AbyssalRoadTrip
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Abyssal Road Trip - 208 - Something in the way
🕑 Added 2022-06-20 09:51:23 +0000 UTCAmdirlain's PoV - Maze
Her skin glowed golden with the energy circulating through the phoenix pattern. As the feathers flared upwards, Amdirlain blazed past the Guardian and unleashed a flying sidekick. Precisely targeted against an unsuspecting foe, the edge of her foot decapitated the room's inhabitant. Its aura fading rapidly, Amdirlain spun on her heel and stuck her toes into the bone pile beneath its body. The Guardian that had turned to follow her caught the kicked corpse straight across its torso, the slain entity’s remains shattered.
"Don't you have any Prestige Class units to throw at me?"
"Your disruption doesn't yet warrant such an opponent."
The unit went to move forward, only to stop and point towards her shoulder with the spear. "It grows from your flesh?"
Tempted to ignore the pain of the thorns prickling beneath her skin, Amdirlain nodded. "How many of these units do you have stockpiled, or does someone just punch out more on-demand?"
"There is a vast stockpile of life energy you call experience that has returned to the spire with no allocation. I believe you might be familiar with the two events where the energy release occurred."
"You're using my destruction of the pyramid and the city to make these units?"
It shrugged and circled along the chamber's perimeter. "It seems appropriate since I believe you had complained about theft, despite your class selection not matching the fashion of energy released. This way you can earn some of it instead of gaming the system for Assassin bounties that you didn't even collect on."
"That was completely within the rules," Amdirlain protested, trying to restrain her laughter. "Should I race you to see if I can kill the next spirit before you can stop me?"
"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is and fight like a girl?", the teasing tone was quite unlike its initial conversations.
"You are so going to get smacked for that."
"Big words, little Amdirlain. You're not even halfway through the Tier 2 waves, and each tier adds another wave to defeat."
Amdirlain's eyes lit up at the information, and teleporting one way, she waited for the thrust to commit and shifted position again. Death Strike added to the effectiveness of her spear hand strike that drove inwards through its side, rupturing gears in a spray of parts.
A small phalanx of two ranks blocked the width of the corridor and around the curve of the passage she spotted the spear tips that marked another phalanx’s presence. Clairvoyance let her spot the third phalanx even further back, and Teleport placed her at the mid-point of their second rank.
The closest unit shifted position a fraction, and instead of smashing gears, her blow merely moved it, despite breaking through the shell. Failing to deliver an immediate kill, Amdirlain unleashed a quick flurry and twisted away to disengage. The unit she'd targeted slumped to the ground, but those on either side of it turned to attack. Instead of using their spears, they let their weapons and shields fall from their grasps and threw themselves forward to pin her. Sidestepping to the right, she grabbed a wrist and swung it into the other attackers, the metallic impact ringing through the Maze.
Their attack hadn't brought time for the rest of the back rank to shift around completely but it was unnecessary given the style of spears they used. Another unit stabbed backwards with the short spike on its butt, but Amdirlain’s palm hand block slipped it past her torso and got her within its reach. Her sudden proximity forced the haft across its body rendering the spear nearly useless. Slapping a hand onto either side of its skull, she twisted it through the path of jabbing spears—blocking attempted attacks from those ahead—and continued its spin before setting it loose into the units to the right.
The shunting away of her closest foes created plenty of space, but there was a downside: the front rank, having reversed facing, now had that room for their long weapons. Given their lack of strength, none of them was individually a threat, but the last thing she wanted was to develop bad habits. Retreating from darting thrusts that didn't allow her to grab anything but bare blades, only her speed advantage saved her from being struck.
Teleporting backwards, she gave them plenty of space to redress their lines, and they quickly charged. The phalanx moved in perfect sync with each other and had their feet all hit the patch of ectoplasm at the same time. It was an experiment, and one that unfortunately only got her the briefest shift in their strides, but the imperfection in their balance didn't tempt her to react. She was still considering how to take them apart when the middle phalanx moved to join them, and wanting to prevent them from combining, she attacked.
