule had been the Alienist's suggestion as to their first line of defense. As Mostin sped away from his fortress, he noticed that a number of large nozzles had emerged at intervals around the tower, and were projecting some kind of hellfire at the advancing demons. Evidently, Sho had been referencing more obscure tomes than he; this function was unknown to him. To hasten their passage, Mulissu had evoked a roaring wind which verged on agonizing to ride. Only moments later, Naatha, Guho and a group of Kesha-Dirghaa theurges were in swift pursuit, employing similar tactics. The savant immediately conjured elementals to delay them. Below, isolated skirmishes persisted between death knights and paladins; ahead, a blank hemisphere a half-mile in diameter had sprung up. Around it and presumably within it the main conflict surged to and fro. [Mostin]: What is your evacuation plan? [Mulissu]: I? [Jalael]: He means any but he. [Mostin]: I am not equipped to move large numbers of mundanes. What do we have left? (Tally of spells). [Jalael]: Were that we were better configured for offense. [Mostin]: We will be next time. [Waide]: There will be no 'next time.' I might also observe that the stress of our current predicament is having a deleterious effect upon Tozinak's delicate psyche. [Tozinak]: Do not speak of me as though I am not here! [Jalael]: The fat transmuter fears stress, Tozinak. Pay him no heed. Somehow, you have stumbled your way into transvalency. [Tozinak] (emboldened): Quite so! [Mostin]: A month previous would have been preferable. [Tozinak]: I have a spell already at hand! [Waide]: He is clearly deranged.

[Tozinak]: Preparation will take only a few moments. I must corporeate and study my petroglyphs. [Mostin + Mulissu]: What do you speak of? [Tozinak]: My slab, bequeathed by Jovol. His last work. [Mostin]: What is it titled, idiot? [Tozinak]: There is no need for rudeness, Mostin. [Mostin]: Its name! [Tozinak]: A Flame Precedes the Aeon [Mulissu] (exasperated): Just show us the pattern. (A pause for inspection) [Mostin]: A Grand Enochia? A conjuration, or a transmutation? It makes no sense. The spell is scribed in terms of Urgic Altitudes. It needs thirteen [Jalael]: Tozinak! You imbecile! Mostin groaned as he saw. The focus required was Pharamne's Urn. Ortwine's voice suddenly echoed in his head. Mostin! You made it! How delightful! As they began to descend, Mostin looked down and sighed. The sidhe was waltzing with a balor upon a heap of the slain. From without the magical darkness, the insatiable void now lurched uncertainly; but away from the conflict, south and east towards Jompa. Ahead of it, drawing it onwards, a streak of brilliant light; Eadric brandishing Lukarn and riding upon Narh. ** In Nizkur, the appeal reached her. Teppu immediately stopped time. "Thank-you," Nehael acknowledged. A moment to reflect was never a bad thing. "It is an eventful night," Teppu observed. "And I am losing track. Has Nwm overstepped the mark, I wonder?" "Frankly, I find Hlioth's play more outrageous." "Enitharmon will be in flap," Teppu pointed out. Nehael nodded. "I anticipate he will send episemes to penetrate the Hahio. I might need to have words with them."

"Be gentle with them," Teppu said wrily. "I will invite them to stay," Nehael smiled. "I can be very accommodating. If you would" Time resumed its normal flow. The goddess reached out to Tramst; Her grace enfolded his spirit, and kept him safe. ** ** By the light of a dim oil lamp, the Adversary relaxed in the study of Mostin's manse, sipping firewine and playing a game of chance with Mei. "Alas," he remarked wrily to the simulacrum. "I fear that you have no ego and I have no name. We should each borrow a little from the other." Mei was confused. She still didn't know why this sprite was here. He seemed pleasant enough, and his manners were always impeccable; although she could never tell if he was being serious. "No, thank-you. I await my pseudogenesis," she answered, playing a red token with three sphinxes graven on it. "Might I inquire why?" The Adversary asked. "I must weigh transcendence against preservation; I favor a high ratio of the former to the latter." "Your sister seems content enough." The Adversary carefully placed two white tokens each bearing a yellow trifoil on the table. "Hers is a rapid path." "I wish for a greater leap," Mei shrugged. "Ahh," the Adversary nodded. "I face a similar dilemma. Although mine is rather the reverse." "I do not comprehend." "The certitude of diminishment, or the high likelihood of extinction. You may remove that token from beneath your hand; you must learn more finesse if you are going to cheat at this game." He played another yellow trifoil. "And if you choose to risk extinction, and yet persist?" Mei inquired, unabashed that her subterfuge was revealed. "I fear I might be forgiven. From my perspective, this is the worst possible outcome." "Diminishment is so untenable a proposition?" "My circumstances are rather unique," the Adversary smiled. "And extinction?" "I speak metaphorically, of course." Mei gave a puzzled look. "I can no longer follow this argument."

The Adversary sighed. "It is complex. I also regret to inform you that I have won the game." He placed a blue tile bearing a pomegranate before him. "You already played that token!" Mei objected. "I'm sure I didn't. Perhaps you are mistaking the previous game with this." "This game bores me," Mei remarked. "I never win." "I have another," the Adversary suggested. "If you would prefer. It is called Requite." "Are there more tokens?" "Of a sort," the Adversary admitted. "But of a more abstract kind. We pretend to dispense judgement upon our devilish minions, pronouncing terrible dooms; their humiliation and subjugation serves to magnify us. We must maneuver our pieces cunningly; our minions are apt to squabble amongst themselves." "It sounds involved." "It is," the Adversary nodded. "But I am well-practiced, and I can teach you. Would you care to learn?" Mei shrugged. It was something to pass the time.

Shvar Choryati, was Temenun's response.

The blood left Anumid's face. "I will communicate your offer."

Do not tarry in your deliberations. You have less than an hour before Nashhte sets.
Shvar Choryati

Shvar Choryati is the name of the phenomenon invoked by Temenun near the small town of Cirone, where Visuit launched her assault on the Temple forces. The name translates approximately as Power of Theft the 'Theft' to which the name applies, is that of Sun and/or Being. Eater of Light might be a
better rendering. The phenomenon is best understood as a Manifest Dream of Cheshne; it is the shadow of a Great Primordial Fear.

Mechanically, Shvar Choryati is based on an epic living spell an augmented blasphemy/soul bind combination with 8 divine ranks; it is conjured 'conventionally' with another epic (calling) spell; one which requires huge output to circumvent the divine protections which normally prevent its reification in the bounded cosmos. Shvar Choryati is treated as a spell effect as cast by a 75th level caster; where noted, it adds its divine ranks to many checks as well. Where spell level is a consideration, Shvar Choryati is treated as an epic or 10th-level spell. Its impulse is to consume light and life, but it cannot be said to possess 'Intelligence,' per se. For purposes of eligibility for salient divine abilities, Shvar Choryati is considered sympathetic with the Domains of Death, Destruction and Evil, although the Eater of Light possesses no domain powers, and lacks any powers which require even a modicum of rational thought. The phenomenon manifests as a cloud of impenetrable darkness with a diameter of almost 200 feet: its outer zone is its life-draining aura; the inner zone unguessable in shape is one of

utter blasphemy. Shvar Choryati's 'perception' (its hunger) extends to eight miles. For a deific entity/thing, Shvar Choryati has a refreshingly minimal stat block. Shvar Choryati, Eater of Light (DvR8) Colossal Ooze (Chaotic, Chthonic, Dream, Evil, Extraplanar) Hit Dice: 75d10+975 (1725hp) Initiative: +5 Speed: 40ft. Armor Class: 25 (-8 size, +10 deflection, +5 Dex, +8 Divine) Base Atk/Grapple: +56 /+93 Atk: +69 melee (2d8+19, slam) plus Soul Blasphemy Full Atk: +69 melee (2d8+19, slam) Space/Reach: 30ft./20ft. Special Attacks: Life Drain, Soul Blasphemy Special Qualities: Divine immunities, DR 20/epic, fast healing 140, immortal, ooze qualities, SR 155 SDAs: Divine Fast Healing (x5), Improved Spell Resistance (x4), Life Drain Saves: Fort +60 Ref +52 Will +50 Abilities: Str 36 Dex 20 Con 36 Int - Wis 17 Cha 25 Challenge Rating: 55 Aura of Fear (Su): Creatures within 800ft. of Shvar Choryati become shaken unless they make a successful Will saving throw (DC58). Dimension Door (Sp): Shvar Choryati can use this ability at will as a standard action (Caster Level 83). Soul Blasphemy (Sp): Creatures struck by Shvar Choryati suffer the effects of blasphemy (Caster Level 83). If slain, creatures are automatically subject to a soul bind effect. The death ward spell is ineffective against Soul Blasphemy; epic spells containing the [Ward] seed which are keyed to necromantic effects are entitled to an opposed Caster Level check. Soul Bound entities are held within the form of the Eater of Light; there is no limit to the Hit Dice of a creature subject to this ability. Trapped souls may only be released by the destruction of Shvar Choryati. Life Drain (SDA): Shvar Choryati is surrounded by a cloud of darkness (as deeper darkness) extending to eighty feet from its form which kills all living creatures unless they make Fortitude saving throws (DC 62); those that succeed instead gain 2 negative levels. As an SDA, Shvar Choryati's Life Drain is not considered a necromantic effect or a death effect for the purposes of determining resistances or immunities; custom epic spells may offer resistance. Creatures slain by Shvar Choryati's Life Drain are subject to soul bind. Engulf: As a standard action, Shvar Choryati can engulf creatures in a 30ft. x 30ft. square. Engulfed creatures must make a Reflex Save (DC 62) to avoid being subject to blasphemy (Caster Level 83); if successful, they may move or leap to a space adjacent to Shvar Choryati's posiiton. Creatures slain by Shvar Choryati in this manner are also subject to soul bind. Engulfed creatures are considered grappled, and subject to blasphemy every round they remain so.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 06-12-09

Interpenetration (Mostin In Machinam)

The air rushed past the Ahma as he rode along the sward above the Hynt Coched. As Shvar Choryati had made its first dimensional lurch toward him, Eadric knew that its attention had become focused on him. Having considered that he would be able to draw it away and outpace it, the Ahma had veered sharply south. It quickly became apparent that he had miscalculated. Some distance away, Mostin turned his arcane sight around him. Wild magic danced intermittently in the air; auroras generated by the interplay of a half-dozen potent spells. Nearby, the wall of Prahar's Utterdark loomed, impenetrable to his vision; south, the vastness of the Pall of Dhatri was now visible in the moonlight. He gazed west: Naatha, Guho and the hierophants were almost upon them. Eastward, where the plain rose away, Eadric blazed a path faster than any wind walker, opening a gap of over two miles between himself and the consuming blackness. The phenomenon shuddered forward again and a little east ripping the fabric of reality and stretching the Quiescence of the Spheres until it squeezed through, and the dimensional lock snapped back into place. In an instant, the void sprang forwards almost mile. Mostin's foresight informed him that the Ahma wasn't going to make it. A series of presentiments impacted on his mind. Mostin cursed, dismissed the Quiescence, and invoked a time stop. He teleported to a point immediately ahead of Eadric, opened a gate, and hopped through. It was a strategy which the Alienist had previously used to extricate Mulissu from Graz'zt's clutches. Time recommenced. Eadric blinked, saw Mostin beckoning toward a serene vista, and was instantly transported. * The Ahma, sat astride Narh, was high on a mountain; a narrow path wound downwards and away from him. Monasteries clung to the wooded lower slopes; isolated hermitages were perched on bare, snowy shoulders higher up. Below, wide vistas stretched to blue. It was an idyll, as if stolen from a dream he had once had in an innocent youth: a view of the Blessed Plain from the Beatitudes. Now, he seemed to be awakening from a nightmare; he removed his battered helm and breathed. The air was sweet and sharp and full with energy. All was pristine. The sky seemed composed of tiny motes which danced before his eyes, until he focused his sight. High above, uncounted myriads of archons and devas whirled in the sky. Spheres of increasing brilliance seemed to issue up and away from him, defying laws of distance and perception. Beyond, the Magnitudes pulsed. The light refracted through the planes of four interposing heavens was still too overwhelming to gaze upon.

Ahma, the celestials sighed into his mind with one voice.
The massive vibration made Eadric shake. Mostin stood looking back through the gate into the darkness of Shvar Choryati as it oozed around the portal, unable to penetrate. His pseudopod flexed nervously. "Mostin" "I know they're above me," the Alienist said through gritted teeth. "That's why I'm not turning around and looking up. " "No. How did you..."

"We had to come a long way in. It might have followed you anywhere else. Believe me when I say I can think of more agreeable locales." "I need to get back to the fight." Mostin sighed. "That's precisely what you don't want to do, Eadric. It wants to eat your 'soul' or whatever you term it. You need Nwm. This is out of your league." "But the Sela"

Sela! A pulse which made the mountain tremble.

"Tramst is dead," a familiar voice said. Eadric turned to face Rintrah, Oronthon's Messenger. He was clad in a simple white gown. "For the time being," the celestial added. "He is in transit, under Nehael's protection. There is some disagreement amongst the Host whether he is safe or not." "Disagreement?" Mostin asked, averting his eyes. The notion amongst celestials was a novel one. "Do you believe him safe?" The Ahma asked directly. "Yes. But I am in the minority, and my opinion matters little." "Ah, a demonstration of Empyreal initiative," Mostin sneered. He continued to look through the gate; the blackness had passed over, and was gravitating back to a more reliable source of light. There seemed to be no activity in the immediate vicinity; Shvar Choryati had scoured all bare. A ruddy moonlight had returned to the battlefield. "I am fallible," Rintrah answered, unfazed. "Enitharmon, less so. How could I deny this basic fact?" Mostin groaned, and turned to face the celestial, his expression one of nausea. "You are trite. You appeal to hierarchy to avoid responsibility: you are fundamentally disingenuous." "I wish you were capable of understanding otherwise, Mostin" The Alienist became red and twitched. "Would it avoid the World being wracked because Oronthogorgon is having another existential crisis?" "Enough!" Eadric's eyes flashed. "You forget where you are."

Wrath! Thunder echoed in the spheres above.

Mostin quailed an expression which quickly became a pout and turned back to look through the gate, positioning himself again so as not to observe Rintrah directly. Evidently, Eadric possessed some kind of home ground advantage. Things seemed to be quiet through the portal. "I'm done here," Mostin announced. "I'm going back through. As you're staying for a while, Eadric, maybe you can ask..." "I can tell you nothing of the Aeon," Rintrah anticipated him.

"Whatever," Mostin grumbled. "I'm assuming you can figure out a way back. Mulissu was just as appreciative when I did the same for her." Mostin vanished and the gate snapped shut. "We should go this way," Rintrah smiled to Eadric. "The view is good." "Rintrah, I cannot stay" "Certainly, you can for a while. Mostin is correct in one thing; you can no longer meaningfully influence the outcome of this battle."

Gone.
"Gone? Who is gone?" Eadric asked. Rintrah raised an eyebrow. Evidently, this was also news to the Messenger. "The seven seraphs who entered Viridescence." "Seraphim?" Aside from Enitharmon, none among the highest choir had left their Altitude since the Fall. "These are eventful times," Rintrah nodded. "It would appear that Nehael has appropriated them." (A Migration of Light). Eadric was dumbfounded. Apparently, others amongst the Host were inclined to join them. A few perhaps too eager fell catastrophically, striking the plains below and vanishing. Rintrah smiled. "Stay focused on the path ahead, and don't be distracted by what transpires above. Do not concern yourself too much; in Consciousness, all events are allegory. Let us walk a little way further; there is a tree I would like you to see." "In the face of calamity, you seem in no hurry to act." "I sense no diminishment in the quality of the light," Rintrah said wrily. "It is a prodigal spark which counsels action as the only means to induce motion. I am not here at Enitharmon's behest: I am His Messenger." "Forgive me," Eadric nodded. ** As the Quiescence of the Spheres dissolved and Mostin vanished, Ortwine, Lai and the remaining wizards found themselves in something of a predicament. The sidhe had quickly screened them, and Jalael had immediately disjoined Prahar's darkness in order to gain a better appreciation of the tactical situation. It was bad. Temple units, who had been unable to endure the presence of Shvar Choryati, were routing to the north and west: great, curved swathes of lifeless corpses marked the passage of the Eater of Light. Prince Tagur, who commanded the rearguard, had deployed a screen of knights to cover the retreat. Prahar led a vicious pursuit. Squadrons of death knights roamed and slew at will, cutting down stragglers and hurling themselves against any remaining pockets of resistance. Three large knots of

Templars and their allies remained, but many of the doughtiest warriors those in whom the light shone brightest had been greedily devoured by the enemy. Some distance away, outside of the zone where flight had been dampened, what remained of the Dark Choir the arch-devas Irel and Shokad gyred in the sky, locked in furious but inconclusive combat with Prince Orcus and a number of lesser demons. Ortwine's perception identified Naatha, Guho and their wind-walking cabal half-a-minute distant. A hundred yards away, a demon materialized. And another. Rishih was active, and the teleportation circles were opening again. The consuming darkness distracted momentarily a mile to the southeast was moving back towards them. News of the disappearance of both the Ahma and the Sela was beginning to spread. The sidhe turned to Mulissu. "Remind me why it is exactly that you're here again?" She asked. "Hlioth seems to think that some kind of evacuation is both possible and desirable." Ortwine raised an eyebrow. "The witch?" Mulissu nodded. "Her foresight is erratic, but occasionally inspired." "I suppose so. I will negotiate some breathing space." She handed Mulissu her box of shades. "You seek to parley?" Mulissu was incredulous. "At this juncture? Why would they listen to you? And why do you pay heed to Hlioth, of all people?" Ortwine laughed.

Prahar, she spoke directly into his mind, but also into the thoughts of those other immortals who were present. I've got Sibud's talisman. Call off your dogs. I'm willing to make a deal.
[Guho + Rishih + Naatha]: Wait! ** The Alienist glanced around nervously and licked his lips. He was nearing the point where he was becoming vulnerable; a decidedly undesirable situation. He reached out with his mind to contact Sho. Moments later, the Infernal Tower appeared immediately before Mostin, rearing above him with its gate facing him. [Sho]: I recommend that you embark quickly. Mostin didn't need telling twice. [Mulissu]: Mostin! Where the hell have you been? Never mind. Get to Kustus and what's left of the Flamines. Get them out of here. [Mostin]: Why the hiatus? [Jalael]: Ortwine is ceding the field and negotiating the safe recovery of casualties.

[Mostin] (Mad Laughter): Safe? I notice a certain chthonic void seems undistracted by any diplomatic protocols. And since when did Ortwine become the chief ambassador of Wyre? [Mulissu] (Irritated): Since she could lie better than anyone else! Now make haste! ** "A weregild, so to speak," Ortwine smiled easily. "Or reparations if you prefer. Or simply bribery, if we can speak more directly." Her apparent nonchalance belied her caution, and she was ready to sidestep into Faerie at the first sign of treachery, or if any magical energies were suddenly gathered. Before her, four great Cheshnite immortals Prahar, Guho, Rishih and Naatha were arrayed, surrounded by dozens of undead and demonic retainers. Ortwine was alone. She was also surprised to find that Sibud's token was attracting this much attention, and lamented the fact that she might be grossly underestimating its value. The sidhe scanned the opposition. Naatha, she had encountered before, but the others were new to her. Guho writhed, a festering heap of corruption; larvae which seemed to comprise her entirety shifted and flowed in shapes which paused at times to resemble that of a mortal visage. Prahar was mounted on a black monster of approximately equine shape; he was clad in full harness, but his raised visor displayed a shrivelled countenance; one which indicated both a malice and a madness of unguessable depth. From his jaws punctuated by rows of razor-sharp teeth a sticky secretion dripped. He raved and slavered, and seemed barely in control of his faculties. Rishih who stood slightly to one side, with obvious distaste for his peers appeared human; albeit one ancient and wicked. A weight of being afflicted him, as though he craved annihilation; he wore only an ascetic's garb, but bore a staff of tremendous power. Before them all stood Anumid, grudgingly invoked by the immortals as arbiter. His veneer of civility was thin. "But to which oaths can I bind you?" Ortwine continued. "I suspect that each of you is as inclined to malfeasance as I in contractual matters. The answer is none, of course; hence I continue to speak." "We give you one hour," Anumid spat. "I do not speak for Shvar Choryati. Give me the talisman. There are no assurances." "Prahar should first dismiss his spell," Ortwine said reasonably. Within range of her deific sight, Mostin's tower had materialized again. "It will expedite our retreat." Naatha, also sensing the relocation of the infernal device, immediately assumed treachery and targeted Ortwine with chains of antimagic. The sidhe had vanished before she had even raised her hand.

Too bad, Ortwine's voice echoed in their minds, moments later.

Prahar became enraged. The others withdrew from him. "Fortify your position before sunrise," Anumid hissed to Rishih and Naatha. "Let the maniac be

concerned with any pursuit. Consolidate. The field is ours." Anumid scowled, but felt an inward relief that Sibud's token was not in Prahar's hands. At least his own presence had averted the immortals coming to blows with one another. That had to be worth something. For the moment, at least. * Jalael had conjured a teleportation circle the only one available to any of the remaining collegiate mages through which the remnants of the Temple centre were fleeing. Tozinak had opened a gate; Mulissu a shadow avenue. Temple scrollbearers and flamines were being ushered into the Infernal Tower against their better judgement. At Mostin's suggestion, egress from the battlefield was being offered first to spellcasters; others who weren't as strategically important would have to make their own arrangements. Demons harried them in droves; banishments were discharged. ** As the very first light of dawn stole over the battlefield, a pillar of flame appeared amid the slaughter, at the same spot where Saint Tahl the Incorruptible had self-immolated. Fiery wings briefly appearing and then vanishing cradled Tahl as he corporeated again. Looking around him, he wept. "Come," Hlioth said, appearing from nowhere. "Before they do. We have lost much tonight." In her hand, she held Drengh, Ninit's spear. * Eighty miles to the north, perched on a rocky crag, Nwm in the form of an eagle with a battered aspect awoke and screeched. His head hurt. He remembered little of his exhausted journey to his roost. As he stretched his wings, he started. Squatting motionless on her haunches above him, perched upon an outcrop and staring southwards at the Pall of Dhatri, a lean figure; sable-clad, with scarlet hair flapping in the wind. She said nothing. In his mind, another voice. [Nehael]: About time. You have a busy day ahead. Nwm groaned. ** Temenun relaxed in his suites at Jashat. A victory, to be certain. He apprised a Naztharune servant that he had a visitor, and to admit Yeshe the Binder. She entered calmly. "What do you know of the Urn?" She asked.

"It reaches beyond the Veils," he replied. "You incited Visuit to interrupt my meditation?" "Her instinct for war needs no prompting," Temenun purred. "And the Urn?" "Is safely buried in the deep again. Gu-Kaama has recovered it. Mostin inadvertently empowered her." "Shvar Choryati is out of control. It drives northwards now toward Wyre. The Enforcer will eliminate the Anantam who are implicated in its conjuration if it passes her threshold. I assume that you have some contingency in mind?" "I have a while yet to consider," the Tiger said smoothly. "And always time to indulge your curiosity, Yeshe." "You are most gracious, brother," Yeshe smiled insincerely.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 08-30-2009

TREE

[SKADDING]: What happened when the Sela died? [BREY]: Mind does not die. [SKADDING]: But Tramst died. The kas was destroyed. [BREY]: Nwm the Preceptor afforded him another. [SKADDING]: But the Sela? At this juncture what was its nature? [BREY]: Why would it be other than it is? Your mind is too focused on doctrinal questions. Apprehend the Moment and eschew theology. [SKADDING]: You evade the question. [BREY]: And will continue to do so! You must be flexible in your understanding of hypostases; rigid dogma in this area more than any other is detrimental to the cultivation of Saizhan. [SKADDING]: Please, indulge me. Sineig suggests that the ahmasaljan was the only component to traverse the Hahio. He said that a Flame of Oronthon was present; that it lingered, and he perceived it. [BREY]: Perhaps such chose to reveal itself to him: how else could Sineig sense the imperceptible? The Sublime Essence. He posits a quincunx of natures in Tramst; others a quaternity. They can argue until the end of time and it will avail nothing. The Irrenite tendency to formulate mystery is apparent in this; I feel duty bound to point out that certain dubious thaumaturgic practices also accompany his point of view. [SKADDING]: I had, in fact, considered Skohsldaur. [BREY]: I would advise against it. [SKADDING]: My father has voiced a similar opinion. My argument is solid. [BREY]: And what might that be? [SKADDING]: I have been to Heaven; you have not. I have a perspective which is difficult to communicate. [BREY] (Wrily): So spake the Nameless Fiend! This experience must surely carry weight. Still, I find the prospect of such tension disagreeable. Who will look to my bees if I choose such a demanding vehicle? [SKADDING]: And devotion is for old men [BREY]: Wise old men, Skadding. Both wise and old. [SKADDING]: You cling to life! I knew it! [BREY]: Cling? Not I. To me, life is a dream both surreal and utterly poignant; I have faced certain death more times than I care to count, yet still I stand here. This also affords a certain perspective; one difficult to communicate

[SKADDING]: Saizho. [BREY]: No. This is mundane wisdom. [SKADDING]: Is there such a thing? [BREY]: All Wisdom is Mundane. Saizha? ** They reached the crest of a hill, and Eadric found himself gazing into a deep ravine. It seemed utterly wild; a virgin corner of the mountain. An ancient yew dominated the chasm, by virtue of its presence rather than its stature. They began to descend towards it, and Eadric noticed celestials in its vicinity. "It is profoundly sapient," Rintrah explained. "More so than any in the Host. And benign for the most part. Many devas have been drawn to it. And some former Masters. It is the Yew-ludja; the tree in the courtyard of the Temple in Morne is one of its scions." "Are there others in the Heavens?" "Yes and no. Yew is the only ludja here it was invoked at the Reversal. One of Oak's scions rises on the Blessed Plain; and a Beech also these are still profound, although of less magnitude. Others are in other places: and not all are kind. All emanate from the great Tree-ludja in Nizkur. "They are rapidly awakening," Rintrah continued. "Tree in Nizkur seeks to generate a new axis mundi, so to speak. Nwm's portals between planes serve to mark channels for the roots of its scions. And Hlioth's efforts also. Certain magicks which have been invoked have carved paths more vigorously; transiting entities have left wakes which Tree has been quick to exploit. You might tell Nwm that his fears were unjustified: the celestial case was not asserted without cost." "Then some kind of equilibrium is being established." The Ahma slowed his steed to a halt. "Mind precedes, but its workings may be more subtle than you perceive in this case. And the motion of the Adversary also speeds the differentiation. Descend. I will wait here for you." The Ahma dismounted from Narh and approached Yew quietly; an emotional state which seemed to come naturally, yet as though responding to some external demand. He walked a slow circuit around it. That it was cognizant of his thoughts and feelings to a far greater extent than he himself was Eadric had no doubt. The sheer weight of its consciousness was palpable. He turned to observe Rintrah, but the great celestial was a blurred figure now receded from his mind. From a source deeper than Yew, Eadric knew, the Primordial Tree itself was generating a continuum around the ludja. A resonance which transformed that which was around it. Devas moved aside to let him pass, whispering Ahma into his thoughts. They had acquired a quality of indefinable measure, which had set them apart from others in the Host. Taint was not the correct word, but a transformative effect of equal significance, and one to which he was sensitive. Were they now viridescent? An imprecise terminology bothered him; yet why systematize?

Viridescent, they whispered. Apparently, a point of doctrine had been made.

The boughs stretched up high above him; they seemed to bask in the Radiance pouring down from the Magnitudes. Silence, as the tree breathed Wisdom of impossible depth.

If this is Heaven, then it pleases me, Eadric thought.

He sat and prayed for the safe passage of the Sela.

** The reincarnation of Tramst by Nwm in Nizkur was a quiet event, untroubled by any fanfare or ceremony. Nwm proceeded to recall the wizards, affording Daunton the Diviner a far younger body than the one which the wizard had previously enjoyed. Daunton's mood improved considerably with a more youthful and dashing aspect, and a general limberness. Two massive reincarnations, followed by dozens more; invoked by Mesikammi, Lai, the Uediians, Temple Adepts sympathetic to the Reconciliation. The roll of those who could not be recovered was long and depressing: Ninit and the boars; eight of Lai's twelve handmaidens; Temple grandees, penitents and scrollbearers; common soldiers too numerous to count. Afterwards, Nwm arranged a meeting between Nehael and Mostin. An encounter which the Preceptor dreaded. * Mostin breathed with conscious measure and attempted to remain focused. Nwm had referred to this place as Kilthei or Kinthei or Qinthei or some such: the air was pregnant with a power which Mostin had never before experienced; all seemed doused in an abundant, fertile energy. The walls which separated any number of worlds were gossamer-thin; Faerie and its primordial analogues; unnamed spirit dimensions, inhabited by monstrous animal-deities; the forgotten heavens of shamans who had been dead for a hundred generations. All were contained within the Green hollow. Each merely a step away. A tree the pivotal node through which Tree manifested, Mostin realized stood above a small pond possessed of unusual clarity, upon the surface of which tiny motes of silver-green danced or floated. His own presence seemed to go unheeded. Surely not unnoticed. Dwarfed, in fact, beyond imagining. Yet it seemed merely a tree... Nearby, Rimilin of the Skin sat cross-legged upon a flat stone, examining patterns within a leaf which the Tree had shed. He had been encysted or subsumed in some way; his Will erased, or captured and redirected. Unexpectedly, Mostin experienced a upwelling of profound empathy for the Acolyte. He turned to Nehael; her power was veiled, but still perceivable. "Divinity becomes you," Mostin doffed his hat with his pseudopod. "Will you be taking a more proactive stance in the war?" Nwm, standing to one side, sighed. This would be just too irritating. Ortwine observed lazily. Nehael smiled. "I assert my inscrutability. You are here because of the Urn, Mostin. I also notice that you have Graz'zt in your robe pocket. Were I a vengeful goddessbut alas, I have no use for him. The Urn" "Soneillon has it." "Yes," Teppu nodded. "This much I have determined. And for that, the prior I must assume some responsibility. Jovol's foresight was imperfect. I believe he layed a variety of other contingencies according to other possible futures."

"What are you?" Mostin fixed him with a stare. "I have no idea," Teppu confessed. "I'll remember when I die." "He is an agent of the Aeon," Nehael said. "That is a theory," Teppu observed. "I have no evidence to support it. I am certainly Green; the question remains as to whether I can be both." Nehael shrugged. "As far as culpability goes, the principal offender stands before us. Why did you send her Outside, Mostin?" "Your judgements do not concern me," Mostin said haughtily. "Four times Fallen now. She has escaped. Had you considered that she might build an Infinity around her?" "You are familiar with my theories?" The Alienist was pleasantly surprised. "I speak in a language you understand," Nehael said evenly. "I regret that the facts of the matter are incommunicable." Mostin twitched. "Do not mistake the truth for deific condescension," Nehael anticipated him. "Or foresight, for that matter," she added before he could speak. "I know you well, Mostin." "You've made your point," Mostin grumbled. "The Viridity unfolds. The ludjas bind worlds together, but where will the remaining scions sprout? Tree is silent in this; all watch with anticipation. You should not berate yourself for abandoning the race for Azzagrat; you acted in good faith." "I blame only Tozinak's stupidity," Mostin waved his appendage dismissively. "And his inappropriate use of oological metaphor when attempting to communicate. Nehael. What of the Aeon?" "It is beyond my scrutiny," Nehael said. "I can offer you no advice. But I would ask you to reconsider your original plan." Mostin cocked his head. "The gates in Azzagrat, Mostin. You could still close them." Mostin scowled. "Why? There is no longer any purpose." "One single selfless act? A Flame Precedes the Aeon. What does it do, Mostin?" "Ask your friend. He scribed it." "My memory is poor," Teppu admitted. "You are better informed than I." "It uncorks the Urn," Mostin explained. "In a manner of speaking. But the opportunity is passed. Did Jovol lay some kind of geas on Tozinak?" Teppu sighed. "It is possible. He may also have been manipulated by another agent. I suspect that

frustration with the imperfect game of prescience led to my abandoning it; I would urge you to do the same." "I think not," Mostin smiled. Nehael closed her eyes and exhaled. Mostin condescended to give an inquiring look. "Scions. An Oak and an Elm, north of Galda. Direct the Wyrish retreat towards them. And in response to your original question, yes." "Reflexive is not pro-active." "We have different methods," Nehael whispered. "Didn't you know? You may remain in Nizkur for now; I grant permission. Please refrain from disruptive activities." "Permission?" "Necessarily, when at war, a wise dictator invokes martial law," Nehael said drily. "I also understand that you have seduced a clutch of Seraphim?" Ortwine raised an eyebrow. "News travels fast," Teppu sighed. "Or your sources are remarkably well-informed. And I have not even spoken with them. Tree has already dispatched them on various errands." "The nature of which you are inclined to reveal?" The Alienist asked. "If I knew what they were, I might." Abruptly, the hairs on Ortwine's neck stood on end. Mostin's eyes bulged. A crescendo of magical energy which became almost deafening. A pulse of tremendous power emanated from Tree. Dimension waxed sharp or retreated. A cascade of fortifying waves. Impregnability. Afterwards, silence. Somehow, the matrix possessed a pattern familiar to Mostin. "What just happened?" Ortwine asked. "NonGreen forms of interplanar travel have been discontinued," Teppu clapped. "What?" Mostin's jaw dropped. "Where?" Ortwine asked. "Just this world," Nehael smiled. "Dreamers are unaffected." "I do not dream," Mostin spoke the word as though it were an unsavory habit. "Is this a permanent imposition?" "I would rather see it as a means to end other, temporary, impositions," Nwm grinned broadly. Mostin flailed. "Well, you would. Your tree just dimensionally locked the whole damn planet. And what about my tower? What am I going to do now?"

"I recommend tree stride," Nwm said earnestly. Mostin glared at Nehael. "And closing the gates? Recovering the Urn? How do you suggest I accomplish this?" "Nwm. Hlioth. Or you could petition Cherry directly. Be careful Cherry is a tricky one. And my instinct is that this is a temporary measure, if that is any consolation." "If temporary means 'one billion years' then no, not particularly," the Alienist glared. "And exempting dreamers leaves a lot of big holes." "Dream will be monitored," Nehael smiled. The Seraphim, Mostin knew. "A number of myriads have also joined them," Nehael caught the thought. "The other scions?" Ortwine peered at her. "Are they allsprouting? Do you know where they are?" "Not all," Nehael shook her head. "Some will remain hidden." "Restricting traffic is wise," Ortwine nodded. "How do I get to Afqithan?" "I believe previous portals will remain open," Nwm answered. "You should have asked me where they were earlier." "Evidently," Ortwine raised an eyebrow. "This is intolerable," Mostin spat. "I will find a way to circumvent this." "No, Mostin, you will not," Nehael regarded him gravely. "For a little while, be patient. There are things specifically excluded or trapped here now against their will which dwarf you in significance. Perhaps it is better that you are restrained, or at least monitored." "I?" He was incredulous. "Mostin," she drew close. All notion of sophistry had vanished from her demeanour; she spoke into the core of his being. "Believe me when I say that I honour you and love you, Mostin, because such is my nature; but you must recognize that what you are how you see and what you do these things are anathema to me. You possess a potential for horror which disturbs me. "And this," Nehael smiled as a clump of moss and sod grew in her hand. "This is Mine, Mostin. All of it. You are a guest. Don't forget it." "Currently, I am a prisoner," Mostin seethed. "If you wish egress, petition one who can transport you; I will do it if you request. I will take you outside but not Outside. You will need to negotiate at a Green concursion if you wish to return inside. Unless you wish to dream." "Bah!" Mostin grunted. "And what is a 'concursion' supposed to be?" "A node. Interface. Gate." "And how might I recognize these?"

"The scions, Mostin," Nehael smiled wrily. "Or in some cases, the ludjas themselves." "I need to appeal to trees to be allowed to go about my normal business? Many of which, by your own admission, 'will remain hidden?'" "Essentially, yes. Or one of we five." Mostin looked around. Nehael. Teppu. Hlioth. Nwm. Mesikammi. Ah. Those five. "Where are the ludjas themselves?" the Alienist demanded. "Assuming that you can be at least that forthcoming." "Here in Nizkur: Oak, Elm and Ash. Others in the Beatitudes, Throile, Azzagrat. On Avernus; in Faerie. In Mulhuk. In the Hidden Realm. Five have yet to manifest themselves" "Hidden Realm?" "I can show you," Mesikammi offered. "Your reality?" Mostin groaned. "You're as mad as I am. And what is this talk of Trees in Hell?" "Some equilibria must be forced," Nehael smiled. ** They gathered at Mostin's manse in the Forest of Nizkur; the building had acquired an eccentric turret of modest proportions, oddly at ease with the prevailing aesthetic and comfortable in the sylvan surroundings. The Infernal Tower's now-inaccessible extradimensional interior like that of much of the manse itself meant that Mostin had a much reduced living space. Nwm, and a number of goddesses, saints and wizards crowded around the Alienist's kitchen table. Mostin had considered the significance of the Inertia of the Spheres as he had scathingly termed Tree's reordering of planar reality and determined that it was, in fact, utterly beyond his ability to bypass. He sighed, handing Nwm a piece of paper with many numbers and symbols scrawled upon it. It meant nothing to the Preceptor, whose magic was instinctive; the Alienist explained with forced patience. "Half of the flamines have been consumed: tasty morsels, I'm sure. Many reservoirs are drained. The Pall of Dhatri is out of reach, and will likely remain so in any case. You can banish the Eater of Light; if you do, then you can say good-bye to those whom it ate. If you were to destroy it, they would be liberated: this would be preferable. Slay it. It'll hurt, but you've got enough juice at a stretch. Let me configure the spell, as I am otherwise now at a loose end." More than a hint of bitterness was present in Mostin's voice. Nwm nodded. Ortwine smiled coolly, and turned to Nwm. "I have a question. Did you really need to kill the Sela, or were you just making a point?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'm glad that you're carefully considering the ramifications of your actions," Mostin said acidly. "It's not like you've caused any problems so far." "I approve of Tree's interdiction," Tahl spoke wearily. "The progress of Shvar Choryati has been slowed drastically. All enemy movements must also now occur conventionally." Mulissu nodded. "I no longer need to invest more than half of my energy simply to maintain Fumaril's defense. We are in a better position than we were twelve hours ago." "And elementals are considered sufficiently 'Green' to pass muster," Mostin complained. "And I am tired of your incessant whining," Mulissu sighed. "Do you have nothing useful to contribute?" "No," Mostin replied, staring at Nwm. "But I have a good many questions. What is Gihaahia's role in this? Why did you wake up with her looming over you?" "I don't know that she has one," Nwm answered. "Her mandate is not incompatible with the exclusion. Perhaps Nehael has spoken with her." "The succubus in her is exerting its charms," Ortwine said approvingly. "You can't keep a good demon down. She'll snare them all." "Not all." Ortwine shrugged. "Tree is acquiring an exciting variety of thralls. I believe I chose the right side." "I have no doubt that you'll be on the winning side," Nwm remarked drily. "As to information which I possess to which you are not privy yes, in a manner of speaking. Insofar as that nothing which has happened surprises me, although I wouldn't exactly say I've anticipated anything, either." Tahl stood abruptly. "The Ahma has returned. He is at Galda, ordering the defense. "Splendid. Assemble the minions," Ortwine waved her hand. "And none of the other Great Wyrish Wizards have anything to contribute?" Mostin inquired. "Not especially," Daunton said vaguely. "Do you think I should keep the beard?" "Your hospitality is diminished," Waide grumbled. "Where are your fruit teas gone? And those little cakes? Your simulacrum is less attentive to replenishing your pantry than Orolde; she spends the day reclining, reading your insane scrawl." Mostin had to agree. "I need a new apprentice." "I have gnomes," Ortwine suggested. Mostin's head bobbed. Gnomes were agreeable enough. ** ** Shomei the Infernal exited the trance and pondered. It was as Ugales had described: two zones within

Qematiel's range, in close proximity to one another, were inscrutable. None save the Adversary might have screened areas of such size from her spell, yet Shomei doubted it was his doing. She determined to investigate the first node: she suspected it was a Power, the presence of which could only be inferred obliquely. Qematiel an atavistic hellfire wyrm abode within the realm of Mahazael Amaimon, King of the Fourth Quarter. An infernal monarch whose exact mandate other than the reprobation of delinquent devils and distinguished wicked mortals was hidden to all save the Nameless Fiend, Amaimon was unguessably powerful. He removed himself from Hell's routine workings altogether, and concerned himself with philosophical struggles on a more rarefied level. Shomei herself had enjoyed the arch-fiend's hospitality for a brief while, after her abduction by the Akesoli in Afqithan. The outcasts and detritus of a hundred unnamed hells and abysms found their way to his demesnes, and were tolerated or punished for unknown reasons; Wyre's Enforcer had made her abode nearby, until she had been plucked to serve as the Claviger's slave. Shomei armed herself with magic and opened a gate; she passed through into a blasted defile. Lightning wracked the dark skies. Descending carefully, she crossed poisonous rills and found herself in a wide, flat-bottomed canyon. A great thicket an untended hazel coppice of willful aspect filled much of it. It murmured power to her; Shomei paused suspiciously, unsure if it was a deific illusion or an empty lure set as some test. Without warning, fire overhwelmed her and a great claw pushed her a hundred yards through the air, pinning her to the wall of the ravine. A vast, horned head reared before her; ancient draconic eyes full of wisdom and malice regarded her briefly, absorbing a thousand details in a glance. They rested on the sigils which the Infernalist bore upon her forehead. "An Exempt." Qematiel snorted. "I am still inclined to break your body; the Tree recognizes you. It would have otherwise." Shomei managed to scowl even as she writhed in pain. A ludja? Here? By whose permission?

Tree needs no permissions, Hazel whispered into her mind.

But which was the other? The second un-scryable area? A brief, unendurable pain as barbs seemed to sink into Shomei's mind: evidently the other ludja was also fully aware of her thoughts. There was the looming threat of an execration so powerful that it would extinguish her.

Holly, she knew. She breathed deeply, mustered her will, and stared straight into Qematiel's eyes.
"What passes here?" Shomei the Infernal asked. The question was possessed of terrific power. Qematiel regarded her quizzically; none before had ever been audacious enough to attempt to dominate her. It was a fair effort. "You amuse me. I am not sure. But my role in it after an eternity of preparation is not the one I had anticipated." "And the I?" "It has migrated," the Wyrm replied. "As will I. Hell is receding." **

In a dark abysm, Soneillon reflected on her circumstances. Events had not transpired as she might have preferred. Atop her palace a vast ziggurat which rose a mile into the skies above dense jungle a tree had sprouted in a garden, sinking roots through marble and adamant, and fruiting in an instant: an event which coincided exactly with the return of the demoness bearing Pharamne's Urn from the wreck of Zelatar. It bore huge, ripe cherries which exuded an irresisitible odor. The demoness had warded herself in a heartbeat and retreated to a remote fastness, even as the tree had reached out to her mind and urged her to descend. She felt its consciousness pursue her, and she transported herself again. And again. She could not elude it. Soneillon cursed, fled deep into a chthonic dream - a delirium of unbeing - and brooded.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 10-17-2009

"Are We Ready?" ** Two miles to the north of Galda, the Sun was rising as squadrons of Templars hurried about their business. Mostin floating inches above the ground - bent his thought northwest whilst eyeing the nearby Nwm suspiciously. The Preceptor stood before him, ankle-deep in mud and horsedung, and apparently enjoying the experience. A night of heavy rainfall and twenty thousand cavalry had turned the fields into a morass. An hour before, Mostin closeted within a secure shelter had emerged from a reverie of motes with too many contradictors to even begin to make sense of. It was as though the universe several universes, in fact were being turned on their heads. And something had seemed to reach toward him through the Web. As if its ineffable divination had been somehow perceived. Impossible. He glanced around. The Temple forces swollen by more of the Illuminated of Morne, as well as Foide's skeptical vassals and the northern aristocracy of Ialde and Dramore had entrenched at the southern end of the hills of Scir Cellod. In an ancient wood in a nearby valley, two scions an Oak and an Elm generated a power which encompassed the entire camp and a wide area beyond, excluding the enemy. The site was outside of Gihaahia's remit, but overlooked the Hynt Coched, the main artery which connected southern Wyre with the Thalassine cities. Nwm had transported refugees who had fled to Nizkur or who had been reincarnated within its bounds; another ritual had opened a Green highway, speeding thousands including the Wyrish Magi and many Temple grandees straight into the midst of Eadric's already swollen camp. Mostin had found the ego dissociation which accompanied the trip unsettling. Galda a town of some eighteen hundred which lay beneath the aegis of the scions was now visible in the dawn, and its campaniles, rooftops and walls thronged with armed sentries. Picquets and outriders were spread in a wide arc to the limit of the Trees' protection and about the town. Beyond was subject to the depredations of two demonic magnates Orcus and Pazuzu and those amongst the remaining fiendish population which they had gathered about them. Both were operating without reference to their respective invokers, Prahar and Yeshe; they skirmished continually with both each other and with archons and devas under the command of two more archfiends, Irel and

Shokad: episeme princes who had recently adopted a more Adversarial view. In the absence of any extradimensional movement, wind walking had become the preferred means of travel amongst all; despite their inferior numbers, in this the celestials possessed a distinct advantage. Cirone, another quaint walled settlement some twenty miles further south, had been utterly consumed by Shvar Choryati, and it was near its wreck that Prahar had elected to establish his camp: a hemisphere of darkness which defied the attempts of both Mostin and Daunton to penetrate with their sight. In a separate bubble warded with even more potent defenses Rishih and Naatha had raised a magical beachhead with a large contingent of Anantam magi, supported by compactees and bodyguards, the armored Giants of Danhaan. Against the backdrop of both, loomed the unpierceable wall of night which was the Pall of Dhatri: somewhere within that was the unguessably vast main Cheshnite force.

