He was already halfway to disappearing into the brush, an odd mound of gnarled metal steadily creeping towards the open ground of the settlement's edge, when he caught the familiar tones from their talkative - by Ilshar’s standards, at least - local guide. It was not something he had heard before, not exactly. Some of the words he did not entirely grasp, and some others were unfamiliar to him in this context; back where was from, they used to say rings rather than coils… Used to say, yes, not anymore. But the meaning could not have been more clear. This planet was alien to him, its conflicts and his own role in them something he understood detachedly at best - business, he had truthfully said. And still, it was heartening to know that here like anywhere he was among fellow spores of the Nexus. In the end, a tarrhaidim was just that. Maybe the vrexul had the right of it in their own way.
Twisting back his torso, Ilshar made a gesture with one hand, a circle with sharp fingers pointing inward. Once it had been a ritual greeting, but like his spirals it had taken on a more common meaning these days, one anyone could understand. Keep within it, and it with you.
Then the forest parted around him, and the war demanded his attention again. The vrexul had it easier, he thought as he swept the barrel of his gun left to right across the outer row of buildings, ready to let out a suppressive burst. There were fewer of them, and they weren't really part of any nation. Meanwhile, if a tarrhaidim came out from one of those houses in Zanovian Security gear, he would have to shoot, brotherhood in the Totality or not. Hadn't it always been that way?
Once upon a time, Ilshar ruminated as he shuffled ahead behind the other two, he liked to think he had done it for an actually good reason.
Artillery thundered, far away but still much too close, and his skin bloomed with receptors again. Here was a trail of fresh steps, and there was motion in the woods, much like what their own group's must have been. Too far to smell what it was. He did not like the uncertainty.
With a lurching step, he brought his back to the wall of the open building, putting it between himself and the opposite end of the village. If something was moving in, they were going to need cover, but still he hesitated to enter it. That footstep trail did not feel right.
"Careful," he growled, only just loud enough for the rest of the team's vanguard to hear, and motioned to the open door, "Smells like a trap. They move in from outside, wait inside, and they have us. You hear our contact?"
The soil on this world smelled good. Lately, Ilshar had found himself jumping from one dry, dusty planetoid to another, a grainy film clogging his sensory glands with an annoying taste he was only now fully getting rid of. The humid wafts of boggy, unsettled earth that Zanovia had greeted him with had been a more than welcome change. It did not quite smell like home - nothing ever really did - but it brought back pleasant memories of boundless tropical peat fields under a hazy sun. The only irritants were the persistent smells of battle, still too fresh to have settled into a comfortable decay, and the smokestick of the human riding along with him, to say nothing of the transport itself.
He gnashed his teeth as the vast creature lurched ahead under his feet. He was still not wholly used to the idea of a living thing so tightly woven with cybernetics it was almost a machine itself, let alone an intelligent one. The mass of mostly etherically inert metal made him uneasy, not faster than light travel had the first few times. Depending too much on machines. That had never been the Alazann way. Better the simpler, more straightforward things, like the gun weighing down in his hands.
The guides’ chatter was at least a distraction from the strange mechanical colossus and its eeriness.
“Mercenaries?” he grunted in response to the tarrhaidim’s musings, “Could say that. Business. Hate…” The lower rows of his ocular bulbs dissolved into his head, and new ones opened further up, looking at the sky between the trees’ canopy. “Elsewhere.”
At last the trudging ride was over, and Ilshar heavily hopped down, some wary eyes still trained on the giant - Echo, it had been designated? - as part of it detached to follow. Maybe it was a machine after all. He gave another grunt of acknowledgement as the group’s voidhanger moved ahead, snapped on his helmet and hefted his machine gun before following into the undergrowth. He smelled the sap now, the rotting plants underfoot. Nothing out of place, their guide was probably right about that noise. Still, they were in a warzone now. If time had taught him anything, it was that it paid to always keep every gland open. Especially early on, when nothing seemed to have gone wrong yet.
Name: Ilshar Ard’sabekh Maraknat; also known as Halch’aldurnat (Seventh Worm-Ring, ritual name in the Manifold Spiral, sometimes used as an alias nowadays) and Teffn (the Marked).
Age: 68 years.
Species: Tarrhaidim.
Appearance: A broad, burly Tarrhaidim, Ilshar looks squatter than he really is due to his head, or what passes for it, being barely separated from his torso. His face is little more than folds of flexible epidermis around a putrid chasm of long, sharp teeth. Thick, knotted strands of fungal tendrils, fused together by rot, give an impression of a muscular body, though one that would be deformed and tumorous by human standards. Though moderately augmented, most of Ilshar’s implants are biological or etheric in nature and buried in the oozing tangle of his inner bulk, making them invisible at a glance besides some odd ridges and twisting outlines protruding around his shoulders, upper arms and thorax. What is immediately obvious about him is the design that covers his light gray membrane-skin from head to toe, an intricate pattern of connected and intertwining rusty-red spirals. Formed by a symbiotic lichen, this living ornament grows and contracts, slowly shifting over a period of months. Ilshar displays his tapestried body with pride, rarely covering himself aside from sparse bolted-on pieces of armour.
Background: Ever since the Helios Subjugation, Enthuur, Ilshar’s home planet, had been an Yrrkradian vassal in all but name. The world, along with a smattering of underdeveloped colonies in nearby systems, was nominally under the rule of a harsh theocratic regime headed by the Mutrebb Alazann, the Manifold Spiral, a Tarrhaidim sect whose methods if not beliefs made most interstellar dismiss them as extremist warlords rather than a legitimate government. In truth, however, while the Spiral comprised many skilled agitators, etherealists and even scientists, whose influence and experimental combat assets had allowed their swift rise to power during the fragmentation of the OSLF, precious few of its members had any aptitude as administrators or military leaders. Their independence and their very grip on their population was tenuous at best, and would have rapidly dissolved had the Dominion not stepped in to prop them up with an influx of funds and weapons, in exchange for the tacit acceptance of its authority and acting as a buffer for its interests in the region. The Spiral leadership did not give its de facto submission much weight, for its true goal was a more esoteric one - to use a combination of widespread genetic and psycho-social engineering in a vast experiment, or ritual, that would supposedly transform the whole of Enthuur into an ethereal conduit to the Nexus of Teeth, the Tarrhaidim’s legendary origin.
Born in 4169, Ilshar has lived to see the death throes of the Liberation Front, the meteoric rise of the Spiral, whose ranks he joined shortly afterwards, and its unofficial alliance with the Yrrkradian Dominion. As a talented etherealist himself, he was inducted into the sect’s decentralized priesthood and played a role in its subtle decades-long preparations for the great rite. At times, this involved ethically questionable methods, as coercion, eugenics and outright assassination were required to fashion Enthuur according to the cryptic dictates of the great plan. As the Spiral’s militant arm had never evolved beyond the haphazard organisation of its earlier days, he was occasionally also called to defend the planet and its colonies from incursions by neighbouring local powers that attempted to absorb them.