The ectoplasm disappeared as Amdirlain rushed them, diving into a tumble where a Deflect saved her from their response; the psi field sending the provoked thrusts high above her. Hitting the left end of the line, a scythe kick hooked behind an ankle, knocking the target of her manoeuvre off balance. Grabbing their shield's edge, she flowed to her feet, upsetting its balance further. Already past their lead rank, she rolled onwards to fling the seized foe at the next phalanx, shattering their advance.
A hole through the middle makes it a bitch to collect the spare.
Aware those behind her were adjusting position, she teleported again. This time she reappeared in the spot she'd made vacant and lashed out with an open-handed shove against the shield of the closest foe. This time the Telekinetic Blast erupting from her palm compounded its unbalanced stance, catapulting it through their perfectly coordinated line; the five piled against the far wall rapidly dissolved. The last two standing flung their spears at her, but the Deflect was still in place, and the field twisted them off course, and they clattered off the ceiling.
Most don't consider a shield a weapon, but the shield rush they performed with linked shields would have smashed a living Julia into a broken mess against the wall. One fist targeted each shield and Ki Flight held her braced. Their momentum against her braced attack had her fists plunge through the shields and into torsos before she erupted with electricity controlled by Energy Aura. Once, the Psi usage would have overwhelmed her limits, but now she wasn't strained, and the cycling felt like a living dynamo.
You folks have my experience, and I have my coat claim stub right here.
Before the bodies could fall to the ground to dissolve, they went hurtling through the air, and a Telekinetic Wave added to their momentum. The front of the wave sent the broken foes into those still standing among the second phalanx, and the wavefront bounced them all off the corridor's curve.
She was teleporting in a buzz among their fallen forms, unleashing flurries of blows. Not pausing, she teleported after Ki Strike, leaving the majority wreckage, dissolving in her wake.
The original phalanx she'd seen from the chamber arrived, and Amdirlain started a spinning kick that had no hope of hitting anything until she appeared behind them; metal screaming as the first unit came apart.
The cycling had golden phoenix wings and blue flames continually flaring within her flesh. The light it caused shined out of her form, filtered by streams of blood released by the thorns, and the light jumped. When the last of the Tier 2 guardians fell, it was a light that danced on the Tier 3’s metallic shield that ushered forth a memory. It was tempting to fight it off, but even as Analysis revealed her foe's details, the memory bubbled higher, and she teleported away.
Analysis
[Species: Maze Guardian - Tier 3 (Construct)
Class: Soldier / Scout / Fighter / Knight
Level: 50 / 50 / 50 / 50
Health: 9,500
Defence: 524
Melee Attack Power: 555
Combat Skills: Broad Spear [M] (40), Grapple [M] (35)
Details: A focused combat construct used to keep the peace between the Maze's residents.]
[Combat Summary:
Maze Guardian - Tier 2 x 514
Total Experience gained: 4,574,600
Fallen: +914,920
Scion: +914,920
Sora Master: +914,920
Psion: +914,920
Warrior Monk +914,920
Death Strike [M] (59->60)
Harmony [S] (70->71)
Telekinesis [M] (5->6)]
* * *
On a near-barren world, fiery sparks provided the only stars against the utter darkness of the sky. Tiamat's memories had let her grow the world and now life slowly spread. Guided by songs learnt from listening to Tiamat's memories, she turned the spark's energy into an array of simple organisms and plants, a basis for further life.
Her father had rescued Tiamat from a state of perpetual torment in a dead realm. Plucked from her chest, the Mesopotamian gods had utilised the power in her still-living heart in place of a sun. Half her ribcage had formed a world's metaphysical boundaries, while the other had set limits of the planet's atmosphere. Torn asunder but still alive, Tiamat had remained trapped in that state, even when the rest of the realm died around her.