Shvar Choryati had eaten its way approximately north, on an eccentric path which made frequent

detours to annihilate farming communities. It would reach Galda in three days and the Wyrish border in five, assuming a stimulus of light didn't draw it directly towards the Temple encampment. How it would interact with the scions would hopefully not be tested: Nwm planned to eliminate it before it advanced so far. It persisted on the edge of his perception like a cancer which infected the World. * Mostin scowled. "Yet another power is rising in Nizkur. What do you know of it?" Nwm shook his head. "Nothing." "A fey; most ancient." The Alienist studied his face minutely; Mostin's paranoia was becoming more acute and more evident by the hour. He was beginning to remind Nwm of a caged animal. "Nothing," Nwm reiterated. "But the Green is moving in torrents everywhere, so I can't say I'm surprised." "Go on," Ortwine turned her head. "Fey rivals hold an interest for me." "You flatter yourself," Mostin sniffed. "You pose as much threat as a gnat to one such as this." "I prefer the gadfly metaphor. And no sidhe stands so far above me." "I mentioned nothing of sidhe," Mostin sighed. "You are such a parochial queen." "Currently, my parish is rather larger than yours," Ortwine smiled. "Speak more of this fey: do not let my witty quips distract you." "That you are both so ignorant of events which reference your paradigm is a source of continual amazement to me," the Alienist grumbled. "This is no woodland sprite. It is rather wild, in the instinctual, primal sense. The fact that it is present suggests massive change. It is masculine. It does not rise from the Tree-matrix, although its catenary is parallel." "That sounds fine," Nwm nodded, distracted. Hlioth and Mulissu were becoming impatient. Mesikammi had already departed. "Are we ready?" * All but one of the demons a babau lurking behind a ruined pillar fled as the five entities manifested amid a green surge. Perhaps deities recently awakened from some hibernation, the power of their arrival caused the tiles in the courtyard to crack with a sudden growth of moss and lichen.

One, covered in a hundred rolling eyes, spied the babau and dominated it quickly. Another, ragged and scarred, gestured toward a pomegranate tree which had long since been reduced to a stump. It immediately regrew its limbs and sprouted tender green leaves. The third an opaque, sylph-like creature who floated above the ground swore profusely as she looked at the wreck of her former home. A number of obscene execrations were directed toward the eye-covered entity. A fourth apparently a female human of middling years waited with a sour face. After a pause, during which the others collected their thoughts, she struck her staff upon the flags with a resounding crack. A brief but massive flurry of magical energy followed. The last a goddess with a curved sword stared at the the artificial heaven above her, watching it shift and writhe like a thing alive. A wave radiated visibly out and away from the group, reordering the matrix of the real into a new form. Crumbled masonry flew back into place, and debris of all kinds vanished. Mulissu's demiplane, restored to a pristine state, rested peacefully again beneath its blue vault. "Do you want the demon?" Mostin asked. Mulissu struck it with a spell, petrifying it. "I'll take the statue," she said. Nwm glanced around. "Again. Are we ready?" Grumbles of assent. Nwm evoked a spell, causing four more trees an almond, an olive, a cypress and a deodar to spring up within the courtyard. Within the trunk of each and the pomegranate also was a small wooden door, perhaps five feet high and two wide. "Which is which?" Ortwine inquired. Nwm sighed. "The olive leads to one in the palace at Fumaril; the almond to the elm at Mostin's cramped retreat; the pomegranate to a banyan in the garden of the Academy outside of Morne; the deodar to one similar near Deorham; the cypress to a tree near the entrance to the Claviger's cave. Mesikammi is accomplishing spirit bindings with genii at the terminal locations, to prevent passage for those who are not permitted. Here, I have chosen species most familiar to Mulissu, based on her childhood experience." "And it is appreciated," the savant nodded. "Although I find it rather shady, and may need to adjust the illumination." "And from here Mostin can reach outside of your miniverse?" Ortwine asked. The Alienist laughed bitterly. "No. Hlioth annexed the plane. This is now a Green node." "Then why else are we here?" Mostin scowled, and gestured with his appendage toward Mulissu. The savant smiled savagely. "I've come for my spellbooks."

** "It is as wicked as I, or I'm no judge of character. Still, I like this not one jot." Standing on a high balcony, Yeshe the Binder regarded Temenun carefully. The Tiger, in turn, was gazing down at a blackthorn which had sprung overnight to full height, next to a likeness of the disgraced Ugra, Angula. "If this is Nwm's doing," Yeshe continued, "then it appears we have underestimated him." Temenun remained sanguine. The Blackthorn, impenetrable to divination, was silent. "What else?" The Tiger asked. "Its parent tree hasannexed a large swathe of what was Angula's realm in the forty-fifth abysm. GuAnalas which have entered its presidio have not exited. Planar breaches and reality maelstroms still rage around it, but it has established a quiescence in its immediate vicinity. Deeper, the Great Bhitis are assembling at the Veils. What is your intuition?" Temenun smiled and bared his fangs. "If Carasch avoids the streets of Azzagrat or what is left of it for fear of a Tree, then the fact that we are not all dead is cause for celebration." "This thing is so potent?" "It is. But it deals in generalities; it is not concerned with the specifics of our actions. We're playing by its rules. For the time being." Yeshe was grim. "We are outmaneuvered. My dreams are full of avalam jvalats*. Still, Dream is our best recourse. The weak link." "I will give it some thought," Temenun purred. "In the meantime, we should abandon the compound. Mobilize all reserves. Relocate to Thond." "Are you mad?" "I foresee." "I will take Fumaril first," Yeshe spoke steadily. "I won't have it sitting on my flank." "Then be swift!" Temenun's eyes narrowed. "I anticipate their counterattack will be furious, and soon. First, they must deal with Shvar Choryati. That will require much of their strength." "It will be an easy test." "We shall see. I have yet to invoke the ward." "There is a good deal which you keep hidden," Yeshe observed. "Now is not the time to remain jealous of your prescience." The Tiger said nothing. Temenun was of Utter Shth: twenty thousand years he could recollect. To him, the ascendancy of the Sun was but a recent phenomenon; he had witnessed far stranger and more ancient things. Ebony had been an ally for a while, long before, during the Ice in the North.

The Trees of the South held a greater power, he recalled. Or perhaps age and distance clouded his
memory. All of Shth had been jungle then; rich and verdant, and malign as Throile. Yeshe turned her head, and a discordant clash of gongs sounded from deep within the Temple, signalling that Idyam, the demilich, was finally deigning to take counsel. As if in response, Anumid's voice echoed in the minds of every immortal.

The Tree is no threat: I have seen beyond the Veils. In her mercy Cheshne spares the interlopers on her threshold, but she exacts a price: one will return; one other will join her. A Great One. Kaala-anala demands that you raise her pavillion. Henceforth, the Fires of Death will abide in the Temple. Visuit will attend her. Jahi and Yeshe may remain. The rest of you will continue your removal to Thond: you will pay homage.
"Indeed?" Temenun spoke softly, but those a hundred miles distant still heard him.

In this I am the Mouthpiece of Cheshne. I may not be gainsayed.

"Of course," the Tiger purred. ** Eadric drew a heavy fur across the opening to his tent and turned to sit on a crude stool. An oil-lamp dimly lit the space: a ten-foot circle with spartan furnishings. There was no pallet; although he found the experience refreshing on occasion, the Ahma did not require sleep. Only privacy. In his left hand, he held a sphere of adamant, upon the surface of which color might occasionally move; in his right, Lukarn, its light currently subdued. He tapped the former with the latter, eliciting brief flashes of total illumination.

Show Yourself, the Ahma commanded.

The face of Prince Graz'zt appeared. Eadric resisted the urge to smash the globe with his weapon and cut down the demon as he materialized. Instead, he breathed and slowly mastered himself. "Times change. This will be our one and only conversation, Angula; or rather, you will remain silent and simply listen, as dialogue holds no interest for me: if you attempt to speak, I will annihilate you. That which you were is no more; you have exhausted your possibilities. You are no longer relevant. "Now, I have a quandary; one you can probably appreciate. As the Ahma, I have pronounced death upon you: this judgment is infallible. Yet, at present, you persist; due in no small part to my being distracted by other, more pressing concerns. As you are also currently the property of Mostin the Metagnostic, it might be considered an act of legal trespass were I to smite you as you so richly deserve. "Still, I am not inclined to commute this sentence, but merely suspend it on the basis of my friendship with the wizard and the fact that he recently saved my life again. Ironically, there are few others I would entrust you to: I am secure in the knowledge that Mostin can always out-think you, and that he cannot use you for anything that he couldn't find another way of doing anyway. This decision is pragmatic.

"This is your predicament: until such time as Mostin grows weary of your novelty and dispossess himself of you, your continued existence is relatively assured; at that point, your future becomes more uncertain. I will not exchange good Temple money to procure you, but moral persuasion might be brought to bear upon any subsequent owner to render you into the custody of the righteous. Assuming Mostin himself experiences no such urges. Here, then, are my words to you: "First, as your moral instructor: use your remaining time to reflect on the eternity of suffering you have caused, and seek to experience one single iota of remorse: a task I deem at the very limit of your ability to achieve. I remind you of this out of duty, more than from any expectation that you will actually follow my advice. "Second, as your judge and executioner: even were I persuaded of your contrition and moved to mercy, Prince Tagur reminds me that you are still eligible for the death penalty under Wyrish law, which makes no exception for your demonic status. I would, of course, enforce the decision of any secular court in this matter. This knowledge will make your moral quest more achievable as possible notions of reward or release will not distract you from your purpose. "Third, as one injured personally: my forgiveness, or lack thereof, is inconsequential. I am one of countless wronged, and to forgive is not my function I am the Ahma. Nonetheless, I will cite my father's murder, the assassination of Cynric of Morne, and the abduction and torture of Nehael as those crimes which wounded me most grievously. If that knowledge stirs some measure of satisfaction in you, I refer you back to my first article of advice. "If you have words, you may now speak. Please be concise in your delivery: I have many matters to attend to." From his prison, the demon Graz'zt stared impassively at Eadric.

** From a vantage point where Dream and Void and Madness met, a place where apparitions strove to manifest, and tendrils of unknown purpose writhed in the dreams of chthonic deities, the demoness Soneillon watched, and waited. Few immortal psychoses could reach so deep. Black fire had kindled at the Veils of Oblivion, ascending in liquid sheets which incinerated all vestige of Being to reveal a vast, glorious emptiness. An ocean of nothingness which promised a final end to all suffering. After what may have been eternities, on its margin a terrible shape began to form. In revulsion, it twisted at its own substance: a forced reification, effluxed by Unbeing itself, or its shadow to some unknown degree. Flame and death surrounded it. It demanded obedience. The demoness abased herself. With a passing thought, Kaalaanala the Primordial Fear of Destruction annihilated Soneillon in an agony of unguessable magnitude; moments later, the demoness arose again from the Void. The passage had left her sated and subdued. Soneillon swayed drowsily; she was permitted to enjoy the sensation only briefly. A thought which was a command was turned toward her. Soneillon hurried to obey: locate the goddess Visuit in Dream and bring her to Azzagrat.

** Nehael stood beside the Tree, feeling the texture of its bark with her fingertips. Nearby, Rimilin of the Skin slept with his face pressed to the moss. The goddess looked up to Teppu, who sat in the Tree's lower branches. The sprite grinned. "A great Bhiti is coming. Do Uedii and Cheshne send ambassadors or exchange hostages?" "Is there a distinction?" Nehael asked. "Some equilibria must be bought dearly. She will remain in the Temple in Jashat. Her actions are circumscribed." "Within which bounds?" Teppu inquired archly. Nehael sighed. "She cannot leave the Temple. She may act to the limit of her natural senses." "With impunity?" "With impunity." "Then Jashat cannot be assailed." "Realistically? No. At least, not at present." "You might want to inform Eadric of this tidbit." "The Ahma has achieved his objective to a large extent thus far: keep Wyre safe. This is his principal charge. He will make no ill-informed assaults beneath the Pall of Dhatri." "And the Wild God?" "Has yet to show himself." "Does he have a name?" "Hummaz." "I like it. Did you choose it?" "No. He did." "Can you placate him, should his mood become violent?" "I doubt it," Nehael smiled grimly. ** Nwm groaned wearily, and looked around him. Sixty spellcasters, including the wizards. Waiting. Mostin had called proceedings to a halt. That odd cluster of pinkish-brown motes he had previously observed had suddenly made sense. "You'll have to try something different," Mostin said. "Temenun has warded Shvar Choryati"

"All other divinations run to the contrary," Nwm sighed. "Why must you always be so special?" [Mostin]: Because Temenun is considerably more subtle than the Temple oracles. Fortunately, I am subtler still. You cannot stage a direct magical attack of any kind. "Ngarh!" Nwm snarled. "Find me a meteoroid. Not too big." "Not so big," Mesikammi nodded sagely. "They go very fast." The Alienist scowled and concentrated. Ten minutes elapsed. [Mostin]: Here's one. Nwm exhaled. "Alright. Are we ready?" Mostin had expected more preparation from Nwm; at least an idea. Vectors. Something. There was a huge surge of magical power and a sense that his reservoir might be sucked dry, accompanied by another dissociation which Mostin found disturbingly euphoric. A backlash of green lightning coursed over all present, arcing between them and burning them. There was bright flash on the horizon. Silence. Even those who were otherwise insensitive to such things felt a breath of release as millions of souls were liberated: all of those whom the Eater of Life had consumed in its unguessably long history. Around a minute passed before the noise of the impact struck them: a growl like distant thunder. A breeze began to stir, and quickly stiffened. "Very impressive," Mostin conceded.** "That almost counts as deicide." Nwm groaned, and shook his head. Even as he had erased Shvar Choryati, the very source of that shadow or so it seemed to the Preceptor had announced its arrival within the Interwoven Green with an expurgative necromancy: a spell which slew everything which remained alive within two leagues of Jashat which was not sworn in body and soul to the Dark Goddess. Kaalaanala, the Fire of Death, abode in the Temple of Cheshne.

*"Those which glow abominably," a term for powerful celestials. **Epic conjuration/400d20 bludgeoning damage! Yay!

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 10-22-09

Mini-Update Which was to have been part of a longer update, but it seemed apt to post it now.

** [Jalael]: Observe. The imp appeared with a pop!. It bowed. [Mostin]: That was not a conjuration. That was a fly. [Jalael]: In a small world, transmutation is the future. What you cannot conjure, you can transform and coerce: functionally, they equate to the same thing one dispel and they're gone. [Mostin]: I am no mere summoner. I am the binder of the Horror. I have mastered Celestial Princes. Dukes of Hell quail at the very mention of my name. [Jalael]: You need to move with the times. Think about it: [equation]. [Mostin]: ! [Shomei]: Greetings. [Mostin]: Finally, you condescend. What transpires? [Shomei]: In the last hour? Agalaierept has seized the throne room and the citadel with the second legion. Chamosh is backing his bid, citing the need to maintain order; Astaroth manipulates both of them. Belial has crowned himself emperor in Abriymoch. Azazel is undeclared but has moved the standard and two hundred legions to Avernus, including Bune and his malebranche shock troops. The Iron City is locked tighter thanno cosmic superlative is possible. None of the Antagonists are condescending to involve themselves. Yet. When that happens, things will really heat up. [Mostin]: And you? [Shomei]: I remain in the library, observing all with wry detachment. Hell needs a good war, in any case; cull the weak and eliminate some bureaucrats, I say. Can't be bad. The Ludjas, Mostin. Two of them, a Hazel and a Holly: they are incredibly potent. Hazel's WillAzazel understands wher e the real locus of power now lies. [Mostin]: You are advising him? [Shomei]: I admit I have a soft spot for him. [Mostin]: You still play the same game, Shomei. [Shomei]: Fear not. I play well. [Mostin] (Wrily): And who pulls your strings? A Tree? [Shomei]: Actually, I suspect Amaimon. [Mostin]: I saw a wyrm in the Web. Why? [Shomei]: Qematiel is on the Prime. [Mostin]: What? How? [Shomei]: Hazel has taken a liking to her. [Mostin]: What has happened, Shomei? [Shomei]: The I has shifted Its paradigm. It has incarnated as a deity in Nizkur. [Mostin]: Ah. More of a fey primal, really. Do you believe this is an artifice? [Shomei]: On balance, no. But nor do I think it's permanent. Mostin opened his wine cabinet, and poured himself a large glass of kschiff. This news would require some readjustment. ** "What news?" Eadric asked with mock enthusiasm. Nwm sat, and gestured toward another stool. "I suggest you do the same. Those whom Shvar Choryati ate are gone." "Gone?" Eadric asked.

"As in not recoverable. Reincarnation is not an option. They weresnatched. As it were. They have already been afforded new forms." "By whom?" "The principal suspect is a fey entity named Hummaz. Mostin equates him with 'Oronthon's Adversary in the diminishing Infinity.' Mostin's terminology is odd, but I understand his gist. The transition might be likened to Teppu's; or perhaps more akin to Nehael's." Time seemed to slow to a crawl for the Ahma. He cocked his head and looked at Nwm. "You are telling me" "There is no Adversary." There is no Adversary. "AndthisHummaz?" The Ahma inquired. "That is a relationship you must negotiate. He is wild; fickle; violent; passionate. And prurient." "I think I preferred the prior iteration," Eadric sighed. "Ethics? Morals? An opposition thereto?" "None. More accurately, such concepts are not germane. Will has become Instinct." "Magic?" The Ahma asked tentatively. Nwm stretched his arms apart. Eadric groaned. "He's laid claim to a substantial tract of forest. He has a number of servitors around him." "Servitors?" "But I do not believe him to be overtly political," Nwm added hastily. "He is innocent of such matters and yes, I choose my language carefully. Eadric, if you have any remaining notions of sin, you would do best to divest yourself of them. The Axes have shifted. Wherever they're going, it's not back." "I have only one question," Eadric spoke steadily. "Is it possible that Oronthon's Adversary whom, lest we forget, possesses a not undeserved reputation for being the most conniving and deceitful entity in existence has somehow duped the Tree-ludja?" Nwm considered briefly, and nodded. "That is a good question. I suppose time will tell." "Do you bring other good news?" "Oh yes," Nwm nodded. "Plenty. Remain seated. A chthonic deity named Kaalaanala has taken up residence in Jashat. Orcus has withdrawn from the front: he fled from Irel over Ardan, and could be anywhere. Dhatri has settled in Thond for the time being; she is hungry, after being carried around for so long. Two hosts have left the Temple compound: Visuit and Yeshe lead the smaller, and it will reach Fumaril in four days. The larger is bound for Thond: the demilich is moving with his deathshriekers and, I suspect, Temenun also. Aside from the goddess in residence and a few dozen priests, the Temple of Cheshne is empty." "How do you know this?"

"Certain stones gossip too much." "Are you suggesting an assault?" The Ahma asked. Nwm shook his head fervently. "Quite the opposite. She would kill us all. Avoid going within ten miles, at all costs." "We should move to intercept the smaller host. How many are there?" "Twelve thousand, half of whom are cavalry. Plus light aerial support succubi, mainly. And goristros but only a few dozen: most of the temple defense is with the larger army. But Guho has joined them and there are lots of the longhairs in Visuit's train. They are currently grounded: Mulissu has made the weather uncomfortable. They are devising sorceries to counteract her spell." "And Pazuzu?" "Ortwine hunts him."

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-13-2009

* Storm Sorceries; Demons' Amulets. Nwm had described the weather as uncomfortable. Mulissu had generated a windstorm thirty miles in diameter over the warm waters north of Pandicule, and moved it to occupy a position between Fumaril and Jashat; ahead of it, a derecho had formed through which tornados churned with distressing frequency. Eadric sat upon Narh on a low rise in the darkness beneath the Pall of Dhatri, gazing southward at a large enemy host. Eastwards, the haunted city of Jashat and the soaring pinnacles of the Temple of Cheshne were a blot of corruption on his perception. The Ahma was magically concealed and his sight had been supernaturally enhanced to penetrate all shadows; still, his vision compared nothing to Lai's, who balanced easily in hawk-shape upon his helm. The noise of the wind was deafening. The enemy had erected a defense against the storm, creating a smaller bubble of calmer weather which mitigated but did not altogether counter the magicks invoked by Mulissu and her cabal. Conjured allies monoliths, storm-drakes, djinn and lesser elementals skirmished continually with the Cheshnite outriders and van: clouds formed, discharged lightning and dissipated, and downdrafts erupted and vanished as a dozen competing sorcerous demands were placed on the local weather system. Visuit was less than a mile away, hewing her way through everything in her path. [Lai]: You study your enemy? [Eadric]: Yes. [Lai]: Do you see any weakness? [Eadric]: None. She is the perfect warrior. [Lai]: And what is your strategy?

[Eadric]: Prayer. The adepts are exhausted; Nwm is almost empty of power. An urge. The goddess paused in her butchery. A feeling of quietude. "She senses something is amiss. That she is being observed." Lai hissed and squawked through the roaring wind. "I thought we were inscrutable." "And so we are," Lai nodded. "Warded from her sight, sound, touch, smell and all her divine faculties. But not from her instincts." "If that is the case" Before he could finish his sentence, a cloud passed over his consciousness, numbing his soul.

Kaalaanala, he knew. Visuit had invoked the great Bhiti's name; the Fires of Death had instantly
located him. "Enemy Captain. I know you're there." Visuit's voice, and the urge to unimaginable violence, carried to all across the battlefield. The Butcher began to move towards them. She gestured with her hand: an invitation to combat. And now the ravenous perception of the Dark Goddess in Jashat was a terrible presence in the Ahma's mind.

Get out of my head!

Get out!

Nehael!
(I am powerless). [YOU WILL DIE.] "We have to get out of here," Lai said. Eadric nodded. The Green was warm as their forms dissolved into it. Annihilation became a memory. ** Ortwine corporeated from wind walking and floated, invisible and mind blanked a mile above the water. The air was cold and clear. Heedless stirred restlessly in her hand.

She had chased a vaporous Pazuzu around the cape of Nivorn, across the hills of Ardan, and for more than a thousand miles over open ocean. The pursuit had lasted thirty-three hours, and had demanded a focus more than she thought herself capable of maintaining. Never losing sense of him. And he was more slippery than an eel; her initial attempts to dominatehim had proven utterly futile. Finally, convinced that he had eluded any pursuit, the demon gyred and turned towards the west. Ortwine waited patiently. She sheathed Heedless; it writhed as she forced it back into its scabbard, and then projected silent telepathic anger at the sidhe. Pazuzu materialized and began to work magic; Ortwine cursed, and began to fly silently towards him at speed. She had no notion of his intention; she had no need: demon princes casting spells never boded well. She carefully scrutinized his shape as she closed, scanning him him minutely. Pazuzu who had begun to invoke a ward of some complexity stopped abruptly as he perceived the slightest breeze waft past him, and felt something snap. He began to scream with incredulity and rage and groped wildly at his throat. Ortwine materialized a hundred yards ahead of him. "You want this?" In her hand, she held his amulet. He struck her, full force, with an eldritch thunderbolt. It dissipated upon contact with her. Ortwine laughed. He raised his hand as if to strike her again. And instead became vaporous and vanished. Ortwine scowled, and followed him with her Sight. She tied Pazuzu's amulet around her own neck. Oh, that's good, she thought. The chase resumed. ** "What you seen to fail to appreciate," Mostin said to Nwm through gritted teeth, "Is the power of this dragon." "She is a hellfire wyrm." "Yes. No. Of sorts," the Alienist gave an irritated gesture. "She predates them. She may even predate the Fall. And she has not migrated in the sense of Hummaz. Not even in the sense of Mulissu which is to say very little. She has been seduced by the Hazel-ludja; which apparently has connotations of magickal Will." "Apparently so," Nwm nodded. "Although this is hardly a surprising correspondence." "The Urn could" "Ngarh! You and your damned urn."

"It is pivotal," Mostin sighed. "If you think the Tree-ludja is omnipotent, think again. It is compromised by this admission of the Cheshnite Bhiti; and from the outset by permitting the I to remain here in any form. I use the Antinomian descriptor for Hummaz which stands, according to Shomei, and she is reasonably well informed in such matters because there are many infinities at work here invisible to you." "And not to you?" "Correct," Mostin nodded. "They are merely opaque. Many correspondences: Kaalaanala Ancient Hellfire the Wyrm the Aeon." "Why the Aeon?" Nwm asked suspiciously. "I have concurred that it was the Aeon whichlurchedat me through the web of motes." [Formula] "Why do you persist in" "It is my contention that the Aeon is fundamentally draconic," Mostin stared madly. "It was Qematiel wholurchedat me through the web of motes." "Wait!" Nwm held up his hand. "I am lost. Which is it?" Mostin stopped speaking, and considered. "Infinities are bleeding. It makes divination complex. In any event, I dont have the Urn, and the reason I don't have the Urn was because I was saving your sorry skins from annihilation; a service for which I am rewarded by a massive curtailment of magical power. "How fortunate for us that you are so selfless," Nwm said drily. "Do you understand that Qematiel is Ancient Hellfire. The wyrm which the Adversary will ride to the Oronthonist eschaton?" Mostin asked steadily. "That reality is dead." "Maybe. But Qematiel is not. This assumes, of course, the Adversary himself is not making some cosmic play. I have a plan" Nwm groaned. "Hear me out," Mostin raised his appendage. "I need to convene a cabal. And I need your help" "Why?" "I have an inkling. I will conjure Soneillon again as I need to talk to her. Outside of your loop. You have to get me there." "You're insane. How far outside?" "I don't care. Just far enough. Then I'll make my way to the astral retreat. But give me a couple of days. There are tomes in Ardanese monasteries which I need to consult." "You have twenty-four hours. I plan on being in Fumaril thereafter." Mostin scowled. "Can you get me to Esoc?" "You can get there yourself," Nwm answered. "You'll have to walk the last mile, but it's generally

polite to approach on foot, in any case." [Look: oak -> oak -> beech -> oak -> rowan] "How many of these things have you made?" "A few dozen," he shrugged. "It's getting hard to remember where they all are. Hlioth has fashioned many more." ** [Ortwine]: Priestess! [Mesikammi]: Your largeness? [Ortwine]: Mesi, now is not the time for banter. My foe will not turn to let me kill him. I bore of this chase. [Mesikammi]: You wish for my help? [Ortwine]: I am issuing a divine command. Conjure a storm and force him down. [Mesikammi]: Such an effect would be tiring at this distance. [Ortwine]: There is kelp nearby; you can manifest yourself closer. [Mesikammi]: I must also get wet? [Ortwine]: I will grant you a boon, as befits faithful service. [Mesikammi]: Perhaps a pretty bauble, recently won? [Ortwine]: Mesi, do you spy on me? Truly, you are a worthy servant. [Mesikammi]: An image of your holiness appears in my mind. [Ortwine]: Such devotion should not go unrewarded. The amulet is a delight, I confess; I will bestow a different bounty, if you show a little patience. [Mesikammi]: I can spare a little, but not too much. Close by, the shamaness appeared. A wind began to gather. ** Voicing her name was enough to invoke her; Nehael could offer no protection against her. This boded ill. Presently, Oak and Elm shielded the Wyrish encampment with their power not just the scions in the nearby vale, but the ludjas themselves, from deep within Nizkur. But this was not an effect which the Ahma was comfortable relying on trees having their own, peculiar agenda. Nor was it of much use beond the zone of the ludjas' perception. And Eadric had no intention of entrenching permanently at Galda, despite the rapidly completed fortification of the site.

The Ahma therefore issued an edict, announced by archons who attended him. Trumpets rang, and the voices of celestials carried the proclamation to all within the Wyrish camp:

The name of the enemy in Jashat is anathema and may not be spoken: likewise, the name of the enemy war-goddess, and any of the abhorred names of Ancient Darkness. All iconography, all material representation, all literature containing reference to any such entities is forthwith deemed blasphemous and must be surrendered immediately. Practice Saizhan.
Eadric summoned Tuan Muat, a Talion whose prior acts had denied him bliss, and anointed him. The Inquisition was formally revived. "Start with the aristocracy," Eadric motioned. "Refrain from physical coercion until they've had a chance to think about it." "Ahma," the Inquistor began. "Many of the most ancient Temple texts" "Impound them," Eadric said. "In fact, confiscate them first, then start on the aristocracy. We need to set a good example, after all. This is a practical measure, not a philosophical one." "The Irrenites aren't going to like this," Tuan Muat observed. "Bring me Sineig." Eadric sighed. "And the wizards?" Eadric groaned. "Be politic, Inquisitor. A little pragmatic hypocrisy is no bad thing. My concern is with the ignorant; wizards must monitor themselves." "And if one articulates these forbidden names or concepts in one's thoughts?" Tagur asked. "Then they must be demonstrated to be un-True," the Ahma nodded. "Hence, we practice Saizhan. We must move. I need a sizeable force before noon tomorrow: I plan to relieve Fumaril." "How many?" "Two thousand horse and eight thousand foot half pike and half archers. Illuminated and Templars. I'll take whatever Thalassine bombards you have, as well. With cold iron shot." "A little more notice would be appreciated," Prince Tagur sighed. "Just get them together in one place. Nwm will do the rest." "I understand the principle," Tagur said. "And a little more notice would be appreciated." "Noted," the Ahma nodded. "You have my apology, your Highness. Your tenure in the Serenities does not seem to have diminished your acidity." "Oh," Prince Tagur sounded mildly disappointed. "I had rather hoped that it had." ** At midnight, in Nizkur, all was darkness.

In a certain set of glades named Raithin Gabro, to the south of the forest and not too far from the marches of Tyndur, a power accumulated around an ancient stone named the Cleta; one of the many erratics or storrs which dotted the valleys nearby. The area was a wild one: bare hilltops thrust above dense stands of pine. Further west, a forlorn strand stretched beneath rearing cliffs. Those tracts had a reputation for savage and malicious feys of every hue. It was here that Hummaz had elected to establish his realm: an area, to all intents and purposes, of Faerie proper. From the bole of the Tree, a hundred miles to the north, Nehael's perception ranged wide over the land, absorbing all. "What do you see?" Teppu asked excitedly. "He makes no efforts to impede your sight?" "None," Nehael sighed. "Faerie awakens. I see areas of dusk and gloam and magic, and quicklings moving in the shadows. I see sidhe fortresses perched on windy crags, and hoary hunters preparing to ride. There are eight scions" "Eight?" "Holly and Hazel, obviously. A Willow. Others. Curiously, also a Yew. Ninit. The Boars. They have reincarnated. And those whom the Eater of Light consumed; the forest is alive." "I sense no Awakening." "I speak figuratively. The trees remain dormant, for the most part. But all of the most robust who were were taken by Shvar Choryati have transmigrated. They have lost none of their potency; they are now fey." "Sidhe?" "Many. And tree-wyrds and other genii. And nymphs and satyrs. The latter revel as we speak. Hummaz is drunk." "One hopes that this is not a prelude to some rampage," Teppu sighed. "His mood seems amiable enough. He smiles drowsily at me." ** Mostin augmented and warded himself with powerful spells, and plane shifted to an area where reality maelstroms churned through Void. Mile-long shards of matter span slowly on their axes, flickering on the edge of annihilation. A telepathic bond connected him to Jalael, Troap and Daunton, who were ensconced in the astral retreat, forty-seven shattered dimensions distant. Mostin's sensory experience was conveyed directly into the other wizards' minds. [Daunton]: Pan left. Up a little. Mostin scowled. In the far distance, dominating all, a redoubt of substance which the Blackthorn-ludja had gathered

around itself. Like a vast mountain floating capsized in space, fragments of Zelatar complete with minarets, domes and viper groves comprised its inverted flanks. About its base, a fence of lesser peaks thrust upwards to surround a forested bowl twenty miles wide, at the centre of which, Mostin knew, the malign Blackthorn brooded. Flights of chthonics which erupted spontaneously and vanished as quickly avoided proximity to the great Tree. Mostin wrought magic, and brought his will to bear upon the planar flux near him. In a previous cycle, Graz'zt had made spells of his own for the same purpose: vast in scope, and taking millennia to complete. Strands of plasm flowed; matter quickly agglomerated, assuming shapes and angles possessed of a disturbing quality. The aesthetic was peculiar in the extreme. The Alienist drew a rod of cold iron two feet long from a portable hole, and scratched a wide circle about himself quickly. Within it, he scribed a set of complex runes and glyphs with uncanny speed and precision, pausing occasionally to recollect. With a motion, the rod vanished and the scrawl became a perfectly engraved tracery of iron. Mostin stood inside the circle, muttered, and made a brief gesture. A gate opened, and Soneillon appeared without duress. Mostin recoiled, and reflexively assumed his pseudonatural shape as a churning vortex of darkness attempted to engulf him. It failed barely to penetrate a hemisphere which had sprung into existence around the wizard. Mostin swallowed with many mouths: he had thought to err in his protective ward with a wide margin of safety. Soneillon withdrew and immediately became a demure child with wide eyes. "Mostin. How delightful to see you again. Forgive my enthusiasm to embrace you." Mostin remained in tentacled form, a thousand eyes directed suspiciously at the demoness. He knew that she could endure any magic he presently had at his command: in Uzzhin, it appeared, she had not only undergone a powerful pseudogenesis, but had taken tutelage with one of the elder horrors; spellwarp clung heavily to her. A number of transvalent spells protected her. "Let's negotiate," the Alienist said wisely. "A Flame Precedes the Aeon, Mostin. It troubles my dreams. What does it mean?" Mostin resumed his humanoid shape, looked at his hand, and cocked his head quizzically. "Why do we find such forms necessary?" "For you, sentimentality; for me, habit. Mostin, your evasiveness needs much work: the question still stands." "You might volunteer a little first," the Alienist smiled. "Given the level of mutual distrust which we must first overcome. Note that I have conjured you without compulsion in a locale which is suitably secure for you." "I have accepted an invitation; that hardly qualifies as grounds for debt. And good luck in your efforts to bind me. Still, I will tell you this: Carasch gathers darkness to himself; he prepares an oneiric assault. It will come in three days." Mostin raised his eyebrows. "He is bold to move against the Seraphim. The Tree may swat him for his insolence." "Or ignore him, as a fly. The fence has holes for those who know where to look. Only the

great bhitis dream deeper than Carasch. A Flame Precedes the Aeon?" "An opportunity to actualize the Urn, now passed," Mostin sighed. "Which Flame?" "In the Urgic sense; an iota of Perfect Radiance. Manifested when the Sela transmigrated." "But you lost the Flame," Soneillon understood. "You search for another. Still, you withold much; some component of the equation is absent." "This is to be expected," Mostin nodded. "You are my enemy." "I am/not what I am/not," Soneillon snorted. "And you I bear no more malice than the rest of Creation, Mostin. If I were to proffer a little more, would you bite?" "In this case, I regret I must decline. There is no article of knowledge which you possess which might be of equivalent value. You can surrender the Urn, to be privy." Soneillon smiled sweetly. "Unlikely. But I am also reminded that analas which is to say flames come in a variety of colors. Perhaps ruddy or black? One might ask why there is a Hellfire Atavism lurking in the woods? Or would Carasch burn with sufficient heat, I wonder? Or the goddess in Jashat, the Death-Anala herself?" Mostin shifted uncomfortably. "You see," Soneillon placed her palms together. "The Void has opened, Mostin. It draws other forms spiralling into it. My power waxes." "A Tree sits atop your palace and has enslaved your cabal," Mostin sneered. "You have no foundation." Soneillon drew close to the circle's edge, placing childlike hands upon the invisible barrier. "The Cherry can wait. Chthonic axes will hew its roots in due course. Understand me, Mostin: I have been Outside and I have returned. I know what you know; I've seen what you have seen. Is there no potential for productive discourse?" "Certainly. That is why I called you. Some topics must presently remain taboo, however. With which did you apprentice when you were Outside?" Soneillon laughed. "You would not believe me if I told you." "An entity of some reputation, I assume?" "Something hidden, Mostin." "Then this I must know," Mostin said wrily. "Vhorzhe," Soneillon whispered. "My sponsor is Vhorzhe, Mostin." The Alienist gaped at her. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me." "No," Mostin said grimly; the solutions to a number of nagging equations had already presented themselves in his mind. "I believe you well enough. You found a Pseudodaemonic Infinity."

"You should be more careful when targeting your banishments, Mostin. I didn't even have to look." "The spell is named Pilgrimage," Mostin said bitterly. "An apt descriptor in your case, or so it would appear. Trust me Soneillon, were necromancy within my purview, I'd have happily obliterated you instead." She smiled coyly. "Mostin, sometimes you speak such charming words." "Nor did I name any particular pseudolocus for the spell. I find the prospect of coincidence improbable." "To discover that one has been manipulated by an unknown agent is never a happy moment," Soneillon's eyes narrowed. [Daunton]: Vhorzhe? [Troap]: Enlighten me? [Jalael]: Mostin was apprenticed to him. A disagreeable sort, by all accounts. Shomei knew him. Mostin's over-hyped Horror abducted him previously. Mostin scowled. A wizard's dirty laundry was seldom a pleasant sight. [Mostin]: Enough! Begone! I will relate the shabby details in Fumaril. The Alienist summarily dismissed the other wizards from his mind. In a chamber of the astral retreat, Jalael looked hard at Daunton. "He is so damnably arrogant. Will he now strike some deal without our knowledge? Why do we endure this tyrannical lunatic as our spokesman?" Daunton raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Graz'zt's token, which hung around the Hag's neck; her greatest treasure gained from the binding of the demon prince. "Profit," the diviner replied sagely. ** Otwine swore. Divine blood erupted in a cloud from delicate fey skin as a sonic of great magnitude struck her. Heedless was a blur in her hand. It screamed ecstatically. The Demon had gone to ground on an unnamed island; ancient olive groves, long abandoned by some ocean-going culture, clung to the steep slopes of a dormant volcanic peak. The trees were being ripped from their roots and hurled into the sky from the force of the wind which Mesikammi had conjured. Pazuzu spat a gout of corrupted acid over Ortwine; she saw the droplets spin through the air towards her and somehow avoided each. The wind carried the black vapor harmlessly away. "This." Ortwine opened a gashing wound across the demon's chest.

"Is." And another. "Just." And another. "Too." And another. "Easy." And another. It was. The cornered demon prince screamed in rage and frustration. His remaining magic was impotent against her; his claws could find no purchase to inject their ineffectual venom. She outpaced him. Out-fought him. Out-thought him. He was stuck in this accursed place. "I yield," Pazuzu screeched above the wind. It was a violation of his pact with Yeshe, but he cared nothing for that any longer; all of the old rules had been overturned. "Thanks," Ortwine cut his head off. The gale subsided abruptly. Reaching down, the sidhe-goddess retrieved a rod of intricate design ending in a golden claw. She plucked a long feather from the fallen demon's wing. "For Mostin," she smiled to Mesikammi. The clouds parted: for a moment, the Sun shone brighter; a great bird seemed to pass across its disc. Upon the ground, the broken remains of the Prince of the Lower Aerial Kingdoms burned swiftly; ash was carried away on a gentle breeze. Ortwine made a rude gesture towards the Luminary. "I didn't ask for your opinion. I'd have taken another feather, if I'd known." ** The Ahma retired grimly to his tent. As he entered, a movement within it prompted him to draw Lukarn in a flash. He found himself gazing at his own reflection and swallowed. Resting on a stand, not a mirror but a round shield, burnished to perfection. Once Melimpor's shield, hammered fresh by celestial smiths, then cloven by Visuit; it had been cast yet again. A delicate device of Tree-and-Sun was etched upon it. Around its circle, between its rim and wide boss, phoenixes took flight; they seemed to wheel incessantly as the observer moved this way and that. Lukarn's light was reflected as with a green and gold fire. "Strike it," a voice said from behind him. It was Jaliere. "I"

"Strike it!" The god demanded. "Hew at it with all your strength. Smash it. Shiver it." The Ahma gathered his power and dealt a terrific blow with his weapon, two-handed, striking the shield's upper rim. The stand shattered. The shield sank into the dirt floor under the force of the assault, but otherwise bore no mark. "Good," Jaliere nodded. "I" "Don't bother," the god of the forge grunted. "Your account is still firmly in the black." "There is no debt. I have never expected payment." Eadric shook his head. "Hence, you deserve it," Jaliere replied. The god regarded him. "Ahma, in Soan they build a great temple to you." "No!" Eadric stepped back and his face contorted. "I cannot be worshipped." "Then you must disabuse your worshippers of their prayerful notions," Jaliere sighed. "I wish you all the best in that endeavour." "And why are they building temples? A few thousands; barely returned from death. They must feed themselves. Clothe themselves. Build shelter." Jaliere laughed. "The gods and ancestors are not idle in Sisperi, Ahma. And it has already been five years." "Five years?" "In Sisperi. Saes changed the passage of time; increased the pace of mortality if only for a little while. The negotiation between her and Ortwine? Were you not present?" "In body only," the Ahma smiled. Eadric lifted the shield, and wiped the dirt from its rim. The tree in its design was unmistakeably a yew. "How did you know it was a Yew?" He asked. "Lai sees much," Jaliere replied.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-25-2009

Fumaril Part 1.

The Ahma stood on the balcony of the Tyrant's palace and gazed eastwards. Tents now crowded the baileys below, but all was gloomy and indistinct, save the throne room behind him; in that narrow space alone, Mulissu had found enough power to counteract the oppressive darkness of the Pall of Dhatri. It was the only light for a hundred miles. Nwm who rested after the transportation of many companies of Wyrish troops had resolved to counter the spell locally, at least to a mile or two beyond Fumaril's walls. Mostin unusually animated

 had made calculations which made the Preceptor groan. To do so would be a massive drain on their already stretched magical resources. Initially, Mostin had been sceptical; news of vampires and spectres had caused him to reconsider. "You need get the timing right. Fry as many as you can. And you need to start conserving resources. Squeeze every drop. I have it. Look: [Formula]." "You may use plain speak." "Lukarn," Mostin said. "As the focus. Gather them up and perform the ritual now. Then you take a rest. Be fresh later. Nwm stared blankly. "Limited resources," Mostin reminded him. "Visuit will be knocking on the doors in less than twelve hours." "Very well. Limited resources. You're in. Help spread the pain around." Eadric remained solemn throughout, brooding upon the strategic situation. As he handed Lukarn to Nwm for the purpose of the spell; a general presentiment of unease possessed him. Visuit's maneuver with the multiple gates and chthonic summons at Cirone had demonstrated to the Ahma that the goddess while relishing direct, bloody conflict had a number of other tools at her disposal. Her assault would be fast, brutal, and extraordinarily well-coordinated. No chthonic intervention could tip the scales this time; in that regard, the threat was at least more quantifiable. Mostin had observed that banishing her again was also not possible as long as the Tree's interdict held. She must therefore be killed; Eadric's preferred solution, certainly, but not one which was obviously achievable. The hairs of the back of his neck stood abruptly, and his eyes widened. She was. Here. "Nwm!" He screamed. "Sword!" The Preceptor tossed him back his weapon. ** In the courtyard directly below the balcony there was an eruption of earth and rock which hurled flagstones fifty feet into the air; the ground heaved and rippled like liquid. Guho had conjured an earth-spirit a dao prince of considerable prestige and negotiated a terrene passage for four travellers. The Worm-that-Walks was accompanied by the goddess Visuit, Yeshe the Binder, and Choach, manifesting a fresh form from his hidden phylactery. Upon his arrival, the lich immediately scoured all trace of life from the courtyard with a massive acid evocation. Yeshe struck the faade of the palace with a powerful vibration which caused it to collapse. The Ahma and Nwm were borne away in an avalanche of rubble. The Alienist alerted by a moment of prescience had hopped onto a more secure foundation, now a pilon of masonry extending from the stricken building.

Mostin stopped time. * He considered, and many eyes absorbed many details; his mind processed perception rapidly. Why this moment? What was the qualifier which had divined this point in time for their attack? The Ahma parted momentarily from Lukarn? Their foresight was subtle, or the synchronicity apt. Visuit was in mid-leap, her monstrous weapon raised above her head and ready to fall; whether her target was Nwm or Eadric was impossible to say: it was likely that the goddess herself had not yet made that determination. Guho was in the act of casting another transvalent spell; the accretion of magic around her revealed much. It was an enchantment; a bad one, designed to punch through mind blanks. And her attention was turned in his direction. Choach and Yeshe were both gathering their power again, but their specific intention was unknown. Furthermore, a complex lattice of unidirectional antimagic protected both; a network of fine gaps in Mostin's arcane perception. That would be a problem. Behind him, in the throne-room, Mesikammi was conjuringsomething. Mulissu was fortifying herself: air crackled; the metallic reek of ozone reached his nose. Daunton had begun to protect himself as best he could. Tahl was roaring Get Out! at everyone else. Ortwine's location was unknown. Mostin augmented his consciousness to godlike proportions and refocused. Backlash cascaded over him. * As time recommenced, he targeted Guho with the Mhuerh Resonance, a sonic of terrific power. The aberration exploded into a million pieces. The Alienst launched a disjunction at Yeshe and Choach, but it slithered off of their protective shells. From nowhere, Heedless, flying through the air, bit into Visuit's gorget but was turned by the hammered layers of black adamant. Her armor pulsed with death runes in anger. Mostin experienced a brief dissonance: in an unrealized future, the goddess had brought her weapon down upon Nwm, slaying him instantly, and cleaving into Eadric, smashing through his armor; in the realized, Ortwine had used a spell to avert the possibility at the last moment. Instead, Visuit's sword opened a wound from the Preceptor's shoulder to his belly and left him senseless. The Ahma smote her with all his power. She leered at him. At the behest of the goddess, Choach sealed the area surrounding Nwm, Eadric and Visuit with a transvalent spell: a spherical wall of force which encapsulated a bubble of antimagic. All dweomers failed within it, but Ortwine did not manifest; Mostin guessed that she had somehow jumped free. Visuit smiled. As potent as her own artifacts might be, in an area of dead magic she had a huge advantage. Yeshe struck Mostin with a spell contrived to imprison souls; his spellwarp absorbed it, energizing him.

She followed with a quickened superb dispelling, divesting him of most of his magical protections. Mulissu stopped time. * Mostin was poised upon the remains of the balcony at the very edge of illumination. Below, in shadow, Yeshe's contorted face was caught in the act of voicing an execration. Mulissu considered the bubble around Eadric and Visuit, and glanced at Yeshe and Choach. It would be one or the other. She erected a prismatic wall directly in front of Mostin, sealing off three-quarters of the opening in the blasted faade, and preventing Choach from targeting either the Alienist or Daunton. Next, she conjured an air monolith, which remained in a paradoxical stasis, its unmoving-churning base threatening Yeshe and the lich. The savant gathered her thoughts. Time recommenced. * Mulissu darted into the air and targeted the encysted antimagic surrounding the Ahma with a superb dispelling, evaporating it instantly. Simultaneously, the monolith was a churning vortex which sucked Choach into it. With a thought, Mulissu stopped time again. * The savant scowled at Visuit. The Butcher was nigh-invulnerable to her magic, and her options with regard to the goddess were limited. She quickly scanned Yeshe with a powerful spell and raised an eyebrow.

You stupid, arrogant bitch, Mulissu thought. You have no idea

She invoked a mantle of egregious might, and concentrated. Time recommenced. * Mulissu struck Yeshe with an antimagic ray and conjured two spheres of ball lightning which blazed as they hammered into the immortal. Yeshe gaped in pain and amazement. Tendrils of lightning wrapped around her. Choach uttered a swift destruction, causing the elemental around him to disintegrate in an explosion of black fire, and directed an empowered energy drain at Mulissu which failed to pierce her wards. Mostin stopped time. * The Alienist was shaken; his most potent defenses were stripped from him. He granted himself the power of flight, moved out from behind the prismatic wall, and briefly surveyed the scene. His magical sight had also been suppressed; shapes were blurry and vague. Mulissu was floating above the courtyard, traceries of static lightning surrounding her. Choach was below her. Yeshe's power was muted by antimagic.

