AbyssalRoadTrip
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Abyssal Road Trip - 202 - Ain't it a drag
🕑 Added 2022-06-01 17:38:19 +0000 UTCTorm’s PoV - Eyrarháls - Evening Third Day
He doesn’t say a word when he enters the study; he simply lets the door settle behind him. Lord Týr’s presence had been apparent when he entered the building, but his purpose is unclear. Once I wouldn’t have had to wonder what he needed, my Oath-Link would simply have made it known. Now it’s a struggle to hear through it; his voice and needs are faint and far away.
“Torm, I’m glad I caught you,” Týr says, even as I rise to greet him. “I have a matter I need you to consider.”
“What do you need, my Lord?”
Týr approaches the table I’d been working at and looks over the reports that ladened its surface. Each one from Moke’s contacts painted an increasingly grim picture, with few glimmers of light. Picking up the nearest, he winced at the list of casualties and replaced it with a weary sigh. “When I asked you not to use my title, I hadn’t just meant in public, Torm.”
“Old habits,” I offer, cutting off the addition of the title this time.
“However, the Titan’s rules judge such a thing. I don’t know if those holding the barrier will count in the fight against Raivo. In which case, one of the three of you will end up with the accumulated mantles,” states Týr, not bringing up the possibility of loss. ”What do you wish to do with them?”
It’s a question I’d already considered, and the answer wasn’t hard to decide. “I’ll let the mantle go to Liranë if she’s comfortable holding them.”
Týr simply watches me, and I don’t return to the report but wait for him to speak. “Not planning to gain the strength from them?”
“My Lord, if I did that and Amdirlain needed someone to help her, it might block me from doing so,” I reply honestly.
“If she becomes a Goddess again, standing at her side might feel divisive if you remain in my service,” says Týr. “What happens if it comes to a choice between ensuring Justice and allowing someone their Hope?”
“I will do my duty to you, my Lord,” I state and continue despite his sigh. “I’m sure whatever happens, Amdirlain will respect my decisions. I’m concerned about where Amdirlain might be when she recovers herself. Would I have your permission to aid her wherever that might be?”
“I see you had considered that it might be within the Abyss. I hadn’t wanted to bring up such dark possibilities before their time,” says Týr, who surprises me with an approving nod. “That’s a risky course of action, but not as dangerous for you as others.”
“I’m glad most of the strength in my classes doesn’t come from casting blessings,” I admit
Týr thumps the stack of reports with the side of his hand before motioning at me. “You’ll still need something to conceal your nature better.”
“I know a few artificers,” I state, though how busy they currently are has me wincing.
“Well, two of them might possess the skill to create something strong enough,” replies Týr, pausing. “You might also want to consider how to present your arguments. She’s not inclined to let others risk themselves for her. Given the aid she’s provided to both of us, I’ll leave the course to the pair of you, but your intentions have my approval. I hope you both make it out safely if it occurs.”
“Taking the risk is entirely for me, Týr. I told Amdirlain I’d wait, but I didn’t say where I’d do the waiting,” I say and catch the briefest of smiles from him.
With that, he leaves me to the reports, but I soon come across one that claims my focus. Accounts from contacts in the Adventurers’ Guild sacking an eastern port in Crete. Rechecking the port’s name, I shift it to the priority pile, hoping Verdandi is safe amidst the fighting. Since my summoning, the Allegiance Bond she holds is still intact and pointing off far to the east.
The need to see Raivo destroyed soon in case something happens to Verdandi settled itself in place further. Unlike Amdirlain, I didn’t know another that could simply form an Allegiance Bond at will. Either I linked it with the summoner or not.
Setting the latest report back on the stack, I give in to impatience. Checking the pouch and ward stone is still about my neck; Teleport places me at the planned killing ground. What had been a grassland well beyond the last farmhouse to the west was now a perfect circle of stone fifty metres across. Lantern archons float above where Mirage works alone, her Mortal helpers having already retired for the evening. True Sight presents a brief shimmer of Mana as she finishes yet another rune etched into the stone.
“Come to check on the hired help?” asks Mirage. Even as she teases, she’s shuffling along to position herself further along the circle’s edge.
“Sorry, it’s more that I’m restless. I’ve read too many disturbing reports today,” I admit with a grimace, not having considered checking in from her perspective. “While we’ve acted on some of them, we cannot help everyone.”