The Spiral’s ambitious scheme was never completed, however, as the Veiled War would eventually reach Enshuur’s once-remote corner of the Expanse. The pressure from its regional rivals, now backed by the Dominion’s own adversaries, as well as the Yrrkradians’ own more and more exigent demands for involvement began to mount, and the Manifold Spiral’s leaders panicked as the global order they had carefully cultivated for so long was threatened. In an effort to stave off the rising tension, Ilshar and his fellows were dispatched on covert strikes against enemy-held systems, aimed to disrupt and intimidate. All this did, however, was inflame further reprisals, until Enshuur found itself isolated, having lost its colonial holdings, and as vulnerable as ever.
Surprisingly enough, it was the Yrrkradians who reached the planet first. Prevident minds in the Dominion’s military command had anticipated that the Unified Celestial League and their local allies would attempt a push through that region of the peripheral Expanse, and a vrexul legion was deployed to block that access corridor to core imperial space. Ilshar was gnashing his teeth at the lumbering insectoids’ intrusion on his homeworld when the UCL advanced in earnest, and battle broke out over Enshuur. The struggle was long, bloody and indecisive; Ilshar and his fellow Spiral members found themselves alternatingly pushed back to their planetary strongholds and painfully reclaiming ground, and narrowly escaped complete annihilation as the UCL deployed vrexul of its own.
This proved to be the turning point of the war, as after some destructive clashes the great arthropods on both sides withdrew. The remaining Yrrkradian forces found themselves outmatched, and, unwilling to commit to the defense of what was to them a disposable puppet world, retreated to defend the Dominion’s holdings. The Manifold Spiral, never truly an effective fighting force on its own and battered after years of combat, was swiftly and systematically eradicated by the advancing UCL. Ilshar was among the few of its members who managed to escape, fleeing on board a handful of salvaged civilian craft and scattering over the Expanse.
His home, purpose and compatriots lost, he drifted through contested space for a time, paying his way with sporadic mercenary work, until he at last fell in with the Intranszjednota. Resentful against both the UCL that destroyed his world and the Dominion that pushed it into war before abandoning it, Ilshar joined its forces for a chance to avenge the Manifold Spiral, and perhaps one day assembling the resources to rebuild it.
Character Evaluation: Driven and taciturn, Ilshar moves with the quiet deliberation of a lifetime of precise, meticulously calculated action. Used to thinking in terms of years and decades, a habit that not even the war has fully dislodged, he can be infuriatingly slow to act, pondering and weighing the possible consequences of anything, but when he moves at last it is with irrevocable certainty. With this sluggishness comes detachment, sharpened by the cosmic nature of his worship of the Nexus; people are to him but minuscule cogs in the immense workings of the universe, occasionally suborned for the even lowlier purposes of someone’s individual plans, and there is nothing strange in accepting this fact as it is. Despite this, he is at rare times capable of genuine passion, whether in his faith or his camaraderie with the bygone confraternity of the Spiral. The loss of the latter has left him somewhat vacant in recent times, and this may have contributed to his readiness to join the Intranszjednota, his alignment with which is altogether a matter of convenience rather than truly shared goals.
Skills: Besides being a veteran fighter whose frankly shoddy training and poor discipline are evened out by years of experience in the thick of the Reckoning, Ilshar is expert at sabotage and terror operations, having grown skilled in causing disruption by way of engineered malfunctions, explosives, dispersion of pathogens and many other means. By a combination of augmentation, armour and Tarrhaidim resilience, he is comfortable traversing and fighting in various hazardous environments. Despite his often subordinate role in the past, he has developed a certain aptitude for strategic thinking at as far as a planetary scale in his work at the Spiral’s behest.
Etherealism: A trained etherealist, thanks to the Spiral’s unorthodox ritual practices Ilshar can notably draw upon both the Chasm and the Abyssic Plane, though for obvious reasons not both at once. Like most, he has a far greater ease manipulating the former and can access it under combat conditions; he usually employs it to blight the enemy with flash infestations of parasitic ether-growths and materialize vermiform Chasm creatures to wreak havoc. Contact with the Plane is much more arduous, and Ilshar can only accomplish it by entering a trance with the aid of meditation and psychoactive drugs. The ways in which he can control it are nevertheless fundamentally similar, involving the manifestation of either disruptive Plane debris or Abyssic creatures; those he often finds more difficult to direct than their Oneiric counterparts.
Loadout:
-Ulvath Light Machine Gun: A weapon of Tarrhaidim make, characteristically capable of delivering an imposing amount of firepower while being light enough for members of the species to carry and handle even in arduous conditions. Ilshar carries a supply of various types of ammunition for it, including fragmentation, armour-piercing, incendiary and even a few ether-disrupting rounds.
-Dauvnil Piercer Gun: A bulky, hefty sidearm that fires metal flechettes with enough strength to pierce thin metal and shatter bone or carapace. It is rather inaccurate and ineffective at longer ranges, but quiet, robust and easy to maintain. Ilshar sometimes coats the darts with toxins.
-Combat Armour: Not so much a suit as a patchwork of several pieces mostly held together just by being attached to the same body. Ilshar’s armour is an odd assemblage of Yrrkradian and Intranszjednota elements, some of which are fastened to his skin in Tarrhaidim fashion. Thanks to his anatomy, it protects him in hazardous environments despite only individual parts of it being properly sealed. Its vambraces and gauntlets have sharpened edges which serve as close combat weapons.
-A supply of plastic explosives, regularly restocked when possible.
Actions Of Interest: Several of the disruptive actions Ilshar took part in during the Veiled War would be considered criminal under the laws of most major nations; incidents like the incursions on the planets Rvastre and Utkal ended in considerable losses of civilian life, and his association with the Manifold Spiral makes him at least complicit to the rest of their activities.
Name: Ilshar Ard’sabekh Maraknat; also known as Halch’aldurnat (Seventh Worm-Ring, ritual name in the Manifold Spiral, sometimes used as an alias nowadays) and Teffn (the Marked).
Age: 68 years.
Species: Tarrhaidim.
Appearance: A broad, burly Tarrhaidim, Ilshar looks squatter than he really is due to his head, or what passes for it, being barely separated from his torso. His face is little more than folds of flexible epidermis around a putrid chasm of long, sharp teeth. Thick, knotted strands of fungal tendrils, fused together by rot, give an impression of a muscular body, though one that would be deformed and tumorous by human standards. Though moderately augmented, most of Ilshar’s implants are biological or etheric in nature and buried in the oozing tangle of his inner bulk, making them invisible at a glance besides some odd ridges and twisting outlines protruding around his shoulders, upper arms and thorax. What is immediately obvious about him is the design that covers his light gray membrane-skin from head to toe, an intricate pattern of connected and intertwining rusty-red spirals. Formed by a symbiotic lichen, this living ornament grows and contracts, slowly shifting over a period of months. Ilshar displays his tapestried body with pride, rarely covering himself aside from sparse bolted-on pieces of armour.
