Pegulis, Chapter 7

[Peregrine]

Barvelle, royalblue

[dash=white]"General Coul?"

"No!" the incredibly ruffled, sleep deprived, and frustrated general finally snapped, turning to give the unfortunate messenger the full blast of his ire. "I cannot fix any more problems. I have done everything I can to deal with the rats, and the fungus infection, and making sure Barvelle's defenses are up to date, while still sending out messengers to Tavark and Aldus, because in case everyone else has forgotten, Kaustir is invading the Cheronese, and I really need to be down there making sure our nation isn't next, since the Archon is trapped in her tower and no one is letting her down. Go bother someone else to solve whatever problem you need solving."

The wide eyed messenger quickly tucked the missive back into his bag and fled, and Coul turned away from the door again.

"That wasn't very nice."

"I don't have time to be nice anymore, and if you would kindly leave me alone I..." Coul turned around, his voice clipped, only to find himself nose to nose with the rather amused Fierce Sage. "Oh, Helena. My apologies."

"I know you are frustrated, and I know you are being worn down to the bone, but we need to remain calm. It is the only thing that is going to give the rest of Barvelle, the rest of Pegulis, hope."

"I know, I know. But it has just been one thing after the other. I should have left days ago for the Cheronese, but I haven't had a spare moment. Please, tell me the caravan is almost ready. "

"It's ready. We leave tomorrow morning, come snowstorm or dragon attack. Get a good night's sleep tonight, General. It is probably the last one any of us will get until the Kaustirians are safely marching back to their desert."

Coul slumped in his seat, relief and anxiety warring on his face. The moment had finally come. Despite all the complications, all of the challenges, he was leaving, and he was doing it without any words of guidance from the Archon.

Helena seemed to understand his plight without the need for words, and she laid a hand on his shoulder. "We will do what needs to be done," she said quietly.

"I know." Coul replied, straightening back up in his seat. "We will protect our nation. Send out messengers to Tavark and Aldus. Make sure they know that we need all the aid we can get. Our caravan is large enough that it won't be able to move fast. Small parties will easily be able to catch up before we reach the Neutral Lands."

"Yes, sir, General." Helena replied, still amused.

Coul let out a sigh, rubbing his face. "Apologies, again."

"No, I understand. Take the evening, make sure affairs are in order as much as is possible. You fix the present, I'll deal with the future."

A single evening was not enough time to fix the present, but Coul did his best to make sure that things would not crumble in his absence. He assigned one of his most trusted lieutenants to each of the major problems within Barvelle, making sure they had the authority they needed to get done what needed to be done. When he finally fell into bed, he had less than five hours sleep before being rudely awoken by a knock at his door. It was time to leave his city.

The caravan that finally marched out of Barvelle was less than two hundred strong. It would never make an impression on the millions coming from Kaustir, but it was all that Barvelle could spare. Even if both Aldus and Tavark could match that, despite the many tragedies striking the cities, what could six hundred of them hope to do?

They could stall for time. Stall, and pray that the Sages got the golems working, pray that Eirene was released from her tower and Aldus and Tavark would recover, binding the nation together again. Pray that somehow an answer would find them.[/dash]

 

[Kriodine]

Memories, orange

Draegal cowered in the back of the cave as the wind howled outside, desperately trying to keep warm with the one thermic gem he had. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, he found himself trying to figure out how long it had been since he had fallen sleep eventually deciding that too long was an adequate answer. As much as his body complained he had to keep going, he only had the one gem and if it gave out he was as good as dead.

He forced himself to stand up and make his way to the mouth of the cave, the wind had stopped howling and he needed to keep moving. As he approached a hooded figure appeared at the entrance "What's the rush" the figure inquired. "Slow down Draegal" the figure stated before removing his hood to reveal a bear anima underneath. The anima motioned for Draegal to sit down and as he did a wave of warmth washed over him "But we are pressed for time, waiting only puts us behind schedule."