The Primordial's powerful memory had shared the experience of life coming into existence. The very essence of it resounding in such a fashion that it had provided Orhêthurin the Song needed to make her first world. Father had offered rescue and sanctuary for her help, but Orhêthurin would have freed her regardless to halt that torturous Song. The agony of ages, betrayal, and sorrow for her dead children wasn't something Orhêthurin could lift from Tiamat completely, no matter how much she wanted to. She could only hope enough good would come from it to have some meaning. If nothing else, the children Tiamat longed to see alive again would have worlds of their own to soar over.
Life had slowly spread across the world's surface, growing more complex as the centuries rolled on. Yet even with Tiamat Song guiding the way, it wasn't enough to create it flawlessly, and mistakes destroyed many species. It was a stage of work they needed to get through, and the longer it took, the more Orhêthurin changed.
* * *
The vast field was part of the world but slightly out of tune, so nothing would disturb the sleepers before it was time. As the last of the energy settled, Orhêthurin felt her father's gaze resting on her as the stasis enfolded the latest Anar she'd sung into existence.
"You didn't remove the divine spark from me when you transformed me?" asked Orhêthurin, and when he didn't respond, she prompted him. "Did you?"
"As I told you when you woke up, there isn't one in you," declared Nicholaus, his attention not shifting from the material in the forge.
"Father, tell me the whole truth."
Nicholaus's hammer rang against the anvil with enough force to shatter steel.
Unflinching, Orhêthurin moved up to him and placed a hand on his arm. "Please."
"You never had a divine spark; my father's bloodline ran true in us both. Once the idea was within your mind, the transformation was all your own doing. I couldn't carry a note in a bucket; getting your Song to interact with the rules of the realms we've visited, and this one, has all been you," sighed Nicholaus. "You're a Primordial, not a God, and while I supplied some energy, you've created species and not one, but two races—if you don't include the Dragons, though Bahamut certainly would."
The truth of his word was evident in his notes, but they'd never rung false before, merely contained hidden depths. "I don't want this power; I just wanted them to pay for their crimes."
"You already had the power, daughter. And it's not power, but what you do with it where fault or credit lies. Or am I also at fault for possessing power?"
Ignoring his question, she continued unabated. "I don't want to be a Primordial father; I don't think I can trust myself with that much power. You could have been the monster they treated you as, trapped under Crete, but you didn't just kill anyone and everyone they sent into your prison."
"I gave them a chance to get free, not all of them took it."
"Those that end up in the spirit prison, can we give them a way out?"
Nicholaus frowned and shifted his grip on the hammer. "That isn't what I intended."
"I know what you were looking to use it for, father. Can't it do both?" insisted Orhêthurin.
"Not all of them will be good," stated Nicholaus. "Why not just let them stay in there?"
"The mantles aren't natural to them; the beliefs of mortals will put them in place and influence their options for survival and power. While I want the good ones to have a chance, additions need to have balance."
"Honestly, I doubt there will be a balance beyond the equal chance," declared Nicholaus. Those whose natures incline them towards helping will be far more likely to help others get free; those out for themselves will see those imprisoned there as potential rivals."
"It's a chance, and we're not making their choice," wheedled Orhêthurin, and Nicholaus looked at her between strikes, his gaze narrow with suspicion.
His steady hand worked the material heated in the forge and, into the Soul he formed, Orhêthurin sang. The essence of every note settled into the fibre of its being, so it could hear them ring out through eternity.
"Is that why you intend to keep who you are a secret from your sleepers?"
Orhêthurin transitioned smoothly from singing to dancing, empowering the Soul and circling the forge in a spiral. "They should determine their course. Hopefully the Anar and Lómë will help us with the work, but if not, it will take longer."
Rather than pick up another ingot, Nicholaus set the hammer on the rack above his workbench, out of reach of the forge's sparks. "And even if they don't help, you'll have others to speak to besides me?"
"Bahamut is busy guiding the energy through the heavens. Tiamat is exploring the planes close to the scar in the Abyss' depths. Would you prefer I speak to Nüwa?"
He fell silent after a muttered expletive, and it was only after the Song had almost finished settling into the Soul that he spoke up. "Not really. She taught you how to form a living being from clay, but she's also used that knowledge."
