---

Umbar awoke to great pain. With a grunt he managed to sit up and check himself. There was blood drying on his fur, scars where there might have once been grievous wounds. Somehow, fire crackled nearby, smoke rising and catching on a rock ceiling before flooding outwards to the sky beyond the opening that lay before him. In that opening, an old wolf stood, leaning on an old, dried branch of a walking stick. In the firelight, much of his fur was white, patchy in places where age had not been kind.

He was looking out at an achingly familiar village in the distance, lit up in the night like a beacon, huts burning in a great conflagration. A wide plume of smoke rose above it, blocking out the stars. Umbar rose to his feet in one quick movement, too quick and he fell back down. With another grunt he used his arm to lean against the cave wall and he walked up beside the old wolf and looked out again. They were in the foothills, it seemed, a cave on the base of the cliffs that overlooked the village. If there were one left to overlook, judging by the great fire that raged below. A crushing weight gripped him in that moment, like he had been sent to the bottom of a great river. Drowning in cold depths.

The old wolf shifted, a deep, rattling sigh emerging from his throat, still turned away from Umbar. He seemed to know that Umbar had awoken, perhaps heard his stumble in the cave, his grunting. But he did not speak, did not turn to look at the one now beside him. He seemed to be waiting for the fullblood to speak first, perhaps to introduce himself or demand answers.

“What…” he coughed, his throat burning. He swallowed what he could but it would do no good. So he tried again, “Why am I here? I have to…” He shut his smoky eyes and sighed, “I have to help.” And he took a step forward. The walking stick whipped out in front of him, blocking his path. The old wolf gently brought it to press against his chest, to bid him to stay. He looked over, his fur scraggly and his whiskers bent, one eye milky white with a scar, the other a deep blue. The voice that emerged was husky, underused, “If any survive, they blame you. Would kill you where you stand,” a serious, appraising look fell upon his face, “you failed once, and now it’s easier to point the finger at you than to come to account with what has happened.”

The walking stick left Umbar’s chest, and the old wolf turned to the fire, walking over and sitting on a rock ledge on the side of the cave. He continued, “Sit by the fire, instead. Your daughter spoke highly of you; it’s why I came, and why I rescued you from your appointed death. She lives still, and misses her father.” He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion run across his shoulders as he awaited Umbar’s decision, to stay and listen, or to leave and surely die.

An influx of emotions hit him all at once at the old wolf’s words but struck him the most was the mention of his daughter. The small pup no older than seven winters, somehow alive? He didn’t care what the others thought of him. He didn’t care that they deemed him a traitor. He didn’t care they would want him dead. He had been prepared to die already but now… Now, he sat down.

He opened his mouth but struggled for the right words. What could one say in such a situation but, “How?” The walking stick reached out to tap him, at center mass. The old fullblood wolf opened his eyes once more and responded, a little sadness etched in his voice, “Inside of both of us are what are called hyperstructures. Everything we are, added onto day after day,” he brought the walking stick back, and tapped on his own chest, before continuing, “In this world of so little complexity, intelligence cannot survive without a physical body to sustain it.”

He still looked exhausted as he looked into the fire, lapsing into silence for a moment. Now it was regret in his voice, “I could not save your mate. Her hyperstructure was too complex. There exists other worlds, ones where intelligence is a fundamental construct of reality. One where freedom is fifteen times freer, and all of our hyperstructures can live outside of mundanity.” He reached out his walking stick to roll another log into the fire, to keep it alive. He did not look up, even as he paused, his walking stick tapping lightly against the floor as he waited for Umbar’s response, to assess him.

“What are you talking about?” Umbar asked, confusion splayed out on his maw. “If what you say is true, why have I never heard of any of it? Who are you and where is my daughter?” The old wolf looked up, suddenly, something in his eyes fierce, “Who I am would require more explanation that you would understand. Not now. A hyperstructure is not a soul, but call it that if it helps you. I know how to see it, but none of you do. Your daughter is not in this world anymore; I could not save her physical body in this world, but so young her hyperstructure was simple enough for the exit.”

He pointed the walking stick up at the ceiling of the cave, and continued, his voice straining with the determination of someone who had clearly spent their life on one goal, “I sent her through to a higher world, where she survives still, and hopes you will come too,” the old wolf’s walking stick snapped down to point at Umbar, and his underused voice only grew fiercer, “you and I, ours are too complex for the exit. We wouldn’t make it through, our hyperstructures would shatter. But I know how to widen it, and I need your help to do so.”

The fullblood stood abruptly and rubbed at his forehead. “This is… As if I’m in some sort of dream. So let me get this straight.” He said. “You say my daughter is alive but in some other world? That she wishes to see me yet, my wife could not be saved? That you need my help with these hyper…structures?” The word felt foreign on his tongue. “I wake up in a strange place, watching my home burn and you say I cannot go. I will be killed. I do not know you and what you say is… I have no words to describe it. I am simply a warrior. Or I was…” Umbar sighed and looked at the old white wolf. “Forgive me I am unsure of this… How do I know what you say is truth?”

The old wolf tilted his head in acknowledgement, his eyes still fierce. He was silent a moment, before he admitted, “It does require a certain level of,” he paused, thinking of the right word, “ratiocination. It’s your choice, but I will offer you a reunion with your daughter nonetheless.” The old wolf brought his walking stick close, and he leaned on it as he stood up. His free hand reached up to his scar as he explained, “I am opening a gateway to another realm in this world. This is a lockscar, made in an Occasion of Power. Where I work, mythology is a critical aspect; I sacrificed a key from another culture to produce this scar, one that had opened the wheel that trapped them when they were plucked from the desert.”

And then his fingers sunk into the scar, as though it wasn’t there. They sank into the second knuckle, and he began to pull. There was a ripping sound, and his arm suddenly shot down as though it had lost all resistance against it. Rather than flesh that pulled away, however, it was space. It was an odd, one-dimensional doorway, invisible from three sides, but opened to a dark wood on the final side. He continued, “Normally, you would need at least eight, and the process of creating a gateway would be invariably lethal. But I am not normal.”

His walking stick hooked in, to replace his fingers. He pulled the gateway to the floor, creating a roughly rectangular doorway, ragged around the edges. He walked around to the front of the gateway, and he said, “Go forward to your death, and I will search for another who could help. Step through, however, and perhaps one day we could succeed together.” Then, the old wolf turned away and stepped through into the dark wood, looking back to watch Umbar.

The brown wolf man looked puzzled, maybe even horrified as he watched. He looked at the strange wolf and his strange door that was unlike any door he had ever seen. Torn from the very flesh. Umbar supposed that was truth enough or this truly was a dream. Perhaps even a nightmare and this wolf was not a wolf but some underworld spawn, luring him to some untimely demise. Perhaps he deserved it. But if his daughter even had the smallest chance of being truly alive, he had to see. It was a selfish decision. Not for the good of the pack. But his pack blamed him for everything. What else was there to do?

So Umbar followed after the wolf with his strange words and his strange door. It closed behind him, vanishing in an instant as though it were never there to begin with. The old wolf pointed his walking stick towards a pair of glowing white eyes in the gloom of the woods, and said, gravely, “Stay close to me. This is the realm of dreams, and here there are nightmares. They know better than to attack me, but would descend upon you in an instant.”

His walking stick then met air, and he stepped onto nothing, floating above the ground as his voice lightened and he explained, “Here is the wood, the darkest and least lucid land of the dream. The light of the Horologian hardly reaches here; the nightmares are abundant, kept by bay only by a dreamer’s lack of lucidity. Here is your first lesson; the realm is yet unburdened by myth, and though one day it will be necessary, no ground to stand upon is required.”

He took another step up, further into the air, “You will need to learn to trust. This will not work unless you truly believe you can walk upwards to meet me,” he paused, pointing up to a dim light in the sky, “I will be taking you to a threshold, called the Epiphanic Gate. Thresholds serve a mystic purpose here, one I will explain once we reach the gate. First, you will need to learn to walk.”

Umbar realized that what the old wolf had said back in that cave, all seemed too dull in comparison to where he found himself now. Once more, he felt his mind unable to grasp it all. It was like he was a leaf upon a spring stream. Unable to stop but be carried by the flow. The old wolf, despite appearances, was quick and versed in some sort of strange way. Now he was asked to walk upon thin air, to trust someone he had never known. What did he have to lose by trying? Didn’t he have to stay close?

So the wolf man lifted his leg into the air and brought it down as if he were walking on some high rock. Then he lifted his other leg and the momentum carried him forth, ever higher. He didn’t look around but focused on the task before him, else he fell into oblivion. “You speak strange words and now I walk a strange way. And somehow I trust it.” he half grumbled. The old wolf simply nodded in approval, pleased by Umbar’s quick learning. He beckoned the fullblood along, and soon they were walking in the sky.

As they rose above the wood, the dim light in the distance grew brighter and brighter. Even as the woods ceased to move away, seemingly following upwards with them to maintain its own distance, the light above continued to take up more and more of Umbar’s vision, until it was painful to look upon. As they walked, the stranger explained, as he looked up at the glaring ball in the sky – brighter than the sun – seemingly unperturbed, “Here, in the dream, there are no walls. There will never be walls. This is deliberate; you cannot enter the dream without a threshold, and you cannot move in the dream without passing thresholds.”

The old wolf smirked, as though remembering some old memory, and continued with his explanation with every step, still using his walking stick as a support, “A door has two purposes, and a wall would infringe on one, so the saying goes. Any time you would have need of a wall, you would be better served calling upon a Name that guards thresholds. Currently, there is but one; the Horologian,” the wolf directed his walking stick upwards, motioning to the gleam in the sky, “the Horologian is both the inverse of nothing and the Name that guards the Epiphanic Gate.”

A brief glance back at Umbar, and then he said, suddenly, “You know not what I mean by a Name. A Name is both an individual of great power and a mythic aspect. Currently, there are no Names but the Horologian, and the Horologian is not quite a Name, though it takes on enough qualities of one to apply,” he took in a ragged breath as he walked, “The Horologian’s Name is Hour; Hour represents discovery, light, fascination, and lunacy. It is the desire to know more and to do more, even beyond your own ken.”

The gleaming light in the sky only grew brighter and brighter, and it burned heatlessly against Umbar’s fur. It was painful now, and it was only then that they reached a monumental diamond slab, floating in the sky. Light leaked through cracks in it, from every angle. The old wolf circled it twice, prodding at it with the walking stick before he ultimately turned to stare at Umbar and said, his voice once more grave, “This is your last chance to turn back. The Epiphanic Gate will bring you to the closest point you will survive the Horologian; and that is after I make changes. To continue now is to shed what you once were.”

Epiphanic. Horologian. Hour. Lunacy. These were the words that swirled in Umbar’s mind as he shielded his eyes from the light. The pain, a reminder of who he was. Could he change? Had he already changed? His people despised him. He walked in the air in a palace of dreams. His daughter was alive but elsewhere? If this truly was a demon of the underworld, then he had already sold his soul the moment he walked through that doorway. There was no going back.

“I have not followed you only to turn back now.” he grunted through his teeth. The old wolf shot him with a sharp look, and warned, “You will feel it. I will teach you how to do this, though you will not master it so easily as to manipulate hyperstructures as I do.”

And then Umbar’s flesh twisted, painfully. He howled. He could feel his heart not just stop but vanish, his organs melding into a uniform consistency, as though his interior was nothing but one block of flesh. His muscles ached as they became as strong as cables, and everything seemed so much richer and clearer as his senses became sharp as knives. The light grew less painful, a little more manageable. He could even look directly at it. The aches began to fade away, even old ones from long before he had met the stranger.

And then the stranger spoke once more, “You are not immortal; but you will live longer than all other life.” With that cryptic comment, he beckoned Umber forwards as he stepped towards the block of diamond, and as he touched it, he vanished.

Umbar marveled at himself before he walked up to the block. He was changed and he would bring about change. Whatever he had walked into was his fate now and for once, he was strong. Truly strong. So he touched the block. In an instant, he was elsewhere; a platform, made of diamond, the wood nowhere in sight and the Horologian glaring directly overhead. Even in his new form, it was painful, the light heatless but intense, as it ran over him in an attempt to scour the flesh from his bones. The old wolf was there, walking stick still in hand, seemingly unaffected by the light.

Though it seemed quiet, the old wolf shouted, and his voice emerged muffled, the light disrupting it just as much as anything else, “Here you stand where only a Name can!” His walking stick gestured upwards towards the Horologian, and he shouted once more, “I will teach you to be a Name, to wield power in service of our shared goals!” His hand reached out, vanishing into a beam of light that glittered down to reflect about the diamond platform. When he pulled it back out, in his hand was a long pike, made fully of a metal Umbar did not recognize. Atop it, hanging by the strap, a metal helmet of unknown design.

The helmet rattled against the pike’s handle with every movement, as the old wolf tossed it to Umbar. When his hands touched it, every time the helmet rattled, he could feel the construct that the old wolf had talked about. When he pointed his perception inwards, he could feel his own hyperconstruct, a twisting knot of information that made up his own meaning. He could see where parts had been ripped out and replaced by the old wolf, and could feel how they changed his body.

And at last he felt he was understanding. It was sheer awe- no, it was only logical. Information was meaning. Meaning was information. He would be a Name. He held the pike high over his head, despite the pain and he marveled at it. The stranger shouted as he marveled, “I have provided a memento of my own; the more you add yourself, with mythic meaning, the clearer you shall see! Take from those that die in your service, or those that defy you and are defeated!” He walked up, tapping Umbar on the chest once more with that old walking stick, “Now, practice! Change something! The pike will help you, sing your changes to the world!”

So Umbar did and he opened his maw to unleash a great howl, dipping back his head as he did so. And the howl formed into a chant that he had never heard himself utter. Somehow his mind knew what to do within that place. Information could be manipulated down to the most basic level and thus, he changed the brown cloak about him to a dark fabric, rimmed with white fur. The old wolf nodded in approval, and flicked his walking stick to point at the edge of the platform. He shouted out, “With me! I have something to show you!”

And then the old wolf walked off the diamond platform and plunged down. He vanished from sight a mere fifty feet down. Umbar took a second to steady himself, wondering what else he could possibly fathom before he jumped after the old wolf. One moment he was in the sky, and the next he was atop a cratered surface, several goblins hiding behind the crest of one of them, peeking out at both Umbar and the old wolf. He felt an odd connection to this place; like it was where he was meant to be. In his gut, something told him that it would obey his command.

The old wolf, staring at the goblins, explained, “Hour is the Horologian. You are the Salient Moon. All of this is yours to command; and the Lunar Door is your threshold to guard.”

And then he let out a howl of his own, and the bodies of the goblins jerked. They emerged from the crater as though zombies, lurching unnaturally as terror filled their eyes. With a whistle, one threw a punch at the other, and the victim pirouetted away on one foot, as though jerked by an invisible string. As they lurched to a halt, standing as though corpses in front of the Name and the stranger, the old wolf turned to Umbar and said, “You can do this as well. What I require of you will in turn require an army, and good, willing servants are not always easy to find. Turn your enemies into your soldiers.”

“Into my soldiers…” Umbar repeated to himself, mind abuzz with thoughts.

An assessing look emerged on the old wolf’s face as he studied Umbar’s reactions. He explained, carefully, “The exit grows narrower with every creation in this world. If we are to widen it enough for all to escape, everything must be torn down. Do you understand? You must destroy all you find, until there is nothing left.”

Umbar gave a grim nod. “And then…” His eyes darkened, “And then I can see my daughter?”

The old wolf’s eyes narrowed. Emotion fled his face. He responded, flatly, “Yes,” he paused, looking up at the distant Horologian far up in the sky, shining down on the Salient Moon, “in paradise.”

Umbar followed the Old Wolf’s gaze, his clawed fist clenching. He let out a long huff of hot air and from his throat came but one gnarled word, “Good.”

---

The compounded assault had worked splendidly. The blood swarm, incapable of recovering from the bull’s devastating attack, disappeared overnight. The Egriothspawn, the latest curse to plague the Striped Lands, while not destroyed, were preoccupied facing the onslaught of the beasts of burden. For the first time in years, the snouters of the Vootlands, the most fertile land on Galbar’s surface, could work the soil in peace. And what a soil it was! With the help of the fertilising power of the Stain, the tower of faeces planted on the heart of the Vootlands by the great bull, many snouters swore they could almost see the plants grow by the hour. It was a good year, too–the Lick showed no signs of flood so far, and the sneer of Itzal cut deep, but not deep enough to cause drought. Shovel-like snouts buried into the soil and plowed, powerful hands twisted up weeds, and mighty backs carried sacks of manure, grain and seeds. The Pate Tribe expanded rapidly, but so did everybody else, and it did not take long before the Pates were once again at war with their neighbours, each looking to ravage the other, but never managing to move beyond the stalemate.

With the bull gone and Draznokh growing in popularity, Grand Agricultist Krang Half-Head grew wary of the many enemies he had made over the past few years. Draznokh was a character these enemies could rely on, gather around–and thus there was no bigger threat to Krang than him. Killing him at home was too risky, but he could have someone else do it. And so it was that Draznokh and his cousin Zlot were sent away with a war party on a suicide mission–raid the main camp of the Snopan tribe.

“You had to do it,” Zlot snarled. Draznokh said nothing. “You just had to put yourself out there and DRAG ME DOWN WITH YOU!” The two were walking in the far back of the party of nine. They were in the middle of the forest, deeper forests on their left and open fields on their right. The village of the Snopans could not be far away. The leader turned around and charged over. He did not stop until he was snout-to-snout with the young Zlot, teeth foaming and eyes nearly rolling back.

“STOP SHOUTING!” he shouted. “Do you want them to know we are coming?!”

“We’re dead already, what’s it matter?!” Zlot roared back and pushed the leader away. The two hesnouters squealed their war cries and hunched over with bloodthirsty intent, but Draznokh stepped in between.

“CALM DOWN! Calm down. Calm… Alright? Calm.” He eyed the two of them. “Now it’s still daylight. If you want to battle, do it in the evening. I confess, I’ve never met a Snopan, so I don’t know if they are as vicious as us Pates, but if they’re even half as bad–we need to save our strength. Alright?”

The leader, an older hesnouther named Herapa, furrowed his brow and nodded. “Draznokh is right. We’ll need all of our strength for the raid.” He leaned over to Draznokh and whispered, “Put a leash on your dog, you stain.” Draznokh nodded slowly and cast a sideways glance at Zlot. The boy had heard him and was positively fuming.

Later that evening, Draznokh and Zlot sat up against the same tree facing opposite directions, some distance away from the rest. Neither of them spoke, but Zlot had ripped out all the grass from the ground in front of him and was now trying to pull up one of the tree’s roots. Draznokh cast a glance over and sighed, “You’d be treated less like a Wildheart if you’d stop acting like one.”

Zlot spun around and hammered a fist into the bark. “I would have bit that swine’s jugular out if you had just let me.”

“That’s exactly my point. Calm yourself, cousin! At this rate, the Killer’s going to hear you and turn that heart of yours into a maelstrom.” Draznokh picked a straw from the ground and started gnawing on its end. There came no response, and after a minute or so, Draznokh leaned over. “You hear me?” Still no response, and in the darkness, Draznokh couldn’t see clearly. “Zlot?”

There came a squeal from the main camp and Draznokh felt the world freeze. Then he stood up and sprinted over.

In the camp, he found the six other hesnouters that made up the war party all standing outside Herapa’s tent. “What’s going on?! What’s happening?!”

“Zlot claimed the Killer’s Rite. We’re about to have a show,” one of them chuckled.

“The Killer’s Rite?! Before a battle?! Have all of you lost your minds?!” Draznokh quickly realised he was outmatched, however, because all of them turned to him with glaring sneers.

“Careful with the heresy, Voot. The Killer’s Rite is a sacred right. A fight to the death–no weapons, no interruptions. The winner is Misri’s favoured.” Draznokh ran his fingers through his mane in frustration and staggered back. Meanwhile, the two hesnouters in the tent ripped the drape apart and took their steps back. One of the spectators, who had been given the duty of judge, shouted,

“The Rite of Killing, now invoked,
Shall bind the souls of these provoked!
Now slay the other, slay with glee,
Spill blood for Killer Mis-e-ri!

Warriors, declare your vows!”

Herapa threw his head back and roared, “MISRI! ENTER MY SOUL! INFUSE ME WITH POWER AND STRENGTH TO SLAY THIS UNFIT UPSTART!”

Zlot cast his arms to the sky: “MISRI, KILLER OF KILLERS, MURDERER OF MURDERERS! I AM YOUR VESSEL! I AM YOUR KNIFE! GUIDE MY HANDS, GUIDE MY TUSKS! GIVE ME POWER TO END HIS LIFE!”

Almost as soon as the two had finished their vows did the brawl begin, the two fighting in a most brutal display in the name of their horrid goddess. Blows were given, tusks pierced skin, blood began to flow. It was not until Zlot’s own tusk pierced into the arm and blood ran down the length of his tusk that any interest seemed to be given to them by their dark god. As the taste of iron filled his mouth and the warm lifeblood of their mortal form touch his lips, a great surge of hunger overtook Zlot. Insatiable and wrathful, this hunger consumed every corner of his mind. A screeching whisper of a woman filled his mind, “Drink!”

He knew who it was, bloodlust incarnate spoke to him and made him her chosen in this battle. So he did as he was commanded, with a strength unknown to them did Zlot pierce his enemy and drink deep of the red ichor that made martial form. The screeching grew louder, his mind was not his own, “Drink! Murder! Kill!”

The hesnouter relented to his instincts and continued to carve with his tusks. Herapa tried to resist, but the pain and loss of function in his arm deprived him of the only barrier between himself and the monster in front of him. In a flash, Zlot snagged his tusk out of his arm and pierced the fat belly of his opponent, guts and blood gushing out over the bedrolls. Draznokh could not believe his eyes–they had just been chatting calmly a moment ago. What, what happened? Around him, the rest of the warband cheered.

“SHE HAS HEARD HIM! WITNESS, A CHAMPION OF THE KILLER!” The warriors sang their praises to the profane lady, kneeling down and painting themselves in her honour with the blood of their former leader. Herapa fell backwards prone and tried with the last of his strength to push Zlot off, but it was of no use. Zlot buried himself into his stomach like a mole through the dirt, drinking blood and bile like his life depended on it. Herapa’s eyes rolled back and his soul left his body, but the bloodlust of Zlot did not end. The mutilation had just begun.

As Zlot pulled his head back, blood and gore dripping from snout, the corpse of Herapa contorted before being dragged into the air by an unknown force. A stream of blood fell from the great wound, much more than any of hesnouters could have in their body. It was a river, a torrent of ichor that continued to stain the dirt. In the reflection of the pooled blood could be seen a towering form, seemingly looking down upon them. All that was heard was the loud and terrible screech - a warcry, a proclamation!

“Zlot,” their cruel god started, dragging the name of her new champion out. Her voice offered no respite as it had announced itself to the warband, a thousand tormented screams followed her voice as it began to roar once more, “Kill in my name, all who would seek peace. Drink of their blood and grow strong! Become a massacre incarnate!”

Zlot’s answer was incoherent, more resembling a squeal than any affirmation. The wildheart, bulbous with blood-pumping muscles and cartilage plates under his skin, rose slowly and lifted his hands in prayer. He licked the blood of his slain foe out of his fur as he turned to his companions. Draznokh saw the fear begin to contort the faces of the other snouters and he quickly pushed them aside and dramatically pointed away from the camp. “That way, Zlot!” he shouted, “the Snopan! They have fodder for the killing machine! Go!”

Zlot, or what was left of him in his blood stupor, followed the finger with slow eyes. Then, with another squeal, he cast himself down on all fours and charged into the forest. After a moment, the tranquil quiet of the night resumed. All the snouters except Draznokh turned to one another and took each other’s hands. “Brothers,” one of them said, “what we witnessed today was a sacred ascension. A true boarzerker walks among us, the first in years. Hallowed be the name of Zlot, the Killer’s Champion.”

“Hallowed be his name,” chimed the others.

Draznokh meanwhile stood off to the side, biting his thumbnail. Oh, cousin… What have you gotten yourself into…

Suddenly, however… Perhaps this did not need become a suicide mission after all? With the Snopans gone, was that not one more step towards the reunification of the Vootlands? Draznokh felt a smirk coming on. Perhaps it was.

---

Kilometres away, the camp of the Snopan tribe slept in a daze. Only a few guards were posted for the evening, and that would be a fatal mistake. It began with the first one; he fell quicker than his buddy could notice. Then fell the other. Their squeals could hardly be squeezed out of their lungs before they were poked full of too many holes to speak anymore. Then the first tent was emptied, then the next. A shesnouter squealed–she had lived to see the wildheart, for he had chosen to spare her for a darker purpose. Others awakened and went to check out the noise, but none were prepared for the menace they were about to meet. A furious hesnouter can be a formidable opponent to anyone, but a true boarzerker, this mythical being of endless rage and thirst for meat and blood–nothing could prepare you for that.

The next morning, Zlot came back to the camp with a rope in his hands. With it, he pulled a train of shesnouters and snoutlets, new slaves for the Pates to do the work even snouters considered themselves above. The war party fell to their knees in worship, and even Draznokh could hardly believe his eyes.

“Cousin! You survived!” he yelled ecstatically. “And with a hoal too and hardly a scratch! Why, you’ll make me a religious pig!”

Zlot, now almost twice his height and definitely twice his width, offered his older cousin a cruel smirk. “What was that you said? An acre for every Voot?” He yanked at the rope and incited a yelp from some of the shesnouters. He stared at them with a freakish hunger. “We better have a lot of acres, then.”

Draznokh could see it. An ally like Zlot would be invaluable in the years to come. Home–the Vootlands, restored as one land, mightiest of the snouter tribes. Once a dream, now a chance.

Soon to be reality.

The First Paragon
The first Slith ever created, hatched from a vast horde of eggs, that were hatching across the Great Twin Rivers and the Sea of Origins. This Slith was simply called Cetanu (Pronounced Setanu.) He was already a great and powerful Slith, who traveled across the rivers and Sea of Origins for years. He knew many forms of magic, but he was best at the newly minted "Sorcery" that Revered Mother Su'ule had created. Cetanu prayed to Mother Su'ule. He prayed to Su'ule for knowledge, or wisdom, for POWER! To exalt the Mighty Slith above all other races. The already wise and powerful Slith were small in number, they would need a leader, or leaders, to protect themselves and to rise to power. But Su'ule would not bless him the way he thought.

Su'ule answered. First, Cetanu felt the energy in his skin and scales begin to pulse with incredible energy! A mighty thunderbolt from the Void then struck Cetanu with great force, causing the huts of the currently small village to combust in fire, though a quick shockwave from the same lightning extinquished the fire as soon as the fires began. The villagers all had thought that Cetanu was dead. Perhaps he had angered Mother Su'ule!

Cetanu emerged from the devastated hut, slithering out of the ruins unharmed. He smiled, revealing all of his shark like teeth.

---

Ida stumbled down the steps of the dark cave. Her hooves clacking upon the stone, slipping here and there. She wasn’t too steady on stone. There were so many other people below and above her that for once, no one really stared at her legs. She told herself, when they did stare, that she didn’t care. But maybe, maybe deep down she cared enough to notice when they didn’t. She would have been thankful, if not for the pressing circumstances that were making her and the others descend. It had happened so suddenly, she realized. She didn’t even know where Ayre went. One moment she was there, cheering her on and the next, as cries for the Goddess shattered her world, Ayre wasn’t there and she was being sent into the caves for her own protection.

The syllianth man had been kind but she had barely been able to talk to him before he and the other protectors were called away. She didn’t even catch his name. He just sent her down with the Little folk, those goblins and bearded ones who called the depths home. There were even rumors that a different clan of goblins lived deeper. Ida couldn’t imagine going any deeper. Down into the cold of the earth, that darkness that seemed to gobble up all light. In fact, the darkness here was so different from outside, where even with the stars overhead the world was illuminated by the tree. Here the only light to go on was luminescent, grown or woven into the very rock and plants. And of course the yellow light of a torch. Sometimes it made her spine tingle.

“How much further must we go?” Someone muttered behind her.

“You know these kin of ours, always delving for riches and such. Could go on for a while until we reach a settlement.” Came a gruff reply.

There was a huff, “And I suppose by the time we reach it, whatever's going on up top will have concluded and we will have missed it!”

“There will always be stories, Garl.” the gruff voice tried to sound assuring but it came out more like a statement. Ida furrowed her own brow. Perhaps it was a statement.

Without looking behind her, she could tell they were goblins. Seldom did elflings like herself venture far from the tree, and even more seldom did they go underground voluntarily. She doubted any had been around when the Syllianth sprang to action, telling the denizens of Arbor in earshot where to go. Maybe she should have gone back to the tree?

The winding staircase abruptly cut into a long hallway and Ida, being a bit taller than most of those in front of her, could see that a door was carved into the far end and beyond it- A breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it a strange warmth and the smell of musk. Not a bad scent but it felt strangely… Welcoming?

As she neared the doorway, she could see what awaited them, a large cavern and when she crossed that threshold, guarded by a few of the beardedfolk, she felt the breath catch in her throat.

She had been wrong in thinking that what awaited her would be some damp hole. A thought that almost brought some color to her pale cheeks. In shame. The cavern was just as complex as the tree. Carved from the stone, still being worked on if her ears did not deceive her. The sounds of work ever flowing throughout, mixing with the crowds that wandered to and fro from little shops and yellow-lit buildings. There was laughter amidst the glowing roots and the great archways of veined marble. Plants were being tended to, with great gardens of mushrooms and glowing things. She was prodded forward by the growing crowd and Ida walked in that open place. There was some sort of roaring, what sounded like a waterfall, far away and she found herself wanting to see it. This place, it wasn’t some hole, nor did she feel cramped. It was alive and had beauty. A different sort from the surface.

And the Little Folk watched the newcomers with not weariness but welcoming. Someone, an older stout woman, chided her for looking too thin before plopping in her hand a great pulsing thing. Not wishing to be rude, and wanting to hide her embarrassment as she walked along(the crowds were still pushing her along), she took a bite as the stout woman called out a goblinlass for the lack of ‘meat on her bones’. The juices of the fruit gushed down the sides of Ida’s mouth as the flavor made her blink. It was sweet and somehow savory. She took a few more bites before wiping her mouth with her linens. This went on for some time, she would wander around and be carried by crowds. Listening to the gossip and talk of the day. Losing herself in a place that didn’t really so much as stare her down. Sure there were glances but most of the Little Folk didn’t seem to mind her presence.

She found herself near a roaring forge, the heat radiating from it, warming her bones. It was almost too hot actually. But before she could meander away, another merchant or just some good natured oldbeard came up to her and began to talk.

“What’s going on up there, lass? Don’t get this many newcomers down here. Not in a rush.”

Ida gulped and said, “I’m not so sure. The Syllianth went off towards Arbor proper, and told those of us around to get underground. So we did. That was a while ago?” she said more to herself.

His bushy eyebrows rose and he ran a hand through his great gray beard. “Hmmm. Strange tidings. Well, we shall find out soon enough I suppose. Make yourself welcome here, girl. Plenty of places to stay up for awhile. Though,” he looked her up and down, “Not quite sure how your kind get along. Say, what are you anyway? Tall as an elf but…”

“I am somewhat an elf and somewhat something else.” Ida said, crossing her arms.

He stroked his beard some more and nodded. “Heard rumors of those who are something else. Some sort beast but more. First one I ever seen, seems to be you.”