"But you are exhausted, nothing can be accomplished with a tired mind and a starving belly. Besides the only one you are racing against is yourself, if you rush from destination to destination you miss everything in between. Now go and fetch me the crate I left outside." Draegal walked outside with a sour expression on his face, but the expression changed to one of joy as he saw the package left outside. To most it would have been a simple merchant's crate filled with goods meant to be sold at their destination, but Draegal knew it was his first lesson as a proper acolyte of the order. He nearly tripped over himself in excitement as he walked back to his master, only to find his master already had a bottle prepared for him. "Draegal this will be your first of many painful lessons, now clear your mind, drink, and remember who you are."

Draegal grabbed the drink, calmed himself, and knocked it back. At first he felt only the slow burning sensation that came with aged liquor, but moments later the pain began, what started as a dull throbbing slowly started to escalate into what felt like daggers entering his mind. He dropped to the floor and started to scream, as his vision started to fade to black. When he finally came to he was alone, and the new morning sun was just starting to show itself on the horizon. He slowly stood up and walked towards the mouth of the cave to continue his journey, when he was left breathless by the sight left before him.

The newborn sun glinted off of the lake in the distance and shone through the trees, giving off an aura of serenity. After taking in the moment, he took out his thermic gem and felt that the heat it was radiating had only dimmed a little, and thought about the memory that had resurfaced during his impromptu rest. For a while everything was still, as if the world was giving him time to relax and think about his next move, but eventually the sun climbed over the horizon and time moved on. Draegal stood in front of the cave, staring out past the horizon, until about midday at which he slowly turned toward his destination and set off.

 

[E.T.]

She was trapped, pinned to her chair by the full weight of the council's stare as they discussed her fate. They could not have devised a more secure prison for Caoimhe if they had been trying. Her heart stammered out a sharp rhythm against her ribs, making her head swim as the pressure built. Furtively she glanced around to try and find a familiar face hidden in the crowd, but the audience was limited today. And all the faces were covered with identical white masks making the room much blander than it should have been. Then the debate started and Caoimhe found herself sinking lower and lower into her seat as though, with a bit of luck, she would be swallowed up by the floor. Cocooned away from this fighting.

"Should have just killed the dracling."

That phrase was enough to snap the mother upright with a building rage in her eyes. Weighty stares kept her in her seat and the still healing gash in her side kept her movements minimal but she directed a hateful glare at the Dragon Killer. That is until her attention was called away by the judge and his almost bored words. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung loosely as her ears were filled with a dull ringing. Where was Medwick, surely he could talk something out with these people, where was Shardis some brazen defense would have been welcome, where was Glyph a calming presence would have been most welcome. But, no, she was alone, or at least alone in her defense. The only other one who shared her stage was the dracling, who was currently hiding inside of her jacket intimidated by the crowd of people. Could she make it outside of the city with this child in toe. When she had first arrived at Barvelle she had been starved, wiry, a bundle of confused instincts that were somehow suppressed long enough to find her fighting the dragon whose child she would adopt as her own.

That time seemed like the sky away. Her own body had been morphed in such a short period of time. The council called her an avian, part of her accepted that term without a second thought, to another part of her that word was very foreign. In a land more familiar to snow and ice than living creatures it would take a huge effort on her part to hunt the food necessary to keep her and the dragon fed. Not to mention she was already burning through thermic gems faster than she cared to say, all in the name of keeping her cold blooded charge from freezing to death.

She was still in shock when the mages closed in on her. Only when one forced a copy of the order into one of her frozen hands did she finally snap back to the present. They pressed in and in a show of aggression she pressed back. Her wounds and the dracling kept her from truly fighting back she did not go quite as quietly as they would have liked. Outnumbered she was driven out, a clash of teeth heard as one mage made as though to grab her shoulder. Engaged with the mages who were shepherding as she was it was not until she felt a blast of wind at her back did she realize she had stepped through the door way. Her expression, while still defensive, mixed smoothly with uncertainty and fear. All she had was what she was currently wearing. Would they really throw her out with less than she had entered the city with? Injured and with a child she suddenly became hyper aware of the barren white that stretched rather than she could see. Were they so keen to see her freeze or starve to death among the mountains, or were they simply hoping that the khasidim would overtake her and pluck their child god from her arms and leave the rest of the world alone?