"Those blue women are strange," granted Orhêthurin, and this time Nicholaus's attention snapped her way.
"I'd prefer you keep well clear of Nüwa and the Kyton; those depths will continue to twist their already warped nature. Though in that, as with your sleepers, what path you travel will always be up to you, little songbird," replied Nicholaus. Returning his focus to the newly formed Soul, he guided it to a nearby body. "But if you don't want the power, who would you trust with it instead?"
"No one."
Nicholaus's focus took only a moment to ensure the prepared form adapted to the Soul. "Life doesn't work that way. No matter how unlikely you believe the possibility, someone will try to fill a power void. Will you trust someone else to set the rules by which we will judge others?"
As the Soul settled into the flesh, Orhêthurin sang a short, well-practised Song that bound the Soul in place. "Then what do you want me to do, father?"
"I prefer you not take the path you seem intent on, but I can understand you want them to talk to you as an equal," replied Nicholaus and watched the newly breathing Anar flesh shifting to gain female attributes. A sleepy blink of her eyes showed the same golden glow that Orhêthurin's gaze had gained over the centuries. She didn't blink again as Orhêthurin finished multiple songs at once, placing her now clothed form in stasis.
"How many do you wish to sing into existence?"
"Given the process we set in place won't be able to create suitable souls, I was thinking eight million of each will be necessary. At least."
* * *
"It is necessary to push yourself if one wishes to improve," Orhêthurin stated without even a drop in her pace. Flowing steps took her across the slick slates suspended above the razor-tipped spears.
Orhêthurin leapt and spun horizontally between Dragon claws scything across her path, leaving her shoulder-length hair a knuckle joint shorter. The instant before she adjusted to touchdown, a shift in the air had her continuing the roll and carried her under a half wall of spines that suddenly appeared following the claw’s path.
The grey-white stone chamber around her rose nearly four hundred metres to a balcony area. That colouration was a reminder of father's Maze, but the memory within a memory didn't linger. The room contained an obstacle course that scrambled its contents regularly. There was hundreds of square metres of cris-crossed slat flooring, where a misstep would plunge one onto a spearpoint, if said spear didn't rise seeking flesh itself. Pillars would suddenly grow spikes, slashing blades, or even grasping hands that would break bones. Whirling blades appeared and vanished in ever-changing pathways that formed and disappeared among bursts of energy.
"Is that why father left, because you pushed him?"
Her daughter's words came from an upper balcony area but carried clearly through the noise of the shifting dangers about Orhêthurin.
"No, Ólneth. He left because he wanted things to be straightforward," explained Orhêthurin, using a finger twitch motion to release notes that teleported her past a diagonal jet of fire.
"Mother! Why are you being so vague?" demanded Ólneth.
Orhêthurin raced around a pillar in time with the blades that chased her and caught sight of a berry thrown into a flame-jet.
"I didn't correct a misunderstanding he had of me, and yesterday, when I did, he left. He felt he'd been living a lie during our time together."
"When did telling this lie come about, or should I say, misunderstanding?"
It wasn't promising that their daughter started with the first option, but Orhêthurin kept her focus away from Ólneth's Song and moved on through the obstacles.
"I didn't tell him anything on the subject; he made an assumption the day I first met him," answered Orhêthurin. A leap took her over a section of flooring that had suddenly collapsed in her path. Without even landing, a sword appeared in her hand to cut apart one of the session's targets, and she ran at an angle across a wall towards the next.
"Mother, you met on the day of the awakening. Why is he suddenly holding a lie against you after all those millennia?"
"Because I only just corrected his assumption," repeated Orhêthurin, and wondered yet again if she shouldn't have left it in place. "Now, at the very least, he needs time."
"How bad could the truth be for him to react in such a fashion?" demanded Ólneth. "Will you tell me when he's going to be back?"