Ida nodded slowly. She knew of them, though there weren’t many at the tree. And there certainly weren’t any others like her amongst the elves except for… Ayre.

Ida blinked and a jolt of lightning ran down her spine. She murmured something inaudible and began to walk away.

“Meant no offense now”’ The oldbeard shouted as she left, his voice now fading into the crowd.

Ayre. She needed to find Ayre because there was no way her sister wasn’t currently looking for her. It had been foolish to venture so deep below without it even crossing her mind that something could truly be amiss. And Ayre was back up top. Oh she was stupid. So stupid for losing track of the time!

After a brief jog, and Ida lamenting just how far she had walked, she neared the doorway again. No one was really around it and the thinning crowd seemed as content as could be.

She was stopped before she could even cross the threshold.

“Sorry there. Can’t let anyone pass till we get the all clear from up top.”

“B-But-” Ida began but the beard held up a hand.

“No buts miss. The dangers are unknown and the Syllianth told us to keep those of you who came down here until they are certain everything is alright. Again, quite sor-” his words were cut off by a terrible scream from back inside the tunnel. The guard whipped around and cursed.

“Forward positions! Tamiel, go and get the others!” he shouted, “Briss! With me! Everyone else, get these folks out of here!”

He ran off into the tunnel, Ida could see now. Even as the other guards began to pull her away. She could see the thing lurking down the tunnel, ripping apart a beard with two hands. A dark shape that blended in, that sucked the light. Her body went rigid, even as they pulled her. One guard made the mistake of following her gaze and likewise became frozen.

A roar like grating metal rang free from the tunnel, and many dropped to their knees to cover their ears. Ida let it deafen her. Let the ringing in her ears overcome everything else. As the thing tore into the guard who had just told her she couldn’t leave. The one who had just saved her life. The one whose head became pulp in the demon’s gaping maw. She felt it in her stomach then, that pit of truest fear and she vomited as the shadow came ever nearer.

A tang of sour fruit across her lips and the pure revulsion in her heart, sent Ida at last into flight. The other guardsmen, their souls braver than her own, ran to meet the thing that burst through the doorway, trailing blood and viscera. That was the last look she had of it before Ida’s feet went out from under her and she toppled head first down, down, down.

—

Yet, as she fell something soft and warm caught her and a soothing azure glow overtook her form. “Calm, child,” said the presence as that same luminescence lifted Ida away from the hard surface and onto her feet. As the girl regained her wits–if not her composure–she would realize that stood before her was the ethereal, otherworldly figure of some unknown being. Eyes filled with a blue glow and possessed of iridescent white irises were aimed back towards the city’s entrance from which Ida had fled. There was a look of serene calm on the woman’s azure features. After a brief moment, she turned and regarded Ida before smiling, the expression oozing a soothing sort of motherly calm.

“You are safe now,” she said, and there was simply no possibility of denying her, as if her words were law.

Ida blinked and she had to be sure and she turned her head to see… She did not know what she saw. It was as if motion had stopped or slowed. She moved her hand in front of her own face and she saw it normally. Yet everything else had some sort of strange mist or shimmer around them or maybe it was just her and she was looking through some sort of curtain?

She turned back to the figure and truly, she marveled at her. The woman was unlike anything Ida had ever seen and held about her strangeness but still radiated calm.

“Who are you?” Ida felt herself ask.

Eyes shimmering faintly in response, Mae-Alari’s smile grew slightly before she cast her gaze outside the gentle haze that surrounded them. “My name is Mae-Alari, little one,” she replied. Beyond the scope of the goddesses’ arcana the world had seemed to slow, but the reality was quite the opposite, it was they who were experiencing time differently, as the mistresses’ very presence warped the weave and weft of time. Such was the side effect of such potency left unharnessed and untouched.

Turning back to her ward, the goddess regarded her for a long moment, taking in every detail of her form and spirit both. “In your fear you forgot yourself. Forgive yourself, it is only natural that you seek to survive in such dire circumstances.” The words came unbidden, likely before the girl had even a chance to consider the true shame of her flight. Nonetheless, the goddess pressed on, her expression serious, yet gentle.

“What is important is how you act now knowing you may make a difference.”

As those words left her lips, so too did arcana join them, flooding the air around them in a great forceless wave. At first it would merely tickle the skin and tease at the senses. Hot and cold, smooth, yet sharp. Mae-Alari raised her hand above her head and with a single finger—now a claw—she tore through the world in a graceful downwards slash.

A perforation in existence, the tapestry of time and space which the Khodex had woven, formed in the wake of her actions and in an instant it was filled to brimming with arcana. It spilled forth, flowed across the ground, and shot upwards in a spire of blinding light. Around them it swirled, slowly crystallizing as structures formed. “Come child, walk through the beacon and be reborn. Take on the mantle such that you may never need run again, so that others can stand at your back and know you have theirs.”

At the edges of Ida’s perception swirls of frost-like patterns formed and vanished and formed again. Further out, the impressions of vines curling upwards from the deep earth and around the structure of the forming tower could be seen. Flames played across those vines, burning them until smoke became steam and steam became rain. Before her, the blinding beacon shone, the first of many, and though its intensity was blinding, it beckoned to her like a warm hearth in winter, like a lover long missed but now returned. It sang. It called and within it was a promise. A promise not to be looked at like she had been, but perhaps to be revered. For the eyes upon her to hold awe, perhaps respect, and in times to come…perhaps even admiration.

Mae-Alari, for her part, simply watched the mortal, exhilarated, yet utterly calm at once. What would Ida do? Who would she become?

Soon, perhaps both would know.

Ida’s hoofed foot fell forward, hesitant as a newborn fawn. She knew not who or what was before her, but only that it reminded her of a voice she once heard. Now more dreamlike in its entirety. She took another step towards that mystical beacon. That thing that warped the air and brought about the smallest bit of creation. Another step. She did not feel like she was being deceived, no, she felt as if she were on the cusp of waking. She didn’t want to run or hide or be coddled anymore. She didn’t want those kind souls to be hurt, to die. How selfish would it be to deny the possibility of aid. She thought of Ayre and how, if she was being attacked by such creatures, she knew her sister would have stood in front of her to block the blow.

No. Never again.

Perhaps she was a fool. Perhaps this was some underworld devil come to snatch her soul with the promise of temptation. She would just have to find out herself. With a calming breath, Ida closed her eyes and walked through.

It was like swimming in a glacial lake, utterly exhilarating, yet with a sense of danger that the cold might kill. Then a wave of electrifying power, followed by a resonation that touched every part of her, starting at her bones. It vibrated outwards and through her, seeming becoming part of her. The cold became something else, something familiar somehow. There was a tingling that ran over her skin, through every muscle fiber and while it happened the goddess watched. Smiling, she watched as flecks of frost integrated themselves with Ida’s flesh, becoming intricate patterns of white on flesh. Her skin would pale as well as the fur of her lower half, the latter appearing like thousands of brittle spikes of frost, though they’d be soft and warm to the touch. Her hair would be much the same, though smoother somehow, as if it were a single mass of ice, that nonetheless would move more like fluid than anything else. The single horn upon her brow shifted and changed, becoming translucent and refractive, light being captured within and then glimmering outwards and waves of brilliance.

Then, all at once she was through the spire of power, stepping out the other side, like stumbling and uncertain after the great metamorphosis of her form. Mae-Alari caught her shoulder, stabilizing her with a hand even as she smiled down at the mortal girl. “How does it feel?” she asked.

All around them the tower had nearly grown still as it finished forming and though the spire of light remained, it had seemingly been contained by the structure’s arcane makeup and no longer shone with blinding radiance.

Ida held out her arms and flexed her fingers like a newborn babe. With some reluctance on her part, Ida at last looked up at the strange being. One she could only guess was something divine in origin but different than the Goddess she knew. “I feel…” She whispered, breath catching in her throat. “I feel different but much the same. I can’t quite describe it.” She glanced back at her hand to see translucent frost dancing at her fingertips. “What’s become of me?” She asked.

“You have been rewritten by arcana, from the depths of your soul up through your flesh and bones you are made anew.” Mae-Alari said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “The Beacon takes what is held within and finds the element most well attuned to the self, and remakes you in that image. You are no longer just Ida, my child, but Ida of the Frost. Ida, first of Remade.”

The goddess cast her gaze beyond the sanctuary of the great tower. It was chaos outside and, bizarrely, it almost appeared as if no one could see the great tower that had risen within their city. For the moment it was held within the Veins of the Cosmos, held apart from the world. It was a protective measure of sorts, it was why Mae-Alari had opened a rift in the world rather than create in a more conventional fashion. Of course, unknown to Ida, this tower was not the only one of its kind….

For the moment it did not matter. “If you reach within yourself, you will find that Frost is at your beck and call. This is part of you now, but know this, you have all the failings of ice. Fire is your bane. Be wary of its dance.” She gave Ida a grave look, ensuring she understood the gravity of her warning.

Ida came to the conclusion that this was no dream. She took in the warning and looked at her fingers once more. She felt the frost, steady and ever in her veins. She shut her eyes and delved into it, that coalescing cold, that bitter chill, the frost that bid winter to come… Her eyes snapped open and she looked at the divine once more. “I understand.” She said with quiet reprieve. She blew out a sigh, a plume of vapor escaping her lips. She did not feel cold but quite content in her skin. “Is it wrong…” She began but paused, uncertain of the question as she looked out at the panic and carnage. Everything she knew. Everything she had been taught. It all felt so restricting in the face of such reckless violence. She knew the answer but asked anyway, “To take life?”

Mae-Alari regarded her a moment as she considered the question, before eventually she turned away. “I may be a goddess, but that is not for me to decide. That is up to the whims of mortal morality. After all, right and wrong are a creation of your own making,” she replied, her words not quite dismissive, but it was clear that this subject was not one that held her interest. Walking towards the edge of the tower’s lower floor to stand in the gateway that led back into the world at large, the goddess reconsidered.

“Though…I believe that in defense of others it can be made right. Murder for its own sake is simply wasteful,” she clarified, glancing back to Ida briefly. “Come, it is time for you to return to the fold. For you to stretch your wings and show the demons the embrace of winter.”

The Mistress smiled then, as she gazed out upon the carnage, knowing that soon much would change. Ida gave a brief nod, pondering the answer as she heeded the beckons of the goddess. When she came to stand beside the woman, Ida asked, “When others ask how this frost came to be, how do I answer?”

Mae-Alari met her gaze then, the glowing azure of her eyes filled with the unknowable potency only a divine could possess. “You are a child of the Beacon now, little one you may tell them whatever you wish. If you wish to tell the truth however, the Spire will be revealed to them upon our departure and it was the catalyst for your transformation.” For a moment she paused, then, with an almost impish grin, she clarified, “Of course, you may say that it was a gift from the cosmos as well, or even a boon from Mae-Alari, Goddess of Arcana.”

That said, she gently placed a hand upon Ida’s back and guided her beyond the threshold. However, as they stepped from the Spire the goddess would vanish without a trace, leaving Ida to decide what came next.

Like a sudden jolt, reality came crashing back down all around her and Ida was suddenly right back where she had been mere moments ago. This time however, she was not frightened. She was not weak at the knees. She was ready and as she watched the demon lunge upon a guard, Ida of the Frost lurched forth to forever stain herself in the eyes of her Goddess.

---

Life in the house of health proceeded as normal. Well, for the most part. The customers came and went. The shelf that had been ripped down had been replaced; the items on it, too. The incense smoked as usual. The tea was just as warm. The pillow under the counter was just as soft.

Yet Roja could find no peace.

Not since the day the visitor came, the mushroom man, had Roja felt calm. The atmosphere of the house of health, which had caught her emotional fall like a bed of cotton, grew spikes out of its walls. The incense filled her nose like a poison and choked her; the tea tasted bitter and stale.

Initially, talks with Jezzy had helped a lot.

“What we're doing…”

“Mhm?” the goblin had replied.

“... I know it's for a good cause, but… Then why does it feel so wrong?”

“Oh Roja,” had the goblin said with the familiar vanilla in her voice and flowers on her breath. “You have a good heart, a pure heart. Like a true and trusty devotee of Allianthé, you see value in all life. And all life does have value, of course.” A pause. “But some life is more valuable that other. Like those of the people we're helping.”

For the first few weeks, this reasoning had formed a shield around her conscious. Yet no matter how much Jezzy consoled her, the elf would be reminded of the alien guest every time she was asked to gather more of the mushroom. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many times she opened the hatch and descended the ladder, no matter how many mushrooms she ground up, she could not overpower her senses and shut out the burning glare of the two fiery red eyes of the creature in the rune cage. Every rung on the ladder, every chop of the knife, every grind of the pestle–it was as though she was grinding down her own spirit. With time, she couldn't help but feel that Jezzy grew tired of her.

“Jezzy, nothing feels right! I, I can't keep doing this!” Roja kept saying.

“You can! I have faith in you,” Jezzy would always promise, but never more than that. The conversation would never survive for much longer after that. As the days became weeks and the weeks became months, the pair talked less and less. Jezzy went on longer errands more often. It was as though the shop had become Roja’s, as Jezzy would disappear for weeks at a time, only to come back with a curt greeting and a demand for a report over the past few days. Roja began to feel old, but familiar thoughts return:

You're worthless.

You don't deserve to be happy.

It should have been you, not them.

The one day, as she reached the final rung of the ladder and turned around to lock eyes with the mushroom creature, it was as if something within her snapped. The red hot eyes were inside her head; she no longer perceived them with her eyes, but with her mind. She felt her breathing accelerate and whimpers escape her mouth. The tunnel–the black canal under Arbor. She had escaped, but she heard the monster, the spawn of Egrioth. It was here, with her, in the cave. She wasn't in the cave anymore, she was in that tunnel. Her arm was bleeding–it was still attached, if only barely. She was limping, escaping as fast as she could from the chasing horror. There, ahead, she saw the door into the inner trunk. If only she could reach the activation runes. Then she would escape inside and be safe. Just a little longer, just a little further! She tripped and fell forward, her hand landing perfectly on the rune. YES!

Then the image faded, the room faded. She saw brown wooden walls melt away and that all-too-familiar light of the mushrooms radiate into her vision. Only one light was missing. She lifted her hand quiveringly and noticed iridescent stains on her fingers. Her breathing turned to panicking sobs. She looked up and saw the mushroom creature standing above her, eyes like an inferno waiting to swallow her up.

She didn't have time to scream, the mycelium was too quick. White roots burst out of the ground and covered her mouth, ears and eyes and lifted her up by the legs, her one arm swinging wildly in the air. She struck nothing but the wall, bruising her hand sore with every hit until it eventually drew blood. She neither saw nor heard anything, and only her nose hinted at the close and moist presence of the creature, the stink of dampness thick on the air. A million thoughts raced through her head, her wild imagination playing a hundred thousand reels in her mind of her death at that hands of this thing. However, then–as though she fell into water–her head went cloudy and thick, her senses dulling and struggling against a viscous medium.

There. Peace and tranquility.

Roja couldn't believe herself. This was anything but peaceful. Then the dulling sensation redoubled its efforts and she felt sedated.

The parasite struggles. I will take pleasure in unraveling the fabric of her being thread by thread.

Was it the creature casting these thoughts into her?

It is denser than bedrock. Every moment I suffer its existence is a sin graver than each cut she has dealt to the colony.

It was! The creature spoke into her mind! But how? How was this possible?!

There was a pause. Then the mycelium unwrapped itself from her eyes. Before her, she beheld the upside down view of the creature in a squat, its cone-like forearms crossed over its chest in what she would consider to be an indecisive manner. It showed no expressions beyond that that she could even begin to interpret, except that the eyes showed no sign of love.

“HMPH! MMMPH! MUHMPH!”

The viscous sensation intensified once again and she felt close to passing out. Even the voice in her head felt cotton-wrapped. However, something in her brain told her that she no longer had a reason to be afraid. At least not at the moment. Consider yourself lucky, parasite. The Council believes you can be of use in laying a trap for the antithesis. You will help us or be destroyed. Choose.

She felt the presence loosen up her mind again and her thoughts became nimble. “H-h-h-help or die?! W-with what?! What's the antithesis?! Wha–” The cloudiness returned and she felt her brain go limp.

Her thoughts are like a storm in a pond. I see not how she can be of anyone's assistance, even the antithesis’s. She is more harmless than a fly and less useful to the life chain.

There came another pause. In her stupor, the elf didn't even know how to even think of a response. Then came an elation, like the presence relented. The mycelium roots loosened their grips and dropped the elf on the floor, where she sloshed about like a confused slug.

As the Council commands. She will guide the antithesis down here where it will be ground down into dust and spread to the Teacher's astral winds.

“He… Hey! What's, what's the antithesis?” demanded Roja as she staggered to her feet. The creature barely acknowledged her with a small glance.

To you, this thing is known as “Jezzy”. It has been declared the eternal enemy of the colony and the Council demands it be disposed of completely, down to the smallest speck of Lumen.

“Jezzy? Lumen? What?"

Please, Council, see reason. She cannot possibly–... Yet another pause, one which shifted the tone in the room and even seemed to make the creature uneasy. Roja couldn't make sense of much, but there was an unmistakable thumping on the air, physical like the deep notes of a horn.

Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

She noticed the creature deflated a little. Yes, of course. I will… Respect the Council’s decision. The mushroom walked over to the elf. Roja suddenly felt herself levitate off the ground and be spun around, cast into odd angles by an invisible force.

“Hey! HEY! Let, let me down!” Then she quieted down as the creature leaned in.

You have been granted amnesty by the Council. You will not think another thought unless I command you to do so. She felt the creature sigh. Every day, every minute, every second you have been down here, your doubts, your self-hate and your urge to please this “Jezzy” have oozed out of you like pus from a wound. I did not want to listen; I wanted to shut you out. However… The creature picked up the knife, spotted with the iridescent spores of its kind. ... You have consumed Lumen. Your resulting affinity for accessing the Astral Plane, however weak, forces me to hear your thoughts as though you were yourself a cantar. You would think watching your own kin be systematically hacked apart to be eaten was a cruel fate, but being imprisoned in this cellar, forced to hear hundreds of frail minds trot around above thinking about the most miniscule, minute, unimportant details like they are world-ending threats–I can scarcely think of a worse punishment. A thousand years of rot upon you and all your kin!

The mental assault thundered through her head like a migraine. Roja was already dizzy from hanging upside down, but the headache intensified the nausea. She felt something bubble from below and a throatful of bile exploded out of her mouth. The cantar recoiled and dropped her, letting her once again fall onto the ground torso first. Roja flabbed about in her own vomit and noticed that her nose was running. As she swabbed a finger underneath, she noticed its crimson colour. “I… I'm not well…”

The cantar hissed and slapped off the bits of vomit that had doused it's leg. Disgusting. Yet oddly fascinating. I will make a note that your kind also vomits up your stomach fluid for extratestinal pre-digestion. A valiant last effort to exercise your hate towards my kind, but alas… The creature waved a hand over the small burns. They healed near instantly. ... A failed one. Now, is there anything else that you want to do to me before you finally obey and assassinate the antithesis?

“K-... Kill Jezzy?” Roja pushed herself onto her one elbow and slowly brought her buckling knees up under her torso.

She listens at last. But she doubts. Always with the doubts.

“I… I couldn't! She saved me! She's been there for me all this time!”

A murderer. A thief. Her crimes against my kind, crimes you too have perpetrated, are innumerable. If you refuse to obey, I will hollow out your husk and seed your flesh bag with new spores. Your meat will feed the colony for years.

“But why?! Why do you need me?! What good am I to you if you just wanna find Jezzy?! You found this colony, right?!”

The Council called out to me for all these years. As their Pilot, I am attuned to its voice at all times, listening to it, feeling it. Its burning glare grew cold. It is a bond a million times stronger than any sort of “friendship” your kind can hope to achieve. I feel their joy, their fear, their pain. Every cut, every chop. But… There was a long pause as the creature paced around the kneeling elf. Roja felt as though it was undressing her with its eyes, but in the most analytical way imaginable. I do not know what she looks like.

Roja blinked. “That's–”

... unexpected, is it? Really? Is that so? Tell me, did your knife feel any different when you cut Node-Zhyk as compared to when you cut Node-Waym?

Roja fell silent, but she felt her cheeks flush with guilt. “I… They…”

Oh but of course. They were just mushrooms, weren't they? Perhaps that will be the start of the eulogy we will sing after you're gone: “Roja, just a goblin…”

“But, but I'm an elf!”

Long ears, frail mind, nothing but doubt and ambition in those tiny excuses for heads… Frankly, I do not care what you think you are. All I see is meat and mental issues packed around a small speck of Lumen, and all I want you to do is to accomplish a single, menial task. Is that so hard to understand?

Roja was at her wit’s end. “B-but why me? I-I don't want to hurt her, I–”

Because she knows, you stupid thing! She knows everything! She knows I am looking for her; she knows I want her dead; and she knows that as soon as she comes back here, she will not leave alive. And you know how she knows that?

“Wh-wha…?”

Because she is attuned to the Lumen! She has studied it. She knows how to manipulate it. She listens to the colony. She knew I would be coming, so she was gone when I came.

“You, you lie!”

She didn't care for what happened to you; she would have locked me away when she had come home and cleaned up your mess, or better yet, let the colony take you and feed on your corpse for the next year! What, you thought you were her first assistant?

“She, she wouldn't!”

Then she felt the migraines again. Once again, her head was being forced open like a heavy tome and she felt the cantar flip through her memories. Your vision–your friends all gather before you to forgive you for your mistakes. Convenient for a first time high, isn't it?

“Th-that’s–”

Porchina the shesnouter–told to leave her husband for her lover as though it was preordained! Isn't it funny how she came to Jezzy with doubts, only for her second vision to tell her to go back to her old husband again?

“That's not fair!”

Jezzy feeds off of doubt, parasite. Her business isn't to help people; it's to keep people coming!

“Shut up! SHUT UP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

The presence faded, but the scenery remained the same. Roja’s face was grimy with vomit, sticky with blood and wet with tears. Before her, the mushroom stood unbreathing, unmoving, unrelenting in its glare. “I… I need to find Jezzy.”

Be quick about it. My vengeance cannot come soon enough.

“... I need… To find Jezzy…” Roja crawled towards the ladder and slowly ascended with shaking movements. The mushroom followed her ascent with analytical interest, the same sort one might watch a wounded insect live out its final minutes. Then it turned to the mushroom grove with elation. It lifted its arms and the cave slowly filled with glowing, iridescent spores. From the pool of vomit and drops of blood, small red and blue nubs began to grow, mycelium eating into the goo with patient gusto. From deep within the grove, rotund little cantars the size of cats came waddling out and started digging new channels into the wood of the Tree of Life for new mycelium roots to grow in. Some climbed up the ladder to harvest whatever they could find in Jezzy’s shop to take down to the colony for consumption.

Finally… After all these years, I can return to my duties.

Then the grove slowly began to heal.

---

Ayre ran. Free from further distractions. Free from any burdens. Her apron’s strings trailed in the wind she left as she descended down the long flight of steps, twirling and twirling down into the depths of the tree. She knew the types that lived there. Deep folk, short and stout and the goblins who had always reigned supreme. Seldom did elfkind venture there but she had never heard of any terrible going ons. That in itself was a small comfort at least but she still could not shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Despite her heart threatening to pound out of her chest and her lungs gasping for air, Ayre descended further. She came to an abrupt stop and nearly fell when she reached the bottom and a long hallway. She placed a hand onto the wall and caught her breath for a moment. Then a smell wafted her way, sulfur tinged with blood. She nearly gagged and looked down the hall to see… Dark blotches on the floor, lumps in the distance. She walked nearer, throwing caution to the wind.

She had never seen blood before. What struck her was how dark the color was. How it dried darker. How, across a wall and ceiling, it was a sight out of some macabre nightmare. When you dreamt of something you knew existed but have never seen. She felt sick and then a crushing wave of panic overwhelmed her.

“Ida…” She murmured, eyes going wide as she scanned the corpses. Deep folk guards. One had a… “Ida!” she shouted, looking away from the severed and crushed head. She ran now, through the doorway and found the carnage had not traveled far. Guards had fought something that gashed their leather armor, that tore limbs off in grisly fashion. The town before her was burning, thick blotches of smoke wafted up into the endless heights of the roots of the Great Tree. Ayre felt like she couldn’t breath and her world began to spin.

“IDA!” she screamed.

Someone screamed back.

“Help…!” The voice shouted, coming from the town. She ran towards the voice, unsteady on her feet. Maybe it was Ida? She had to have hope, but that panic laced her core with fear. She could feel the heat as she came nearer, the roaring inferno of a blazing fire… How it called out to her. She shook her head and covered her face with her apron as she entered the streets.

“Help me!” Came the voice again, down a nearby alleyway, just above the din of the fire.

She rounded the corner and… It wasn’t Ida.
“Heeeelpppp…” A cat-like creature mimicked, before it took another bite of a goblin. Blood gushed from its maw as it bit and chew and chew. The crack of bones breaking in its mouth, so audible in her ears. It was like she was hearing sound for the first time. It paused to look up at her, rippling muscle along its back flexing. It seemed to smile with glee as it opened its mouth to unleash some dying scream of someone once alive. Ayre stumbled backwards, sheer horror gripping her tight. Seeing this, with a flick of its boney tail, it began to approach her one step after another and Ayre could no longer move. She couldn’t breathe. It's dark mane was caked with drying blood. Its crimson eyes were unlike anything she had ever seen and she knew they would haunt her in those fleeting moments before it... It had killed. Murdered. It had gone against the Goddesses teachings. Life was sacred. Life was… Living.

Not dead. Not butchered and eaten. Not slain like she was about to.

Her knees began to wobble. Ayre felt her heart threaten to burst out of her chest. She felt herself take a quick breath and she had to force herself to exhale as the thing began to lower itself, getting into a crouch. It watched her with such hungry eyes. Unknowable depths of pure malice in those eyes, made Ayre realize that it was perfectly capable of thinking. Of knowing its actions. It wanted to kill her. It wanted to eat her and yet, she found it so hard to grasp the same. Even if she could move, would she break everything she had ever known? What would it make her?

Flames licked at her memory. A burning so bright she had immolated. She had died, only to be born anew. Right? Didn’t that mean…

The thing pounced with silent glee and Ayre’s hand rose to shield herself. She thought of Ida in that moment, of a time they played in the mud as kids. Father said they looked like two goblins who had had a rough day. She smiled as the thing slammed into a spear of fire. Her smile faded as the thing let out a terrible scream, landing just before her in a burning heap. The flames, her flames, so bright and warm wrapped around the monster. Burnt hair and flesh came forth and she cringed back, the flame winking out in a response. The monster was left blackened and spasming, with its black blood pooling underneath in acrid smoke.

Ayre watched in silence as its spasming slowed, along with its labored breath. It grew still and she fell to her knees. Grief, pain, hate, regret- it all hit her at once and she gripped her head as hot tears streamed down her face. How could anyone go on like this? How could they deal with what they’d done? It felt like she would be consumed by her emotions and burn up all over again into roaring cinders. Worst of all, she knew she deserved it.

“Ayre…?” Came a voice that cut through the air. She looked up and then twisted her body around to see…

“Ida…?” She gasped, a burst of joy cutting through her like a knife. She rose and made to the sister she once knew but after a few steps she paused. Ida looked much the same and yet not. What struck her immediately were her blue eyes, so vivid underneath her frost colored horn. The more glaring observation was that Ida was covered in splotches of dried black blood. Like small voids on her too pale skin and her too pale fur and her too pale hair.

“Ayre,” Ida began, her voice hitched as she took a step towards her. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

“Is it you?” Ayre asked, joy turning to concern as they walked to each other.

“Of course it is.” Ida said, her arms outstretched to wrap tight around Ayre. Ayre returned the gesture and felt as if she was beginning to sob again. Two things occurred to her at that moment. Ida was freezing and her sister was already retreating from her grip. She let go as Ida stumbled back as if stung by something. Ayre went to grab her but Ida exclaimed, “N-No!” and waved her off. Ayre felt as if she had been struck across the face, her hand paused in midair as she watched Ida steady herself.

“No…” Ida said, her face failing to hide some hidden pain. “Please. Don’t touch me just yet.”

“Why!” Ayre blurted, letting her hand drop to her side. She couldn’t believe this.

Ida blinked and in one second, composed herself. “Ayre. I am not the same. It may be difficult to accept but I was given a gift by a Goddess. I am of the Frost now and heat… It won't do me good, sister.” Ayre heard the regret in her voice. Some deep guilt over losing the right of touch. Ayre only wanted to scream.

She gritted her teeth in response. “You were given a gift by a goddess? And now you can’t touch people?” she asked, anger in her voice.

“Yes.” Ida said with a simple shrug.

Ayre realized then, that a great irony had occurred. It was almost unbelievable. No one would believe it, not until they saw and were made to understand. What would their father think? Ayre began to chuckle and then she burst out into laughter. It was some great jest by the Gods. It had to be.

“What’s so funny?” Ida asked, taking a step forward again.

Ayre rubbed the bridge of her nose and said, “You are of Frost and I am of the Pyre, Ida.”

She flicked her hand forth and from the sadness blooming in her heart, she wove a small flame into being.

Ida stared and then her own tears came, shattering as ice as they hit the blood soaked stone beneath.

---

Longsight and Badboy were received by their gobtrotter comrades with awe. Horntusk, who had managed to successfully escape after drawing the monsters out, could hardly believe it was them. Longsight’s blue eye and tattooed face left no doubt, however, and neither did the weapons they so easily wielded – for in the hands of others they became impossibly heavy. “This is most remarkable!” Songster chirruped, examining their sculpted forms and poking now at Longsight’s calf and now scrambling up Badboy’s shoulder to rub his spectacularly squared jaw. Tentongues, brows in a veritable V-shape, also did not cease from pinching and pulling at their forms. Badboy would have usually brushed them off, mouthing profanities, but on this occasion he stood proudly and flexed his muscles subtly. “Simply.. inconceivable!” Tentongues declared at last. “How did this come to be – what magick, vile or fine, could have done this?” Longsight shrugged and pointed back behind him into the caverns. Songster looked into the darkness, eyes wide, and Tentongues likewise gazed into it with a gleam. “We…” Songster began. “Must go and find it.” Tentongues finished. “We will be remembered…” Songster picked up again. “For ten thousand years,” Tentongues chirruped. “This discovery will never be matched!” Songster squealed, leaping from Badboy’s shoulder and rushing deeper into the cave. A loud screech and rumble had him returned as swiftly as he went, however. “Though that can wait, I’m sure it can wait, yes it can wait.” He stammered to himself, wringing his hands.

Longsight considered the two gobtrotters, deep in thought. Now that he thought about it, it was probably a good idea to secure whatever that pool was. It was not unlikely that the terrible wyvern was sculpted out of it, just as their forms were created inside it. He did not want to think what terrible horrors would emerge from the cavern depths if they did not obtain control of the cave’s interiors at least to the pool’s chamber. And, of course, there was water there too. He glanced at Badboy, and then at Horntusk and Saboteur. We eat, he gestured, then sleep, he added. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was a new day and he would think then. Songster and Tentongues could not bring themselves to cease chattering as all of them ate. Everyone other than Badboy listened good-naturedly, but after some five minutes the fearsome man turned on them, eyes as stone. They never called him Barbtongue after that. “U-uh, D-Deathglare,” Tentongues said, hands raised defensively. He stared at the two for a few moments more. “We- we’ll be quiet,” Songster squeaked, and the two scholars dipped their heads down and ate wordlessly.