Background: Ever since the Helios Subjugation, Enthuur, Ilshar’s home planet, had been an Yrrkradian vassal in all but name. The world, along with a smattering of underdeveloped colonies in nearby systems, was nominally under the rule of a harsh theocratic regime headed by the Mutrebb Alazann, the Manifold Spiral, a Tarrhaidim sect whose methods if not beliefs made most interstellar dismiss them as extremist warlords rather than a legitimate government. In truth, however, while the Spiral comprised many skilled agitators, etherealists and even scientists, whose influence and experimental combat assets had allowed their swift rise to power during the fragmentation of the OSLF, precious few of its members had any aptitude as administrators or military leaders. Their independence and their very grip on their population was tenuous at best, and would have rapidly dissolved had the Dominion not stepped in to prop them up with an influx of funds and weapons, in exchange for the tacit acceptance of its authority and acting as a buffer for its interests in the region. The Spiral leadership did not give its de facto submission much weight, for its true goal was a more esoteric one - to use a combination of widespread genetic and psycho-social engineering in a vast experiment, or ritual, that would supposedly transform the whole of Enthuur into an ethereal conduit to the Nexus of Teeth, the Tarrhaidim’s legendary origin.
Born in 4169, Ilshar has lived to see the death throes of the Liberation Front, the meteoric rise of the Spiral, whose ranks he joined shortly afterwards, and its unofficial alliance with the Yrrkradian Dominion. As a talented etherealist himself, he was inducted into the sect’s decentralized priesthood and played a role in its subtle decades-long preparations for the great rite. At times, this involved ethically questionable methods, as coercion, eugenics and outright assassination were required to fashion Enthuur according to the cryptic dictates of the great plan. As the Spiral’s militant arm had never evolved beyond the haphazard organisation of its earlier days, he was occasionally also called to defend the planet and its colonies from incursions by neighbouring local powers that attempted to absorb them.
The Spiral’s ambitious scheme was never completed, however, as the Veiled War would eventually reach Enshuur’s once-remote corner of the Expanse. The pressure from its regional rivals, now backed by the Dominion’s own adversaries, as well as the Yrrkradians’ own more and more exigent demands for involvement began to mount, and the Manifold Spiral’s leaders panicked as the global order they had carefully cultivated for so long was threatened. In an effort to stave off the rising tension, Ilshar and his fellows were dispatched on covert strikes against enemy-held systems, aimed to disrupt and intimidate. All this did, however, was inflame further reprisals, until Enshuur found itself isolated, having lost its colonial holdings, and as vulnerable as ever.
Surprisingly enough, it was the Yrrkradians who reached the planet first. Prevident minds in the Dominion’s military command had anticipated that the Unified Celestial League and their local allies would attempt a push through that region of the peripheral Expanse, and a vrexul legion was deployed to block that access corridor to core imperial space. Ilshar was gnashing his teeth at the lumbering insectoids’ intrusion on his homeworld when the UCL advanced in earnest, and battle broke out over Enshuur. The struggle was long, bloody and indecisive; Ilshar and his fellow Spiral members found themselves alternatingly pushed back to their planetary strongholds and painfully reclaiming ground, and narrowly escaped complete annihilation as the UCL deployed vrexul of its own.
This proved to be the turning point of the war, as after some destructive clashes the great arthropods on both sides withdrew. The remaining Yrrkradian forces found themselves outmatched, and, unwilling to commit to the defense of what was to them a disposable puppet world, retreated to defend the Dominion’s holdings. The Manifold Spiral, never truly an effective fighting force on its own and battered after years of combat, was swiftly and systematically eradicated by the advancing UCL. Ilshar was among the few of its members who managed to escape, fleeing on board a handful of salvaged civilian craft and scattering over the Expanse.
His home, purpose and compatriots lost, he drifted through contested space for a time, paying his way with sporadic mercenary work, until he at last fell in with the Intranszjednota. Resentful against both the UCL that destroyed his world and the Dominion that pushed it into war before abandoning it, Ilshar joined its forces for a chance to avenge the Manifold Spiral, and perhaps one day assembling the resources to rebuild it.
Character Evaluation: Driven and taciturn, Ilshar moves with the quiet deliberation of a lifetime of precise, meticulously calculated action. Used to thinking in terms of years and decades, a habit that not even the war has fully dislodged, he can be infuriatingly slow to act, pondering and weighing the possible consequences of anything, but when he moves at last it is with irrevocable certainty. With this sluggishness comes detachment, sharpened by the cosmic nature of his worship of the Nexus; people are to him but minuscule cogs in the immense workings of the universe, occasionally suborned for the even lowlier purposes of someone’s individual plans, and there is nothing strange in accepting this fact as it is. Despite this, he is at rare times capable of genuine passion, whether in his faith or his camaraderie with the bygone confraternity of the Spiral. The loss of the latter has left him somewhat vacant in recent times, and this may have contributed to his readiness to join the Intranszjednota, his alignment with which is altogether a matter of convenience rather than truly shared goals.
Skills: Besides being a veteran fighter whose frankly shoddy training and poor discipline are evened out by years of experience in the thick of the Reckoning, Ilshar is expert at sabotage and terror operations, having grown skilled in causing disruption by way of engineered malfunctions, explosives, dispersion of pathogens and many other means. By a combination of augmentation, armour and Tarrhaidim resilience, he is comfortable traversing and fighting in various hazardous environments. Despite his often subordinate role in the past, he has developed a certain aptitude for strategic thinking at as far as a planetary scale in his work at the Spiral’s behest.
Etherealism: A trained etherealist, thanks to the Spiral’s unorthodox ritual practices Ilshar can notably draw upon both the Chasm and the Abyssic Plane, though for obvious reasons not both at once. Like most, he has a far greater ease manipulating the former and can access it under combat conditions; he usually employs it to blight the enemy with flash infestations of parasitic ether-growths and materialize vermiform Chasm creatures to wreak havoc. Contact with the Plane is much more arduous, and Ilshar can only accomplish it by entering a trance with the aid of meditation and psychoactive drugs. The ways in which he can control it are nevertheless fundamentally similar, involving the manifestation of either disruptive Plane debris or Abyssic creatures; those he often finds more difficult to direct than their Oneiric counterparts.
Loadout:
-Ulvath Light Machine Gun: A weapon of Tarrhaidim make, characteristically capable of delivering an imposing amount of firepower while being light enough for members of the species to carry and handle even in arduous conditions. Ilshar carries a supply of various types of ammunition for it, including fragmentation, armour-piercing, incendiary and even a few ether-disrupting rounds.
-Dauvnil Piercer Gun: A bulky, hefty sidearm that fires metal flechettes with enough strength to pierce thin metal and shatter bone or carapace. It is rather inaccurate and ineffective at longer ranges, but quiet, robust and easy to maintain. Ilshar sometimes coats the darts with toxins.
-Combat Armour: Not so much a suit as a patchwork of several pieces mostly held together just by being attached to the same body. Ilshar’s armour is an odd assemblage of Yrrkradian and Intranszjednota elements, some of which are fastened to his skin in Tarrhaidim fashion. Thanks to his anatomy, it protects him in hazardous environments despite only individual parts of it being properly sealed. Its vambraces and gauntlets have sharpened edges which serve as close combat weapons.
-A supply of plastic explosives, regularly restocked when possible.