 

[lynzy]

Out of time and still she wasn't sure. Is this what it's like to be on your own? Having never been left alone all her life, she wasn't sure...of anything. Well, maybe one thing. If she didn't do something quickly Shardis would have one, no, two less friends in her life. Picking up the white cloak and draping it over her and her backpack the cat-woman walked out of her room for the last time, probably forever. ​

​

It was surprising to her that all the doubt and fears about her choice left her as she closed the door silently behind her. "Good luck with your talk with the Archon" Shar mumbled then took a deep breath followed by a sigh just as big and she was off. No one paid her the slightest bit of attention as she walked out of the city. She had left a short note where Medwick would find it and hoped he wouldn't finally skin her alive as he had always promised to.​

​

Once she was outside it was just simply waiting for her friend to show up, she hoped. They would ether kill them strait up or dump them outside for the elements to do their dirty work for them, Shardis had bet on the latter. Yep, it was the latter. Shar didn't dare step into the open, not yet. She waited for the pair to move her way on the small path. "PSST! Over here!" Shardis whispered loud enough for her friend to hear while waving frantically from behind the large rock she was hiding behind.​

​

Caoimhe ducked around behind the rock as Shar took the cloak off and threw it around the the shivering girl. She then pulled out another pack from inside her own and grabbed the dracling and shoved it unceremoniously into the pack. The wolf-girl was surprised that he didn't even squawk, after all that had happened and looked into the new backpack only to find it was laced with thermick gems "How did yo..." Shardis shushed her with a finger to her own mouth and gave her a gentle shove into a small crevasse that barely accommodated Shar's large frame. After walking a bit Shardis started to explain, "I had a feeling they would banish you, I wasn't sure though until you came out that door. It's the one they do the banishment's from, ...usually. The odds of living very long from there aren't good without help, even if you had stumbled upon this passage. I couldn't tell you about my plans or even be any where near the place or they might have scried it. I know of a small cabin a mile or so this way, it's abandoned now so it's perfect for you and the dracling for now."​

​

"I don't know what to say...except thank you Shardis." Caoimhe rubbed the dracling under the chin as she shuffled along in the snow. "From both of us."​

​

"Think nothing of it. I would not see my friends die in such a manor when I was capable of changing their fate." Shardis didn't mention that she herself could never go back to the city for fear of someone scrying their location from her. ​

 

[unanun]

"Ach, no ..." Another familiar voice echoed from behind the rock. Shouldered upon Glyph's back and wrapped in many insulating layers was his oud - though he would have to get it serviced in warmer areas. The cold and dryness was warping the instrument, and he was not able to channel its music like he used to.

The moment the scholar left, Glyph saw the future unfold before him. He did not need to be a foreseer to watch the frail red strings flow forward in time. With sober haste, he banished the drunken haze from his mind and quietly set about the city to gathering equipment for a southern expedition. By the time he acquired a dog sled and some provisions, Caoimhe was being tried and set free from Barvelle. Small coincidence.

"That will not do, Shardis."

"Agh!" The anima twitched and nearly clawed the bard's face off, saved by Caoimhe's quick restraining movements. A few moments passed as recognition flowed through her. "And why is that?" she snapped.

"The dragon's children will not stay idle." His usual vernacular left him. "Once Barvelle is fercockt, they will trail your footprints like the zmeya. Except where you go, the earth will be salted and civilization will burn. Then when you have nowhere to go, then they will come for the zmeya, and snatch the last thing you hold from you too."

Though Caoimhe's senses were dulled from the betrayal, a shiver passed up her back, some primal affinity for fear passed on by her upbringing with the wolves. "They are not many, and they must be weak from being without a dragon-mother. We should not be too afraid of them."