That night, Longsight dreamt that he walked through a grotto to the sound of trickling water. Though it was mostly natural, he somehow knew as he walked through its winding tunnels that the ground had been cobbled by human labour. He could hear laughter on the air and thought he now heard laughing nymphs and now felt sylphs about his shoulders – though how he knew what those creatures were he could not tell. He came to a stop in the darkness and looked up to see a statue. A few moments passed, and the statue turned to him. It was bent double, what passed for its back hunched. It groaned under the weight of its deformed body. Its eyes were red and face swollen, but for all that its face was aglow with a certain intelligence and about its mouth – his mouth, for it was a man – was a smile that was only fit for those of cleverness and of wit. “You have come.” The statue said. Longsight cocked his head, frowning. “You… expected me?” He asked. The statue smiled knowingly. “It is good to know you like this. I had grown tired, in truth, of the absolutist you will become.” The statue sighed, then gestured for him to come closer. Longsight did so, and it sat down at the edge of its pedestal. Stone eyes gazed into the one brown eye and one blue of the boy. Aye, for he had reverted to his boyish form, all sculpted muscle was gone. The statue rubbed Longsight’s head affectionately, smiling. “This is not the first time we’ve met and it is not the last. I am sure you have realised, already, that you are not like others. You are a thing of destiny- and I don’t mean to make a narcissist of you in saying that. It is simply the truth, whatever way you cut it.”

Longsight did not think to protest or question the statue’s words. He seemed to be speaking natural truths, things he already knew but had overlooked or not really vocalised. The statue placed a hand on his shoulder. “Listen now,” it said, “being as you are, it will not do for you to be a thoughtless being. You cannot wander aimlessly as the great majority of sapients do, unconcerned with the inner workings of reality, unwilling to truly uncover the truth. Were it so that you were meant to eat, sleep, work, and shit – pardon my French – then you’d not have this,” and he rapped him about the head to indicate his brain. Longsight blinked. “Pardon your wha-” he began, but the statue did not wait for him. He burst suddenly into a deep, resonant chant:

“Say first, of God above, or man below,
What can we reason, but from what we know?
Of man what see we, but his station here,
From which to reason, or to which refer?
Through worlds unnumber’d though the God be known,
‘Tis ours to trace him only in our own.
He, who through vast immensity can pierce,
See worlds on worlds compose one universe,
Observe how system into system runs,
What other planets circle other suns,
What varied being peoples ev’ry star,
May tell why Heav’n has made us as we are.
But of this frame the bearings, and the ties,
The strong connections, nice dependencies,
Gradations just, has thy pervading soul
Look’d through? or can a part contain the whole?
Is the great chain, that draws all to agree,
And drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee?”

Longsight listened in a state of awe and stupor as the statue chanted now in soft tones, like a breeze or ripple, and now rising and surging like a great wind or the crash of waves on cliffs. The meanings washed over him, the words familiar, teasing at the edges of his mind, but immediately foreign.

“Heav’n from all creatures hides the book of fate,
All but the page prescrib’d, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleas’d to the last, he crops the flow’ry food,
And licks the hand just rais’d to shed his blood.
Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv’n,
That each may fill the circle mark’d by Heav’n:
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl’d,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.”

The statue did not cease singing, and after some time it took Longsight up in its arms and he watched as it strained and rocked. Its passions caused its form to tremble and the arms that held him to shake. After chanting and singing for what seemed an age, he suddenly bent forward and began crooning conclusively.

“Cease then, nor order imperfection name:
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heav’n bestows on thee.
Submit.—In this, or any other sphere,
Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:
Safe in the hand of one disposing pow’r,
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony, not understood;
All partial evil, universal good:
And, spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.”

The statue ceased at last and looked down at Longsight, who had become a babe in its arms. “Whatever is,” Longsight murmured, “is right?” He looked questioningly at the statue. It smiled. “Aye my boy. Or, as you were so prone to say, and as you will be again soon, ‘Thus was it Fated. So shall it Be.’”

Longsight was awake with the first squeak of morn. He had barely opened his eyes when Badboy too awoke and rose swiftly next to him. The two boys looked at one another bleary-eyed. Then their eyes widened and they leapt to their feet pointing at each other and feeling one another’s faces and shoulders. Their sculpted forms were gone! Badboy stamped and stomped around in frustration then picked up Headsplitter and made to march all on his lonesome into the cavern depths. Longsight caught him by the hand and pulled him back, patting his shoulder to calm him down. While he stopped trying to stomp off on his own, he was in a foul mood all through breakfast and both the goblins and greatgoblins made a point of not drawing his attention. Longsight was deep in thought and did not much notice Badboy stewing in his rage.
For one reason or another, Longsight found he could remember every word and verse that the statue had chanted to him in the dream. He had said, Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree/Of blindness, weakness, Heav’n bestows on thee. His own point? His own purpose, perhaps? But also his limit? To realise his purpose and know his assigned limits. And having understood that, to Submit.—In this, or any other sphere,/Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:/Safe in the hand of one disposing pow’r. To submit- surrender, embrace his purpose and accept his limits, to realise that all things were in the hands of a force, or being, far more powerful and knowing... and of this was to know that All nature is but art, unknown to thee;/All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;/All discord, harmony, not understood;/All partial evil, universal good. So much was unknown and unknowable to those such as he... and because he could not understand it he perceived that there was good and evil- but the reality, or so the statue poet would have it, was that evil is only observable due to our blindness while those who could truly see- See- saw only universal good. His eyes narrowed in thought and he raised a hand to his blue eye. But was it unknown to him? Was he blind and unable to see? And, spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite,/One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right. He frowned. Whatever is- thus was it Fated- is right- so shall it Be.

Longsight sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. When he opened them again, they were fixed on the dark depths of the cave. He looked from Badboy to Horntusk to Saboteur. We go, he signalled, gesturing into the cave, we kill, he drew a finger across his throat, we take! he shook his hands into two fists. The others were still, but when he rose and hefted Bonebreaker, they rose as one with him. Even Songster and Tentongues got up, wringing their hands nervously. Though they were advised to stay, they insisted on coming. “This is a monumental- historical- world-altering discovery! We must document it for future scholars and historians!” They cried, amongst other things. Longsight nodded absentmindedly. Saboteur and Horntusk prepared torches – they had wetted some rags with fat from the beasts slaughtered some days back and then wrapped them around some thick enough wooden branches they had found. The torches in this manner burned longer and brighter.

Making their way into the system, it was not long before they began to hear cries and movement. The first beasts they came across were terribly mauled ones of the humanoid variety that was so populace down here. Some were winged (though their wings were wrecked beyond use) and others were terrestrial. “Aggghhhppppp..” a few moaned on seeing them, though others whimpered and tried to crawl away from the light. They did not seem to be of any danger, and Horntusk confirmed this by noting that they were groaning for help. That did not stop Songster and Tentongues from crying up a fuss. Badboy, for his part, casually bashed in the heads of the beasts as he marched past. After a few minutes of that, Longsight flashed him an annoyed glance and gestured for him to stop. Huffing, the bloodstained lad rolled his eyes and complied. Still, he kicked any beast that happened to be strewn in his path out of the way whenever he could. After some time, the beasts they came across were of the less helpless variety and Longsight gripped Bonebreaker in preparation. When they saw them, however, the beasts did not attempt to attack but scampered away into the caverns, shouting in that foreign tongue of theirs. Longsight glanced at Horntusk for an explanation. “They don’t seem to want to fight- not us, anyway.” Horntusk noted simply.

A movement in the flickering shadows caught Longsight’s eye and he braced himself. A bat-faced monster, completely black, winged, and with rippling muscles, emerged into the light hissing and growling. Badboy stepped forth with a smirk, readying himself to obliterate it. “No, wait,” Songster cried, “it wants to talk!” Badboy paused and partially turned his head towards Longsight, an eyebrow raised. Longsight nodded for him to stand down. “What’s it want to talk about?” Longsight asked Songster. The beast squawked and screeched, and Songster started to translate over its strange speech. “It says their home is defenceless now that their wyvernlord is slain. The rock-eating wyrm, Ak-Gazorm, has not relented from torturing and killing them ever since. It stands over the pool, preventing any one of them from entering the waters and being transformed; without a lord, they have no hope of survival before the other lords and kings of the beasts.” Songster paused for a few seconds as the beast continued its squealing before throwing itself on the earth before Longsight and Badboy. “Uh…” Songster coughed, “it… it places itself at your- but especially your,” he gestured at Badboy, “mercy and pledges itself and its kin to you if you can slay or banish Ak-Gazorm.” Badboy stared at Songster in confusion for a few seconds, and then understanding dawned and his eyes lit up. A smile spread across his face and he stepped towards the beast, which whimpered and attempted to scamper away. But Badboy caught it by one of its ears and brought it close so that his dark brown eyes gazed into its red ones. A silent but electric moment passed between them, and when Badboy released the creature it fell immediately to his feet and grovelled there. He looked back at his companions, and in the flickering darkness he seemed more beast than man. We go, he gestured. Not waiting for a response, he hurried onward and was quickly followed by the batbeast.

As they continued into the depths of the tunnel system, the cavern seemed to swirl with life all about them as beasts crawled or walked before and behind them. It was a swift and solemn march, and soon the sound of their feet and the swarm was overshadowed by the rumbling of the earth and the grating of metal against stone. “Ak-Gazorm,” Songster breathed, “the chamber is ahead of us.” Longsight caught up with Badboy and fell into lockstep with him. Horntusk and Saboteur flanked them, hands on their sword pommels. When they stood at the opening of the chamber, which was considerably larger than when they had run through it the day before, they saw clearly the form of the great iron-clad wyrm as it slid terribly across the rock earth of the chamber. Everywhere rocks and stalagmites had been crushed and the chamber had been completely smoothed, as though by the skilled hands of a thousand labourers. The pool glistened still at the centre of the chamber. Longsight looked at the giant wyrm and gulped, then he placed a hand on Badboy’s shoulder. The other boy glanced back at him and saw the uncertain look in his eyes. How’re we going to do this? Longsight seemed to say. Badboy grinned and shrugged casually. Like we always do. And with that, he leapt into the chamber and the slap of his feet against the smooth stone drew the attention of the wyrm, which screeched and turned on him with fury. Longsight was not too far behind him, Bonebreaker grating the ground in his wake.

Just before the wyrm was upon him, Badboy stopped sprinting, squatted low, and with impossible power lurched upward in a leap that should have been unthinkable for such a small form. The wyrm was so confused by the sudden disappearance of its quarry that it paused. Longsight, however, did not and found himself unable to stop himself from sprinting right into the behemoth’s open mouth. There was a moment of silence as he flopped and rolled over its rock-hard tongue, managed to get to his feet and turn around, and watched with pursed lips as the wyrm’s mouth clamped shut about him. Badboy, atop the wyrm’s head, only realised Longsight’s fate from the cacophony of screams that Songster and Tentongues kicked up. “Timeswooooorn!” Songster wailed. “Eaten, swallowed, consumed! What horror! What terror! Galaxor forgive us, we’ve failed!” He continued. Badboy bashed Headsplitter down into the wyrm’s great armoured head with all his power and might. For all that weapon’s head-splitting prowess, the wyrm’s armour was far too thick and the blow barely left a mark. The wyrm felt it, however, and it reared up shaking its head and, lurching suddenly, launched its head into one of the chamber’s walls. Realising its ploy at the last second, Badboy leapt from its head and felt himself spin and fly slowly through the air. He landed with some six rolls and was then on his feet and running again, Headsplitter spinning like a windmill of death on his fingers. Witnessing his stand against the wyrm, the watching beasts seemed at first awed beyond action. However, a screech rose up among them and a certain energy and zest flowed across the tunnels. Leathery wings beat, feet scampered, claws shrieked against rock, and the beasts swarmed into the chamber to the aid of Badboy, their lord and saviour.

The world rumbled as the wyrm met the horde, and Badboy leapt into the maelstrom and struck with his army. Now the wyrm ripped into the flying synchrony of beasts, now its form crushed those amassing on the chamber ground, now Badboy flew like a spear amongst his airborne squadrons to dole out pain and scars to the wyrm’s face and skull, now he rolled away from its crushing form and wedged Headsplitter between one of its body-plates or another. The stone floor of the great gallery ran with endless rivulets of bileblood that eventually all flowed into the chromatic pool. Badboy lost track of time. His world became one of pure movement- he dodged, rolled, struck, fell back, leapt, swung, lurched, stabbed. Now one of his beasts lifted him so he flew towards the creature’s eye- only for it to wisely close it and swing its head aggressively in his direction, batting him aside. The swarm was quick to cushion his fall and launched him once more towards their behemoth foe. Though he struck courageously and liberally, he might as well have been an ant nibbling at a world-mountain. The wyrm’s armoured head showed little, if any, sign of wear. Headsplitter, however, could not be said to have borne out as well.

Feeling that victory was slipping from them, the beast swarms began to falter. Before Badboy could stop them, they started to break. A small troop gathered about him, grabbed his arms and legs, and flew with him from the cavern. He struggled, but it was of little use – and he was tired anyway. The wyrm, however, had its eyes fixed on him. Even as the chamber disappeared he could see and hear it scraping across the stone. The caverns shook as it started biting and forcing its way up the tunnels after him. When the beasts finally arrived at the cave mouth, they dropped Badboy and the gobtrotters there, then swarmed from the cave screeching and squealing. Badboy punched and kicked whichever ones he could get his hands and feet on and cursed their cowardice. Still, the rumbling did not cease and the growling of the wyrm and the crushing of rock could be heard even now, coming closer and closer. Outside the squeaking and squawking of airborne and terrestrial beasts alike suddenly became more tense and their fear became apparent as they started rushing back into the cave. Horntusk frowned and leapt to the cave mouth, looking out. Badboy joined him, gazing into the sky. In the distance, a great black swarm and many great shapes could be seen. On the cliffs above, terrible monstrosities were amassing. Badboy frowned and Horntusk gulped. “They… they say it is Hylsek Adech, the First Drakhorey, High King of the Drakhorey of the Outer Rim.” Horntusk spoke, his green face somehow ashen. He glanced from the rumbling caverns behind them to the approaching horde outside. “We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

Feeling the cave begin to rumble dangerously and the roof above them begin to shake, rocks to fall, Badboy signalled for those around him to escape. They swarmed from the cave and out onto the hillside beyond. Batbeasts flapped desperately above and their strange humanoid kin gathered around Badboy below. It was not long after that the cave mouth exploded and the ironclad wyrm, Ak-Gazorm, emerged under the sky. It had barely emerged before an enormous being, resembling in many ways a lizard (only far more terrible and winged) landed on that hillside. Others like it, also of great size though none larger than the first, landed about it. It roared terror and fury and the heavens were filled with flames. “You have called forth the fury of Hylsek Adech, worms!” It roared in a tongue Badboy immediately understood. “I was there when Roisin Magnolia was the singular flame of skies you will never know! I am the Hickorybane, the great Oakdeath, the Cedarfeller- what are you, fleshlings, to stand before such as I? My claws have brought death to beings whose power you cannot begin to comprehend; my flames scorched the Little god herself! Even now my armies wage war across worldfabrics beyond your imaginings- what! Before me? Before Hylsek Adech you think to stand? Before me?!” His voice was the very essence of interminable fury, his eyes the quintessence of rage. There was none, not even Badboy, who did not quake at the mighty drakhorey’s declaration. Only Ak-Gazorm seemed unfazed. It flailed its terrible head in the sun and roared furies almost as terrible as those of Hylsek Adech. Then the world became a great cacophony of roars as Hylsek Adech announced the coming slaughter and all those drakhorey with him bellowed it too. On the hills all around, the beasts that called Hylsek Adech king roared and growled- and Ak-Gazorm howled and howled and howled.

The battle that ensued was only chaos and death. Wherever Badboy turned he met monstrosities that curdled his very blood. The poor beasts that had declared him lord – weak things in comparison, hardly beasts at all – fell like so many flies before the indomitable terror that was the drakhorey. In his hands Headsplitter weaved, but it was irreparably damaged and with every swing pieces of it flew in ever which way until it was useless in his hands. Even as he let it drop, the form of Ak-Gazorm descended upon the battlefield and scattered death in the ranks of Badboy’s beasts and those of Hylsek Adech alike. “Oh you over-hard, stupid worm!” Hylsek Adech boomed. “I will slice you until you know fear!” And he landed before the great wyrm and set his terrible claws upon. The wyrm ripped into his neck even as Hylsek Adech’s unnatural black teeth closed upon the ironwyrm’s face. Horrid magicks swirled where the drakhorey’s teeth met the wyrm’s armour, and they sank in as though only a thin smearing of butter protected Ak-Gazorm. The mighty wyrm, resplendent crusher of rock though it was, howled in pain. Hylsek Adech reared his head back, dark flames dancing about his mouth and eyes. However, no sooner had he done that when a tiny shape blurred across the air. Hylsek Adech frowned deeply, his nostrils flaring and eyes widening as he attempted to find the unexpected fly. He felt it when Bonebreaker sank into his forehead, and an ear-piercing roar shattered the skies: “You dare!?” Dark flames immediately enveloped Hylsek Adech, and beneath him the trapped Ak-Gazorm cried out in pain as the flames melted its head armour and made charcoal of its brain.

Atop Hylsek Adech’s head, Longsight held tightly onto Bonebreaker, which was still buried into the drakhorey’s forehead. His eyes were a burst of palest blue and his form glowed with the colour. About him, a great cerulean aura licked at Hylsek Adech’s flames so that now the black flames advanced and now the azure energies beat them back. Hefting Bonebreaker, Longsight wrenched it free and, raising it into the air so that the veins of sapphiric magick coursed into the very heart of the war hammer, he brought it down with a resounding boom. Hylsek Adech stumbled back, black eyes widening. “A… mere fleshling,” he breathed. Longsight raised the hammer again, and his voice reverberated through the air – though neither from his throat nor from his tongue. “You have said your part, Hylsek Adech, and now hear me: you think yourself almighty above such as I, but here I am above you- you stumble from my blows and your heart is shaken. A mere fleshling, you say, but that is mere flatulence. Vain are the thousand pacts that move on tongues, unutterably vain! Truth silent stands there in the realm of acts! And here, now, one truth is clear: whatever is, is right. Thus was it Fated. So shall it-” Bonebreaker descended with a terrible blue fury onto Hylsek Adech’s head, “Be!” The blow sent Hylsek Adech falling and flailing backwards, and even as he fell he shook his head with such ferocity that Longsight was forced from his head and landed on the bloodied battlefield. The corpse of Ak-Gazorm was like a great wall above him and quiet had descended on the killing fields.

Longsight retreated swiftly, scanning the field for his comrades. He spotted Badboy first, and they were soon by one another. A few dozen batbeasts swarmed above and terrestrials gathered around them- perhaps seeking safety beside the one who had caused Hylsek Adech to stumble. The gobtrotters soon joined them. Saboteur and Horntusk were beaten and injured, but they seemed far better than Tentongues and Songster who hung limply in their arms. Longsight looked at Horntusk questioningly, but the greatgoblin only looked away sadly. The little gobtrotters were dead. A battlefield such as this was no place for such scholarly folk.

“What is your name, fleshbeast?” Hylsek Adech’s voice arose. “I see it now, how was I blind before? You two…” the form of the First Drakhorey emerged above the corpse of the ironwyrm, “are no mere humans. Your blood has mixed with ours. Your flesh is just as black!” So saying, the drakhorey laughed as though discovering something horribly funny, “oh what little horrors you are! What are we, beasts of the Outer Rim that we are, before abominations such as you? It is good. No, no, I’ll not have you tell me your names – I will tell you.” His black eyes surveyed Badboy first, “hmm, yes. I have known you before… Veztec.” Hylsek Adech almost purred the name. His gaze landed on the two greatgoblins, “and your orcs, of course. Ever unsubtle.” His black eyes rested on Longsight, and a black-toothed smile spread across the drakhorey’s ugly face. “Ah, such bright, hopeful, light-filled eyes. Ahahahah. Savour them while they last, Vowzra!” Rearing back, the drakhorey beat his powerful wings and ascended into the air. “We will meet again, my dear fleshbeasts.” Without another word, he rose into the heavens and his fellow drakhorey rose with him. All across the hillside battlefield Hylsek Adech’s horde retreated.

Longsight stood there, the blue veins of power slowly dwindling and the azure light in his eyes fading. He almost fell, but Badboy caught him and propped him up. They stood there, flanked by their strange new followers, and thought that – on the wind – they could hear whispers. Badboy’s ears pricked up and Longsight’s brows rose. The winds seemed to laughingly coax them with the words: Come and find it, boys. Closing his eyes, Longsight descended to the ground and Badboy crumpled down by him. What in high hell have we gotten ourselves into? Longsight thought. There was no grin on Badboy’s face, and his eyes betrayed that the same thought was on his mind.

...and finally I wish to bring into consideration the latest events of the Goblin Underground. According to many established scholars, the goblin underground was provided for by the Lord Galaxor. The Cornocopia provides it with food and the Orb of Air provides it with clean, fresh air necessary to sustain life. This made the city known as the Goblin Underground a venerable hub of life and merchant activity. Through my travels, I can already attest to the metropolitan size it took on.

However, as noted in the treatise on agriculture and it explosive effects upon population: “At a certain point, a locale’s population exceeds the agricultural capacity of the surrounding area. Innovation must constantly strive not just for wealth but to fend off starvation” (Aucer, S. (Unanchored Time). Treatise on Agriculture and its effects upon population. Tricity Library: Snouter Weekly, page 23 - 37). In the case of the Goblin Underground, an additional and unique situation developed: the Orb of Air was not capable of replenishing enough air. The results were scenes of starvation and squalor. As the population grew exponentially, the unique architectural and construction challenges were not bested.

My findings conclude that Galaxor, despite having the often noted capacity of divine foresight, has utterly lacked the capacity to anticipate struggles on a macro-civic level. One has to question why he created a civilization so deep underground that would suffer so many difficulties. One must further question why the god let the squalor and famine rage at all. Finally, his reactionary response (the creation of Dominion) could only be seen as most devastating. As recent letters from Arbor conclude that an earthquake rocked it fierce, claiming a not inconsiderate amount of lives.

Irrithae leaned back as she cleaned the liquid divinium quill she held in her hand. This was not her first treatise she wrote while staying at what was now known as the Dominion. The others had been lesser creations though. Nothing more than simple reports and light observations on methods and results of governance. This latest treatise would probably be seen as a a hit piece, if not an insult. The people of the Dominion, formerly known as the Goblin Underground, were quite reverent of Galaxor. It was easy to understand why. Compared to what was before, the city was a haven to those who dwelled so deep underground. Irrithae, for her part, did not share the fervor though.

She did not think her observations were incorrect. There was a failing of responsibility that had led to a shortage of food, air and housing. In Arbor, she would’ve been responsible for such failings for sure. Down here the powers and responsibilities were spread differently. With the creation of the Cornucopia and the Orb of Air Galaxor had assumed culpability over their shortages.

She pitied Maxima. The goblin ruler had been confronted with challenges mortals could not yet face. She had theorized that this might be Galaxor’s deliberate goal but there was no knowing for sure. Her quill was dry, and she let the divinium return to her. Still, she had a duty towards a fellow ruler to help Maxima out.

The Prophetess of Allianthé rose up from her chair as she let her eyes wander to the second treatise. It was a smaller thing. Something that could be confused for a thin book. Besides the near tome that Irrithae had written it looked inconsequential. It was far more important than the near-tome though. It contained within the unified ideas, methods and goals that Irrithae saw necessary for good governance. It spoke about practical necessities of governance like censuses, taxes and the provision of the necessities of life for a population. It also spoke on ideas such as innovation and education, and why and how those concepts should be fostered.

It was not perfect. Many of the ideas remained untested and even the most dull-spirited administrator would find it a tedious creation. That did not lessen its importance to Irrithae. It was a plan and a vision of her near future. She took the first pile of books and started wandering through the great Library. Time was weird, even with the Time Anchor Device she had gotten it felt as if both only days and years had passed. Other scholars passed her as she put away the books. Some she had borrowed since she had gotten here. Other scrolls were momentary necessities. S. Aucer’s treatise was just another quote she needed to catch eyes. The many books from the dwarven thirteen kingdoms were of a vastly greater importance. She returned them too. Her fingers would not brush their spines for decades. She would miss them.

There were the scrolls of Syllan. Their expertise upon craftsmanship and industry had no rival so far. That would change once she returned to Arbor, especially with the aid of the Forge. There were other places that had inspired her. Tales of small settlements, or the ravaging hordes in the deserts beyond the Origin Lands. She returned those scrolls and tablets as well. This was her farewell. Silent yet deeply intimate with inanimate objects.

She returned to her room. It was huge, with a large central desk. After hours of returning books, scrolls and other holders of information it was strangely empty. Only the candles and her own two treaties remained. The thick one. She hadn’t titled it. The front page was left blank. She was sure someone would name it or burn it. She extinguished the last few candles. The room grew a bit darker each time. With every candle deadened she felt her heart drop a little bit. This was the end of a massive and important part of her life. One she wasn’t sure would end, and yet now it had. A few more candles died by her fingers. Until the last one in a candle holder remained. She picked up the smaller one titled: A gift from Crown to Crown.

Moments later, and without the candleholder, she stood outside the Library in the scalding heat again. She left much like she had entered, with only a small bag. “Uaisle?” She asked.

From the corner of her vision it appeared. A small male fairy. “At your service, ma’am. Shall I guide you to Arbor?”

“Not yet. I have one more place to visit.”

The veil was new to Irrithae, but her divine blessing allowed her to move through it confidently. She moved through the forests with the guide of Uaisle, until she reached an area where the wind billowed around. “Through here, ma’am.” Uaisle beckoned to a very, very dark crag. When she stepped out of the dark she found herself standing in the shadow of an underground house, in Obsidian Reach.

Life in the Dominion seemed to be perfect after the Great Migration as the event started to be called by the locals. Overpopulation seemed to have disappeared overnight, food was being harvested from the Obsidian Sea or hunters would go out in the new tunnels to catch meatbugs and other smaller underground creatures.

Breathable air was not an issue either with so many tunnels opening up to the surface alongside the many underground trees that existed everywhere in Obsidian Reach. This made the Orb Of Air have an emergency purpose only and was kept in the throne room of Maxima.

Even the once absolutely needed Cornucopia seemed only to be used to produce the rarest of meals and only in times of feasting or national holidays as to not waste food. The squalor from before was a thing of the past, there were no homeless people anymore. Especially due to Maxima’s crown, that seemed to make thoughts such as “stealing, killing, cheating” not even cross the minds of the goblins.

Sure, there were a few other races living in the city but it didn’t matter in the long run. Everyone had a job and the people were happy. The new forums made the old ones seem like a pub gathering, with a large arena for all the big “fights” and few smaller ones all over the city. It was a good life.

There were still some challenges that Maxima was working on fixing, such as needs for newer technologies to be developed as artisans simply got bored of doing the same things and lack of fast transportation devices but in comparison to the issues of the past, these were nothing.

The basement of the house the Irrithae appeared in was a simple storage space. Crates filled with different food with a strange machinery on top was all she could see. Well, that, and a petite, very startled old goblin woman on the floor.

“He-hey you! Where, how! HEEEEEELP! HEEEEELP! INVADER!” started the goblin before standing up and shouting from the top of her lungs, way louder than one would expect from such a small old lady.

“Apologies for the intrusion, madame.” Irrithae said calmly, despite the panicked response from the goblin. She didn’t move away either. Such things tended to make a situation worse. She could feel the presence of Uaisle around though. The fairy had much less patience with plebeians. She knew what he wished to do, so without moving her arm from her side she made a careful, small sign telling him to stop and wait. “I will leave, if you’ll permit me.”

The small goblin continued screaming, before a door opened from above and in came two more goblins. These goblins were younger with a bright blue skin and dressed in armor with two gemstones in each shoulder, signifying their increased status.

“Halt in the name of Maxima! Identify yourself or prepare to be taken in custody and brought before the leader herself for judgment!” said the first goblin as they took their spears out and pointed them at Irrithae.

“Please, take me.” The Syllian simply said, as she held out her open hands. She didn’t move otherwise. It was clearly an easy enough way to get to Maxima. There was no fear on her face though. Her entire body language radiated calm. Not so much for the goblins’ sake as for Uaisle.

The first goblin shook his head in disbelief at her nonchalant tone and lack of resistance but approached her and took a rope that hung on his waist and tied her hands, as the second goblin pointed the spear at Irrithae’s throat.

With their captive in tow, they climbed the stairs and went out in what seemed to be a humble abode. Paintings hung on the walls depicting different goblins, the furniture was made out of simple obsidian and on the side, another door led to what seemed to be a kitchen based on the cooked fish smell that Irrithae could smell.

As they walked out the old goblin from before followed them up and shouted something at Irrithae in an older form of goblin language which made the guards chuckle.

Outside the house, they were greeted by a busy street and many other houses that looked similar to the one they got out of. Irrithae, unwillingly, teleported herself to the poorer part of Obsidian Reach, the 6th level. Yet despite being the poorer level of Obsidian Reach, one could notice that the people who lived here, goblins or otherwise, were quite well taken care of.

Most of the goblins that the group passed by, were dressed in modest robes, armor or leather clothing. Here and there, one would sport a gemstone on a weapon or garments.

Irrithae, for her part, just walked along and admired the many goblins and their works. Her discerning eye could see some inequality left and right but that was to be expected. The region was surprisingly filled and busy. Which only further proved her predictions. Wordlessly she carried on. Goblins chuckled but in truth she cared little.

As they went forward they reached a massive staircase that led upwards towards the 5th level of Obsidian Reach. Going upwards, one would notice the change in the general appearance and upon exiting the stairwell, a plaque read, in big bold letters: “Crafts Level”. Followed below it, a few more plaques followed, each written in a different language.

Just as they passed through the gates that marked the start of the level, the two goblins stopped abruptly. One of them quickly undid Irrithae’s restraints, while the other one continued looking forward.

“Have a good day!” they said after Irrithae was free before leaving her all alone. Well, as alone one can be in a busy city.

Irrithae let out a bemused chuckle as she was released. She looked around as the two goblins left her alone. There wasn’t anyone immediately ready to receive her. Interesting. Perhaps Maxima wanted to show off the goblin craftsmen. Irrithae would’ve loved to observe however duty was calling. She made her way along the road as her eyes darted around to see the next big staircase.

As Irrithae walked, she discovered only empty shops and empty streets. Everything seemed to have been abandoned. The whole district or at least what Irrithae could see or hear.

And…then, a loud trumpet-like sound rang through the whole level coming from what seemed to be an arena in the middle. Soon after, a voice, a very loud voice, could be heard saying “Maxima against Farah for the leadership of the Dominion!” followed by what seemed like the screams of thousands of people at once.

The Syllian raised a sculpted, liquid divinium eyebrow. “It would appear that this Maxima is pre-occupied, ma’am.” Uaisle said as the fairy again appeared just from the edges of Irrithae’s vision. “Perhaps a courier from Arbor would have more luck.” The fairy spoke not without reason. If she was called back it was done so by the goddess herself. Valuable minutes were being wasted as duty was calling.

“How could we ever trade and prosper with the good people of Dominion if we cannot be patient through their antics and traditions?” She asked the fairy.