Mostin descended, conjured a prismatic sphere directly in front of Choach, and refocused. Time recommenced. * Mostin became a hideous thing. A barbed tentacle lashed out and dragged the lich through the seven layers of shimmering light which surrounded the Alienist. Undaunted and unaffected, Choach dropped another superb dispelling this time on the entire area below the prismatic wall. All magic ceased, save for the Pall of Dhatri only. The pervasive gloom reasserted itself in the perception of all present; suddenly, everything became real, and shadowy. For a brief moment, all eyes turned to Mostin. His form remained the same. * From nowhere, a subdued Heedless was about Yeshe: Ortwine now visible as a swift shadow was finding gaps within the Binder's armor. Yeshe staggered under the assault. Visuit glowered at the insensible Nwm and cut him down in an instant. She continued with a ferocious attack upon Eadric, dealing huge punishment to him and forcing him backwards. He could barely stand, much less focus; Lukarn dropped from his hand; his strength ebbed away. A boar one of the enormous Gultheins, conjured by Mesikammi burst out of the throne-room and ploughed into Visuit, carrying her thirty feet into a balustrade with an explosion of rubble. Yeshe became insubstantial and flitted away as Mulissu targeted her with a barrage of lightning orbs. Tahl leapt down to Nwm's side, and revivified him. Mostin, a writhing mass of appendages, ripped Choach apart and flung skeletal remains in all directions. Magic surged as a score of artifacts reawakened. * Visuit slew the boar with a single, great swipe of her sword. Power coursed through her again now. She turned her attention back to Eadric. In a heartbeat, Ortwine closed the distance, scooped up Lukarn and pressed it into the Ahma's gauntleted fist. The weapon stirred; Eadric's faculties returned abruptly. "That way," Ortwine said, orienting him. "You're doing fine." Daunton erected a wall of force in front of the Butcher, sealing her into a corner. "How long do we have?" Eadric asked. "I'd guess about six seconds," Ortwine replied.

"Did I miss much?" Nwm asked. Tahl had healed him. Another spell from Daunton facilitated a telepathic bond amongst all present. ** [Mostin]: Ignore Yeshe. Target Visuit. [Mulissu]: Forget it. I've got nothing. We need to take out her goon. Yeshe vaporous and hidden somewhere nearby in the gloom used telekinesis to lift Visuit into the air over the wall of force and deposited her directly in front of Eadric, Nwm and Ortwine. Mulissu aware only of the Binder's approximate location blasted the area around Yeshe and Mostin with a string of powerful electrical evocations. The Alienist happily immune to lightning, and realizing the wisdom of Mulissu's words followed suit with a sonic barrage. [Nwm]: I'll take whatever you've got. [Eadric + Mesikammi + Tahl]: Ready. [Ortwine]: You'd better finish this. A pillar of green fire consumed Visuit. She screamed in agony; a sound which rocked the foundations of Fumaril. Thundering forwards in a rage, she slew Nwm for a second time, her great, curved sword, cutting him limb from limb in a flurry of deadly strokes. Daunton struck the goddess with a dispelling; momentarily, her armor subsided into quiescence. Yeshe had vanished into the darkness. Mostin smote Visuit with a sonic meteor swarm his last remaining big evocation. Mulissu began to conjure another elemental. Ortwine, sensing opportunity, attacked in earnest; all of her focus was directed at parting Visuit's head from her shoulders. From the opposite side, Eadric hewed into her with Lukarn. With three mighty strokes, Visuit dropped the Ahma like a stone, whirled her blade over her head, and clove into Ortwine, driving her backwards in a daze. With a back-handed swipe she slew Tahl the Incorruptible who was moving to revivify Eadric as an afterthought. Mostin had resorted to magic missiles which pulsed into the goddess. Another boar crashed into Visuit, a great tusk impaling her through her armor and forcing her back yet again. Yeshe corporeated for an instant beside Visuit before both dissolved into mist. Mulissu cursed.

Mostin experienced it as a shiver; the subtlest aethers were singing in resonance. Mesikammi gaped. She saw and heard, although no other might. The radiance was overwhelming; the

sonority, perfect. She danced and clapped. "Beautiful Flames! Beautiful Flames!" In the darkness, Mostin assumed a humanoid shape and considered. Nwm would self-incarnate in a few hours. The lich would slink away to his phylactery. Guho had more than a few worms hidden, no doubt. But Eadric of Deorham had passed. He would be presented with a variety of choices. * Ortwine's senses returned to her and she wiped the blood from her eyes. Her faculties reached out through the shadows, groping in search of Visuit and Yeshe. Nothing.

Next time, Faerie. Visuit's voice, echoing in Ortwine's mind.

The sidhe focused.

Lai. Get here now. We need you.

Mulissu turned to Daunton. "You will convoke the Wyrish Academy." Daunton protested. "We are not in Wyre. And the Collegium is not Mulissu's to command. And the Interdict prevents the spell, in any case. Mostin?" "Do as she says," Mostin nodded. "Tell them to get here as fast as they can, by whatever means they can."

** I've been avoiding footnotes. But: *Mulissu's main attack spells are electrically-substituted energy orbs with a variety of secondary (entangling, sickening etc.) and metamagic effects attached; I ruled that energy conjurations logically penetrate antimagic as well as ignore SR. Sketchy, but there you go. Yeshe had native resistance to electricity as well, but not much. She botched two DC 50 Fort saves. *Mostin gets 9 tentacle attacks at +44 (2d8+14). *Devastating Critical is the most broken feat ever. *DM Note: I may have underestimated Visuit's CR for this encounter.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 03-23-10

Between

Aeon.

Wyrm? Eadric wonders. Not so much by its shape; dimension is not, in fact, a concept which is

altogether appropriate. Nor by its nature, a notion which is entirely moot. It is made of and contains all color. Potentiality focused at a single point, awaiting time to commence. It is poised upon the interstices Between. Even it has a shadow. The never-realized; that-which-cannot-be. An Apparition. Eadric turns his thoughts to the World. Within Finitude, a torrent of Flames has already descended in anticipation of the Aeon. They are hidden, save those few which might reveal themselves to the blessed or the mad. In his mind, Eadric smiles. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Nwm had invoked the Sun-God. An inpouring of light and fire; a divine immanence carried by those resurrected at the Reversal. What exactly did the Preceptor expect? The Urn. The Moment. The Spell. The Flame. One thrice-transcended? Thrice-fallen? Thrice reborn; or remade? Nehael? Soneillon? Teppu? Ortwin(e)? Hummaz? Mostin? If Wyre survives, the Illuminated of Morne and their descendants will dominate history for fifty millennia. In Dream, Darkness moves; Carasch prepares to assail the Viridescent Seraphim. Moment. It must be at an appropriate moment. The Dragon coils around the Tree. There is an awareness that this perspective is impossible, and Eadric returns to Finitude. Reality commences. ** ** "Fumaril is not built to withstand conventional siege," Mulissu explained, "much less earthquakes and goristros. Visuit can and must press the attack; she may petition for more magical help possibly another immortal, or more than one. Yeshe has yet to gather the ritual power of her cabals; even if her reservoir is dry, she is not toothless. "When this storm blows out, I will not conjure another; nor will the Paling go up again. I lack further patience for these delaying tactics. Mostin has therefore devised a plan" Waide groaned. "Are you now the charismatic face of Mostin's deranged schemes?" "Precisely," Mulissu smiled. "I am nervous around deities," Tozinak sniffed. "Our advantage is in versatility," Mostin's entrance, although flamboyant in his own eyes, was accompanied by such a distortion of normality in the senses of those others present that it caused heads to spin and stomachs to heave.

"We can adapt our strategy much more effectively than they," the Alienist continued. "We have greater spell resources. We have regained the prescient edge. They have outmoded spellcasting techniques and their repertoire is limited. Choach is gone again, for a while; Yeshe is exhausted. Guho is recovered, and still potent, but she is only one." "As has been said, Visuit must press on. I foresee that Rishih will join them, but under duress. The Cheshnite leadership is fragmenting; or rather, the illusion of unity is finally being dispelled. Powerful warlords who are effectively vassals of Klaanla. Those few demons which remain by few I mean few thousand are the last of their kind. We may not see their like again. We should consider preserving some specimens. "But I digress. Ladies and gentlemen, imprisonments and disjunctions are your friends. Sonics if available to you are good friends. Transmutations are of limited utility; time stops, yes! Necromancies and enchantments, useless. "We will approach mind blanked and under superior invisibility" "This strategy did not work for Eadric," Jalael observed. "Visuit is less likely to experience abject nausea when we approach her," Mostin said sagely. "How much of this did you learn from Soneillon, and at what cost?" Jalael's irritation was apparent. "Much. And none to you. If I may continue? Prismatic walls and spheres " [Mulissu]: Enough speak! Whether you invoke her or no, her gaze is turned upon us again. [Daunton]: It matters not. As has been pointed out to me, we are all figments of Mostin's imagination in any case. ** Ortwine galloped northwest upon Narh through Nizkur Forest. Eadric's steed bore her faster than she could wind walk; the trees parted for the sidhe as she rode. Blood and ichor still clung to her and caked her hair; her cloak was a billowing shadow, distorting perception around her. Her course led her toward Kinthei and the Tree. Her instinct cautiously probed those tracts to the west of her as she rode; the limits of Hummaz's realm, if such notions as limit meant anything to the enigmatic fey. Abruptly, shadow passed across her mind; a vast, dark fire impinging on her consciousness at a distance of a mile. Ortwine cursed, and veered east, spurring Narh to an incredible pace. Too slow. The shape hurtled towards her with uncanny speed, and within three seconds had manifested itself directly in front of her; a raging inferno of black flames surrounding a great, sinuous wyrm. Qematiel. The forest ignited. The fire burned her and Ortwine drew Heedless, but backed up upon Narh. "I am about the Tree's business. You would be ill-advised to thwart me." With such power and confidence did the sidhe speak, that the wyrm paused uncertainly. Then she remembered her mission. "My, you are a suave one. Do not attribute your continued existence to anything other than my whimsy," Qematiel smiled wickedly, displaying many hundred teeth.

Inwardly, Ortwine sighed. This fact was undeniable. Her aura extinguished itself and the dragon assumed the shape of a female devil of not-inconsiderable allure. She held a tiny hazel twig, barely longer than a splinter, between thumb and forefinger; she proffered it to the sidhe with an arched eyebrow. Ortwine looked sceptical. "I am generally reluctant to accept gifts from powerful entities with opaque agendas." Qematiel smiled again; in diabolic form, the expression seemed even more malign. "I don't believe I gave you a choice," the wyrm said. "And the Hazel certainly hasn't." "What is it?" Ortwine took the twig in a resigned fashion. She screamed as it buried itself into her left palm. "Power," Qematiel replied. ** He is a boy of ten again, standing in the courtyard of the keep below the Steeple. His father tosses him the sword. He feels its weight in his hands. "It is too heavy," Eadric complains. "They need to feed you more meat and less scripture in the Temple," his father says without sympathy. "The men of Kyrtill's clan are large; hence we use large swords. Be about you!" Orm is sitting nearby. He jeers. "Shut up!" The boy shouts. "You're just jealous because they wouldn't take you." "I was," Orm admits calmly. "Now I am relieved. I do not require a syllabus censored by the Inquisition." "Father?" Eadric pleads. "As I love you both, shut up and learn how to fight. This is eminently practical advice: if you are dead, you are of no use to anyone." ** "Where is Nwm?" Ortwine inquired. "He has not returned yet," Nehael answered. "He is assessing the situation from a different perspective before he commits. You wear Hazel's mark; that may have been a rash promise of fealty." "I am confused, and my fealty which is to myself has not changed. What does the dragon have to do with this?" Teppu sighed. "She is a useful agent."

"A useful agent for whom? For Hazel? Or for the Tree? For you? For Hummaz?" "This has yet to be demonstrated," Teppu conceded. "She is also a liability; Kaalaanala now plots to break Hazel's spell on her and unleash the wyrm's destructive potential. Which is considerable." "Many balances have been struck," Nehael sat upon the ground. "Energy has become diffuse. This is natural." "Mine has not," Ortwine said dismissively. "What of Hummaz? Have you made contact with him?" "No," Nehael shook her head. "And I would advise you likewise avoid him. If we are fortunate, he may revel blissfully for a thousand years before he awakens one morning in a bad mood. Or he may stub his toe whilst chasing a nymph, and become enraged. These things are hard to predict. Nonetheless, I feel a certain maternity toward him; it is hard to explain." "Adopting the Adversary is a bold undertaking," Ortwine said drily. "I'm not persuaded that his new clothes will fit to his liking." "You would know better than I," Nehael nodded. "You demonstrate many convergences." Ortwine scowled. "What is your purpose here, Ortwine?' Nehael sighed. Even her intuition could not penetrate the sidhe's motivation. "I have come to ask for your help." "I have no authority beyond Nizkur," Nehael shook her head. "No, but you have great power beyond Nizkur. In any event, I require your intercession not your intervention: Kaalaanala sees everything which transpires in Fumaril. A Tree could veil us" "There is no scion there; a ludja feels protective only toward its scions." "Hence I require your intercession. If" Nehael held up her hand. "I will do what I can." She communed momentarily. "The answer is no," Nehael said plainly. "But" "No," Nehael repeated. "Neither Oak, not Elm nor Ash will lend you aid, as you now bear Hazel's mark. In other words, Hazel has pre-empted your efforts; you must petition it directly." "But Hazel is in Hell." "You are marked. You need merely invoke her by name. A votive offering to a scion would place you in better standing." "And where might I find a Hazel scion?" Ortwine asked, exasperated. "Unless you wish to enter the realm of Hummaz, the only one is in the gardens of the Wyrish Academy. Shomei's abode."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Ortwine said. "And I'm sure the wizards will be thrilled. Is this ludja feminine or neuter? You have implied both." "It is not masculine," Nehael nodded. "And when do I receive this power that I am promised? The wyrm was vague." "It is already bestowed. In the Forest, you must fight left-handed." Ortwine narrowed her eyes. "This is an odd restriction." She moved to draw her weapon, but froze involuntarily. "No!" Nehael hissed. A celadon light flared around her. "Not here. You will not unsheath that thing here. This is a holy place." The Image of Uedii. The sidhe's faade collapsed entirely, and she backed away, her countenance full of righteous dread. Her opacity suddenly made utterly transparent, Ortwine wavered, turned, and fled. When she reached Narh, the sidhe encountered Nehael again. The goddess stood before the great horse, which nuzzled her affectionately. Her palm was offered outward; her expression was benign. "Kindly step aside," Ortwine said. She still shook. "You will need a votive offering," Nehael emphasized. "I have something in mind," Ortwine said through gritted teeth. "I am what I am, and you must decide how you relate to that. Your insecurities are your own." Nehael vanished. ** Eadric sat beneath the Yew in Saizhan. Viridescent devas surrounded him. He experienced a subtle tugging: Lai and Mesikammi were beckoning him to return, and he merely need reach out and touch the gnarled trunk He felt their entreaty, but did not act upon it. He watched as Tramst, the Sela, quietly approached and sat opposite. There was a long silence. Eadric breathed deeply a chill, forest-mountain air scented with resin and looked into the Sela's face. "I have seen a little of what you see," Eadric finally said dubiously. "If only for a moment, or was it an eternity? I marvel that Tramst who is a fragile vessel can contain the magnitude of the Sela, although this truth is also somehow quite mundane. I am conflicted. I should return, of course. But this is a fine spot; the light is of a perfect, blended quality. The air is crisp and clear." Tramst laughed. "This is your Heaven; are you surprised that you like it?"

"Not entirely. Sela, I cannot overcome Visuit. Twice, I've faced her now. She is beyond me." "Yet overcome her you must," Tramst nodded. "And Kaalaanala also. Visuit is but a minor test. Observe." A light sprang into being within the Sela's palm. At first, it seemed perfect and undivided, but on closer inspection, differentiation existed or at least Eadric inferred as much. Motes whirled about in a cloud; around each mote, yet more motes span, and around them, yet more. The light shone upon the face of the Sela a visage both empty and complete. "Radiance illuminates Mind," Tramst smiled. "And Mind reflects upon Radiance. But what is behind me?" Oblivion. A terror so complete and all-consuming that Eadric's thought was utterly paralyzed. He teetered on the brink of annihilation. "Look beyond Nothingness," the Sela said calmly. The Darkness called to him. He could not rest his gaze there. The Sela sighed. "Beyond, not into. Stare not at Apparitions of Demogorgon; merely practice Saizhan. Tools I offer you. How many motes do you see?" They span wildly. To observe one was to lose its identity to perception. A grand cosmic uncertainty. "Seven," Eadric replied. "And seven times seven unnumbered times." His knowledge was oblique, but the intuition certain. "You may choose two." Slowly, an action which itself seemed aeons long, the Sela moved his hand toward him; Eadric stared into the maelstrom of light for such it had become until it overwhelmed him entirely. It asserted ens with such ferocity that it threatened to extinguish all other notions of being. Its magnitude was unguessably vast. It was Magnitude. Silence. "Which did you choose?" The Sela asked wrily. As though he might not know. "This and That," Eadric laughed. "They are called Fultum and Anto," the Sela nodded. "Or Steadfastness and Wrath; or Vigilance and Requite; or Succour and Renewal. You choose well. Share these meditations with those whom you trust and who might understand. Look now beyond Unbeing. What do you See?" Eadric wept. The Void shone. "Thus," the Sela smiled. He held Eadric's head in his hands and breathed gently. The Ahma entered him. He awoke beneath the Yew beside the Great Fane in Morne. "You took your time," Nwm said. The Preceptor watched silently as a vast, aquiline shape receded towards a setting Sun.

* In the gathering dark, Narh walked steadily through the wide grounds of the Academy southwest of Morne. Ortwine's eyes moved suspiciously; any number of the trees there possessed a rudimentary sentience, and most were malign. Now a far more sinister Intelligence that of a Hazel scion held banyans, viper trees and night twists in thrall away from the main trail. Ortwine scowled. The Hazel itself was remaining elusive. She knew she was being toyed with. A familiar sensation came upon the sidhe, the quality of which was reminiscent of a prior incarnation. Ahead of her, the barest rumour of a path had appeared, winding its way through dense briars. She drew Heedless and progressed cautiously, at first upon Narh, and then due to some internal impulse which she felt obligated to heed on foot. Through the foliage, a light flickered through the gloam. Ortwine wrapped her cloak around her and moved towards it, silent and unseen. It was a stone cottage a coppicer's cottage, of all things, as evidenced by a number of tools which rested neatly against the wall by its open door. Outside, a lone devil of thoughtful and melancholic aspect sat upon a stool carving a slender hazel switch. He was in a state of deep concentration, and seemed oblivious to the sidhe's presence. Despite her efforts, Ortwine's deific sense could not reach within the structure itself. Unperceived, the sidhe slipped past the devil and entered. Ortwine raised an invisible eyebrow. In seeming contradiction to the Tree's limitation on such spatial manipulation, it was larger within than without, and scrolls and codices crowded shelves upon the walls. Stacks of tomes reached the ceiling; in places, there was barely room to move. Ancient books. Forbidden books. Books bound in the hides of unknown creatures, and whispering secrets best left untold. Accursed books. Thousands of them. Through dark doorways, stairs led up or down: to rooms filled with yet more books. She moved towards a space where a pair of plush chairs flanked a large hearth, within which a fire crackled merrily. In a large wicker basket, neatly stacked, half a stre of cut hazel. Hints of cinnamon hung within the air; on a small table by the fireside, an unstoppered bottle of kschiff stood. Above the mantlepiece, framed within crystal, was a large parchment of impossible antiquity bearing one hundred and sixty-nine signatures. Below the names Infernal appellations which themselves made the sidhe's head reel the Empyreal seal, as borne by Enitharmon himself. Below that, an empty rune which held no meaning; it could not, in fact, be said to exist beyond the context of the document itself. The endorsement of Oronthon's Nameless Adversary. The Accord. "Take a seat," Shomei's voice reached her from a nearby room. "Have a drink. I'll be with you in a moment." Ortwine glanced around. "Check the small cabinet," Shomei added. "I have several bottles of Loquai vintage, liberated from Menicau's estate should you prefer." Ortwine relaxed. She loathed the taste of kschiff and found its particular psychotropic effects disagreed with her. Shomei the Infernal appeared presently. She smiled, poured herself a generous goblet of liquor, and sank into one of the chairs. Ortwine regarded her closely; upon her forehead, Shomei bore a faint mark not unlike that which ratified the document above the mantle. "You have become a devil," Ortwine observed.

"Of sorts," Shomei nodded. "And I suspect that you have a particular relationship with the Hazel which is germane to my current situation," Ortwine added. "What is this place?" "A concursion," Shomei said carefully. "You are already within Hazel's domain. The coppice itself is behind the cottage." "You havepermissionto cut wood? Hazel's wood?" "Will must be tended, lest it become unfocused," Shomei the Infernal nodded. "Then you are in thrall?" "No. The arrangement is reciprocal. I am Exempt." "Then you are paid for your work?" Ortwine asked slyly. Shomei laughed, and gestured. "Look around you!" "Books?" Shomei narrowed her eyes, and lifted a large, weighty volume from a stack nearby. She handed it to the sidhe, who wiped grime and dust from its cover to read its title in the ancient Infernal tongue:

Two Hundred Discourses on the Nature of Depravity

"This particular volume was scribed by a devil named Enaia," Shomei explained. "Her seductive accomplishments rival those of the most notorious of succubi. Alas, she is no more; her subterfuge was unmasked by diviners sixteen epochs past: she was bound in dimensional shackles, and buried in a silver salt, gathered from the shores of a celestial ocean." Ortwine cast her gaze through the dark doorways nearby which led to other chambers. "You have sequestered a portion of Hell's library?" "I have sequestered the entirety of Hell's library," Shomei the Infernal smiled. Ortwine looked dubious. "Moving countless million books would seem the occupation of many lifetimes. I assume that certain planar boundaries have been redrawn?" "From this perspective," Shomei nodded. "Hell as it was is no more. It has been ejected from the continuum, so to speak. Forced Outside, or retreated into Dream might be alternate descriptors, were one inclined to view things in such a way. In any event, its influence will no longer be felt as directly. I have preserved its legacy and its wisdom. A quartet of great once-devils remain within what was Avernus, but which is now a great forest dominated by two of the darker ludjas." "And these once-devils which are now presumably Green fill which roles in this new continuum?" "That will depend on the Aeon," Shomei poured herself another goblet of kschiff. "Then devils have become a scarce commodity." "Not so scarce," the Infernalist smiled. "Merely transformed. And Azazel's legions wisely removed themselves and placed themselves under Holly's protection."

Ortwine's hackles rose. "You are wise to fear Holly," Shomei nodded. She was becoming inebriated: apparently kschiff retained its potency with regard to her diabolic metabolism. "She is quite the bitch. The Kings of the Four Quarters, now Four Kings amid the Thickets: this movement was inevitable, even as the Adversary migrated. In a prior reality they were also of He; before a Fall which now never happened. Perhaps half of his Regents in the Undivided Sphere: the half which fell, even as half perished altogether? Each of the others lost one; sixty-four became forty-nine. This was necessary. The I is necessary to ens. For Radiance to penetrate beyond Tamasah." The sidhe barely followed her. "And what is beyond Tamasah?" "Truth," Shomei smiled lazily. "And what might that be?" Shomei laughed heartily. "Ask the Ahma, for he has seen it. I care not for the Unmanifest, Ortwine. Hence, I do not practice Saizhan." The sidhe-goddess sighed and raised her glass. "I'll drink to that." "You may leave both rod and talisman when you depart. I will ensure they are buried at Hazel's roots." Ortwine scowled. Sibud's talisman, she had marked for an offering; Pazuzu's rod she had intended for Mesikammi. Shomei raised an unsympathetic eyebrow. "Will is bought dearly." * Six hundred miles to the south, as the Wizards of Wyre made their preparations within Mulissu's throne room, Mostin noticed a subtle but irresistible reorganizaton of intangible membranes around Fumaril. Saint Tahl the Incorruptible recently resurrected by Lai, and who led a number of Flamines in meditation and vigil felt the oppressive presence of Kaalaanala's scrutiny depart from his consciousness. It was immediately replaced by a cold, steely focus, which seemed barely less malign. In Jashat, fires erupted in violence and anger, annihilating the priests who tended the altars. The Bhiti's perception had been forced into retreat.

Next: Fumaril Part 2. Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 08-19-10

Fumaril: Part 2 Within a fortified palace of marble and serpentine which the demilich Idyam had caused to rise between Jashat and Thond three powerful Cheshnite immortals gathered together: Idyam himself; the Ak'Chazar, Temenun; and Naatha, an ambassador of the now firmly-entrenched northern party.

Godlings, Death Knights, Naztharunes and compacted fiends were gathered nearby. Many legions were encamped about them. The topic of debate was strategy on the largest scale, including the pressing question of how to deal with Kaalaanala, which was necessarily addressed obliquely. None of the immortals had been directly suborned by the Dark Goddess, and her terrible will could not act directly on them as they were beyond the geographical limit imposed by the Tree. Nonetheless, the concern which consumed each was how do I react if she summons me? In this, it was desirable to seek consensus. Hours passed as a variety of strategems were outlined. Throughout, Temenun listened, but did not speak. Finally, the Tiger-Who-Waits stood, and silence fell. His tone was at once contemptuous and magnetic. His position, bordering on heretical and schismatic. He smiled. "I am an ancient spirit, not like you others: corrupt abominations, skeletons, demons, sad remnants of former selves. I am noble and cruel; born of fear and hatred. And I know the Green. I am of this world. "I see possibilities you do not; I apprehend truths you barely glimpse. This is fact; to deny it would be futile. We must position ourselves carefully in this emerging disorder if we are to realize Tamasah. "The Fires of Death abide in Jashat now. Through diligence, we have helped accomplish this task. A great Bhiti dwells among us. And what now? Should we turn our attention to breaking this net which the Tree has cast between us and the Truth? I am patient. We should admit that some tasks are beyond our ability to immediately accomplish. "Another spirit arises in the Forest. Some monstrous priapic expression of Aliikaghana* which acts only from instinct to satisfy its immediate desires. Again, it is demonstrated that ens merely hinders its own devices. We should avoid premature conflict with this entity at all costs; if an understanding can be reached which will hasten the downfall of the Wyrish theocracy, so much the better. "Our sister Guho strikes compacts with the avanim; necessity now forces our hand. Powerful analas move within Dream, but I foresee a stalemate with those celestials in thrall to the Tree. Other agencies are now moving. "Which brings us to an impasse" Temenun paused. Impulses were intruding on his unconscious. His prescience rippled through a host of Nows. Incredulity.

No! How DARE you!

His message, carried on a sending, reached the Claviger's unruffled perception. ** Bells rang within the palace compound at Fumaril, signalling another invisible dawn beneath the Pall of Dhatri. The Ahma stood with Nwm and Lai upon a tall minaret, staring into the gloom. The Butcher's main force had still to deploy, although spectres, outriders and flights of succubi acting in the capacity of aerial scouts had been encountered by his own piquets in an area of low hills ten miles to the east. Eadric watched nervously as Mostin floated upwards from the courtyard below and alighted before them.

"What is keeping them?" The Ahma inquired. "I can only infer," Mostin replied. "Visuit's mote is coming into sharp resonance with that of the Dark Goddess. As the latter cannot act substantively beyond a certain area, this probably means that the Butcher has returned to Jashat temporarily." "By which you infer what, exactly?" "Kaalaanala is warding her champion," Nwm replied. "That would be my reading," Mostin nodded. "Sh*t," Eadric muttered. "That would also be my reading," Mostin concurred. "How long before she rejoins her army?" Nwm asked. "An hour? Two at most." The Alienist shrugged. "I am assuming she will try to wind walk back to her encampment. Mulissu can make the weather uncomfortable and may be able to pin her down for a while. But if more Dao nobility have been co-opted, she may goearthyand be there in an instant." The word earthy was pronounced with considerable distaste. Eadric pondered for a moment before issuing a silent mental command. A quartet of devas appeared presently. "Muster all of the celestials, all of the Flamines, and any amongst the Templars and the Illuminated who are already in harness. Nwm, I need everyone flying, wind walking, mind blanked, invisible and warded against blasphemies and the consumptive attacks of undead. We are making a sortie. We have thirty minutes." Nwm sighed. Eadric considered briefly. "As soon as we break out beyond the limit of the Tree's ward, Kaalaanala will perceive us; at that point Visuit will rush back from Jashat, assuming she is not already en route. The goddess will inform those in the camp of our imminent arrival I am assuming Yeshe will be in command." Ortwine, who was apparently with them but invisible, whispered softly. Nwm sensitive to such sudden changes immediately scowled suspiciously. He looked around, attempting to pinpoint the fey. "How did you do that?" Ortwine allowed herself to manifest and looked vaguely puzzled. "Do what?" "She invoked the Hazel-ludja," Mostin seemed distracted by some elusive thought. "This is substantially to our advantage." Ortwine felt irked that Mostin knew of her activities, but remained outwardly calm. "Would you care to explain?" The Ahma asked. "But swiftly. Time is not now best spent in idle conversation." "Kaala-anala is effectively blind," Nwm replied. "Hazel just suffocated her divine vision in a number of different locations, including the Cheshnite camp ahead."

"Just like that?" "Just like that. What is the cost, Ortwine?" "Potent artifacts seem to work just fine," the sidhe replied drily. "Do you have a problem with that?" "I have none," Nwm smiled. "You are an agent of the Tree. If you find you have a problem, then I offer my counselling services. I understand these matters far better than you." "I doubt it." "You have debts yet to pay to Mesikammi," Nwm sighed. "My High Priestess trusts in my capacity to deliver benefactions." The Ahma unbuckled Lukarn and handed it to Nwm. "Let's try this again." "You have high expectations for a thirty minute window," the Preceptor grumbled and departed. Eadric inquired gingerly. "I assume a fully warded Visuit is likely to be invulnerable?" "Not if we can drop a couple of big ones on her," the Alienist replied. [Nwm]: Mostin. Mulissu. Tozinak. Jalael. Daunton. Waide. Get down here now. I need your reservoirs: everything else is empty. "This better work," the Alienist scowled. [Hlioth]: Snap! Snap! [Mostin]: That's all we need. ** ** Gihaahia, the Enforcer of the Great Injunction, stood within a low chamber. It was the sanctum sanctorum of Wyrish Wizardry, the abode of the Claviger: that mysterious entity which governed the moral conduct of Wyre's arcanists. Before her, the great slab bearing the Articles: itself a gateway connecting the Claviger's awareness to the primal Dream of which it was an aspect. A Dream of Magic. The Infernal was waiting. The Claviger meditated, its processes isometric with rational thought. It had been dreaming Spells. It was absorbed in a particular, nightmarish substrate; one of those several which comprised the impending confrontation between Carasch and the Viridescent Seraphim. After an indeterminable time, the Claviger finally emoted an aesthetic appreciation which caused a frisson of excitement in Gihaahia. Quickly, the Claviger reconfigured the Enforcer and transposed her into the dreamscape, asserting a hegemony which threw the chthonics into violent rages and discomfited the episemes. The Claviger cast the Spell, and quickly retreated into an idle waking fantasy. Manipulating unconscious vestiges emanated by every dormant mind from Harland to Ardan, as far

south as the blight which afflicted the Thalassine, the Claviger swiftly span a new dream, using magic of tremendous power. A net which might have encapsulated an area far greater than that of the Wyrish Injunction had its real dimensions been spatial. In Nizkur, Hummaz abruptly subject to the superimposition grunted in his wine-soaked sleep. Nymphs nearby became suddenly histrionic. The Claviger emoted surprise. Carasch, alone of the chthonics, had somehow eluded the dream-lure and had incorporated himself into the new substrate. The hypoabyssal connection was maintained.

Do not presume. I yet Dream

The thought directed from beyond the Veils almost erased the Claviger in its intensity. ** The Collegiate Wizards corporeated briefly in the darkness as the Temple forces flowed around them like a swift breeze. The Alienist reached out with his thoughts to contact an unseen spy high above the Cheshnite camp. [Mostin]: Well? [Ortwine]: I believe Visuit is still absent. The Anantam are gathered [here] and [here], but they are few. Guho is [here]. There are many of the Keshaa-Dirghaa [here]. Spectres and wraiths move around the periphery in unguessable numbers; they appear as a screen of fog. [Eadric]: Where is Yeshe? [Ortwine]: I would guess within the focal utterdark. There are other defensive magics. They are potent. [Mostin]: Show me. [Ortwine]: [These]. [Mulissu]: Transvalents. Ortwine, do not enter the presidio. [Mostin]: [Moment of Prescience]. They are four-hundredth order. As soon as we pass the screen, we will be precipitated out of wind walking and all our wards will be collapsed. [Nwm]: I can bring them down. It will leave only one for Visuit. [Mostin]: Two would be better. [Eadric]: Then we strike fast and eliminate Yeshe, Guho and as many of the magi as we can. Then we get the Hell out, and worry about Visuit later. [Ortwine]: I believe Rishih to be [here]. And more Anantam. [Eadric]: That complicates matters. [Ortwine]: Leave him to me. [Hlioth]: Three immortals will perish today. I will not be one of them.

[Ortwine]: Thanks for that. [Mostin]: We have to take Visuit. [Eadric + Nwm + Ortwine]: ..? [Mostin]: We must. She won't be getting any weaker from here on in. Her wards will last for months, and may become compounded. Kaalaanala will just keep augmenting her. ** In the Garden of Mind, in the fortress recently appropriated from the daemon Tholhaluk, Soneillon awoke to physicality, sank into a throne of flesh, and considered. Events were not transpiring to her liking. Energies were moving too subtly to comprehend. Her prescience had grown; her understanding of formlessness deepened. But not enough. She considered her essential inessence. Tendrils of impossibility reinforced her now; her emptiness might be seen to writhe with a palpable insanity. Old paradoxes had crumbled away. She was the Void in which the Urn was hid. But whether Soneillon dreamed or woke, or became another Nothing or a mad parody thereof, she might not act within the world without the permission of some other. In so doing, she would necessarily compromise her position unfavorably. And Soneillon pondered a question: Why had Kaalaanala not stripped her of the Urn when she had manifested ex nihilo? She must have known of it; how could she have failed to apprehend its presence and significance in an instant? How could she not want it, having known of it? Had she chosen to let it remain with Soneillon for some other purpose? Did she fear it? Or was the Urn somehow inscrutable to the Fires of Death? The exiled queen of Throile pulled the jug from its hiding place on her person, and felt its weight.

You serve only to neuter me, she directed her resentment toward the vessel. It seemed to observe her
impassively. She would have to make a choice. An alliance. Concessions. Carasch was too dangerous; Vhorzhe too mad; the Cherry too unpredictable its agenda was utterly opaque to her. It seemed to want the Urn. Or her. Briefly and ironically Soneillon considered that Graz'zt's counsel would have been useful. A sound like thunder, echoing through a million imaginings. The ripples in Dream were subsiding when the magnitude of the Claviger's act became apparent to her. Squabbling seraphs and chthonics had been swept away, lost in conflict in all but the darkest of long-forgotten nightmares. The Claviger had replaced the dreamstuff with a no-less convoluted matrix of color, texture, smell and substance; of correspondences and hierarchies, symmetries and order. A new arcane rationale. To Wizardry, and its subset the emergent Wyrish High Arcanie it granted an assured ascendancy. The demoness cursed.

A whisper reached her from a distant grove: Tree's Own Shadow. Unwarded as no magic she possessed would be effective in any event Soneillon transported herself to what had once been Azzagrat. The maelstroms had subsided, and matter had been reordered. A vast Blackthorn, with barbs ten inches long reared a hundred fathoms into a ruddy sky; about it, swathes of viper-trees glowered menacingly. Chthonics roosted in its upper branches. The great ludja regarded her as it might an aphid. "I desire ingress." Soneillon announced undaunted. Echoes rippled beyond the Veils. The Blackthorn silently opened a path. Soneillon appeared in the courtyard at Kyrtill's Burh, stepping from beneath what she knew must be a Scion; that tree once raised by Nwm in defiance of the chthonic threat, now serving as a tendril of the darkest of Tree's facets. As with its sibling in Jashat the Blackthorn within the Cheshnite inner temple itself it seemed dormant. But its sleep was more troubled, and if it would soon strive to awaken. Clasping the Urn, Soneillon glanced over her shoulder. The way back was closed. And something else was here. The demoness observed the devas patrolling the skies around the keep: they were of small magnitude, and could not perceive her. A middle-aged man one whose resemblance to Eadric informed Soneillon that he must be close kin exited the door from the chapel nearby and peered in her direction. "So what are you going to do with it?" He asked her, nodding his head towards the Urn. "Ah, the heretical Brother makes a pilgrimage." Soneillon stared at him through narrowed eyes. He made her uncomfortable. "I haven't decided. But whatever it is, it has to be in here and not out there." "Well that much is obvious," Orm said. "You should probably leave," Soneillon smiled. "I'm staying, and celibates are too easy. I'll be making some renovations, and inviting some friends over to play." "I had anticipated a painful and degrading death." "If you desire. When I have devised one suitable, I will come and find you." "My anticipation is not wishful," Orm explained. "Tastes differ," Soneillon shrugged. "What of the others within the Burh? And the village?" "They may stay or leave, as they will," the demoness replied easily. "Let them make their own choice. They know who I am. Or they have seen me in their dreams." "Your presence here may be less enduring than you imagine," Orm suggested.

"Ignorance!" Soneillon snapped. "I have apprehended that chapel in a Moment. Can you claim the same? Do not speak to me of tenacity, nor the length of my own shadow. Now begone!" She issued a massive sending. It echoed across Wyre. "I suggest you hasten," Soneillon added. "I cannot speak to the courtesy of my fellows. If you stumble across your anointed sibling or his friend Mostin the Metagnostic, tell him I want Graz'zt back." Orm hurried to raise a warning and begin the evacuation of Kyrtill's Burh, Deorham, and the surrounding countryside: for those who would listen. Soneillon turned her eyes skyward, and solemnly regarded the celestials. Inexplicably, they darted away as though alerted to her presence. She glowered after Orm. There had been not one iota of fear in him. She knew a Flame was with him: a visceral unease was her only inkling, as her senses were otherwise incapable of perceiving it.

Awaken she willed desperately toward the Blackthorn.

It remained quiescent.

I need allies, she thought to herself. Soneillon watched as one of the devas teleported away. Teleported? She smiled widely.
Around her, demons were appearing. ** Mostin felt it coursing through him: first a rumour, then a vibration, and finally a roaring noise which vanished suddenly into silence. His skin tingled. It reminded him of Afqithan. But more cogent; more focused. Mulissu looked at him. "What now?" "I think the Claviger just changed the Arcane Morphic," Mostin said. "The Claviger acted?" "It dreamed," Hlioth replied. "It is much the same." Another pulse, of great depth and profundity, as though in response to the first. "What the" Mostin's eyes widened grotesquely. This time, Nizkur was its source. A surge of power which unlocked the Interdiction which lay across the world, finalizing boundaries. The Tree described its own limit; the cosmos reshaped itself in accordance. All was Tree. The Alienist knew that it moderated all prior infinities now: neither demon nor celestial might tread here again without passing through it; without itself becoming Green, and other than that which it previously was. Those that were stranded here were here to stay. But Mostin's surprise was that the new shape permitted a path Outside. And that Outside was

really Outside. From a great distance, Nehael touched his mind: Please exercise restraint. Mostin's response was wry. Had I had warning, then my answer should have been "not bloody likely."

Unfortunately, I did not.

Ahead, Nwm had materialized and was gathering the power necessary to collapse the wards which protected the Cheshnite camp. Around them, demons were suddenly appearing, teleporting as an apprehension that the lock had ended spread through their ranks. "Things will now become confused," Mostin sighed. "I suppose one must take the bad with the good," Mulissu remarked drily. "Fortunately, their numbers are limited." Mostin issued a sending to Sho: Bring the Tower. And then, another sending to Shomei herself: I told you my Infinity was bigger. Power surged as Nwm struck the defensive spells below, shattering them. The wind walkers descended rapidly, materializing with lances lowered. In Rishih's pavillion, Ortwine cursed. The Thaumaturge had vanished, although not before the sidhe had opened his chest and belly with Heedless. Now she found herself surrounded by his retainers. She smiled: still, they could not see her. Outside, the massive edifice of the Infernal Tower, piloted by Sho, suddenly appeared. As Narh's hooves touched the ground, Eadric unsheathed Lukarn and a great light sprang forth. Wraiths and shadows turned to vapour; vampires dessicated. For a little while, the darkness of the Pall of Dhatri was banished; the morning Sun shone warm upon the field.

*The Cloud of False Wisdom. Construed as a feminine aspect of the Abominable Light. Next: Fumaril, Part 3

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-22-2010

Fumaril - Part 3 North of the Pall of Dhatri stretches the march of Scir Cellod; further north still, Mord, Hethio and the Wyrish heartlands At the junction of three wide feodalities, beneath the aegis of a Yew scion, stands Morne, the celestial city. Its resurrected craftsmen possessed of a sudden inventiveness and aesthetic genius are beginning to contrive works so far unrivalled in the course of human history. Teams of masons, acting in unconscious unison, work unceasingly to perfect some grand architectural design. The devout throng about the Temple courtyard; within Morne's baileys, companies of the Illuminated muster.

It is the six-hundred and ninety-second year as measured since the foundation of Wyre upon the ruins of Old Borchia; the six-hundred and thirtieth since the consecration of the Temple in Morne; the third year of Saizhan. Midwinter is fast approaching, but in Wyre it is unseasonably mild, and no snow has yet fallen. In the South, in the Thalassine, it is as warm as a late spring day. A great tract of land lies in darkness, suffocated of light by Dhatri's magic: a hemisphere of tenacious night with a diameter of two hundred miles. Beneath, vampires and phantoms rove at will. From the city of Thond, a blighted wasteland extends to Cirone, Jompa, Jashat and the walls of Fumaril, as well as a score of smaller towns and cities. Of them all, only Fumaril endures. The Cheshnite forces are concentrated at four locations within this arena. Jashat itself is empty, save for Kaalaanala, her priesthood, and the marasmic demigoddess Jahi. Other vestiges of life have been scorched from the city; its once-abundant olive groves and peach orchards are reduced to an ashen plain. The largest group the main host is at Thond with Dhatri. Hordes of undead of diverse types accompany her; the most numerous her crawling ghoulish minions have scoured the city of all carrion, and begin to hunger again. Thirty leagues to the Northwest at the edge of the Pall the Cheshnite vanguard is locked in an interminable skirmish with celestials, Illuminated, and Wyrish Templars. They strike or are struck, before their enemies scuttle back to Galda and the protection of the Trees. Here, the immortals Prahar, Rishih and Naatha have established a precarious alliance. Most of the remaining Anantam the blood magi once loyal to Sibud are entrenched with them, as well as blood fiends, compacted demons, and the three thousand death knights under Prahar's command. Further from the front, straddling the Hynt Coched the concourse which runs north from Jashat are situated those legions which attend Temenun and Idyam. The demilich has erected an impregnable jade palace, and fortified an encampment about it. Armored Giants of Danhaan stand guard; the largest goristros are emplaced here. The remaining theurges and Deathshriekers accompany Idyam; unknown numbers of Naztharunes the servants of Temenun lurk nearby. These two immortals most subtle amongst the Cheshnite camp prefer a slow game. Each acts prudently, and their magical reservoirs are still largely untapped. The last group the smallest, most mobile, and most reckless is led by Yeshe and Guho, and accompanies Visuit. It is bent upon the destruction of Fumaril, which has remained a thorn in the flank of Cheshnite expansion. ** ** Precedence amongst the spirits of the Green? Why must you impose hierarchy on everything? The anime of the world should come first; of these, the great ludjas are the foremost, and, of these, the Trees are awake and hence most relevant: at present. Next, those servants of the ludjas which abide by their appointed Trees, or in Dream; these constitute a diverse group of sublimated entities, and I do not pretend to understand them all. Elementals are third; whether one arranges them in some particular order is rather a matter of personal taste than cosmic truth. Feys fourth cataloguing these alone should take you several lifetimes. Fabulous beasts of no specific kind, I suppose, should be cited last: this would include griffons, unicorns, and the like. And animals? Plants? Men? Giants? What of dragons? How wide one casts one's net is a lesson in

discretion. But dragons prefer not to be categorized, and it is generally wise to respect their wishes. ** ** Qematiel most ancient and cunning of wyrms powered her way through the skies above the forest. Dawn was kindling, and mist was rising from the ancient trees. Something new was afoot. These were exciting times. The dragon turned her gaze southwestward. Here, a distortion in space intimated at the wide extent of the range of Hummaz. Encroaching on rural Hethio, it encompassed almost all of the great southern lobe of Nizkur; five thousand square miles of enchanted forest which merged seamlessly into a wild Faerie of unguessable limit on its western bounds. Hummaz apparently now satisfied with the extent of his private domain had ceased his annexation. A sixty-mile net of magic the great central triplicty of the Oak, Ash and Elm-ludjas from Nizkur defied his power, and defined the northern interface of his sylvan realm. Here, the very air seemed to crackle with a vibrant green potency. Qematiel gyred gracefully and launched herself away from the mingled energies of the intersection, skirting the eaves of the forest and bearing across the green pastures and wheatfields below. Hethio was the garden of Wyre; its breadbasket, and its richest province. Resisting the urge to tarry and obliterate a sleepy town which nestled within a wooded vale, the wyrm rapidly approached the duchy's expansive central woodlands: here, wide tracts of deer and boar forest stood around Groba, a site of ancient power. She glanced down and hissed at a great Beech which grew there; an entry into whatever shamanic awareness Groba had once and apparently now again embodied. As she dived, and then sped away, the ground shuddered from her passage and a wave of sound shook leaves from trees.* Other Trees would also be waking; with Carash lurking upon the threshold of Dream and Soneillon fully reifying the final grounding of the Chthonic in the matrix of reality Qematiel knew that the Blackthorn and the Cherry must perforce be next. A reign of destruction and desire would begin; her mistress, Will itself, must accommodate and direct these unfocused energies. The city appeared in the distance, white marble basking in the early morning sunshine. A low range of hills rolling westwards from it was soon below, dotted with large estates: previously, the country villas of Morne's fashionable bourgeoisie; now monastic cells in the care of a variety of contemplative orders. Within a wide bowl, the Wyrish Academy, Hellish trees and a Hazel scion. Qematiel plummeted, and appeared in a tumult of fire which caused the earth to shake beneath the tiny figure of Shomei the Infernal, who stood alone, rod in hand. "You presume much, small one; I may not be invoked, nor invited, nor conjured." The wyrm's voice threatened death. "I tend Will," Shomei smiled. As she spoke, a great, spiked trammel of adamant coiled onto the ground from her left hand. "And at this moment, I am it. It is time for service, and I accept no scutage. You will be my steed. Or be chained. The choice is yours." Qematiel raged furiously, the violence of her temper erupting as molten annihilation. "I have no patience for this," Shomei sighed. "This is the Hazel's mandate. Cease your petulance, and

retain some dignity. When your tantrum has abated, the choice will remain the same." ** Yeshe was not unprepared when she met the onslaught of the Ahma, and had girded herself with powerful magic. As well as her goristros, two armored balors maybe the last of Baramh's train still attended her; she had fortified them with spells. To no avail. His glare dazzled her. His weapon was an incandescent blur which seemed to burn everything around it; a radiant violence committed against Void's quietude. The steed Narh trampled demons and immortals in its path. Unease gripped Yeshe; the Great Bhiti in Jashat was deaf to her entreaties. Pain consumed her briefly as she struck him with a dispelling; her reservoir was empty and Yeshe was forced to channel the spell through her own body. It could not overcome the Green Benediction and was insufficient to quell the light of Lukarn by an order of magnitude; other items on the Ahma and sundry wards were suppressed. Not enough. The Binder moved to speak a word of recall and spirit herself to a hidden retreat south of Siir Traag in Shth. It was too late. Her enemy held his palm aloft and spoke a single syllable: a blasphemy of light. Her servants burned away to atoms. Yeshe was overwhelmed; blinded and deafened, she could not move her limbs.