"We can go to Aldus." Shardis was lost in thought, throwing out ideas that Medwick should have been coming up with instead. She was still chained by the habit of his presence, preparing retorts and snorts to quips that would ever come. "The Watch are strong. Tavark is ... "

"Too difficult." Glyph climbed onto the dog sled with a grunt and settled into the back, pulling the furs closer around him. Blood and spittle coated his beard. "Hurry south."

"The Burning Czar is also a dragon follower. He chases Ilium and will leave everything in ruin until he finds her again. The khasidim may gnash their teeth, but they will not tread on a superior one."

 

[Noctis the Devious]

Collaborative post with LeVen

Tavark

Annoyed and absolutely determined to get something done, Meric pushed himself from the tavern table and walked outside to the obnoxiously cold air.

On a full stomach, he'd have better luck finding work. Meric was fully aware the state the city was in, and they would need a lot of help in building things. It shouldn't be hard to find work, only he'd just gotten here and was tired as the seven hells.

He didn't even notice when he bumped into someone on the streets. Meric swore, and glanced at the person that he'd run into.

"Sorry," He interjected, but he didn't exactly sound like he was sorry. "I wasn't paying attention." As usual, but he didn't add that part in. Now was not a good time for his head to be floating to the clouds when he had work to be done. He shuffled uncomfortably.
"Are you alright?"

The brunette in question merely smirked, "You obviously have no idea who I am if you have to ask that." Her Tavarkian accent wasn't as strong as it should have been given the fact she was a Tavarkian born and raised but, as some people joked, her mother, a Barvelle librarian, hounded the Tavarkian right out of her with her fancy literature and constant lectures on proper grammar. Meric neither new this fact nor cared, and the teen wasn't in a sharing mood. Her Aux, a strange furry little creature with two black depths in place of eyes and a long, stripped tail draped over her neck, regarded him with his eyeless gaze. In one of his tiny little paws was a miniature wooden staff.

"I haven't seen you around before," the brunette continued, "Traveler? You don't look like a trapper to me. You're certainly not a hunter." She grinned at him and gave his shoulder a friendly smack. "Lighten up, this is Tavark! It might not look like much now but it's still as hardy as ever. Well, sort of."

"I'm just looking for work," Meric informed her, stepping away from her reach slightly.

"Well, plenty do around here. You can start at the Inn down that way and work your way from there. Sometimes people will just see you and pluck you off the streets if you look like you have a free hand."

"Thanks, I think."

"Don't mention it." Her hand raised, searching her shoulder for something that wasn't quite there, before lowering it and giving her head a dismissive shake. "Now, if you'll excuse me I better get back to Faibel's before she unwittingly decides to come after me herself. My advise? Don't make promises you don't whole heartily want to keep." With a teasing wink she wandered off in the opposite direction she suggested for him.

"Right, thanks." Meric stared after her for a while, before a gust of wind pushed him from his thoughts and he turned in the direction that she mentioned.

 

[lynzy]

Patients...timing...slooowly she wove her way nearer.... quiet, always as quiet as a whisper on the wind...ah...stop and wait low against the snow, blending in with the white around her....nearer, ever nearer... annnd....Pounce!

It was good to know she hadn't forgotten her basics. It felt good to be in touch with the world again. Soon Shardis and the others would be leaving the cold North...again. She drove her claw deep into the bucks neck and pulled back and away. As the blood flowed out onto the white ground around her Shar wondered to herself how the weird old man had found them...and she had not noticed him come up on them on the trail.

'I must be getting old too.' Shardis shook her head as she began dressing the buck, tossing a small piece to the fox that had been following her and was now licking its chops at the edge of the wood waiting for her to leave. "Go on, take it, I wont eat you today." She chuckled as she packed up, hefting the deer on to her shoulders and began walking back to camp.

'Who will watch over Galain now?', 'No one.' A voice in her head spoke as she walked. 'Shut up! Dam Aux! Who asked you?' There was a small pause then a chuckle and then...'Who has too?' Shar growled to herself as her ears flattened.