Actions Of Interest: Several of the disruptive actions Ilshar took part in during the Veiled War would be considered criminal under the laws of most major nations; incidents like the incursions on the planets Rvastre and Utkal ended in considerable losses of civilian life, and his association with the Manifold Spiral makes him at least complicit to the rest of their activities.
With an exaggerated crack that resounded through the air, a set of six, shimmering feathered wings unfolded from empty space and then unfurled to reveal the lithe form of Hermes - Herald of the Gods adorned in his distinctive wide-brimmed helmet and bearing the twinned-serpent stave, Kerykeion. As the flowing traces of light rushing across his wings faded, they tucked into themselves, merging into a single flowing cloak of feathers about his shoulders.
The reverberations of the burst were soon lost in the sound of rustling leaves and birdsong. The god stood at the edge of a wide clearing between two stretches of forest, curving off to both sides like a great bending road. The grass underfoot was tall and unruly, with long coarse stalks that itched against the skin. Across the glade from him, the trees stood vast and thick, circling the opening in a great ring whose further edges he could not see from where he stood. Nearby, the living colonnade of wood and bark seemed no different, at least at first glance; but to his trained eye, it was clear that the spaces between the trees were more even, and that their branches were in many places lower and thicker, draped with some sort of lichen.
Suddenly, there was a rustling in the leaves overhead, and in the space of a blink something large and dark was hurtling down towards him. A broad, barrel-like chest, with mighty ribs visible through leathery skin and matted fur - two arms from every shoulder, ending in recurve yellow claws - a head like the skull of a toothy ape, grown over with mangy hide - those lichenous vines clinging to its every extremity, like the strings of a grotesque marionnette - Hermes, who had experienced similar displays of the four-armed creature’s ilk before, simply surveyed the terrain without moving or seeming to react to its descent.
Indeed, when its paws were mere inches away from his head, the beast abruptly stopped, as though the vines holding it aloft - which now visibly grew into its very skin - had run their length. With a raucous growl, it slid upwards along the trunk, pulled by its organic cords, and remained hanging midway up like an immense hairy spider, its sunken eyes never leaving the intruder.
It was only when its ascent stopped that a previously nigh-imperceptible figure detached itself from the shadows of the grove and advanced into the clearing. The Watcher of the Woods, Artemis, seemed a part of the forest come to life. There was ostensibly nothing too unusual about her; too tall, perhaps, and too sharp-featured for a Hellene woman, but not much different from them in her garb or the modesty of her ornaments. Even still, her movements had something less than human to them, a fluidity both animalistic and mechanical, and when she stood in place, it was as firmly and motionlessly as the trees.
“Hermes,” her voice was as inexpressive as her eyes, but not yet as hard, “You have a message.”
“Naturally, oh Artemis, most imperishable and unbesmirched of the Gods.” Hermes threw her an extremely lazy salute before flicking a wrist and producing ablack-and-gold filigreed letter seemingly from thin air. “I come bearing a message for Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, from Zeus, King of the Gods and the Heavens, the All-Father on high, with the utmost exigency.” He paused for a moment and turned his helmeted gaze upwards. “Though I must qualify that it is for your ears alone.”
"There are no others here." Nonetheless, the goddess made a slight gesture with her fingers, a motion whose stirring only further evidence the unnatural austerity of her posture, and the beast on the tree almost soundlessly withdrew out of sight among the higher branches.
Hermes haphazardly tossed the letter to Artemis from across the clearing, the blackened parchment seeming to drift across the grove on unseen wind until it came in reach of her darting hand.
BY DECREE OF THE LORD OF OLYMPUS
The Highest, King of the Gods, Father of All: ZEUS
Let it be known that Zeus is dead. His rightful Heir – forever may he rule – has succeeded him to the divine name and mantle of Zeus.
Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, is formally invited to a gathering of the High Pantheon at Zeus’ palace in Mount Olympus, on the noon of the day following receipt of this note. Zeus will accept oaths of fealty, and make the first announcements of his reign.
Signed, Zelos Majordomo of the Highest Palace, Servant of Zeus Almighty
“I have also been instructed to verbally inform you that you are hereby summoned to Mt. Olympus to attend Zeus at the stated place and time.” Hermes added after allowing Artemis a moment to view the letter.
The Maiden's already thin, predatory lips tightened as she read, one eyebrow arching upwards in either surprise or curiosity. She rolled up the missive again with a single hand and nonchalantly tossed it into the undergrowth behind her back.
"Then he did die as well," she mused, her eyes still fixed on Hermes, but her words drifting past him, "But he was not old, not that way. Was it bloody?"
“Oh, scarcely so, if only because his death was so macabre that his blood curdled into cruor before it could seep out from him. The state of what is left is so vile it would not even be fit for your beasts to gnaw on.” Hermes chattered with an almost conspiratorial air, waving his free hand out to the side, the very essence of a gossip.
If his flippancy had the intent to elicit a more vivid response, however, it was to be disappointed. Artemis' expression lost even that little shade of unsettlement, as though she had expected to hear nothing short of that. "A grim sight it must have been. Who was it that struck him down?"
“Alas and alack, the culprit evades justice. His Renewed Highness Zeus has, naturally, sworn that the perpetrator will be found…though his first official order was for me to deliver his summons to all of the High Pantheon, and as far as I am aware he has yet to contact any of the other gods.”
Hermes actually laughed aloud then, a lengthy, exaggerated titter that carried on a ways beyond the confines of the grove.
“Somehow I feel as though this matter may remain unresolved for some time.”
A measure of surprise returned to the goddess' face. "I rather thought he would have met his end in battle if it came to it," she shifted her weight from one leg to another, a deliberate motion that left her poised to sprint, "There are few things that can slay one of us silently. If it is something we do not yet know, I would gladly challenge it in the hunt. This riddle cannot last all so long."
“Careful, goddess. Sometimes in the chase, one is the master or the hound - and sometimes the prey is sacrificial. You should know full well how an owner might dote on their beasts.” Hermes wagged a finger sardonically. “Even Apate has nary an inkling of how it was done or who might be responsible. If a culprit is found at all, I fear for the convenience of such a discovery.”
"You make it too complex, Hermes," Artemis rolled her bow-shoulder, flat annoyance in her eyes under a smooth brow, "You, Apate, all of Olympus. If Zeus' murder cannot distract you from your shadow games, nothing will, and Typhon's next rising will find you caught in a trap you set yourselves."
“Well that’s just a patently unfair assessment!” Hermes exclaimed. “Typhon is already a trap of our own making, you can’t just keep pulling the Typhon card every time something - ah. I forget myself.” He performed a low, exaggerated bow to Artemis. “And that besides, I am merely a messenger, and you the Huntress. Perhaps I should think better of trying to argue the matter of traps and chases with as peerless an exemplar as you.”
He righted himself and then stared pointedly at Artemis for a long moment, almost expectantly. A heavy silence filled the air.
“Well, I had better get going then. I have the rest of the High Pantheon to deliver to. I will see you at Olympus, goddess.” He tipped his helmet to her as his cloak once more unfurled into a set of six shimmering, feathered wings once more. Then encompassed his frame, and with another resounding and exaggerated crack, they folded upon themselves in a flash of light until nothing was left.