Goddess, her supplication was a silent, visceral scream. Ever have I been thy faithful servant. Now full earnest do I beseech thee!
The entreaty echoed through the Green. ** In Jashat, the altars burned with black fires: an essence of Nothingness contrived by Kaalaanala. Visuit the Butcher sat cross-legged, gazing into oblivion. Unsheathed, across her knees, that dreadful weapon which had wrought countless suffering. About her, the Fires of Death moved, formless, as a whirling maelstrom, imbuing Visuit with dark energies. Priests and supplicants chanted unceasingly. Kaalaanala's formidable will reached out, seeking to grip the world. Trees were active everywhere, obscuring her vision. But that Yeshe's camp was under assault, the Dark Goddess had no doubt. The flames coalesced into a tall hooded form, its visage awful and unknowable. It stood before Visuit, touching the forehead of the war-goddess to bestow some dark blessing. The Butcher rose. With a growl, she hefted her weapon and carved open a hole in the Green, passing through into a shadowy region with eerie trees where distance and perception were twisted. ** Mostin's mind raced. He knew they possessed a precarious advantage which might evaporate in an instant. Prudently, he stopped time.

Lukarn cast a light which illuminated the despoiled countryside for a league around; brighter than the
midday sun, causing fear and consternation amongst the Cheshnite forces arrayed against them. Columns of smoke hung static in the air from conflagrations started by Mulissu's lightning; whatever primal storm the savant had tapped, its eddies were potent: demons seemed no less subject to her discharges than anything else.

With the removal in fact, the final demarcation of the Tree's Interdiction, extradimensional travel was again possible. But in his stomach, the Alienist knew that all methods of such movement were contained in terms which were thoroughly Green. If he plane shifted, it would necessarily be to somewhere Green; if he teleported, the medium through which he moved would be somehow Green. If he opened a gate, Mostin had no doubt that something disagreeably Green would step through it. Except for Uzzhin; Outside; the Other. Glancing at Nwm, the Alienist understood that the Preceptor was in fact now very firmly identified with the principal source of his own limitation. The struggle which had begun between them so long before might soon become unpleasant if not carefully managed. Mostin sighed. Now political necessity moved him, and he despised politics. Still, it behoved one to bargain from a position of strength, and he would pay with his own ichor if it meant asserting his continued freedom to conjure pseudonaturals. So he made a choice. In a matter of seconds, Mostin emptied his reservoir utterly. First, he invoked a wish to reconfigure his transvalent armamentarium. "It is time," the Alienist intoned. "Horrors will befall them." Mostin cackled, and a huge amorphous [concept] appeared. It flailed [concepts], and more [things]. It was something more obscene than any there before living or dead, mortal or immortal; saint, demon or celestial had ever even imagined. Contact with its mind, if such it possessed, challenged the Alienist's already tenuous grasp on reality. [Mostin]: Slay enemies in this order [equation] He made a dimension door to Guho's position and focused a most potent spell. She was gathering energy for a ritual. Time began again; reality buckled as Mostin caused to occur a sound which should not be heard. Guho the Worm that Walks dissociated into a combination of color, noise and more obscure elements. This time, he had struck at her essence; a powerful coercive impulse, unmaking her mind from the inside, dissolving the quiddity of her form. Mostin shook from the exertion; ichor dripped from his maws, and two pseudopodia caught fire. In the space of a moment, four more temporal discontinuities passed across his consciousness; other mages using time stops and unleashing deadly combinations of spells. He turned to observe the ; the monstrosity he had conjured from beyond the Periphery of Ghom. It had set about the Kesha-Dirghaa the ritual theurges. It wrought such carnage amongst the enemy that he knew that it, and it alone, was sufficient to guarantee domination of any battlefield barring, perhaps, the arrival of a vastly augmented Visuit. Many of the demons were simply vanishing. Others were fleeing as best they could. In the event, the Butcher was occupied elsewhere. **

After Rishih had fled, Ortwine cut her way through the remains of his guard, and assumed a position near Nwm. Despite his disgust at the thing which Mostin had conjured, the Preceptor gazed in fascination as it annihilated the enemy. A messsage reached the sidhe; sent by Rhul on the scream of a dying ancestor: the Butcher was in Mulhuk, wreaking bloody havoc. Jaliere had barricaded himself into his forge; Rhul himself had eluded her. She looked at Nwm. Then at Lai. The Preceptor nodded wearily, and opened a path. [Nwm]: We are going to contain Visuit. Join us at your earliest convenience. "What?" Eadric yelled. * In Nizkur, Nehael stood silently, her hand resting upon the bark of the Tree, observing a half-dozen events with her mind's eye. Soneillon had seized Deorham and demons were flocking to her; Temenun was about to embark on some venture of his own without regard to either Kaalaanala or the other immortals or at least so Nehael surmised; the Claviger hadadjusted certain aspects of the underlying morphic, sending the practice of Sorcery into a generational decline; Visuit was loose in the Bole of Shades, and about to wreak havoc. And now Yeshe made an appeal. She relayed the information in an instant to Teppu. "It is not to you," the fey sighed. "Do you mind" He stopped time. Nehael continued. "Then to whom? Or what? To impotence?" "To the Void." "To a Goddess." "You are considering intervention?" Teppu sighed. "I admit, sometimes your actions confound me." "Things are simpler than you might imagine," Nehael shrugged. "In any event I do not intervene; rather, as Ortwine rightly observed, I intercede." "And is the face you present to her your dark one? I do not believe I have seen that." "You might find yourself less well-disposed toward me. But she will apprehend it whether I will it or no." As time recommenced, she turned pale. Mostin. ** **

All was silent, and motionless. The Ahma glanced down, and saw himself nearby. Lukarn was poised to strike down his foe. Inwardly, he scowled. "Let me have her," it was Nehael's voice. She was here; potent. She seemed to draw on the full power of the Tree; he felt she could break the world in an instant and remake it with a thought. "A command?" He asked wrily. "An entreaty. I beg mercy." "What will you do with her?" "Do? Nothing. I do not need to do." "Are there others whom I should expect you to abduct to safety?" She sighed. "A prayer was offered. What would you have me say? Do you hate her so?" "I am the Ahma, not Nehael; I can hate heartily. What will happen to her?" "She will have an opportunity to reevaluate." He had the urge to laugh. "This scene is reminiscent of more than one prior. The answer is still yes, I imagine. Your reasons are your own, but I am curious." "I am invoked. Consider it restitution for your violation at Khu."

Violation?
"It is not a perspective you will find easy to appreciate." "I imagine not." ** ** Yeshe waited, powerless, as the blade descended and her enemy smote her; a burning agony; black fire sprang from her helm. Her immortal body did not break, but she crumpled to her knees from the strength of his blow. Now, even her inner sight began to fail. Ancient blood flowed, and she felt her life ebb out of her.

Prama-Adhyaapikaa, apraapya pralayah Taamaseva anuman; Great Preceptress, if I am denied

extinction permit me to persist only in the mode of Darkness. She knew he would finish her. She fancied that she felt the wind which ran before his blade as it cut the air. The blow never came; an eternity might have passed.

Slowly, impressions began to form; first in her mind, then through her eyes: vague shadows. A greenish light. A tree. No: The Tree.

Praartha! I beg you! Taamaseva, praartha!.

"That is denied you," a voice said firmly. "And would be in any case. You are in the Womb of Qinthei. You stand before the Tree. I am Nehael." "You presume to judge me?" Yeshe smiled weakly as her senses returned. "Or suborn me to your cause?" "You invoked me. I interceded: I asked the Ahma to stay his blow. He indulged me. Had you died with my name on your lips, you would have been mine for a while ere I released you again into the world, or kept you here: I spared myself the dilemma. Did you not know? I am the Image of Uedii. The World is Mine." Yeshe cursed Nehael roundly: the Binder felt her strength was quickly returning to her; this place bestowed some remarkable regenerative power. "You are welcome," Nehael said easily. "I will not trouble you further. You may stay or go, as you please. Nothing threatens you here; more importantly, nothing is threatened by you." The Goddess vanished from Yeshe's perception. Yeshe stared at the Tree. A rustle behind her made her hurl a death spell instinctively: its power manifested as a barely audible hiss. "That doesn't work," the voice contained an air of condescension. "Rumor has it that Oronthon's Adversary managed acorns." Its owner's hide was dry and leathery, almost wooden. As tall as a man, it might have been some forest spirit. It had restless power; Yeshe could feel it. "What is your agenda?" Yeshe demanded. "To dominate." "You were Rimilin," Yeshe intuited. "I am still very much Rimilin," Rimilin bowed with exquisite sarcasm. "Although, for a while I was not. I have acquired a new skin. I am adapting to circumstances."

This one I can deal with, Yeshe knew.

"Gu-analas yet abide near the Blackthorn," Rimilin ventured. "The ludja will soon awaken. When it does; deeper shades of Green more perylene will be revealed. The Ak'Chazar knows this." "What else?" Yeshe demanded. "In Wyre, we have a custom regarding the exchange of information; I will forego it on this occasion, as a courtesy: the Urn is here. At the Ahma's principal abode in Western Trempa. Soneillon has it."

The Urn. "And why is Rimilin still here?" She asked, suspiciously.
The wizard nodded toward the Tree. "I have yet to discover a compelling reason to leave." The Binder snorted. "You are weak. Trapped." "Certainly not; at least, no more than you as you will discover. You merely need to find a compelling reason to leave."

** The Ahma watched on in horror as the acted upon the shattered Cheshnite ranks. It neither entirely devoured, nor tore asunder, nor engulfed those whom it touched; hideous transformations overcame some of them. His own knights recoiled from it. A great, basso profundo noise emanated from it, flattening the enemy troops in a wide swathe for a furlong ahead. Others were routing away from it now; what had been intended or at least, Eadric had foreseen as a quick, hit-and-run attack, was turning into a decisive victory, and in a matter of moments. As he offered a prayer of thanks to both Tree and Sun, an ominous shadow rolled across his mind. He glanced around. Where was Nwm? And for that matter, Ortwine? Mostin alighted next to him in human form, but still appearing to Eadric through the Eye of Palamabron as a writhing mass of tentacles. Nearby, Hlioth looked at the Alienist and his conjured servant with utter revulsion. "Get used to it," Mostin smiled wearily. "Next time there will be three of them." [Mazikreen]: I seek audience with the Ahma. Eadric groaned. What now? ** Queen Soneillon was occupying Kyrtill's Burh. Many hundred demons had joined her. Eadric received the news by saying nothing, and squinting. The succubus who brought it Mazikreen was alluring even by the standards of her species, and possessed a grace of movement which rivalled that of Ortwine. Eadric did not know it, but she had once herself been Queen of a dismal realm which no longer existed. Wielding wide dominion, Graz'zt had tried and failed to seduce her. He had bribed her with more success. "What of Caur, and Hawi, and the others?" Eadric finally asked. "They remain unmolested, by command of Soneillon." The Ahma examined Mazikreen's face. The Queen of Throile, he knew, played a slow game. [Mostin]: Do not presume to understand her. She has achieved a great rapture.

Mostin was mad; Eadric had no idea what he meant. [Mostin]: Soneillon, not this one. [Eadric]: I still fail to understand. [Mostin]: There are some facts regarding Soneillon of which I have not yet had the opportunity to apprise you. Mazikreen smiled. "Soneillon thanks the Ahma for his continued hospitality. She asks me to remind him that he has always been a gracious host, and that she has always acted with restraint and decorum when lodging with him. She assures him that his servants, the townsfolk of Deorham, and the numerous pilgrims nearby are currently quite safe." "Tell her they had better remain so," Eadric growled. "I will hold her personally responsible for every last bad dream experienced during her presence." [Mostin]: You are willing to suffer this indignity? [Eadric]: What choice do I have? I cannot open another front at present. And something remains unspoken.

The Blackthorn, he knew.

** ** In the shades of the courtyard, hard beside the sanctum sanctorum which Kaalaanala had taken to herself, a Tree stirred. A single shoot unfurled upon a slender, thorned twig. Eight hundred miles away, near Deorham, another whispered in response. At Kyrtill's Burh, the Sun seemed to dim. Standing atop the Steeple, clad in protective darkness, Soneillon stiffened and felt a frisson run through her. At last. In Jashat, Kaalaanala vomited black fire. Her effluvia took form, and sped westward towards Fumaril in an orgy of fiery destruction, heedless of the limit which had previously circumscribed her. ** ** Beneath Mostin's Infernal Tower, amidst the dead and striken, Eadric prepared to mount Narh again. Something was encroaching at the limit of Lukarn's light. It was coming from Jashat, moving at terrible speed; molten earth was being churned a thousand feet into the air above it, where it evaporated in a disintegrating fire. "No." Mostin guessed the Ahma's intent. "Then what? What is it?" "We fly," Mulissu said. "Get everyone wind walking. I will give the order to evacuate Fumaril." She vanished. A number of other mages including Daunton took the opportunity to absent

themselves. "Huhng," Mostin groaned. "There are others." "Other whats?" "Effluxions. Avatars. It would appear that Kaalaanala is feeling a little less coy than previously." "I must return to Fumaril." "Forget Fumaril. There is no time. We go north, to Galda." "I will not yield Fumaril," Eadric thundered. "We return. You think of something. And where the hell are Nwm and Ortwine?" "Not in this world," Mostin snapped. "I should have told Daunton to do an interplanar version. Alas, I cannot think of everything." He forced a calm upon himself, and spoke slowly, as though to a child. "Eadric: we have to go. Fumaril is lost. Mulissu understands this. Even if you could get there in time, you could not organize the defense; even if you could do that, it would be swept away. Eadric: Kaalaanala's avatar. Do you understand?" "Ortwine!" The Ahma screamed. I hear your prayer. We are in Sisperi; in Mulhuk. With Visuit. Actually, a little help might be useful; her mood is terse. I have tried winning her with banter, but she does not seem amenable. Go [here]. Mostin jerked his head; a great gate in his tower opened. "Come on." Eadric cursed. He quickly despatched devas as messengers to the garrison at Fumaril and to the main camp at Galda: respectively, flee and fortify. He gave the order, and a swift mist flowed inside the tower. The Ahma himself was last, gazing at the torrent of dark fire as it drove down on them. As Lukarn was sheathed and borne within, the light dimmed and all was again gloom and shadow. The tower vanished. Inside, the illumination was ruddy; a great marshalling hall beneath a lofty, vaulted ceiling. Mostin was in human form. "I am feeling uneasy," Eadric said. "This will be tricky," Mostin conceded. "But I have a strategy." "And that would be?" "We stay alive for twenty-four hours more," the Alienist replied. "Tomorrow Mostin the Metagnostic will be fully rested." The gates of the tower swung open. Eadric inhaled sharply. Before him, a slender Aspen reared; surely the most elegant tree he had ever seen. An exuberant joy possessed him. "Don't get too carried away," Nwm said drily. "It isn't helping any."

"I have lost Fumaril." "Fumaril was a feint," Nwm spoke through gritted teeth. "Visuit is here." "Fumaril was no feint. Where is Ortwine?" "With Lai. Attempting to draw the Butcher away from Jaliere's forge; he has sealed himself in with his smiths. Rhul is seeking aid from Saes; I do not rate his chances. Ortwine appears to be demonstrating loyalty." A sensation impacted on Eadric's perception; then another; then another.

Akma..kma..Akma
"What?" "Your priests are invoking you for protection," Nwm nodded. "I hope you don't disappoint them." "What are my chances?" "Dismal," Nwm smiled sympathetically.

* Qematiel is the swiftest of all wyrms, and may be the fastest of all flying creatures (barring some pseudonatural aberrations, which might not exactly "fly"). She can move up to 7500ft in one round at full speed: Qematiel can fly about as fast as an F-16.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 03-01-10

Mechanical filler follows. As neither the Rogue's Gallery in its original format nor the Plots and Places forums have endured, the Eadric et al thread is now buried in the General forum. I feel oddly self-conscious about updating it in such a public arena, like wearing only my underpants in public; subsequent crunch will be in this thread instead. ** **

The First Effluxion of Kaalaanala, as emanated by the goddess as the Blackthorn-ludja fully awakened. It is probably best understood as Kaalaanala's manifest ire, at that particular moment directed towards the city of Fumaril. Elementally speaking, the First Effluxion's composition might be said to be [Void] + Fire + Earth: the "earthy" component connotes a more tangible reifiction than that of Kaaalaanala herself. The Chthonic (in the sub-abyssal sense) strives to become merely chthonic (or chthonian) in the mundane or subterranean sense. This point of connection might also be presaged by some of the Cheshnites dealing with earth elementals notably Dao. The First Effluxion is also an echo of Gnhii, a true bhiti which embodies the same principles in a higher octave: as the First Effluxion to Kaalaanala, so Gnhii to the Apparition of Cheshne. All of Kaalaanala's "avatars" are abominations in the CR 60 to 65 range; they are also anathema from the Cheshnite viewpoint: they are a far removal from the "Purity of Void," increasingly corrupted with matter and ens. The Fires of Death has no rational control over the monsters which she spawns; any act of generation is actually antithetical to her nature. Still, the effluxia remain Kaalaanala, and represent unconscious urges experienced by the goddess herself, directed at substance and materiality. They exist close to the Cheshne/Uedii interface, deemed by Rimilin perylene: a term for "green-black" in terms of an artist's palette, but also something cancer-inducing in the chemical sense. I had considered making Kaalaanala's effluxia Native Outsiders, indicating that they are in some way permitted; in the end, I simply omitted the Extraplanar subtype, which makes their status more ambiguous. Mechanically, the First Effluxion is based on a paragon chthonic phaethon with a few added twists. Instead of the sorcerer spellcasting normally associated with chthonics, the First Effluxion gains a suite of SLAs reflecting its origin and nature, including epic SLAs approximately equivalent to unmitigated DC300 epic spells. HD are reduced to 50, in line with other paragon chthonics and the greatest exalted celestials: some kind of "limit" exists at 50HD, though I'm not quite sure what. The First Effluxion's form is magmatic and amorphous, immersed in disintegrative fire. Any shape which it possesses is a temporary phenomenon, as it strives to retain a continuity of being: a notion inimical to its profound non-entity but required by its conditioned existence. It exceeds the largest goristro in size, and in those moments when its form appears quadrupedal and it manifests a head, its aspect is decidedly demonic.

First Effluxion of Kaalaanala Gargantuan Outsider (Abomination, Augmented, Chaotic, Chthonic, Earth, Evil, Fire) Hit Dice: 50d8+1240+600 (2,250hp) Initiative: +28 Speed: 720 ft., burrow 720 ft. Armor Class: 121 (-4 size, +27 deflection, +30 Dex, +12 insight, +12 luck, +34 natural; touch 97, flatfooted 91) Base Attack/Grapple: +50/+123 Attack: Slam +108 melee (8d6+56/19-20 plus profane damage) Full Attack: 8 slams +108 melee (8d6+39/19-20 plus profane damage) Space/Reach: 20 ft./10 ft. Special Attacks: Destructive trail, engulf, profane fiery touch, engufing overrun, spell-like abilities, improved grab, profane fire Special Qualities: Blindsight 500ft., cannot be flanked, cold and light vulnerability, DR 20/epic and lawful, fast healing 25, immunities (ability damage, ability drain, blindness, critical hits, fire, formaltering attacks, mind-affecting effects, paralysis, poison, sleep, stunning), regeneration 25, SR 85, telepathy 1000ft., true seeing

Saves: Fort +78, Ref +69, Will +69 Abilities: Str 83, Dex 50, Con 61, Int 31, Wis 43, Cha 64 Skills: Bluff +90, Climb +99, Escape Artist +83, Hide +71, Intimidate +96, Jump +375, Knowledge (arcana) +73, Knowledge (geography) +73, Knowledge (nature) +73, Knowledge (the planes) +73, Listen +81, Move Silently +83, Search +73, Sense Motive +76, Spellcraft +79, Spot +81, Survival +79, Tumble +89 Feats: Alertness, Cleave, Great Cleave, Great Fortitude, Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Lightning Reflexes, Power Attack, Improved Critical (slam), Improved Natural Attack (slam), Improved Sunder, Weapon Focus (slam) Epic Feats: Devastating Critical (slam), Dire Charge, Epic Fortitude, Epic Will, Overwhelming Critical (slam), Superior Initiative Challenge Rating: 60 The First Effluxion's natural weapons are treated as epic, chaotic and evil for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction. All fire damage dealt by the First Effluxion, regardless of source, is considered profane damage. Combat Aura of Burning Dark (Su): The First Effluxion radiates an aura of unlight which extends to 60 feet. Treat this as a deeper darkness spell, but nonchthonic creatures within the aura automatically gain 1d4 negative levels and suffer 10d6 points of profane damage every round. Spell resistance is effective against level loss from the aura, but even creatures otherwise immune to energy drain and negative energy effects are subject to its effects: the aura acts upon ens itself. The aura of burning dark may be suppressed or resumed as a free action. If dispelled, the First Effluxion may reactivate it as a free action on its next turn. Caster Level 65th, where appropriate. Countercommunion (Su): Any divination effect used, or any ongoing divination effect brought within 1000 feet of the First Effluxion must succeed at an opposed caster level check in order to function. The First Effluxion is treated as a 65th-level caster for this purpose. Its own divination abiities are unaffected. Destructive Trail (Ex): The First Effluxion can burrow through nonmagical earth or rock of any density as easily as it can pass across the surface of the ground; when moving at speed across a solid surface, the First Effluxion generates a wake and rain of molten matter. Whenever it moves twice its speed or more in a round, all creatures and unattended objects within 120 feet of any space through which the First Effluxion moves suffer 10d6 points of profane damage and 10d6 points of bludgeoning damage from the hail of disintegrating earth and rock. A Reflex saving throw (DC73) halves each type of damage. The Save DC is Constitution-based and includes a +13 insight bonus. Devastating Critical (Ex): Creatures who suffer a critical hit from the First Effluxion must make a Fortitude saving throw (DC 84) or die. The DC is Strength-based and includes a +13 insight bonus. Improved Grab (Ex): If the First Effluxion hits, it deals normal damage and attempts to start a grapple as a free action without provoking an attack of opportunity. The First Effluxion can use improved grab on a Huge or smaller creature and has the option to conduct the grapple normally, simply maintaining a hold, or attempting to engulf the opponent. Each successful grapple check it makes during successive rounds automatically deals the damage listed. Engulf (Ex): The First Effluxion can absorb opponents it holds with a second successful grapple check after a grab. The opponent must be Huge or smaller. Absorbed creatures take 40d6 points of profane damage and 40d6 points of bludgeoning damage each round they remain inside the First Effluxion. Victims must make a successful grapple check to swim free of the living chthonic magma of the First Effluxion.

Engulfing Overrun (Ex): A foe who is successfully overrun by the First Effluxion is treated as if engulfed. Profane Fiery Touch (Ex): Touching or being touched by the First Effluxion deals 10d6 points of profane damage. The First Effluxion's attacks automatically deal this damage in addition to their normal damage. Nondetection (Ex): The First Effluxion resists detection, and is treated as though under the effect of nondetection (Caster Level 65). Ontic Flux (Ex): The First Effluxion exists at the threshold of being, and is treated as though under the effect of a blink spell, except that attacks which target incorporeal or ethereal creatures gain no special benefit. The ontic flux may be suppressed or resumed as a free action. Spell-Like Abilities: The First Effluxion may use any nonepic spell with the [Fire] descriptor and any spell from the Darkness, Death and Destruction domains at will as a spell-like ability; the First Effluxion deals profane damage in place of fire damage, and variable numeric effects are always maximized. It may also use any of the following at will: blasphemy, detect thoughts, haste, unhallow, unholy aura, utterdark. Once each per day, the First Effluxion can also use the following spell-like abilities which are the equivalent of epic level spells:

Annihilating Breath: As a standard action, the First Effluxion can manifest a maw which unleashes
an annihilating blast in a 500-ft. cone. Targets caught within the blast automatically sustain 50d20 points of profane damage and must make a Fortitude saving throw (DC60) or die; creatures slain in this fashion are treated as though disintegrated. This is an evil, necromantic death effect, nonepic wards are not effective against the First Effluxion's annihilating breath; epic protections keyed to the [Slay] seed and relevant deific protections are entitled to an opposed caster level check. Chthonic Pyroclasm: As a full round action, the First Effluxion can generate a whirling maelstrom of profane fire and disintegrative chthonic "debris" with a radius of 1000 feet which moves with the creature. The effect lasts for as long as the First Effluxion concentrates, and for 20 rounds thereafter. All creatures within the area suffer 20d6 points of profane damage and 20d6 points of bludgeoning damage every round they remain there; a Reflex saving throw (DC60) halves each type of damage. Consume Life: As a standard action, the First Effluxion may cause a consumptive burst which bestows 10d4 negative levels on all creatures within 500 feet. Targrets are entitled to a saving throw after 24 hours (Fort DC60) to prevent permanent level loss. This is an evil, necromantic death effect, only epic protections keyed to the [Slay] seed are entitled to an opposed caster level check. Creatures with divine rank are not subject to the effects of this ability. Diminish Foe: As a swift action, the First Effluxion can deliver a superb dispelling which also bestows 10d4 negative levels upon any single creature within line of sight. The First Effluxion makes its opposed caster level check at 1d20+100. The target is entitled to a saving throw after 24 hours (Fort DC60) to prevent permanent level loss. This is an evil, necromantic death effect; epic protections keyed to the [Slay] seed are entitled to an opposed caster level check to counter the negative levels, and deities are not subject to it; the dispelling effect is not affected in any case. Profane Tremor: As a full round action, the First Effluxion can generate a wave of seismic energy with a radius of ten miles. The shock knocks creatures down, collapses structures, opens cracks in the ground, and is otherwise treated as an earthquake spell except that the DC to resist specific effects is 60 in all cases. All of the First Effluxion's spell-like abilities gain the [evil] descriptor, regardless of function. The Caster Level is 65th; the save is DC 50+ spell level. Against good creatures, the Save DCs increase by +4.

Regeneration (Ex): The First Effluxion takes normal damage from good-aligned epic weapons; it takes double damage from good-aligned effects or weapons with the [cold] or [light] descriptor. True Seeing (Ex): This ability has a range of 1000ft. and is always active.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 09-02-2011

Sovereignty

Qematiel approached Morne through the air from the west, the morning sun lending a golden adumbration to black and scarlet scales. She plummeted a thousand feet and alighted in an explosion of Hellfire within the Temple courtyard, her rider taking pains to avoid any area where the Faithful were gathered. Hallowed ground hissed and smoked, and all fled screaming from the wyrm's presence, save a quartet of the Anointed only: young paladins with glowing faces charged with guarding the gate to the precinct. "Begone, you idiots," Shomei gestured as she slid from Qematiel's neck. They obeyed without hesitation. She whispered, and vanished beyond perception. Shomei paced softly but rapidly across a lawn toward the Yew. Pulling off a glove, she stretched out her palm, and placed it on gnarled bark. Awareness was boundless. The universe seemed to breathe with a slow, measured pace. The scion itself was a tunnel of green light, leading to a heaven of limitless wisdom. She inhaled sharply, withdrew her hand, and glanced about; her eyes now resting on an unremarkable patch of grass in the shade of the transept. There, the I had stood. Shomei walked over toward the place, and knelt upon the ground. Pulling away turf in clods, she dug down eight inches into soft earth with her fingers. Next, she carefully retrieved a wrapped canvas from within her robe, untied it, and withdrew a cutting. She placed the seedling in the hole she had dug, and even before she had packed the earth back in place, she felt it stretch, twist and slide in her hand: radicles quickly sought moisture; twigs grew upon a slender sapling. Power surged. Dozens of other trunks shot up around her; wrapped in their own glamour, she knew they were imperceptible to all mortal senses. A coppice of Hazel within the compound of the Temple of Oronthon in Morne. Shomei conjured a once-devil, Haril, and tasked him with the maintenance of the grove; she then became visible again to sight. Guards were moving around the periphery of the courtyard; Shomei was aware of others beginning to gather upon the enclosing walls. The wizard ignored all present, made her way around to the great, carved valves which led into the Fane, and gestured; they swung inward noisily. Within, light glowed warmly and incense hung heavy in the air. Those at morning prayer or in meditation were roused. Kicking off her slippers, Shomei the Infernal to the curiosity of those present strode down the nave. She handed her rod and robe to a bewildered scrollbearer who quaked beneath their power, and reverently or perhaps cautiously approached the apse. Before her, the vacant archiepiscopal throne and the great altar of Oronthon. She made a single, fluid ritual prostration, and rose smoothly.

In an act later viewed as blasphemy, reconciliation or rededication depending on one's point of view Shomei proceeded to swiftly burn characters in Old High Borchian into the arch above the exedra which contained Oronthon's Holy of Holies, in a script both elegant and precise. Her revelation itself was by no means unambiguous, and was the cause of much subsequent speculation; the grammatical vagaries of Borchian lending additional uncertainty to her words:

Garn Sphidan Omnisapient Will [is Mine] Wardan Kanist Wistim [I am] Becoming [is] the Refuge of Being
And then, upon the great solar orb, as if in refutation of the central transmetaphysic of Saizhan itself:

M SAIZHO WARTH
I AM. I SEE. I BECOME. She muttered irritably to the priest as she took back her artefacts, turned, and cleared her throat. She spoke in a clear voice to those within the Fane: a bold declamation which echoed in the vaulted ceilings: "Swah Qith Oronthon. I am reiterating your credo, not denying it.* You are in danger of falling into dogmatic nihilism; a perennial hazard if you emphasize negatory dialectics. I am offering a cataphatic serum for your malady. Don't worry: the irony isn't lost on me. Cease your solipsisms! Your praxis is insufficient by itself; the Truth is not enough: you lack agency." Shomei departed without ceremony, her slippers chasing her and returning to her feet as she exited the Fane. Reconsidering, she turned on the threshold, and subjected the golden eagle which reared above the newly-engraved orb to a powerful transmutation. Its talons retracted, its wings became elevated as though about to take flight, its head drew back and gazed directly upwards. She then disintegrated the throne.

Better, she thought.

Outside, a crowd gathered. The wyrm Qematiel had coiled herself about the Yew and clung tightly to it, her annihilating fires subdued. The dragon's eyes though they still retained their vast and ancient malice seemed to possess a certain peace; she was permitted to remain until nightfall. The Infernalist gazed at those assembled: in her mind's eye, they became a conflagration of light. Flames of Oronthon, returned from the Serenities, threatening to overwhelm her with radiance. "Do you even know?" She asked them. "I think it's time someone told you." The light smiled, and was occulted again. Shomei scowled. With profound effort of Will and the extent to which she recognized it as other than her own perplexed her Shomei turned her thought upon them. She groped as through the flimsiest of veils; a subtle vapor concealed the apprehension of rarest truth. It eluded her. "Become what You Are!" She hissed at them in frustration. Silence.

Shomei considered her options. It would seem that more pressure must be applied. Pausing for a moment to gather her focus, she tapped her reservoir and reality shifted. She then issued a sending:

I invite you to join me. There will be no compulsion, but I will remain the senior partner. Our association may end whenever you choose.
Instantly, Irel, Who Smites the last and greatest of the dark episemes appeared before her. Shomei a connoisseur of the Infernal aesthetic gaped at his beauty despite herself. Here was a perfect being: fallen without sin; cradled by the Green, not imprisoned within it. Oh, Mostin. I owe you for this. She considered briefly, grasped her rod, and struck the ground. A peal of thunder sounded as a gate opened. "Come," she raised an eyebrow and gave a sidelong glance. "We go to visit Azazel first." Shomei's estimate of diabolic forces previously deployed on Avernus amounted to four hundred and thirty-four legions, including those of the independent magnates. Azazel had brought more than two hundred more mostly pit fiends and horned devils from Nessus itself, immediately subsequent to the I's translation. Their current status intrigued Shomei; the extent to which they retained their infernality in varying degrees was curious: some including the rulers of the Quarters had become powerful feys. Others such as Azazel himself and those accompanying him seemed to enjoy a more protected status. Regardless, the general structure of their hierarchies remained intact: they represented a potential for power; perhaps the greatest and certainly the most coherent anywhere within the bounded cosmos. Shomei and Irel vanished through the gate into dark verdancies: the Thickets of the Four Kings where the Hazel and Holly-ludjas held sway. ** The witch floated in the air, a half-mile above the eastern gates of the city. Bells and alarms were ringing frantically; the air around was thick with wind walking djinn and whichever fortunates they had managed to take with them. Below her, in shadow, the masses teemed in the streets and sought to flee the encroaching fire. All available magical aid had been lent to speed the evacuation; it remained woefully inadequate to the task. Mulissu silently lamented. There was no time for anything, even to conjure Ha'uh which might have at least forestalled the shape which now bore down upon the city. It was as though a great plough were being dragged at uncanny speed across the dark land toward Fumaril; the furrow it left was an open wound in the earth, the sides of which smoked and vitrified. At its approach, a vibration caused the foundations of the city to shudder; the sound rapidly became deafening, and houses began to topple.

There is no scion at Fumaril, Mulissu grimly observed.

The gate below her exploded into molten rubble. As her subjects those whom she had sworn to protect began to perish by the thousand, she pushed all sense of grief and horror from her mind lest it overwhelm her; not one jot of remorse would she let herself feel. The Tyrant of Fumaril gazed on, expressionless. She studied her enemy with implacable calm.

** Kyrtill's Burh darkened as clouds gathered in the sky above it. Within two leagues an area which included both the town of Deorham and many outlying farms animals were transformed into misshapen, brooding things by the awakening Blackthorn scion. The land seemed to drift; shadows erupted and passed without warning. Buildings stretched and twisted. Trees grew shaggy and thorned. Of feys, all but the most wicked and insane fled. In the public lounge of the Twelve Elms, Soneillon sat and pondered. Her demons were growing restless most were currently contained in a demiplane of her devising, and only a handful attended her directly. Ilistet, she had promised a steed; Mazikreen had taken a liking to Afqithan, and Megual would need to be bought off. The Goat was remaining hidden and inscrutable; probably making magic. She must somehow seek to either placate or compel them all, but she could not afford to anger the Ahma quite yet, and loosing them on eastern Wyre would surely incur his wrath. She motioned with her mind and gestured to the barkeep to bring her more wine. It seemed to be affecting her; Soneillon wondered as to whether she had acquired some measure of mundanity. When the bottle arrived delivered by a flabby boy with an apish gait and an empty look - the demoness smiled languidly. Soneillon made herself receptive. From far beyond the known such as it now was an impression reached her; concepts superimposed upon disquieting sound. :: Beware of Shomei. We know her. She seeks to coerce the I with the Hazel. She will seek the Urn:: The demoness entered a potent divinatory fugue. To her, the world all that is the case, and that had been a great deal had changed into a small and unfamiliar but nonetheless exciting finitude. Much was new again and unexplored, with possibilities untapped. And now the Fires of Death in Jashat had erupted in fourfould manifestation, spewing Void into reality. The first and most violent effluxion was in the process of ravaging Fumaril: of the eighty thousand inhabitants, some fifteen hundreds had escaped. Much of the city was already gone, and burning rivers now ran between mounds of ash and slag; clouds of steam rose from the harbors. Soon, Soneillon knew, the abomination would tire of its revels and sink down through the mantle to become a dark fire at the heart of the world. A second manifestation, Kaalaanala had leaked into Dream; the Claviger would tolerate it but must necessarily move to contain it. Carasch and other Chthonics raced along a great bough of the Blackthorn into the nightmares which surrounded it. Soneillon sensed them as they brushed Delirium; the urge to join them was almost irresistible. The Third Effluxion, a winged infernal shrouded in unlight, took flight. It sped to an island in Pandicule, a place far beyond the Claviger's purview, there to enlist powerful spirits things now neither entirely demon nor fey which had been seduced by the Blackthorn-ludja. At that same moment, within the Grotto of the Articles, Gihaahia manifested, even as the Claviger itself plummeted into Dream. Taking stock as consciousness recrystallized, the Enforcer's perception reached out toward the southern boundaries of her remit. Soneillon felt the awareness pass through her and test the limit of the Blackthorn's ward; the ludja itself flexed, repelling Gihaahia's efforts. The Fourth and last an image of the dark and hooded form of the goddess, wreathed in corrupting flames stood momentarily before the altar of itself in meditation. Its senses probed reality. Without word or gesture, it caused space to fragment and dragged forth a great Chthonic anala, binding it into the shape of a fiery steed. Faster than a hurricane, it then rode north, an emissary. Soneillon scowled. That bitch better not come here.

A pulse. The demoness started. It was emanated by the scion at the nearby keep. To soothe her? Allay her concerns? She tasted an exquisite anguish; a sudden satiation of unbecoming. It struck her as a heady ecstasy of the utmost purity. Immediately, a presence in her mind. Her mental defenses slammed into place; Soneillon transformed herself and arose in might, clutching the Urn. A shockwave blew a hole in the roof of the inn as she launched herself skywards: protective void blossomed around her; tendrils of madness lashed the air wildly. All of her hatred, the entirety of her, focused into an execration directed at this interloper in her field of apprehension. There was a brief mental silence. [Nehael]: As you wish. But take care where your senses roam. Soneillon cursed.

** Hummaz lolled, wine-soaked, upon a great stone chair. Nymphs slept nearby in exhausted bliss. The Wild God of the Woods raised an eyebrow as something flitted across his vision four leagues distant. What's this? He reached out, grabbing a diminutive fey and dragging it toward himself. The creature was dressed strangely, possessed of one arm, and had an unwinking eye in the middle of its forehead. Hummaz absorbed its thoughts and history in a trice. An enigma. Hummaz grunted and replaced the odd creature. He was thirsty, and his head pounded. Where was the wine? Wine?

"Wine!" He bellowed. His temper was rising.

Every fey within a mile instantly heeded his call. Wine began to arrive; in bottles, cups, flasks and kegs. Hummaz drank eight deep draughts and relaxed again. But not entirely. Something wasn't quite right. ** In Northern Soan, in the world of Sisperi, it was known that the gods warred in the Heaven of Mulhuk. At first, Lai's priests blamed the machinations of Saes, the goddess of death; the truth was later revealed by oracles to be otherwise: a foreign war-goddess Visuit was attacking the Nireem. Dark spirits awakened by the passage of the interloper through the Bole of Shades now stalked the fields of Soan. Steadings were attacked by evil sprites; gentler woodland spirits fled. Crofters

barred their doors and nailed their shutters. Prayers were fervently offered: to Ortwine, Rhul, Lai and Akma. A few invoked Ninit, but the Rider was oblivious, galloping wildly along Faerie strands west of Nizkur. Akma sent his furies to intercede; winged avengers with great maces and flaming swords drove fell monsters back into shadow. The faithful rejoiced. In Mulhuk itself, events were less happy. ** [Eadric]: You cannot suppress her wards? [Mostin]: No [Eadric]: Conjure a...whatever that was? [Mostin]: No [Eadric]: Open a gate? [Mostin]: There are no celestials or devils to invoke. I will not call a Horror using something as vulgar as a gate: anything of any use to us would simply ignore my commands and pursue its own trajectory. [Nwm]: Invoke Nehael. [Mostin]: I most certainly will not. Besides, there's no point. She doesn't ever do anything, anyway. [Eadric]: She owes me for Yeshe. [Mostin]: And what exactly did she do with Yeshe? [Hlioth]: Do? Nothing. She left her with Rimilin. [Eadric]: What? [Hlioth]: Neither Rimilin nor Yeshe will leave the presence of the Tree until their time. I suspect that that whether they are "alive" or "dead" is not necessarily germane from the Tree's perspective. But Cherry will not snatch them. This is good. [Eadric]: The Cherry is waking? [Nwm]: Amongst others. Big trouble. It won't be long. The Aspen here is still sleepy. [Eadric]: And Nehael knew this? [Hlioth]: As the Image of Uedii. Nehael is, herself, merely an agent: an echo of an aspect. That is worth remembering. "I am confused," Eadric sighed. "As am I," Mostin confessed. "Cherry and Blackthorn." Nwm explained. "These are the moot of Cheshne and Uedii: the

Abysmal ludjas, so to speak; negotiations are tense. My bowels register it uncomfortably." "You feel this? And yet Nehael is somehow blind to it?" "Eadric," Nwm sighed, "Unlike the Ahma, I am wise: I see little purpose in burdening objective reality with my internal processes. I have occasional intuitions; Nehael is more empathic: perhaps she is too close to it. Visuit. Kaalaanala. Goddess grows darker." [Ortwine]: Yes she does. And a little help would be appreciated here. [Lai]: Soon. "But Nehael is an echo of what?" Eadric asked, exasperated. "And to which ludja is she inclined? Hlioth, with all respect, please speak more directly." "Of her own Sovereign Viridescence: her higher octave, which is still not Uedii. If we prevail, you may see. As to loyalty? To all and none. The Tree is there for Nehael, not vice versa." Hlioth glowered at him, and considered. "Imagine this picture: Tree in its entirety as an aegis bequeathed by Uedii to protect Nehael from the Apparition of Demogorgon. The surface of the shield, facing outward, carries a veneer of cherry and blackthorn: the wood is weak and apt to splinter and ablate under violent passion or disintegrative fire. Nonetheless, it dissipates the shock of an attack. Beneath, lacquered bands of hardwoods - oak, elm and ash lend strength, flexibility and hardness. In all, twenty varieties of wood comprise the shield; taken as a whole, the construction is impenetrable." "And how long must this shield endure?" "An aeon or a moment, what does it matter? It will last for as long as it needs to. Thinking big is nice, but none of it helps us deal with Visuit," Hlioth observed. "Or the Blackthorn's waxing power. Our troubles are just beginning. Effects are no longer preceded by causes; Cheshne moves in tandem with Tree's shadow, seeking to Apparate. Yes, the Tree itself is indestructible; Nehael, unassailable. Unfortunately, this is not true of the rest of the world. We neglected to quickly plug a certain cosmic hole." She scowled at Mostin. It irritated him mostly because she seemed to know more than him. But also because it made him feel guilty: it had been within his power to greatly curtail the menace. Had they only returned to Azzagrat, and sealed the gates. But that was now the prior reality. "Where are the Blackthorn scions, Hlioth?" Eadric sighed. "In Jashat and at Deorham, you know. One now grows northeast of Cirone, at the place where Shvar Choryati was ended: its roots sink into the crater floor." Nwm groaned. "That scar should have been healed but there was no time; the landscape is blasted; trees flattened for a mile." Hlioth ignored him and continued. "The scion at Cirone remains dormant for the time being, but will likely not long remain so. One as with each is in the vicinty of the Great Ludja itself: each of those scions is subdued; dwarfed in significance, but each ludja is thus ever-present. One is as yet unaccounted for." "None in the realm of Hummaz?" Eadric seemed suspicious. "No, no, no," Hlioth shook her head. "Pine, Linden, Willow; Hazel and Holly; Hawthorne and a Cherry yes. And a Yew. But there is no place for the principle of elimination in relation to Hummaz; he is too fecund."

"I suspect it will be Fumaril," Nwm grumbled. "Or Afqithan. There are already powerful resonances there." [Ortwine]: It damn well better not be. Now? [Lai]: A little more patience. [Eadric]: Do we have a plan? [Mostin]: I'm thinking. [Ortwine]: Hurry up! [Mostin]: You need a nine hundred. I have it. It's ugly. **

This gnat was becoming annoying. Visuit stood upon the heaped bodies of minor godlings and revered
ancestors. Purposely vexing the augmented war-goddess was not an activity which Ortwine undertook lightly. Lai had been with her to begin with, but as soon as news had reached them that Mostin's tower had arrived, the goddess of magic had vanished to organize the ritual which Nwm must inevitably lead. Ortwine swifter and more elusive than a zephyr had succeeded in briefly distracting Visuit from her main purpose: the Butcher was intent upon smashing her way into the forge of Jaliere. However, Visuit's attention could not be captured for long: when it became clear that she could not engage Ortwine at her own choosing, but her enemy could inflict no harm upon her, Visuit simply returned her focus to the divinely barred portals. They would not yield. Visuit cursed, her spittle smoking like acid. Runes flared; the flower gardens nearby wilted. She turned her attention to the black rock around the doors: it was harder than adamant. With a titanic effort, she hewed a great shard away from the wall. Ortwine hurled Heedless; it clattered noisily off of Visuit's helm. The war-goddess bellowed in fury, leaped a hundred feet, and brought her hideous weapon smashing down; her enemy was not where she was should have been. But had she beenThe sidhe raised an invisible eyebrow. Ortwine taunted her. Visuit, unperturbed, sliced reality open with her weapon; darkness emanated from a gate into a dismal realm. Ortwine groaned. Through the rift, dark feys now poured, each raised to a wicked eminence in the presence of the Blackthorn. Many had once been sidhe. Now they were much worse. She began to charm or dominate those that she might, in an effort to turn them against one another. Visuit resumed her assault upon the rock. **

Nwm observed that there were only twenty-three spellcasters amongst the flamines and scrollbearers. Spells were all but spent. Every reservoir including his own was exhausted. He considered Mostin's solution. "You will give me everything. I am going to burn as hot as I can," he said to them. "This means that you will burn as well. As I am more practiced at burning than you are, all of you will die immediately. You will enjoy a brief spell in Rk: a relatively agreeable underworld, as underworlds go. Sombre, quiet self-reflection is the order of the day. Some of you may be temperamentally inclined to remain there; otherwise, I will return you at the Ahma's request. In any event, the experience of burning will embed itself on your souls and permanently traumatize you. If any of you now wish to reconsider your contribution, I advise you to speak up." The predictable silence which ensued reassured Mostin of the utility of religious fanaticism. Nwm turned to those who would not participate in the ritual, and would therefore survive it. "It is impossible to say how long we will have; I am hoping for twenty seconds before Visuit's protections reassert themselves. Please be assured that speedy action is of great importance." The rite which then followed was an horrific scene: Nwm screaming; an inferno of green fire which consumed all but he. The Preceptor perceived her. Energy moved from him; a tendril of green power, suffused with magic, rupturing space. Distance was meaningless. He struck the Butcher remotely with a dispelling, sealing the gate near her and suppressing the Voidwrought wards erected by Kaalaanala. Simultaneously, as though grasping a rope with his own awareness, Nwm dragged those present through a green vortex, directly into Visuit's presence. In those next few moments a matter of seconds, which passed as though they might be years Eadric finally came to grasp an appreciation of the raw power which Mostin now possessed. Almost entirely bereft of spells, the Alienist became instead a formidable physical opponent, a dozen hideous tentacles setting about Visuit, pinning her arms, legs, head. With all of her augmentations subdued, the wizard now outmatched the war-goddess.