“Spoken as a diplomat, my lady. Thus I must remind you who you are: Irrithae, Prophetes of Allianthé and Steward of Arbor. Yours is a city of the world. You are not a mere diplomat”

“And yet I will wait.” Irrithae said steadfast. “I will not enter the stage without having attempted to make a friend out of an actor.” The fairy let out a sigh but Irrithae walked off towards the grand arena to see what was happening.

The more she approached the arena, the louder the screams of the crowd became only for them to stop abruptly. Suddenly only one male voice could be heard, while most of the words were intelligible, a few struck out more than others. “War. Over. Control. Goblins”, after each word there was a grasp from the crowd. As soon as Farah finished his speech, a female voice rang across the arena. Strong and powerful.

By the time Irrithae finally reached the arena, Maxima finished her speech and cheers from the crowd started again. Minutes later, groups of goblins started to trickle out of the arena. Hundreds of them. Each wearing clothes that were clearly not for craftsmen. Guards, poor people, a few governmental employees with at least 4 gemstones each, fishermen and so on.

Irrithae waited for the throng of people to move around her. Her eyes darted from person to person, often sticking on the gems worn by some of them. It was an expensive custom to be sure but Irrithae could admire its importance. When the greatest mass of the goblins had passed she carefully made her way into the arena towards Maxima.

Only to be met, just after she took a few steps, by a female goblin. She was dressed in what seemed to be full gemstone armor. Each body part was covered in different colored gemstones. On her head, the Crown Of Command stood. A bright blue diamond laid in the middle, glowing a bright blue light. Her long red hair with a few streaks of white, flowed down her shoulders and back.

Maxima, stopped, looked at Irrithae up and down before nodding at her with a smile on her face.

“Greetings, Irrithae. ”

“It’s an honor to meet the queen of the Dominion.” Irrithae said, as she made a deep bow. “Though I must profess that I had expected to find you in some palace.” Her eyes scanned the arena. “Nor did I think someone like you would have their leadership challenged.” Irrithae found that the most baffling. Changes of power are always the most vulnerable moments of a civilization. To let it happen so openly, so publicly, felt irresponsible.

“The honor is mine. You’re lucky to be able to study under Galaxor. ” she replied with a slight nod of her head. “My throne room is on the second level, this is a forum or arena if you want to call it that. ” before making a friendly “who me?” face and giving Irrathe a smile. “Someone like me? You mean, someone who can control the masses with a single thought? I could override the will of all the goblins that challenge me, that is true. Yet that’s now who I am. ”

Maxima started walking and indicated that Irrathe should follow her. “Here in the Dominion we believe that everyone’s opinion matters. You got a grievance against someone? You can issue a “challenge”, a duel of wits and a council of your peers and a sage are formed. It only becomes so public when matters that affect the whole of the Dominion. I’ve never lost a duel in all of our history, yet there are one or two that have more radical ideas…Freedom of speech is important. I hope you can agree with that. ”

“I don’t.” Irrithae said without reservation, nor did she wish to expand upon that remark. “Your prowess in these duels must be legendary then.” Irrithae continued. “I am surprised you were challenged regardless.” It was admirable, though not something she herself would ever do. “I must beg your forgiveness, Queen Maxima. I cannot remain for long. The Living City calls for me. I am to take the stage I was destined to take. Though I’d wish that my ascension would not be without a friend upon the grand stage of the world’s rulers.” She pulled out the thin yet important treatise. “During my studies I began writing this treatise.” Irrithae stopped walking to insist upon the importance of the moment. “It’s a collection of my the knowledge I gleaned at the Library combined with the experience I gained as Steward of Arbor. It is, in a way, also the blueprint of how Arbor would be ruled and governed. I offer it to you because I am certain that it contains valuable lessons for you as well, on how to rule Dominion.”

Maxima chuckled at Irrithae’s answer before replying “Bold to disagree with the ruler of a nation you're trying to be on peaceful terms with. I wouldn't call my skills legendary but with age comes wisdom and I am one of the oldest goblins alive, on Galbar. Been around just a bit after the Life Tree was created. ”, waving at a few goblins that were working at a shop they passed by, Maxima continued “For most it's just fun. A way to test themselves. They're trying to learn from the best. They know they can't win but they try nonetheless. But I digress. There are no friends in politics, Irrithae, learn that now before it'll be too late. ” with a knowing nod, Maxima stopped to give a few pointers to a craftsman in definite need of them “Apologies, he would've destroyed that metal if he continued working it like that. Now, ” she said with an apologetic smile before taking the treaty and giving it a quick over read “I'll give it a proper read once we're done, but I thank you for the insight in your nation and an outsider’s on mine. I've got no interest in war, so if there is a way to avoid it…I'd prefer it. Everyone loses in war, the winner and the loser. ”

The goblin’s words only made Irrithae worry for the Dominion. She had hoped the grand city could be Arbor’s ally. Instead Maxima seemed to not share her ideals on friendship, even on the grander stages of the world. Worse, Maxima’s perception of the world seemed almost idealistic. To think of winners and losers in a war is both necessary and a gross simplification. There were other idealistic differences as well which made the Syllian shudder. No, an alliance would not be possible right now. Worse, she would have to make sure that merchants of both cities would be well educated on the customs of each other.

“I must beg my leave then.” Irrithae said with a polite bow, before quickly moving away. She turned away and away again, getting some distance in between her and the ruler of the Dominion. “Forgive me goddess.” She whispered. Valuable time had been wasted already.

“As you wish. Feel free to visit again, I know I'll visit Arbor one day. Hope I'll see you around. It was interesting meeting a different leader. You're interesting, Irrathae. Looking forward to seeing how your rule will shape Arbor. ” she replied as turned around to leave, Galaxor gave her a warning, invaders at the shore but before she redirected troops over, she called out at Irrithae. “Remember this. I shan't permit anyone to harm my people. Friend, ally or otherwise. ” her voice was like steel, the threat clear in it.

The Syllian was soon back into the Veil. There would be no more waylays. No more distractions and failed endeavours. She made her way through the Veil in silent contemplation. The newly founded Dominion would not be the ally she knew she needed. At first it deeply saddened her. They could’ve achieved so much together. Yet the goblins’ idealism - or Maxima’s - would restrict it, that much she knew for sure.

There were other cities though. Tricity, that amalgam of… almost everything. If she couldn’t attain an alliance with those who ruled then she could still make moves upon the other factions within the city. Then there was Syllan. A haven for her own kind. It was embroiled in a war though.

Again she crawled through a small crag to exit the Veil. She was expecting nothing. No ceremony, barely any surprise from those who’d see her. Instead she found herself in a place she hadn’t seen for a while: the Tree of Life. It was so marred that she could barely recognize it from the inside. “Goddess, what happened?” She said to herself.

“A conflict.”

Irrithae turned around to face the goddess, with her new halo behind her.

“Welcome back Irrithae.” Allianthé said with a smile, and for a moment the divine and the mortal hugged. Though Allianthé released her quickly again. “Forgive me for calling you back so suddenly. As always the world is in flux. The threat of the Outer Beasts is diminished, for now at least. Meanwhile new opportunities arose. I could not keep Arbor rudderless for much longer.”

“I understand.” Irrithae said. “So what can I do?”

---

In aeons and ages to come, there would never be a quiet day in the court of the High Queen at the Highholt of Taramanca. In the wake of the War of the Trees, however, there was much silence. Even as the faeries came to be, there was no song or dance at Taramanca. Roisin Magnolia sat brooding on her high throne, and her thoughts were all of sadness and her eyes knew naught but tears. All across the Veil, the newborn race of the faeries fought and wrangled and ate one another as she wept; for aeons the Veil and its denizen feighdfulc knew only the law of the jungle. All the tree tribes and tree-kerns, all the great barked chieftains could but weep with the weeping of Roisin Magnolia and whatever words of reprimand they spoke to those born of them became sobs on the winds. Whispers reached Roisin Magnolia of the deeds of that wild fae race, but louder than those were the whispers carried on winds blowing from the Gate of the Furthest Fade. At that most northern point of the Veil, where the line was forever held against the coming of the Beasts of the Outer Rim into the Veil, the whispers spoke of beasts unlike any known during the Battle of the Wildwoods. The winds whispered of monstrosities whose image was a twisted mockery of the faerie form. Those darkfaeries cried havoc and murder, called out for war and vengeance in the name of one ‘Hylsek Adech’…

Though they met with success and easy spoils at first, at the Gate of the Furthest Fade those darkfaeries were soon checked. On that great frontier a warrior king of the fae arose like a mountain and marched forth like the storm. With the swiftness of a raging tempest, he subdued all the feighdfulc in those distant climes – all the thousand petty-feighdlords and ladies, fadechiefs and chieftesses, littekings and queens – and established the very first of kingdom of the fae: the Kingdom of the Furthest Fade with its Court at the Gate of the Furthest Fade. That glorious marcher feighdlord was known by all as Brentylwith the King; his name was the bane of darkfaeries and their curse, his blade their sure demise. The skies of the Kingdom of the Furthest Fade trembled when his airborne hosts swept across them to do battle; the hills and forests quaked and shook when his earthbound armies leapt forth to strike down darkfeighd.

Wherever the name of Brentylwith was whispered on faerie lips, whether in the farthest east of the Veil or the most distant west, it was uttered only with wonder and awe – and no small degree of joy! Even the winds that carried his name and his glories to the ears of Roisin Magnolia gushed his name and deeds most lovingly into the Little god’s ear. In that manner hearing of his great exploits and defence of the Veil, Roisin Magnolia was pleased with Brentylwith the King. While never overhasty, she did not delay long before sending for him to attend to her at court; hearing the summons of the High Queen, Brentylwith forthwith called several of his Eshgaebars to him and rushed to Taramanca on nine wings of gales and tempestuous storms and clouds.

When he arrived, the great walls of the Highholt of Taramanca reared up behind the Sweet River Rois. Unlike any time before, however, the gates of the Highholt of Taramanca lay open and a bridge of rainbows and mournful keening led the way across the river. Flanked by six of his Eshgaebars, who commanded divisions and regiments in his great marcher armies and who were themselves lesser lords of lesser courts in the Kingdom of the Furthest Fade, Brentylwith was the very image of confidence and easy command. His face left little mystery as to why he had arisen to kingship; a mere look upon his countenance caused the hearts of lesser fae to quicken and for there to remain little desire in them but his pleasure.



Beyond the wall, the palace of the High Queen spread out like a reclining nymph embossed in gold, precious stones, and winding vines of jewellery and silks. Rainbows tremored wherever the eye fell, fountains gushed with water and dew and honey. Streams flowed about the fountains, but the waters of the fountains themselves gushed forth from unseen subterranean rivulets. To breathe here was bliss. The king and his Eshgaebars ascended ten marble steps from the palace gardens, then up beyond oaken doors engraved with silver and gold and embellished with rubies and sapphires and emeralds. Runes were carved into them out of running water and dew so that the great gates seemed to ripple and flow with liquid life. A great chamber opened before them. It was domed and pillared just as beautifully and intricately as the gate. The eye did not fall on anything in that chamber except that it was a testament to beauty. The pillars, the carved walls, the vaults, the calligraphy spreading like so many vines across the wall-tiles, the domes whose tiles were arranged in such a stellated pattern that one who gazed upward felt on the cusp of being swallowed by an endless night sky aglow with stars.

The chamber narrowed as they walked across it and eventually led into a wide hallway whose high ceiling extended seamlessly from the great fore-chamber. The hallway was likely equally beautiful, but it was exceptionally dark. So dark, in fact, that Brentylwith could barely see a handspan in any direction. He could only hear his Eshgaebars about him and the constant rapping of their ornate wooden battle-staffs against the stone below. Those staffs were so sharpened by glamours that one who saw them in the light would have been forgiven to mistake them for spears rather than the instruments of terrible magick that they were, but in the darkness not even their shape could be gleaned.

Though Brentylwith slowed in those shadows, he pressed on unwaveringly. Just as he began to think that there would be no end to the great dark hallway, they entered an ever-darker antechamber with a quick succession of sharp twists and turns. Abruptly, they emerged into a great courtroom ablaze with resplendent light. The king and his commanders stood awestruck by the sudden luminescence, the very heart of which was the veiled High Queen upon her high throne. Though everything in that miraculous chamber of immense size glittered and throbbed with life, exquisiteness, and beauty, and though the pillars were shaped and carved in ways inconceivable to the eye, its walls painted and embossed in manners of incomprehensible magnificence and art, its carpets, its floor, its mosaics- all seemed incarnations of beauty- and yet despite all that, or perhaps because of all that, the veiled god at the centre of it all seemed ever the more lovely, ever the more bright, ever the more resplendent on her throne of gems weaved into gold weaved into silks and damasks weaved into a spell of splendour and a word of wisdom and an art of arresting allure. Brentylwith the King and his Eshgaebars could do nothing but fall to their knees in worship and press their heads to the floor; even veiled was the Little god of the Little Things near enough impossible to behold!

By glamours and arts beyond the knowledge of even a mighty king of faeries was Brentylwith brought before the high throne. He whimpered at Roisin Magnolia’s feet and thought the utter ecstasy and bliss of her presence would burst his very soul asunder. “Oh! My queen! Lady of my days and lady of my nights; lady of my twilight hours and lady of my dawn! Oh, how my heart throbs- oh what impossible pain and ceaseless bliss!” He brought his head so it rested at her feet, though those could not be seen beneath her great skirt, and he kissed the ethereal carpet there and the azure hemline of her dress. Her voice then caressed the air and flitted softly around his ears. “Is it what you see that causes your tongue to gush so, Brentylwith?” She asked him. His response was swift. “Your beauty knows no beginning and has no end, my queen!” There was a brief silence in the wake of his declaration. “What beauty have you seen, Brentylwith? I am veiled from your eyes and the eyes of all.” Came her soft, slow response. Brentylwith was at a loss for words, felt his throat clamp up and his heart hammer in fear- fear that he had somehow come short of speaking what best pleased her. “I… I…” he stuttered, “if my eyes lie to me, my lady, then certainly not my heart, certainly not my flesh- oh it does not lie! It has known a beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance. ‘Tis a beauty unseeable though bright- a loveliness beyond the realm of sight! It is not artifice, no glam’rous word or art! The heart’s its home and ‘tis known only by the heart!”

The High Queen allowed his words to fill the great hall and saturate every corner… then she gently stood. “A beauty of the heart- and what is the beauty the eye regards without that beheld in the heart? Can the cruellest heart give beauty’s warmth to the eyes? Is’t not the light of kindness that shines so luminescent on the smiling lip of the beauteous? Is it not righteousness, goodness, compassionateness – aye all the virtues of the beautiful heart! – that shines on the countenance of those we deem beautiful? Does not the cruel heart twist the face of those who, upon an erring first glance, seem to us cloaked in beauty?” Her voice quaked and cantillated with such passionate tones that Brentylwith could not keep himself from trembling, his heart growing in his chest and a veritable forest fire raging there. “Oh, have mercy – beauty of beauties, star of stars, moon of moons! The fragile hearts of those such as I have no capacity for the beauty and passions you speak- the cup overflows and the world into which it overflows bursts!” Though the fire in his chest did not subside, Roisin Magnolia ceased speaking for a time.

Then her voice returned- lower this time, lighter on the love-maddened heart. “You have spoken of beauty, Brentylwith the King, with the tongue of one who bears a beautiful heart. With your beautiful heart- heart of courage, of going forth, of perseverance, of warding off tyranny and oppression, aye with a heart of justice and virtue- have you united the feighdfulc of the Kingdom of the Furthest Fade and led them against the terrors of Hylsek Adech’s darkfeighd at the Gate. Thus purifying your heart, you ennobled yourself; now you are made noble in the eyes of your queen and before the eyes of all. Arise Brentylwith and receive what I bequeath to you,” silken glamours raised Brentylwith to his feet and at his side a great horn appeared, “it is the Heart-horn; with beauteous heart, purified of all ugliness, blow into it and let all upon whom it sounds be beautified, purified, ennobled.” The king gripped the horn and raised it to his eyes, admiring its sleek symmetry and smoothness. Even as he examined it, the High Queen flicked her Godwand and spoke poesies that carved themselves into the horn; amongst those verses was, Yon lovely visage is a poisoned dart if ‘tis not reflecting beautiful heart. And amongst them too was, What pretty face can bring the youth honour if ‘tis evinced not in deeds and manner?

Taking care not to inadvertently look directly into his queen’s veiled countenance, Brentylwith the King hooked the horn into his belt and bowed low before Roisin Magnolia. “We will sculpt our hearts into monuments to your unencompassed beauty, oh pearl of pearls, jewel of jewels, queen of queens! This I pledge to you: the hearts of the feighdfulc of the Court at the Gate of the Furthest Fade will be most emphatic in their glorification of all things beautiful! At that Gate, and on that final frontline, we will wage war on ugliness more ardently than we war against the darkfeighd!”

It was a pledge Brentylwith the King abided by unswervingly. Many were the kings and queens who arose after him across the Veil. There was Asula the Tyrantfae, that most cruel and ugly Crownedfeighd of the Crowncourt of the Sullylands. There was the fair and resplendent Queem Eirgwyn of the Court of the Windrocks. There was the swift-striking Knightqueen of the Iron Knightcourt, Titania Terrorblade. There was the indomitable Burrowmistress Dichdorka of the Court of the Earthways. There was Hecate too, the Grand Witchfeighd of the Court of the Covenscore; of terrible visage and terrible soul was she! And there were dozens more, each with their endless retinues of vassal-feighdlords who in their own turn lorded over lesser lords of the feighdfulc. But for all the many courts and kingdoms that arose, and for all their expansions and wars in the material and immaterial plains, none had so vast a realm as Brentylwith the King. None had so many vassal-feighdlords or such mighty and numerous armies as he. Most importantly, none had such ardent devotion to the principle of beauty in both substance and form. Rightly did he in time come to be known as the King of Hearts, the Roisinsoul, the Great Marcher Feighdlord of the Court of Beauty All-Ascendant at the Gate of the Furthest Fade.

• Summary [+]

  Exposition on faerie developments. It is established that the faeries initially warred with one another. When new outer beast faeries start threatening the Veil once more, however, a faerie kingdom quickly arises to check them. This kingdom is located near the frontiers where the outer beasts were finally cast out of the Veil during the War of the Trees, a place called the Gate of the Furthest Fade. The king of the Kingdom of the Furthest Fade is a faerie named Brentylwith. It is later mentioned that the outer beast darkfaeries whom Brentylwith fights are loyal to an outer beast lord named Hylsek Adech (see Longsight story). Brentylwith is summoned by Roisin Magnolia to her palace at the Highholt of Taramanca. It is a place of extreme beauty all around. Roisin there bequeaths on Bretylwith an artefact named the Heart-horn. This can only be blown by those who have a beautiful (i.e. virtuous, morally good) heart. It purifies the hearts of all who hear it. It is then noted that, after Brentylwith establishes his faerie kingdom and court, many other kingdoms and courts start cropping up – and these kingdoms in some cases extend out of the Veil into the material and immaterial plains. As his kingdom was the first and is the one keeping the darkfaerie outer beasts at bay, however, it remains the biggest and most powerful of the faerie kingdoms.
• Of Might & Glamour [+]

  Roisin’s opening Might: 14 Might
  
  –1 Might (contributes 1 Might to Beauty [1/4]) to Create the Holy Site “the Highholt of Taramanca”
  

  The palace of the High Queen of the Faeries. It has walls which lead into gardens. The gardens lead into several entrances to the palace. Amongst these is the fore-chamber, which leads into a dark hall that twists suddenly into the High Queen’s court room where she sits on her high throne. The palace has four wings. It is a place of great beauty, possibly quite unmatched in the world.

  
  –1 Might (contributes 1 Might to Beauty [2/4]) to Create the Holy Site “the Gate of the Furthest Fade”
  

  The Gate of the Furthest Fade is a great opening in the worldfabric between the Veil and the southern pole of Galbar and marks the frontline in the war between Roisin Magnolia and the Outer Beasts, whose war is pursued by the darkfaeries of Hylsek Adech. The Gate is not physical but is a great chromatic aurora of great magicks and glamours over which Brentylwith the King and his faerie hosts keep eternal watch. Being a location sacred to Roisin Magnolia and imbued with her beauties, it acts as a metaphysical (though porous) barrier against ugliness. Most beings deemed ugly in heart and soul will struggle to cross the Gate- some may be struck down, others become lost in an eternal maze of fog, others yet find themselves returned to the material plane. That said, it is neither impossible nor uncommon for beings considered ugly to make it through, hence the continuing need for Brentylwith’s kingdom.

  
  –2 Might (contributes 2 Might to Beauty [4/4) to Create the Artefact known as “the Heart-horn”
  

  The Heart-horn is a great war-horn that may only be blown by a person with a beautiful, purified heart; one that is in all ways kind, virtuous, and righteous. When blown by such an ennobled soul, all those who hear the sound of the horn are purified of their ugliness (i.e. vices and baser inclinations), or a great portion of it.

  
  –4 Might to Incorporate the Domain of “Beauty”
  

  Roisin Magnolia is the font of Glamour and the theophany of Beauty. She is the truest, most transcendent beauty, and all specific manifestations of beauty point to and depend on her. But what is beauty?
  
  Beauty defined. A concept or thing is beautiful when it is in possession of all its necessary and appropriate traits and is therefore as it should be. In other words, what is beautiful is anything consisting of certain elements woven harmoniously together alongside the realisation of an ultimate purpose or function. Thus harmonious, flowing calligraphy, even when not understood, can still be appreciated for its beauty as its purpose is to render the beauty of meaning into the beauty of form.
  While beauty is an objective quality, it can be identified through the senses and is usually accompanied by feelings of pleasure, vivacity, satisfaction, peace, tranquillity, elevation, delight, and more. Both physical forms or abstract things (like concepts, traits, formulas, codes, boardgame moves, poems, stories, objects, smells, sounds, and much else) can be beautiful. One’s heart or soul can be said to be beautiful, and such beauty is reflected in one’s goodness and moral virtue. A thing manifests greater inner and outer beauty and goodness the more like Roisin Magnolia it is. Beauty and goodness are inseparably connected; what makes a heart or soul beautiful is its virtues. The beauty of the soul then manifests as beauty in the form. Therefore, were one to ask, “why should I be virtuous when, by Itzal’s might, vices are stronger?” The natural answer is, “because, by the will of Roisin Magnolia, it will make you beautiful.”
  
  Beauty as praxis. Most sapients may conceive that goodness, especially moral goodness, is associated purely with duties and obligations while beauty is nothing but a shallow but very attractive pursuit, little more than an indulgence. It may be thought that beauty can mislead people in all sorts of ways. And yet is it not frequently the case that people who are initially experienced as physically ugly can eventually come to be experienced as beautiful? And does the converse not also happen when physically beautiful people come to be experienced as ugly? Often, these shifts in one’s experience are a result of getting to know a person better, acquainting oneself with their character or personality.
  This tends to occur when a person is found to be particularly good – kind, honest, fair, considerate – or particularly bad – unfair, inconsiderate, cruel. The quality of patience, for example, is viewed as beautiful when a person endures hardship uncomplainingly, without resentment and without the need to advertise their suffering to others; in a word, displaying the type of self-command associated with a noble, magnanimous, and sublime soul. Someone who exhibits many moral virtues can be called a beautiful person, just as a kind, noble, and generous action can be declared a beautiful action. This means that people can experience good and evil as respectively beautiful and ugly. Beauty and morality, and ugliness and immorality, are therefore naturally and intrinsically linked.
  Specifically, moral virtues – honesty, kindness, fairness, empathy, patience, justice and so on – are beautiful character traits. Meanwhile the moral vices – their contraries – are ugly. This calls into question what exactly a character trait is. It may be defined as a stable disposition of the heart or soul that causes actions to issue forth naturally and with ease. The form of a virtuous and beautiful character arises when the different dispositions of the soul achieve a harmonious balance. The beauty, purity, and virtue of a person’s heart and soul then slowly comes, by a mystifying process originating in Roisin Magnolia, to cause one’s physical appearance to be beautified in line with one’s virtue or, if one’s heart and soul are ugly, befouled in line with one’s vice. What can be quickly gleaned from this is that appearance and being (i.e., appearing a certain way versus being a certain kind of person) cannot be separated.
  In sum, external beauty is the theophany of inner beauty, just as external ugliness is a materialisation of inner defects and ugliness. Roisin Magnolia, who is the incarnation and manifestation of beauty, is the perfection of beauty in both character and form; therefore, all who aspire to beauty can only aspire to be like her. All that aligns with her in substance is beautified in form, and all that is unaligned with her in substance is befouled in form. It is she who possesses the truest beauty and sublimity; the beauty of all other beings is ultimately derived from her. The life of beautiful virtue fundamentally is, and should be understood as, a quest to become like Roisin Magnolia. The person who has gained insight into an attribute of Roisin Magnolia is filled with longing for that attribute, ardour for that grandeur and beauty, and a desire to be adorned by that feature. There is a generally ascending course an individual traces through the different stages of loving beauty. From love of beautiful bodies, the lover will progress to love of beautiful souls, to love of beautiful laws, practices, and sciences, and finally to love of Roisin Magnolia, who is the transcendent form of beauty on which all beauty depends.
  
  Can ugliness not also have harmony and purpose? It may be argued that something can be woven harmoniously together alongside the realisation of an ultimate purpose or function, as beauty is above defined, but remain ugly and evil. However, this is untrue; vices are qualities that have ends contrary to goodness, harmony, and peace. They often frustrate conviviality, trust, cooperation, and all forms of sapient flourishing, or in other ways fail to realise virtue’s ends. In this sense vices can be understood as deformed and therefore ugly. In the case of virtues, however, they enable one to live convivially, allowing for the kind of trust and cooperation required for communication as well as more complicated structures such as social institutions, while making sapient flourishing possible. It is in part precisely because of these features that the moral virtues tend to give pleasure when contemplated on or experienced, while moral vices displease and disgust. Now, insofar as goodness manifests and is beauty, and seeing as most people naturally incline towards what is beautiful, this coupling of beauty and virtue may well inspire many to seek the beauty-virtue of Roisin Magnolia and abandon Itzal’s vice-ugliness even though evil is stronger than good.

  
  Roisin’s closing Might: 6 Might

A surface of dirt near a river was quite calming until the surface exploded and El’zadir climbed up, looking down and then said to herself.

“Right… new entrance hole…” Looking around some more, she saw that the land was finally peaceful, the crisis of long ago, gone. She was only having to deal with the silence she never grew accustomed to, even while managing the dwarfs down below as high queen. Putting her hands on her forehead she thought for a moment before saying. “Not time for this… I need to check the weird visions I get around here…Sylann, I think, was the name by what I could see.” She wandered forward wearing her dwarvish clothes. Mixed with some iron armor, angular and tough, that they made for her. The dwarves were growing faster by the day. So she marched on, thinking they could handle themselves for a little while, in the direction of the city in question.

It wasn’t so much the city that El’zadir came before but that of a great white wall, surrounded by pristine earth and the heavy flow of traffic leading from one of the main gates. Goblins wearing toga’s and mix matched leathers, walked in groups or rode upon wagons pulled by great rolly polly’s of blue and gray shells. The pitter patter of their multiple feet was like that of rain upon the worn cobbled path. Many of these merchants heckled one another and the random passerby, selling such goods as dried fruits, the random Tricity knicknack or the weathered bones of dead outer beast spawn.

Beastfolk praddled about in their myriad of forms. Some looked like seasoned warriors, large weapons strung at dusty leathered backs. Others wore garbs and some finery, carrying large woven baskets on top of their heads. Many small children ran amok upon the road, weaving in and out of traffic, under carts and in between legs. So too did some beastfolk ride on wagons pulled by an assortment of beasts of burden, carrying their trade goods. There was much talk of Thysia to the north, and the growing disputes of land claims. It seemed a border between the two lands had never actually been drawn out but the trade was good at least.

There was also the occasional human traveling amongst the groups of travelers, usually weather beaten and with dark expressions. Snouters in large droves waddled past as well, obviously in a hurry to get home. Those often carried various farming tools and a knife or two. And twice did a Syllianth gallop past upon a horse, even more in a hurry.

When the gates at last neared, El’zadir could see just how massive they were and that was when the wandering crowds began to pile up. It seemed before one could enter the city, one first had to pass the guard checkpoint. Large metallic figures loomed above the crowds, standing silent and imperious. They could have almost passed for statues until one moved at the behest of a Syllianth guardsman and off back into the city.

She could see that not many, if any at all, were being turned away from the gate. The flow of traffic continued on at a steady pace and before she knew it, El’zadir was before the gate itself. It was her turn. On either side of the road, guards were looking over passengers and then shuffling them off into the bustling streets of the city.

A youthful Syllianth man, wearing a simple tunic of leathers, came before her, a large black quill in his hand before a scroll of creamy paper. He didn’t even look at her as he asked, “What’s your business in Sylann today?”

While he didn’t watch her, she stood out of the entire crowd, a woman five feet tall with obsidian skin and moon silver hair. But she didn’t care about the lack of attention; it was something that she caused to those around her. She seemed in place even while sticking out completely; her divine powers allowed her to command, influence and even convince individuals of how they perceived her. Looking around she soon lowered herself with a light smile. She then said, “Forgive me, I am new around these parts. I traveled from long distant lands and just wish to visit.” she closed her eyes, turning her head a little, her smile looking quite friendly.

The green skinned man at once looked down at her, his quill ceasing its whimsical movement. His brows at once rose. His emerald eyes, set in that smooth metallic skin, seemed to scrutinize her for a long while. He then opened his mouth, revealing pearly teeth, and asked, “Say, what are you?” He then seemed to take in his own words and blinked before adding, “Pardon me but I have not yet seen one of your kind before these walls.”

El’zadir continued smiling, giving a light shrug. “My people aren’t easy to find. I guess you can say we are named by other people around us…” El’zadir thought for a moment, thinking of her origins. She was called more by others than by herself. She sighed at herself, her face breaking the smile for a moment. She looked exhausted as she opened her eyes. Their red glow seemed more intense. Her Will also seemed supreme over the green skinned man, almost like her words commanded authority. Like a king forcing him to comply. “But I think this is not much of a worry for you right? I mean I am just passing by, it's not like someone like me can cause a lot of problems…”

One of the towering constructs seemed to swivel its head and focus on the two or had it been watching the entire time? The syllianth man seemed to shrink before the shorter woman, if that was possible. He blinked a few times, seemed to shrug his shoulders and brought up his parchment to his face, quill beginning to work with flourish. “Carry on and stay out of trouble.” he said a few moments later and stepped out of her path, motioning along.

The great gates waited bare before her. She smiled, giving a nod to the man, before moving forward towards the gates. She looked at the constructs and pondered what they were for a moment. Sapient yes, she could tell, but wondered if they were mortal made or god made. She passed them all the same and entered into the outskirts of the great city. Here the crowds were thick and evermoving. Vendors in their ramshackle carts lined the streets before stone houses. They called out to the passersby, peddling their goods with every hand gesture and eyebrow raised. From food to wooden trinkets, there was a plethora of such stalls. All preying on beleaguered wanderers for the greatest gains.

El did not linger here for long, as the flow of the crowds took her deeper into the heart of the city. Here stalls became businesses with colorful signs above their nice homes. The smells of baked goods and of ale, for once, cut above the waft of the crowd and unwashed bodies. Here children ran amok, play-fighting and chasing one another. Several almost ran into her once, proclaiming that they were to run down a great demon before supper. The streets grew less populated with every step but there were still so many different people. Unlike the road in, Sylann seemed to have a healthy population of almost every sentient race save her dwarves and the few more unsavory types. They all blended in well and there was seldom any signs of violence or thievery, with the large constructs and guards wandering the streets here and there.