She dealt with more obstacles and targets while considering the last question and was unhappy with the answer when she admitted it. "Honestly, I don't believe he'll come back. I'm sure the truth frightened him, and I wish I'd left the fiction in place."
"What could you have told him after so long together that it frightened him away?"
"It's nearly time for your coming of age ceremony, and he deserved to know the same thing I needed to speak to you about."
"Deserved to know what?" asked Ólneth. "You said it was from when you first met, so obviously, it's not about someone else being my father."
Teleport placed her on the railing above the training chamber, and she found Ólneth sitting at a crystal table a stone's throw away. Instead of returning Orhêthurin's welcoming smile, her daughter fixed her with a hooded glare and twitched in her seat. Golden eyes glowed above high cheekbones in her heart-shaped face, but she'd picked up most of her father's features, only gaining Orhêthurin's electric blue hair which she wore in a long, complex braid.
"No, he is your father. I informed him I know a Song to awaken your Soul's memories," answered Orhêthurin, only giving up one part of the truth this time. Her daughter's jaw dropped slightly to reveal teeth stained purple by the berries she'd eaten during the wait.
"How is that possible, mother? I'm the firstborn Anar. How do you even know my Soul has memories?" asked Ólneth sharply.
"You do because it's necessary, and I also know because someone must know," declared Orhêthurin. "There will never be more than the eight million Anar or Lómë that were at the awakening, and their souls can't be reborn in a weaker species. As the Titan told us after we awoke, it is not for either to have children as freely as other species in the realm."
"I was one of those that died against that Abyssal beast?" asked Ólneth, a moment all it had taken her to put together the shared revelation and last century’s incident. Her lean form hunching forward saw an out-flung arm thrust the bowl to one side, and it leapt to Orhêthurin's hand before it could spill to the floor. "Will the others be reborn?"
"A Dragon, not a beast, and it's never wise to underestimate a Dragon," offered Orhêthurin.
Ólneth sat up as suddenly as she'd hunched forward; the set of her jaw and the crossed arms made her irritation clear. "Mother, you do that all the time. Don't go on tangents; try answering the questions."
"Yes, the others will be reborn when the Titan deems it the right time and necessary."
* * *
"Have you done what was necessary, Orhêthurin?" asked Vanya. The Anar Queen stood watching the flames that continued to consume the city from the court's vantage point. Despite the days she'd worked to clean up the mess, the others hadn't shifted from their position on the hillside beyond its wall. Her attire now was as immaculate as when the hearing started, showing no stain from weather or battle.
Above the place of judgement, someone had set a dome in place to prevent the rain from washing it away. The Lómë resonance within its music meant it could only have been the single representative they'd allowed present for her execution.
They'd wanted everything controlled and pristine, like Vanya's clothing. Her own wasn't in such fine shape, dried blood from enemies both external and internal to her flesh.
The vines had sounded like an organic living thing, and the notes she'd taken to represent the deaths she'd caused already contained sneaky hidden depths. Depths that had revealed themselves with the initial deaths she caused, prompting them to grow with every death she'd wrought with True Song.
They'd grown well established after the initial surge of carnage when she obliterated the Gold Elf city. The roots of their growth had slipped into crevices that wouldn't have existed if she'd been a true Anar, and it had her unsure if it had been intent or misunderstanding of her that caused their strange nature. Still, she had more issues to deal with before she could look to remove them, if it was even possible, given she'd submitted to their initial creation.
"Now that matter has been-"
Orhêthurin's blade cut the seated King in two from crown to crotch, but the thorns shifted her movement slightly off-pitch. The Song her strike unleashed should have cleanly killed his entire chorus; instead, it horrifically mauled them, leaving contorted masses of flesh, partly turned inside out, muscles, and organs exposed to the air. As tempting as it was to leave them that way for eternity—given the horrors the Gold Elves had caused—she didn't let them suffer long.
"What have you done?" demanded Vanya. A sword appeared in her hand, only for Orhêthurin's forceful parry to send it flying, and the spinning blade struck an advancing guard in the shoulder.