Lukarn ignited as it sprang from its scabbard.

Her plight was impossible. Mostin grappled her; tentacles crushing the goddess through her armor and pinning her. She growled in fury as the others set about her, and hacked at her. Butchered her. "Take her," Eadric invoked Nehael as Visuit fell. Now he understood. War had passed. But at hideous cost. And he had broken a vow; demonstrated his own limit. He knew in his heart that not all of those who had perished in Nwm's immolating spell would fly to the Serenities. Not every martyr would find his reward. And each of those which might would be nonetheless diminished. ** Rimilin observed the Tree. Its leaves whispered in a gathering wind. The World changed again.

**

** Tozinak appearing as a hook-nosed creature of medium stature with tufted feet and silky wings returned to his island manse with a sense of profound relief. Mostin's insane schemes had almost rendered him dead again. The wizard understood in a moment of clarity that, although a coward, he was possessed of a genuine peaceful demeanor: the Alienist's actions never failed to perturb him on any number of levels simultaneously. Daunton had insisted on a drink; Tozinak had been inclined to agree. The afternoon had been spent regaining a semblance of calm. As he shuffled into his cluttered study a large space with a lofty ceiling, crowded with papers, alembics, and other apparatus of unguessable purpose his skin tingled and his nose turned blue in alarm. A succubus of extraordinary presence relaxed, supine, on his favorite couch. Tozinak froze, emitting a high-pitched squeak. "I believe you can guess who I am," Soneillon smiled, lifting her head. Tozinak nodded meekly. "I'm just across the lake there," the demoness sat up and pointed with her wingtip. "At Deorham. We're practically neighbours." Tozinak swallowed. "Which is nice. I'll be stopping by. To see how you're progressing on inscribing A Flame Precedes the Aeon for me." "Ah," Tozinak finally said. "What is your price?" Soneillon asked unexpectedly. "Oh." Tozinak half-exclaimed. "I-I had assumed" "That this was extortion? Consider what you desire. I will grant it. I will return tomorrow. But you may begin the inscription at your earliest convenience." Soneillon vanished The wizard retired, flustered and palpitating, to his herbaceous borders. What did he desire? Really, nothing which he did not already have; or simply to be left alone. This was Mostin's fault: Tozinak had previously shunned contact with all conjured entities; he judged that none were possessed of a facility which outweighed their price. As he descended a small, uneven set of steps and rounded a corner, he began to hyperventilate. A tree where none had stood prior. Suspended, before his face, on a branch laden with their weight. Cherries. Tozinak reached out and smiled as he picked one and popped it in his mouth. It was exquisite; his mind seemed to melt. He yearned impossibly, although his longing had no discernible target. Cherries. He knew he was safe. She would not come back. She was scared of the cherries. He would have to go to her. Bring her his spell. And cherries.

** **

Dusk fell. Nehael, the Image of Uedii, manifested discreetly in the Temple precinct in Morne: she had been invoked by no few of those present for protection. She wore only a simple robe of green, and melded effortlessly into the throng; now the courtyard was packed with many hundreds. Lamps were being lit; vigils set: the wyrm was a portent of unknown significance. As the sun sank behind the western hills, the dragon stirred. Unseen, Nehael approached, laying her hand upon Qematiel's great snout; the calm which emanated from the goddess was irresistible. An impulse. Immediately, the crowd began to disperse the attention of each suddenly drawn to some minor elsewhere. Shomei appeared, unnoticed by the mortals present. "You are mustering an army," Nehael observed. "For what purpose? Who is your enemy?" "Always myself," Shomei smiled as she mounted the dragon. "I did not foresee the union of these scions; you will make the Holly-ludja jealous." "I am the Archivist of Hell: the two seemed a natural fit. As for the Holly, it hates enough already: it needs no prompting." "There is no Hell." "There is for me." "Exercise compassion," Nehael advised. "It is not my fort," Shomei admitted. "But I am not unprincipled." Nehael fixed her with a look. "Answer me a question: what do you know of the I's translation?" "What is there to say? Will has been ceded to the Hazel; the I now acts from Instinct." "I think we both understand that things are a little more complicated," Nehael seemed unimpressed. "Truth is always so," Shomei was ironic. "A piece of the I is unrevealed," Nehael said. "It is disguised as something else; or the I is hedging its bets." "Such is the instinct for Self-preservation," Shomei agreed. "But whatever it is, it is here by the grace of the Tree; its nature is necessarily mixed." "It is a Flame," Nehael remained impassive. "An Iota. Oronthon's memory of the Nameless Fiend, so to speak; or his preconception of Antinomos. The Flame which must, perforce, become Itself. It is a paradox: a Flame is pure; it cannot Fall. You seek it. And which laws will you set yourself against if you find it?"

"Not all laws are unequal," Shomei smiled grimly. "The only Law which presently matters is that of the Claviger. Its oneiric whimsies are too much to endure. Other laws may be subject to scrutiny in due course." "You would look to assume this role?" "This is already my role," Shomei sighed. "I am Exempt; the Agent of Will. Who else is better qualified?" "You are not exempt from the Enforcer's mandate." "The devil sitting by the Hazel begs to differ." "He is not entirely a devil, nor was he entirely Outside. The World is changed." "Outside? So Gihaahia now protects Wyre only from Mostin?" Shomei said archly. "That, at least, is reassuring." "And Vhorzhe." "Yes. And from Vhorzhe. I am beginning to believe that she may need some help." Nehael was exasperated. "The I's nature is now a visceral urge for satiation. You cannot contain Hummaz." "I will subdue him." "Shomei" "Will you trust me, or not?" Nehael was silent: the memory of the Antinomos, reflected back at her. She approached the Yew, laid her hands on it. Its bark was warm, but from its own, inner heat; no trace of the wyrm's fire remained on the tree. "You are sincere, but I am sceptical," Nehael remained in contact with the scion. "If you fail, and enrage Hummaz, things will go ill." "I am no fool. I am not yet ready for this task, nor shall I attempt it until I am. I am not the Adversary, Nehael. But I might become what he should have been. Think on it." Wreathed in Hellfire, Qematiel took to the skies and thundered away to the southwest. The Goddess turned. Nehael grasped a living stave of Hazel and willed after Shomei as she departed.

Compassion!
The impulse echoed through a hundred worlds; Nehael blazed, and for a fleeting instant, the Aeon manifested: an eleos. A sigh rippled through the Green as the Butcher fell in Mulhuk. [Nehael]: She is mine. I claim her. All of significance heard her. Hummaz, maybe the only one who might, did not contest her. A naked, powerless spirit, Visuit fled briefly through the underworld of Rk and into the presence of the Great Tree-ludja in the Womb of Qinthei.

At the Veils, the Mistresses screeched in hateful impotence.

*"Thus Spake Oronthon [to me]," words which were typically only uttered by Oronthon's divine oracles in the heyday of Orthodoxy; her "reiteration" may also be interpreted as a rebuttal of Nothing Is, Nothing Is Not, Nothing Becomes. Shomei's assertions are unequivocally outrageous in all regards. DvR Notes The "piece of the I" to which Nehael refers is the 3 "missing" DvR component: DvRs have a peculiar currency-like status: they can get lost, but aren't typically unmade. Prior to the Adversary's translation, the Nameless Fiend was a DvR15 entity; subsequently, Hummaz incarnated as a DvR12. On the paradigmatic scale where the notion of I might be said to have been ceded from Oronthon to Uedii the 3 extra DvRs are "liberated" in the form of a Flame: Oronthon's thought/memory of the Adversary. On the transcendental level, the Adversary is "somewhere" outside of finitude as potentiality: presumably, Oronthon could decide to create/emanate the Adversary again (as a free action :/ ) if he so chose. As an aside, it should be noted that the DvR12 Hummaz is in many ways more potent than the DvR15 Adversary: Hummaz is "optimized"; the Adversary's mechanical build contains a lot of intentionally "dissipated" (nonoptimized) elements in relation to other DvR15 entities. Although more limited in scope, the I is invigorated by the Green. The Adversary proper the I's previous persona is no longer extant. But his legacy remains in the form of (1) the self-gratifying urge (the I as Hummaz); (2) the Hazel's alignment with Will; (3) Hatred, embodied by the Holly; (4) a pure conception of antinomian becoming (the hidden Flame); and (5) the notion of Exemption represented by Shomei herself. Shomei's ultimate aim is to join and/or transcend the disparate components, thereby realizing her own sovereign I-ness her DvR15 potential, as it were unshackled from the Oronthonist schema. Shomei would then wield Hazel, insofar as the ludja would be entirely subject to her direction. She would also be the most powerful entity within finitude, in a position to determine which among the other specific ludjas should endure or prevail; be harnessed or suppressed. Finitude itself being essentially demarcated by Tree. By planting a Hazel scion in proximity to the Yew, Shomei is "marrying" the principles of Will and Wisdom, so to speak although it is unclear whether it is Shomei who is acting, or whether Will is directing her, or whether there is no distinction to be made at this stage. This "marriage" is in the context of two specific scions at Morne, not of the ludjas themselves. The Aeon's subsequent first manifestation is at Visuit's death as/at Nehael's emanatory point in the DvR scale; the "Sovereign Viridescence" to which Hlioth refers. The demise of the Butcher allows the momentary appearance of a compassion/mercy aspect of Goddess. Nehael's assertion "She [Visuit] is mine. I claim her," is hence made from a DvR12 perspective and cannot be contested: Nehael strips Visuit of her divine rank and takes her spirit. This DvR12 manifestation can itself be seen as an avatar or emanation of a DvR24 (metatranscendental) Uedii or as a reflection of the Urgic conception of faheth, supreme empathy. Faheth, along with sela (perfect intellect) and saizhan (unclouded apprehension) is understood as an identifying feature of Oronthon's Mind. Reconciliationists would equate faheth with Uedii; the Sela has identified Nehael as such although ambiguously. Less optimistically, it might be said that "War" (Visuit) is now inadequate to describe the nature of events, and the stakes have risen rather higher. The threat is now couched in terms of destruction (as

represented by Kaalaanala and her effluxia). Dark goddesses clamour at the gates of finitude, etc. etc. Manifestation of the DvR16 Apparition would signify annihilation; more esoterically, the Aeon never reifies fully in the Mind of Oronthon and reality is revealed to not be. Although Hlioth assures Eadric that the Tree is proof against the Apparition for Nehael, this protection may not extend altogether to the rest of the World. Moreover, it is not known whether Tree's 20DvRs would be proof against the DvR17 and DvR19 infinities, which have pseudonatural connotations. DvR17 suggests a postannihilatory state; DvR19 a pre-manifest one: both imply a solution to the Being/Not Being conundrum: note that Mostin would not consider these altitudes particularly impressive. DvR18 is a point of mutliple equilibria; it is associated with the dialectical process. This is Fillein/Jovol/Teppu's "root DvR," so to speak - the infinity toward which he is drawn. DvR18 may in turn be seen as emanatory of DvR36 Saizhan itself. Confusingly, the Aeon, representing potentiality, is all of these things. As its final Self Pharamne at the Moment of Creation it is a DvR20 Wyrm.

Ahma as Divine Rank

According to Urgic doctrine, Ahma is an emanation of the Radiant Form. It should therefore logically be a DvR15 phenomenon equivalent in "power" to a Sovereignty, sempiternal, but of different scope and mostly "invisible." Its outward signs are manifested in the templates stacked on top of Eadric. In its naked form, Ahma is essentially a 15DvR Flame associated with Eadric, with 12DvRs unexpressed. As an undifferentiated Flame, Ahma is also "Oronthon thinking about Eadric;" in more devotional and theistic terms, Eadric is dear to Oronthon. Obviously, having a DvR12 potential is fine, but realizing it is trickier. The Pall of Dhatri Evocation [Darkness] Order: 2630 Spellcraft DC: 110 Components: V, S, Ritual Casting Time: 10 minutes Range: 0ft. Effect: 100-mile radius sphere of tenacious darkness centered on a point in space Duration: 100 days Saving Throw: None Spell Resistance: No Seeds: [Energy (weather) (25)], [Energy (19)], [Ward] (17). Factors: Emulate darkness (+17), negate disjunction (+16), increase radius by 98 miles / 4900% (+196), +300 CL opposed dispel (+600), +100 days duration (+400), contingent (+25), tenacious (ad hoc x2). Mitigation: Ritual component (-2500), 10 minute casting (-20). The Pall of Dhatri evokes a sphere of shadowy illumination with a radius of 100 miles. Light from nonepic spells and mundane light is automatically suppressed within the spell's area. Disjunction is inefective against the Pall of Dhatri, in whole or in part. Targeted epic spells which use the [Dispel] seed to successfully counter the Pall of Dhatri only do so for 1d4 rounds unless they include factors to lengthen the duration of the dispel effect; the entire area otherwise under the effect of the spell is subject to the normal prevailing illumination, after which the Pall of Dhatri reasserts itself.

Epic spells with the [light] descriptor which succeed at an opposed caster level check against the Pall of Dhatri suppress it for their duration but only to the extent of their area of effect. Appropriate salient divine abilities may permanently counter and dispel the Pall of Dhatri, either locally or entirely. The Pall of Dhatri is a 320th-level effect.

Lukarn Evocation [Good, Light] Order: 857 Spellcraft DC: 0 (Spontaneous) Components: V, S, DF, XP, Ritual Casting Time: 1 minute Range: Touch then 2 miles; see text Effect: 2-mile radius sphere of holy light centered on a weapon; see text Duration: Contingent, then instantaneous and 200 minutes; see text Saving Throw: Will half, partial or negates; see text Spell Resistance: Yes; see text Seeds: [Energy] (19), [Energy] (25). Factors: Emulate sunburst (+29), emulate daylight (+19), +300 opposed CL (+600), increase damage die (+40), +50 opposed check against [dispel] (+100), contingent (+25). Mitigating Factors: The sword Lukarn as divine focus (-10), ritual component (572), 27500XP distributed between 44 reservoirs (-275). This spell remains contingent for up to 24 hours until the sword Lukarn is first drawn from its scabbard. When Lukarn is unsheathed an immediate sunburst effect is evoked with a radius of 2 miles. Evil creatures are blinded and immediately suffer 6d20 points of damage. Undead creatures suffer 20d20 points of damage; vampires and other undead specifically vulnerable to daylight are destroyed. A successful Will saving throw halves the damage and negates the blindness and destruction effects. Thereafter, a sphere of illumination as bright as full daylight with a radius of 2 miles centered on Lukarn persists for 200 minutes: the locus of the daylight effect is mobile, and moves with the weapon. The spell counters and dispels all [darkness] effects within its area and for its duration against which it makes a successful opposed caster level check; this spell confers a +300 bonus to negate such effects. For the purposes of penetrating spell resistance, Lukarn has a caster level of 43; the spell is considered to have a caster level of 93 for purposes of opposed dispel checks which target it.

Guho's Disjunctive Membrane Abjuration Order: 417 Spellcraft DC: 77 Components: V, S, Ritual Casting Time: 10 mins Range: 2 miles Effect: A 2-mile radius sphere centred on a point in space

Duration: 24 hours Saving Throw: Will negates (object) Spell Resistance: No Seeds: [Ward] (14), [Ward] (14), [Energy (weather)] (25), [Fortify] (17). Factors: Emulate disjunction (+31), negate disjunction (+16), +150CL (+300), selective targets (ad hoc +20). Mitigating Factors: 10 mins casting (-20), ritual (-340). Guho erects a disjunctive interface encapsulating a bubble with a radius of 2 miles. Creatures designated by Guho at the time of its creation may freely pass through the membrane in either direction without ill effect. Creatures who otherwise attempt to pass through the membrane and spell effects which originate outside of the interface are immediately subject to a disjunction effect upon contacting it. Subjects protected by epic spells which possess the [Ward] seed keyed to disjunction effects are entitled to an opposed caster level check; all other ongoing spell effects are automatically ended. Any magic items which pass through the membrane must make Will saving throws or be likewise disjoined. The Disjunctive Membrane may not itself be disjoined. Epic spells incorporating the [Destroy] or [Dispel] seed are entitled to an opposed caster level check in order to counter the spell: in this case the Disjunctive Membrane is considered to be a 178th-level effect.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-03-2011

Midwinter Goddess After the fall of Visuit the Butcher, Nwm lingered for a day in Sisperi in order to aid Lai with the resurrections. Mostin removed his tower to eastern Nizkur, attaching it again to his manse now the home of Orolde and Mei. Rhul and Mesikammi travelled to Afqithan to assess the danger in that realm with Ortwine. Eadric returned with Hlioth, his saints and remaining knights to Galda, there to receive mixed news. Prahar had withdrawn his cavalry their raids had been punishing for both sides in the conflict and established a more distant perimeter. Obfuscatory magicks prevented Temple scriers from penetrating the Cheshnite ranks and determining their exact movements, but it was known that the main host was again marching, taking many hours to pass through the gates at Thond. "She can be no worse than Visuit." "You should not underestimate Dhatri," Hlioth cautioned. "She is a symbol. An all-consuming mouth and gullet. She has had long to prepare; she must time her momentum precisely. The Pall is more than half expired, and there are too few now amongst the cabals to renew it: many have died; some have moved to new centers of power. But she has had a month to work her necromancy uninterrupted. And a million ravenous undead accompany her. Sheer numbers may prevail." "And when they meet the perimeter established by the scions?" Eadric asked. "A test occurs." "Then our lever must be at this point." "We have a brief lacuna," Hlioth advised him. "Use the time wisely." **

Mulissu sat in Mostin's now Orolde's study, brooding. A fire burned steadily in the hearth, and the smell of musty books and burned toast filled the air. Outside, snow piled heavily against the window, diffusing the afternoon light as it streamed in. The savant had been absorbed in her own thoughts since witnessing the destruction of the city she had sworn to protect. Mostin could not determine whether it was guilt, rage, or some other emotion which consumed her and had caused her fugue. "Crumpet?" The Alienist asked, proudly presenting a long fork which displayed an over-charred circle of dough. Mulissu sighed, and took the proffered dainty, scraping off carbon before smothering it with butter and jam. "We need to find a way to eliminate the effluxia," she remarked distractedly. "That would involve finding and confronting," Mostin observed. "I suspect that our energies would be better deployed elsewhere." "I assume that you are speaking of your s" "I am," Mostin nodded sagely. "I am also of a mind to reengineer the Quiescence to allow for selective teleportations amongst those whom I designate. Furthermore, Daunton informs me that a number of wizards are willing to demonstrate a more unified front in the face of the latest events." "Which?" Mulissu sounded suspicious. "Why this sudden reversal?" "The threat is now more imminent. Daunton himself, Hlioth, Jalael, Wigdryt, Gholu, Creq, Droom, Poylu, Troap, Muthollo, Sarpin. Even Waide. Tozinak appears to be sulking, and refuses to answer Daunton's sendings." "And Shomei?" "Her path, as always, is her own," Mostin sighed. "But Sho is willing to participate." "And her sibling?" "Still awaits her pseudogenesis: as to that, I have given thought to a spell." "What did you have in mind as a basis?" [Mostin]: Look: A_N = \int D\mu \int D[X] \exp \left( -\frac{1}{4\pi\alpha} \int \partial_z X_\mu(z,\overline{z}) \partial_{\overline{z}} X^\mu(z,\overline{z}) \, dz^2 + i \sum_{i=1}^N k_{i \mu} X^\mu (z_i,\overline{z}_i) \right) [Mulissu]: You can reduce it to this: A_N = \int D\mu \prod_{0<i<j<N+1} |z_i-z_j|^{2\alpha k_i.k_j} [Gihaahia]: You are both idiots. Use this: \int_{-\infty}^\infty \exp({a x^4+b x^3+c x^2+d x+f}) \, dx = e^f \sum_{n,m,p=0}^\infty \frac{ b^{4n}}{(4n)!} \frac{c^{2m}}{(2m)!} \frac{d^{4p}}{(4p)!} \frac{ \Gamma(3n+m+p+\frac14) }{a^{3n+m+p+\frac14} } [Mostin]:!! (Gratitude) [Mulissu]: Eleven dimensions works for me. I suppose that's as good a place to start as any.

[Gihaahia]: Don't disappoint me, Mostin. "What is her involvement in this?" Mulissu asked, confused. "I have no idea," Mostin was dubious. "She has never evinced any interest in my work prior to now. Although, she reconfigured Daunton's transvalent repertoire, and bestowed the Instant Convocation on him. Perhaps she will do the same for me?" [Inquiry?] "Apparently not," Mulissu said drily. "Still, you have something to work with. What will you need?" (Calculation). "You, me, Sho, Oroldeand Mei herself. That is all." Mostin was dumbfounded. "Where is Mei?" "In the parlour," the Alienist said intensely, his eyes rotating in excitement. "I will inform her immediately. Her time is closetwo or three days will be enough." "Can we afford even that much?" "Mei has placed her trust in me without question!" Mostin was aghast. "I won't fail her now." "You are an odd one," Mulissu sighed. "I don't believe I'll ever understand you." ** The errand-runner was beside himself with terror. Only moments before, archons had apprised Eadric telepathically. "Ahma, a messenger from Shomei the Infernal. He purports to be one Yeqon; he styles himself the Fifth Prosecutor." Hlioth scowled. Shomei was making a point. No Goetia so grand as the binding of one such as this had ever before been accomplished. Prosecutors, Antagonists among the greatest of fiends and the most recondite. Signatories to the pact. Now atavisms, whom Shomei alone possessed the power to conjure and coerce. The Agent of Will had dispatched him as an errand-boy.

Oronthon! Eadric swore silently and reflexively upon encountering the devil.
Yeqon towered above him, and saving Hlioth none others amongst those present might even approach the devil, such was the magnitude of his presence. A fallen seraph, close kin to Enitharmon: vast, dark wings shrouded his form. The Fifth Prosecutor had been brooding in grim obscurity for an aeon, hatching impossible schemes for the renewed assault upon Heaven. A Heaven which might be no more; or one so far removed from thought and knowledge that it might as well no longer be. Yeqon knelt and sat upon his heels, his eyes meeting the Ahma's. "What do you want?" Eadric sighed. The Fifth Prosecutor briefly pressed his forehead to the ground at the Ahma's feet.

"Saizhan," the devil replied. Eadric squinted suspiciously. "Then it is to the Sela you must speak, not I." "In due course," Yeqon's voice was calm and mellifluous. "But what I want and why I am here are two separate questions. My mistress has sent me as an ambassador; she is reconvening the Dark Choir. Bolstering its numbers. She asks that you remember your prior words to her, and that you continue to trust her." "Pah!" Hlioth spat. Eadric raised his hand, and addressed the Prosecutor. " Reconvening? With what? Only Irel remains." "No devil is lost to Shomei the Infernal," Yeqon replied. "But some are more freshly-fallen. Did you not stand with Rintrah above the Blessed Plain?" The Ahma recalled the Migration of Light he had witnessed; that some of the Host, in their haste to enter the burgeoning Viridescence, had crashed in smoking ruin. But to where? "Into the Thickets of the Four Kings," Yeqon read his face precisely. "Nets cast by the Hazel?" "Yes," the Fifth Prosecutor answered. "And the Holly." [Hlioth]: Beware this devil, Ahma. Blackthorn may rot and putrefy and eliminate; Hazel dominate and involute; Cherry lust and crave. But, for sheer wickedness, none can match Holly. "And which words would Shomei have me remember?" Eadric asked wrily. "That you need not miss the opportunity of a good friendship," Yeqon replied. "And I assume that some demonstration of my friendship is asked for?" "Those arms and armor which you have under guard. Of Visuit the Butcher; Yeshe the Binder; Prince Graz'zt." "She suggests I release these items to her?" The Ahma was incredulous. "Is there even any savage enough to bear Visuit's sword?" "I, for one," the devil said steadily. Eadric scowled. "I would speak with her directly." "She is presently indisposed, but I will convey your request," Yeqon bowed, and departed in a pillar of dark fire. "Indisposed?" Eadric turned to Hlioth. "Shomei conjures," the Green Witch replied. "Goddess help us all." He issued a mental summons to his steed. "Wherever you are going, I can get you there faster," Hlioth observed. "I need to ride," Eadric replied.

Straddling Narh, he sped away. * As he rode northwards, winter began to assert itself: not merely by virtue of latitude, he noted, but because of distance from the unnatural energies which lay over the whole of the Thalassine and Wyre's southern marches. He reached Hrim Eorth by mid-morning; by noon he had passed Groba and was galloping over frosty fields in Hethio. In the wan sunlight, Nizkur loomed.

Narh knew the route well, and required no prompting from Eadric. The forest although quiescent by
season seemed unusually subdued. With barely a faltering of pace, the stallion ran through webs and thickets impenetrable to those without permission: the Green bulwark which surrounded Qinthei, the Womb of the Goddess. Snow blanketed the ground; the air was frigid. A slender figure stood waiting beneath the Tree. Eadric reined in before her. Nebulous figures the barely perceptible shades of vanquished foes moved like mist in some adjacent world, but did not seem to register his presence. Steam rose from Narh's flanks and nostrils; Nehael extended her hand, rubbing the horse's muzzle, tugging at his forelock, and sending him into an ecstasy. "I come for counsel," Eadric dismounted and bowed. "Come," she said. "Walk with me." * "The thing which destroyed Fumaril Kaalaanala's avatar what has become of it?" Nehael paused and pointed at the frozen earth beneath her feet. "It is below us. A cancer at the heart of the world. It will irrupt again if the goddess at Jashat becomes sufficiently angry." "Mostin said there were others," Eadric grimaced. Nehael nodded. "One rages amid nightmares; another has set itself up in mockery of the Enforcer; the lastmay prove the most dangerous." "You offer little reassurance," the Ahma said bleakly. "This last what can you tell me of it?" "It is her," Nehael spoke carefully. "The Fires of Death. Or as close as you will come to encountering her without actually meeting her. She may bring cohesion to the remaining hierophants amongst the Cheshnite sect. She is abroad, but I do not know where, or exactly why. Powerful magic obscures her." "Even from you?" "Especially from me." "And there are no limits imposed upon her actions? Why was I led to believe that Kaalaanala was confined; her remit strictly curtailed?" "So it is," Nehael scowled. "Or all of Wyre should burn." "Then is it as Nwm asserts? That the Goddess grows dark?" "Our mood is various," Nehael observed laconically. "Or had this fact escaped you?"

"The movement is chaotic. I cannot find purchase," Eadric stopped walking. A long silence followed. "What of Soneillon?" Nehael inquired archly. Her gaze penetrated him. Eadric replied with a pointed look. "It is a meeting which I am content to forestall for as long as possible." "I ask because you should expect her. She perceives your Flame, albeit indirectly; she knows how bright it burns. She covets it, or is drawn to it like a moth. And it is Midwinter; the Sun is weakest." "Your words are not comforting. Mostin informs me that she has undergone a 'great rapture.'" "Her power is formidable," Nehael said plainly. "She is her own locus: of Dream, Oblivion, Delirium imbued by the Blackthorn. Trace her passage, Eadric: she has been celestial, infernal, demonic; unbecome, a nightmare; something impossible, now perylene. More infinities collide in her than can be counted. She may be insane psychotic by your standards, but to characterize her as evil would be to reduce her complexity to a single dimension. Although I believe you already know this." "You sound sympathetic." "That would be natural: it is who I am. She is as I, maybe, on a different path. Perhaps we run contraparallel; each anathema to the other. Force cannot overcome her now, unless some sovereign strength is invoked. And it is she who is in possession of the Urn." "Then how would you suggest that I deal with her?" He groaned. "Naturally," Nehael laughed, "naturally. But I see this prospect somehow disturbs you?" "She remains my greatest weakness," Eadric acknowledged. "Or one of them." "Maybe less than you are hers. And what of Shomei?" "Must you always be so perceptive?" "Goddess is manifold," Nehael smiled. "And little escapes my notice. Perhaps you understand Nwm's dilemma a little better." "Shomei makes inquiries in my direction to gauge my disposition." "You sound sympathetic," Nehael remarked drily. "I am," Eadric admitted. "Insofar as I trust her; I understand her." "As she was, maybe. But as she is?" Eadric considered. "Shomei is always in process; I think she would reject any static characterization." "I have spoken with her," Nehael's voice was subdued. "She has set herself tasks which are suitably unattainable. My concern is that she may drag the World into ruin in her effort toward self-mastery. Her revelation within the Fane at Morne: what is your reaction to that?" "I am unsure," Eadric said apprehensively. "Although I find myself in a state of at least partial agreement with the Irrenite faction, and how they have chosen to interpret it."

Nehael raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "They are calling it the Third Turning of Saizhan." "The Third?" A look of mild puzzlement crossed the face of the goddess. "Did I miss one?" "Skhsldar, the Gate of Demons," Eadric explained. "I am designated as its unfortunate patron and exemplar. And there are enough demons left in the World. Faheth, any advice you have to offer on how to proceed would be appreciated." "You choose now to name me thus?" "It is how I would relate to you." Nehael sighed. "Somehow you must impress the notion of compassion upon Shomei. She still conflates it with sentiment; she needs to understand that it is rational." "I was unable when she was mortal; how am I to believe that it will be possible now that she is a devil?" "I didn't say it would be easy," Nehael smiled. "I, for one, have met with little success. But, as you have pointed out, she is in process." "And otherwise?" "Exercise compassion yourself. You cannot teach what you do not demonstrate." ** Nivorn a rocky peninsula eighty miles long, extending into the sea to the east of the conflict was attached to Wyre by a broad isthmus and boasted impressive natural defenses. Much of its coast was sheer cliff, pierced by a handful of protected harbors. An encircling row of peaks enclosing a high plateau, cloven by a wide, deep lake comprised Nivorn's interior. Successive Wyrish kings had attempted to annex the foreland; all had met with failure. By their own vows, the lairds were bound in tribute to Morne. In practice, it had not been exacted for generations from most: like the inhabitants of Ardan to whom they were related the Nivornese were generally considered intractable, often maniacal, and best left to their own devices. They feuded interminably amongst themselves; vendettas a thousand years old still raged. A previous king, Tulgus regarded as the greatest of the Gultheins had established a line of border forts in southern Wyre to prevent major incursions; drunken raids to abduct womenfolk and livestock still occasionally occurred, but were immediately met with fierce punitive strikes. An uneasy truce prevailed. It was upon a densely wooded island within the lake called Sooile by the natives that Temenun had elected to establish a stronghold, placing himself under the protection of the Cherry which now grew there. The Tigers choice to defy the other immortals and the Fires of Death herself was not made lightly. But Temenun was ever his own master; he would not bow now, even to a Bhiti such as Kaalaanala, and throwing himself at the mercy of the Cherry on the surface a highly risky proposition was made in full consciousness: whatever dark prolepsis had served the AkChazar for twenty millennia and had prompted him to his action, was the same faculty the only thing, in fact that he had come to trust.

His Naztharunes, who may have numbered in the dozens or in the thousands, accompanied their overlord without question. A clique of Anantam magi those most uncomfortable with the current political climate and the direction offered by Anumid also joined him. His armored legions, for the most part half-giants from Danhaan, the Tiger had left to whateverfate might befall them such were the vicissitudes of service to an immortal such as Temenun. Only hours after he had established his redoubt a region of twisted vines and briars, from the center of which the Cherry scion itself emanated invisible lures across the island news reached the Tiger of Kaalaanalas fourfold effluxion, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. Here, at least, he was now safe from the Embassy; the last, most potent, most deadly of the avatars. The one which might force him to do the bidding of the Fires of Death. The others even Idyam would necessarily capitulate to whatever demands were imposed upon them. Thoughts of Void, of Tamasah the final darkness he allowed to slip from his mind. Nothing was so pressing; or rather, Nothing now seemed less pressing. The poisoned fruits which grew nearby familiar fruits, from beyond the southern deserts were a source of comfort to him. And, finally, it was warm. Temenun relaxed. Throile was but a footstep away. Perhaps he would pay a visit: the jungles there held many secrets. And Soneillons cabal now that their mistress had abandoned them might prove amenable if offered sufficient inducements. ** It was dark when Eadric returned to Galda. Wearily, he dismounted and gave an ironic smile: Narh was tireless, and despite having been ridden hard for six hundred leagues that day, the steed seemed fresh as though led from a month's pasturing. He realized that he himself had had no real rest for weeks since long prior to his own reincarnation. Eadric unharnessed the stallion, bade him run free until dawn, and trudged through the camp on foot, his saddle cast over his shoulder. Bestowing nodding blessings upon sentries as he went, and a glare in the direction of rowdy Ardanese mercenaries celebrating the winter Tagamuos, he made his way to his pavillion. He pulled the heavy fur drape closed across the opening to the tent, and illumination was dimmed; canvas filtered the light of campfires to a dull, flickering glow. Eadric unbuckled Lukarn, set his shield upon its stand, threw off begrimed armor, and sat for an hour in saizhan before entering the Fultum meditation: a steadfastness in the face of all doubt, and a protection against forces or impulses which might otherwise assail him. He lit a narrow taper and placed it on a simple altar with a winter garland, and offered prayers to the Eleos: for the protection of the souls around him; for the safe passage of those lost at Fumaril; for mercy upon those within the orbit of the scion at Deorham; for the succour of his servants and those within his own household. Finally, he arose, extinguished the light, and cast himself, exhausted, onto his pallet. As visions and half-remembered ideas played across his consciousness, for a fleeting moment, the recollection of an insight which had been instrumental in shaping his understanding of the World. Immediately, the familiar scent of lotus and sandalwood as lips and hair brushed his cheek; a soft body pressed eagerly against him. An oval face. Eyes, like pits of ravenous darkness. Power, as he had never before sensed. Somehow, Eadric wondered whether he had himself, in fact, invoked her. "This tack will not be effective," he said plainly.

"May I stay?" Her whisper conveyed urgent need. "I am in no mood to argue, Soneillon. I am tired. Let me sleep." Fingernails briefly threatened to become talons or something far worse and then relaxed. "As you wish, Ahma." Her eyelids closed; a fuliginous wing cracked open and encompassed him, settling over him like a blanket. "Your egregiousness would seem undiminished," Eadric sighed. "Although I see you are not otherwise as you were. What do you hope to achieve by this? Do you really expect me to trust any faade which you present to me? That I can say with surety that you have not previously placed a spell on me? Perhaps I'm now to believe that I am the last thread of sanity to which you cling?" But the demoness was silent; she was already enmeshed in some chthonic nightmare.

Or do not. Again, as always, her passivity her apparent vulnerability confounded him. In the dim

light he studied her, touching her neck and shoulders uncertainly and tracing brutal scars: the legacy of wounds bestowed by his own hand. After so long, were they real, or an artifice? Was she? Did it matter? And what reason did he actually have to doubt her? Had she ever been anything other than entirely honest with him? No, he was obliged to concede. Saizha, Ahma? One must encounter the Void on its own terms. She stirred uneasily. He closed his eyes, and slept. The compound-templated Soneillon, technically an Elite Advanced Paragon Pseudochthonic Spellwarped Monster of Legend Succubus, in possession of the augmentations granted by the Urn and by her normal suite of transvalent buffs. Soneillon's abilities include +5 inherent bonuses. Soneillon is also considered an abomination, and gains the abilities normally associated with such. Although technically without DvR, Soneillon's approximate power is that of a lesser goddess; she is the third of the triune which includes the DvR6 Viridescent Nehael and a DvR3 Enkindled Shomei. All can be considered coval multiparadigmatic expressions of Goddess within the larger framework; although, perhaps Antigoddess is a better way of describing Soneillon in more conventional terms: she challenges the limit to which notions of Goddess may be applied. Ontically, the triptych can be superficially undersood as representing Being (Nehael), Becoming (Shomei) and Non-Being (Soneillon). In fact, the relationship is more complex, with Soneillon also representing Nothing Becomes (a positive assertion of the reification of Void); Shomei acting to place Being secondary in importance to Becoming (expressed as Nothing Is), and Nehael negating the existential(?) truth of Non-Being i.e. Nothing Is Not. The totality is reflective of the central transmetaphysical paradox of Saizhan itself. Alternatively, the sexual connotations are arousal (Nehael) and crescendo (Shomei), with Soneillon herself linked with the annihilation of the self at the moment of orgasm. She arguably interfaces with more infinities than any other entity, and as Nehael observes Soneillon's history from her own perspective appears to be celestial, then diabolic, then demonic, then chthonic, then oneiric, then pseudonatural; finally manifested in a context which is Green. The paragon template is bestowed by the Blackthorn-ludja, but at a price: her autonomy is compromised when she manifests within finitude, and she must accept a kind of "mundanity;" Void is captured by Ens and given discrete form. Furthermore, Soneillon's distancing of herself from the Cherry-ludja (representative of desire) which eagerly seeks her can be understood as a denial of her own

implicit nature, or a relegation of her sexuality, as well as a transcendence of it. Within the Cheshnite paradigm as interpreted by Temenun, Soneillon is Pramaade Gu Kaamaah (In Delirium, Void Lusts), Asampra-Gyaata Pramaadah (Delirium Dream-Ecstasy), Kaalakamala (Lotus of Death), or, more informally, Aasyacheshna Phalam (lit. "The Mango in Cheshne's Mouth" i.e. the apple of her eye). She is also understood as Taarakacheshna (the Eye of Cheshne) both literally and figuratively; she is linked with the star of the same name, and her esoteric "day" begins with its anticulmination at the Necropolis of Khu. The involvement of Delirium as a precursor state somehow necessary for the irruption of the Apparition the manifestation of Demogorgon-Cheshne within the bounded cosmos is not clear. Nor is the extent of the identity of Delirium with Uzzhin the Far Realm of Metagnostic praxis: it should be noted that Mostin asserts that they are unidentical, and that Delirium is best understood as possessing elements of Void and Dream as well as "Outside-ness." Soneillon thus also describes an elemental, chaotic-disintegrative process of unbecoming in which Nothing Becomes becomes Becomes Nothing. Soneillon is extraordinarily resistant to all forms of attack: epic spells or SDAs are an absolute requirement when dealing with her. I've tagged her CR at 60 or 72 in possession of Pharamne's Urn but even that seems a little conservative: template combinations are somewhat unpredictable. To reliably penetrate her SR and Saves would require a spell of approximately 350th order (unmitigated DC) by an epic caster such as Nwm or Mostin. Soneillon's stats are constructed like this: 8 14 13 12 10 15 elite array 10 16 15 18 14 31 succubus racial adjustment 10 16 15 18 14 37 advancement by HD 15 21 20 23 19 42 inherent bonuses 25 31 30 33 29 52 chthonic 47 41 40 33 39 52 pseudonatural 51 43 44 37 39 52 spellwarped 61 49 54 39 41 56 monster of legend 76 64 69 54 56 71 paragon 76 104 109 54 56 111 epic buffs 86 114 119 64 66 121 profane bonuses from Urn

Soneillon Aasyacheshna Phalam Size/Type: Medium Outsider (Abomination, Augmented, Chaotic, Chthonic, Dream, Extraplanar, Evil, Paragon, Pseudonatural) Hit Dice: 30d8+1620+360 (2220hp) Initiative: +56 Speed: 360ft.; fly 600ft. (perfect) Armor Class: 181 (+55 deflection, +52 Dex, +12 insight, +12 luck, +40 natural), touch 141, flatfooted 129 Base Attack/Grapple: +30/+118 Attack: Void tendril +132 melee (2d6+58/15-20x3 plus ontic corruption) Full Attack: 12 void tendrils +132 melee (2d6+58/15-20x3 plus ontic corruption) Space/Reach: 5ft./10ft. Special Attacks: Augmented critical, aura of unlight, energy drain, frightful presence, improved grab, ontic corruption, spell-like abilities, spells, summon demon, tenacious wounding, utter corruption

Special Qualities: Blindsight 500ft,. DR 20/cold iron and epic and good, darkvision 60 ft., fast healing 20, immunities (ability drain, ability damage, acid, death effects, electricity, form-altering effects, mind-affecting effects, negative energy effects, and poison, sonic effetcs), nondetection, ontic flux, regeneration 20, resistance to cold 20 and fire 20, see in darkness, spell resistance 150, spellwarp, telepathy 1000 ft., tongues, true seeing Saves: Fort +114, Ref +112, Will +88 Abilities: Str 86, Dex 114, Con 119, Int 64, Wis 66, Cha 121 Skills: Appraise +70 (embroidered items +74), Balance +99, Bluff +102, Climb +81, Concentration +97, Craft (embroidery) +70, Decipher Script +70, Diplomacy +114, Disguise +98 (+102 acting), Escape Artist +95, Forgery +70, Gather Information +98, Handle Animal +98. Hide +95, Intimidate +104, Jump +217, Knowledge (arcana) +70, Knowledge (history) +70, Knowledge (nature) +74, Knowledge (nobility) +70, Knowledge (the planes) +70, Knowledge (religion) +70, Listen +79, Move Silently +95, Perform (dance) +98, Profession (courtesan) +71, Ride +99, Search +70, Sense Motive +73, Sleight of Hand +99, Spellcraft +177 (scrolls +181), Spot +79, Survival +71, Tumble +99, Use Magic Device +98 (scrolls +102) Feats: Dark Speech, Dodge, Epic Skill Focus (Spellcraft), Epic Spell Penetration, Epic Spellcasting, Greater Spell Penetration, Improved Critical (void tendril), Improved Initiative, Mobility, Negotiator, Persuasive, Skill Focus (Spellcraft), Spell Penetration, Weapon Finesse Challenge Rating: 72 (60) Special Attacks Arcane Spellcasting: Soneillon casts spells as a 30th-level sorcerer; in addition, she can cast any Darkness, Destruction, Dream, Evil or Madness domain spell as an arcane spell. She need not utilize material components in her spellcasting, and incurs no experience point cost for spells which normally demand it: Soneillon can hence apply up to a 200 DC mitigating factor against any epic spell which she casts. Augmented Critical: All of Soneillon's natural attacks threaten on an attack roll of 15-20 and benefit from a x3 critical multiplier. Aura of Unlight (Su): Soneillon radiates an aura of unlight which extends to 10 feet. Treat this as a deeper darkness spell, but nonchthonic creatures within the aura automatically gain 1d4 negative levels every round. Spell resistance is effective against level loss from the aura of unlight, but even creatures normally immune to energy drain and negative energy effects are otherwise subject to it. The aura of unlight may be suppressed or resumed as a free action. It may be dispelled, but Soneillon may reactivate it as a free action on her next turn. Caster Level 30th. A DC 93 Fortitude save must be made after 24 hours to recover each negative level. The Save DC is Charisma-based, and includes a +13 insight bonus. Frightful Presence (Ex): Enemies within 20 feet with fewer HD than Soneillon must make a Will saving throw (DC 93) or become shaken - a condition which lasts until the opponent is out of range. A successful save leaves the opponent immune to Soneillon's frightful presence for 24hrs. The frightful presence may be suppressed or resumed as a free action on Soneillon's turn. This is a mind-affecting fear effect. The Save DC is Charisma-based, and includes a +13 insight bonus. Improved Grab (Ex): If Soneillon hits an opponent of size medium or smaller with a tendril, she deals normal damage and attempts to start a grapple as a free action without provoking an attack of opportunity. Ontic Corruption (Ex): An enemy struck by one of Soneillon's void tendril attacks is permanently drained of 2d4 points of Constitution and gains 1d4 negative levels. At the same time, Soneillon regains 10 lost hit points. The DC after 24 hours to reisist permanent level loss from the ontic corruption is 93. The Save DC is Charisma-based and includes a +13 insight bonus. Summon Allies (Sp): Soneillon can summon 1d4+1 chthonic succubi as a standard action. This ability is the equivalent of an epic level spell. Tenacious Wounding (Ex): Damage sustained from Soneillon's narural attacks resists healing. Healing spells only restore 1 hit point per spell level, and natural healing of such wounds takes twice as long as normal. Utter Corruption: All of Soneillon's spells and spell-like abilities gain the [Evil] descriptor, regardless of their function. Against good creatures, Soneillon benefits from a +4 bonus to the DC of any special

abilities and to spells and spell-like abilities which she uses. Spell-Like Abilities: Soneillon can use the following abilities at will: blasphemy, detect good, detect thoughts, dream travel, greater dispel magic, greater teleport, haste, suggestion, unhallow, unholy aura. All spell-like abilities have a caster level equal to Soneillon's Hit Dice. Special Qualities: Change Shape (Su): Soneillon can assume the form of any Small or Medium humanoid. Ontic Flux (Ex): Soneillon benefits from an effect similar to a blink spell, except that attacks which target incorporeal or ethereal creatures gain no special benefit, nor does Soneillon receive any special benefits to attack creatures in this state. The ontic flux may be suppressed or resumed as a free action. Nondetection (Ex): Soneillon is treated as if under a nondetection spell (Caster Level 30th) Regeneration 20. Epic good-aligned weapons and good-aligned spells do normal damage to Soneillon. See in Darkness(Su): Soneillon can see perfectly in darkness of any kind, even that created by deeper darkness spells. Spellwarp (Ex): Spell effects which target Soneillon and fail to penetrate her spell resistance grant temporary Hit Points equal to 5x the spell's level. Temporary Hit Points gained in this fashion last for 1 hour. Telepathy (Su): Soneillon can communicate telepathically with any creature within 1000 feet which has a language Tongues (Su): Soneillon has a permanent tongues ability (as the spell, caster level 30th). True Seeing (Ex): This ability extends to 500ft. and is always active. Soneillon has a +8 racial bonus on Listen and Spot checks. Spells Known The Save DC to resist spells cast by Soneillon is 78+ Spell Level and includes a +13 insight bonus. Against good-aligned targets, she gains a further +4 bonus. Soneillon does not require material components or foci in her spellcasting; she need pay no XP for spells which normally demand it. She gains a +6 bonus to penetrate an opponent's spell resistance. Spells per day: 6/20/20/20/19/19/19/19/18/18. Soneillon may also cast 3 epic spells per day. 9th Implosion (DC87), power word kill, reality maelstrom (DC87), shapechange, utterdark, weird (DC87), wish 8th Bestow greater curse (DC86), demand (DC86), discern location, earthquake (DC86), maddening scream, power word blind, power word stun 7th Disintegrate (DC85), insanity (DC85), greater scrying (DC85), limited wish, sequester (DC85), vision 6th Create undead, dream sight, false sending (DC84), harm (DC84), mass suggestion (DC84), probe thoughts (DC84), prying eyes 5th Baleful polymorph (DC83), bolts of bedevilment (DC83), dispel good (DC83), dream, mass inflict light wounds (DC83), mirage arcana (DC83), nightmare (DC83), sending, summon monster V 4th Armor of darkness, black tentacles, confusion (DC82), dimensional anchor, inflict critical wounds (DC69), know vulnerabilities (DC82), phantasmal killer (DC82), unholy blight (DC82), voice of the

dragon 3rd Anticipate teleportation, arcane sight, blacklight, contagion (DC81), deep slumber (DC81), glimpse of truth, magic circle against good, nondetection, rage (DC81), spell vulnerability (DC81) Ongoing Transvalent Augmentations Soneillon gains a +40 enhancement bonus to Charisma, Constitution and Dexterity. These protections are renewed on a monthly basis; they have a CL of 150 for purposes of opposed dispel checks. Voice of Demogorgon Evocation [Evil, Sonic] Order: 450 Spellcraft DC: 186 Components: V, XP, Backlash, Dark Speech; see text Casting Time: 1 standard action Range: 200ft. Area: Nonchthonic entities in a 200-ft. radius spread centered on you Duration: Instantaneous Saving Throw: None Spell Resistance: Yes Seeds: [Energy] (+19), [Afflict] (+14), [Ward] (+14). Factors: penetrate immunity (ad hoc +20), overcome keyed epic [Ward] (+18), emulate blasphemy (+27), increase effective blasphemy CL (+60), increase area by 400% (+16), increase spell penetration (+240), 1-action stilled (+22). Mitigating: XP (-200), 60d6 backlash (-60), Dark Speech (ad hoc 4). Soneillon speaks a syllable in the Dark Speech which cannot be heard. Creatures normally immune to sonic attacks are affected by this spell, and the Voice of Demogorgon is not subject to any kind of magical silence. Nonchthonic entities with less than 50HD are automatically slain when subject to this spell. Creatures with at least 50HD but fewer than 60HD are dazed for 1 round and weakened for 2d4 rounds when they hear the Voice of Demogorgon. Chthonic creatures or creatures with 60 or more Hit Dice are not subject to its effects. For the purposes of penetrating spell resistance, the Voice of Demogorgon has a Caster Level of 150. Possessions: Pharamne's Urn Pharamne's Urn in Soneillon's Hands Whilst Soneillon remains in possession of Pharamne's Urn, she gains the following benefits. They are already factored into her stat block: +10 Profane bonus to all abilities +100 Competence bonus to Spellcraft checks +10 resistance bonus to saves +10 luck bonus to saves The Urn Pharamne's Urn has no fixed set of qualities, although some aspect of its generative power is

technically accessible to any who posesses the item; fundamentally, it magnifies power. As a transcendental artifact, the Urn is properly associated with or belongs to the DvR20 realm; as such, its reality is impervious to effects generated by entities of fewer than 21 divine ranks. Only metatranscendental beings or phenomena (Oronthon's Radiant Form, Cheshne's Dream-manifestation, the Sela etc.) can act upon the Urn to change or negate its essential nature. Magical manipulation of the Urn is impossible: for example, it cannot be teleported, or subjected to polymorph, and it always appears as it is (within the area of an illusion, the Urn remains the Urn). It can only be physically handled (lifted or carried, placed inside a box or a bag of holding etc.) In this regard, it behaves as any other physical object. The Urn appears as a stoppered clay amphora around twenty inches high and weighing some thirty pounds. The power bestowed by the artifact is otherwise linked to the stature or cosmic gravitas of its owner/wielder; entities of greater potency hence derive commensurately more benefit from the Urn. Attunement Attunement to the Urn requires one complete day. Once an entity is attuned to the artifact, it remains so thereafter, regardless of whether or not the Urn stays within that creature's possession. Only entities who have undergone three or more transcendences or paradigm shifts are capable of attuning themselves to Pharamne's Urn. The benefits granted by attunement to Pharamne's Urn are only available for as long as the Urn is actually within that being's possession held, carried on its body, or kept in an adjacent extradimensional space. For purposes of eligibility, a transcendence is indicated by an acquired template, a shift from one paradigm to another, or a metaphysical migration of some type: a resurrection, reincarnation, a Fall (in the case of a demon or devil) and so on. A number of characters within the story are eligible in this regard; only one of the PCs Nwm the Preceptor is ineligible to actualize the Urn's potential for purposes of attunement. As Nwm is under a Vow of Poverty, ownership of the Urn would be impermissible in any case. When the initial attunement to Pharamne's Urn is made, the attuning entity chooses the benefits which the Urn will convey upon it. Attunement to and possession of the artifact always conveys magical benefits equal to the total predicted wealth of a PC with a level equivalent to the creature's CR (63M in Soneillon's case). All magical benefit costs are directly additive: there is no reduction in costing multiple similar effects within a single item, nor a surcharge for multiple different effects or 'uncustomary' effects. Unslotted effects those that would normally require a space limitation incur double the normal cost as usual. No restrictions exist on other items in the character's or entity's possession; careful selection of abilities to avoid overlapping bonuses or abilities can provide an enormous boost to the owner's power. Assume that the Urn increases the effective Challenge Rating of any creature which possesses it by around 20%. Once determined, the benefits remain fixed for that entity; if the possessor of the Urn later increases in (unadjusted) CR for example by acquiring class levels or a template these benefits may evolve and increase, or additional benefits may be accrued. The Urn always bestows at least three discrete magical benefits; none of these benefits may exceed one third of the total value of the Urn relative to the creature's unadjusted CR. For example, a 20th-level Sorcerer in possession of the Urn (total predicted wealth value 760,000gp) and capable of attuning herself and actualizing it might choose the following benefits: an ongoing CL20 nondetection effect [no space limitation] (120,000) a +30 competence bonus to Bluff checks [no space limitation] (180,000) a +30 competence bonus to Spellcraft checks [no space limitation] (180,000) a +5 luck bonus to saving throws [no space limitation] (100,000) a +5 deflection bonus to AC [no space limitation] (100,000)

a +6 enhancement bonus to Charisma [no space limitation] (72,000) If the base CR of the character subsequently increases, he or she may improve existing bonuses or add additional effects up to his or her predicted wealth by level.