“And you’ve stayed close in case anyone comes after Týr or Fen?”
“Partly, but also in case certain foes surfaced,” I reply. “Do you know how to form additional allegiance bonds in the same fashion as Amdirlain?”
Mirage's look makes me feel like I’ve taken leave of my senses. “Seriously, you can’t?”
“That’s one way to say yes,” I mutter, and Mirage bursts into strained laughter. “Don’t be like that, please. I know you’re all able to access your Profile, and that’s just one example of our limits you’ve been bypassing since the Maze.”
“Right, you have a point,” admits Mirage. “Everyone’s gone to town, or we could experiment. We’ll find someone awake before dawn, and I’ll try using Harmony to let you feel how forming the bonds feels to me.”
Giving her a nod of thanks, I motion to the circle. “Thank you. Anything I can do to help?”
Mirage shakes her head but stops and looks along the sections inscribed so far. “Since you seem all keyed up, why not go punch the stone near the runes I’ve got in place? Every time anything hits the stone, the runes will cause it to get stronger. However, it wouldn’t hurt to build up an energy sump before the fight,” explains Mirage, picking the etching tool back up and checking its edge. “If any initial impact is too strong, I don’t quite know what it will do.”
“Perhaps Liranë can increase my weight while I walk around,” I suggest remembering the stone cracking under Amdirlain’s feet in their duels.
Mirage clasps her hands to her face in fake surprise. “Oh, you’re not just a pretty face.”
“Thanks,” I drawl.
“No charge at all for Amdirlain’s sweetheart,” Mirage teases, trying for a light-heartedness that seems beyond her at present.
Given the way I’ve seen her brush back Radovan’s hair and sit close to him, it’s tempting to enquire if she’s sewn him a shirt for their wedding. However, the work is too important to get her flustered; still, she catches something of my mood.
“You think she’ll make it back to us?”
“I’m positive she’ll be fighting tooth and nail to return,” I say, but the worry in her gaze remains. “I’m also sure she’d approve of your young man. Remember that relationships take work, but those involving mortals can be harder.”
“You’re as bad as Ebusuku,” growls Mirage. Her paleness has the blush showing bright red, right up to the tips of her ears. Though it seems the flustering is good for her when she returns to work with a lighter heart.
“Hardly that,” I protest. Shifting closer to my True Form, but without the wings, I walk with deliberate, heavy footsteps along with the distance she’s covered so far. Reaching the end, I loop back towards her and catch Mirage’s nod of approval for my steady approach.
* * *
Farhad describes the Harmony Power as seeking oneness within the world around you. Mirage’s request for help from priests at the pre-dawn service immediately has more offers than I hope she needs for me to get this right. Stepping into her temple feels like Amdirlain’s hand is suddenly holding mine as I take in the place.
The long hall is standard for Norse buildings, but the motifs along the walls are something else. The motifs are of broken chains with a woman among them helping figures regain their feet and are different to the carved cord knots and pictures of battles within Týr’s halls. When they’d first carved them, there had only been an elven lady—a perfect resemblance to Amdirlain—helping them to their feet. They’d since changed them, and now the women along the temple’s walls represent each race among the kingdoms. The only Elf left among them is just to the right of the doors, perhaps chosen on purpose to watch over them all yet not draw attention.
I’m not sure when the roses that seemed part of the floor had appeared, but the Divine energy in them is clear. Their appearance doesn’t disturb the stone's surface; it’s more a 3D illusion, one of the many things Sarah had shared with me while in the frozen north. True Sight shows the temple’s consecration causes them, and it makes the one Verdandi had set centuries ago within Eyrarháls’ Judgement Hall feel shallow. Each step within has the roses shift in a gentle breeze, and the blooms stay focused on each person within the temple.
They are just gathering when Víðarr comes into their Temple with the familiarity borne of his regular visits. His beard's neat, close grooming shows his wife’s touch, given he used to grow it a hand span and longer. While still nearly colourless, his eyes take in the people present with no need for the magic he’d used for years.
“Hello, Víðarr. Hopefully, Torm’s lesson this morning doesn’t take too long,” Mirage says and motions us to where she’d been talking to those who’d offered to help.