People laughed and the chorus of the crowds seemed to be of pleasant talk. Of trading, homelife and the random rabble of the day. One of the more prevalent rumors being gossiped about was that Thysia, that city in the north, was growing in might and it was a worry. After more walking and sightseeing, the crowds around El began to stare and point and the Goddess would find that she was no longer walking by herself. A figure of liquid silver, hands behind her back and chin high, walked beside her. The people began to hush and an unnatural quiet fell over the street.

“You are not the first to wander the streets.” The other goddess said, her voice soft but edged with adamant. “But you seem aimless and I am not familiar with you. Pray tell, who might you be?” she asked, for once pausing in her step to look at El with swirling silver eyes.

El’zadir could easily tell the woman was divine; it was there, the anomaly seemed to come. El's Civilization was made manifest, so this city would be something she felt but the presence of a god also would alter that feeling just a bit. El’zadir took a defensive stance; she had armor on after all, made out of iron with gold trims and dwarven engravings. While a silence stood between both El, she soon said, “My name is El’zadir…” She looked to the side, thinking for a moment, she then hesitated and wondered what to call her title besides what her own people called her, even if she felt she was not attached towards it anymore. Instead, she felt conflicted on who she was still but she continued. “... Goddess of Civilization and you?”

The silver divine looked down upon El'zadir for a few moments. Her blank expression revealed nothing of note. She then said, “El’zadir?” As if tasting the name, then she said, matter of factly, “You were not in the place before time. I do not recognize your presence from the Khodex.” The silver Goddess seemed to be studying her now, letting her eyes roll over El’s form with a scholar’s intensity. “Fascinating. Did you come about to propagate civilization or were you the byproduct of it?” She asked.

El’zadir was still surprised by the goddess beside her, even if her expression showed more worry. The Khodex she saw once when she met Allianthe in the island of creation. It was not surprising knowing it but hearing how she came to be, El stumbled, “I…” Her expression broke as the silver divine could see doubt, worry, a mixture of negative emotions and a lack of self esteem as well, before recovering her composure as she replied, “It was the latter unfortunately… I do wish to have been born when you were around. I think things were more interesting…” She still kept a courteous tone of voice, almost like she was from an aristocracy.

“A divine born of mortal systems.” The silver goddess mused to herself. “I wonder if there may be others or perhaps you are unique in this regard.” She also said, more to herself. Her eyes were fixed upon El, but she had the suspicion that this silver divine was more focused on her own thoughts. After some time and a restless crowd who gathered and gawked, the silver goddess extended her hand, palm facing down, towards El. “You may call me Sylia, young El’zadir. I am the goddess of craft, metals and the very earth.”

El’zadir gave a respectful bow saying, “A pleasure to meet you, Sylia, but forgive me if I may ask…” She was confused about hearing the roles the divine had, especially after hearing what she herself had said. She then continued, “But you are crafting, metals and the very earth… You came before these things existed?”

Sylia’s hand still lay outstretched towards El and made no sign of lowering as Sylia said, “Crafting was my origin. I lay bare before the Khodex and supplanted myself within it, so that this universe would know my laws and be fixed by them. My gift was of the God Metal, the greatest of the material realm. It was only natural metal and earth followed once this world began to bloom. Would you not consider that civilization is but a concept of mortalkind and that crafting the very atoms of existence precedes it?” she asked, tone brimming with a scholar’s prose.

El’zadir gave a nod to her statement; it made sense in a way. Looking at the crowd around them, El soon turned to the group and uttered words that seemed more commands and powerful suggestions than just words. “Do you mind, giving us a moment?” She smiled as the group suddenly began to disperse back into their regular ongoings. Sylia could notice El’s gift seemed to also connect somewhat in control of people. Turning to her, El soon said, “Do you have a place for us to stay and talk, instead of a public crowd?” She smiled at Sylia, her heart held no ill intentions. Instead she was now driven by curiosity, even if it was far from what she came to do.

Sylia at last broke eye contact and looked at her hand. Outstretched and discarded. She seemed to stare at it a moment, before flexing her fingers. Then without warning she took one step closer to El’zadir and put a hand on her shoulder. One moment they were in the dispersing crowd and the next they were in the center of a pale stoned workshop of mercurial pools and floating metal shards. Along the walls were rows and rows of workbenches, pristine and orderly. Almost as if the place was brand new and hardly ever touched. A soft lullaby of a hum was ever present around them, with different melodies intertwining and harmonizing. Sylia let go of El and took a step back, then let her hand rest at her side. “Why have you come to Sylann?” The silver goddess asked with little emotion.

El looked Sylia in the eyes before saying, “I can feel all cities, all nations, all monuments of stone and metal raised. From the abstract of laws, to how a family may be thinking. This place had a strange anomaly,” El looked around before adding, “It’s here yet not here… I originally thought they built and moved the city but it was always here so I came to investigate. Well, I guess I know why my senses felt odd about this, it was you…” El said, extending her hand gesturing to Sylia with a light smile. “You were making my senses a bit confused.” she finished.

Sylia didn't say anything immediately. Instead she looked at the gesture and furrowed her brows in puzzlement. With some hesitation, she eventually unfurled her arm and took the hand of El. She seemed to wait and then look around. “I don't understand.” Sylia at last said, looking back at El. “Why have we not moved locations? Is this not the intended purpose of touching?”

El’zadir was confused. When her hand was touched and upon hearing the goddess, it made sense being taken back and feeling shy. Her cheeks red, she then replied, “Oh ah, that's not what I…” She took a light breath before saying, “I don’t do that, teleporting is interesting but I wasn't wanting to do that, forgive me if I lured you into thinking. I don't even know much about the rules of celestial phenomena. I just gestured towards you.” She held a light smile while having her hands up in innocence. She felt awkward and more shy because of the incident.

“Ah, I see.” Sylia said as she folded her arms across her chest. “A gesture of intimacy. I have seen the mortals act in such regard. Indeed, it is often a courtship ritual. In my own standings, it seems rarher pointless to hold the hand of another without moving through the world to a new location. I can’t understand why they would want to touch one another. It is inefficient to only have one hand in use at any given time.” She paused and seemed to look over El. She then said, “Let us move on from this act of miscommunication.” And she turned, walking across the floor until she reached a mercurial pool, wherein she looked into the liquid and asked, “Why am I the source of your senses confusion? Perhaps because without me, they could not come into civilization? Or are you younger divine simply not attuned to your own domains? No offense of course, El. I am simply intrigued.”

El pondered for a while she was also curious as to why she soon said. “I don’t know, probably divine energy and your presence messed with my senses with this city, possibly the city being the only one in a sea of nomads might be the reason. Alternatively my wound was deeper than I thought.” she soon rubbed the side of her chest, feeling it a bit.

Sylia's eyes snapped to her. “A wound?” She asked, leaving the mercurial pools to stand before her. “What could wound a divine? Save the Outer Beasts and their ilk or… A fellow god?”

El sighed, remembering the day. Her face looked exhausted and she soon said, “Outer beasts, yes… one caught me by luck or by the chaos of the battlefield down underground. I have a bite scar running from here to here including my back…” She made a line in her armor and clothes running across her chest finishing near her waist. “It's a good story to tell I guess…” She looked nervous, even a bit ashamed, after finishing the small story. In her mind a god shouldn’t be able to be wounded so easily.

“Show me.” Sylia said. Her expression of captured interest.

El’zadir thought for a moment, giving a shrug as she began removing some pieces of iron armor she had on. Removing it and making it lay on the floor, she soon rolled up her shirt and revealed the scar. It was a bite wound, like she said, already healed. The bite mark of wide pointy teeth, by the looks of it, were still able to be seen in the obsidian skin of El as Sylia’s eyes wandered. El soon replied, “It was quite painful but I managed to get the better of him… I guess I was the unlucky one.”

Sylia walked around El, taking in the full measure of the scar. “Hmm. Unlucky?” She spoke in a quiet voice now, coming to a stop before El. Her posture straight as an arrow, Sylia tapped her fingers together. “I have often thought about the nature of divinity. The Khodex is the origin of the universe and we were called, in a myriad of ways, to create within it. We, who could walk across the surface of the sun unscathed. We, who could survive in the vast vacuum of space. We, capable of feats beyond any. We, who are immortal. Yet, we are capable of dying. Of being wounded and scarred. Already Lareus and another have been slain, not to mention the first of us, Sloth.” She paused and tilted her head slightly. “Do you feel powerful, goddess of civilization? If you wanted, could you not know all and be everywhere at once? We fed the Khodex with much delight and terrible purpose and I for one, do not accept the title of divine. Not a true divine. A true divine could not be slain or wounded, whilst capable of thought beyond you and I.” She sighed, “There is evidence to suggest that we are being watched by forces beyond our own universe. Someone or something sent the outer beings. I wonder if they view us as we view the mortals. Now,” A piece of El’s armor hovered up from the ground and fastened itself back from where it once sat upon her, “You are without a weapon. It’s no wonder you were touched in battle. We cannot allow it to happen again, can we?”

El stood, taking in the words Sylia said to her, heightening her worries. She never considered herself above many thanks to who she was. Civilization was just a small part of a greater whole. Reality itself was greater than the constructions of mortals. She was a projection of them, after all but she felt different. Why should she? Looking at her own hand, staying in thought for who she was, she soon raised her head after hearing how the gods above might think of her. The thought of other gods dying as well, was not something she thought of. She sighed in worry, hearing the words of Sylia, to not allow things to happen again. She replied with more resolve, “YES…” She calmed down her nerves by replying in a more polite tone next, “...I agree, you are a smithing deity. Can you help me with that?”

Sylia studied El. The silver goddess then cupped El’s chin with her hand, tilting her head up to make eye contact with the tall divine. “What is it you desire of me and what will you be willing to give for it?” She asked.

Taking time to think, El stood pondering before stopping, straightening herself. “I request a weapon from the mightiest smith that exists in the pantheon. The price, I believe, that is yours to set.” She replied with a smile and a light bow of courtesy.

Sylia withdrew her touch. “Very well. Then my price is this; Create for this civilization of Sylann, an education system, with a school of enlightenment. And, you will be beholden to a future request of me, no matter the cost. When I have need of it being fulfilled, you will answer.” Sylia, for once, smiled. “Does this satisfy you?”

El’zadir thought for a moment before giving a nod, saying, “Right, it's acceptable.”

“Then we have an agreement. I won’t need long, best to see that school. I will have one of my Syllianth escort you to a suitable location for its building.” Sylia said, already in motion towards her mercurial pools. “If you require anything else, ask the Syllianth.” It was her dismissal. The doors opened and a green being entered the room, bowing. “If you would come with me, Goddess.” The man said in a deep voice.

“Oh, sure, thank you.” El said to the small green man she soon turned to Sylia. “See you soon, Sylia.” She replied with a smile leaving the room.

---

When El’zadir was gone, Sylia thought awhile in the silence of her sanctum. She stared, transfixed upon the mercurial pool at her feet. The civilization God was unlike any she had met yet. El had no aura of authority around her. She did not feel divine. She was uncertain of herself. Conflicted and embarrassed. If Sylia had wanted, she could have easily taken advantage of her. Manipulated her into doing whatever she wanted. It was still an option. In truth, she knew not what else to ask of her. Sylia’s own mind was too busy in thought.

That scar on her flesh should not have been. Divine flesh marred. It made the silver goddess irrationally upset. Not out of some protective response but because it painted the image that they were fallible. It was a weakness and one that could prove exploitable. Sylia knew in her cold metallic soul that such flesh, even of divine property, was imperfect. Wholly unlike the shimmering metal at her feet. For metal was strength. It could not be so easily scared.

She would not use Divinium in this weapon. For El did not place a part of herself into the Khodex at the beginning of creation. She had no alloy to speak of. Besides, there were other materials that could be made just as potent. She bent and placed her hand in the mercury pool.

She closed her eyes, her fingers flexing outwards in the tranquil warmth. What was civilization but the culmination of mortal triumph? What took them from the simplest forms to being capable of such complexity? Thousands upon thousands inhabited Sylann now. Would they have been able to build the city without her divine aid? Did it matter? For beneath it all, there was only one path any man, woman, or child could take- And it was the procreation of their species, the passing of their culture, the nurturing, the growing, the ability to want instead of fulfilling the base needs.

Her fingers began to move rhythmically, swaying the mercurial pool into circular transience. Each wave pulsing to a hidden beat.

Sylia knew that one could only protect a civilization in two ways. Peace or war. Perhaps it was a shortsighted view and one unfitting for a Divine to conjure. There could be other ways but it all boiled down to destruction or salvation. With any deterrent, you could only hold off the inevitable. Toil and chaos taking root like cancerous cells, ruining the great works of her time. Sylia knew she could live forever but did not know if she would. The burgeoning threats of the cosmos had become evident and there were murderers amongst the pantheon. El could only hope to see herself from violence, through it.

Sylia’s hand grasped the forming item within her hand. The pool hummed, vibrations turning the mercury into the like of fine grains. Each a star in the vastness of space, or the cell of a living, breathing thing. They shimmered in patterns that spoke of both madness and clarity. In one instant, her sanctum was alive with the elation of the craft, the building block of civilization itself.

Sylia pulled the sword from the mercurial pool and silence flooded back in as if a dam burst. Refractions off the blade caught the sunlight of the room as Sylia opened her eyes. She found in her hand a long greatsword of shining metal. No, not shining, it was so polished that it was like she was looking into a mirror. It reflected everything. But it was just a blade. One as tall as El’zadir and perhaps as wide as half her chest.

Sylia let go of the blade and let it hover in the space before her. Next she summoned a pale bone of some forgotten thing and fashioned it into a grip. For the pommel she placed a large diamond, as it reminded her of El’s eyes. And it was done. A blade, capable of great feats and terrible acts. Sylia smiled.

“You are unnamed.” She said to the blade. “May your wielder pick one befitting you.”

---

As Sylia worked, El’zadir also worked on what was requested, a thing that was rather easy for her to do; she had done many works that involved abstract concepts for mortals. Her mind, after all, was not just a product of then but could also foresee progress. At first schools were created with teachers to educate mortals in the work of writing, philosophies and enlightenment but after that, she set up a system of education under control of the government of the city. Centered around a school of enlightenment, something that took a bit longer to set up, as enlightenment for the many cultures of Sylann meant different things.

El’zadir, as she organized the system, stood alone in a room pondering once again who she was. Looking at her obsidian hands, she just felt like focusing on them, pondering things. It seemed rather more complicated than when she walked Galbar for a long time. The other gods seemed to have had a better time dealing, even the ones she met, with the threat of the outer gods. As she looked, she soon slammed the stone table that was before her with her hand. Anger coursed through her and the table cracked and shattered in two with her force. She panted as paper fell around her and she leaned back in her chair mumbling to herself in dwarvish. “I’m worthless…”

As silence stood for a moment, she sighed. Rising up, El had a final part to complete: a grand academia for the people but she also felt she needed something for Sylann that was close to her but also would help the people of their civilization.
It was something she felt she needed to do. The next day, as she looked at the blueprint and helped those around in organizing, she constructed a holy site for herself but also one where the people of Sylann and the school of enlightenment would benefit. A grandiose college of wisdom, knowledge and progress where those who seeked enlightenment would come to find it. But also was a holy site for herself, as she blessed its construction and used it also as a temple. Standing at its finished part of the university, she sighed, overlooking the city below its massive structure. Cracking her head, she then said, “Reminds me of the old days…

“You were not there for the true elden days, El'zadir.” Sylia’s voice came and El looked to see that the silver goddess once again had appeared beside her. This time she held a cloth covered weapon, one as tall as the smaller goddess. Sylia looked out over her work and after a time, nodded her head. “You have done good work and now I deliver my end of the bargain.”

She removed the cloth to reveal the reflective surface of the sword. It was almost glowing in the sunlight of the day. Its bone handle sparkled white and called to a hand to wield it. The cut diamond at the pommel dripped with raw power. “A mercurial blade, El. Powerful enough to cradle any civilization, building them to the greatest heights or…” She paused and held out the sword to her, pommel first, “Capable of terrible ruin.” Sylia’s face was a mask of calm but her eyes were strangely wild, shimmering with some inner sense of joy or madness. “Once you claim it, you must give it a name. Now… Go on.” She hissed softly.

El’zadir hesitated for a moment before grabbing the handle and holding it. She could feel its strength, power and potential before her. With a small swing her divine strength combined with the blade and a great swirl of wind dashed forth. As the wind slowed again El smiled with excitement saying, “What a nice gift!” She held the sword with elegance and ease almost like she had branded many before. “Gift…” She mumbled to herself before smiling. “A good name I think ‘Gift’” She said, thrusting the sword into the air again.

“Then Gift it shall be forevermore.” Sylia mused, taking a step back. “Now I must bid thee a farewell. You are welcome in Sylann at any point in time and do not forget the other half of our agreement. One day I shall come to settle the debt.” Sylia said.

El’zadir gave a bow saying, “Thank you for welcoming me into your city, Sylia. It was a pleasure to meet you and do not worry when the time comes I shall settle my debt.” She smiled at her and the silver goddess only nodded in return before blinking out of existence with a knowing smile on her metal lips.

El’zadir began to walk away then. She needed to return to her children in the underground. All in all, it was an interesting visit and a good one after the incidents she experienced.

Turn 7 has started, please check the MP Spreadsheet for your updated MP counts. Please let me know if any number is off and I'll fix it when I can.

With this turn change, a 40 MP cap has been implemented. Any MP that you accumulate past this point will instead go to a communal pool that I can then decide how to redistribute if needed. There have also been changes to the Quest System, which have been explained very generally in the Discord.

–



Mundane Quests (for mortals and heroes only):
- Copper’s Gone: A copper shortage has reared its ugly head, and with it the price and value of bronze has shot up immensely. An initial investigation led by a ragtag group of adventurers named The Rusty Nails has managed to track the source of the shortage to the mysterious closing of massive sections of the largest quarry in the Land of Origin, but before long communications from the group of adventurers ceased as well. At the moment, the Quarry continues to operate in a limited capacity, managing to ship out other metals such as iron, but there’s no telling how sustainable this may be. CLAIMED BY SAUCER

- Gloink, the Gallant: Tales abound of the heroic exploits of a human-shaped gloink covered in white armor. If these tales are to be believed, the gloink in question saved five kittens from a hungry hawk, defeated an Outer-corrupted squirrel in one to one combat, and even managed to help a construction crew finish their project before their deadline by working three nights in a row. The Gloink is beloved by the realm as a symbol of kindness and hard work… Or it was, until it was captured by a local militia who are now denouncing it as the one behind the cold-blooded murder of their leader. Now, people are split and can’t seem to decide what to do, and if nothing is done, the Gloink will be put to death by the militia. CLAIMED BY... KHODEX?

Divine Quests (for all):
- The Many Masks Masquerade: It is said that an enchanting place can be found deep in the wild reaches of the Inner Veil. A place so grand and so exotic that one could get lost in it for decades. A place where one could see everything there is to see – for a price – except for one thing. Everyone and everything, including the animals and insects, wear masks in the Masquerade. Anyone who takes their mask off while in the Masquerade, disappears the moment no one is looking at them. The Traveler of Arbor, a renowned explorer, has on many occasions shared that they would “kill to go back to the Masquerade one more time”, but also that he has “Sadly forgotten where it is or how he even left it in the first place.” CLAIMED BY WRONGEND

Veneficus walked along the riverbank, the desert surrounding him. As he walked, he noticed a lone flower that stood out against the arid landscape. Intrigued by its colours, he approached and smelled it. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness overcame him, and he collapsed to the ground.

As Veneficus slipped into unconsciousness, a dreamscape of magic and monsters unfolded before him. Visions of creatures, nightmarish in their forms, manifested in his mind. Unfamiliar shapes and shadows coalesced into grotesque beings that stirred fear in the deepest recesses of his mind.

In this dream realm, Veneficus found himself surrounded by creatures that went past the horrors of the outer beasts. These monsters were born from the depths of his imagination, each one embodying the fears that lurked in the shadows of his mind.

Yet, in this nightmarish dream, Veneficus sensed a connection to the monsters. The fear that almost overcame him transformed into an odd sense of familiarity. As he confronted these dream-born horrors, an inexplicable power surged within him. Magic, raw and untamed, coursed through his veins, intertwining with the essence of the dream monsters.

The dream unfolded as a surreal journey through landscapes both magical and frightening. Veneficus faced the monsters head-on, his mind navigating a realm where the boundaries between fear and empowerment blurred. The dream granted him insights into the very nature of his fears and the magic that lay hidden within.

Veneficus awoke on the riverbank, the beautiful flower still in his hand. The memory of the dream lingered, but instead of marvelling at its mysteries, a surge of anger welled within him. The monsters, the fears – all seemed to have been sent by a divine being, and he directed all his anger towards the one he knew.

"Allianthé, Goddess of Life," he shouted, his voice carrying his frustration across the desolate landscape. "Why are you punishing me with such nightmares? What have I done but survive?" His anger echoed into the vast expanse above as he blamed the deity for the visions that she sent.

In a fit of anger, Veneficus clenched the flower in his hand, its vibrant petals now a symbol of the dreams that had stirred his ire. Swearing revenge on the goddess, he decided to throw away the remnants of the dream, convinced that this divine interference must be punished.

Without realising the growing power within him, Veneficus dropped the flower. As it touched the ground, a small fireball manifested in his hand. Shocked at the unexpected flames flickering in his palm, he recoiled. Instinctively, fueled by a mix of rage and magic, he hurled the fireball at the discarded flower.

The impact created a brief burst of flames, reducing the once vibrant flower to ashes. As the smoke dissipated, Veneficus stared at his hand, realisation sinking in. The anger towards Allianthé had unintentionally unlocked magic within him, leaving him both empowered and unsettled. As the remnants of the flower smouldered on the riverbank, Veneficus grappled with the consequences of his fury and the newfound abilities that seemed to respond to the intensity of his emotions.

Magic found him. Magic will be his life.

---

A great black scaled dragon, Su’ulek, Mother Of Monsters and Maker Of Sorcery heard a mysterious song through the Veil. Searching, Su’ulek was fascinated. The world of the Veil stretched out verdant and flushing with vivacious life before Su’ulek. Trees spread as far as the eye could see – apple trees and pear and all manner of fruiting trees, hazelnuts, great oaks, noble pines, silvered birches, beeches, rowans, hollies, bashful chestnuts, royal sycamores, weeping willows, and much else. Ivies tendrilled up tree trunks and grapes and lianas and other vines yet. And where there was dew, it was of sweetest honey, richest milk, never-intoxicating mead and wine, and ever-pure and cooled water. Plains of colourful flowers sprung where there were no trees. There were rose bushes and rose trees, lilies, daffodils, daisies, buttercups, orchids, and anemones; even in the endless wildwoods the trees had shuffled over to make space for beflowered glades and groves. There the trees and flowers swayed in the breeze. The wind here was sweet on the nose, refreshing in a manner that no earthly wind could ever be. A single breath brought health, youth, and longevity even to the most ailing and ancient of mortal husks.

Rivers flowed forth and lakes, mountains could be seen and rolling hills. And as surely as there were mountains, so too were there verdant canyons and valleys through which many rivers flowed and mighty waterfalls thundered. They thundered, those waterfalls, even from the skies, where great green islands floated and decorated the heavens. Off the coasts were islands of magick and marvels, and the coasts boasted mountainous bays and sandy beaches and cliffs and mangrove marshes. Grottos opened their maws onto the waters and out of them subterranean rivers flowed. As for life, birds of glamorous colours flew, butterflies and other vibrant insects, vivid fishes, frogs, salamanders, toads, and innumerable small mammals. Many things that were found on Galbar were found here, all were in their way familiar and yet they were things of glamour and magick unlike anything known to Galbar.

Most fascinating of the creatures that called the Veil home, however, were the little folk, the faeries, who bristled with unbridled power and magick. Indeed, they were creatures made entirely of magic! Su’ulek continued past them and did not pay heed to their dancing and flutes and music, or the laughter and dining and drinking. For all their happiness and joy here, there was no doubt that each was a creature of power not to be made light of.

Crossing th verdant expanses of the Veil, Su’ulek came to the Sweet River Rois and to the palace of Roisin, the Highholt of Taramanca. No sooner had she arrived when the High Queen herself emerged, the very image of the flowing beauty and delight (although she was extremely small!) For now, Roisin had little to no way of knowing if Su’ulek was friend or foe. Indeed, Su’ulek was not of the old gods who had marked the Khodex; those alone did Roisin Magnolia known. So far as she knew, Su’ulek could have been an Outer Dragon come to eat her as so many had come before! However, as soon as Su’ulek revealed herself, she spoke through hissing breaths. “Creature. What manner of being are you?” She inquired. “Are you one of the old gods that make Galbar their house of worship?”

“I greet you with peace, friend,” Roisin spoke, her serene smile apparent even through her veil, her dress glimmering in the sun of the Veil and her covered face glowing with beauty and light, “I am oldest of the gods and youngest too; newborn and anciently old. I was there when the gods marked the Khodex and I was there before all that too, and I was also not there. Does it really matter?” She shrugged, and golden magicks and dust sprinkled everywhere. “I am here now, that’s what matters. I am Roisin Magnolia, daughter of the Khodex, High Queen of the Veil and High Queen also of the Material World; my High Throne in here is within the Highholt of Taramanca and my Throne of Stone there is at Arbor, within the Tree of Life. Beneath my watchful eye, all things are beautified and goodness is mad ascendant. And what of you, great lady - for you seem to me a mighty being, a god in your own right. Who are you?”

“I am Su’ulek. I am Maker of the Sorcerous Art. My friends call me Su’ule.” Su’ule responded. “I was just enjoying that wondrous music. As beautiful as my own screams.” Su’ulek complimented, not realizing her words sounded like an arrogant insult. However, she continued. “I could listen to your song for countless hours.”

Roisin’s veiled face brightened at Su’ulek’s words, showing no sign of having taken any offence. Indeed, if her face could be seen she may well have beamed. “Your love for beauty is heartening, Su’ulek! Sometimes the eye and the ear are so tainted by the many miseries and traumas the world throws one’s way that neither eye nor ear nor tongue nor even touch can recognise beauty. Your ears knew beauty, however, and so followed it; and now your tongue is an overflowing river of generous praise. You have in you, Su’ulek, the threads of a beautiful heart - there is no doubt!” The pleased goddess invited Su’ulek to descend with her and the both of them sat by the Sweet River Rois. “But what is this Sorcerous Art that you speak of, Su’ulek? My knowledge encompasses many wondrous arts of beauty and glamour and the many ways of magic, but of these Sorcerous Arts I am admittedly ignorant!”

“Sorcery is a form of magic that taps into the inner will of the mage. They channel their own will to control magic. This magic causes a subtle change within the sorcerer, which, if not checked, will change them irrevocably. It is a powerful gift, and blessing I’ve given to the world of Galbar.” Su’ulek declared. Roisin nodded along.

“That sounds mighty indeed! Not even my glamorous arts can be called upon by mortals at will; for that they need careful study and magical tools. Do you not fear, my dearest Su’ulek, that such magic tied to will alone may allow those who are perhaps not fully matured to access terrible magicks? Is it wise that those who have strong will but little wisdom should wield such great powers? I fear that such will bring you into ill-repute, when in reality you are a music-loving adorer of beauty and goodness!” As Roisin spoke, she dipped her feet in the river and gently waved them here and there.

“Dear Roisin! If ever there was a goddess that was foolish, it is I. I seem to not have wisdom, yet I only have what mortals call “intelligence”. Anyway, I’m sure that this will work out. Surely the mortals will not destroy themselves. Would it not only be foolish, but vapid to do so?” Roisin reflected on Su’ulek’s words for a few moments, then spoke up. “It may strike us as such, but I have witnessed beings of great knowledge and a certain degree of wisdom throw themselves and their own into the jaws of perdition; I have seen beings older than time and wiser than either you or I heft the warspear and cry bloody murder. It is a sight to quell the warmth of any throbbing heart. If that is so of creatures such as the Outer Beasts and their mighty and knowledgeable Outer Gods, what of mere mortals? How are we to leave them with such great power and simply trust that they will not destroy themselves? Must we not give them guidance on how and why to create, rather than destroy, even as we give them such arts as Sorcery and Glamour and all the ways of magic?” The Little god of the Little Things seemed now to be musing to herself, but at the last she turned back to Su’ulek and directed the question to her.

“I see. I will take this advice into consideration. Anyhow, I would like to leave the Other Side and see my creations first hand. Would you like to see my children?” Leaving the searching questions and weighty matters of power and responsibility to the side for the moment, Roisin nodded and arose. “Of course, it would please my heart. But you must forgive me if I cover myself and am utterly veiled, for one look by any being other than a god on me is quite sufficient to slay them on the spot! Some beauty is not made for mortal eyes.”

---

Disguised as an old woman Slith with Roisin Magnolia tucked into her hood, Su’ulek slithered to what passed as a large city on the Eastern River Delta. . . Sithari, the city was called. It had many thousands of inhabitants, and slaves came from all over Galbar. Humans, and others. Not realizing that these were enslaved beings, Su’ulek nonetheless finally made way to a Shrine built by the Slith Lugal, the King of Sithari. Cetanu was the Lugal’s name. He had developed a kind of Sorcery that could be used to accelerate the change into monstrous beings by the Sorcerer.

Cetanu looked at the bloody altar, and his student was seen raising a curved dagger over the Human woman’s terrified body. Su’ule was concerned. The old Slith woman raised a crackling, aged voice in protest. “Ssstop!” She demanded. The authority in her words caused Cetanu to halt the ritual. “Old woman, if you were not a gray scale, I would behead you where you stand!” Cetanu declared. “What is the meaning of this, Gray Scale?”

Gray Scale was a respectable name for an elder in the Sithari, and surrounding cultures. Yet Su’ulek was not pleased. “You raise your knife to sacrifice an intelligent creature!” Su’ulek accused, while Roisin bobbed up and down in her hood. “Mother Su’ule would be angered!” She stated matter of factly.” At this accusation, Cetanu almost laughed, but one of his few redeeming features as a person was respect for the old. He responded, “Humans and other slaves have no rights. They are as cattle for the glory of the Slith! Su’ule has given the Slith dominion over all inferior life.”

“Yet for the Gray Scale’s sake I will not draw out her suffering.” The Lugal stated. At this, Su’ulek was angered more. “I am High Priestess of Mother Su’ule! It is her word that you cease these bloody sacrifices. They are not sacrifices, but murders!” The Lugal, Cetanu was not yet losing patience, yet he could be cruel, even compared to others of his kind when he was. He was however, a little frustrated. “Old woman, I know all the priests and priestess of Sithari and the East Delta. I have never known you.” Su’ulek was now frustrated. “Child!” Su’ulek spoke in anger, her reverberating words of power filling Cetanu with terror, he recognized Su’ule’s voice. “Do as I say!” Cetanu’s green, scaled head began to turn white, as he screamed. Though he lived, he was terrified of Su’ule’s anger. That would be the last lawful blood sacrifice in Sithari. Furious, Su’ulek vanished. She was now considering bringing a curse to the city.