​

 

[Nemopedia]

Collaboration between: WishfulNemo, Caligari, LVL1337N00B & Unanun

[Ophanim Hayyoth]

It wasn't uncommon for Ophanim to lose the track of time or to forget about his surroundings once he got his hands on something to indulge his mind on. After that he had used a pantograph to draw over the lines of the seal in a bigger size the avian had -like it had been suggested earlier by his partner- carefully traced it over to a stamp, ready to print it down for distribution. It was however the question whether the male had succeeded in bringing over the details down to the copy. Not having much knowledge about magic or seals himself Ophanim feared that one mistake would make it unusable, or worse; explode. It was nonetheless greatly satisfying for the avian to see the seal enlarged and its details exposed to his ever so careful eyes.

However where the details of the seal had concerned him earlier the material that it was to be cast on, or whether it works or not wasn't much to his concern anymore. At least not as much as how the golems intrigued him. It was his way of setting priorities, his curiosity being the deciding factor and not so much that what others had called him to do first. He had never cared much for finishing work, at least not when it didn't interest him. It was one of the reasons why business inside of his little shop had been slow, why he had closed his shop so easily and went out to Barvelle when he was summoned. He had always been fickle like that, a little uncaring and simple.




[Ferri Spurius]

The process for the cleansing of the iron ore had proved problematic, to say the least. Ferri was used to creating steel for his blades, sure, but never had he been ordered to make a material so sturdy it can be used to contain a magic seal needed to form a powerful being.

Day and night did the blacksmith work to create the perfect material; he melted it, cleansed the top layer of filth, cooled it and then repeated the process over and over again. Never before had he created steel like this, when he tested it to forge a sword, the blade proved both extremely strong and extremely flexible at the same time.

Still though, Ferri had his doubts whether or not this would work, sure steel was less brittle compared to iron, but that didn't mean it was indestructible. Far from it, too much strain and crack goes the metal. He, for one, is one of the last people eager to be around when the metal shards start flying all over the place. In the end, it was the best he could do for them, if it wasn't enough... Well then that just meant they knocked on the wrong door.





[Artorius Cale]

After a good few drinks, Artorius decided at some point that it might be wise to invest in a new blade, what with the shape of current events and those to come. It had been quite some time since he'd had so much last and it was rather clearly evident; The lad stumbled about the streets at a pace near to a crawl, following directions he'd had to ask for several times to keep on the right track, directions to a particular workshop shared by a pair of craftsmen by the names Ophanim and Ferri, names he'd be just as like to have forgotten by the time he'd reach the place.

Instead of knocking or at least calling to someone, the inebriated thief opted instead to barge right in. Leaning against one surface or the other, the young man's one open eye roamed until it passed over two pairs of twins, leaving him to examine them in silent skepticism for a moment that, to him at least, felt brief. Though addled by excess drink, reason eventually won out and assured this was an illusion of sorts, and so he would finally speak up.

"I am told that here dwells-", he paused and rubbed a hand over weary eyes, then reworded, "That a smith of some talent could be found here, in this precise location, and that he.. Or she" And he sounded hopeful as he narrowed his vision in a poor attempt to remove blur and add more features to the figures before him, "..Would be willing, mayhaps, to forage.. Er, forge" He pronounced the revised word carefully, slowly, "A new sword, better.. Ah, sword.. To replace one lost while, whilst dis patching" Spoken as two words, "Those most foul, vile, wretched.. Er.. Nefarious creatures roami-Plaguing my fair Aldus."



[Ophanim Hayyoth]

Tardy as usual Ophanim had been picking up and down his utensils, checking them out in the light and putting them down again while he tried to think over on the golems. Smaller or bigger? Lighter or heavier? Questions crossed his mind as he tried to think of what might be the most convenient to use. In his personal opinion something lighter and smaller was needed, flexible and fast. However putting it down in a few words was much easier said than done.