“Morning, Leira. That's fine, I can understand the importance, and we’re not all fast learners like yourself. But Torm and I will muddle through, I’m sure,” Víðarr says, taking her teasing tone in stride.
“Well, at least you both know how to meditate,” Mirage begrudgingly admits and ignores my snort.
“I’ve learnt Harmony as well. I don’t have the same understanding of Allegiance Bond that certain cheating celestials have,” I grumble good-naturedly. Glad to see the flicker of amusement among the sadness that seems to hold so many in thrall.
Mirage’s telepathic touch, like other Celestials, is a controlled light touch of power, unlike Liranë’s, which is either nonexistent or holding more than a hint of danger. My Telepathy Power lets me feel the contact of her mind, wherewith Liranë, the first thing I’m aware of is when she wants me to know. Repeatedly I’ve been sure she’s listening, but I’ve never detected that initial connection.
At her prompting, I settled into Harmony’s drifting state. Through our link, I can sense her reaching out her mental touch, almost getting how she offers it. The bond forms lightning quick, and I lose it on the edge of understanding.
An instant crystal path blazes between them in True Sight, and her awareness immediately fades into the world’s background.
“Don’t accept the bond immediately when you feel the bond offered. Please give Torm a moment,” Mirage says and motions to the next.
The next is more apparent, and I can feel the Power inside myself, tracing down along my link to Verdandi. At the stream’s spring, I mentally dip my hand in as Mirage sets in place a third. The crystal path she blazes again feels different to my Power, and mentally cupping my hands, I draw on the Power’s essence and offer its waters to Víðarr. The moment of his acceptance is a greeting between friends, and I feel it like a solid hand’s clasp between us.
I can’t see my Profile as Mirage can, but now I can feel two bonds instead of one.
“Thank you, Leira,” I say, feeling a weight of concern shift from my shoulders. Despite her now having the protection of a Greater Power against being summoned, I’ll stick with the common name she’s using.
Mirage smiles a teasing grin. “Maybe you’re not so hard to train after all.”
“Perhaps add a few more bonds with other priests before breakfast. I know I’d feel better knowing we weren’t counting on just the High Justice and me staying alive to ensure you can protect Lord Týr,” Víðarr says. At my nod, he turns to address Mirage and those gathered. “Thank you to everyone that offered help.”
Adding my thanks, we head towards the inner gates and Týr’s Hall.
“Most faiths have their service after dawn,” Víðarr says, stifling a yawn. “I’m not sure I’d be wanting to rise in time to hold a service before dawn every day.”
“It’s the darkest before the dawn. They focus on what they need to move towards, not what they already have.”.
“That’s fine, but I’d have fewer headaches some days in court if some would move towards proper relationships. Yesterday was the latest case of some parents complaining about the men dishonouring their daughter. However, according to her testimony, she has ‘an understanding with them’. I’m not sure I see three women and four men as a marriage, but the daughter insists it is,” grumbles Víðarr.
Though his tone isn’t one of disapproval, I wonder at the source of his grumbling. “Is it more because someone brought it to the court that bothers you?”
“In part, but I’m not sure I understand it; it seems more about sex than a proper commitment,” offers Víðarr.
“Love as you will is to their faith a law,” I explain. “Their standard rule is all parties need to be consenting adults, and the adults should care for any child resulting from the union.”
“She was fine with that?” Víðarr asks, not mentioning Amdirlain’s name. Even without using it directly, he still seemed hesitant to ask.
“Amdirlain told me her guiding rule about other people’s relationships is that it’s normally none of her business. It should only be anyone else's business if someone involved in the relationship says things aren’t right. She said if the people involved are consenting adults and the children are happy, she wishes them well. I’d heard she told some of the freed women the same.”
Víðarr nods thoughtfully, and we walk silently, nearly reaching the temple square before he speaks again. “I might have to get the Jarl to put something in writing to head off these headaches.”
“Some folks will complain regardless,” I warn, but he just nods and continues.
“What do you mean by in a way they don’t want? Surely everyone wants the same treatment-”
I don’t need memories of Sidero and Gaius’ odd antics rattling around in my brain, and I cut him off. “I’m not going to get into that. If the law you seek stipulates willing consent from all involved adults, that should be enough for a just ruling on the definition of if they’re involved in a marriage.”