Not a scant moment after his departure, there was an abrupt yelp, and a woman tumbled down from the canopy above to crash headlong to the ground where Hermes had just stood.
Artemis stared at the intruder. Hermes was often known to either steal from or else play pranks on those who did not offer him some form of token recompense for his services - but in her grove, there was naught of value that the Herald could have possibly taken, nor anybody else around for kilometers save for slavering beasts.
So Hermes had evidently made-do by teleporting some hapless mortal directly into the grove. Perhaps somebody who had prayed for his intervention just then - or who had slighted him.
With a groan, the newcomer began to lift herself off the ground, her forearms sinking into the grass as they heaved up her shoulders. By the standards of most cities, there was nothing remarkable about her: neither plump nor malnourished, clothes neither too fine nor shabby, calloused fingers. She rose to her knees, turning up at last her disoriented eyes, which immediately fell upon the goddess. Her disheveled face paled and dropped back in awestruck fear as a stifled yelp died in her throat.
Artemis let out a hissing breath, and a scowl finally fell across her brow. The coming days were going to be very long.
Watcher of the Woods, Maiden of the Hunt, Aegis of the Pure
A creature of Hellas through and through, Artemis has never borne a name not of this world, even as her duties have never truly been those of her Arithborn predecessor. Where the latter monitored the biosphere of the planet, content to ensure that it did not risk growing untenable for human livelihood and expansion, her new namesake takes a far keener interest in the affairs of mortals. The hunt, the fundamental struggle between man and wilderness, she makes her domain, and even beyond it she jealously works to keep the balance of nature and civilization even, so that both may remain in the form most pleasing to the masters of Olympus. Where life grows and mutates in dangerous ways, she prunes it, and where mortal ambition encroaches too deeply upon the wilderness, she smites it harshly, lest it turn to hubris. In every city, her her temples stand like watchful eyes, even as her bestial emissaries prowl the deepest forests.
Artifacts and Powers:
Autotheina: Though the gods are inextricably bound to their supernal nature by the nanites coursing through their blood, for few are these ties as deep as for Artemis. She was not born from a human womb, but crafted from vat-flesh and metal-bone by her creator, a perfect child by artful calculation. The might and grace of divinity are embodied in her without effort; her strength, agility and resilience are preternatural, and, though she is rarely seen wearing more than a plain short tunic and a simple hairpin, her mere presence never fails to inspire reverent awe. Senses keener than any animal make her the mistress of the wilds in more than name alone; she has been known to disappear into the most insidious forests and swamplands for months at a time, only to emerge as flawless as she had entered, with neither a scratch nor even a single hair out of place. If nature had an apex, it would surely be her - were it not that the source of her strength is most unnatural.
The Thanatephore Bow: Though all weapons are made with the purpose of bringing death, few are as deserving of proclaiming their attribute openly as Artemis’ silver bow, whose unseen arrows never miss their mark, and slay even the largest of beasts without leaving a wound larger than the bite of a mosquito. The secret of this power does not lie in the bow itself, which is perfectly ordinary, but in the unassuming bracelet the goddess wears on her right wrist. When she releases her empty bowstring, it fires a minuscule flechette, strong enough to pierce through armour. Sometimes it is imbued with a quick toxin, or a painful one, or even a virulent engineered disease, depending on the intent of its wielder. The dart can be fired with a simple contraction of the wrist, without drawing the Bow, but Artemis never forgoes the charade to maintain the weapon’s mystique, and keep its secret hidden.
The Apanchomenis Grove: Hidden deep within the impassable wilds of Hellas, the Grove of the Hanged is the beating heart of Artemis’ power over the planet. Not so much a true grove as a frightful biotechnological factory, whose inchoate sentry-beasts, bound to strange machine-trees by organic filaments, lend it its name, this site contains the genetic records of every animal species of the known world, and, esoteric rumours claim, some from Arith. In the bowels of the Grove’s protoplasmic ponds, these sequences can be combined to create impossible chimeras, or monsters of myth, empowered with cybernetic organs in the same way as Artemis’ own body, or even lineages of entirely new animals, bred to fill a particular ecological niche. Some such terrors are given over to Zeus’ bestiary, while others are turned loose upon those unfortunate mortals who have displeased the goddess. The Grove cannot, however, give birth to human beings, and imperfect attempts will emerge from it as witless apes.
Moon-elk: So named because of the crescent shape of their antlers, the gibbous heads of these beasts suggest that they have as much in common with moose as they do with elks. Although large and heavyset, they are remarkably agile thanks to their flexible legs, and fond of eating moss and tree bark even in the warmer seasons. Found all over Hellas, moon-elks are sacred to Artemis, and hunters who kill one must make an offering to her temple.
Lystos bear: Dreaded predators of the woodlands, lystos bears bear some resemblance to badgers or wolverines, with their lean bodies, elongated snouts and vestigial tails. Notoriously ill-tempered and ferocious, they do not hesitate to attack humans who stray too close to their dens, but only rarely approach inhabited areas to prey on livestock. Legend has it that bears were once mortals who incurred Artemis' wrath, and were punished by being transformed into animals.
The Boar of Kalydos: While there have been numerous boars over the centuries, such was the terror caused by their first appearance that they are still remembered by the name of the region they first plagued. As large and heavy as hippopotami and tremendously strong, these biomechanical monstrosities are the favoured instrument of the goddess' retribution. The Boars have six tusks and quills like porcupines on their back and flanks; fortunately, they are sterile and only ever appear one at a time.
Stymphaloi: Rapacious birds with steely-gray feathers, the Stymphaloi are known as the hunting-bird of the Watcher, occasionally depicted as taking flight from her wrist to pursue their quarry. Illustrious mortals favoured by the goddess are sometimes gifted with a tame Stymphalos, a great honour as well as an admonition, for they have a ravenous appetite and are quite partial to human flesh. In the wild, they are feared for their sharp beaks and hard, rigid feathers, which astonishingly can protect them from arrows.
Persona:
Exacting and intransigeant, the Maiden of the Hunt seems to have been shaped to fit her seat among the gods in spirit as thoroughly as in body. She is meticulous about her duties, yet at the same time dispassionate and detached, as if to underscore that she is the mistress of her divine aspect, and not merely its attendant. All that pertains to the equilibrium of life in the known world is a challenge to herself first and foremost, to be surpassed with aplomb befitting one of her stature. No error nor imperfection can be countenanced, for that would be a failing on her part and a slight to her pride, that inalienable attribute of godhood. Such lofty notions having been impressed upon her since the earliest days of her existence, it is little wonder that she should be disarmingly candid in her superciliousness, and indeed that she expects the same of her peers; few things are stranger and more suspicious than a humble deity.