Generative Power The Urn's generative power is available to any in possession of the artifact. The owner of Pharamne's Urn may create a demiplane coterminous with his or her current location as though using a genesis spell; alternatively, the Urn's power may be invoked to override prevailing conditions on the plane upon which the user is situated, replacing them with a local genesis effect. The user must, however, pay the normal XP cost associated with genesis (5000XP). Subsequent uses of genesis may increase the size of the demiplane normally; in each case, the XP cost must be paid. Using this ability nominally requires 1 week. The size of the demiplane created, the speed of creation, and the extent to which the creator of the demiplane may determine its various traits are otherwise governed by the DvR of the entity manipulating the Urn, or by direct magical or supernatural power: Creatures without divine rank or creatures of DvR0 use an unmodified genesis effect Demi-powers (DvR1-5) may add an additional 180ft. radius for each divine rank which they possess, and the limit of the demiplane is reached instantaneously (there is no "slow growth.") For example, a DvR4 entity could create a demiplane with an initial radius of up to 900ft., and subsequent uses would increase the radius by a like amount. Demi-powers require only one day to use the Urn's ability. Demiplanes created by a power of DvR1-5 are finite, have an alterable morphic, normal magic, and normal time; any demi-power may also determine the following planar traits: o Gravity: A demi-power may imbue the demiplane with normal, heavy or light gravity; with no gravity; or with either objective or subjective directional gravity. o Mildly Aligned: A demi-power may apply mildly-aligned lawful, chaotic, good or evil traits to the demiplpane. o Elemental and Energy Traits: A demi-power may create an Air-, Fire-, Water-, Earth-, Positive- or Negative-dominant demiplane Lesser powers (DvR6-10) increase the initial radius to one mile for each divine rank which they possess, and the limit of the demiplane is reached instantaneously: for example, a DvR8 entity could create a demiplane with an initial radius of up to 8 miles, and subsequent uses would increase the radius by a like amount. Lesser powers require only one hour to use the Urn's ability; any lesser power may also imbue the demiplane with these additional planar traits: o Self-Contained: A lesser power may create a demiplane which is recursive, self-contained, or otherwise "bends back" on itself o Magically, Static or Highly Morphic: A lesser power may create a demiplane which is subject to specific magical manipulation, resists manipulation, or is subject to frequent and easy manipulation through spells, supernatural abilities, or force of will o Temporal Traits: Lesser powers may bestow flowing time, erratic time or timelessness upon demiplanes which they create o Flora and Fauna: A lesser power may populate the demiplane with a range of nonmagical and nonsapient life as it sees fit Intermediate powers (DvR11-15) increase the initial radius to one hundred miles for each divine rank which they possess, and the limit of the demiplane is reached instantaneously: for example, a DvR13 entity could create a demiplane with an initial radius of up to 1300 miles, and subsequent uses would increase the radius by a like amount. Intermediate powers require only one minute to use the Urn's

ability. In addition to traits already noted, any intermediate power may also imbue the demiplane with the following planar traits: o Divinely Morphic: An intermediate power may create a demiplane which is subject to divine manipulation, in whole or in part, by itself or other deities or powers of its choosing o Strong Alignment Traits: An intermediate power can imbue the demiplane with a strong chaotic, evil, good, lawful or neutral alignment trait o Magic Traits: An intermediate power may create a demiplane with dead, impeded, wild or enhanced magic Greater powers (DvR16-20) experience no limit to the size of the plane created by the Urn's generative ability. Greater powers require only one round to use the Urn's ability; any greater power may imbue the plane with any physical, elemental, energy, alignment or magical traits. It may populate the plane with flora and fauna, or sapient and/or magical life as it sees fit. The Urn is also amenable to more direct magical or supernatural power: spellcasters or creatures with spell-like abilities may make a caster level check in lieu of divine rank; the DC to achieve the benefit of a specific divine rank is equal to 30 + (10 x the DvR to be emulated). A creature with a supernatural power which has a caster level equivalent is eligible, as is a psionic creature in this case use the creature's manifester level.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-10-2011

Midwinter Goddess - Part 2 (and 3) How many is that? Teppu asked. Nehael groaned. Too many. She is out of her mind. I make three Antagonists; six others who were once episemes; around fifty recently-migrated devas most of whom were exemplars. She began conjuring pit fiends and malebranche presumably for heavy lifting tasks but would appear to be taking a break. She seems to be avoiding magnates from the traditional order for the time being, at least. Does she have a purpose? What did she reveal to you? Little, Nehael shrugged. She will be hard-pressed to control them all. Do you believe that she will make an immediate bid for the Urn? Shomei is not one for procrastination, Nehael sighed. But nor is she ignorant of the difficulty of the task. She will weigh probabilities carefully. ** ** When he awoke, it was light. Her face was inches away. He groaned. An eyelid flickered open. Void bored into him. Why are you here? He asked. She stood slowly and stretched, her wings unfurling to their maximum extent and briefly darkening

reality before retracting. She turned to face him. I get lonely, she smiled, tilting her head. Sometimes, cold. And how did you circumvent the wards? She laughed. I dream, Eadric. Casting her eyes around the interior of the tent, her gaze settled on Lukarn. She raised an eyebrow. Before he could mouth an objection faster, even than he could articulate the thought to do so she had moved and drawn the weapon from its scabbard. She seemed to absorb its light effortlessly. I remember you, she whispered to the sword, running a forefinger along its fuller. You dont like me very much, do you? I notice that your scars seem to have vanished, Eadric observed without humour. They come and go, she replied vaguely. She brandished Lukarn deftly, flipped the blade over and caught it by the tip between two fingers, presenting him with its hilt. Did you wish to cause more? No. He set the sword down firmly next to him. And I doubt this weapon is adequate to the task, in any case. Move up, she kicked his feet. It is time you understood a few things. He drew his knees in, and she sat, cross-legged upon the narrow pallet, sable wings drawn around her like a bat. From beneath them, her hand appeared holding a plain clay jug. She placed it squarely between them. It is unremarkable, would you not say? Eadric was silent; his perception twisted and span. For a long while, the demoness continued, I wondered why Kaalaanala did not simply take it from me. I was there when she reified, Eadric: it was glorious; something to behold. At any rate, the question puzzled me: I know that I would have certainly taken it from her, had our roles been reversed. And have you determined an answer? No, she shrugged. I gave up looking for one. There comes a point where one must concede that there are things which cannot be known; and there are too many plausible theories: the Aeon forbade it; Cheshne forbade it; a deal was struck between Uedii and Cheshne are they different, in any case? And so on, and so forth. The Urn has great power, Eadric of that there can be no doubt. In the hands of a goddess such as the Fires of Death, its destructive which is to say its generative potential focused toward an absence of matter and energy would be great. But her remit is limited: she cannot leave Jashat, nor her direct influence extend beyond it: she is the black dart, stuck in Uediis green shield. Aggravating, unbalancing, but ultimately unmoving. And she lacks a certain perspective required to realize the Urn in full. Perhaps a deeper Void perceived this truth. I cannot say. And this perspective is something which you possess, I presume? Not exactly, Soneillon replied unexpectedly. I aberrate, Eadric. My path is not conventional, as you may have noticed. The Urn is a great boon to me, but I also lack a certain something. The demiplanes

which I created which abut Throile which still persist, incidentally were the labor of many years. Entities with morewherewithalin this regard are empowered to make more effective use of the Urns generative power. Eadric gave an inquiring look. That would be your other girlfriend, Soneillon smiled innocently. * It becomes more complicated, Soneillon continued. I had a feeling it might. What do you know of the I? I mislike the direction of this conversation already, Eadric sighed. Enough to know that it would be foolish to be complacent regarding its motivation. The I is tenacious, Soneillon nodded, and will seek to survive despite all other indicators to the contrary. It fragmented in order to preserve itself, with a notion to recombine at a later time. And a vehicle something exempt from the normal rules to allow this to occur. Shomei? Yes. Your other other girlfriend. Soneillon said lightly. Eadric grunted. I am tired of hearing this. Nehael also accused me of as much. Then the green bitch is not entirely stupid, Soneillon gave a sweet smile. Not everything is about sex, Eadric. At least, not in the beginning. I do not regard Shomei in this fashion. Yet you evince a particular sympathy for her perspective? She is complex. As to our philosophical differences, we reachedan understanding. I care for her wellbeing. And you find her attractive? She is comely enough, I would say. And she, you? Soneillon pressed on, evidently enjoying the line of questioning. How does Shomei the Infernal relate to the Ahma, who is or at least was central to her paradigm? I cannot speak to that, Eadric sighed. She has never demonstrated anything other than He paused, and considered. A measure of doubt crosses your face. I had simply not considered that she is even capable of being driven erotically. It seems somehow beneath her. Soneillon laughed, and it seemed warm and heartfelt. Ah, Ahma. No wonder you interested me so: you are truly guileless. And you attach such virtue to chastity; a line of examination which we might

pursue at some later time. Shomei is fired by deep passions, Eadric, and to suggest that she is somehow asexual or frigid is to misunderstand her absolutely. But her lovers have been and remain devilish, for the most part; I realize that these are not the social circles in which you are wont to move. And her faade is well-practiced: she is discreet; no brazen harlot. Where is this leading, Soneillon? Consider your subsequent interactions with her in the light of this perspective, and form your own judgment. But why do you speak of Shomei at all? The demoness cast her eyes downward, toward the amphora which sat between them. Shomei wants the Urn? That girl always had ideas above her station, Soneillon sighed. The devils which she currently conjures will be deployed against me. She will make her move in due course. Eadric was aghast. Deorham Will likely be a violent and unpleasant locale. By the way, I have done nothing to harm your thralls Im sorry, youd prefer a euphemism although many have been altered by the scion. But my own demons are becoming impatient: at some point, I will need to either deploy them or disband them. Think on this, and well come back to it. May I go on? Eadric nodded grimly. Shomei needs the power offered by the Urn in order to master Hummaz, Soneillon continued. To consolidate the various components of the I; to make herself whole. Im disappointed that Nehael did not share this information with you; still we each have our own agenda. Eadric scowled. It was Nehael who suggested that I remain open to discourse with you. I despise her less already, the demoness raised her eyebrows. You are not seriously suggesting that Nehael is manipulating me against my best interests? Of course. To promulgate empathy is her agenda. That may involve a lack of full disclosure. As your agenda is to sow dissension and madness? Eadric smiled, and shook his head. No. But well come to that. * It gets more complicated, Soneillon warned. This should be good. There is a spell A Flame Precedes the Aeon. It was dictated by Rintrah the Messenger to Jovol the Grey; the wizard Tozinak currently has it in his possession. It is conceptualized in terms of Urgic altitudes, and requires that a naked iota of Radiance be present, and the Urn also, and one who has shaken off their reality several times, in fact. Its timing is also crucial certain astrological windows must be observed.

I see that you were not aware of the origin of this spell, Soneillon sighed, and continued. Nor, indeed is Tozinak. The Regents of the Purifying Wind bestowed it upon Rintrah episemes lack aptitude for this kind of magic; it was, in fact, formulated in the Sovereign Sphere. But it was contrived in the Infinitudes; in the Mind of God your God. Or your previous god; your bent would seem more theacentric of late: a tendency I am obliged to commen d. A look of sheer bewilderment crossed the Ahmas face. You have a question? Soneillon seemed amused. This spell can somehow be used to create a set of circumstances which allow the wielder of the Urn greater latitude in exercising its generative power? No, Soneillon smiled. The spell summons Pharamne. At which point all other considerations are moot. The Dragon coils around the Tree Where have you been, I wonder? Her surprise seemed genuine. What else do you know of this spell? How do you know so much? Mostin spoke of it. It has preoccupied my thoughts for some time; I made inquiries. Mostin has seen the pattern in the broadest sense, but does not understand the specifics of the language. I have asked Tozinak to transcribe it for me. But there has been a complication. In the form of the Cherry. And why, precisely, are you telling me all of this? Eadrics head throbbed. It would seem to be contrary to your interests in all regards. Because you are the Ahma, Ahma. You are incandescent: I see you with clear eyes. I am mad didnt you know? And you trust that I will not somehow use this information against you? Dear Eadric, Soneillon touched his face. Trust has nothing to do with it. Do you not understand? You cannot hurt me unless I allow it which I might, in a certain context, if it gave you pleasure. At least, you cannot hurt me yet. I am beyond your power. You still insist on seeing things in terms of good and evil; we and they; this and that: you need to put these notions behind you. There are simply factions in the World: they move; interact; communicate. But the World itself is an innocent playground, Eadric. Things are as they are. And what is your agenda with regard to this spell? It is through me that the shadow of Cheshne seeks to manifest; and thence, through the Urn, to bring an end to reality. But there is something which you need to understand. Why do I get the feeling that this is the crux of your argument? It is not my agenda. I do not want this, Eadric. I have no desire to be the architect of the annihilation of the World. I do not wish to marry the Cherry to the Blackthorn in myself; to invoke the Apparition and bring an end to all things. I have avoided the Cherry for that reason, amongst others. Then what do you want, Soneillon? I want to play, Ahma. I just want to play. I like things just as they are.

You are beyond mad, Soneillon. And you intimate at truths which I can barely begin to comprehend, much less accept. Tell me this, and this simply: why should I believe you? Cheshne is not her shadow, Eadric. Nor is she her cult. And, as I said some time ago and had you been paying attention, and less intent on smiting me, you might have heard it The Void Shines; still, I would not deny you your passions. I precipitate both pain and joy, Eadric, and in bliss transcend both. I am the Fruit in the Void; the Mango in Cheshnes Mouth. * You may be the most dangerous entity I have ever encountered. I am flattered, and will not argue the point. But you answer me this, Soneillon fixed him with her gaze and he knew that it alone might deprive him of his very existence, were she so to choose. Have I ever, to your certain knowledge, either directly or indirectly, caused an innocent to come to harm? Unless you count Hlioth amongst the innocent, which would mark you as an idiot in my mind. There are tales There are many tales, Eadric. Answer the question. No, he groaned. He knew that whatever the Blackthorn had caused to pass, was beyond her power to control. And if not by my action, then how will you judge me? I cannot, he conceded. Thank-you, she said. She rose and replaced the Urn in its hiding place. Her humour seemed to have left her. Soneillon Think on it, Eadric. In some ways, it was a disappointing night; in others, it was all I needed. Besides, I am patient. I should probably leave, now I would hate to cause a scene. Why do I [Shomei]: You asked to speak with me directly, Ahma. May I translate to your location? [Eadric]: Very well. Give me a minute. Come alone. Eadric, Soneillon spoke swiftly and earnestly, if you come to Deorham, I will act as guarantor of your safety. You need not fear the scion; I can ward you from its influence. I have not interfered with the chapel; it is no less holy to me than to you: something which was difficult to impress upon your brother. Also, the mattress there is larger and more comfortable. She dissolved into mist.

Orm? He sat for a moment in a state of utter confusion.

Another devil to see you, Ahma, the voice of a messenger spoke presently from outside of the tent. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Show her in.

** ** Sandalwood? Shomei caught the scent in the air. She glance d around, absorbing the minutest detail of the tents interior in an instant. It seemed barren; her host was half -clad. Eadric looked at her. He had not seen her since that fateful day in Afqithan when three of the Akesoli had dragged her screaming, dissociate form into Hell. Ortwine had encountered her since, but Eadric found the sidhes description however eloquent did not do Shomei justice. A robe of purple so dark as to be almost black shrouded her slight frame; within it, fields of stars seemed to fall in perpetual torrents. Upon her forehead, she bore the intimation of a mark or brand which, if observed directly, faded from view. Her features were otherwise her own although in some fashion she blended the qualities of her two simulacra, as though they were her precursors and not her magical progeny. Infernal now by nature, without question, but also much more; she was at ease with her own power in a way which he had never before thought possible. Something about her and recently, Eadric knew had simply ignited. She was sheer, dynamic force. You cannot trust her, Shomei said directly. Perhaps not. Questions of trust seem to preoccupy me of late. You do not bear your rod. I am not here to coerce you, Ahma. She retrieved Lukarn from the pallet, slid it into its scabbard, and handed it to him with a raised eyebrow. No, Eadric took the weapon. You are here to ask for my permission my blessing if you will for an assault upon Soneillon. I cannot grant it, Shomei. It would mean the destruction of all of western Trempa. She sits on an army of demons; I cannot believe that you would simply endure this imposition. Demons which have yet to demonstrate any ill-will toward my.subjects on the part of their mistress. Shomei looked sceptical. If she has found her way back into your bed, Ahma, you might also consider that your judgment is impaired. Ngaarh! Eadric groaned. She inspected her surroundings, looking for a place to sit. Ahma, Shomei ventured, choosing to redirect the conversation, your accommodations are spartan and unwelcoming. If I might? I had not given thought to it; I require little. Do as you wish, if you would prefer more easement. She made the briefest gesture, and the interior of the tent transformed into an opulent pavillion, festooned with deep blues and vermillions. A table lay replete with exquisite wines and confections; sumptuous leather chairs, chests, wardrobes and velvet couches appeared; his pallet became a wide bed, draped with furs. Eadrics armor sprang from the ground onto a stand, perfectly burnished. Exotic rugs from Bedesh carpeted the floor, and incense burned upon a small altar; the scent of cinnamon hung heavy in the air. A purplish light with no discernible source suffused the place. I confess, I like my creature comforts, Shomei smiled, seeming to relax. She poured a goblet of kschiff and handed it to him.

Eadric took it suspiciously, then downed the liquor in a single draught. His head span. Whatever she said to you, Ahma, Shomei continued, offering him a candied chestnut, it would be unwise to afford it too much credence, until you have had time to reflect. I dont doubt that she evoked some compelling vision of the World, with disparaging and highly plausible remarks made regarding my disposition and motivation. She opened a dresser, and presented him with a heavy robe of ermine. That is an accurate assertion, Eadric nodded in gratitude, drawing the vestment about himself, and sinking into a chair. Shomei, I should like to ask you some questions. Of course, she sat opposite, hands folded lightly in her lap. How do you propose to overcome Hummaz, Shomei? You have spoken with Nehael, then? No yes. But it was Soneillon who informed me of your plan. I do not have a plan yet, Ahma. Merely a direction; a course which I must inevitably chart. There are signs along the way I write them myself. And Pharamnes Urn is one of these signs? Indeed, Shomei nodded. I would venture to suggest that this artifact is also far safer in my hands than most others. Others such as Soneillon? Soneillon is advised by Vhorzhe, Ahma a monster who was once Mostins mentor, and who now persists in a state of pseudodaemonic insanity. Uzzhin penetrates every aspect of her mind and her formless form. Would it be correct for me to assume that she did not evince this particular aspect of her psychology nor her physiology, in fact in your recent exchange? She did not, Eadric admitted. Presumably in order to spare me undue stress. That would be one way of explaining her motivation, Shomei gave a small smile. Soneillon is fully conscious of her own psychosis, Shomei. Yes, Ahma. She is. Doesnt that fact concern you? She held the flask of kschiff above his glass and gave an inquiring look. He nodded. * Your intervention in the Temple is causing a stir, Eadric remarked. The Irrenites are already enshrining your words as doctrine. In which case they are missing the point entirely, Shomei sighed. Your revelation is rather opaque.

I should hope so. The principal point of revelation is to make people think. And you do not believe your act was ratherpresumptuous? Eadric inquired. Yes. And necessarily so. Many of those who practice Saizhan are slipping into a kind of existential torpor. They need to wake up. Is it your understanding that Oronthon inspired you to this course of action? Eadric asked. In a manner of speaking; although I do not locate Oronthon external to myself af ter the fashion of Orthodoxy. I understand, Eadric nodded. Let me ask you, Ahma: has the Sela made comment on my actions? He inquired as to the aesthetics of your inscription. Eadric smiled. And? Eadric laughed. Upon hearing that your script was in keeping with the prevailing design of the Temple interior, seemed satisfied. Good, she poured more kschiff. * Do you have an erotic interest in me, Shomei? You are drunk, Ahma, and it is not even mid-morning. Perhaps you should stop. No, pour me another. The question stands. She sighed, and refilled his goblet. I see things primarily in terms of alliances, Ahma; I am rational, and eminently practical. I enjoy physical recreation as much as the next devil, but I am not driven by my carnality, insofar as I do not let it dictate my choices. Not dictate, Eadric suggested, but inform? Perhaps, she acknowledged. But I have no need of a lover, Ahma, if that is what you are suggesting. I am not. You have infernal servants who fulfill this role? Yes. And as to a spouse? She set her glass down. That, Ahma, is an entirely different proposition. Marriage is an alliance. Connubial duties must be taken very seriously, especially amongst immortals where a dispute can last for decades, and the results of a spat be felt for a millennium. Is this interrogation leading somewhere specific? No, Eadric said hastily. I am merely attempting to ascertain your motives with regard to me. Both Nehael and Soneillon have suggested that our association goes beyond conventional friendship.

You are the Ahma and I am Shomei the Infernal. We are both agents of cosmic change. How could it not? The old order has vanished, Shomei, and I am still unsure of my place in the new. What is my ro le in your reality? What is the Ahma to you? She pondered briefly. A few days ago, I etched words into the archway in the Great Fane in Morne; I burned yet more into the solar orb. I planted a Hazel scion within the Temple precinct You did what? A Hazel, Ahma. I assumed you would have heard. Regardless, my acts and words describe a vision my vision of how things should be. When I stood upon the threshold, a great force moved through me; it was of me, and yet not: Will was manifest in its fullest form. It was directed at the Illuminated who were gathered there, and sought to enkindle them; to bring their Flames to realization. It was inadequate to the task. I revised my strategy, in the light of something which I already knew to be fact: my energies must be devoted toward my Self. If I deviate from this Truth, I will fail. And now you have set this fire in yourself, Eadric observed. It is immediately apparent. It is a beginning, Shomei said softly. And I am always beginning, Ahma. As to your role, consider those of Morne who returned from the Serenities. Because when your Flame ignites, Ahma, you will illuminate all of Wyre and beyond. It will induce a torrent of Radiance which will make the cascade at Khu appear as a childs squib in comparison. God will breathe into them all. Eadric stared at her, incredulous. And yes, I would consider an alliance with one such as that desirable. He swallowed. As for compassion, Shomei added, a topic which I am grateful you have avoided to this point: I believe that it is something which I would be willing to learn to practice, in the interests of preserving good relations. She smiled, and took a long sip of kschiff.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-17-2011

Midwinter Goddess Final Part

There was a barely audible sound; a persistent hum, which suffused perception.

Are you asleep again already? The peasant-girl from Trempa looked up at him. Ah, but I know this dreamscape well: you have been drinking kasshiv.
The flat of his sword lay across her shoulder, two feet from the quillons. She smiled and raised an eyebrow as she turned the weapon slowly upon its edge with her fingertips; its weight broke her skin, causing her to hiss. A trickle of blood stained her white tunic. His hands shook. She reached forward and clasped them, steadying them.

Like this. She drew the blade toward herself, gradually opening a wound; cold iron sank down into

muscle and sinew. Her breath became rapid, and she clenched her teeth. Blood flowed freely over her. He moved to pull his hands free, but her grasp tightened. Do not stop. He felt the blade bite into bone, and turned his face away from her. His stomach churned and heaved.

Look at me. Eadricplease

He forced his gaze back to meet her eyes, and her grip threatened to crush his wrists. Press. He drove down hard, shearing through her collar-bone. She sighed, and shuddered gently; Void glazed over, and she collapsed in convulsion. Blood pooled rapidly around her. This is too much, he thought.

No. It is the same. She crawled forward, insensible, and clung to him.
Eadric awoke at two in the afternoon in a cold sweat. His head pounded. * In Shth., Nwm handed him a glass of mint tea, kschiff was originally considered a sacrament. It is unfortunate that it has achieved the status of an inebriant amongst wealthy aristocrats in the Thalassine and further north. The Preceptor poured himself a small glass of the astringent liquor, savored its aroma, took a sip, and placed it aside. I might add, he continued, that attempting to match Shomeis prolific consumption is a losing proposition this would have been true even before her recent metamorphosis. Eadric moaned and sat up, shivering. He pulled his ermine robe around himself. Nwm gave a wry smile. But I am glad to see that the worldly goods which she bestowed upon you are also functional. Eadric groaned and lay back down again. And how goes the dialogue with Cheshne, Ahma? Eadric gestured him away. ** Ah, the Goddess, Nwms eyes twinkled merrily. What can one say? She is elusive, yet ever present; demanding and forgiving; cold and passionate. Mother, lover, sister, daughter. She is flirting with you; presenting her many faces. You should feel blessed. Eadric grumbled. His face was still pale. Since when have you included Soneillon or Shomei, for that matter in your ever-expanding category of Goddess? Nwm smiled, and popped a fig into his mouth. I am not the Ahma. And Gihaahia? Eadric asked. Do you include her too?

I am not a wizard, Nwm shrugged. Shomeis taste in furnishings cannot be faulted, Ortwine observed calmly, uncoifing her hair and relaxing into a couch. And you have an excellent selection of wines and victuals some of these are the finest diabolic vintages and are no longer available. I think its time you placed this childish desire for frugality firmly in your past; and I see no particular need for abstemiousness whilst you are campaigning. The chestnuts are rather good, Nwm agreed. And these little pistachio confections are simply delightful. For an ascetic, you have expensive tastes, Eadric said sourly. Also, you seem overly eager to deify any female who crosses your path. Not I, Nwm laughed. This conversation will inevitably lead to an examination of the Ahmas psyche. Do you still wish to proceed? Eadric grunted. Shomeis case is well-made, Ortwine seemed serious. And it is high time you began to look to marriage as a means of securing power, Eadric. You are an eligible bachelor-godling; you are saintly, with impeccable credentials. You have your pick of any number of immortals and goddesses as a potential mate most of whom are admittedly depraved or mad. Or of poor estate, such as Lai. Shomei is a fine prospect, in comparison. Indeed, Eadric stood abruptly and opened a dresser, pulling out a doublet and hastily donning it. She has a superb sense of style, Ortwine looked on approvingly. And someone certainly needs to manage your wardrobe. Eadric turned. It is an article of clothing, Ortwine. Or perhaps youd like to marry me and see to my fashion needs? I am haughty and aloof. I am also fastidious in matters of personal hygiene. We would make an unhappy couple. Of that, I have no doubt. Consider the military leverage offered by the Wyrm, Eadric, Ortwine continued. As well as Shomeis conjurations. They would bring a massive strategic advantage in any dealings with the Cheshnites. You said yourself that Shomei would take any matrimonial duties seriously; as your wife there is no question that she would lend her full support to your cause. Hell is no mean dowry. Keep talking, Ortwine, Eadric pulled Lukarn over his shoulder, fastening his baldric. I am not persuaded that you are really listening, the sidhe sighed. What is this sudden urgency about? Eadric exited the tent. Dusk was falling, and hundreds of campfires had already been lit. Narh was waiting for him; he flung his saddle over the stallions back, and swiftly tightened the cinches. Ortwine followed. Where are you going, Ahma? Home, Eadric replied.

Do I really need to point out to you that home is the arbor of a highly questionable scion? Eadric. Use your head. He mounted Narh and rode away. He is unstable, the sidhe remarked. Nwm smiled. The thought of her gnaws at him. Or have you altogether forgotten what its like? To be ruled by irrational, seething passions? Of course not. But he, of all men, needs to master them. His political responsibilities far outweigh all other considerations. And she cant be that good. Nwm guffawed, and slapped Ortwine across her back. Responsibilities? A word I thought Id never hear pass your lips in a hundred incarnations; the World is truly on its head. Come: while Eadric seeks annihilation we should avail ourselves of his wines; I fancy that I spied a bottle of almond liqueur. And as an ascetic, I am dependent upon the largesse of my feudal master. Will you make no effort to intervene in this absurdity? Hell listen to you. No, Nwm replied. He wont. Very well, Ortwine sighed. Just dont touch me again. ** [Faheth]: Are you then set on this course of action? [Ahma]: Yes. [Faheth]: I would say that you are one who experiences pleasure from bestowing it; from seeing and knowing that it is felt. That you do not derive satisfaction from causing suffering. [Ahma]: I would certainly hope that to be the case. [Faheth]: And when inflicting pain also elicits joy? Can you still feel happiness in the same measure? [Ahma]: I do not know. [Faheth]: And can you tell the difference between deriving pleasure through causing suffering, and deriving pleasure from evoking bliss which is caused through suffering? [Ahma]: That would seem to be the pertinent question. [Faheth]: This is no parlour game, Ahma, practiced by the bored wife of some thane from Hethio for her idle amusement; nor a wanton thrill offered by a drunken streetwalker. No brand of masochism is so extreme: she will ask you to do great violence to her; to push her repeatedly to death and beyond. It may break your mind. [Ahma]: You dubbed her insane and evil, yet still you asked me to find a way to her. [Faheth]: She is insane by your standards, not mine; as to evil, who can even say what that means anymore? And I ask and have asked for nothing; but whatever you ask, I will grant it to the extent of my power. The Eye of Cheshne will be blinded by the Sun for a few days more; but understand that the Sun is weak: place your trust in the Eleos.

[Ahma]: And if my efforts prove inadequate, what then? Nothing is lost. She has her demons to look to. [Faheth]: Demons are sadistic, Ahma. It is not the same thing at all. And Nothing will be lost. **

Narh reached the Blackwater Meadow and crossed the Nund two hours before midnight. The road to

Trempa was thronged with tents and makeshift hovels; those displaced from Deorham and Hernath. A sickness had descended on them: Urgic mendicants moved amongst them, administering aid where they could. They implored him; Eadric remained for the best part of an hour, emptying himself, before resuming his journey. Ten miles from Kyrtills Burh, and reality darkened; not yet within the inner ambit of the scion, but beneath a wider compass which the ludja itself had set around its sapling. The presence of Nehael vanished from his mind; he knew that she was now blind to what transpired, unless the Blackthorn itself were to grant her vision. He cast around for some sign; his eyes were drawn to The Follower, a star considered auspicious and which in marriage with the Sun marked the fullness of spring. It shone, steady and calm, close to its zenith. He took it as a portent, even as a glamour settled over him: a mantle of darkness bequeathed, he knew, by Soneillon to protect him from the warp which emanated from the scion at the keep. His gaze penetrated the night, and he entered a twisted phantasmagoria, where angle and distance seemed meaningless; things crawled and festered and rotted: the Blackthorn was the quintessence of putrefaction. The town of Deorham had become a shadowy parody of itself, and although shapes and rumors intimated that many of its inhabitants remained there, all, the Ahma knew, were changed. He shunned it, and spurred straight for the Burh. For home. As he crossed the bridge, Narhs hoof fall seemed muted and empty. The shadow of the Steeple fell on Eadric and the stallion shook, unwilling to go further: a vast shape roosted there, a guardian of terrible power recently bound by the mistress of the Urn for her protection. Carasch, he knew, for what other could it be? The great chthonic was crouched in silent vigil; the Ahma felt the demons scrutiny settle upon him as a lance of pure malice. He dismounted, whispering words of reassurance, and slowly led Narh forward. At the gate, Mazikreen stood waiting. Eadric said nothing, but fixed her with his gaze as he pressed the steeds reins into her hand. She lowered her eyes. The courtyard beyond was dim and hazy; all sound was subdued. He passed beneath the arch and trod swiftly to the keep proper, averting his eyes from the place outside of the chapel where he knew the scion reared. Opening the heavy door, he made his way through the hall, up the companionway, and to his rooms. All within was darkness: profane, silent and absolute. At the centre, a naked singularity churned in space; a deeper void into which ens vanished, and around which madness accreted in tendrils. It contorted, seeming to fold outwards from within, assuming more apprehensible form. Welcome home, dear. Soneillon manifested in the shape of the peasant-girl, and struck a light. A fire ignited in the hearth. His chambers seemed unchanged since his last visit, many months prior. She smiled. I notice you did not bring your cherubs eye: is there something which you did not wish to see? I was not sure what youd want to show.

That is considerate of you. Are you here to play, then? No, I am here to reach you. She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow in surprise. Wellthe Ahma is bold; perhaps he has been drinking kasshiv again. That is no trivial undertaking, by any measure. She the first one, that is knows that you have come, of course? Yes. And she offered some kind of blessing, I presume; an article of empathy and compassion, couched in terms of my need? Soneillon, does it matter? Eadric asked. That is a perspective which I must hold true in any event. You know this. From you, I will endure it at least, provisionally. But not from her: she understands me better than you. And consider your supplication to Cheshne and the Void, because make no mistake: that is what this is. If you have doubts or would prefer lighter fare tonight, now would be the time to articulate these feelings. He remained silent. Will you then do as I beseech of you? She inquired. Yes. And will you trust me? She asked archly. I must. You need not sound so enthused, Eadric. Do you speak out of feeling, or from some misplaced sense of obligation? It is a choice, Soneillon. Very well, then. Her mood became at once both serious and playful. She approached, drew a thin stiletto fashioned of cold iron, and pressed it into his hand. * At Deorham, the Sun reached its nadir on Midwinters night, even as, at Khu, the Eye of Cheshne did likewise and Soneillon waxed to power. Above, The Follower the star of the Eleos shone serenely at the midheaven, and the Dragon coiled yet tighter around the Tree. In Nizkur, Nehael awoke to her full potential; to Sovereignty. Her sight penetrated the World. On Kschiff Kschiff (kss-chiff) was first encountered by Ortwin and Mostin on their visit to Siir Traag; I invented the name on the fly or rather I stole the name: the Kschiff are a race of little green men who appear in a Traveller adventure called Green Horizon from an old copy of White Dwarf. Even though it was out of keeping with what Id determined at that po int would form the basis of the Tongue of Shth i.e. Sanskrit I decided to keep it.

Kschiff is a cocktail of psychoactive alkaloids dissolved in alcohol something like laudanum, I

suppose, but with the ritual and religious overtones of soma and lotus extract. Whether as an intoxicant, aphrodisiac, gateway of mystical experience or whatever else was useful to advance the plot at the time kschiff always had the connotation of being somethingforbidden or dangerous. The concentration and balance of alkaloids varies, depending on quality of local supply and intended use; Shomei gets the good stuff, naturally. As it appeared more and more especially with regard to Shomeis addiction/dependency the name began to aggravate me more and more. Its etymology was eventually backengineered: kschiff became the Northern (i.e. Wyrish) pronunciation, a corruption of the Southern (i.e. Shthite) kasshiv, which means auspicious sound a reference to the experience of some kind of Aum/Shabda/Nam/Logos which is induced by the drug when used in its proper ritual context. Soneillon as one invoked in such rites is more familiar with this pronunciation; as one of her appellations is Kaalakamala the Death Lotus contact with her in the dream-state is probably deemed perilous. On Stars Ive used familiar stars although not our constellations when describing objects in the night sky of Wyre. I also track lunar cycles; it gives me ideas. The Eye of Cheshne is Antares, the Heart of the Scorpion; its symbolism has been explored at length for the last ten years, so I wont belabor the point. It is invisible in the night sky for around 6 weeks prior to the winter solstice and for a few days afterwards, due to its proximity to the Sun. The Follower the star associated with the Eleos is Aldebaran in Taurus; in opposition to the Eye of Cheshne: as one reaches its zenith, so the other reaches its nadir. Al Dabaran actually means The Follower in Arabic probably because it follows the Pleiades; this might also be a reference to Nehael in her guise as Eleos Sovereign Compassion following the seven original Sovereignties. Symbols fictitious or otherwise have a habit of organizing themselves without any real intervention required. The Rods Tip associated with an enkindled Shomei is Regulus in Leo. It is approximately square to both the Eye of Cheshne and The Follower, and can be understood as a fulcrum of power. Ancient Akkadian belief envisaged Regulus as a part of a sceptre (Pa-pil-sak); notions of rulership have always been associated with it. Together, these are three of the four Royal Stars of Persian antiquity.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-19-11

Perspective (Midwinter Goddess: Epilogue)

[Nehael/Eleos]: Shomei [Shomei]: Piss off. ** Mostin stood upon the veranda with Mulissu, watching as the shape approached at incredible speed from the south through the swagging winter skies. Qematiel landed in an inferno, obliterating trees within a swathe a hundred yards across, and setting

many more ablaze. A great gout of steam erupted as snow melted and boiled, blown outward by a shockwave of ionizing gas. Shomei leaped down, and strode towards them; the frozen earth shuddered and ignited at her passage. A gale of hellfire preceded her. She is upset, the Alienist observed. I should probably go, Mulissu said. That might be best, Mostin agreed. The savant discreetly absented herself. Shomei paused at the bottom of the steps, closing her eyes tightly and clenching her fists. She slowly mastered her rage. The flames subsided. Would you like tea? Mostin asked. She glared at him. His hat began to smoulder. Enough! Mostin thundered, casting off his headgear and stamping on it. I will tolerate the damage to my shrubbery, but this is my favorite felt. Control yourself. And dont think you can intimidate me with your dragon; have you ever seen an ? The vowel was pronounced with undue length, and accompanied a tilted head and a mad stare. The fire left her. She suddenly seemed exhausted. Gooood Mostin said. Now. Perhaps you should slow down; I think you might be pushing yourself too hard. I want the Urn, Mostin, she sighed. Well, yes dear. We all want the Urn, dont we? ** Marriage? Mostin scoffed. Dont be absurd. Wizards dont get married; matrimony is for inferior beings. You are letting your infernality dictate your actions above your proper calling. And your social graces are also suffering. He is the Ahma. It would be a sound alliance. Shomei lounged. She was intoxicated. But Soneillon has him all confused and irrational again. I even offered to practice compassion. You are too religious, Shomei, the Alienist grumbled. Thats your problem. Its always been your problem. All of this nonsense about God and now compassion. Interfering with their doctrine because you think that their mystical claptrap needs reformulating. And planting trees? Your automagnification is all very well, but youll end madder than Hlioth at this rate. Nehael is manipulating him, Shomei sighed. He seems oblivious; hes elevated her to the status of Oronthons empathic function because of some off-the-cuff remark which the Sela made to Nwm. And he has such potential, Mostin. Meanwhile, he empowers her instead; she just sits back and waits for him to bring her the Urn. Her lack of agency or rather her persistent need to act through him is beginning to annoy me. She is so disingenuous. She would be the first to admit to her own inertia, Mostin nodded. Have you considered

approaching Soneillon non-violently? She is unlikely to surrender the Urn willingly, Mostin. The Ahma is of the opinion that an assault is unwarranted; Soneillons demons have yet to wreak havoc. And now he is at Deorham, indulging her whims and demonstrating compassion; which Nehael sucks out of him like some green vampire. I cant stage an assault while hes there. Why ever not? Mostin inquired. Not that Id like to see any harm come to Eadric. He hastily added. He is the Ahma, Mostin. I do not understand, the Alienist sighed. It is a religious thing, Mostin. You wouldnt. Well, no. I suppose not. Would you like to stay for supper? I plan to infuse Mei with pseudostuff tomorrow, and would like your opinion on the formula. Sorry, Mostin, she stood uncertainly. I should probably go; I have more devils to conjure. And Im sorry about the hat, she dusted it off, and placed it on her head. Do you think it suits me? Yes, Mostin replied. But you cant have it. A shame. Thank-you, Mostin. Youre a good influence on me. Yes. I am. She walked unsteadily towards the door. And Shomei? She turned to face him. If you set yourself against the Claviger, I will be forced to protect the Articles. Just so were clear.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-24-11

Obsession Part 1 Mostin stood with Hlioth in what remained of his rose garden the day after Shomeis passage. He had surprised himself by the fact that he had contacted her a significator in the Web of Motes had prompted him. He had been astonished when she had actually accepted his invitation. Despite her protestations to the contrary, the Green Witch said to Mostin, she is, of course, jealous. Not necessarily in some conventional, lovestruck way I am not sure that Shomei is capable of experiencing romantic feelings per se but rather simply because she cannot get what she wants. Actually, on consideration, they might be the same thing anyway. Regardless, she is exhausted, unhinged, volatileand very, very dangerous. She is utterly fixated on the Urn, because it is the most direct route to power. I might also add that the heiress of Hell is twenty-seven years old; she lacks a certain perspective which millennia bring. How old Mostin began. None of your business, Hlioth interrupted.