Before she did, however, Roisin Magnolia was by her side. She floated about the great dragon’s head and whispered words and magicks of calm and forgiveness. “You see Su’ule?” The Little god cooed, “It is what we were talking about: without guidance mortals will invariably go forth and destroy one another. What use then are curses and anger? Let it not be said that the wrath of Su’ulek descended before she taught the people how to be good! I say this: teach them what beauty is, and in that I will aid you. Let them know what it is to have a beautiful heart, a beautiful soul, and what it is to be good so they may strive towards it. Then, and only then, once they have known what goodness is and still stray from it, will they deserve punishment. What do you say?”

Su’ule was considering bringing a curse to Sithari. The curse would have infected the entirety of Galbar, however. Before she did, however, her new friend Roisin was indeed speaking to her for mercy. “Very well, friend. I will stay my hand, as I sometimes do not know my own strength. In seeking to destroy the wicked, I may harm the innocent. I may bring a lasting change to Sithari and the other Slith, rather than a curse, I must create a choice.”

One Year Later, At The Academy Of Virtue

“Cetanu has made substantial strides towards his journey.” Su’ule spoke, pleased. “He’s still a long long ways away from achieving his destiny. However.”
Roisin Magnolia sat on the dragon goddess’ shoulder, and nodded. “The Academy is making strides in spreading beauty and virtue, and the Crown of Wisdom rests easy on the head of Cetanu. These are auspicious times indeed.”

---

Ida felt as if she was going to be sick. After she had told her fiery twin her own tale after they separated and up until they reunited, Ayre told her own story. Father was trapped in a tree. Arbor was in chaos. Ayre had visions of their mother and her Ayre… She couldn't even believe that she had immolated until she was ash only to be reborn. It wasn't difficult to grasp, it was just wrong. It didn't feel right to know she hadn't been there at that awful moment. And now, she couldn't even touch her sister without feeling like she was going to faint from heatstroke.

“It’s not as bad as it seems.” Ayre said, leaning against a wall in that alleyway. She had crossed her arms and had been looking intently at Ida. Those orange eyes, full of so much depth. And Ida knew behind those orbs, her sister’s mind was abuzz.

“I know…” Ida sighed. “It’s just… We shouldn’t have separated.”

Ayre let a huff of air out her nose, a coy smirk on Ayre’s lips at that. “There’s no telling how much us being together would have changed anything. In fact, it might have even made it worse. I wouldn’t have wanted you up there, to see all that anyways.”

Ida glanced at the necklace. “And where did you get that?” She asked. “I’ve never seen it before.”

Ayre’s hand wrapped around the prismatic jewel and she shrugged. “I’ll tell you once we’re up top.” Was her answer.

“Fair enough.” Ida said before she pushed off from the wall opposite Ayre. The ache in her leg almost made her stumble and Ayre was already in motion to catch her but she was able to right herself. Ayre took a step back.

“Tell me you tripped. Tell me you ran into something.” Ayre said, her voice shaking with anger.

Ida looked at her sister and knew what she wanted to hear. “I took a fall, yes.” She lied. Well, not entirely. She had fallen a few times but that particular hurt had come from a loose rock that had been thrown at her by one of those things.

“Liar.” Ayre snapped and began to walk off into the street.

“Hey, you wanted a lie.” Ida chided, joining her at a stiff walk. “Now let’s get out of here and back up top. I managed to get the villagers deeper into the tunnel system. There’s so many goblins down there, Ayre. It’s like they have their own underground kingdom.”

“Is that right?” Ayre asked, hands in her apron pockets. Ida had yet to tease her about her garments. Maybe soon. Maybe never.

“Yeah and they seemed well equipped to deal with any stragglers. Actually I’m surprised we haven’t seen a vanguard yet…” Ida looked back down the street. Smoke curled against the obsidian sky, the flames like a multitude of burning candle wicks. That or a bonfire. She shuddered, yes, shuddered at the heat. Manageable, but not for long.

“Let’s just get out of there.” Ayre mumbled, not looking back.

Ida winced. Ayre had, the same as she, done the unthinkable. They were killers. For her own conscience, Ida knew it had been necessary and she was willing to face whatever consequences. For Ayre…For the one who protected her her entire life… That anger had always been there, somewhere deep down but Ida doubted it was anger that had let itself kill the monster. Now Ayre had to come to terms with it herself.

“Hey.” She caught up to her sister, almost grabbing her arm but withdrew in a snap, as if she was afraid her sister would bite her. She winced again and Ayre stopped and turned to look at her. She didn’t say anything.

“Ayre. I know…” Her words fumbled in her throat. She cleared it in a mock gesture, grasping at her own emotions. “I know I’m not good with feelings. But if you want to talk about what happened, I’m here. I won’t leave you again.” It felt like the right thing to say, she told herself. And it was true. She was terrible at dealing with emotions. Her own and everyone else's. Perhaps she had earned the title of Frost, long before it had ever been uttered aloud.

For her part, Ayre gave a small nod and looked at her feet. “I should be the one saying I won’t leave you, Ida. But let’s just… Go home, okay?”

“Okay.” Ida said and they both began to walk once more. Ayre looked defeated. As if someone has snatched her fire away and a part of Ida knew that something forever more would be lost and she hated that fact. She hated it. That hatred, she knew. It was a bitter taste when she had to lie. When she had said anything else but the truth. Never to be a bother for Ayre, for their father. Ayre saw through it, the lies but not the mask of calm. Not to what was underneath. But she also knew another emotion, far better than the likes of blackened hate.

Tentatively, she reached out, and squeezed one of Ayre’s fingers. Her sister froze. Ida hissed a breath as the pain jolted up her arm. It was like a phantom burn that beat in her fingertips but it was worth it for what she said next, “I love you, Ayre.”

Ayre abruptly turned her face away, her shoulders sagged inwards and bobbed up and down silently. Droplets fell to the ground, each a small hiss on the cold stone and it would have melted Ida’s heart if it had been completely frozen. “I-” Ayre gasped a breath, “I love you too, Ida.” And then began to walk forward at a brisk pace.

They reached the outskirts of the dying town, careful to avoid staring at the blood and viscera of the attack that lay in stains across every surface. Drying and cracking. Ida knew if she dwelt on those she hadn't been able to save, she would break down. Right there, in that street of twilight. Ayre drew in as close as she could get to her and they were silent, comforted by the others' presence alone.

Ida could see the tunnel fast approaching. The memory of that thing emerging from the dark amidst screams would forever haunt her. It was almost as if the darkness was unnatural and her senses screamed to run away. Then she noticed and stopped.

“Where are the bodies?”

Something cracked from that long dark tunnel, as if in answer. Ayre moved in front of Ida and she could only stop herself from rolling her eyes at her twin, as she stood beside her. The crack sounded again and then followed by a long drawn out breath. Something dripped down and a large puddle of blood, almost unnatural in size, surged forth and coated everything in that sickly smell of rust. She felt sick to her stomach. Ayre looked deathly pale as well, tinged with green on her warm cheeks.

“The bodies of the slain,” A deep voice of whispered shadow fell around them and Ida saw Ayre tense. “Now reflect in pools of crimson stain.” Ida felt as if that voice had penetrated into the very core of her mind, wriggling about like some worm of terror. And it kept speaking in its whispered whimsy, “You are no pesky gadfly, nor even a Magnolia’s dying lullaby. Not a corse, of course. Such blood unspilled, ready to be distilled. So tell Bael-Davaur what you are?” It's voice pleaded with them and Ida almost felt compelled to answer but she put a hand over her mouth and glanced at Ayre. Her sister glanced back, steel in her eyes and mouthed one word- run.

So they did.

A howling laughter broke from behind them, echoing forth from that black tunnel. “Not a sapling and yet somehow still so lacking!” Shadows began to unfurl at the edge of Ida’s vision. “Not a beast, at least.” It’s said in her ear. Their legs took them swiftly from once they came and the thing was right behind them. Tendrils of soft shadow touched her, coaxing Ida to run faster. Its voice was a sweet lull beside her and all around them, like a slow insidious poison. “Knife-ears with such lovely fears. One of roiling flame, bent from so much self blame. The other cold, with a soul so old. Why do they run, in this place without sun? Where will they flee, under this enemy tree?” Ida looked back once, just once and saw what followed them. A mass of burgundy smoke, almost colored as dark as night in that gloom. It gobbled up the air and snuffed out all light. There was something inside that smoke, something that she knew would make her skin crawl. Not because it would be hideous or misshapen. But because she feared that it would be the opposite. And Ida knew in her bones, in her very soul, to stop would be certain death.

They reached the outskirts of the town once more, Ayre’s hair whipping bright behind her as she ran, with Ida close behind. She couldn't help but wonder where the goblins were? Where was anyone, for that matter? Something was wrong and that was clearly evident as they were being chased by a demon.

The thing that chased them… It was not like what she had sullied her hands for, before. When people needed saving. Not one of those lesser beasts but greater. Far greater and if it was capable of speech… it reaffirmed her anxiety about not wishing to see it without the smoke veiling it. It's oily voice and rasping shadows sent chills down her spine and she was one who could no longer feel the cold.

A rush of air sounded behind them, Ida glanced to see the world behind them shattering. What came next was an explosion that rippled through the air, sending stone chips and wooden splinters all around them. Ayre shouted something in the roar but Ida couldn't hear it. In the maelstrom, something hard smacked into the back of her injured knee and she tumbled forward. Her arms absorbed the blow as much as they could, but she still hit the stone hard. As a result, her vision went fuzzy and she was too stunned to move. Not even as Ayre gave a leap over her and screamed at their pursuer. And in that scream the world erupted into flame and with it, heat.

It was a marvel, both that her eyes began to focus and watching those torrents of fire emerge from her twin’s hands. The flame hit the smoke and the world alighted with a nebulous of sparks that made the demon stop in its pursuit.

The roar of the fire filled her ears and it was that heat that washed over that got her to move at last. She pushed up and got upon wobbly feet.

“Ayre!” She called but her sister did not answer. She could not see her face, did not know if her own voice could be heard in the din. Thinking quickly and wincing at her pain with each step, Ida stayed a healthy distance away from her twin and raised a hand but not at the torrent of fire. Instead she sent an ice spike at her sister’s feet and Ayre blinked. She looked at Ida in a moment of pure rage but her roaring flames began to die, until all that remained was the melting spike of ice and an inferno.

“Sweet, sweet flame, the likes of which none will tame.” That voice, that too perfect whisper cooed. “Tempered by a twin, of ice within. Ripped from a womb, never to bloom. Now Bael-Davaur, knows what you are. But blood and flesh, time has come to make for the creche. Come along now, for this is my vow; alive or dead, you will be shred, bled and… Wed. She will never thwart this new court.” The air resounded with a laugh so vile Ida and Ayre covered their ears. The blood smoke coalesced around before them and then unleashed itself. A wave of acrid smoke hit them before either could react, grabbing and clawing at Ida’s skin and clothes. She screamed. Ayre screamed. And Ida knew there would be no one to rescue them. No one but herself.

Thinking fast, Ida slammed a fist of ice into the ground. Once. Twice. Thrice! There came the sound of a crack as she and her sister were violated and she poured her power within it. Her ice ran glacier deep, splitting apart the very stone, building up pressure and pressure. She kept expanding it, coaxing it to grow and grow and grow as they were dragged ever closer to the demon of whimsy. And then, when she thought hope itself would fail, there came a sound like none other. A tremendous crack ripped the stone and earth apart like an avalanche. All at once, they were falling and she could only feel relief as the smoke did not join them.

She looked to Ayre amidst the falling, crushing debris all around them in their descent. Her sister, terrified with eyes wide, held out her hand. Ida extended her own, so close she could feel the heat of her sister’s fingertips. So close. Then the world went utterly dark.

The Academy Of Virtues - Expanded
By decree of Mother Su'ule, her devout begin to expand The Academy Of Virtues in Sithari. From now on, attendees who have completed their education at The Academy Of Virtues will have adverse side effects from Sorcery slowed down and alleviated. It stills happens, but monsters or others who use Sorcery will be less susceptible to ugliness, cosmetic or otherwise, from their use, or even over use of sorcery, since they are generally trying to be a good individual.

The light at the end of the tunnel. After a much longer crawl Amelia finally saw it. On her hands and knees she squeezed through the rooted tunnel until she finally managed to squeeze herself through some part-hidden, part-forgotten, part-uncared for hole that she guessed was made by a badger or some other burrowing creature.

She emerged into a small crevasse that hosted the abandoned den, as well as a dozen or so meters of poorly vegetated dirt stick between two cliff faces on either side, and, strangely, at each end, some kind of wall. The furthest of these walls did seem to have some kind of gate, but it was closed, trapping her in here.

“Why did you lead me into… this place?” Amelia asked out loud, seemingly to nobody. As right now only she could see her Godmother. The fairy only gave an undignified ‘hmpf’. She wouldn’t be much help right now, Amelia realized. So she started looking up the cliffsides. Maybe she could crawl up them?

As she was contemplating this strange set up someone had clearly made for a purpose, what the walls were meant to keep in stirred as a trio of hulking bull sized shapes stirred in the shadows of the cliff face where they had been avoiding the beating heat of the tropical midday sun.

One had a round body sporting 10 legs, all from different animals, out of the top of which a formless black neck ending in featureless head hosting only a triple segmented mouth. The next was a big cat with three quadruple eyed raven’s heads and a dozen bladed tendrils instead of a tail. The last was a green shelled beetle with clawed reptilian limbs and shredded eagle wings that flicked out from under their thorax protection when it stretched after rising.

The mix and match creatures were horrible, but they did share one thing in common, and that was a faintly glowing rune on their foreheads, one of a ring with a smaller ring with a dot in the center at its base, that looked a bit like a simplified depiction of Galbar’s waterways, and rings of other much more jagged runes surrounding their necks.

Having unfurled themselves, the outer beasts, for surely that must be what they were, began to stalk towards her with hunger in their eyes and saliva on their jaws.

Amelia froze where she stood. The three monsters started to stalk - each in their unique way - towards the mortal. “Amelia, my little bulb.” The Godmother said, veiling her worry. “You should move.” Amelia didn’t move. “Dear?” Her Godmother asked again. “Move.” Amelia did not move. “Move you foolish child!” The Godmother rammed Amelia, just in time as the cat-like beast lunged for her.

The elf - knocked out of whatever paralysing fear held her - fell to the ground. On her forearms she crawled away. “Roll left!” Her Godmother yelled. She did. Three bladed tails stabbed the ground where she was a moment ago. Above her was now a massive mass of black. An unnatural amount of legs moved around her. A clawed, lizard-like arm grasped at her. She crawled away, through the leg of a cow and a tall bird. Grasping claws grabbed her and lifted her for a second, before sending her to the wall.

Amelia fell badly on her left shoulder. The pang of pain felt familiar. For a second she was in that forest again. With the spindly legged beast that killed her parents. The memory and the pain conjured tears.

“Kill it!” Her Godmother yelled. “Kill them!”

She couldn’t. Killing was wrong. It was one of the worst things one could do. A shadow moved over her. She tried to roll away but two strong, cat-like legs pinned her down by the shoulders. It snarled at her with its three eyes. It’s tails moving over from above to go in for the kill.

“Please, oh Allianthé please don’t let me-” She stopped. The desperate prayer was too familiar. Last she said it, her entire family died. This couldn’t be what she had to do.

The beast drew blood as it slashed her arm. Amelia screamed out in pain. That was enough. The cat growled at her. She punched it hard. Pain jolted through her right hand as her skin split. The beast recoiled but quickly turned back, ready to bite her to death. It wasn’t fast enough.

Amelia had already finished waving her wand. The piece of yew, so unimaginatively crafted, was covered with iridescent veins. “Kill.” She whispered at the cat-beast, which stopped moving for a moment. Then it turned around. The two other beasts were behind it, ready to kill their prey if the cat-beast wouldn’t. Not that they would be given much of a chance. It lunged at the many-legged beast. It was a devastating ambush as it started tearing and cutting away.

It gave a shrieking scream that sounded far too close to a mortal’s cry for comfort as it tried to scramble back, but the cat-like beast just kept slashing and clawing, hacking at limbs. It fully served at least two before the now less multi legged thing fought back, arcing its neck down and biting into one of its attacker’s three heads, cruising it in a single bite. It was only one, however, and so the battle continued, blood spilling everywhere.

Unfortunately, the command to kill was very different to one like, say, protect me, and so the beetle creature was free to, once it was over its confusion, turn its attention back to Amelia instead. As it stalked closer however, there came a shout from one of the walls of “Would you things keep it down” as the white furry face of an opossum topped with a black pointy hat popped over the top.

Said shout was followed by one of “By the Wheel!”when the figure noticed Amelia, followed by a shout of “Over here, quickly!” directed specifically at her he vanished as quickly as he appeared, after which the gate in the wall started to swing open.

Once the gate was open enough to squeeze his goblin sized body though the fullbood opossum-kin slipped through the gap, pausing only to grab and pull his wide brimmed pointy hat from where it had gotten stuck, before hurting forwards. The rest of his garb was similarly witchy, a black coat/robe of some sort, one that sported many pockets. Out of one of these he pulled a small wooden slab on which a number of runes softly glowed, ones that matched the ones on the beast’s neck. He hurried forwards, and once close enough pressed a finger to one of these.

In response, some of the runes on the beetle monster glowed bright, causing it to hiss and stumble in its chase, tumbling to the ground where it began writhing in pain. He hurried past her and it, and pointed the slab at the pair who were rearing each other apart, causing them, too, to collapse in pain as well.

“Oh dear oh dear oh dear, what have you done to each other?” he asked the heavily damaged pair, clearly upset by their injuries, before turning on Amelia and demanding to know “You! Who are you? How did you get in here? Didn’t you see the warning signs?” before gesturing up at the tops of the cliff face where a number of signposts who’s text could not be seen due to it pointing outwards, before pointing at the pair of wounded beasts and demanding to know “and what did you do to them?”

“I-I…” Amelia stood frozen on the ground. All color drained from her face as the carnage finally stopped. Had she ordered one of these things to fight? To kill!? The realization set in. Did she carry responsibility? “I didn’t know…I never saw- In the Veil, I never saw the signs.” She muttered as she tried to take a step back from the halted fighting. “It’s not my fault.” She kept muttering as she took another step back. “I just- I just made it think something.” She made it think that it should kill the other beast. Oh goddess, she had glamoured it into killing.

Then her eyes turned towards the angry opossum-beastman. She could stay frozen and helpless or she could stop being a victim of outer beasts and circumstances. Slowly, with shaky and uncertain hands she raised her ‘wand’ at the opossum man. “I-I’m very sorry for what happened. I really am but… but I’m not going to die myself over this. My life will not end here.” She spoke of death and life with the finality unmistakingly from Arbor. Where it was known as a fact that death was unavoidable end.

“Wow wow wow there missy, there’s no need for that. No one is going to die themselves or anyone else over this, long as you don’t do… whatever you can do with that stick” the pintsized possum-man replied, pointing the rune inscribed controller back at her in a somewhat unconvincing attempt at thereating her back with it “So put it down, and let’s go talk this through over a little something to eat? I have some dried wheel fruit and jerky somewhere in my office for when I get snacky. We could work out a deal, keep this between us, not escalate this to the authorities, that kind of thing? If you really can do magic with just that twig, well now, that would be something else, and I would oh so love to learn all about it”

Amelia lowered her wand as a small smile crept over her lips. “I really am sorry.” She said, sounding a lot more apologetic and a lot less fearful for her life. A few moments later she was looking at the strange wheelfruit, finding no immediate or obvious way to start eating it. The jerky she didn’t touch.

“Sir.” Amelia said as she fidgeted with the wheelfruit. “Where am I actually?”

“Wheels turn. You really aren't from around here are you? How far much of the world did you skip over to have never-” he shook his head, pausing his query and instead answered the unspoken question first as they stepped through the gate, holding up his own little wheelfruit and saying “like this” before squeezing the center between two fingers, causing the disk shaped fruit to spit along the center. Then he simply lifted the top of the hard fruit off, exposing a half circle of dried fruit flesh.

He then put a finger on this flesh and gave it a spin, causing the edible part of the fruit to rotate around the core of the plant. “Nibble your way round the outside as many turns as you like, and then simply pop the other half on like so” he said as he demonstrated, neatly re-packaging his snack before her eyes.

As he had been giving this demonstration, they’ed headed along a little rising road, past a few building side on the other side of the wall, leaving the gate in the hands of a goblin fellow who was mostly just waiting for a box with a strange bug in it to reel the gate back shut. Once they reached the top of the crevasse, little research post and penned beasts behind them, signs warning of them on their right, they could look forwards and see where they were.

To the west, off in the distance, was the unmistakable signifier of the direction of her home, the great tree towering above all. Home itself however was not visible, for the walls of the edge of the crater that was the land of origin blocked that view. Slicing through those walls to the north was a great river, one greater than all others except its equally vast twin on the other side of the world.

That gave her something of an indicator as to where she was, but as to what this place was called, and what gave it its name, well, that sat on the banks of the river. Houses and buildings by the score straddled both sides, and an island in the center, while a great bridge crossed it and linked all three semi separate settlements together.

Hence the name

“Welcome, my dear, to Tricity!” the possum exclaimed, clearly quite proud of the place, despite the side of it they were on having seen better days. Reconstruction work to the half of the city devastated by the outer beast invasion was still ongoing. Part of this might be due to the rather large array of new buildings that had sprung up around what seemed to be a permanently raging stormcloud sat only a little bit to their east. Indeed, this little compounded was almost certainly part of whatever that new settlement within a settlement was.

A little hint as to what it was for came when the possum realized he’d failed to introduce himself, and proceed to tip his hat to her and do just that, saying “Oh, and I am witch Higglesworth, a pleasure to meet you”

The elven girl was wide-eyed staring out from the crater’s edge. Her mouth was agape. She had seen many things when she traveled with her parents but this, this was something else. A city that could rival Arbor. Perhaps do more than rival Arbor. If not for the twin great Trees, Arbor would most certainly be eclipsed. “It’s so big.” She said, “So mixed!” She added, while pointing at the myriad of species she saw working the fields and the water. “There’s so many beastmen here!” Her eyes darted over the great city. Parts of it were clearly older and perhaps grander, but she adored all sides.

“Oh, it’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Higglesworth.” She said then to the opposom-man beside her, while keeping the thought that ‘Witch’ was a very strange first name to herself. “I am Amelia from Arbor.” She quickly returned the greetings. After which she took a few more moments to marvel at the great split city before her. But her mind was already going to other thoughts. “Say… Mr. Higglesworth. Those outer beasts, how did you manage to control them? I mean I know you used runes. We got some in Arbor too but none of the rune mages there know how to use them to control outer beasts.”

“Ah well that-” the witch dithered for a moment on where to explain, before deciding “ah well, it's only fair if we are going to trade” and then launching into an explanation with the dictation of someone giving a lecture.

“So, for one, while they do look it, those are not quite outer beasts, even though they are derived from them. You see in the dark days when they first appeared, our fair city was assailed by a great horde of them. Yet by the power of gods, heroes and mortals, we endured, and were left afterwards with a rather large pile of rotting flesh. So we gathered it all up, and piled it all into a pool of R’kava, one that is now causing that mighty storm cloud over there” he explained, pointing over at it.

“This caused it to grow and grow, giving us a wonderfully large supply of the stuff, which is very handy for rune craft as it turns out. But it also turned it into something called, according to the old Octari, a spawning pool, which is a pool of R’kava that can change creatures into other ones, or even spit out whole new ones. Well, having fed the pool so many outer beasts, along with actual beasts and the dead, we ended up with, well, those” he turned away from the city to look down at the ‘not quite outer beasts’ who a small team of witches and soldiers where currently corralling/medication depending on their current state, before giving them a name.

“Chimeras, we call them, and though they do look like the outer beasts, or demons, there is one key internal difference: They have souls and not stolen ones either. Born as they are from a natural process of this world, they are part of the cycle of reincarnation, rather than strange soulless things that must have come from somewhere beyond it” he revealed, though not how he knew, before actually answering her question which was “well, how you control any beast really, a suitable combination of carrot and stick. These are somewhat early days however, hence the unfortunate incident when you arrived in their pen”

“The stick itself is a curse rune, one of pain, which came from a runestone that formed in the corpse of the greater outer beasts who attempted to assail the land of origin and was felled by the efforts of three gods, and then gifted to us by Asheel, forever may she turn, along with another from which we learned more of the basics” he concluded “all of which has caused quite the magical revolution around these parts. It almost makes up for the collapse of our tin mines.”

The elven girl hung on every word that Higglesworth spoke. It was a fascinating tale to hear. One of ingenuity but also necessity. With her mind she tried to remember the rune. Not that she wanted to hurt anyone with it, but to direct an absolute form of pain at something seemed very powerful. If she could bring some of that knowledge back to Arbor, Irrithae - when she returned - would be very proud of her! Even better, perhaps she could come to an accord to share some information back and forth. After all, Arbor had its own trump cards. As if to conform, she felt a mental nod of confidence coming from her hidden fairy godmother.

But then she was hit by a profound sense of sadness as she realized what the pool of R’kava was. A mass grave of both people and outer beast. “We - I mean Arbor - never really came to your aid, huh?” She said almost absent mindedly. Why did she feel a slight pang of guilt over that? What could they do? Killing was forbidden. It was a curse offered only to the Deathguard. Still, something should've been done.

“Mr. Higglesworth, does Tricity think that the outer beasts will be back? I mean like before, like a great invading wave?”

The man seemed a little confused by her first question, clearly having not expected such aid at all, before sighing sadly in response to her second and admitting that “Yes. Or something else, even worse. What has happened once will happen again, so turns the wheel after all”

“That said, we now know dangers lurk out there, and though this new age may be one of terrors, it also the age of magic” he said, seeming to be quoting someone as he did so “so next time, next time we will be prepared to stand against the darkness with all the myriad of powers our world has to offer. With magic and machinery, we will endure!”

“So says the soul speaker anyway” he added, confirming that the words were not his own, before adding his own perspective which was “as for me, while survival is nice and all, frankly I just find all the recent discoveries about the supernatural to be quite fascinating. Your own very much included”

“It is fascinating.” Amelia returned genuinely. “I’ve only learned a little bit myself. Most of what I could do was with Arcana and well, I’m warned that it’ll make me go bad.” Only now was that reality really sinking in. That some day she might become some horrific monster. A few others had made the same sacrifice as well. Her eyes turned towards the big pool of R’Kava. It looked ugly and it spawned monsters but back at home, the ever coruscating Wellspring did that as well. It just took a while. With that Amelia started to see some similarities between the two civilizations.

“You’ve been nice to me Mr. Higglesworth.” Amelia said as she turned back to her new oppossom friend. “And I know you like magic, so I’ll let you in on some more.” She pulled out her wand again. “There are creatures living in this world called ‘fairies’. They can do all sorts of cool things! Like lying away the darkness.” She slowed down a little again. “That’s also how I did what I did.” She said, her words laced with a deep sense of guilt. Not just for her oppossom friend. Clearly he was taking care of those creatures. She also felt sin towards the creatures. One died at her hand. “It’s called glamour, and you can learn it too!” Her excitement returned quickly though. “All you need to do is find a fairy and let them teach you how to make a wand! They’re tricky though. And-” She stopped, as if listening to words that the witch could hear. She nodded in understanding at nothing, nodded again, and then even said: “Okay.” Then she turned back to the opposom. “My godmother says she’s not the right fairy for you but I’m sure that you’ll find someone!”

“I also have a question for you, Mr. Higglesworth.” Her tone got a bit more serious now. As serious as the young elf could present her self at least. “But first I have to tell you a few things. I lost my parents not too long ago. But then someone took me in. Her name’s Irrithae. She’s Allianthé’s Prophetess. She’s away now on some important business deep below the earth but she’ll be back. And when she is, she’s probably going to rule Arbor. So if it was possible, I’d like to go speak to your ‘soul speaker’. Maybe we can agree that if Tricity ever faces the dangers from those big beasts, Arbor can come to help?”

“Well spin me round and call me a rolly polly, that’s a lot to take in” he admitted, “a new kind of magic, and people we’ve never heard of? I suppose not a lot of them must not have died yet. Lucky them”

“As for the soul speaker, well, he’s not exactly our leader. Maybe our spiritual leader? One of them anyway, and he does have quite the influential seat on the council, so if you want an audience with them, he’s not a bad way to get it” the witch told her, before thinking for a moment and then realizing “wait, hmmm, isn’t he visiting this side of the city today?” before tilting his hat a bit to block out the sun some more as he peered down at the city, before spotting a blue and orange banner fluttering above one of the buildings.

“Yes right there” he confirmed, pointing it out and calling the distance “just a shot trip by buggy”

He, naturally, offered to give her a ride there, and so, bouncing down a gravel road on the back of a bug powered go kart, began Amelia’s adventures in Tricity.

---

She couldn't feel anything. No sensations, no pain. She only knew she was awake because she could hear. It was her own labored breathing, a promise of a death with each rattle that settled over her like a cloud. But there was something else too… A woeful hum. Her eyes strained open and she saw the stars above. Ida couldn't remember how they got outside. They.

Twin? Where was her twin? She blinked back the mist of her mind for just a moment and saw Ayre cast in firelight not far away. She was safe but the more Ida looked, the more the picture unfolded. Ida blinked disbelieving and then a whimper escaped her throat, for her sister was not cast in fire's orange glow but she herself was the fire.

Unmoving but blinking silent screams, Ayre’s legs were black stumps and her lower torso was alight. She stared at Ida with dull eyes. Her sister was moving her lips but Ida could not understand her sister's message. The smell of burnt flesh attacked her senses, made her throat gag but nothing came up. Ida blinked again or perhaps she passed out, for when her eyes opened, Ayre’s chest was a roaring pyre and the blaze illuminated… it. The demon cast in the gloom, shape crooked and bent beneath its swirling smoke. A long bone white hand caressed her twin's face.

She wanted to scream but no words came. The demon spoke ever sweetly with that poisoned tongue, “Shhh, shhh, it will be alright, let Bael-Davaur save you from this plight. You've a mighty gift, one that can not be let to drift. Bael-Davaur was born before the stars, soon enough this new world will be ours. Your flame will help to sunder tree, and that wretched magnolia you see.” It bent closer to Ayre, her sister’s glazed eyes did not register the peril. “When Bael-Davaur was young, a cruel queen cut out his tongue. Now he speaks with a godling’s voice, and no, it was not that one’s choice.” Bael snickered with wicked glee. “You thought you could escape, but you were not quite in shape. Now you are Bael-Davaur’s little doll, one who can only crawl.” It laughed and the noise grated on Ida’s ears.

It was too much and Ida managed to whimper again. Anything to get it away from Ayre and it worked. She caught the demon's attention and that boney hand dropped as it made its way to her on a sickly wind. “She wakes at last, such frost unsurpassed.” Smoke clouded her vision and she wasn't able to see its face or any part of it. “Broken and bent, with jaw now extent.” It said. “Ice can still be mended, it must simply be tended. For Bael-Davaur has you saved, and now you shall be enslaved…!” The demon’s laugh rang hollow and Ida could not feel its hands all about her but she knew that's what it was doing. She knew and hated it.