We’re barely at the hall when Víðarr picks a few from among those gathering to prepare things for the service, including one very surprised Novice. The young lad went wide-eyed at the explanation he’d be ensuring I could remain on the Material Plane. His awe-struck expression was sitting uncomfortably on me when his homage should rightly be Týr’s.
The service is a good affirmation within the dark days we have now. The cause of Justice is more important still when madness for war and death seems to want to close their fists on one and all. It adds a solemn air to my morning’s walk that evaporates at Fen’s blech when I step into the smaller dining hall. Týr, Mithras, and the senior cadre officers present don’t even blink at the volume, and I wonder how much noise she’s made again this morning.
“He’s been picking up mantles you’re not going to like if they come to you,” Fen growls before downing another mug of mead like water. Her plate was already clear of food, but she looked ready to get more. “Don’t play games with him. We should gut him and end him quick.”
“Will you be fighting with us?” I ask in surprise; despite discussion, she’d never mentioned her intent.
“Did you think I was going to let a member of our pack fight that Demon alone?” chuckles Fen. “Plus, can’t let Farhad boast that he’d contributed more to the pack’s wellbeing. I wasn’t going to sink that boat; it might have taken on a bit of water, but it would have been fine.”
“I don’t remember the day well. Just bits and pieces of the last fight on the High Priest’s boat, but fires burning and boats sinking in the background,” I admit.
It didn't come to mind if I’d seen their altercation amidst the memories I kept. There had been enough chaos among the longboats, barges, triremes, and other craft to hide thousands of momentary clashes even if I’d had a perfect recollection of the day.
“You were busy elsewhere, I’m sure, but I didn’t have time to get out of the water before the Kraken came up to play,” huffs Fen. Her tone isn’t angry but more upset, making me feel like she’d wanted a chance to fight it.
The sound of hulls cracking like kindling snaps through my mind, and a raised altar shines in my memory of Poseidon’s Priest readying to sacrifice a child. I don’t remember who the child had been, not even their face, but it had set my Jarl in a frenzy to free them. The mosaic across the altar’s front showed cresting waves rolling towards each other, symbolically supporting the youth they were offering to their God, despite his presence on a nearby vessel. I hadn’t lived to witness Poseidon’s death but learnt that peace had come on its heels, and with the restoration of their mantles, Odinn had slain the Kraken.
“You should have had them make the circle bigger; not much room for my wolf form,” grumbles Fen, bringing me back to the present. “Guess I’ll just have to make do.”
“I’d prefer to be fighting with you, but this aid I provide,” says Týr. Shifting his scabbard, he pulls it off his belt and sets it on the table before me. Its darkened leather would look nothing special if one didn’t know his blood had stained it the day the Vargr Drangijaz came into existence. The sword’s aged hilt is likewise bound in stained leather and looks like simple steel, but I know the Dwarven gods had a hand in the weapon’s crafting.
“I shouldn’t take your sword from you,” I protest, uncomfortable even considering carrying his blade. “What if someone attacks while we’re dealing with him?”
“I’ve other weapons, Torm, but if I’m not allowed to be fighting alongside you,” Týr says, ignoring Fen’s broad grin at his words. “I want to ensure you have all the aid I can give you.”
“I’ll treat it honourably,” I pause, unsure what to say when Týr shakes his head.
“It’s a weapon, Torm; use it to kill the thing as quick as you can. Let’s ensure fewer people are in danger. I’m worried about the time preparations are taking us, and what mark he’ll leave on this world in that time,” admits Týr. “What plans do you have while you wait?”
“I thought I’d spend some time training with the monks in the cadre,” I offer. One commander I recognise from the training grounds nods in greedy anticipation, and it seems I might not have to search for training partners.
* * *
It’s nearing noon when I get a message from Mirage to return to the circle—far sooner than I had expected. The others were already present, or the few minutes I took to excuse myself had seen them arrive and quickly settle.
Beyond where the cadre’s wizards are gathering to start the casting, I spot Liranë sitting cross-legged. When I crouch by her, she simply opens her eyes and contently waits for me to start.
“If it offers the mantles to you, would you hold on to them for now? Or would you prefer I carry them?” I ask, feeling like she’d happily sit there silently if I didn’t speak.