Mostin bit his tongue. The crone seemed relatively agreeable today, and her demeanour was notoriously fickle. In any event, she is also vulnerable just shut up, Mostin and let me finish specifically with regard to the Holly, which has yet to show its face beyond the Thickets and the Realm of Hummaz and which she must, somehow negotiate. No more trees, the Alienist moaned. Please. Yes, Mostin, Hlioth smiled disagreeably. More trees! T here are a lot more trees and youd better start getting used to the idea. Now, you may be one of the most abominable creatures within the confines of the creation, but or perhaps, because of this fact you also have a certain relationship with Shomei which may allow you to curb her excesses. By and large, I rather appreciate Shomeis excesses, Mostin sighed. But in this case, you may be correct. And what, may I ask, Hlioth inquired, prompted you to seek my advice in this matter. I assume that is what you are doing am I correct? It is not as though you and I have had a glowing friendship these past twenty years. An intuition prompted by the Enforcers intervention in my spell formulations, Mostin admitted. But one subsequently corroborated by the Web of Motes: that Shomei intends to challenge the Articles. I projected a catenary which took her straight into conflict with Gihaahia although she needs both possession of the Urn and mastery of Hummaz in order to secure certain victory in this confrontation; she may attempt it without the latter. I am of the opinion that the Injunction is worth protecting; the fact that you and I are having this conversation is testament to that fact. Are you suggesting that the Claviger is implementing some kind of defensive contingency through the Academy? It may have been its plan from the outset, Mostin nodded. We cannot gauge its prescience. Gihaahia is not invulnerable; the Claviger itself currently dreams it is containing the Second Effluxion. Well, Hlioth breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps things are not as bad as I anticipated. Perhaps not, Mostin nodded. Mei I should say Pseudomei is a test case; you should see her: she is so beautiful. But consider multiple Mostin pseudosimulacra. And how beautiful they will be. A look of profound horror crossed Hlioths face. The formula is based on Gihaahias own premise, Mostin continued enthusiastically. I am glad that the Enforcer in fact, the Claviger is finally looking to Uzzhin as the source of ultimate unmeaning. Anyway, Mulissus inside: lets have some tea; youre not such a bad old stick, after all. And as youre here, Hlioth, do you think you could repair my shrubbery? Im not very good at that sort of thing. ** Eadrics problem, Ortwine opined, is that he cannot relate to women. As a woman who was a man, I have a unique perspective in this regard. Nwm nodded. Ortwine had consumed an excess of infernal wine over the course of several days. The

Faerie Queene had lost all of her inhibitions, and seemed the very model of one or several of her former selves. Allow me to continue, Ortwine smiled. Consider Despina yes, thats a name you havent heard for a while. He placed her on a pedestal; notions of courtly love fine amour and all that chivalric bullsh*t. Unreachable; unattainable. Unrequited love. Nwm nodded. He had consumed no small quantity himself, relaxing his normal guard against inebriation. It was, after all, the winter Tagamuos. When she disappoints him, Ortwine continued, he demonizes her lets dub this phase Nehael I. Nehael I is the realization that she is bad, but may be trying to be good. Are we in accord? Nwm nodded. You intercede, Ortwine smiled. Good job at least, I think. Nehael is removed from the humdrum divide between Heaven and Hell, and becomes Nehael II. Did they get it on, I wonder? You can ask him when he gets back, Nwm interrupted. If he ever gets back. I dont think so, is the answer. Ortwine sighed. Nehael II is abducted unattainable again, you see? Nwm nodded. He broods, and encounters Soneillon lets call her Soneillon I. Sound good? Arent there prior iterations? Just think like Eadric, Ortwine replied. Soneillon I is one hundred per cent wicked and naughty he likes that. But he cant be that. Is that a fair assertion? I must concur, Nwm nodded. Simultaneously, he develops an intellectual cameraderie with Shomei Shomei II, I suppose, after you reincarnated her. Now, lets be honest, Nwm. When has Eadric developed an intellectual anything? Hes not stupid, Nwm objected. No. But hes pretty green especially when it comes to women. Anyway, Soneillon I dies or whatever she does. Shomei II is lost. What does he do? He wages war? Precisely, Ortwine smiled. Except hes encountered Nehael again, and now he deifies her. Nehael III. Note that he still cant have her. And Shomei? When she reappears, she will be inserted into the conveniently vacant role of Adversary, Ortwine touched her nose. Shomei III. But Im getting ahead of myself. Mostin invokes Soneillon Soneillon II from wherever she wasnt in order to fuel his magic, and then sends her hurtling into delirium. She quickly becomes Soneillon III and then Soneillon IV in short order the crazed, Urn-bearing Soneillon whom Eadric is now brutalizing in some awful rite. By now, Nehael has also become Nehael IV I assume you felt what happened the other night? At this point, she is utterly beyond reach.

Where is this leading, Ortwine? You seem to forget, I am a goddess, Nwm Ortwine IVa and I have a perspective you cannot. The energy isnt flowing in the direction that Eadric, or Nehael, or Shomei or Soneillon, for that matter expected. In fact, maybe she is now Soneillon V. Because Cheshne is waking. She no longer dreams. Nwm stared at her. Dont worry; its not as bad as you think. But my original assertion about Eadric and women stands. All of which brings me to the real question, Ortwine raised an eyebrow. What do we know about Eadrics mother? Not much, Nwm perked up. But now I think we might be getting somewhere. ** Qematiel wheeled in the air, a mile above the Academy and its grounds. The Hazel scion tucked in a remote corner of the thousand-acre estate and obscured by a distortion had cordoned an area in its vicinity. It was a lattice of interwoven demiplanes which formed a perilous snare around Shomeis cottage, itself a portal to the labyrinthine repository of diabolic knowledge which she had inherited or appropriated. Many powerful devils and more recently-fallen celestials abode in the skies nearby, preferring to remain invisible, awaiting the bidding of their mistress. Below, the diminutive figure of Shomei the Infernal walked deliberately across a wide lawn, and stood before the doors to her former abode now the seat of Wyrish High Arcanie, with the Articles of the Injunction displayed prominently above its entrance. She inspected them briefly before making the merest gesture; the valves swung open silently, and she entered within. To her approval, the infernal aesthetic was largely unchanged; midnight blues, indigoes and maroons predominated. Columns of black marble, shot through with streaks of carnelian supported lofty ceilings. A soft light overspread the interior; all elements blended into a harmonious whole. A spined devil flapped past quietly on some mundane task, its eyes wide at seeing its former mistress returned. The atmosphere was calm, subdued and studious. She paused briefly and inhaled. There was value here, she knew; but more concrete and purposeful direction was required. A young mage exited a study hurriedly, almost colliding with her. He froze; his first instinct was to worship her. With a thought, she quenched the outward signs of her Fire: mortals were apt to overreact when in her presence, and she sought no veneration. Shaken, the wizard moved away slowly, his eyes still fixed on her. She made her way to the library: the vast collection which she had acquired in a previous lifetime, now swollen yet further by contributions made by other mages. It seemed paltry. Lesser wizards cast sidelong glances at one another, or whispered to colleagues in nearby booths: she was known to all by reputation; to a few whose heads remained conspicuously lowered in person. Shomei selected a blank section of wall in a nook beneath a mezzanine, and set forth her power, causing an archway to appear. Those nearby craned their necks to see what might lie beyond: shelves which seemed to go on forever, crammed with scrolls and codices. Her thought summoned Ugales a devil of mild temper and placed him behind a desk beside the newly-forged portal. She spoke directly into the mind of every arcanist within a league: My other library is now also available. There will be a fee.

She passed through the portal. Abruptly, a door of adamant appeared and slammed in place. The devil smiled benignly, and began to sharpen his quill-pen with a pocket knife.

** **

All was Void. Perfect. Empty. Absolute. It was timeless; an aeon of aeons. A moment. Breath moved, and a light kindled. It grew to fullness, and blazed, sovereign. A rumour became; formed around it. Refulgence drew her forth.

Ens crystallized as a violent spasm.

Blood ichor her own, she knew soaked everything. He sat in the meditative posture to which she had become accustomed; his blade rested across his knees. It and he were drenched with her. The gore vanished with her passing thought. Anvashochah. Maa. Tvayiv viikshya Varca, she murmured, because she felt it.* And then she questioned herself; whether her words were real, or were spoken merely to comfort him. He moved to leave; she reached out and gripped his wrist. Please. Stay. He nodded. She smiled languidly, and drew him toward her. And wondered if he hated her

*You are lamenting. Do not. In you I have apprehended the Sun.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 12-28-2011

Obsession Part 2 (Inversion) A ludja, Hlioth explained, acts or does not according to its nature. Around each of its saplings it creates a circuit in which its own concerns are afforded precedence, but it is not willful with the exception of the Hazel, of course: willfulness is its nature. There is nothing stopping Shomei from entering the ambit of the Blackthorn at Deorham: it will not assault her. Or, at least, it will not single her out for assault; its concerns are with all of the processes of decay. The warp which emanates from it the corruption, if you prefer, although I am reluctant to characterize any natural process in those terms is an unfortunate side effect. Things rot quickly there: matter, mind and space. Shomei possesses magic enough to prevent its general effects. And if Shomei or I, for that matter were to take an axe to the scion? Ortwine inquired. You would perish, Hlioth said simply. The manner of your passing would likely be ugly. A scion will

preserve itself through reflex, and in the unlikely event that a scion is actually threatened, the ludja itself will react to protect its sapling. In the case of the Blackthorn, it might simply squash you. Or you might instantly decompose. Or it might deploy many chthonics, who roost in its branches when they are not scuttling hither and thither in Dream. The Blackthorn can transfigure them as it has Soneillon. They are most potent, and would flay you. And Carasch is one such? Carasch is Carasch, Hlioth replied opaquely. Cheshne looks out for him. Ortwine pondered. And if, somehow, one were to destroy a scion before it could react, so to speak. What then? Another would grow in its place, Hlioth chuckled. And if one were to assault the ludja directly? To destroy it at the root? Another. Would grow. In its place. The Great Ludja is the root of all. And it is Reality. Ortwine sighed. Is there no manner in which these things can be curtailed? Restricted? Contained? Manipulated? Certainly, Hlioth replied unexpectedly. To assert the higher paradigm. That capacity which Nehael possesses, but will only demonstrate in compassion; which Hummaz enjoys, but has no interest in using except to gratify his immediate urges. Which Kaalaanala cannot realize; toward which Shomei strives; which has not been revealed by the Ahma. And Soneillon? My eyes cannot penetrate the Void, Hlioth smiled. And the Oak and the Elm here at Galda? Ortwine was dubious. They are a potent combination; they embody physical characteris tics physicality itself or two thirds of it. The hardness and temper of the Ash is absent. But strength, resilience, pliability, resistance to decay yes. Kaalaanalas sight cannot penetrate the compass set by the ludjas around the scions, and they are vibrant; things which are dead will have a difficult time here, as will things which are predicated on non-Ens which is obviously to our advantage. I was denied their protection when I made an appeal. Despite Nehaels intercession. I am less than confident in their benevolence. The Green Witch shook her head. You are ascribing a quality or a lack of it which is inappropriate to these ludjas. Then what was the obstacle to their action? You are the Hazels bitch, Ortwine, Hlioth sighed. I am not privy to the internal politics of the Trees. Either way, Shomei will not forget that fact. And this impenetrability to sight around the scions? It is selective. What motivates it? Deorham is invisible to me. Morne is not. Nor is here at Galda. But Jashat is. There are also other areas which areopaque. To you, maybe, Hlioth shrugged. But not, any longer, to the Eleos. There is no veil through which she cannot now see, except those of Cheshne herself. And you ascribe motivation to all Trees, which

implies will your perspective is too corylian. Although that is to be expected. Yet the Hazel itself does not shroud the Academy? It has not been so implored or directed. Yet. Hlioth said with narrowed eyes. It might be construed as an overt act of aggression on the part of Shomei. The Enforcer would be less than pleased. And Nehaels perception extends to Jashat? The Temple of Cheshne? The Fires of Death and all of her avatars are transparent to the Eleos, Ortwine. To Compassion. Something which Kaalaanala is likely to resent. Does this make sense to you? The sidhe asked Nwm. Of course, the Preceptor replied. What is unclear? Never mind, Ortwine sighed. What are we now waiting to do? Eadric has been gone for three days, and is unresponsive to any efforts at communication. We will make a reconnaissance, Nwm said in a matter-of fact way. Of Deorham and its environs. I, for one, am curious to see what transpires beneath a Blackthorns pall. Is everybody mad? Ortwine groaned. Why cant we just ask Nehael? Her concerns have become more global, Nwm replied. In which case, Ortwine said drily. She is even less use than previously. You may be surprised on that count, Nwm smiled. ** [Daunton]: You should probably come to the Academy. [Mostin]: Why? [Daunton]: Just come, Mostin. * As you can see, Daunton observed, things are rather out of hand. A long queue of chattering wizards had formed before a desk, behind which a scholarly devil sat. The fiend was haggling with an enchantress over the precise conditions for access to a number of obscure dweomers. Mostin barged his way to the front of the line, over the objections of many who stood there, and shoved the wizard aside. Daunton followed uncertainly. Please take your place in an orderly fashion, the devil looked up towards him. Mostin twitched.

I am conducting legitimate business on the part of Shomei the Infernal, as her broker, Ugales sighed. Her rights are protected. He pointed not to the Articles, but to the Academys own protocol guidelines. Bah! Mostin turned to walk away. But I am also instructed to inform you that access is unrestricted in your case, Ugales smiled. Many voices were raised in protestation, including Daunton. Mostin swiveled on the spot, licked his lips, and looked through the portal. Mostin, Daunton tugged on his sleeve. Mostin! Oh very well. This is irregular, Mostin nodded. Some our punctilio with regard to brokerage may need revisiting. You should convoke the Collegium. A course of action must be decided. As Chancellor of the Academy, Ugales added, and President of the Collegium, Daunton the Diviner is also allowed unrestricted access. Oh? Really? Daunton asked, gazing through the doorway. Come Mostin, we must inspect these forbidden tomes, to determine if they represent a threat to our work here. Quite, Mostin agreed, as he followed him through. ** Teppu grinned, bundling his few magical oddments each of which was quirky, and of particular interest only to himself into a cloak, which he tied to a gnarled oak staff. Nehael the Eleos stood nearby and watched. Her expression was one of sadness. I will miss you, she said. Yet not, of course. I will miss your presence. It is comforting to me. He bowed smoothly. When you see Nehael again, she will remember you, but she will not be the same, she looked at him. Try to remember that. It is a relationship you will have to forge anew. I have experienced something similar many times myself, he laughed. Im sure she will be perfectly delightful. Perhaps. But not in the way you expect; her method of ending suffering her compassion is particular. A paradigm can absorb many paradoxes, he shrugged. Ill see you if you die. She kissed him on the forehead. Try not to, she added. The Eleos took three paces backward toward the Great Tree-ludja and smiled. Assume an active stance, and do not compromise your truth. Give her your wisdom freely; she will need it. And do not concern yourself too much with the Aeon; it will take care of itself. Always find the Middle Way. And remember that you are much loved.

She and the Tree vanished to perception. The Womb of Qinthei was closed. Teppu sighed. All things must end. Moments later, Nehael appeared: an avatar, emanated by the Eleos. The Image of Uedii, her eyes remained green within green, but her garb was scarlet. Teppu? She asked. Red? He asked, and bowed again. I will need a horse and a sword, she remarked. Where can I find these? ** At dusk, a shadow slid furtively through the grounds of the Academy; potent magic cloaked it from the dark exemplars which whirled beyond perception in the skies above. It crept from stock to bole to trunk, seeking to move forward, but always, somehow, vexed in its efforts. Once or twice it espied what it thought might be a light but, upon skulking toward it, seemed to lose its bearings, or become snagged in some briar. Shomei the Infernal watched the figure silently. From its movements, it was a Naztharune, but she knew that surely Temenun was not foolish enough to send it against her: what could he hope to achieve? Its purpose must, therefore, be otherwise. In an inkling, without word or gesture, she dispelled its wards, dominated it and drew it toward her with telekinesis. Their eyes suddenly alerted to the presence of the tigress, devas with cobalt skin and flaming swords were instantly all about her. Shomei wrenched its thoughts from its mind and prepared to unleash a ruthless barrage of flensing upon it. She analyzed meaning and intention, paused, and instead turned it upon its head; it hovered five feet above the ground. Shomei approached so that the Naztharunes eyes were inches away. She held out her hand. It reached within its vestment with backward palms, withdrew a bunch of tumid cherries deep scarlet in color and placed them in her grasp. Tell your master that I will give his offer due consideration, she smiled. But that, at present, I have no nuts for him. She righted it and released it. It slunk away into the night.

Your concern is appreciated, she spoke drily into the minds of the fallen celestials. But really, I can look after myself. You may return to your stations.
Shomei withdrew to her cottage and pondered, her mind quickly dissecting new data. Temenuns ritual pool was not insignificant, and if he was in the process of co-opting Soneillons former succubi in Throile as well, then he would emerge as a major player. She poured herself a glass of kschiff, threw off her cloak, removed her slippers, and relaxed by the fire. Shomei examined the cherries and sighed, placing them on a silver platter. The marriage of Will and Desire was the last thing that she needed; really, that was where it had all gone wrong last time.

Hours passed in contemplative reverie; finally, she roused herself and stood. With a thought, she translated to Galda, appearing before the Tabernacle. Sercions hand moved to his weapon, but she presented an open palm. I wish to speak with the Sela, she said. Come in, Shomei, a voice said warmly from within. You know youre always welcome. She exhaled slowly, and drew the heavy curtain aside. The Sela sat in meditative posture within. I am not here for moral instruction, Shomei said tersely. Then you are fortunate that I do not offer it, the Sela smiled. Shall we begin where we left off? Shomei nodded. * Obsession Part 3

Your friends have arrived, Soneillon raised an eyebrow. In the village. They are warded against perception poorly. Are we entertaining, tonight? Should I send Carasch to greet them? You sense of humor is singular, Eadric smiled, but his face was etched with pain, as one who has experienced great anguish. Who is here? The Uediian and the sidhe and also Hlioth. I have killed her once already; perhaps she liked it and is returning for more. Mostin is not with them; I suspect he is avoiding me: he still owes me Grazzt. Why did they not simply issue a sending? Soneillon gesticulated vaguely. I confess that a number of signals have been deflected. How many? Eadric squinted. I did not count. Besides, its better that you have company on your return to Galda. Your horse is ready; Mazikreen has taken care of him. She has become rather attached. He seems to have that effect. You are a curious creature, Soneillon. Yes? She fastened a garland of black lotuses around his wrist. What will you do now? I will brood and pine desperately, Eadric. Or perhaps I should instead fortify my position against the coming storm which may blow from any number of directions, or from all at once. Shomei musters her devils; the Fourth Effluxion is moving I do not relish that meeting. Dhatris host is marching. Desire the Cherry is active. And your first girlfriend has a new persona; well see how that plays out. Lets hope that you dont like her more than me. Of what do you speak? He asked suspiciously.

I would hate to spoil the surprise, she replied drily. Shomei may still be open to dialogue, Eadric suggested. I have not given up on her. Maybe. Or she may simply dominate you at your next encounter; she is the assertive type. Although, perhaps youd like that too. You are impossible. Thank-you, she gave a small nod. I try not to take things too seriously. You need not remain here. I am not tied to this place, Eadric; I come and go as I please. But prudence demands that I strengthen a bulwark, and this one is better than most. And it would appear that Nehael your Eleos has been of some use after all; she has struck a delicate balance, which compromises neither my solidity here, nor your attachment to this particular plot of earth. I should ask you to thank her for me when you next pray to her, but I wont; it would be an inauthentic request. Do you care to explain? He asked. You will discover when you leave. Dont you ever like surprises, Eadric? Generally, no, he said grimly. It would appear that the lacuna has passed. If anoth er should arise, I will return. Of course you will, Ahma. She smiled darkly. Her eyes were fathomless voids. And things need not always be so harrowing; your courtesy and forbearance have earned my gratitude. But I have known you in death: you are now mine. And I dont share well. She pressed a scarf of black samite into his hand, and curled his fingers tightly around it. * Fresh snow had fallen, blanketing the courtyard; the winter sun was wan. Eadric looked upon the Blackthorn cautiously, as if his gaze alone might invoke malignancy from it, but it seemed subdued, as though its song had changed in some way. He closed the door to the keep behind him, and turned to pull a handful of dead ivy away from the wall, but green leaves had begun to shoot. He paused, confused, and lowered his hand.

Eleos, he knew, and understood Soneillons words.

The Ahma made his way to the gatehouse, and slowed to regard the Steeple where Carasch roosted; the demon seemed not to have moved a hairs breadth. A shadow of darkness passed across his mind; again, the same feeling of dread and foreboding oppressed him, as he felt the chthonics eyes follow him. He shook it off with effort, and trudged forward. Nice horse, Mazikreen handed him the reins to Narh. Come again. Eadric climbed into the saddle, rode through the gate, across the bridge, and straight for Deorham. He did not look back to the Burh. Within, Soneillon brooded.

** You knew, Ortwine glared at Nwm. And so did you. She glared at Hlioth. Yes, Nwm laughed. Beer-foam clung to his beard; the Twelve Elms was thronging with activity. I did not. This irks me, Ortwine continued. You are attuned to darker currents, Ortwine, Hlioth sighed. And none of us can see everything. These benches are still filthy. And why is there a hole in the ceiling? Should we go to the Burh, I wonder? Nwm mused. We wait, Hlioth replied. He will come here, or will not. She can see us. A short time passed, and Eadric entered. Hlioth quickly spoke a spell, masking the Ahma from the inevitable attention and subsequent religious hysteria which his presence was likely to provoke. He nodded in gratitude, and sat. Gods, you look terrible, Ortwine observed. Id offer a quip, but even that seems inappropriate. Nice bracelet, by the way. Eadric shook his head. Did you encounter the rot? How was it? Ugly. Eadric scowled. Ortwine sniffed her wine disapprovingly, and placed it on the table. Nehael seems to have reversed it. But the cordon set by the ludja is still in place. We are inscrutable; although apparently not to Soneillon. Did Nehael communicate with you regarding her intervention here? He shook his head. At Galda, I invoked the Eleos; I prayed for the safeguarding of Deorham of all within the Blackthorns range. I must assume that she listened; or she chose to act thus anyway. A goddess who listens sets a worrying precedent, Ortwine remarked. And if Shomei comes here now? I may have to forbid it outright, Eadric replied. Forbid? Nwm asked sceptically. One does not forbid Shomei the Infernal anything. If you set yourself up as Law; she will be forced to confront you. She will not attack me. I am the Ahma. Are you sure? Nwm inquired. No, Eadric admitted. Is there an alternative?

I would prefer to avoid conflict here. Attempting another dialogue with Shomei is the first step. But I will not have Soneillon assailed for no reason Ortwine groaned. You are blind, Eadric. This girl has you mixed up. other than the fact that she possesses something which Shomei wants. Yes, Ortwine? You are about to present some solid, ethical case? A sound reason why I should allow half of Trempa to perish in smoking ruins, whilst demons and devils run amok and Carasch slugs it out with a half-dozen fallen seraphim? I am sorry, but because Shomei wants is not a compelling argument to me. Carasch? Ortwine asked. I was coming to that. He is at the Burh. Climb up the ridge above the North Road; you will see him perched on the Steeple. And he will see you, Hlioth said. I advise against it. And Soneillon is the innocent party, here? Ortwine spoke contemptuously. There is no greater demon than this one, Ahma. The religious appellative was pronounced with some derision. I know it well! Eadric snapped. He has haunted my imaginings for longer than you know; since first I heard his name. And now he is at the Burh? Do not worry, Ortwine; the irony is not lost on me. And trust me: in person he is worse than in your darkest nightmares. I do not doubt that he could extinguish all life within a hundred miles but, as of yet, no rampage has ensued. And you are confident that your psychotic inamorata is trustworthy? Ortwine exuded pure acid. Or even capable of containing this monster? This is where I question your judgment, Eadric. Soneillon asked me one question and one only to which I have attached value throughout this: If not by my action, then how will you judge me?. For one who advocates repeatedly and in varied guises for Shomeis case and I suggest you question your own motivation in that regard the notion of agency and its implications should strike a particular resonance. The sidhe smiled coldly. Let us hope that your suspense of judgment and your action is vindicated. Nwm coughed. You said yourself that Cheshne was awakening, Ortwine. That Soneillon is not who she was. And at no point did I suggest that I trusted her, Ortwine groaned. There is something else, Hlioth spoke through gritted teeth. Shomei seeks to woo the ritual pool offered by the Academy, and bribe leading members of the Collegium. Mostin has committed himself to protect the Articles and curiously enough, I believed him, because he believed himself but until the Articles are actually threatened, he will not act. Gihaahia will prompt him; she is leaning on him and Daunton. In the meantime, he may try to reason with Shomei he may be the only one who can slow the meteor. Or she may attempt to sway him; and she is the superior rhetorician. Nwm nodded. She is smarter than Mostin. Shomei presses hard against every barrier. She tests her exemption to the limit. For what its worth, I dont think shell strike here until Dhatri reaches the envelope of the scions at Galda. I suspect that she will force you to choose, Eadric, or split your force. And perhaps I should keep my mouth closed in future, and learn from the Ahmas mistakes: if the wizards do find a goddess in Gihaahia, then a reign of dark magic is immine nt. Her parentage is mixed, Hlioth said archly. She is the daughter of Astaroth and the Void; it might behoove us to remember this fact it is apt enough. Forces other than the Claviger may be seeking to

manifest through her. We are a muddled and incestuous pantheon, Ortwine sighed. ** :: Mostin :: Begone, Vhorzhe. I have nothing to say to you. :: Soneillon has abandoned us, Mostin :: I dont blame her. Now, begone!. * Roses of life? Daunton grinned broadly, brandishing a scroll. The two wizards were closeted in an obscure nook of Hells library. Mostin wondered if they might need a spell to find their way out again. I am beginning to understand Shomeis strategy, Mostin sighed. We will spend the next thousand years searching for and transcribing exotic dweomers, whilst she suborns the Academy and uses it for whatever she wants. And we shall be perfectly happy. How long have we been here, anyway? I have no idea, Daunton mumbled. He brushed dust off a green tome entitled The Fortification of the Skin. Its a shame Rimilin is gone. Hed like this one. Why are we even here? Mostin asked. We dont need any of this. No, you dont. Shomei had appeared from nowhere behind them. Daunton started. She seemed inordinately calm and focused. And you have been here for nine hours. But there are transvalents; some were struck by the Adversary. Would you care to see them? Mostin twitched. His heart pounded. And you have not committed them to your armamentarium? There are more than a few. Most are beyond my ability or yours to cast, she smiled. She did not need to add the word yet. Proceed, Daunton said enthusiastically. Your library persona is an agreeable one, Mostin observed. This is my passion, Mostin. You know this. I am most me here; I would not have you think that a quest for raw power has blinded me to what is important for my I which is, and remains, the pursuit of knowledge. Now, follow me. She led them through winding corridors, past dens and studies, between stacks of books and down flights of steep stairs. They skirted repositories and scriptoria; passed through secret panels and hidden doors. All was silent, and musty. Finally, she produced a small key and opened an iron postern at the rear of a room crammed with scrolls. They descended yet more stairs, until they reached an open space. Ahead was an area of dead magic. Shomei gestured for them to proceed; the Alienist paused uncertainly. I would not cut the claws from the cat and then leave him at home with the fox, Mostin said through narrowed eyes.

Mostin He assumed his pseudonatural shape. Then you will have me at a disadvantage, she sighed. Because the cat just became a wolf. The hall beyond was cavernous, a hundred fathoms tall, and stretched as far as Mostins many eyes could see ahead of him. Their footsteps and his slitherings echoed within. In the vaulted ceilings, great ruddy lights glowed at intervals, illuminating the contents: countless slabs - of adamant, marble, alabaster, steel, jade and obsidian - attached by clamps to soaring cables. A vast infernal apparatus controlled the assembly above; pulleys, derricks and sheaves arranged with impossible intricacy. They followed as Shomei made her way to a booth which contained an array of levers and switches. She initiated a complex operation; wheels span, gears ground, and a single slab a hundred yards distant slowly swung out into the chamber and towards them. When it reached them, she lowered it into a waiting channel: it was a plaque of diabolic steel, three feet wide and six high. As she released its clamp, another, like a vice, contracted to grip it. It stood upright before them. Daunton gaped. Mostin reached out, and ran a pseudopod over the embossed glyphs and sigils. It was a thing of beauty.

The Irrefutable Argument, it read. It was a spell which had been in effect when the Nameless Fiend
had precipitated the Fall; when unnumbered billion celestials had been seduced to his cause. This is Knowledge, Mostin. This is my legacy; I am the librarian of Hell. Yes, he quivered. Shomei read it as a nod. I am making an appeal to you. I understand, he hissed. Shomei heard it as a sigh. * Daunton sat within her study; Shomei poured kschiff. Mostin stood, looking at the Accord which hung above the mantlepiece. Temenun has offered an alliance. She nodded toward the cherries which still rested on their plate. He suggests that I marry the remaining Hazel scion to a Cherry which grows in Nivorn. I am reluctant to conflate Will and Desire for obvious reasons. But with his Anantam and the succubi in Throile who bear no great love for their former mistress I am looking at the twelve-hundredth order. I can do a lot with that. But you would prefer to use the Wyrish Academy, Mostin finished for her. Because they are known, safer, more passive but they also represent the body which Gihaahia is mandated to uphold. Touch, Shomei raised her glass. I find it hard to believe that the Enforcer will censure a majo rity, if it comes to infraction. I dont, Daunton grumbled. She is a tyrant, not an elected representative. I have tried the more wholesome route, Shomei sighed. I cannot make headway. The Ahma is stubborn and irrational, and refuses to engage with his own potential. Those who practice saizhan are difficult to inspire except the Irrenites, who are a small minority and whom I have yet to approach. I do not feel compassion and I am not one wont to make empty gestures. I went to see

the Sela yesterday. Mostin groaned. You are certainly exhausting all avenues. What is it with you and Oronthon, anyway? I cannot explain. I was confused, angry and depressed. His perspective is beyond all others. There is no judgment in him. And he offered a solution? Or absolution? Actually, neither. He offered tea. And a mirror to look in. And what did you see? Mostin asked cynically. Note that I do not afford much credence to his mystical posturing. That my I is relational, and does not exist in a vacuum, she shrugged. That is all? Mostin scoffed. I might have told you that. But you didnt, Mostin. Thats the point. Regardless, I need help not compactees and servants and indentured mages, but willing partners. To retrieve the Urn. To master Hummaz. To correct the Morphic and end the Claviger-Enforcers tyranny. To propagate knowledge. Is this goal not worthy? And you would have me play Belial to your Adversary, Mostin said acidly. Did the Sela also whisper in the ear of the Nameless Fiend before the Fall? Actually, I think you would know my answer to that. It is no surprise, then, the spell which you chose to show us, the Alienist remarked. There is a certain symmetry; it is hard to deny. And you would then elect yourself as the new arcane factum? Mostin inquired drily. I am a librarian, Mostin. It is only natural. **

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-04-2011

Obsession Part 4 Turel and Rumyal two infernal seraphim and Irel, Who Smites, passed swiftly through the skies above the frozen River Nund; three flights of dark exemplars accompanied them. Warded and augmented by Shomei, all were inscrutable to any but the most probing eyes. They flew east, and skirted the compass of the Blackthorn near Droming. Irel gyred and broke away. The mighty deva cast his gaze unrivalled amongst celestial princes, fallen or otherwise toward Deorham and Kyrtills Burh, one of Wyres holiest sites: the birthplace and earthly dwelling of the Ahma. It was impenetrable; his sight could not pierce the shroud which Soneillon had set about the place. Twelve miles distant, the demoness herself stood upon the Steeple beneath the shadow of Carasch a smoldering void which had yet to erupt to blistering rage and stretched lazily. The great chthonic had seen them . Was Shomei baiting her, or testing the limit of her perception? Or was this a simple reconnaissance? Soneillon considered: to act would be to disclose; to ignore, to dissemble.

She chose to act. Carasch turned his thought on them, casually smashing their protections. Soneillon materialized within the main flight and spoke a soundless syllable, unleashing oblivion. Turel and Rumyal, Great Antagonists who had previously offered counsel to the Adversary himself, were instantly extinguished along with eighteen devas. She disappeared. Irel alone remained. Soneillon reappeared, and her speed was blinding. Tendrils of void lashed the fallen prince, stripping away ens like vapor, and flinging his mace from his hands. She hissed, and drove him into the ground in a tempest, claws sinking through his throat and chest and pinning him. Ichor steamed as it poured from his massive frame, staining the snow black; his strength ebbed from him. She paused, and smiled. My, but you are the pretty one, Her eyes widened and her wings curled. And you are unbound; without compact: I believe she likes you how delicious! It is so tempting to steal you. Alas! My heart belongs to another. But now I am feeling tender; she may keep you. Invoke your mistress by name. The deva was silent. She raised an eyebrow. Presently, I am keeping you from dying, Irel, and it would be sad to lose one as beautiful as you. Do you trust that your spirit will fly to the winds; or will it go to the Tree-Bitch for reallocation perhaps, as a wood-gnome or troll? Heaven is lost to you, and there is no time to show you the Void. She may save you if she cares for you. Speak. Shomei, he choked. Ichor welled in his mouth. She brought her face close, and her grip relaxed. She moved over him. Good She breathed softly in his ear. She lifted her head and smiled at Shomei, whose infernal perception had been drawn there. Soneillon gently withdrew her talons, and vanished. ** Shomei tapped her fingers. She picked up a bottle of kschiff and hurled it against a bookcase. Hellfire crawled over her. Mostin smiled unsympathetically. Youre in way over your head; she has fifteen billion years on you, and she enjoys this. Perhaps you are beginning to appreciate the magnitude of this task? How did she see them? I could not say, Mostin replied. Probably a transvalent. She may have allies. I spent a third of my reservoir repairing Irels wounds. They just wouldnt heal. His cohesion waswrong.

You are fortunate she simply obliterated the others, Mostin observed drily. If you were to send your s Mostin became irritable. Shomei, you may be exempt from the Injunction and I say may be, because much has yet to be tested but one thing is certain: I am not. You asked me here for advice, and I will give it to you: let this go. You are simply unprepared for this endeavor; if you do actually attack her and she survives and escapes do you really think that she will calmly forgive? Do you think Eadric Im sorry, the Ahma will? Now, I am going to offer you some perspective again, because it is apparent to me that at this point that she has acted with the utmost restraint with regard to you I dont need this, Mostin... by not already annihilating you. And if you dont think she could have accomplished this, had she set her mind to it, then you are stupid. Perhaps Eadric has restrained her; perhaps her perspective is other than we can guess. And she let you keep your favorite toy; although what you see in those hideous, feathery monsters is beyond me. Shomei glared at him. She drew first blood, Mostin, not I. And I think she might cite provocation as a reasonable defense; frankly, I would be inclined to agree with her. You are the lawyer; what do you think? Perhaps we should ask Gihaahia to mediate although Soneillons exemption with regard to the Injunction is not in question. Do not give her a casus belli. I cannot slow now, Mostin. You must! He was exasperated. No; I cannot. It is what I am. Then you should repair to your library, he said grimly. Or stay safely within the compass of the Hazel, because if you begin this and then step beyond its bounds and are not prepared to finish what youve started then she will find you and extinguish you. You will make a prison for yourself, Shomei; and that is symmetry. Will you aid me? I am disinclined, he replied. If you were to speak to the Ahma; find out what transpired at Deorham. He has returned to Galda I will not spy for you Shomei. If you have questions for Eadric, ask them yourself. Mostin. Please. Then use the Web of Motes. At least let me know what Im dealing with that I havent foreseen. He stood and sighed. I will contact you in one hour. Do not ask me for anything else. Here. He took off his hat his favorite ochre felt, with its wide brim somewhat charred and placed it on her head. * Exactly one hour later, Shomei received a sending which contained only one word: Carasch.

She sat and tapped her fingers. Time elapsed. She translated to Galda for the final time. ** I see you bear your rod, Eadric said dubiously. Are you here to coerce me this time? It is a preventative measure, Shomei explained. May I sit? He gestured toward a chair. I am not about to assail you, Shomei. Im glad you came. I have been considering how to approach you. Ahma, I lost twenty of my best devils earlier today in an unprovoked attack by your lover. Unprovoked? He asked sceptically. Would you like kasshiv? Its all I have left Nwm and Ortwine drank everything else. Yes. She raised an eyebrow at his pronunciation. My servants were reconnoitering over Trempa; they were beyond the compass of the Blackthorn. I did not realize a formal exclusion zone had been established, he said drily, pouring a goblet for her. Shomei, I have been pondering how to deal with this situation and Im at a loss. I cannot seem to appeal to you; I cannot risk forbidding you for fear of provoking the Antinomos in you to an immediate response: I do not wish to come to blows with you. But you are flouting every law conceivable: Wyrish, magickal, ethical and religious. What would you have me do? Enkindle your potential, Ahma. But you do not seem interested in assuming this responsibility. That is a larger question which we may return to, Eadric sighed. In the meantime I must consider the wellbeing of those whom I am charged to protect; I am Earl Marshal of Wyre, Shomei: I must defend it, regardless. You know that Carasch is aiding her, of course? He is her watchdog. I have encountered him. He is terrifying. It is not germane to this discussion. I lost two seraphs in her ambush, Ahma. They ceased being seraphim at the beginning of the last Aeon, Shomei. Yet the Ahma would place himself as a shield before this chthonic abomination? She asked. No, he groaned. But he would place himself as a shield before the inhabitants of Trempa. There are limits on the number of devils which even you can conjure and compel, Shomei. If you send them in waves, will she be able to kill them quicker than you can call more? Or perhaps you will muster a large force, and she will entrench further: and the longer the buildup, the worse for everyone. Shomei looked hard at him. Not all devils need to be compelled, Ahma. Only a key few and then, only persuaded. I could end this all very quickly. His eyes flickered nervously. I do not follow.

Azazel still bears the standard; two hundred legions accompany him. There is no longer a Celestial Interdict. A look of horror crossed his face. You would do this? Raise that banner over Wyre? I would prefer not to, but I must have the Urn, Ahma. By invoking the eschaton? And you dub Soneillon psychotic? She is, Shomei smiled thinly. I am merely determined. And the eschaton has been and gone, Ahma. We are whats left. And if I were to demand of you command you how would you respond? Shomei shook her head. Please do not force me to make that choice, Ahma. It would not sit well with me. Indeed? For one who asserts the Ahma as central to their paradigm I am sure it would cause you some discomfort. I simply wish you would embrace the larger reality. Then perhaps we should force the issue. He stood grimly and drew Lukarn, gripping it below the quillons and presenting it in censure. It illuminated the interior of the tent. By the authority Please, Ahma... vested in me as Ahma; the Breath of God manifest in the world Ahma I hereby command Eadric. Do not that Shomei Her Flame ignited. She brought the full force of her will to bear through her rod; it was colossal, and should have overpowered him. Instead, there was a resonance, and a reflection, which Shomei experienced as a great gale blasting over her. His pavillion and its contents were gone, blown to the four winds. Both Shomeis eyes and those of the Ahma became wide in astonishment; a cluster of lotuses in the garland which he wore on his wrist had turned to dust: Soneillon had warded him, and he hadnt even known it. Devas and archons appeared all around him, summoned by his thought, but her presence paralyzed them; they would not strike her, only worship her. He smote her repeatedly, but her exemption protected her. Her will recommenced, unleashing a cyclone of hellfire focused on herself which could not touch him, but which slowly burned the garland to ash. He spoke a holy word; again, exemption sustained her. The firestorm increased in intensity; still the lotuses burned away. The devas were incinerated. Nwm alerted and now present struck her with a sonic of tremendous power, which echoed for miles. She weathered it, and her focus did not falter; she hurled the Preceptor aside with telekinesis.

The last blossom turned to soot. Finally, she gripped Eadrics mind, and dominated him. Im sorry, Ahma. Its a preventative measure. She wept. Abruptly, both Shomei the Infernal and the Ahma vanished. ** ** The goddess strode ahead impatiently. Teppu followed, anxiously. What should I call you? It does not matter call me what you wish. Her manner was disconcertingly brusque. You were Nehael before, he suggested. Then call me Nehael. But you are no longer the same. Then call me something different, she sighed. May I choose a name? He suggested. Why not? Names are important. He explained. Are they? She asked. Yes! Stop! She stopped, and smiled at him. Do you have one for me? You are not so different, Teppu laughed. Where are you going? This way, she said. What is this way? What I need. What Good, she said. A horse stood waiting; a varnish roan mare. Strapped to the saddle was an arming sword. A bow with flowers tied around its limbs was fixed around its cantle, and a quiver of redfletched arrows hung from its skirt. Teppu raised an eyebrow. That bow is Yew. And the arrows

Hazel. And the sword She drew it, and it rang; runes were etched into its blade: Tra. Compassion? He asked. She shook her head. Pity, Teppu. One cannot slay with compassion. Where are you going now? He asked. South, she smiled. Why The dead are there Teppu. Are you coming? Certainly, he replied uncertainly. She climbed into the saddle, picked him up, and deposited him behind her. Moments later, they were at Cirone. Ahead, the Pall of Dhatri loomed.

**

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-08-2012

Obsession Final Part

She hung, naked and motionless in the void, gazing at the world. Behind her and beyond her, an infinite expanse of emptiness stretched. Wyre was blanketed in snow, a heavy veil which pressed upon its wide provinces and muffled the verdancies which pulsed beneath. It ranged from gold through deep crimson, west to east, as dusk stole across the frozen landscape below. Further south, greens prevailed; and then a great fume of corruption, surrounding a perfect circle of blackness: the Pall of Dhatri. A red dart was moving within it, like a surgeons knife atte mpting to excise some cancer, the roots of which ran too deep. Nehael, yet not. Suuratamanyu?* she considered; an obscure and ill-defined bhiti if such it was or merely another manifestation of Aliikaghana? She did not care. She turned her eyes to the Sun and observed it impassively; she understood its radiance: no longer feared it. It regarded her with disinterest, as a parent who has surrendered a child and watched it grow separate, but from a great distance. It did not offer anything, and all she had gained had been apart from it. But neither did it condemn: its judgment was suspended, as though in regret of previous choices it had made. An admission, perhaps, of its own fallibility.

It began to sink over the Western Ocean, and an intense display of color ensued; the atmosphere split the light into its component parts like some deific prism: every element of the spectrum was revealed. For the briefest moment, the rumor of an Idea: a vast wyrm serene, yet energized; a perfect, infinite potential coiled around the world. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. The luminary vanished. Beyond now free from its glare and glamour the ruddy Eye of Cheshne pulsed. She descended through aurorae, plunging rapidly through the thermosphere. Meteors flashed to incandescence around her; she outpaced them, dropped through noctilucent clouds and felt their crystals caress and cool her. Her plummet came to rest at an altitude of twenty miles. She cast her glance downwards. Lights were kindling in a city: an unfolding sevenfold symmetry, spontaneous yet inevitable. Her eyes followed a thin line which ran south and west into rolling hills, apprehending an involuted knot in a deep hollow. Then she remembered that she was a demoness, and that she was angry. * [Soneillon]: You have one hour to evacuate the Academy. [Many Wizards]: !

Sendings buzzed across Wyre. Twenty minutes elapsed.

(Far to the north and west, in an obscure corner of Nizkur). [Mostin]: This demonstration is unnecessary, Soneillon. Shomei has marginalized herself by her own actions. [Soneillon]: Oh, there you are. Soneillon appeared within his study, a writhing mass which pinned Mostin, spreadeagled, above the fireplace. Dont try and wriggle, Mostin, a childlike face materialized, and then a body. Or Ill have to hurt you. You may have more tentacles than I, but mine are far nastier. A tendril reached inside his robe, flipping open pouches in his belt of many pockets, and searching until it retrieved a sphere of adamant, ten inches in diameter. She shook it vigorously, until Grazzts countenance appeared. Well, look who it is, she smiled. An expression of horror crossed the face of the demon prince. Her form became fully humanoid that of a small child, which she had chosen in previous dealings with the Alienist as she secreted the globe on her person. Mostin dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. Now that thats settled, she hopped into a chair, and dangled her legs, you have around forty minutes to convince me not to level the estate. I will not name her, and would advise the same of you: it would draw her attention here funny how that comes around. But she has my boyfriend, and I want him back. * Mostin sighed. Destroying her former abode would achieve nothing, Soneillon except, perhaps, to

irritate her. That would seem as good a place to start as any. You are fuelling my argument, Mostin, not dissuading me. You need to think more like a demon. She may also invoke the Hazel, Mostin continued. In which case, no effort on your part will penetrate its cordon. And do you really want an Academy unified in defense under her leadership? She has been seeking to co-opt the ritual pool; this would hand it to her on a plate. And in defense she would even receive the sanction of the Enforcer. That is far more persuasive, the demoness conceded. She issued another sending. [Soneillon]: Ive changed my mind. Three hundred miles away, scores of wizards breathed a collective sigh of relief. Less than a minute. Not bad, Mostin. Mostin groaned. You had no intention of destroying the Academy, did you? She shook her head. You tracked my sending to its source. Circumvented my obfuscations. You are a devious one. She hopped down, and ran over to him. Her form changed, and she threw a dozen tiny tentacles around his knees. She looked up with multiple huge, doe eyes welling with tears. Will you help me get Eadric back, Mostin? Please? You are insufferable, the Alienist replied. You are not an erotic creature, Mostin; I must adjust my tack accordingly. I am no more paternal than I am erotic, Mostin observed. She sighed, and once again became a succubus. Will you help me or not? Mostin shook his head. She is within Hells library, Soneillon; it is separate part of the prior infinity. Eadric is also there. There are two doors, and both lie within the Hazels ambit. You cannot touch her while she remains there. I have been inside, with her approval: she may come and go as she pleases. There is a tight net around the front door a cottage very close to the Hazel scion itself the area where she performs her conjurations. The back door so to speak is within the library of the Academy. Only Ugales has permission to enter and leave; he retrieves obscure spells and tomes for ambitious mages in return for outrageous pledges. The back door is currently closed anyway. Soneillon gave a suspicious look. How do you know that Eadric is in the library, Mostin? Presumably your divinations cannot penetrate it. A wizard does not reveal all of his means. And how did you anticipate certain events in Afqithan? She persisted. Mostin sighed. Do you have a thing which helps you?