It was then that a door opened, revealing the figure of a slurred man who seemed to be a little out of balance judging by the look in his eyes. At first the male had thought that the man was lost, that he had reached too deep for the glass and then stumbled into the wrong place. It was pitiful to see the wasted state that the man was in, staring at the black- and locksmith, thinking whatever a drunk could think of. Hoping that the stranger would figure out that he was at the wrong address Ophanim returned his eyes down to his job, playing around a little more with his tools without a word. It was not worth his time.

Just as when the avian was about to wonder when this stranger was to leave the place again the drunk spoke up. His sentences came out with pauses between them, the message he was trying to deliver taking longer than actually needed, but Ophanim decided to deal with, sighing a little as he returned his attention back to the stranger. Finally when the man finished his sentence he understood one part; this man did reach the right door. With that there was also no reason to send him out, or wait for the man to leave.

"I suppose you mean a blacksmith, right?" the avian spoke, stating the obvious but at the same time wanting to confirm and repeat it to himself as well. Just smith was too broad for him, meant too much, referred to too much and it annoyed him. Making a casual move to the back Ophanim shrugged a little, wondering if the stranger could see and or understand what he meant in his current state. "Ferri over there is a blacksmith, he might help. I'm a mere locksmith." He followed, shrugging a little. He didn't expect anything of interest out of this stranger, nor did he understood why he had to look for them. Weren't there more blacksmiths to be found inside of Barvelle? At least it didn't seem like that it was his time that was to be wasted, so with another shrug Ophanim retreated again into his own little world.

[Artorius Cale]

"Right..", Artorius said with a nod, promptly stumbling over to Ferri's work area. His hands slammed down on the surface of a table, more to steady himself than to call the blacksmith's attention. "As I have just tell-Told.. Conveyed to your.. Compatriot.. I require-", he paused, covering his mouth briefly, "A new sword."

"Something rel-Relatively light", he would specify, somehow failing to notice as the man walked past him and out the way he'd come in. Suddenly remembering the reason he needed a replacement in the first place, his brows furrowed and and he lifted a hand in order to aggressively prod the table-top with an index finger as he added, "But be damned sure it's strong enough to actually be useful."

It'd taken him a full five minutes of intent staring to realize the space in front of him was empty. The drunken rogue peered back over both shoulders, narrowing his eyes as he searched. The other fellow was still there, but appeared busy as far as Art could tell and.. What do you know? There just happened to be a small selection of already crafted swords. All very much standard, but unless he wanted to wait for an undetermined amount of time, he'd have to settle. The thief lifted one of the weapons and slunk around a corner and out of sight, keeping the blade firmly within his grasp despite bumping into a couple of things, then slid it into the sheath strapped to his back. It fit like a glove and Art was soon on his way out, muttering a complaint and making a claim to take his business elsewhere.

[Time skip]

Ophanim stared long and hard at the spell circle the pantograph traced. In a corner lay a dozen similar discarded machines. Each one was more precise than the last, the parts meticulously cut and placed together by his practiced clockwork hands. Yet ... the only thing increasing the precision did was reveal more detail. The circles within circles kept repeating themselves. With each optic he put into the magnifier, the pattern ran deeper and deeper.

He rubbed his blood shot eyes. Ferri was gone. He went to the lavatory one day and never returned, his limp body crushed and pulled through the latrine hole to feed the growing stench below. Worse than that was a complete lack of acknowledgement of his disappearance. Ophanim protested but Barvelle was embroiled in the chaos of the Archon's quarantine and the growing plague from the sewers. The Avian felt the burden of need to remember his brief partnership with the blacksmith, the only way Ferri's presence on Sunne could be acknowledged.

More than that, the incessant pattern haunted him, consumed his thoughts and drove his actions. Each pattern that the improved pantographs drew was more powerful. The first created a statute in the likeness of man. The second allowed the joints to be rotated without shattering. The third ...

And the one in front of him was like a body made of ice. The refinement was maddening.

A knock on the door to his cavern. Outside, the Inner Sages Arktus and Michel waited.