"The necessary," rebuked Orhêthurin and effortlessly shattered the Guards’ Song that sought to contain her power. An unleashed silent song sent the Chorus’ souls immediately to safekeeping in her father's forge to avoid the chance of someone resurrecting them. "Isn't that what you ordered?"
"We didn't order you to kill any Anar," objected Vanya. Backpedalling from her grandmother, she started a killing song.
"The Gold Elves were his creation," Orhêthurin said in a tone that carried hoarfrost's deadly touch, already prepared to kill her granddaughter if it proved necessary.
The truth of her words froze everyone in place, and Orhêthurin started again. "Your husband and his chorus created them before the laws of non-interference were written. They not only created this problem, but they also hid it and set it up so no one could interfere with their work. Were you involved in helping them gain time to spread?"
Vanya's gaze widened, and her nostrils flared in disgust. "Never. How could this be?"
"Lucky I hear the truth in your Song. In their principal city, I found a grove of bones where they'd been Sung. It, and the first bones, echoed with the remnant of your husband's work. Yet, despite the centuries, I could hear the twisted nature of the Gold Elves in those bones. There is no way he or his chorus couldn't have known their work was flawed and would grow in this fashion."
"By what right did you kill the King?" demanded Vanya. "He should have stood trial."
"Weren't you listening? My orders were explicit: do what is necessary so that this never happens again. Isn't that what you and he said, Queen Vanya? I was acting on your royal command, and I won't let you have it both ways. What applies to the Gold Elves applies to the Anar."
Vanya's mouth twisted like she wanted to spit in Orhêthurin's face. "That doesn't explain why you tortured the others instead of killing them cleanly.”
"The brands I accepted grew into my Soul when I killed the first Gold Elf. Unfortunately, I killed about twenty thousand at once in my initial strike. Since then, they've been throwing things off and continued to grow."
"You continued to kill them even with something growing into your Soul?"
"I was doing what was necessary; paying the price comes later. So far, it only affects the songs I unleash via movements," said Orhêthurin and gestured to the bodies. "Though I will admit, it is indeed twisting those considerably."
"How?"
"That is an interesting question and one for which I don't yet have an answer," replied Orhêthurin. "Let his throne stand empty to remind people there are consequences."
"What will you do if we don't listen to that order?"
"I will do what is necessary for the Song, no matter who I end."
"Then I will do what is necessary. You are my grandmother no longer, merely Orhêthurin."
"So be it. If you believe such is necessary, you've fallen further than I feared. I won't let anyone forget the King's shameful deeds, and if you follow his course, you'll join him."
* * *
"That's unnecessary," protested the Andúnë Elf as Orhêthurin took the tray from his hands. The kitchen beyond the transparent kitchen door behind him was bustling with activity.
"I'll handle that tray for you."
The words of reassurance didn't lessen his wide-eyed look, and Orhêthurin knew what he saw. As ageless as any other Anar, her clothing would have some throwing fits. Though fashioned from the standard royal servants' uniform of deep blue silk with hints of gold, the cut was anything but proper.
Low-heeled boots, pants that seemed more like ribbons, linking bands from ankles to below the knees, then the strips continued under garters high on her thighs before meshing together to form a broad belt. The gaps in the cloth flashed glimpses of the branded vines with every motion. Atop were more cloth ribbons that left her midriff bare and modesty far behind. It did well in showing off nearly every illustrated thorn that the Song had laid across her skin and the bleeding tattoos left in their wake. Where the vines made it to her collarbones, she'd added a rose for every city of Gold Elves she'd destroyed.
"But you're an Anar, and that outfit isn't a servant's attire," protested the young male Elf.
"I'm just doing what is necessary," replied Orhêthurin politely. "May I know your name?"
"Goluher, of House Malantur. My apologies for my rudeness. The preparation for the Prince Consort's coronation has everyone busy."
"It's a pleasure. I’m Orhêthurin of House Amaurëa. I've already spoken with the head steward. He agreed, after a long discussion and thought, that I should help serve the wine in the main hall."