For all that, Artemis cannot truly be said to be self-absorbed. It is no secret among the Olympians that her greatest yearning is for something she can never obtain - purity, that which neither her ascetic habits nor her chaste life can give her. Ever conscious of her nature as an amalgam of life and artifice, hybrid and commingled, she turns outwards in search of her ideal, to the marvels of the natural world and the human spirit. The beauty of an unspoiled field, of a crystalline spring, of just and clear laws, of unsullied maidenhood all captivate her to the point that she will impose upon the mortal peoples and their ways to preserve them, through the stifling and sometimes arbitrary dictates of her veiled priests. Woe upon those who ruin something she cherishes, even inadvertently; deadly vengeance will inevitably visit them in the shape of a fearsome beast.
Despite the uneasy fame her bearing and fascinations have woven for her, the goddess is surprisingly tractable in person. Aloof but not reclusive, despite her habit of wandering the wilds of the world as much as she resides in the Heavenly City, it is rare for her to dismiss a visitor or supplicant out of hand, and, though stern and inflexible, she has patience to spare even for her most eccentric fellows in the pantheon. Only blatant irreverence from a lesser, or naked contempt for the things she prizes, will rouse her ire, dry, venomous and swift to action.
Background:
The current Artemis was not the first to take up that name. Originally, it belonged to one of the erstwhile Zeus' crew members, a specialist in ecology who had joined the mission to ensure that the lost colony's biosphere was stable. Having become an accomplice to the Captain's plan, she took her place among the new gods as the keeper of the forests, whose animal population she revitalised with new species bearing her mark. Yet, despite her mastery of life, she could not wholly avert the aging of her own body. It was thus that she devised a successor, neither an offspring, for she had none, nor a clone of herself, for over the years she had come to doubt her abilities in this superhuman role. No, her inheritor was to be an improvement, with none of the weaknesses of mankind. By arts unknown, and most likely not without assistance, she grew the divine homunculus who would become her successor. This was centuries ago; now, little or no memory remains in the world beyond Olympus that Artemis was not always as she is.
Relationships:
Zeus: The long arm of the King of the Gods reaches even the most hidden lairs, and for all that Artemis knows, this has always been the case. Though none too fond of his wanton habits, a sentiment that rose to bilious spite on those occasions when he menaced the virtue of her clergy, she saw his authority as indisputable and was content enough to pledge her submission so long as no interference came of it to her own devices, offering him tribute in the guise of savage creatures for his menagerie. The excesses of the wilful ancient had all the same left little room for genuine respect and reverence, and it was not without relief that she met the news of his demise, seeing in the inexperience of the new Zeus a chance to curtail further indignities and perhaps mold greater swathes of the world more to her liking.
Posting something, may still edit a bit as necessary.
Artemis
Watcher of the Woods, Maiden of the Hunt, Aegis of the Pure
A creature of Hellas through and through, Artemis has never borne a name not of this world, even as her duties have never truly been those of her Arithborn predecessor. Where the latter monitored the biosphere of the planet, content to ensure that it did not risk growing untenable for human livelihood and expansion, her new namesake takes a far keener interest in the affairs of mortals. The hunt, the fundamental struggle between man and wilderness, she makes her domain, and even beyond it she jealously works to keep the balance of nature and civilization even, so that both may remain in the form most pleasing to the masters of Olympus. Where life grows and mutates in dangerous ways, she prunes it, and where mortal ambition encroaches too deeply upon the wilderness, she smites it harshly, lest it turn to hubris. In every city, her her temples stand like watchful eyes, even as her bestial emissaries prowl the deepest forests.
Artifacts and Powers:
Autotheina: Though the gods are inextricably bound to their supernal nature by the nanites coursing through their blood, for few are these ties as deep as for Artemis. She was not born from a human womb, but crafted from vat-flesh and metal-bone by her creator, a perfect child by artful calculation. The might and grace of divinity are embodied in her without effort; her strength, agility and resilience are preternatural, and, though she is rarely seen wearing more than a plain short tunic and a simple hairpin, her mere presence never fails to inspire reverent awe. Senses keener than any animal make her the mistress of the wilds in more than name alone; she has been known to disappear into the most insidious forests and swamplands for months at a time, only to emerge as flawless as she had entered, with neither a scratch nor even a single hair out of place. If nature had an apex, it would surely be her - were it not that the source of her strength is most unnatural.
The Thanatephore Bow: Though all weapons are made with the purpose of bringing death, few are as deserving of proclaiming their attribute openly as Artemis’ silver bow, whose unseen arrows never miss their mark, and slay even the largest of beasts without leaving a wound larger than the bite of a mosquito. The secret of this power does not lie in the bow itself, which is perfectly ordinary, but in the unassuming bracelet the goddess wears on her right wrist. When she releases her empty bowstring, it fires a minuscule flechette, strong enough to pierce through armour. Sometimes it is imbued with a quick toxin, or a painful one, or even a virulent engineered disease, depending on the intent of its wielder. The dart can be fired with a simple contraction of the wrist, without drawing the Bow, but Artemis never forgoes the charade to maintain the weapon’s mystique, and keep its secret hidden.
The Apanchomenis Grove: Hidden deep within the impassable wilds of Hellas, the Grove of the Hanged is the beating heart of Artemis’ power over the planet. Not so much a true grove as a frightful biotechnological factory, whose inchoate sentry-beasts, bound to strange machine-trees by organic filaments, lend it its name, this site contains the genetic records of every animal species of the known world, and, esoteric rumours claim, some from Arith. In the bowels of the Grove’s protoplasmic ponds, these sequences can be combined to create impossible chimeras, or monsters of myth, empowered with cybernetic organs in the same way as Artemis’ own body, or even lineages of entirely new animals, bred to fill a particular ecological niche. Some such terrors are given over to Zeus’ bestiary, while others are turned loose upon those unfortunate mortals who have displeased the goddess. The Grove cannot, however, give birth to human beings, and imperfect attempts will emerge from it as witless apes.
Moon-elk: So named because of the crescent shape of their antlers, the gibbous heads of these beasts suggest that they have as much in common with moose as they do with elks. Although large and heavyset, they are remarkably agile thanks to their flexible legs, and fond of eating moss and tree bark even in the warmer seasons. Found all over Hellas, moon-elks are sacred to Artemis, and hunters who kill one must make an offering to her temple.
Lystos bear: Dreaded predators of the woodlands, lystos bears bear some resemblance to badgers or wolverines, with their lean bodies, elongated snouts and vestigial tails. Notoriously ill-tempered and ferocious, they do not hesitate to attack humans who stray too close to their dens, but only rarely approach inhabited areas to prey on livestock. Legend has it that bears were once mortals who incurred Artemis' wrath, and were punished by being transformed into animals.
The Boar of Kalydos: While there have been numerous boars over the centuries, such was the terror caused by their first appearance that they are still remembered by the name of the region they first plagued. As large and heavy as hippopotami and tremendously strong, these biomechanical monstrosities are the favoured instrument of the goddess' retribution. The Boars have six tusks and quills like porcupines on their back and flanks; fortunately, they are sterile and only ever appear one at a time.
Stymphaloi: Rapacious birds with steely-gray feathers, the Stymphaloi are known as the hunting-bird of the Watcher, occasionally depicted as taking flight from her wrist to pursue their quarry. Illustrious mortals favoured by the goddess are sometimes gifted with a tame Stymphalos, a great honour as well as an admonition, for they have a ravenous appetite and are quite partial to human flesh. In the wild, they are feared for their sharp beaks and hard, rigid feathers, which astonishingly can protect them from arrows.