Yes, he grudgingly admitted. Can I see it? Soneillon smiled. Well Soneillon raised an eyebrow, and slowly revealed Pharamnes Urn. Mostins eyes rotated in his skull. Mostin. You have to show. No wonder you dont have a girlfriend. Very well, he produced it. It is called the Web of Motes. Although I think every wizard in Wyre knows I have it Im surprised that you didnt hear already. She shrugged. I tend not to mix with wizards, Mostin. They are usually dull present company excepted, of course. And you will help me. With this mote-thing of yours, you can determine whether or not she is in her library, am I correct? Yes, but it makes no difference. How difficult is this to explain Because you can help me, she smiled. In fact, I believe you are the only one who can. You are not listening, Soneillon. Yes, I am, but youre not. She is a devil. I cannot conjure devils, Mostin. But you can. She is magnified, Soneillon. Binding such an entity is a different proposition altogether. My reservoir is deep, Mostin. It is yours. He considered; Shomei had gone too far, there was no denying it. His mind rapidly processed transvalent algorithms, finding various solutions. You will not annihilate her, the Alienist exhorted. Mostin, be reasonable I mean it, Soneillon. She is a colleague, and a fellow intellect. Let me handle her. Oh, very well, Soneillon sighed. I will need a week to devise the formula. A week? Wyrish wizards are so slow. And I will need the Urn, Mostin smiled madly. Soneillons eyes narrowed. No you dont, Mostin. We both know that. ** Do you purpose to keep me here indefinitely? Eadric raised his eyebrows. He sat easily in the posture of saizhan within a forcecage in Shomeis study. A fire of cut hazel logs burned slowly and steadily in the hearth.

Only until I have the Urn, Ahma, Shomei was curled nearby in a comfortable chair, reading. She did not meet his eyes. And you still address me by the religious appellative. You are an unlikely abductress, Eadric observed. And an even more unlikely Adversary. That moniker is defunct, she sighed. Your actions would indicate otherwise. Should I officially brand you as such? I do determine doctrine, after all. She shifted her position, and took a sip of kschiff. If it would be easier for you, I will be silent. Or perhaps you could dominate me again. I take no pleasure in depriving you of your will, Ahma. She raised her head and looked at him. Of all things, that, at least should be clear about me. But you did, Shomei, he replied. I must judge necessity, Ahma; for my Self, no other can. And, in hindsight, was your judgment correct? She placed the book down, open, on the table beside her. If you are asking whether I have experienced remorse, then the answer is yes: I am not beyond that. But what is done is done. The question of what to do next preoccupies me now. Such is my nature. You would seem to be missing a moral compass, Shomei. She gave a small smile. I do not need one, Ahma. My lack of kindness is perfectly balanced by my lack of malice. My temper needs some work. And if jealousy and hatred come to rule you? What then? Then you and I will have both failed, Ahma, but for different reasons. Yet jealousy and obsession have characterized many of your actions of late. She stood, approached the forcecage, and knelt, drawing close. Her presence was intense, focused and calm. Are you speaking of my reaction to your liaison with Soneillon, or to my efforts to gain the Urn? You do not take well to being thwarted, Shomei. And the union of opposites is something which you yourself once gave me advice regarding. Ahma, there are many hieroi gamoi. Some are fleeting; some enduring. Some take place within a paradigm; others such as that of the Reconciliation span infinities; others beyond infinities even into the ineffable. I do not deny your experience of Soneillon; it is, in fact, an articulation of truth far beyond Magnitude as the Urgics would understand it. But it is notultimate in the sense that nothing is ultimate, and whether it is even enduring remains to be seen. I am pragmatic, and could only offer you a paradigm, Ahma; to shape the reality which we inhabit. To make it better. Eadric laughed bitterly. Something which Azazel and his two hundred legions can help you achieve, I presume? Your argument is beginning to sound more than a little deluded, Shomei.

Do not interpret the transparency of my thought to you as an articulation of intent; there are other avenues which I would prefer to exhaust first. Understand that I began with the most moral from your perspective: an alliance with you. I do not practice saizhan, Ahma. My method is otherwise. It is for me, and me alone. It can be neither learned, nor taught. I must invent it myself as it evolves; at critical junctures, I have looked to others including both you and the Sela for help, but the solution must always be mine. Eadric shook his head. Your reaction to my anathematization of you to engulf me in hellfire and coerce me would suggest to me that this relationship is far from clear to you. My word is Law; but you accept none but your own. It is a paradox I grapple with. I do not wish to be branded your Adversary, Ahma. To become what you most hate. I strive only to realize my potential. And you somehow insist that I am capable of a similar feat; this awakening of my potential to which you refer. Yet it demands embracing some harsh and violent truth for you; a willing sacrifice of your own humanity. Something which I am unprepared to make. I am a fiend, Ahma, Shomei smiled. But you were not always so. Nor were any others. Deep down, I have always wanted to be a devil, Ahma. I think you know this. And no such sacrifice is necessary from you: you are the Ahma. One reason why seeing you confined thus saddens me. Then you might release me. She sighed. If you were to affirm that you would make no efforts to assail me or escape, then I might grant you exit from that box. But I would prefer not to dominate you again. I will so vow. Although I am unsure if my assent is tantamount to my endorsing your actions. Life is full of paradoxes, Ahma. The forcecage vanished. A little freedom is a precious thing, he stood and glanced around. She gestured. The library is that way, Ahma. All the devils are gone; Im the only one left. Call me if you get lost. I will hear you. I cannot help but like you, Shomei. I know. It makes it difficult. She returned to her book.

*Wrathful Mercy **

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-12-2012

Day 1 Antiphon Nwm and Ortwine stood waiting before the fortified gates at Galda, and watched as the rider approached from the south. She, her horse and her harness were caked in blood, ichor and entrails so thick that the muck might need to be scraped clear with a trowel rather than washed away; her visage was altogether terrifying. As she approached, the Preceptor noticed that she carried another with her: a diminutive figure who clung desperately to her waist, barely able to remain upright in the saddle. She reined in, reached behind her, and lowered him gently to the ground. Her small companion shivered and stood unsteadily. Hello, Nwm, Nehael said, Ortwine. Teppu is tired, and I think hed like a bath. Where is Eadric? Ortwine looked at Nwm and raised an eyebrow. * Eadric is very popular with the ladies, these days, Nehael. Ortwine gave a caustic smile. And I must say, red rather suits you; I can see that it is also a practical color. They sat around a campfire: one of hundreds which burned in the encampment. The goddess had acquiesced to a cantrip to clean her of the foul-smelling gore which had clung to her, but which had seemed not to perturb her in any way; it was, in fact, for Ortwines benefit that she had agreed. Teppu was wrapped in a blanket, asleep. I had hoped to speak with him; to discuss the reconquest, she threw off her boots. Ortwine cast a sidelong glance at Nwm, who shrugged. Might I assume that you lack the prescience of your previous sister-avatar; now, your mother-deity? Nwm inquired. I am unaccustomed to explaining anything to Nehael; usually the information flows in the other direction. I slay, Nwm, she said simply. This is the persona that you get: I make no apology for it. It is necessary. I dont have time for magic or plots or webs. I am the counterpoint which Uedii must chant to contain the corruption; her image reflected through the Eleos: the enlightened, engaged, dynamic face of compassion. I am unsentimental, and occasionally ugly on the surface. Nor am I as Tree-ish as my former self; actually, I prefer horses. She lay down on her back in the wet earth and looked upwards. The Follower was soaring in the east, flickering through the smoke in the air. Some time passed before Nwm spoke again. You are aware that Eadric is currently being held by Shomei the Infernal? The Preceptor queried. Well, I imagine I might have been, had I thought about it. She thought about it. I see. I suppose I could go and talk to her. Could? Ortwine gave a quizzical look. Nehael raised her head, leant on an elbow, and smiled. Eadric is confused, Ortwine. It is his defining feature. He gets himself into these situations; Im not really convinced that my becoming involved at

this stage would help. He should have followed my advice, and simply exercised compassion. In which specific instance? Nwm asked. He shouldnt have censured Shomei, Nwm. It didnt help. Really, he just lost his temper and became offended and pious. Its always been an issue with him. Mostin is working on a solution. Yes. Mostin may aggravate the problem further, Nehael remarked. And this assumes that Soneillon does not become unhinged in the interim, Nwm added. Ahh, Soneillon, she lay back down. Another situation. Ortwine stared hard at her. For an avatar of compassion, you seem very free in your criticism of those absent. I would say the same to him or her were either here, Ortwine. As you have rightly implied, malicious gossip is incompatible with my nature. And frankly, the march of Dhatris host and the Embassy are of more concern to me at present than Eadrics convoluted emotional life. I put an arrow in the latter earlier today; she knows Im here well enough. Then that is some good news. Nwm grunted approvingly. She will not make the same mistake again. By the Embassy, I assume you are referring to Kaalaanalas final effluxion, Ortwine sighed. And each time I say that name I am nervous; in case I draw her perception to me. The Trees protect you from that faculty here, Ortwine. The sidhe gave a stony look. Had the Trees here been more comprehensive in their protection and not allowed dreaming demonesses and exempt devils to penetrate their cordon - then this entire fracas might have been avoided. I think we may have placed too much faith in their effectiveness in protecting the Ahmas moral fibre. On the last count, I am inclined to agree. So will you speak to Shomei? Nwm inquired. Well. Are you asking for my intercession in this? I dont know, Nwm admitted. Should I? Probably not, Nehael replied. Then I suppose I wont, Nwm sighed. But if I had, what would you have done? Nothing, Nehael smiled. Which is the best that can be done at the moment. Ask me in a few days things will probably unravel even more before they come together again. A prescience? Nwm asked archly. Call it what you like, Nehael shrugged. I experience it as a vague notion. And today was too much for this one; he is too gentle.

The goddess stood and removed her cloak. She folded it and placed it under Teppus head. ** Eadric did not see Shomei who had exited the cottage in order to perform conjurations, and sealed it behind her for the entirety of the next day. After quickly becoming bored, he ventured forth to wander alone in obscure and musty corridors within the limitless repository which was Hells library. Ruddy candles burned with infinite slowness in deep sconces, barely illuminating the interior. It was eerily silent and except for the occasional tome which itself exhibited some sign of sapience in addition to its malignancy there was no question within the mind of the Ahma that he was alone. Eadric was not a scholar; or rather, he had never had the time to pursue his scholarly interests: the art of war had demanded most of his attention throughout his life. The weight of infernal knowledge oppressed him, but more by virtue of its sheer volume than by its evil content. He considered the magnitude of Shomeis commitment to the task of knowing the library; surely she must have read only the minutest fraction of the books contained within it. It seemed an impossible undertaking to master even its geography; to familiarize oneself with its contents would take a lifes age of the universe, or more. It did not take him long to become lost, despite what he had been sure were his own meticulous precautions to the contrary regarding his bearing and distance from Shomeis study. After a brief period of anxiety during which he considered that his aimless wandering might, in fact, be his eternal lot the Ahma determined that he would climb the notion of ascent being comfortable and familiar to his inner aesthetic. Whenever a staircase whether a narrow spiral, steep ladder, or wide companionway with sweeping balustrades presented itself to him, he would eagerly scale it. At times, he would backtrack in frustration: his path would lead to a hidden nook, a suite of chambers or dark, diabolic cloisters with no other exit, and he would search out some new way. He entertained no notion of destination in his efforts, except up. Yet the light became no brighter; the atmosphere no less oppressive. There was no relief to be had, except in the act of ascent itself; a metaphor which struck him as particularly apt, given the nature of his hostess or gaoler. After what must have been many hours all sense of time having long since left him Eadric stumbled upon an archway within which a grate of adamant bars had been set. Dire runes were carved in warning above the threshold; symbols which, although they posed no threat to him, would have slain any devil of lesser stature who might have approached them. He looked at the bars: no keyhole or aperture of any kind was present. Peering through the grate, only darkness was present beyond. Eadric ran his fingers around the archway, searching for some secret mechanism. Nothing. He illuminated the space beyond with daylight. A narrow tunnel, extending ahead as far as he might see. Mustering all of his strength, he gripped the grate and tore it away from the archway, placing it ruefully against the adjacent wall, conscious that he had committed some gross act of vandalism against the integrity of the place then berating himself for entertaining any notion of guilt in the context of his current predicament. Lighting the passageway at intervals, he proceeded for a hundred yards until he came upon another archway this time unblocked by gate or door. A sound threatened to overwhelm, until he recognized it. Some trap had been triggered; a holy word of great power. Eadric gave an ironic half-smile; fiendish interlopers not the Ahma had been on the mind of whoever had set the device: a barely-visible glyph which throbbed in the keystone above. He entered into a low chamber perhaps ten feet on a side, and illuminated it. On shelves or chained to the walls were books with tarnished covers; they had been neglected and forgotten for many epochs. Ancient books. Forbidden books. Books whispering secrets best left untold. He opened one, and

thumbed its metalline pages Meditations on Radiance; and then another Divining the Light; and then another The World of Men to Come. He tilted his head. They were celestial books, penned by great devils then seraphs and other episemes before the Fall. He sat, and began to read. ** Soneillon hovered high in the skies above the Academy, beyond the compass of the Hazel-ludja, and gazed at the shifting patterns around the scion. She was hidden more effectively, she knew, than the fallen celestials who had come to spy upon her at Deorham but was, herself, unable to penetrate the layers around the Tree below. A nest of hemi-demiplanes, through which a tortuous path wound to Shomeis cottage: invulnerable to her magic and sight. The concursion which was the librarys front door. There were many devils in the skies below her; of that, there could be no doubt. But they remained invisible; their numbers and type unknown. Six more days must elapse before Mostin could complete his arcane equations; a formula which would incorporate only herself, Mulissu and Nwm: the Alienist had indicated that he trusted no other including Ortwine, whose duty to the Hazel was suspect to be part of it. She scowled, and retreated to Deorham; she considered that, were she to abandon it and Shomei to locate her beyond the stronghold , that some force brought against her might overwhelm her and deprive her of the Urn. Extinction was of no particular concern to her, but being bound by Shomei remained a possibility, however remote. The Infernalist would need a sizeable ritual pool in order to guarantee success, and would need time herself to devise a suitable rite and some safe location in another world, from which it could be conducted. Mostin had elected Sisperi as his venue. But Mostin might fail, whatever his mote-thing told him. Soneillon considered the time she had before the test came. She allowed her anger to subside, and gave thought to entrenchment: should it become necessary, it would be as well to be prepared. The demoness began in earnest to fortify both herself and Kyrtills Burh with powerful spells. ** Shomei sat by the fire, reading, when Eadric entered. His route to her study was not something he could accurately recall; there was no doubt in his mind that she had guided him back by some art. She raised her head as he entered. Did you find what you were looking for? His eyes narrowed. I found; although I was not looking for it. That is often best, she nodded. There was a brief silence. I may have caused somestructural damage, Eadric confessed.

Dont worry, Ahma. Ive already repaired it. She returned to her book. *

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-14-2012

Day 2 Down You are very small, Shomei, Eadric observed. Yes, Ahma. Is this an hereditary trait? My flesh is infernal, Ahma. But your prior incarnation upon which your present body is based wasslight. At least, the first one wasor What I mean to say is that I know nothing of your ancestry. Is your lineage magical? She gave a quizzical look. It was; yes, Ahma. Sorcerous, actually although several generations removed. And aristocratic. With a dash of fey which is never a bad thing for an arcanist, and may account for my small-ness. And your parents? Were devout and faithful, Shomei said drily. And what became of them? Devils killed them, Ahma. Oh. Im sorry. I conjured the devils, Ahma, Shomei explained. Oh. A look of horror crossed his face. I was young, Shomei was nonplussed. It was an act committed without principle. How young? Eadric asked. Five, Ahma. His eyes widened. Five? Your parents had angered you in some way? They took my books away, Ahma. I wanted them back. Oh, Eadric nodded uncertainly. Perhaps they thought your books were dangerous? They were, Ahma. Apparently so, Eadric raised an eyebrow. And after you hadwell

Murdered my parents? She asked. Yes I got my books back, Ahma. But in terms of your upbringing, Shomei. My servants looked after me. No other relatives? No guardian? Eadric asked, aghast. I did not need them. My servants were devils, Ahma. * Yesterday, you went up; will you go down today? Shomei inquired. Exactly how closely have you been monitoring my movements, Shomei? And did I stumble upon the celestial repository, or was I directed to it? I did not manipulate you toward it, if that is what you are asking, she replied. Her answer seemed genuine. I knew of it, but have not had the leisure to investigate it. But the library has a habit of presenting certain books or collections; if you were directed, then it was not by me. As to monitoring not in the way you might think. I am aware of where you are and where you have been, if I call you to mind. I can encourage you to take certain paths as I did in your inbound journey yesterday when I perceived that you wanted to return but in your explorations, you were following your own impulses. I was busy with my conjurations. Would you suggest going down? I make no recommendation, Shomei answered. You could go straight, or left, or right, or backwards; or some combination of any of these including up and down but these are harder to track. Only going down is an easier route to focus upon; you are new to the geography. I suspect that the willful act of descent would be harder for me, Eadric remarked. Shomei shrugged. She exited the cottage, and sealed it. Eadric sighed. ** They seethe and swell like a great, purposeful ocean of malice, Nehael explained. They are without number. There is nothing left for them to consume except each other; hence they must move. The greatest Idyam and Dhatri herself, together with the Embassy remain near to the centre. Rishih, Naatha and Prahar are closer to the periphery of the mob. They are only forty miles away would you like to see? Nwm nodded grimly. Ortwine looked sceptical. How?

I can show you; Nwm knows what I mean. The experience will not be pleasant. Very well. The sidhe gave a resigned sigh. Perception expanded to embrace reality within sixty miles. To the south, a festering tide of corruption of such magnitude that it seemed as though the World could not sustain its weight. Nwm reeled. Ortwine staggered and vomited. And you experience this all of the time? Ortwine groaned. She vomited again. Nehael smiled. How did you get close enough to shoot? Ortwine asked her, regaining her breath. Was she not alerted? Yes, Nehael nodded in a matter-of-fact way. But she did not withdraw. She struck me with fire. Coming within a league was difficult. The press of corpses was thick; it was hard to aim Wait. You can shoot from three miles? I can shoot from six, Ortwine; as long as I have a clear aim I didnt. The sidhe wiped her mouth and raised an eyebrow. This, I have to see. I assume that your missile struck its target unerringly? I shot eighteen arrows at her before she could react, Nehael replied. Only one found its mark. Ortwine looked at Nwm. I think were seriously out of our depth. Nwm stared at Nehael. And Teppuhow did he fare? I mean, I have never seen him so weak. He died five times. It was difficult for him. And each time I brought him back as himself again it is hard for a self-incarnate such as he. Why was he even there? Could he meaningfully affect the outcome? A little, perhaps. But each of us can only do a little. I do not enjoy what I do, Nwm; really, he was there for me. So I didnt have to be alone. He is kind. She smiled. And today? Nwm asked. You will both ride out again? Nehael shook her head. I would spare him the experience. If you require a consociate, Nwm said, I will gladly offer myself. I think you should also remain, Nehael suggested. Teppu is here; Hlioth is nearby; Mesikammi is on her way. The Temple is all but spent of power, and the Ahma is missing. You should give thought to the defense here; a quarter of the Cheshnite host will be here within a few days. Only a quarter? Ortwine asked. It is more than enough to contain Galda, Nehael explained. The rest will bypass it altogether, and head north, straight for Wyre. And I have a companion in mind. The sidhe heard a soft hoof-fall, felt hot breath on her neck, and turned. Narh had approached, and was nuzzling her eagerly.

Me? Ortwine inquired. Undead are not my specialty. If you are willing, I could use the company. Nehael smiled. Besides, you said that you wanted to see me shoot. Two against a million would seem to be a rather uneven match. Ortwine observed drily. If it were only a million, our impact might be more significant, Nehael replied. If I die, take note that I am perfectly content with this form; I do not wish to be a buckawn or a sylph. Duly noted, Nehael nodded. Unless Hummaz snatches you first. Ortwine raised an eyebrow. A joke? No, Nehael strapped her sword across her back. It is unlikely, but it is as wel l to be prepared. Stay close to me; you will encounter every conceivable type of undead, and some you have never imagined. You are goddess: the deathshriekers cannot touch you, but beware the crawling heads and famine spirits; many can abide my aura, and they may bite your head off. Eadric, you moron, Ortwine muttered under her breath, and mounted the stallion. ** Eadric descended rapidly; he leaped down staircases, over banisters and through shafts which gave to lower floors. His heart pounded, and he wondered if there was a bottom to be found; no top had been revealed to him on the previous day, but he was also certain, in his own mind, that the library was finite. It did not appear to bend inasmuch as he did not come back to some place which he had previously visited and it seemed sensible to him that the entrance from Shomeis cottage should be closer to the bottom than the top, and that the bottom must, therefore, be more accessible. But he found no root; no foundation to the library: only a dismal, perpetual declivity into measureless depths filled with books. Again, all sense of time eluded him, but he knew that his plunging into the librarys bowels had consumed him for many hours; he had descended for miles. Eadric paused to consider his predicament: ascent might take him days; he would need Shomeis help, this time. But to ask her for anythingthe notion sat uncomfortably with him. Had she returned? Or would his whispered entreaty to her interrupt her work? And why should the notion of distracting Shomei from her purpose to overrun Wyre with devils for the object of her own selfaggrandizement cause him conflict, in any case? He sat upon a stone bench within a niche in a damp wall, and cleared his mind. From his pocket, he withdrew the scarf of heavy black silk which Soneillon had bestowed on him and pondered. The magics which the demoness had placed on the garland of flowers had eluded Shomeis perception; he wondered if the samite might hide some similar secret. He needed a dream, perhaps, and she might manifest through it; but there were no dreams here. The prior infinity in which he found himself was cut off; isolated. Eadric replaced the scarf and stood. He would wait a little while longer. He removed a hellish candle from its pricket and willed light upon it, illuminating his surroundings with a more substantial brightness; the radiance was at odds with the general character of the place. He walked a little way, rounded a corner, and found himself looking over a balcony into a wide amphitheatre. Some kind of

devilish lecture-hall or auditorium; Eadric wondered what kind of lessons might have been expounded within its circuit. After searching for some time, he found his way down and made his way to the lectern a morbid pulpit, wrought of steel and bone upon which a book lay open. Its language being an archaic dialect of Infernal was unfamiliar to him. He thumbed its hide pages and looked at dense text interspersed with curious pictograms and symbols, wary that he might inadvertently hex himself or invoke some latent malevolence. Still, the book somehow seemed less wicked than its surroundings. Recalling Shomeis words regarding the librarys tendency to present certain tomes, the Ahma closed the book, removed it from the lectern, and tucked it beneath his arm. He ascended several levels, found a quiet cloister and scanned its pages for some clue as to its meaning, but could determine none. Finally and again, time seemed to have drifted by without measure or meaning he sighed. Shomei, he spoke in a clear voice. She appeared presently, and raised an eyebrow. You have been gone a long time, and come very deep indeed, Ahma. These collections are hardly known to me. Eadric held out the book. Shomei took it, and scanned its cover. She flipped its pages; her eyes widened in incredulity. I felt this tome was significant, the Ahma explained. It was on a rostrum in a hall not too far from here. Shomei stared at him suspiciously. It might be deemed an heretical codex, from a conventional diabolic perspective. Here. She ran a hand over the book, and returned it to him.

The Reattainment of Luminance, it read.

There is no author, Eadric remarked. No. The author had no name, Ahma. Eadric handed it back to her, and smiled. Then I believe it is for you. The Sela once said to me that for you to surrender yourself to bliss would be the ultimate antinomian act. Perhaps the prior I entertained similar notions? She gave him a dubious look. I will read it. But entertai ning a notion and acting on it are two very different things. I confess I am weary, Ahma; if you wish to return He nodded, and the scene changed abruptly: they were back in her study. As always, the fire burned; the scent of cinnamon hung in the air. It seemed familiar, comfortable, safe. Shomei placed the book on a table, threw off her robe and uncorked a flask. Eadric knew that she was exhausted; that she had emptied herself that day. He wondered if he might overwhelm her. Would you like kschiff? She asked. No. But thank-you. Eadric removed his shoes, sat, and entered saizhan. When he arose, he saw that she was curled, asleep in a chair; the flask of liquor was empty and barely a dram remained in her glass. The Reattainment of Luminance was open on its last page; she had already finished it. He took it from her hand. The pages were still wet from her tears.

Eadric sighed, covered her with the robe of meteors, and returned to his meditations. * Nehael as the Red Antiphon, using a Paragon Inherent Divine Array modified by succubus racial adjustments. A spell-less ranger variant is used for extra feats. Gear value is for a 75th-level PC; actual CR is probably somewhere in the CR75-80 range. The red manifestation is only possible after Nehaels ascent to Sovereignty, prompted by the actions of the Ahmawith regard to Soneillon; at this point the DvR12 Eleos-Nehael can emanate a variety of avatars in the DvR6 range including both the red and the original green Nehael. Some distinction needs to made between green and Green: all of Nehaels avatars are Green, in the sense that all stem from the Uedii-complex, but it is the first (after her migration) which is green in terms of her garb and appearance, and her pacifistic tendencies. The Eleos-Nehael the DvR12 manifestation retains this green garb and appearance but, as a paradigmatic entity, can transcend normal categorical paradoxes. Nehaels red manifestation holds a number of antithetical elements in tension. She retains the L ust portfolio, an aspect of the green manifestation which is only barely alluded to, but which is intensified and more explicit in the red second iteration. The Healing, Good and Life portfolio elements are more in accord with Nehaels symbolism in general; the War portfolio element and domain are appropriated from the vanquished Visuit the demise of the Cheshnite war-goddess might also be seen as a precondition for the appearance of the red avatar. Red Nehael might be best understood as a fierce compassion directed specifically toward ending the suffering of undead creatures (and demons, representing ignorance) and returning chthonics to their natural state of Nonbeing, in which they are happiest. Notions of spontaneity, eroticism and enlightened action are emphasised. Nehaels total symbolism can probably be best understood in the context of the goddess Kuan Yin the Chinese iteration of Avalokitesvara, the bodhisattva of compasssion and mercy and the Tara complex of compassionate tantric deities within Vajrayana Buddhism. Red Tara symbolism is convoluted because it also draws heavily on pre-Buddhistic components: Artemis/Diana and Aphrodite/Venus elements in terms of Western mythology are also incorporated into her meaning. Anyhoo Nehael The Red Antiphon. Image of Uedii. Lesser Goddess Symbol: The Sword Home Plane: The Primordial Tree Alignment: Neutral Good Portfolio: Compassion, Good, Healing, Lust, Life, War Worshippers: Any Domains: Good, Healing, Lust, War Fighter 20 / Ranger 20 Medium Outsider (Good, Green, Native) Divine Rank: 6 Hit Dice: 20d8+560 plus 20d8+560 plus 20d10+560 plus 720 (2920 hp) Initiative: Supreme Initiative (+37) Speed: 180ft.

Armor Class: 162 (+15 armor, +33 Dex, +25 deflection, +6 divine, +12 insight, +12 luck, +19 natural, +30 sacred), touch 128, flat-footed 129 Base Attack/Grapple: +40/+95 Attack: +120 (1d8+64/15-20, Pity) or +120 (1d8+64/19-20x3, Yew Bow) vs. evil undead +126 (1d8+80+9d6/15-20, Pity) or +126 (1d8+80+9d6/19-20x3, Yew Bow) Full Attack: +120/+120/+115/+110/+105, Pity or +120/+120/+120/+115/+110/+105, Yew Bow with Improved Rapid Shot Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft. Special Attacks: Spell-like abilities, Salient Divine Abilities, Favored Enemy Special Qualities: Camouflage, divine aura (60 ft., save DC 84), divine immunities, DR 25/ epic and evil, evasion, fast healing 20, hide in plain sight, immortal, remote communication, salient divine abilities, SR 200, understand, speak and read all languages, speak directly to all beings within 6 miles, swift tracker, interplanar transport via plants, universal energy immunity, wild empathy, woodland stride. Saves: Fort +130, Ref +135, Will +127 Abilities: Str 58, Dex 77, Con 66, Int 50, Wis 49, Cha 60 Skills: Balance +123, Bluff +109, Climb +108, Diplomacy +127, Escape Artist +117, Gather Information +109, Handle Animal +109, Heal +103, Hide +117, Intimidate +115, Jump +114, Knowledge (arcana) +104, Knowledge (geography) +104, Knowledge (nature) +110, Knowledge (nobility) +104, Knowledge (the planes) +104, Knowledge (religion) +104, Listen +103, Move Silently +117, Ride +123, Sense Motive +103, Spot +103, Survival +103, Swim +108, Tumble +123 Feats: Bounding Assault, Combat Expertise, Dodge, Endurance, Far Shot, Greater Weapon Focus (longbow), Greater Weapon Focus (longsword), Greater Weapon Specialization (longbow), Greater Weapon Specialization (longsword), Improved Critical (longbow), Improved Critical (longsword), Improved Disarm, Improved Initiative, Improved Precise Shot, Manyshot, Melee Weapon Mastery (slashing), Mobility, Mounted Archery, Mounted Combat, Point Blank Shot, Precise Shot, Ranged Weapon Mastery (piercing), Rapid Blitz, Rapid Shot, Ride-By Attack, Slashing Flurry, Spirited Charge, Spring Attack, Track, Trample, Weapon Finesse, Weapon Focus (longbow), Weapon Focus (longsword), Weapon Specialization (longbow), Weapon Specialization (longsword) Epic Feats: Bane of Enemies, Death of Enemies, Dire Charge, Distant Shot, Epic Fortitude, Epic Reflexes, Epic Weapon Focus (longbow), Epic Weapon Focus (longsword), Epic Weapon Specialization (longbow), Epic Weapon Specialization (longsword), Epic Will, Improved Manyshot Divine Immunities: Ability damage, ability drain, acid, banishment, cold, death-effects, disease, disintegration, electricity, energy drain, imprisonment, mind-affecting effects, paralysis, poison, sleep, stunning, transmutation, turning and rebuking. Salient Divine Abilities: Alter Reality, Divine Dodge, Extra Domain (War), Gift of Life, Image of Uedii, Rebuttal of Death, Supreme Initiative, Viridescent Mind Spell-Like Abilities: Nehael uses these abilities at will as an 81st-level caster. The save DCs are 56+ spell level where appropriate: aid, blade barrier, charm person, clairaudience/clairvoyance, dispel evil,

divine power, flame strike, heal, holy aura, holy smite, holy word, invisibility, lesser planar ally, magic circle against evil, magic vestment, magic weapon, mass heal, power word (any), protection from evil, refuge, regenerate, scrying, spiritual weapon, summon monster IX (good), symbol of persuasion, sympathy, trap the soul
Interplanar Transport via Plants (Su): Nehael may use this ability at will. Caster Level 81st. Other Divine Powers As a lesser goddess, Nehael treats a 1 on an attack roll or a saving throw normally and not as an automatic failure. She is immortal.

Senses: Nehael can see, hear, touch and smell at a distance of 6 miles. As a standard action she can

perceive anything within 6 miles of her worshippers, holy sites, objects or any location where her name was spoken in the last hour. She can extend her senses to up to five locations at once. She can block the sensing power of deities of her rank or lower at up to two remote locations at once for 6 hours.

Portfolio Sense: Nehael instantly detects any event which involves five hundred or more people and is
related to her portfolio.

Automatic Actions: Nehael can use any skill related to her portfolio even those she has no ranks in
as a free action, provided that the DC is 20 or less. She can perform up to five such free actions in a round.

Create Magic Items: Nehael can create magic items related to her portfolio without the requisite item

creation feat provided she meets all other prerequisites for the item, and the item's market price does not exceed 30,000gp.

Divine Aura: As a free action on her turn, Nehael may choose to emanate or suppress an aura of daze,
fright or resolve with a radius of 600ft. A Will saving throw (DC84) negates the effect. Special Attacks and Qualities Green Subtype (Ex): Nehael is always considered a native of the Prime Material plane, Faerie, Primordial Tree and the Planes of Spirit for the purposes of effects which target outsiders. Alter Reality (SDA): Nehael can replicate any spell effect of 9th-level or lower (caster level 81st, where appropriate). Use of this ability costs 5000xp, and is drawn against a weekly cushion of 30000xp. Image of Uedii (Unique SDA) (Ex): Animals, plant creatures, feys, magical beasts, vermin, elementals and spirits with a connection to the natural world cannot harm or be compelled to harm Nehael in any way, and the initial attitude of such creatures towards her is always one of fanatic loyalty (ELH, p.40). Rebuttal of Death (SDA): Undead within 60ft. with 30HD or less are automatically turned by Nehael; those with 20HD or less are automatically destroyed. Undead creatures are subject to critical hits from both ranged and melee attacks by Nehael. Viridescent Mind (Unique SDA): Nehael enjoys an effect similar to a continual commune with nature. The range of the Viridescent Mind is 60 miles (10 miles per divine rank), except Nehael's perception also extends into Faerie, and coterminous Spirit planes. She may share her perception with any number of other willing creatures within range. Favored Enemies: Nehael gains a +10 favored enemy bonus against the Undead subtype, and a +2 bonus against Aberrations, Evil Outsiders, Chaotic Outsiders and Dragons. If she scores a critical hit against any of these types, the target must make a Fort save (DC 78) or die. Equipment All of Nehaels items are major artifacts; in any case where a caster level equivalent is necessary, treat the CL of the item as 60th. Breastplate (25M) Nehael wears a light vest of armor, equivalent to a +10 heavy fortification universal energy immunity

ironbark breastplate which grants a +10 enhancement bonus to Strength, Dexterity and Constitution

and a +20 resistance bonus to Saving Throws. It incurs no armor check penalty and has no associated maximum Dexterity bonus. Leaf Pendant (43M) This pendant appears as a small leaf in a simple setting, attached to a thong of woven bark from the Great Tree-ludja. It conveys a +30 sacred bonus to saving throws, a +30 sacred bonus to armor class and grants Spell Resistance 200. Profane, unholy or divine damage is treated as normal energy damage for the wearer of the Leaf Pendant unless its source has 13 or more divine ranks. Sword (30M) Nehaels sword, Pity, is an intelligent neutral good finessable +10 cold iron, everdancing, keen, speed, undead dread, holy power longsword. It has Int 18, Wis 40, Cha 40 and an Ego of 73. Its special purpose is to slay undead; its special purpose power is undeath to death (improved heightened to 30th level) the Save DC to resist this ability is adjusted by the wielders Charisma score and divine rank: in Nehaels case, the DC is 71 Yew Bow (22M) Nehael carries a bow carved from a limb of the Yew-ludja, a +10 holy power, speed, undead dread, unerring accuracy composite longbow. Quiver of Hazel Arrows (35M) Nehael carries a quiver which contains an inexhaustible supply of arrows from the Hazel-ludja. These are greater slaying arrows; the target type is determined by Nehael at the moment the arrow is loosed. Arrows may be imbued with additional effects as Nehael sees fit; when nocking an arrow, as a move action she may also determine a specific additional effect which it will have:

Earthshudder: No attack roll is necessary if this arrow is shot. An area within range is subject to an earthquake effect (improved heightened to 30th level), except the DC to resist specific effects is
71.

Negate Magic: A target struck by this arrow is also subject to a superb dispelling effect (caster level
81)

Pierce Will: If struck, a targets Wisdom score is reduced to 1. This effect is equivalent to a bestow greater curse (improved heightened to 30th level); the target is entitled to a Will saving throw (DC 71)
to resist the effect but spell resistance does not apply. This effect is permanent; it can be removed by a deity with 6 or more divine ranks. Ravage: This arrow acts as poison upon chaotic and evil outsiders, even if they are normally immune to such effects. Targets must make a Fortitude saving throw (DC71) or sustain 6d6 points of Dexterity damage; one round later, they must make a second save or sustain 6d6 points of Constitution damage. Verdigris: No attack roll is necessary if this arrow is shot. The arrow creates a sphere of verdigris with a radius of 100ft. Creatures must make a Reflex saving throw (DC71) or sustain 10d6 points of damage from the sudden plant growth and become entangled. Buildings and other structures likewise sustain 10d6 points of damage.

Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 01-19-2012 Day 3 Rest [Mulissu]: You should be working. [Mostin]: I am taking a break; my head is full of iterated functions and I cannot

concentrate. [Mulissu]: You are looking at motes, Mostin. That hardly qualifies as relaxation. [Mostin]: It is for me. Look [here] and [here] and [here]. [Mulissu]: You will need to decipher for me. My Motish is rusty. [Mostin]: There are two sets of exclusory paradoxes relating to Eadric. [Mulissu]: This [here] is Shomei? [Mostin]: Yes. Notice that all sixteen remaining infernal seraphs are now bound to her mote; sixty other once-episemes; almost a thousand exemplars. No force of this power has ever before been assembled by a mage; nor yet a cabal. Nor one of this concentration even deployed since the Fall if then. [Mulissu] (Impressed): How? [Mostin]: I should mention that this is three days hence, not now. Regardless, her valent capacity for conjurations is prodigious. [Mulissu]: Her mote is in tight resonance with Eadric. [Mostin]: Their dance is subtle, and many layered; there are elements which are antagonistic, amative, paternal, mutually didactic, dominating, religious and companionable. The relationship is complex. [Mulissu]: All relationship is complex, Mostin; that is why sensible wizards avoid it. I assume that this dark, brooding bomb-beneath-a-blanket is Soneillon? There is a field of blackness behind her. [Mostin]: That is the Shadow of Cheshne. And this hungry node of void is Carasch. [Mulissu]: Demonstrate your paradoxes. Mostin stabilized the resonance between Shomei and the Ahma, and progressed the Web of Motes accordingly; the numerous devil-motes in her vicinity began to flicker and slowly fade. [Mulissu]: That would seem to be [Mostin]: Wait. The darkness behind Soneillons mote seemed to crystallize through it; hundreds of motes began to vanish. A tide which swept through the Web extinguishing

everything. Only one mote that of Nehael remained. [Mulissu]: That future would be best avoided. [Mostin]: Here is another. Shomeis mote was transfixed. The darkness receded, but the devil-motes began to disperse and recombine, forming new resonances and extending outwards in a net which permeated the entire Web. Tension increased, until motes began to crash into one another. [Mostin]: That was a hypothetical war, fought between Yeqon and his devilish saizhan-advocates, and the Antagonist Armaros; both of these infernal seraphim are currently beneath Shomeis thumb. If I bind her, they will factionalize and attempt to assert themselves as soon as their compacts come to term. [Mulissu]: Reverse the Web. Do not allow the compacts to expire, and assume only a brief binding of Shomei. He did. Shomeis mote erupted, and drove toward Soneillon; those of the fallen episemes detonated spectacularly around her. Futures began to bifurcate rapidly; Mostin held Shomei to a tight course, and Soneillons mote vanished, and then reappeared. Shomei acquired new intensity and plunged immediately toward an energetic mote of deep jade, impacting it and shattering it. [Mostin]: This is a typical catenary. If she can gain the Urn, her mastery of Hummaz is all but guaranteed, and she knows it. Her Fire is only half-actualized at present; if she can further unlock the Antinomos, Shomei will be unstoppable. [Mulissu]: Before or after Hummaz? [Mostin]: Before, with the help of the Urn. [Mulissu]: And what is [this?] [Mostin]: It is an anomalous catenary. [Mulissu]: Progress it. [Mostin]: [Here]. It does not lead anywhere. It is inert. [Mulissu]: Progress it further. Resolution. Shomeis mote pulsed, and expanded. It shone steadily: an isolated monad, around which a bright corona formed. It regarded those in her vicinity benignly.

[Mulissu]: What is it? [Mostin]: Perfection. A complete integration of her Flame. It did not move, but the significator for Hummaz seemingly magnetized migrated and was drawn into orbit around Shomeis lambency; its revolutions slowly deteriorated until it was silently absorbed. Motes exploded in a million directions as thought and color surged toward Mostin, shattering his inner vision and challenging the foundation of his prescience. A vibration of utter, draconic, profundity. [Mulissu]: Mostin? [Mulissu]: Mostin? [Mostin] (Wrily): That was the Aeon. It just reminded me that it knows I am looking. ** Ortwine collapsed onto the ground. She was covered in blood and guts. Nwm looked at her approvingly. You have done good work, Ortwine, the Preceptor nodded. How many times did you die? Only twice, Ortwine grunted. I feel I did well; my instinct for self-preservation must be better honed than that of Teppu. Narh died nine times; he doesnt seem to care: he just keeps going. Nehael turns animals into suicidal fanatics, although I think that he may be like that normally. And you? Ortwine nodded. Her presence is exhilarating; it cannot be denied. If the fear of death is removed, it is remarkable what can be accomplished. Empty words, Nwm, Ortwine shook her head. The fear of pain remains. And Nwm, for pitys sake: I am a queen and a goddess. Can we have no better accommodations than this wet earth?

If you wish for something more comfortable, you will need to find a wizard. It does not have to be lavish, Nwm. Just something. Nwm gestured, and wood flew together to form a small, crude hut, open on one side which faced the fire. Bed? Ortwine asked. Nwm shook his head. Moss? Ortwine asked. Nwm nodded. A cradle of soft moss grew within the shelter. Adequate, Ortwine crawled into it. And where are the wizards? Where is Mostin? And I thought the Academy were supposed to be more invested in events now? Shomeis actions have them in a fluster, Nwm replied. They are fragmented and nervous. Mostin is preoccupied with his work. What work? I believe a conjuration of some kind, Nwm smiled. Another terrible beast? Doubtless, Nwm nodded. And your own preparations for defense? Ortwine asked. Have you accomplished anything worthy? That remains to be tested, Nwm sighed. We are stacking spells as fast as we can which is slowly but, frankly, everyone is empty. And if the Fourth Effluxion can bring all of the remaining Cheshnite ritual power to bear, she will likely smash the net like so many eggshells. If? Ortwine inquired. She may not be predisposed toward ritual magic. One of the other immortals may need to take the lead in directing the cabals against our countermagicks; this would work in our favor. If she can focus them through herself, her assault will be powerful. You cannot determine which?

Nwm shook his head. Her obfuscations are difficult to pierce; she seems opaque to most divinations, and only so much energy can be directed to trying to penetrate them. Ortwine groaned. My suspicions are not good, Nwm. Still, I suppose a spell which counters a spell, is one less spell which burns a swathe of people. That is my philosophy also, Nwm nodded. She burns very hot, Nwm. You encountered her then? Twice, Ortwine nodded. She fell asleep. ** Shomei struggled with difficulty to regain consciousness, and stared across the room from beneath her robe. Narcoma still clung to her. Thank-you for not snapping my neck, Ahma, she remarked sleepily. I was not sure if your word was binding, if offered to fiends. It is not, Eadric was laconic. He approached her and regarded her. She seemed tiny. He knew that she was still vulnerable: her reservoir was depleted; almost all of her valences unoccupied. She had allowed her most potent wards to expire, for the purpose of more conjurations. He wondered how many superior planar bindings she was capable of in the course of a day, now that her Fire had ignited. Technically, one hundred and thirty-three, she replied lazily and unexpectedly to the unasked question. Although even I am not so dedicated. And I did not realize that my valent condition was so apparent to you. Your thoughts are undisciplined when you drink too much kasshiv, he observed. And your mind makes connection without your volition. She briefly lifted her head. I do believe that your pronunciation of that word is an affectation, Ahma. Speaking of; do you mind? She pointed at the cabinet where the kschiff was kept. I merely emphasize its proper ritual purpose. He retrieved another flask and filled her glass to the brim. Which you might remember, from time to time.

Shomei drank deeply, smiled, replaced her glass, and shifted her position. There are no dreams here, Ahma. Its effects are purely soporific. We all need a little oblivion, now and then; something Im sure you can appreciate. How was your book? He asked. Complicated. She furrowed her brow. It seemed to evoke an emotional response, Eadric remarked. Yes, Ahma; I am capable of them. Can you readily communicate its contents? Even in the broadest terms? It would be difficult, she sighed, closing her eyes again. It would require that you are familiar with a sevenfold hermeneutic; unfortunately, the Infernal Septiga takes some time to master. I feel you are being evasive, Shomei. Yes, Ahma, she yawned. Should I assume that some personal article was touched? I dont know, Ahma. She raised an eyebrow with effort. Would you care to talk about the totality of your experience with Soneillon? I am not sure that that would be appropriate. Because it is deeply intimate, or because you feel it would leave you open to subsequent manipulation? She asked drowsily. Point taken, he replied. Perhaps I will speak again later; when my guard is not so low, and I have had time to consider. That seems only reasonable, he conceded. And then, so can you, she mumbled and smiled. Unfortunately, that seems equally reasonable. I am sorry for your confinement, Ahma. And I have been rude; given no thought to your need for space. I will do something Her cogency was beginning to leave her.

Dont mention it, he replied drily And thank-you again for not killing me, Ahma, she muttered. I thought about it, Eadric sighed. I know. She reached up, fumbled, and patted his hand. Shomei returned to sleep. Eadric shook his head and opened the cabinet where his host-cum-gaoler kept a plentiful supply of kschiff and other beverages. He sniffed a number of them some seemed even more dubious than Shomeis drink of preference before settling upon a bottle of Bedeshi brandy. He put his feet up and sat for a long while by the fire, considering his circumstances. Shomeis choice to allow herself to be vulnerable because there was little doubt that every action committed by Shomei was one of willful choice spoke of complexities which compromised him, and with which he felt ill-equipped to engage. He did not suspect any calculated program of seduction, although there was an inevitable sympathy which arose through knowledge and revelation of the other; she had made herself transparent to him, and trusted him. Her I, to him, had become a Thou. He felt warmth even gratitude despite her actions, and an odd feeling of protectiveness; as though she were something altogether precious: he knew that she should be cherished. Really, I have always preferred fiends, he thought. They were just more interesting. His mind drifted; he was oblivious to events in the world outside, and wondered what transpired at Deorham, in Morne, at Galda. He pondered, at length, about Soneillon: only days had passed since he had left her; it felt like months. Her reaction to his predicament concerned him. Eventually having consumed half of the bottle a deep, dreamless sleep claimed him.
*

When he awoke, Shomei was already gone. Eadric stood and looked at the wall: a heavy timber door had appeared, where none had been before. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion: what lay beyond was, no doubt, for him Shomei had indicated as much, and apparently, she recalled vague commitments made in even the most inebriated state. He slowly opened the door, expecting some vast, opulent suite of rooms bedecked with furs and exotic fabrics. Instead, he found four small, modestly-furnished but well-lit stone chambers not too austere, he noted and a space which might be a shrine or meditation room, were he to make it so.

Still, a prison was a prison. He sighed. A book sat upon a table. He read its pristine cover embossed in contemporary Wyrish and laughed despite himself: Infernal Hermeneutics An Introduction
*