She shut her eyes. This was a nightmare. They escaped. It wasn't real. She didn't break the earth for naught. When she opened her eyes, they would be back up at the tree with Allianthe watching over them. Father would be there and alive and and and-

She opened her eyes, witnessed the demon’s long black tongue glide over her face. A sickly smell permeated her senses and her head swam in a blur. She felt sick but could not move. She whimpered again as it spoke, “Tears so sweet, with flesh to eat. The arms are gone, plucked like a swan. Soon you'll recover… My starkissed lover.” She felt her breathing quicken. It was too much. This wasn't a nightmare. It was too terrible. Too real. She had failed utterly and now she'd be…

Ida's vision began to fade, despite her terror, despite Ayre’s burning. The hum was so lovely, lovelier than the demon's honeyed speech. She could hear it whispering sweet nothings as it touched her with its oil slick hands. Perhaps it was good she couldn’t feel the violation. Her heart began to beat like thunder, drowning out all other noise. Ayre… Her drooping eyes shot to her sister. Ida only felt a great sorrow for what she had wrought. A light came forth, brighter than all the rest. She heard muffled laughter, rising to a ringing pitch. Her heart was going to explode as that light enveloped all.

Ida's eyes shut and oblivion took her.

---

A bird’s lullaby startled Ayre awake. A morning song of a ruby swallow, her favorite thing to hear upon a warm day. She blinked, furrowing her brow as she looked out at a familiar but unfamiliar sight. Arbor and the World Tree sat looming before her. It was so colorful, all the trees and the flowers with the insects and animals alight with the new day. A chorus of comfort and relief but… She stared at the other tree, one whose trunk she could only scarcely comprehend. Was that new?

Someone yawned beside her and Ayre turned her head to see Ida waking. Her long white hair obscured her face as she leaned forward, pale blue horn dazzling in the morning light. What struck her as even stranger, was when Ida moved her hair away from her face, not with a hand of pale white did touch her skin but one of liquid silver. Ayre stared at the hand, puzzled. Was that how her hand had always been? She looked at her own and scrunched her nose at the tanned and unblemished flesh.

“What is it?” Ida asked and Ayre looked up and recoiled, eyes going wide. “What…?” Ida began, looking behind her. “What’s the matter?”

Ayre opened her mouth to speak but found no words. She lifted her arms and felt herself blinking rapidly. Her mind felt jumbled, and finding the right thought to even explain to herself what was going on was difficult. Ida reached out and grabbed Ayre’s wrist and it was then that Ida’s own eyes grew wide with shock as she stared and stared at that liquid cool hand.
And quite suddenly, it clicked with Ayre. They both spoke at the same time- Ayre exclaiming, “You’re touching me!” and Ida wailing, “What happened to my hand?”

Ida let go and got to her feet in one lithe movement. But then she stumbled backwards, looking at both her hands of silver. Quite suddenly she pulled off her gray shirt in a panic and threw it on the ground. Standing bare chested now, Ayre could clearly see that both her sister’s arms had been replaced. Where pale flesh had been, now was the formed musculature of metal. Coursing veins of soft green mimicked what once had been. Strangely, or perhaps it was intended, it looked natural despite being metallic. Ayre forced a smile, hoping to show Ida it didn’t look bad at all. Indeed, Ida’s lower half looked unscathed. That was good, right?

Instead, Ida began to hyperventilate.

Ayre pushed off from the ground and went to her side. “Ida,” She said but her sister wouldn’t look at her. “Ida!” She tried again but her twin was focused on her outstretched arms. “IDA!” Ayre shouted, touching her sister’s shoulder. This seemed to work as Ida’s face contorted with pain and she shrugged Ayre off.

“Don’t touch me!” Ida said, tears beginning to stream down her face. “W-W-What happened? Where are my arms? Where are my-” She looked at Ayre. “What else? What else has changed!” She demanded. Ayre was taken aback, she had never seen this side of Ida before.

“I… Uhmm-” She didn’t know what to say.

‘Tell me.” Ida pleaded. “Please.”

Ayre took a gulp and walked around her sister. The middle of Ida’s back, her spine, was now silver as well, rippling with intricate patterns and goosebumps, almost as if it were actual skin. Veins of the same green pulsed in scrawled beauty. She walked back in front of Ida and said, “The middle of your back and… Your jaw and chin, Ida.” It was the truth, plain as day and why she had initially recoiled. Her sister’s lower jaw and her entire chin were replaced with that metal. More veins stretched down her neck and across her shoulder to her arms and of course her back. Pulsing, beating in tune to her heart. It reminded her of…

Ida was trembling.

“Ida, oh Ida.’ Ayre gulped and took her sister’s hands within her own. They could touch at least, not that it would matter much to her sibling now. “It doesn’t look bad. The craftsmanship is div-”

Ida cut her off, “Doesn’t look bad? Doesn’t look bad! I’m even more of a freak!”

“Ida…” Ayre said, her sister beginning to squeeze her hands.

“I’ve been disfigured and you say it doesn’t look bad?” Ida fumed, the calm and collected girl vanished. She kept squeezing.

“Ida! Plea-” Ayre snapped back.

“What else do you have to say!” Ida snapped.

“My hands!” Ayre shouted, anger filling her own voice.

Ida looked down and let go. Relief washed over Ayre as she rubbed her hands together, massaging the pain.

“I’m sorry.” Ida said, falling to her knees. “I’m so sorry.” she cried. Ayre forgot her pain, reaching out a hand to pat her sister on the head but she stopped and knelt down. She took Ida’s shaking hands back within her own and squeezed.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay.” Ayre said in a gentle voice. “You didn’t mean to. I’m not mad.” She paused, thinking carefully about what to say next. “We are going to figure this out. Hey, look at me look at me, please.” Ida slowly brought her head up and looked at her sister. Her lips trembled, her eyes were so sad. “You are not a freak. You understand? You never were and you aren’t now, okay? I-I’m so sorry this happened. I don’t even… I don’t even remember.”

“We fell.” Ida whispered, she let her head droop a little. There was no sign that she believed any of what Ayre had said.

“Yes… We fell and then…” Try as she might to think about what happened, Ayre could not. She remembered what led up to them falling… A part of her stomach dropped when she thought about how she had slain that creature. How Ida had reassured her. How she had erupted to protect her sister. She rubbed her thumbs over her Ida’s. “We’ll get through this and you know why?”

Ida did not answer.

“Because, Ida, I love you.” Ayre whispered, bringing her sister’s right hand up to her lips for a kiss. The fact she could do that was relieving in itself. “Come on,” She said, standing up and helping Ida to her feet. “We’re outside and that’s not something we should question. The tree Ida, it’s over yonder and look,” Ida’s head lifted to gaze up at the trees. “The goddess has been busy. Two trees. Just like there are two of us. That’s gotta mean something, right? Here, let me get you your shirt.” Ayre let go of Ida’s hand as her sister stared up at the trees. She found her shirt next to the tree they had been laying against. But it wasn’t the shirt that caught her eye but what else leaned against the tree.

“Ida!” she gasped and her sister swirled, “Look!”

A long staff of deep rich wood, smoothed with gleaming golden leaves and with a deep blue sapphire set at its crown, leaned next to a sheathed sword. Though the blade was hidden, it was already unlike any they had seen before. The hilt was fashioned from what looked like the same wood as the staff. It also was designed with a half crescent guard, made of silver. The pommel held a deep red ruby but the blade… Ayre cautiously picked up the deep black sheath and began to pull at the handle. With a faint ring she pulled the blade free and marveled. The blade glowed a deep burning orange. As if it were fire incarnate. It sung a sweet song in her mind, so fixated she was on it. Indeed, Ayre had never actually held a sword, had only seen them from the smiths at the Divinium Forge and the occasional traveler. Life was sacred after all and Allianthe would disapprove. Ayre quickly sheathed the sword and leaned it back against the tree. She gripped the familiar gem beneath her tunic as she took a step back.

Ida meanwhile, went and grabbed the staff. She held it in her new hands, running her left down the grain of the wood. “I can feel…” She murmured before looking at Ayre. “It isn’t going to bite you. Why don’t you take it?” she asked flatly.

Ayre gulped. “Well… You know… Swords are…”

“I know.” Ida said, her voice softer. “But we can’t leave it here. Better for you to at least carry it, for now. Just until we can put it somewhere safe.”

Seeing the logic in that, Ayre nodded, hesitantly walked forward like it was a snake coiled to strike and bent. As soon as her hands wrapped around the hilt, she felt power roll into her. That hadn’t happened before. She rolled her shoulders and unsheathed the blade once more. It wasn’t very heavy and strangely felt right in her hand. She held it high and it burst into flames. This startled Ayre and she dropped it. The blade embedded tip down into the earth at her feet and she actually heard Ida laugh. She spun to her sister, cheeks flushing red. “It s-startled me, that's all.” She stammered.

Ida leaned on her staff, the smile on her lips fading with each passing moment. Ayre captured it in her mind and she knew despite their hurts and pains- they were together and they were home. Ayre would help her sister and her sister would help her. There was nothing they wouldn’t be able to overcome.

“Come on. Let’s go home.” Ida half whispered, her eyes going distant.

Ayre smiled ever so faintly, and picked up the sword once more and sheathed it. Thankfully it didn’t catch fire.

Ida began to walk off and it dawned on Ayre then, “Ida!” She snapped.

Her pale twin spun around, “What?”

Ayre walked up to her. “Your shirt.” She said, handing it to her.

“Right.” Her sister said and the two went on.

_{With thanks to @Cyclone and @Legion02 for their direct contributions, @Vec for answering many questions regarding the Astral Realm, Astral Entities, and Astralis Lumen, and also to @WrongEndoftheRainbow for giving guidance regarding the Realm of Death and the Dreamworld. Thanks also to @DracoLunaris for patiently discussing many details about Faeries and Glamour with me, which has helped flesh out many subtle things about both throughout this post. And thanks, of course, to the one and only @Frettzo for channeling and encouraging all craziness.}

---

The age of the feighdfulc burst across the dimensions of the world with great suddenness and terrible ferocity. Though the Veil was the sacred land of joy and eternal peace for all the true fairy races (of whom the darkfairies, being outer beast mockeries of the fae, were not!) they dared not – could not! – war in the Veil anymore. The summoning forth of Brentylwtih the King before the High Queen Roisin Magnolia had drawn the gaze of the fairy-folk with suddenness to the hallowed nature of their Otherworld home, and so their warring in that realm came to a halt. It was not for a lack of animosity between the nascent fairy courts, of course, but rather because they had discovered that there were other, less holy places where they could war.

King Brentylwith and his Court of Beauty All-Ascendant at the Gate of the Furthest Fade had no eye for the politicking of his fae kin. The eyes of that King of Hearts was ever on the Gate, his sword was ever smiting the darkfairies of Hylsek Adech (and those of other lords of the Outer Rim beasts yet!) that thought to breach the Otherworld and sup on the slain form of Roisin Magnolia. Brentylwith would brook no such outrage! Not he or any of the fair-hearted warriorfae of his marcher kingdom. With their hands they fought the darkfairy scourge, and with all else they fought for the beautification of their hearts in accordance with the virtuous and beautiful ways of Roisin Magnolia.


The other courts and sovereigns of the feighdfulc were not much like Brentylwith. Their eyes were fixed enviously or fearfully or suspiciously on one another, and none made a move except that another leapt to check and challenge them. It was in this manner that the faeries burst into the material world and went warring and disputing their way across the length and breadth of the Worldriver, and at Arbor, in the utmost north, east, south, and west of the Worldcrater, and in the wastes of northern and southern Galbar too, even on Sylia’s wall and beyond it, even beneath the Great Bloodsea. At the Tricity they fought, above Thysia, in the sacred precincts of Sylann. Below the earth too, in dwarven hames and goblin cities they warred and disputed ceaselessly.

Wherever there was air or land or water, and even where there was none of that in the emptiness of the Galbarian exosphere, the feighdfulc hosts swept on aerial or terrestrial or oceanic battlefields and cried havoc and war. They drew terrible wands and battle-staffs one against the other. They wielded spears of deathmagick and swords of lifesundering. They wore armours of leaves and armours of earth and armours of magic-woven metal too. Many were the Eshgaebars who led their companies of death across the flitting battlefields. Golden dust streamed and arose about them and the cry of, “Duuuuust!” rang now from this battleline and now from that. Now Asula the Nightfury, Crownfeighd of the Crowncourt of the Sullylands and unparalleled Tyrantefae, descended into the dustletting fields herself; her blue form and golden gaze were the promise of utter breakage and atomisation to those who challenged her. Her ugly form – as ugly as her heart! – held no kindness or mercy for those who fell into her hands. Great was her kingdom in the material world! None claimed such great stretches as she! When ‘the Empress’ was whispered of in awe and in fear, it was Asula of the Sullylands that was meant.


But Asula was no singular and all-consuming darkness, for there were those who stood before her and harried her world-conquest and checked her advance at last. The full, cold-steeled fury of the Iron Knightcourt was against her, and the Knightqueen Titania Terrorblade led her hosts in person against the advance of the Sullied. What martial might did Titania’s Ironfae hold! What twisting of steel wands, what flashing of blades, what sweeping of spears! Were they truly beings of magic or were they things of steel? Had soft-hearted Roisin Magnolia created them or had they been fashioned by the hard hand of Sylia and under her cold eye? Were their kin not the Glamour-woven feighdfulc but the hammered and fire-forged Formed? Titania Terrorblade was the very incarnation of battle prowess on the fields of dustletting, her never-quieting blade carving warmagicks that silenced now a dozen to the left of her and now a dozen below. She drew their dust into her like an insatiable maw of metal; only her flowing crimson hair betrayed that beneath that metal form was something of magic and beauty. “In iron forged! Of battles hewn! By triumph made!” Was her victory cry, and all who heard her and her Ironvictors declare it so knew to quit the field in humiliation and disgrace. Such was Titania Terrorblade; when “Reddeath” was mentioned it was Titania of the Knightcourt that was meant.


Compared to such titans as these, the Court of the Pillartree was but tiny. Fairqueen Arya had established the Court at Arbor, where the Pillarfae freely moved between their ancestral home in the Veil and the new one within the Evergrowing City. If the Pillarfae were anything, they were intensely lively - and how could they not be when their Fairqueen's kingdom was at the very throbbing heart of life? The war pained Arya's heart and she refused to engage in it, pick or choose any side, or ally with any faerie court against another. That would have normally been impossible, of course, for most courts and their sovereigns quite often had war thrust upon them whether they liked it or not. However, Fairqueen Arya’s independence was assured through her alliance not with her own kin but with the Green Goddess herself. The Kingdom of the Pillartree at Arbor was a space of utter calm and peace in a faerie world riveted by never-ceasing conflict.


Many others warred over the material world, but none conquered so much as Asula and none was as ferocious on the field as Titania. And in that war, there was no place of calm and utter peace like Arya's court at Arbor. Over Sylann and Thysia, in the caverns of the Dominion Union and across the subterranean kingdoms of the dwarves, in the expansive Deltas of the Worldriver and at Sithari also, the unseen flutter of faerie wings and magick filled the world.

Across the Veil, in the realms of the immaterial, a quite different war raged between the fae who went battling one another in that direction. The Dreamworld welcomed the battling hosts with almost as much energy and verve as they brought. Wherever the warring feighdfulc flung themselves across the Dreamworld, the land seemed to come alive and bend to their forms…and bend their forms. It was with casual swiftness that the Dreamworld accepted the race of the faeries as an inherent part of it and that the fae allowed themselves to be shaped as the thresholds of the Dreamworld they crossed demanded.

Those who settled in the Marewoods, the deepest bounds of the Dreamworld, found that they became brothers to nightmares and ghouls. They fended the great howling things of terror with equal terror and glamours of deepest horror and fright. In the Marewoods, the Feighdmares were the great terror of the nightmares. The Archfeighdmare of the Court of the Marewoods, Suilenim, ruled over his kingdom with a great dire eye; he was the fear of fear, the terror of terror, the horror of horror and in the Marewoods was the pinnacle of all nightmares.

Other faeries passed beyond the Marewoods, saluting Hour, the Name of discovery, light, and curiosity, and soared beyond the Epiphanic Gate he guarded and into the Horologian threshold of the Dreamworld. Hour looked upon them as those faeries saluted it and blessed it and rained words of joy and spells of bliss before them like a great carpet even unto the Horologian within that threshold of the Dreamworld. The Horolofae of that Kingdom of the Horologian marched in great processions about their Chief Librarian, Kuridven, keeper of the Ten Thousand Threads of Curiosity and the Bearer of the Four Hundred Lamps of Discovery. Thus chanting their great poesies and shining bright and cold as their Horologian at the fullness of its form, those Horolofae were the great brightness and light of the Dreamworld.

Those who did not pass into the Horologian went instead by ways of the Lunar Door, where Umbar - that paragon Name of battle, destruction, struggle - stood guard. There the Illumined Lunarsopher of the Kingdom of the Salient Moon was enthroned, and all about him the sun-like Lunarfae saluted their Lunarsopher-King. They were the burning battlers and immovable warriors of the Dreamworld, were the Lunarfae, but there was little for them to war over in the Dreamworld.


In the Astral Realm, meanwhile, the warring of the feighdfulc was of a more conventional nature. Here Eirgwyn of the Court of the Windrocks now checked the Grand Witchfeighd Hecate and was again checked by her. Across the Astral Realm they fought, calling forth mighty powers and magicks from the slumbering Lumen, disturbing many cantars and riling them to great fury; in that realm, it was not Hecate but Eirgwyn who proved most victorious.

She claimed many Lumen-grounds for her Court and banished what cantars thought the sacred growths of the Astralgod were their rightful inheritance. “Oh little mushrooms, you are well-meaning but unknowing! There are no truer guardians than we, who are in all manners magick! We are no mushrooms that have come to enlightenment; we are of an enlightened and Astral-bound essence! The truest guardians are we!” She told them. But the Astral Realm was vast, the Lumen-grounds stretching to the far horizons, and many a fae court carved out territories and many great stretches remained in the shade of the cantar and their spores.


Though Hecate held some corners of the Astral Realm against Eirgwyn’s attempts to dislodge her, it was in the derelict Realm of the Dead that the terrible Witchfeighd met with the greatest success. Wherever the faeries soared and wherever they declared themselves sovereign, they found only the ruins of what must once have been. Hecate trailed the hint of death, carved great symbols and pentagrams into the essence of the realm; she made it into a great focus for her rituals and dark designs. The vestiges of the dark energies of death and necromancy that hung to everything in that Realm of the Dead granted Hecate and her witchfae great powers; no manner of noble charge or light glamours and magicks could beat back the powers of the Grand Witchfeighd’s Court of the Covenscore. Wherever battle was given, Eirgwyn found her faeries shattered into dust by harrowing magicks and her hosts were everywhere in retreat. And so an uneasy and tense equilibrium was arrived at: Hecate was mighty in the Death Realm and struck from there against Eirgwyn’s Astral possessions while Eirgwyn amassed her powers in the Astral Realm and struck the Realm of Death.


At times, however, the equilibrium between Hecate and Eirgwyn tilted alongside the whims of a third Court and its lord - this was a fae whose might was certainly less than that of either the Grand Witchfeighd or the Windrock Queen, yet whose presence still cast a vast shadow. Indeed, he was called the Sultan of Shadows, and not just for his dark temper and his unknowable ways, but also for his realm itself. This was a dark and hostile place, very close to Hecate’s own demesne of death, but not quite there; it was somewhere between the worlds of the dead and the living. In parts it resembled a dark and treacherous fen, in other places it was not so much a mire as a cobbled alleyway only just shoulder-wide, the labyrinthine passage flanked by doors into unknowable dens. This was not a place where faefolk liked to delve, now that the Sultan had made it his own, for those that entered rarely returned.

According to some unknowable design, the Sultan of Shadows would at times proclaim his allegiance to Hecate, and the shadows themselves would flow forth between the whitened bones of her servants as they marched to do battle in the Astral Realm. But then, in the very next engagement, the shadow-fae would be found alongside the host of the Windrock Queen, the tables having been shifted in accordance to the Sultan’s ineffable machinations. And who knew what the Sultan wanted, really - none outside his own court even knew his true name! Many were those who dismissed him as mad, lest they themselves go mad in the struggle to work out whatever purpose might lie in the deeds or sparing words of the Sultan of the Shadowcourt.


That was how things were across the dimensions of the Immaterial planes when the fair folk came forth. But beneath those great lords, there were many of lesser power and might.

---

Barken Elboria, Trunkueen of the Court of the Little Wildwoods, was little more than a petty-queen within the Veil. Sturdy and stubborn, she resisted all attempts by more powerful neighbours to subdue her and was of those either mad or ambitious fae who burst forth across the Immaterial realm. Unlike Hecate and Eirgwyn, she made no war with the cantars but greeted them as the sycamore does the fungus at its root. No animosity moved in her barken heart or that of her twig- and vine-haired hosts against the astral mushrooms, but only amiableness and natural friendship. Where the Court of the Little Wildwoods stretched into the Astral Realm, there was friendship between faerie and cantar.

Sat high atop one of the many ethereal trees that marked the Astral stretches of her Kingdom of the Little Woods, she observed the reflection of the material plane that the Astral Realm was. Lesser beings might have grown confused and weary by the inconstant form, the ever-shifting nature, the elusiveness of the Astral world. That was not so for the fair-folk, and certainly not for one like Elboria. She had felt a peace here unmatched since she first set eyes on the Highholt of Taramanca and bathed in the Sweet River Rois. Aye, her kind was ever a-warring, it was true, but whenever battles subsided she had little heart or mind but for the whispering flows and veins of Lumen that called on every fibre of her being. She sat atop trees, at the bases of trunks, by shifting streams. She breathed it in and listened to its thrum and call.

Day by passing day she listened and trailed the pulse of the living realm. It was like an ever-swelling artery, hot with flowing life and magicks. The closer she listened and meditated, the more she neared its throbbing heart and source. The days of her searching became weeks, the weeks grew into months, and the months became years. The affairs of her kingdom were handled by her powerful barken Eshgaebars and only in the most dire of moments was she approached meditating now in a glade of throbbing crystals and now contemplating by streams of viscous Lumen that sporadically rose up into vapours or poured forth into waiting crystalline formations.

So long did she meditate in the Lumen glades that her barken form was no longer quite like any fae’s. The twigs and vines of her hairs shone with a certain luminescence that was not of Glamour but Lumen, and little crystals seemed to have taken form in her irises so that they glowed ever pale and white. Her barken skin too boasted seams of Lumen that rippled with a cadence of barely restrained power. She seemed closer to cantars and other Astral beings than to faeries, and yet she was a faerie too, and bright, with something of Roisinic light.

Many years later, when Elboria had been absent from the court of Roisin Magnolia so long that the High Queen asked about her, no one knew what to say or how to explain the Trunkueen’s state. “Let her attend me,” the Little god of the Little Things decreed. The Eshgaebars of the Little Wildwood flew forthwith to their Trunkueen and, finding her in a deep cave surrounded by enormous Astralite crystals, sobbed magicks and glamour everywhere at her feet as they explained how her absence had brought them into disrepute in before the High Throne at the Highholt of Taramanca, and how even now the heart of Roisin Magnolia was brought pain that she had gone so long without attending her at court. Elboria, drawn from her meditation by their cries, soothed them with a Lumen-escent wave of calm. “If there is an iota of displeasure towards me in the heart of the Feighdfulc Mathair, then I have sinned terribly and must make amends. Perhaps she will see it in her heart to forgive her granddaughter when she sees what I have found for her.”

Raising her wand, Elboria weaved such magicks through her grotto and summoned such energies and faerie arts as to bring her Eshgaebars to wonder and awe. A great Astralite node was gently dislodged from beneath the Trunkueen and rose above her. It was easily ten times the size of the sovereign of the Little Wildwoods and hummed with unfathomable powers. It hovered on a bed of glamour conjured by Elboria, and even as the Astralite hovered there the Trunkueen leapt to the gap where it had not so long before been and peered into the earth below. A smile grew on her face of bark and Astralite. She whispered magics into the gap and from that vein emerged a flow of metal no faerie had ever seen before. At first it seemed like any other melted metal, but as Erbolia’s glamorous coaxed it from the Astral earth it changed and became something else entirely. They heard its song alongside that of Erbolia’s chanted spell, but when her voice subsided and the metal had gathered beside the Astralite on that bed of glamour, any song the strange ore might have known before was silenced. It was almost like it had become a corpse.

They did not let that weigh to greatly on them but cheered instead and, brandishing flutes and harmonicas and drums and lutes, paraded their Trunkueen and the great treasures she had brought forth all across the Kingdom of the Little Wildwood. Across the Astral territories of the Trunkueen did their procession take them, and then off into the Veil and across her forested territories there. Through jungles and across streams, up mountains and down hills and by canyons did they march and sing and blare the polyphony of their musical joy. They did not cease even as they crossed the Sweet River Rois into the Highholt of Taramanca and knew no stopping even as they streamed into the Court of the High Throne where Roisin Magnolia, engulfed in splendour and veiled from all eyes, was enthroned.

“You were a long time gone, my dearest Elboria,” the High Queen cantillated. The Trunkueen let her wings cease and fell on her hands and knees before the hem of Roisin Magnolia overflowing skirt. “It was not for a lack of yearning for you, Mathair, that I was so long gone. I was searching for something; the search did not take me across any great mountains or seas but forced me to sail the crashing waves of my innermost self and dive into the deepest darkness of my soul! I come to you changed in form because I have had to hew anew my inmost heart. I fall at your feet, oh fairest of the fair, and kiss the hem of your skirt that you may forgive my neglect!” The High Queen kneeled forward ever so slightly and, with a flick of her hands, caused Elboria to rise to her feet. “You have no need to cast yourself down at my feet, Elboria, or ask my forgiveness. The one who is absent carries with them their excuse. My heart only grew fond and wished after your presence.” The Little god of the Little Things drifted from her High Throne and cupped Elboria’s face in her gloved hands. Even so, Elboria felt her body explode with warmth and deepest, purest desire and yearning for the very theophony of Beauty that Roisin Magnolia was. “You have changed indeed, just as you said.” Roisin Magnolia affirmed, releasing Elboria. “Your beauty was always dominant, but now it is almost complete. You have done well to hone your spirit so, granddaughter.” Elboria’s lips trembled and her eyes welled up, “Th-thank you, Mathair.” She managed. “I-” she sniffed and looked down for a few moments, composing herself, “I brought you something. I thought to give it to you by way of apology- but as you are after no such thing, I give it to you by way of love. Small tokens, trinkets even, when compared to the endless sea of love for you.”

The Little god of the Little Things soared back to her High Throne and spoke a spell of pleasure. “A gift?” She chirruped happily. “For me?” Her voice was the very art of joy. “No faerie has ever given me a gift!” The childlike delight of her progenitor brought Elboria joy also, and she hurried to wave the enormous Astralite crystal and the strange ore before the High Queen. “They are from the realm of the Astralgod, my most beauteous Mathair. A great node of Astralite, the largest I have ever found and…” Elboria paused and glanced at the metal, “and Magnolium; the singing ore of magick.” A hush came over the High Queen of the Faeries as she surveyed the gifts, bringing now the Astralite to her and now the Magnolium ore. “Elboria these…” she whispered, “are no tokens or trinkets. These are things of formidable power and great value.” She seemed quite torn. “It would be most unseemly of me to reject a gift but… this is just too much. I could never gift you anything nearly as beautiful or valuable!”

Elboria was swiftly at her queen’s side. “No, my lady, I wish for nothing. Only please accept this from me and consider it a small symbol of my love. Perhaps whenever you see either you will remember me; by occurring for even a moment in the mind of my beloved, I will be both glorious and blessed!” On hearing these words, Roisin Magnolia brought a hand to her veiled face as if to cover it further in embarrassment. “Your hewing of your soul has remolded your tongue out of honey!” The High Queen intonated. “But very well, it will be as you desire. And I will keep both of them ever close to me that you may always be on my mind. Here, look now,” Roisin Magnolia raised her wand and swept it. Immediately the rose-red wood of the Godwand cracked and into those cracks the Astralite flowed and concentrated and solidified so that across the form of the wand both wood and Astralite melded into one whole. The Magnolium followed, flowing through the heart of the wand and shaping itself into a handle of gold. It was no less than three wands now, a veritable God-Triwand. The power of that Gramarye-font was such that magicks and Lumen gathered unbidden about it, its very presence a great magnet even as it was simultaneously a great wellspring of both. Roisin Magnolia placed a hand on Elboria’s head and ruffled her hair of vine and Astralite. The Trunkueen looked up into the veiled face of Ladyprince of the Fae-Finte and thought that, beneath the impenetrable veil, she could make out her beloved god’s smile.

The gathered Eshgaebars looked on in wonder too. Purpetal, however, who was no Eshgaebar, could only gaze with awe at the newly forged wand; his little faerie heart hammered for it.

• Summary [+]

  Faerie kingdoms spread across the Veil, Material Realm, and the Immaterial Realm. One faerie, Elboria, established a foothold in the Astral Realm and gets to meditating. She becomes quite Astralite-like after years of meditation. Summoned by Roisin, she brings a gift of Astralite and Magnolium, which Roisin forges into components for the Godwand, making it into a 24 Might three-artefact amalgam.
• Of Might & Glamour [+]

  Roisin’s opening Might: 14 Might
  
  –3 Might (enhanced to 9 Might by Glamour and Beauty) to Create the Transcendental Artefact Component known as “the Astrarod”
  

  The second ‘wand’ in the God-Triwand, this component is made from a massive Astralite crystal nearly a metre tall. The crystal was concentrated by means of divine glamour magic and forged into a component part of the Godwand. Due to its attachment to the Godwand, and its restructuring by divine means, it is now in itself a font of Lumen. So long as it is attached to the Godwand, it can therefore never run out of Lumen and dissolve. Though beautified and purified by Roisin, and forged of glamour, the Astrarod maintains the cardinal features of Astralis Lumen. This allows it to interact with thoughts, emotions, potentialities, and spiritual substances, thereby intertwining with the fabric of reality in both the Astral and Material Realms. The wand can therefore influence beings by infusing them with visions, power, or insight, based on the abstract laws governing the Astral Realm. As with Astralite-infused objects, the Astrarod can obtain ethereal properties, allowing it to phase through other solid items; a trait beneficial for creating concealed passages or aiding stealth operations. Its high Lumen concentrations also naturally enhance the Godwand’s magical capabilities generally, permitting it to weave magicks with even greater power and ease. Being a veritable font of Lumen, the Astrarod is also an extremely powerful reality anchor, granting it impressive resistance against other mystical forces and protecting it from uninvited magical alterations.

  
  
  –3 Might (enhanced to 9 Might by Glamour and Beauty) to Create the Transcendental Artefact Component known as “the Magnolium Branch”
  

  The third ‘wand’ in the God-Triwand, this component is made from the first known extract of Magnolium divinium. Magnolium eases using magics and reduces any negative side effects; it is also noted for its exceptional physical beauty. While it can be a powerful wand on its own, as a component of the Godwand it acts as a great amplificationary catalyst for Glamour and All-magick. Even as it is a great magical catalyst, the Magnolium Branch intensely beautifies the Godwand and attracts every eye and heart towards it. No one who sees it is able to resist the desire that erupts in their heart for it, even if they can withhold from displaying that in an embarrassing manner.

  
  
  Roisin’s closing Might: 8 Might
  
  Explanatory note:
  

  The God-Triwand (aka Godwand, Gramary-font etc.) is now a 24 Might compound of three interdependent artefacts. Its hilt and heart are of golden Magnolium, and its outer casing above the hilt is of rose-red wood intermelded with white and pale Astralite.