Persona:
Exacting and intransigeant, the Maiden of the Hunt seems to have been shaped to fit her seat among the gods in spirit as thoroughly as in body. She is meticulous about her duties, yet at the same time dispassionate and detached, as if to underscore that she is the mistress of her divine aspect, and not merely its attendant. All that pertains to the equilibrium of life in the known world is a challenge to herself first and foremost, to be surpassed with aplomb befitting one of her stature. No error nor imperfection can be countenanced, for that would be a failing on her part and a slight to her pride, that inalienable attribute of godhood. Such lofty notions having been impressed upon her since the earliest days of her existence, it is little wonder that she should be disarmingly candid in her superciliousness, and indeed that she expects the same of her peers; few things are stranger and more suspicious than a humble deity.
For all that, Artemis cannot truly be said to be self-absorbed. It is no secret among the Olympians that her greatest yearning is for something she can never obtain - purity, that which neither her ascetic habits nor her chaste life can give her. Ever conscious of her nature as an amalgam of life and artifice, hybrid and commingled, she turns outwards in search of her ideal, to the marvels of the natural world and the human spirit. The beauty of an unspoiled field, of a crystalline spring, of just and clear laws, of unsullied maidenhood all captivate her to the point that she will impose upon the mortal peoples and their ways to preserve them, through the stifling and sometimes arbitrary dictates of her veiled priests. Woe upon those who ruin something she cherishes, even inadvertently; deadly vengeance will inevitably visit them in the shape of a fearsome beast.
Despite the uneasy fame her bearing and fascinations have woven for her, the goddess is surprisingly tractable in person. Aloof but not reclusive, despite her habit of wandering the wilds of the world as much as she resides in the Heavenly City, it is rare for her to dismiss a visitor or supplicant out of hand, and, though stern and inflexible, she has patience to spare even for her most eccentric fellows in the pantheon. Only blatant irreverence from a lesser, or naked contempt for the things she prizes, will rouse her ire, dry, venomous and swift to action.
Background:
The current Artemis was not the first to take up that name. Originally, it belonged to one of the erstwhile Zeus' crew members, a specialist in ecology who had joined the mission to ensure that the lost colony's biosphere was stable. Having become an accomplice to the Captain's plan, she took her place among the new gods as the keeper of the forests, whose animal population she revitalised with new species bearing her mark. Yet, despite her mastery of life, she could not wholly avert the aging of her own body. It was thus that she devised a successor, neither an offspring, for she had none, nor a clone of herself, for over the years she had come to doubt her abilities in this superhuman role. No, her inheritor was to be an improvement, with none of the weaknesses of mankind. By arts unknown, and most likely not without assistance, she grew the divine homunculus who would become her successor. This was centuries ago; now, little or no memory remains in the world beyond Olympus that Artemis was not always as she is.
Relationships:
Zeus: The long arm of the King of the Gods reaches even the most hidden lairs, and for all that Artemis knows, this has always been the case. Though none too fond of his wanton habits, a sentiment that rose to bilious spite on those occasions when he menaced the virtue of her clergy, she saw his authority as indisputable and was content enough to pledge her submission so long as no interference came of it to her own devices, offering him tribute in the guise of savage creatures for his menagerie. The excesses of the wilful ancient had all the same left little room for genuine respect and reverence, and it was not without relief that she met the news of his demise, seeing in the inexperience of the new Zeus a chance to curtail further indignities and perhaps mold greater swathes of the world more to her liking.
There's certainly room for dissenting opinions among the gods, and a crew member pursuing the original directive is an interesting idea. The only concern might be that an openly hostile character could find themselves cut off from the focus of the action at first, but some intrigue should mitigate that.
>Good to know. Although another question I had was do we need to play strictly humans or could we be like an uploaded human/AI? And if that is the case how would we handle the whole old gods have retired type deal since a reasonable amount of consciousness backups could be made and used across specialized hardware through the centuries.
Hello! Taking over from Cyclone for a moment - characters don't have to be strictly of human origin; thus far we have a player working on an AI, though overall we'd rather have this be the exception rather than the rule within the cast proportions. Mental uploads and backups are also entirely feasible, although I imagine they would be limited in their diffusion as much of the original equipment has decayed along with the knowledge of its employ. You could, however, absolutely have a character who makes this kind of technology their domain, like a Daedalus creating automata in his image or something similar.
Listen, good folk of Dukha! Come listen to the sorry tale of Nîrn the wanderer, who drags himself from mountain to mountain until his creaking legs will at last give way. Listen and I will tell you why I have come to you from far north, why I roam so wide though my back is more stooped than an old highland tree. Don’t be awed by my grey and heavy beard or by my wizened eyes: little more than forty winters have passed since I was born! Aye, just so, though you wouldn’t give me less than a hundred. Listen, then, how this came to pass.
It was some three years ago that we set out from Vonde for the last time, me, still young and hardy then, Ibar my brother, not much older, and Andró the stenzhik, who had carried the packs of Khîrn my father before me. For the last time, I say, because of us three who left, only I ever came back. Aye, this mourning-bead you see on my beard is for my brother, earth be light for him. What about the other one, you ask? Listen, and I will tell you about it.
We set out, then, to do as we had always done - to find rare and precious things to trade. We would go down into the valleys and up the steepest mountain-paths, Ibar and I, to find the glittering vein-stone, the caves where the drowsy ore hides like a coiled snake and the snowflake-flower that chases away fever. Sometimes we would find the cold carcass of a foolish orzmiy, and then it was a day of celebration for us, because you know how many want a piece of those! I see you shake your heads and snicker. ‘To go far and wide, ready to give up your skin for a gain?’ you say, ‘This must be the last of the Chtviertne!’ Well, that was how we lived, and how our father had lived before us. Some have their caves and tunnels, others have the winds and the valleys like sun-lakes. That’s how it is.
Before, we had oft gone west, where the orzmiy breach the most and where their scales sometimes lie on the earth like snow. But that time we went north, for we would hunt the crescent-horned mountain goats that were said to live there, and bring back their rare pelts and skulls. We crossed many a gulch and mountain, and for many a day we searched every slope, but though we were in the roaming-grounds there was not a single goat to be seen. Just when we had lost hope and were about to turn back, though, we did find something else.
As we hunted and tracked the goats, we had pushed further north than we or any of our kin had ever roamed before. On the last day we were to chance the land, we rounded the foot of the Five-Finger Mountain, and then, as true as I'm standing here, we saw two suns in the sky! Aye, so it was. No, we didn’t have cave-brew in our waterskins, and we weren’t just dazzled after coming out of the shade. There was the sun up in the sky, and beyond the mountain, over the next crest of ridges, there was a little light shining. Little, I say, but for us to see it from so far away, it must have been brighter than a wildfire. Yet most wondrous was that, when night came down, it did not fade as the sun did, but stayed burning with its own white flame like a star fallen from above.