"My parents drilled the Anar's house names into my memory, and I've not heard of that house name. It means morning, doesn't it?" asked Goluher. "I've also never seen a servant's outfit crafted in such a fashion."
"If I wore normal attire, how would anyone see the markings of service?" asked Orhêthurin and balanced the tray atop a lifted palm. "As for my house, it's minor; there used to be three of us, but now I'm the only one left. This visit is the first time I've been to the new palace; I understand they levelled the old one after the King's death. The Queen’s architect and builders did a wonderful job, didn't they? It only took them three thousand years to decide on the style; fortunately, the Prince consort broke the deadlock."
Not waiting for Goluher to respond, she turned and walked away. Not a single guard dared stop her after she met their affronted gazes. Dignitaries from most of the higher houses packed the main hall celebrating the Prince Consort's day, and as she moved among them, the conversation stopped. One tray after another, she pressed upon the guests by force of will.
"Orhêthurin, what are you doing here, not to mention dressed like that?" Ólneth softly asked. Orhêthurin waited until the guest, the current focus of her attention, removed a glass from her tray before she turned towards her daughter.
"You’re worried about my clothing, yet ignore the brand’s Song?”
“They’re horrendous, but at least I can filter out their wailing. What are you doing here?”
“Then pretend I don’t exist as you’ve done for some time now. I’m doing what is necessary, given the stories I've heard circulating about the King's heroic death, saving the poor benighted species of a world," replied Orhêthurin and stepped closer, her predatory grace immediately setting the knight escorting the Queen's mother on edge. “From now on, I'll regularly attend court, and my attire will ensure everyone sees the legacy of the King's shame.”
"Mother, is that necessary?"
"Your daughter stripped us of that, and you chose to follow her instructions until now, so don’t play on our former relationship. I've heard the spreading tales; you should have stepped on them," replied Orhêthurin sweetly before the false happiness finally left her eyes. "Now, I'm going to rub your faces in what some have tried to sweep away."
"You should leave," the guard warned.
Orhêthurin bared her teeth, and the guard felt the weight of her focus impact him. "It's such a lovely day. Planning to mar it with the need for a funeral? I will go wherever is necessary, and you'd best stay out of my way. I’ve pulled all the deceptions from the brands, and now the malice of their Song is as clear as the music of their creators. You should all be ashamed; I spent little time around him, but how did you miss it?"
* * *
Amdirlain blinked as the chain of memories finally released her, trying to shake off the impact of Orhêthurin's rage and sorrow. However, the worst part had been the deep loneliness that had saturated the last memory.
"Just facts, my arse," Amdirlain muttered and rose to her feet. "She felt so alone. Had she stopped caring about herself?"
Tempted as she was to coax more memories up, Amdirlain teleported back to the region she was exploring. At present, she needed to let out some of Orhêthurin's rage and not bottle it up inside her.
Comments
Hopefully Admirlain, after the Lome escape from Ternox, punishes them for their betrayal, something like disinheriting the power of Song from Lome and Anar.
StormyAngel
I think we've gotten all of the parts of this "markings of royal shame" tale told separately from 3-4 different sources, but it was nice to get it all in one concise version. To be honest I was very confused on the exact timeline of events before this chapter, but this made it all clear and I can't think of anything that contradicts what we've been told before. As for Orhethurin, I feel like she definitely made some mistakes, but they're at least understandable ones. Her daughter/granddaughter's actions are seriously disappointing too, so it's no wonder she was so bitter. I can feel the malicious compliance every time she says "necessary" from here. Now though I hope that Amdirlain figures out some way to remove the thorns. Those things are starting to feel like a worse enemy than the curse, which is at least not actively out to get her. Maybe since she's a reincarnation of Orhethurin the "I willingly submitted to them" clause won't hold true any more? Either way, thanks for the chapter!
Glenn Wright
That question will get answered, but it's going to be a few chapters yet before I make her current state clear.
AchroniaXenia
It truly had gotten bad for the Anar; could she still be considered a Primordial?