Liranë’s twitch is slight but makes her discomfort clear even before speaking. “Know that I’m already uncomfortable, even with what I have. Can you hold them and pass them to another as Fen did?”
I’ve no problem understanding, given the mess she’s aiding us with, and I hope my nod is enough reassurance. “I had told Týr I’d pass them to you only if you were comfortable holding them. We will sort it out afterwards.”
“Know that he has killed one called Taranis recently, an extremely unpleasant individual,”
“The Gaul god of lightning isn’t—well, wasn’t—pleasant,” I offer, wondering what ritual of Taranis’ that Raivo had interrupted for Liranë’s understanding of that Deity’s nature. “I thought you weren’t Far Seeing him.”
Liranë's normally calm mental voice is roiling with distaste when she finally replies. “Know that usually, I check on him from time to time to ensure my link hasn’t gone astray. Know that after Taranis’ former priestesses welcomed Raivo enthusiastically, I’ve kept a distance.”
We both wince, and the lingering mental touch shares her mutual concern about cambions.
Mirage double-checks the circle’s edge, leaving her assistants to set additional runes along the way. A dozen more arranged by the cadre had reinforced the town’s pair of artificers. When Mirage completes her work, she walks towards us, pausing only to toss a medallion to Fen, busy pacing about the middle.
“I bring gifts,” Mirage says, holding out a hand to myself and Farhad with a medallion for each of us. “Lightning immunity.”
“When did you get time to do this?” I ask, adding the medallion to the necklace holding my Oath-stone and Divine focus.
“I had made some temporary lightning resistance ones. These came from a company that butchered a bunch of Zeus’ former priests this morning. They stopped the bastards trying to slaughter an Egyptian village, and these were among the loot,” replies Mirage, “The company’s leader recognised some of the rune patterns and asked me to check them. They’re Artificer-made with no Blessing in place, so they should be right for both of you to use.”
“Know that I could have kept the lightning from harming with psi-techniques,” states Liranë in a flat voice.
Mirage shrugs, unconcerned by a tone that others might find offensive. “I know, but this lets you save your strength for other things. You’re doing something we can’t do; let us contribute to this community effort.
“Quite a community effort,” notes Farhad, spotting the captains exchanging ready signals. “I hope the barrier can hold him, given the wizards' experience limits.”
“Between Yngvarr, Aggie, and Aleena guiding the companies, they’ll keep him inside the dome. Let’s make sure we do our part,” I say, wishing Livia had been here to join their efforts and even things between them.
“Working together for a common purpose, especially taking down a Demon Lord, makes it a fine day. I hope this destroys him,” Farhad says. He doesn’t even wait for a reply before striding towards Fen, standing near the centre, twirling a spear effortlessly in her hands. I see him drink down a flask and crush another that sets a mist around him before it sinks into his skin. When I cross over the circle’s edge, I sense the barrier’s energy forming and the dome snaps into existence.
The presence of Liranë’s mind touches mine, and I’m aware of Fen, Farhad, and Liranë, as well as the strength of the Githzerai community. Thousands of masters add their power to her and her link with Raivo.
He’s on the move again, racing through the shadow tunnels. I feel his motion like a hurricane racing across my skin. As Liranë works to shift him, his presence weighs down the world, and the slipperiness of the tunnels’ existence helps in resisting her efforts. Yet it’s a resistance that doesn’t last long against her mental energy.
The strange soaring canyon walls had made him look tiny and somehow compressed him. His form expands to nearly three metres when he’s torn from the canyon’s enclosure, but the stone beneath his feet holds firm. He has black hair and grey skin, with bruised-purpling blotches across his muscle-bound form. The timing was nearly perfect. Caught by surprise, no aura ignited, and no weapon in hand. He takes a single step, his brain racing, adjusting to the unexpected event.
Bloody Hell.
A burst of details from repeated Analysis uses comes on the words’ heels. Liranë’s awareness shunts aside vile thoughts clouding his own, adding dozens of false targets within the barrier. I don’t have time to get the exact rating, but Fen’s numbers have him throwing himself aside as her battle-won spear pierces the air where his head had been. Locks of black hair clipped free, and droplets of blood were her only prize.
Not giving him time to recover, we attack.