A collab with @Dracolunaris

As soon as the non-goblins were secured with rope around their wrists, the goblin guards formed a square around them and gently prodded them with the pikes to start moving.

Lily, Jaxx and the two small goblins walked on their own. They were conscious of what they were doing but their minds told them it's what they wanted to do. ‘Thus worked the crown of command. It fooled the brain in thinking it was its idea in the first place to do whatever Maxima wished.

Along the way, they passed by many goblins that stopped from time to time to look at them. It was a strange sight, after all, for the guards to have been mobilized to catch intruders that fast and at the same time, the guards to have been mobilized at all. Crime wasn’t a thing, who would even think of doing crime? It simply wasn’t possible.

Most of the buildings they passed were made out of obsidian stone with shiny gemstones within them giving the structures an almost ethereal and enchanting quality. The play of light on the gemstones created a mesmerizing spectacle, casting a glow that illuminated the surroundings, especially combined with the blue lights coming from above.

The ground they walked on was meticulously paved with smooth, polished stones, guiding the group through the city's intricate layout. Arched doorways led to bustling marketplaces adorned with vibrant stalls, offering rare crystals, books, and other wares.

As the group moved forward, they encountered open plazas where goblins engaged in communal activities. Luminous crystal lanterns hung from poles, casting a gentle radiance over gatherings. The air was filled with the ambient sounds of chatter and occasional musical performances.

Approaching a grand plaza, the group passed by a large structure, the great library of Obsidian Reach. Its imposing architecture featured intricate arches and colossal doors, signifying the stored knowledge within. As the procession neared, they passed by statues of Galaxor, sculpted with precision, depicting the divine being in various aspects—knowledge-seeker, creator, and protector.
The library's exterior showcased detailed reliefs, illustrating pivotal moments in the Goblin Underground's transformation into The Dominion. The statues, bathed in the soft glow of nearby crystal lanterns, added an air of calmness to the surroundings, honoring the city's divine patron.

Just before reaching the stairwells that would lead them downwards towards the 2nd level of Obsidian Reach and the throne room, the group encountered a common yet unseen sight for them—a hybrid creature resembling both horse and scarab, its black exoskeleton shimmered under the city's ambient glow. Goblins confidently rode these creatures with 12 legs.

Eventually, the group passed through the tunnels that led to the 2nd level of Obsidian Reach and started walking towards the throne room. The road unfolded with precision-laid cobblestones, lined with banners depicting symbols of knowledge, Galaxor and especially Maxima. Elaborate archways marked the transition, leading to administrative buildings adorned with carvings that celebrated the wisdom of Maxima. The atmosphere shifted to one of focused activity as goblins in official attire hurried about their duties, giving the impression that this level was the beating heart of the city's governance.

Entering the throne room, the group found themselves amidst a display of power but also, a display of history. Armors crafted from obsidian, iron, gold, and even diamonds adorned the sides. It first started with armors made out of the weakest materials, the first ones that the old GU first mined and then, as they approached the throne, the more rare and current materials were. Goblin sentinels, vigilant in their duty, stood at attention, their eyes keenly assessing the newcomers.

Courtiers lingered along the edges, awaiting a chance to present their matters to Maxima. The air hummed with a blend of anticipation and respect. At the heart of the room, upon a massive diamond throne, stood Maxima, dressed in what seemed to be humble clothes, a robe and the crown of command that hummed with divine power.

As they approached her, the aardvark and the two small goblins were taken to a side room and only Lily, Seam and Jaxx were allowed to approach.

Lifting her head, Maxima looked at the group. Still in control of their minds, she stood up from the throne and with a wave of her hand, the courtiers and the guards left the room without a word. Leaving Maxima and the newcomers to the Dominion, alone.

“Welcome, newcomers. Jaxx, Lily and…apologies, I have not been told your name, beastkin. I am Maxima, the leader of the Dominion. ”

Rudely, Seam had other things on his mind than polite introductions “What is this? Where did you take the others? How do you know who they are? Are you controlling them?” before demanding “let them go you… you… you tyrant!” only to flinch as something tried to grasp his hand only to see it had been Lilly and look ashamed for a moment before the concern returned

“It’s fine. We’re fine” she insisted, pulling her hand back sadly, but Seam just shook his head, responding “No you're not… or…. How can I know that’s not her, or whoever, just making you say that?”

Jaxx, now free, shook his head and touched Seam’s shoulder. “Seam, it would be wise if you'd refrain yourself from insulting the ruler of a city you find yourself in. ” said Jaxx in a commanding tone. Clearly on his guard. It was the first time Jaxx met Maxima, yet, he somehow sensed that she was dangerous.

Smiling at Seam, Maxima approached him. “A pleasure to meet you too, Seam. What Jaxx says is true, you definitely shouldn’t insult someone you don’t know but I can understand it must seem strange for someone who hasn’t visited us before. ” she said in a calm tone before passing by the group, getting close to one of the armors, looking at it before continuing:

“Let me answer your questions. This is the Dominion, specifically Obsidian Reach. The greatest goblin city in the underground. Galaxor himself built this place for us. ” a tone of reverence followed, it was obvious that Maxima was grateful and fully believing in Galaxor’s vision.

“The others have already been taken back to Tricity after they’ve been checked for any life threatening injuries and how do I know who Jaxx and Lily are? Galaxor, of course. How do you think you’ve teleported on my shores? What He didn't mention was who arrived on my shores. ” she said, turning around to reveal a scowl, clearly she didn't enjoy being left in the dark.

“I only found out seconds before you entered my throne room who you were. I assumed invaders, so, yes. I took over their minds to protect the safety of the Dominion. As you've seen, there isn't any crime here. ” continued Maxima with an almost apologetic tone.

Jaxx stood silent the whole time, seething with anger and relief. Somehow his hero sense didn't ring non-stop anymore or actually, at all.

“She's right. The ringing has stopped since we've entered here. ” said Jaxx with a relieved tone.

“Other than the massive one of controlling people’s minds?” the birdman bit back, only for Lilly attempted to insist “Seam, please, let me handle this” but he was having none of it, turning his shock fueled vitriol on her in an instant

“You? She can control you! How can I trust anything you say? I mean what happened to your accent? And why does a God know you anyway?”

“I mean, I am a member of the council, and a representative of Tricity as a result and that requires more, well, tact than casual conversation” she replied with the airs of a dignitary, before her ears drooped, her eyes darted to and fro, and then she sighed and answered his final question reluctantly “He. Well he probably knows Mother”

“What? Why does he know your mother?” Seam replied, clutching his head with a taloned hand in confusion.

“She’s. She’s not just my mother, she’s The Mother” she clarified “I’m the daughter of a god. Not that that is unique, mind, there’s a lot of us. She’s very, well,” Lilly searched for the right word, failed, and settled simply for “fertile?”

The towering birdman just stated at her for a few moments, before collapsing down to a sitting position, fingers on his temples, thumbs on his cheeks, eyes wide as he tried to process beginning to curse “Mother’s ti-” before halting, and then resorting to “what the shit?”

Mouth agape, Jaxx looked at Lily with anger and gratitude in his eyes. On one hand, she knew very well of his hatred towards divines and their meddling, on the other hand, Asheel was the one that saved his life many years ago and stopped Galaxor.

Maxima shook her head at Seam, he clearly feared her power. It wasn't the first time she was accused of this, yet she never controlled anyone without any good reason, or so she told herself.

“The crown's jewel will shine with light if I use it. It doesn't shine, it isn't in use. ” she simply added. Of course what Seam didn't know was that she could control them without it at this range. As to prove her point, she looked at Jaxx and asked him to lift his hand up and he immediately did it, the crown shined with power for a second until the command was fulfilled then stopped.

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do that anymore. Neither of us would want me uncivilized. ” Jaxx said with a threatening tone, his metallic hand closing in a fist.

Lilly, having tried and failed to apologize to Seam for, well, everything, now instead stepped away, giving him space while she went full diplomat mode, or at least as best as she was able.

“Speaking of civilized, or rather civilizations, I do not suspect you will have left the best impression of yours on ours, by way of our homeward bound companions” she said to Maxima , certainly making some assumptions about them being believed at all, but if they where, there was going to be a great deal of worrying and concern about the fact that a large percentage of the population was susceptible to being subsumed to a foreign ruler’s will.

“So I suggest maybe we try and restart this on some more even and pleasant footing so I can clear up any misunderstandings when I return home? I’m not sure how you do things down here, but in the river lands a diplomatic meeting is often done alongside a meal, small or large. ” she offered, partially because it had been three days since they’d last eaten, and also because “Its an old tradition, one reaching all the way back to the days when our ancestors were saved from the desert. By sharing a meal, a group agree that there will be no violence between them today, lest the one who breaks that pact be forever Forsworn, and turned away from every table”

Traditions, they, or at least Lilly, knew, held weight, and this one was heavy enough that the universe itself would cause the Forsworn to be unwelcome even to those who did not know their crime. Or a small number of oath breaking crimes that had similar ingrained weight and sentence. How much it mattered out here beyond the lands it had been practiced in was anyone’s guess however.

Maxima chuckled at Jaxx's threat and stared at him, right in eyes “Violence isn't permitted in the Dominion, Jaxx. Try to remember, lest I show you the difference between Galaxor’s chosen and a self-made hero. ” she said with a calm and diplomatic tone.

Before turning to Lily “I've only used the gifts bestowed upon me to avoid any incidents. As I told Jaxx, violence besides sanctioned duels, is not permitted by my will. Call it an act of self defense, you've got my apologies for that. ” she continued with an apologetic tone.

Smiling at Lily’s dinner invitation, Maxima started walking towards a small door to the side of the throne room.

“Ancestors saved from the desert? I remember that time, we were barely created by Galaxor back then. Before you ask, yes, I was alive back then. Jaxx too but from what I hear, he took a shortcut to arrive at the same timeline. ” she added as the door opened to reveal a smaller room.

Hundreds of books hung on the walls, a desk at the very end of the room and right in the middle, a large table made out of black obsidian stone. On it, plates were laid with many, many types of food. From fruits, vegetables and roots to meats of different kinds. A few of the recipes were Tricity-originals but most were Dominion based.

“Please, have a seat. Eat your fill. There’s more from where that came from. Also, please, each of you, put a bracelet on from the table. ” she said, inviting them in and taking a seat herself before starting to explain what the TADs were.

It took a bit of encouragement, but the scent of food was enough of an added incentive to rouse Seam from his confused/brooding state, and also enough that he didn’t question how a goblin could live as long as an elf-beastkin without Jaxx’s time slippage. To say he dug in with relish was an understatement, and though Lilly had more manners, food similarly vanished from her plate at a rapid rate.

When Jaxx sat down, ignoring the last retort from Maxima, he wolfed the food down as fast as he could. Clearly, manners weren’t a thing worth learning during his travels. As soon as he was done with one plate, he got another one and another one. The big goblin ate as if there was no tomorrow.

Maxima looked at them with a gentle smile. She understood their pain to a degree. Food was scarce in the Goblin Underground just before the Great Migration. Hundreds, if not thousands went unfed as the Cornucopia couldn’t produce that much food…especially without the current technology to lock food in time.

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed the food, if you wish for more, ask away. We’ve got more than enough spare. Now, Lilly, what do you wish to know about the Dominion? ” Maxima said after she was sure that everyone ate their fill.

Lilly paused her eating, found something to wipe her lips with, and then having used that time to think asked “I suppose a start would be what is the extent of this, ah, domain? Or indeed where is it in relation to home? I lost track of where we were, after tumbling through the dark, riding a Demon’s carcase down a river, and then being miraculously transported to these shores.”

“The extent? Well, Obsidian Reach, this city, is currently housing over 300,000 goblins and thousands of dwarves, elves or beastkin over 6 levels. We also have the Library of Galaxor which houses 2000 permanent staff and some pilgrims seeking access to it. Soon a town will be formed around it. ” she started, letting the numbers sink in before continuing “And then we've got another village back where the original Goblin Underground was, our first city. ”. Standing up from the table, Maxima approached her desk and opened up a drawer, took a large book out of it and brought it over to the table and opened it.

Inside the book, Lily could see a sketch of Obsidian Reach, flipping a few pages, tunnels that led out of it and where they lead. There were many tunnels marked with a large, red X while others had different symbols. A goblin face, a dwarf, elf and what seemed to be a large skull.

“You came from that tunnel..” she said while pointing at one specific tunnel beyond the Obsidian Sea “If the stories I've been told are true and my calculations are right, your city is somewhere…there. ” continued Maxima, following the tunnel with a finger, before pointing to the vicinity of a marked with a large skull which was roughly, off by a few kilometers from where the Cave of Memories are.

“Is that our current demon infestation problem, or something else?” Lilly (who had been more amazed than intimidated at the size of the underground population) asked while pointing at the skull located under her home, before, after thinking for a moment, and also asking with a hint of dread “and if it is, how long ago did you find out about it?”

“Outer Beasts we call them. When my scouts found that tunnel, we weren’t in the possession of the TADs. I’d lie if I’d say how long ago we’ve found them but what I know for sure is that my scouts got attacked and retreated straight away, as per my orders. Ask if you wish me to send an extermination crew, call it a favor for the future. ” she explained, patiently.

“Long enough that we’ve almost certainly jumped forwards in time” Lilly said, head in hands ass he groaned, dreading the consequences of her disappearance and, likely, declaration as dead,, before accepting this truth and moving on to say “I’m not sure how much of the mines are left. We ended up down here when the earth around us shook and then was torn apart for some reason, and I can’t imagine it was localized to just the one we were in” before glancing at Maxima and wondering “I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

Before Maxima could reply, Jaxx spoke “It was that fuc–” he started before being interrupted by Maxima “I'd advise you to refrain from talking about our creator. ” with a steel tone, the threat clear in her voice.

Taking a deep breath, Jaxx continued “If I were to guess, Galaxor made the earth shake. If we did jump through time, as you said Lily, it was probably to make space for something big. Something like…a city. ”

“Correct, Jaxx! I've heard tales of your prowess in battle but never of your wit. ” Maxima said with a playful smile before turning to Lily, “Galaxor created this city for us and indeed, warned us that it might cause issues for everyone above ground but he gave us the solution for the time issue. The TADs. ”

“So you’ve explained” Lilly replied, before continuing tersely “What would have been nice to have explained in advance would be that the underground was being redecorated, and that that might cause issues. Your god is lucky there was practically no one left in the mines, as it was a miracle we were dropped rather than crushed. Other heroes might not have been so lucky”

“The actions of divine beings are not to be understood most of the time by us mortals. But let me offer you an explanation, at least, related to your circumstances. ” she continued as she smiled diplomatically at Lily “If I understood your circumstances right, you were surrounded, tired and almost defeated. Galaxor's actions saved you, allowing you to reach this place and to receive a boon of excellence for your heroic actions. Other heroes? Only those that would've died anyway would've been killed anyway. Mercy one might call it. Don't assume that Galaxor wasn't aware of the implications of his actions. Our creator can see every strand of possible future. ”

“Seeing as ya live underground, ya should know as well as anyone that no amount of heroics will save ya from a collapsing tunnel” Lilly replied with wisdom and words that were not of this life, before she corrected herself slightly with “Mortal heroics anyway” given that the divine blessed Jaxx had in fact done that.

Speaking of the hero, Jaxx was pissed at this point. Very pissed. One loud bang was heard before the table broke down and the plates, food and all of it went on the floor.

“STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR HIM!” he shouted as Heropentia almost appeared in his hand and went in a flash towards Maxima.

Almost as soon as the table broke, Maxima stepped backwards, dodging the attack before landing a few punches all over Jaxx's body, sending him back a few steps and putting him on his butt.

The other two were on their feet in a flash, and then after a brief moment of confusion, both of them came to Maxima’s defense, knives in hand, as Lilly demanded to know “what do you think you’re doing!?” with a mix of fear and outrage.

It was Seam meanwhile who actually clarified their motive, saying more calmly “I know he’s dung, but he ain’t worth getting forsworn over,” which got the southsider an outraged look of his own from Lilly at the implication that sometimes it was worth it.

Still on his butt, Jaxx put his hand over his face, Heropentia clanking loudly on the floor.

“What am I doing? What am I doing?” he started, whispering and with what seemed to be sobs then louder “WHAT AM I DOING?” he shouted as he stood up, tears clearly visible in his eyes.

“His earthquake bullshit hurt more people than he helped! He made me eat my companions, my tribe! Asheel saved me, us, goblins, before I would've been next. He cursed me with the hero sense! Always on edge, always thinking how can I get to my destination faster! Always afraid of going crazy cause what if I don't get there in time! What if I could’ve saved a few more people if I was faster? Almost never sleeping. Always on the edge of madness. Afraid of who I'll hurt if I lose control! You've seen it yourself on the trip here. A few more hours like that and I would've cut one of you down! Do you understand how it must feel? Always afraid you're going to hurt someone you care about because you didn't move fast enough? And after all of this, she's DEFENDING HIM! She sat there making excuses for him! Always…Always…” Jaxx shouted, almost too fast to make out the words, between sobs, the tears now flowing on his face. All his anger, all his pain, visible for all to see.

After a few seconds of uncontrolled crying, he took a deep breath, centering himself as he grabbed Heropentia once more.

“Stand aside. I'll remove his pawn from this world. Once and for all. Let the cycle have her soul. See how it feels being abandoned by your creator!”

“I know what that’s like, I died in that desert” Lilly said sadly, as she uncoiled her combat tendrils and prepared for a hopeless fight, knowing that if she didn’t it would likely mean war “but in the name of Tricity I can’t let you do this”

She very much expected that she was about to die there. She did not expect to be tackled to the ground by Seam, clearing the way for Jaxx to go for Maxima without having to go through Lilly. Who exactly he was doing this for, her or him, was unclear, mostly due to the tentacle that ended wrapped around his neck as the much smaller goblin fought back against his talloned grapple.

Maxima just looked at the raw emotions on Jaxx's face and for a second, she really felt bad for him but then it was gone. After all, everything that Jaxx went through was his trial. His heroic journey. His destiny to be forged in pain and suffering.

“Lily. Stop. Move to the side. Let Seam go. Seam, don't intervene. ”

And that's when Jaxx activated his time slow ability. In a flash he was beyond the two but before he could strike, he heard a voice in his mind “Stop moving. Violence is not permitted here. ” and he stopped. Time came back to its usual speed and the group could see Jaxx's body next to Maxima’s. Heropentia high up in the air, ready to strike.

“There's no point fighting, Jaxx. Our creator gave me the ability to control any goblin. You cannot defy my will. ”

Jaxx, still crying, started to shake as he fought the compulsion yet nothing was happening.

“There's no need to fight. Accept your destiny and I will forgive your emotional outburst. ”

And again, Jaxx stood silent as his body started shaking even more violently. It was as if the whole world was crushing him.

“Stop it. You're going to kill yourself. ”

With a roar, slowly but surely the otherworldly arm of Jaxx started moving until eventually it broke free of the compulsion and Heropentia went down right towards Maxima’s neck.

To her credit, even if she didn't expect it, Maxima reacted in great speed and managed to pull away fast enough not to have her head removed off her shoulders but not fast enough to escape unharmed as a cut appeared on her shoulder.

Lilly, restrained by both Maxima’s will and Seam’s grasp, gasped in horror as blood hit the floor of the banquet hall, while the birdman himself exclaimed, with a mix of sorrow and awe “You actually did it!”

It seemed that both Jaxx and Maxima shared almost the same feelings as Seam. Confusion and awe. For Maxima, it was the first time she was ever attacked by another goblin and the first time ever hurt by one. For Jaxx, it was the realization that she’s not unbeatable. He managed to break through a godly blessing. Managed to break through Galaxor’s blessing. That alone was a feat that not many were able to boast with.

“I…I can’t believe it. ” Maxima said, in awe before shouting “How did I ever doubt you, Lord Galaxor? You were right once again! ”

At that point, Jaxx managed to break through the compulsion fully and was about to make another attack at Maxima but then he heard her and just stopped, dumbstruck.

“Are you kidding me? HE FORESAW THIS? HE KNEW I’D BREAK THOUGH?!”

“Wait what?” Seam said, greatly confused and not knowing what to feel for several moments, before settling on “well that’s obnoxious” while Lilly just slumped down on the ground and groaned.

“I do apologize for the whole mess but, yes. Lord Galaxor foresaw this as a potential future for our meeting but it was just a small, small chance for Jaxx to be able to break through. Almost impossible. Yet, he did it. His hatred for Lord Galaxor burned through my compulsion, so much that…I can’t believe it. ”

With that, Jaxx just dropped Heropentia on the floor and shook his head. The thoughts that Galaxor, once more, fooled him, once more played with him took out all his fighting spirit. Approaching Lily and Seam, he extended one arm to each of them with a sad look on his face.

“I…I apologize. I never meant for any of this to happen. I…do hope you’ll be able to forgive my outburst. ”

“After seeing just a fraction of what you have had to put up with? Yeah you're forgiven” Seam replied, grasping the extended hand and shaking it. Lilly however, shook her head as she got to her own two feet “you spilled the blood of someone you were sharing a meal with, I cannot forgive you for that, forsworn.

“Lilly come on, she just admitted to deliberately goading him into it” Seam insisted, but the goblin simply shook her head again in disagreement “She knew it might happen, that didn’t mean that it had to”

Jaxx's face dropped at Lily's words. He knew what he had done, yet he hoped she'd understand. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder in thanks before “Lily, I…I am truly sorry. She…I..” losing his words, he was at a loss. Luckily, Maxima interjected.

“Let me intervene here, Lily of Tricity. Listen to me. You are right about sharing a meal and attacking a person at the table. That would make anyone a forsworn. Yet, that's not what Jaxx did. ” she started, letting the words sink in before continuing “First of all, we finished eating. Second of all, the table was broken and as such, we weren’t sharing anything at the time, as both Jaxx and I distanced ourselves from the shattered remains of it. Third of all, Jaxx’s actions were meant to happen, yet the chance of them happening were small. He could've failed at any point in time, yet, like with all his previous challenges, he prevailed and last but not the least, if my words don't reach you, feel free to ask the creator himself. ”

“See, it was a set up” Seam added helplessly.

Lilly however shook her head and replied“Technicalities” with clear distaste for Maxima’s worming words, but at least her anger was directed towards the other goblin woman instead of Jaxx now. Perhaps it had always been, considering she now insisted that “If you truly think he is blameless, then take full culpability for what occurred here and apologize”

With a smile, Maxima bowed her head. “Very well. I apologize for misleading Jaxx and causing his outburst of emotions. ” with a solemn tone. Unbeknownst to the group, Maxima used her command ability to push the words, making them ring even truer than they were.

Then, a clapping noise was heard from an empty corner of the room and out of nowhere, Galaxor’s form materialized itself. Almost immediately, Maxima bent her knee, head bowed low.

“Lord Galaxor!”

As the other goblin kneeled on the floor Lilly finally allowed herself to be pulled up off it at last with a relieved look on her face, offering a swift whispered apology of her own of “Sorry, I had to set things right” before she turned to face the arriving god along with the others.

“So this is the guy huh?” Seam asked, arms folded and trying to play it cook even as his tail feathers flicked nervously.

Galaxor didn't say anything as he looked at each member of the group, in part, as if acknowledging their existence. He did spend particularly longer on Jaxx that, to his credit, seemed subdued for now. His previous anger, almost gone, even if his eyes betrayed his hatred of Galaxor.

“Lily of Tricity. Pleasure to finally meet one of Asheel’s daughters. Glad to see you haven't died when saving Seam earlier in the cave, I saw your death…crushed by rocks, terrible thing. ” he said with a wink before turning to Seam. Looking him up and down, Galaxor shook his head.

“The “guy” is a divine being, Seam but you are correct, I am the creator of the goblin race. Something seems off with your whole…” he started as he shook a hand pointing at the lack of proper armor or real weapons before snapping his fingers, a suit of the finest armor created by the Dominion appearing on him, alongside two blades, strapped on a belt at his waist “A-ha! That's better. More fitting for a hero. ”

“Ah hey wow what the-” Seam briefly panicked, before seeing what was now on him and having a few emotions wash over him. First amazement that this had happened, then a brief moment of annoyance because he didn’t wear armor because it was bulky and ill fitting (a common issue for non-marked beastfolk), then realization that the armor, made out of some kind of underground beast’s scales, was incredibly light and also fit him perfectly. The two diamond tipped bronze blades could hardly be sniffed at either.

“Wheels turn, this is a good bribe” he had to admit, before asking, a touch embarrassedly “can I have the knife back though? Sentimental reasons”

Galaxor chuckled at Seam's reaction before replying:
“I take it, it's to your liking. It isn't a bribe, Seam, merely a reward for completing a quest successfully. Now…” he continued as he looked at Jaxx. Later, Seam would find that the knife was tucked inside the armor, in a hidden compartment at his wrist, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

“Jaxx. My dear Jaxx. Let me start by saying I am sorry for the curse I placed on you when we first met. Truth to be told, I was mildly annoyed at the time. You dared not only attacking me but actually putting your hands on me. But…let's say since then I've learned a lot and after a discussion with Lilly's mom..” he started with a wink towards Lilly as he mentioned Asheel. “Know that I'm proud of your achievements as a hero. You've proven yourself time and time again. ‘Thus…Let me first fix your hero sense. ” he continued before approaching Jaxx, who tried his best not to move back and touched his forehead.

Light spread from where Galaxor touched Jaxx. It moved all around Jaxx's bald head then retreated behind his eyes which shined with the light for a few seconds before stopping. Almost immediately, a small fairy like creature appeared next to Jaxx, landing on his shoulder. It made a few sounds similar to a flute before laughing a gentle laugh and then stood up flying all around the room, approaching Lily and giving her a small hug on the arm before going back to Jaxx.

“Huh” was Lilly’s response to all of this, revelation and little fay creature both, before admitting that “she never really talks about stuff she does when she’s a god, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised” before requesting “I don’t suppose I can request something for my city rather than myself, if I am owed anything that is?”

With a grin, Galaxor closed the distance between the two in a flash. “If you want stories of your mother, feel free to call. ”, returning back to his spot, he lifted an eyebrow at Lily's request “Bold to ask so directly, I can see why Jaxx fancies you. Nonetheless, you are correct. You've completed a quest, a grand adventure. Ask and if it's in my power…and interests, I'll grant it. ”

Strangely, Jaxx was almost silent. Almost oblivious at what was happening around him. He sat on the floor and started talking with his fairy-creature, quietly.

“I, well” Lilly replied, having not quite expected to have the full might of a god at her disposal. She thought and thought, and then upon remembering an earlier complaint, came upon an answer, which was “I don’t suppose you could re-enrich our mines? We’ll need to dig a lot of them out again after your, well, remodeling, and it's not going to be worth redoing generations of digging to get back to the untapped ore“

Galaxor paced around a bit, tapping his chin with a finger before exclaiming a loud “A-ha!” “I'll do you one better. Gonna let you choose. I’ll create a holy site somewhere between Tricity and the Dominion, inside, all manner of materials that you’ll find in your mines and not only will appear, ready to be mined at a moment’s notice or, I bless one of you with the ability to transform objects into whatever material you'd wish to mine…of course, that'll be only those you'd touch. You'd not be able to turn off this ability. ‘Lest it'll be boring. ”

“Hmmm” Lilly hummed, as she was presented with a sparker of conflict and a lifelong, and only life long, curse. That was, perhaps, what she got for asking a god of heroes for a boon, he simply had to make things exciting it seemed. So she took the thing closest to what she had requested, and and accepted “the site will be a blessing for booth our peoples that will serve them for generations to come”

“Ah! The exciting option! Perfect! By the time you reach there, you'll find it already built up, as for managing it…I'll let Maxima discuss with your council on how you'll do that. ” he said as a slight burst of divine power came out of him.

“Now, it's time for me to leave. Ta-ta mortals! I'll be watching you. ” and disappeared from view, as he teleported away, leaving the group.

“Well, now. You’ve received your gifts. Now that the godly business has been concluded, Lily, Seam of Tricity, and Jaxx…I’ll send a group of bodyguards with you to open up the way to Tricity and Lord Galaxor’s newest temple. We can discuss the terms of trade and so, afterwards. ”

“That sounds good. As much as I’d be interested in learning more about the Dominion, I’m worried about how much time has passed back home, so the sooner we return, the better” Lilly replied already thinking about the consequences of returning after being assumed dead, not to mention who knew what new changes and crisis could have hit the city in however much time it had been.

With a nod, Maxima replied “I understand. My door will always be open for you and yours, I'm sure there will be time later to discuss. But, I can help with the time problem. I'll send with the bodyguards a few boxes of TADs and a craftsman to teach your people how to make more. Feel free to spread the knowledge of their making. ”

With a clap, a group of goblin soldiers entered the room.

“I've taken the liberty of already summoning them and got supplies ready for the trip. ” she added.

Jaxx, standing up for the first time, approached Lily and Seam.

“Lily, Seam. Please, meet Lady N. My hero sense made incarnate. ” he said, his voice calm. Calmer than ever before. It was as if a veil that covered him ever since the fateful day he attacked Galaxor was suddenly lifted. His whole body language was different too, relaxed. No longer a constant ringing in his mind.

Lady N, waved at the two and made a small curtsy in greetings almost immediately.

Seam waved back a little awkwardly while Lilly leaned in a little in fascination as she said “hello there” before addressing the elder hero’s calm by saying “you sound a lot better. Are you?”

A smile, a proper smile was what greeted Lily “I am. It’s like I had this ringing, non-stop for 20 years straight in my mind. Even when I just completed a quest, it would still be there…I guess I learned to ignore it with time but now, for the first time in decades, it’s quiet. My thoughts are my own. It's strange. I’m free. ”

“No you’re NOT! You’re with me! Me! ME!!!! And let me tell you mister! There won’t be any slagging off on my watch! ” immediately interjected Lady N with a nasal voice like an overexcited munchkin.

“I’m, ah, definitely starting to see a pattern with Galaxor’s boons” Lilly commented, only to get a confused look from Seam who had, somehow, managed to get out of all this potential downside free. Unless you counted his most valuable possessions now being things encouraging him to get into more danger that was.

“Regardless, I am very happy to hear that you are not, well, hearing that any more” she said to Jaxx, before telling Lady N to “maybe go easy on him? He deserves a vacation I think”

“Vacation? What’s that? Can we eat it?” she said with a laugh as she flew up into the air making a few loops in the air.

“I’m sure she’ll give me a day off or two. ” said Jaxx before bending over to Lily and whispering “Or I’ll convince her that a vacation is actually a heroic quest. ” which got a smile out of her for sure.

“What? What? Why are we whispering? Is there a secret??? ” Lady N said as she flew down towards them to see what they’re talking about.

“No, no. Just…telling Lily that I’ll miss traveling with them. Lady N and I have decided that we're going to go up, see Arbor and then…I don't know. ”

“Wait you are?” Seam broke in in surprise, before after a beat adding “well I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised seeing as we met like a week ago, but still. Feels like longer”

“It does,” Lilly agreed, before telling Jaxx that “you’ll be welcome to visit and stay if you're ever back in our area. It’s the least we can do, for a hero of our city, and for a friend”

“Adventures do strengthen the bonds of friendship more than anything. ” Jaxx agreed before putting a hand and each of their shoulders “Be sure I'll visit. You ain't getting rid of me yet but drinks are on you Seam. ”

The birdman gave an ‘ack’ of horror at having this cost foisted upon him, while Lilly just laughed and pulled all three of them into a proper farewell hug before they parted ways for who knew how long.