What would you have done, had you been with us then? We broke camp, and the next day we began to climb the further ridges, to see what it was behind them that shone so. Ibar thought that it would be a vein of strange ore, open to the sky, richer and more potent than anything anyone had ever seen before. Me, you may laugh, but I was certain it was a gemstone. Why I thought it would’ve been bare open, I couldn’t tell you, but had you seen its light you, too, would’ve doubted than anything less clear than adamant could cast it.
The ridges were tall and steep, but our feet were light with impatience, and so in a few days we had crossed them. But what we saw then! By Orjarz, may the earth swallow me if I lie, because you won’t believe me otherwise!
We saw a mountain, taller than any around, indeed taller perhaps than any I’ve ever seen before or since. We would have spotted it from much further away had it not been for the light, which sat right on its summit. It could have been a glacier, you say, but nay, no glacier shines on its own at night.
There was something in that mountain that almost made us abandon our curiosity and turn away, had we been wise enough. It did not stand, as mountains do, shoulder to shoulder with its sisters, but alone in their circle, as if it had grown from seed rather than stone. And it was all black, glinting and glossy like the smoked rock that the orzmiy sometimes bring from under the earth. There was not a single tree on its slopes, not a spot of snow. Not even birds approached it, though we gave it no mind then. It chilled our hearts a little when we looked at it, but the light called to us, and it had to be thousands of the clearest gems, waiting at the top of that strange mountain! It could only be a gift from the gods to the bold, and we would turn to stone before we proved unworthy of it!
In three more days, we were at the foot of the black mountain. As true as I stand, half of it must have been smoked stone! It grew out of the live rock in a way I had never seen. Had there been more of it, we could not have tried the ascent, smooth and slippery as it was. But among it there was also much basalt and dark granite, lying in coarse slopes and ledges that struck out like wood-fungi from a tree, and strange though it was to see them close like that, we were glad to have a footing in them. So on the fourth day we gathered all the moss and herbs we could find, we filled our waterskins, for we were not certain we would find open streams, and set to climbing.
It was a strange thing, I will tell you, to climb that mountain. From below it looked tall and forbidding, so much that your legs would start to ache as they just imagined the pains of scrambling up its side. But once you started, it went so easily! From ledge to ledge, you could go climbing seven, eight hundred spans in a day, whistling all the while, as if you were walking downhill. Then, when the sun began to set, all the weariness would hit you in one punch, and you’d be left there, panting, your legs buckling under you. Every day that moment came a little earlier, and only later I found out why that was. And why? Listen, and I will tell you.
We had been climbing another three days, and were already quite a bit above two thousand spans, when I became annoyed with my beard. Now you see that it is long and flowing, white and grey like the winter, but then it was thick and brown, and I kept it cut to my chest, so it would not hamper me in our travels. But it was always very fine and smooth, as that of all goodly folk should be, and so it surprised me that it should be tugging and itching so. I looked down, and it was terribly tangled, as if I’d been wandering the woods for a week. I called to Ibar, who walked ahead, and asked him, ‘Hoi, what’s the trouble with my beard?’
He looked back, and since he was straight against the sun I could not see him well at first. He looked a bit, and I thought it was strange he took that long, because we weren’t very far apart, and then he said, full of surprise, ‘By all the gods, your beard is grey!’
I did not believe him, and came closer so he could see better; but when I did, I saw him too, and what a sight! His face and hands were wrinkly like dried goatskin, his beard was wild, almost to his legs, and streaked grey and white, and his eyes were squinting and watery. He saw the look on my face, and I saw the one on his, which told me that I must have looked little better. Then we both turned back to look at Andró, who trudged behind. He had been walking slower and slower as we climbed, and now that we looked at him attentively, his shell was all worn and full of tiny cracks.
We looked at each other then, and you must’ve already understood what we both thought. It was the mountain, that terrible Lone Mountain! Now we understood all too well why we had seen no living thing on its slopes. It was cursed, or maybe something dwelt on it that stole our strength in the night as we slept; we did not care to know.
We hurried down as fast as our legs would take us, but where the ascent had been light and easy, the way back was a maze of danger. We had lost threescore years in a few days, and rested and eaten little, hoping as we did to reach the beguiling light faster. Slopes that had been a joke to us before now threatened to break our necks if we did not watch our aching feet, and that damnable slippery smoke-stone was everywhere.
Worse still, while we had barely noticed as we grew feebler on the way up, we now felt our forces leave us with every step. We had to bind our beards, because they grew so long that they got tangled in our legs.
There was less than a day left to the ground, and I, who was still stronger and sprier, had gone ahead, when from behind me I head, ‘Nîrn, help me!’
I looked, and there was Ibar, clinging to the edge of a treacherous crack, where he had slipped and perhaps broken a leg. I hurried to him, but I was worn and weak, and before I was even close my brother lost his grip on the smooth rock and fell into the fissure.
Some of you will know what it is to lose a brother. You can imagine how it was then, when I ached all over, when the life had been stolen out of me. I sat there, and I don’t know if I would’ve moved before I was too weak not to starve and be ground down by the wind to a pile of bones.
But I felt stony hands lift me then, and carry me down the slope. Andró was pitiful to look at, all chipped and falling apart, and he had lost both legs below the knee, but I was all skin and bone by then, and even as he was he carried me easily, until the very foot. Then he stumbled on his half-legs, and broke into four pieces as he fell, but from there I was soon on even ground. You see the second mourning-bead, near the one for Ibar? This I wear for him. One does not usually wear a mourning-bead for a stenzhik, but Andró acted like a true brother then, and as a brother I will honour him.
So shun it, good folk, shun that lone black mountain! Don’t go looking for its tempting light! What does it matter what treasures are up there? You will be dead long before you see them. It has swallowed my brothers, and chewed me up and spat me out like this, as you see me now. I see some of you look to each other and whisper, as I have seen others do in every town. They were unlucky, you say, but if we try, maybe we will find a shortcut, a safe way up, and see what is at the top. Don’t gamble your heads on it! That place is unholy, and I, Nîrn, son of Khîrn, have come to warn you.
When you see two suns in the sky, when you see a light among the peaks at night, turn away, and do not look back!
Nîrn, a wizened wandering dwarf, is staying in the town of Dukha in the Bones. He tells the story of how he, with his brother Ibar and their pack-golem Andró, once found a strange mountain of dark stone and obsidian with an alluring light shining from its summit day and night. Believing it to be some great treasure, the three try to climb to the top, only to belatedly find that they grow dramatically older and feebler the further they go, and even faster as they hurry down. Ibar and Andró die as they try to escape the mountain, while Nîrn survives, but is aged far beyond his time. He has taken it upon himself to go from town to town and warn all of dwarvenkind about the Lone Mountain's dangers, but it's hinted that, as cautionary tales do, his words tend to inspire the most reckless of his listeners to try and brave it themselves.
Iqelis starts with 5 vigor.
-1 gained from God Week participation.
-2 spent on the Lone Mountain, which lures the adventurous with its mysterious light and steals the lifetime of those who try and climb it.
op2024
Izurich
Archetype Zero
Lord Zee
Cyclone