Wolf pack tactics. Fen will be happy. Teleport shifts me, and a slash already started rises into the path of his dodge. A change in his stance has it gouge out muscle from his bicep instead of opening his chest. As his Lightning Aura ignites, it washes harmlessly around me, and Farhad’s kick sends him back towards Fen’s next jab. His war mattock appears in his grasp to deflect it, and he flows through a turn with the momentum Farhad gave him. The strange third arm shifts position to land a punch into Fen’s throat.
Quarters are already closer than we’d expected so soon. Yet, the wound I’d carved into his arm sealed up far slower than demonic speed.
A shimmer around him fades instantly, taking his gloating smile with it. When he tried to Teleport away, I had already appeared beside him. I must drop beneath a backhand to open his side from rib to hip, pinning him against Fen’s attack. Her spear’s spiked butt raked across his leg, almost taking him in the knee. He blurs towards Farhad to get away, and crystal bursts into existence.
His Black Knight Charge, read by Liranë, let her create a Crystal Spire technique just in time. The construct forms a grounded spear that strikes up through his crotch, bending his giant form in two and causing him to vomit black blood across where Farhad had stood.
The crescent kick twisting him on the spike comes in time with Raivo’s fist, shattering the spire apart. Fragments cascade amid the blood from the sealing wound, yet I can feel Liranë’s control of the ectoplasm still within him through the gestalt. He swings a controlled strike for Farhad even as we close. The weapon’s strike would have taken Farhad through the ribs, but he’s already inside the swing.
A smashing noise comes with broken bones, and the blow throws Farhad away, but he’s already seized his prize. The landed shoulder strike hadn’t been at Raivo; he’d shattered the weapon’s haft. Its head still carries with it the force of the swing and spins across the ground before we feel Liranë Teleport it away. I skip-Teleport one way to grab his attention at the edge of his peripheral vision. Fen fakes a rush, only for a hurried Ki Blast from Farhad to burn the air with liquid fire and hit him squarely.
Though single-handed, the energy still drives Raivo towards me, and I slice upwards, brushing past his attempt to turn my blow. Though it was a clean upwards slice, it doesn’t cut him in two but still castrates him and opens a gushing wound. Celestial steel grinding against demonic bone sets his eyes blazing with fury and agony. The blast carried him a fraction too close, and I endured his return strike. A thumb catches my face, and his explosive strength pressing through Ki Armour ruptures an eye.
“Derek.”
With his thumb hooking into the socket, I taunt dangerously with his original name. It prompts him to let go, but his reply isn’t words. Ignoring my blade’s damage, he slaps my arm aside before a flurry of rabbit punches shatter Ki Armour and break ribs. Liranë is the one who teleports me away as I stagger backwards under the force.
He’s savouring my pain and believes in his assured victory. Yet despite the surrounding danger, he savours memories of the once-determined rejections of his most prized victim. His thoughts provoked by an extra dig from Liranë become a dangerous kaleidoscope as disgusting memories bubble up. Each shows a man's struggles, not wanting to give in to a beast but slipping away, regardless. Then Liranë spikes his brain, and the memories explode with strength. The Psi force almost threw us from the battle gestalt she had formed.
Memories of the man Raivo fought for so long to consume come alive with energy provided by a monastery’s loaned might. It’s not the man; his Soul is gone, but an artificial construct ravages the Demon’s mind from within.
Disrupting battle instincts and plans, the Derek who held him at bay for a millennium became two, then four. More snap into existence, multiplying in a Mortal’s heartbeat to a howl of hundreds, demanding to be free and mocking the parasite that ate him. He’s still screaming when Fen’s spear drives between ribs, and she feels it pulse with the drum of his heart.
A deadly wound for most, but he thrashes about, fighting to get free. Fen moves with him, leaving him with no space to manoeuvre or time to heal. His grasping hands try to break the haft, but Odinn’s spear holds firm. A stomp of his foot lets loose a thunderclap, the force that would shatter a castle wall not making a dent.
My regeneration has already restored full sight, but I feel bone shards shifting in my chest and force myself to move past it.
Glowing blue Ki is still sealing Farhad’s broken shoulder, but Ki Movement hurtles him forward. With Air Mana wrapped through Farhad’s Ki State, he runs up Fen’s back and leaps, the slicing wind enclosing his shins. Yanking Raivo about on her spear, she brings him in perfect line with the kick. Deadly Strike and the cutting wind of the Mana wrapping the limb send Raivo’s head flying free.
He is still in mid-air, readying to land, when a white light—so different to his Ki—bursts from his flesh, and he disappears.
The golden script carries a mocking note but also makes things clear: Farhad has slain Raivo but fled the battlefield to climb Immortal heights. The spoils go to Fenris and Tyr’s servant to split between them.
Raivo’s body slumps to the ground while the head, when it impacts the barrier’s dome, shatters like a melon.
The lightning mantles flare across my skin. The air tasted of a storm rolling in across an open ocean. Nature's power amplified to a level that gods would fear, carrying a promise of pain and destruction.
Even as I take in Fen’s displeased grunt, the other aspects Raivo gained make me hiss in pain. Spoils indeed, more like spoiled, diseased riddled, rotting meat. Desires, unwholesome and vicious mantles scream out, seeking the domination and pain of others. They make me wish I could vomit. The residue of filth it had collected over countless years, the rape and violation of the innocent and foul alike, all bear down on me, sickening me to my core. Flashes of those tormented in their name mock and deride me, trying to gain control via my satisfaction with the previous holder's death.
Searing through flesh, the power of the aspects struggle and writhe, trying to escape when I hold to my Oath of service. I’d willingly let them go but warned by Ossi’s gaining of thievery; I‘m far too close to Eyrarháls.
Teleport sets me far to the north before they can break away. The barrier that the Gods’ War set restricts my choice of locations, but they slide away far beyond the closest town. I let them escape into the long swamp grass. Though the strong winds coming off the great expanse of freshwater ahead of me press upon the surrounding grass, they don’t disturb the foul grey mist that leaves the ground blighted within its haze. Holy Smite burns across the fog, forcing it to retreat into the soil, and I’m not comforted by the location’s remoteness.
Evil always resurfaces.
I feel the tendrils of its foul power leave me, falling away like necrotic slime and trailing downwards after the retreating force. To seal it, I set one Consecration and Hallow after another into the now-dead ground beneath my feet.
The blessings used in Týr’s service don’t restore the land the miasma killed, but they make its vile sensation seem far distant. I’d happily leave right away, yet the circle of dead ground nearly an acre across within a region of life-filled swampland is too helpful a marker for future seekers.
“Mirage, I hope you have some ideas for steering mortals away from a place they shouldn’t venture.”
Mirage’s reply is quick and filled with a celebratory zest that I hope she can keep when she feels this place.
Waiting for Mirage the mantles that didn’t flee from me shift about and settle in place. The raw lightning aspects from a half dozen deities mingle and merge strangely, becoming an awkward weight across my shoulders. Yet others like Plutus’ Wealth and Artemis’ chaste female aspect sit uncomfortably indeed. A suspicion that Fen pushed that aspect of Artemis off on me soon niggles when her Hunter aspect isn’t among those that swept over me.
Comments
Glenn Wright
He'd been killing all the lightning gods as well as various ones representing destruction - like Moros who was the greek god of physical doom
StormyAngel
My brother's dog, that I have been looking after, has been seriously hampering my ability to interact with electronics of late, or I would have posted this sooner. I love the idea of Ossi as the god of thieves, that seems very trickster-esque. And it's awesome that they took Raivo down, I was kind of expecting him to linger on for a good while longer and that ultimately Amdirlain would fight him in a big showdown, but it's probably better this way. He was going to have so many mantles it would have been insanely difficult to take him out, and that honestly feels like he would have been too big of a villain for his role in the story. Epoche can serve for that purpose more fittingly, I would think, let alone Balnerith. Either way, I look forward to seeing what comes next. Thank you for the chapters!
Glenn Wright
True - If only the person responsible for pushing Derek over the edge was still around ;). That transformation from Lêdhins to Raivo caused Amdirlain a few problems, and Lêdhins had wanted nothing to do with being a power.
Tjark
Well, it was said Derek's soul was long gone. So it was rather impossible for anything other than Raivo's death as closure to happen.
buca117
Double chapter, nice. Glad you didn't drag this conflict out, but it would have been nice to get some closure between Amdirlain and Derek.