 

[unanun]

Outside the Clockwerker's Door

"Look ... " Michel had spent the last half hour justifying himself to no one. With Helena following Coul out into the bitter and uncertain south, the Tome Sage was left speaking to the reticent one. Arktus the Calm Sage smiled back. He always smiled back, that omnipresent slight upturn of his mouth.

"The golem spell circle isn't impenetrable. There is an end to it. Ophanim has shown us the pantographs - it is a self-repeating pattern, but if one simply undoes it from the top, it destroys itself in a self-repeating way. So what I'm saying is, we only need the opposite now - a way, some way - of constructing this self-similar pattern."

"But where does it start? Where do you start a circle ..."

The two stopped outside Ophanim's workshop. Michel worked alone, frequently returning whenever the clockwerk maker had news of another layer his ever refining pantographs had revealed. The pattern was clear, the solution was not. Michel claimed that the clarity of old age helped him work longer and harder than the young, overburdened scholars he commanded into and out of the Vonsoon archives deep within Barvelle. Yet Arktus had caught him on occassion imbibing a bitter black tincture ("An old remedy from Aldus.").

"Arktus, this is supposed to be your job." Since the wolf-girl (Caoimhe?) was removed from the city, the air seemed to be fresher. The Barvelle militia caught a few of the dragon-skin-clothed shamans, a few listless stragglers that did not stay with the skittering pack. They still crawled in and out of Barvelle. The city could have been compromised in a thousand ways or just one - the stress of the unknowns tore Coul and Helena in two as they left the city gates.

The Calm Sage finally gave Michel a pensive look. "Job ..."

"I suppose this is better than digging for Divine Weapons." He reached forward and knocked on the door.

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Ilsa Lisbon — Departure (or Exile), Indigo

Pegulian snow gradually covered the footsteps left behind by the Mad Sage Azareth, masking the path he had taken from Aldus.

In their place was another set of prints, originating from Aldus and pathing into the world beyond Pegulis. At their other end was Ilsa, her horse trudging through the snow that gradually changed to slush as she approached the Pegulis-Chersonese border.

Days prior, she had quietly fled without warning, knowing that if she stayed, the people of Aldus would likely subject her to her daughter's fate for her slaying of the Council. She'd received a fortuitous letter from General Coul that made for an excellent - and well-timed - reason to leave.

Ser Ilsa,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to request your presence in the Chersonese.

You may have heard that Kaustir has begun to march on the Neutral Lands, in the hopes of annexing it. From there, we fear they may attempt to extend their reach into Viridos, or into our homeland. For reasons I'm sure I do not need to explain, we cannot allow this to happen.

We estimate that Kaustir's military force may number in the millions. I have assembled a company of soldiers to advance on the Chersonese to meet and to negotiate with the Burning Czar. I suspect Viridos will follow suit.

From our interactions in Barvelle, I have come to respect your determination and tactical mind. Included with this letter is a map with our expected route from Barvelle to the Chersonese. If your obligations in Aldus allow, rendezvous with us at the Ring of Maeshov, the monolith circle just south of the Chersonese border, two days before the next full moon.

That day was approaching, and Ilsa made haste to be there in time, but she was weighed down by a consistent and growing sense of nausea. At first she reasoned it was due to the changing weather - she was unaccustomed to the Chersonese, and as she approached the border and the palette of the landscapes gradually turned from whites and grays to vibrant greens and golden browns, she expected a bit of adjustment.

But as she rode, even the rocking of her horse seemed to grow intolerable, the movement of its steps feeling more like waves crashing against her. Dizzy, she weakly commanded the horse to a halt before stumbling out of the saddle and falling to her knees. Pax, who had been gliding overhead, quickly circled down and landed beside her.

Every sensation felt disgusting; the squish of the muddy, grassy terrain beneath her, the whirl of unfamiliar scents, the sounds of chirping and active wildlife. Ilsa doubled over, retching and vomiting into the frost-covered grass, hands clutching at her stomach.

What is wrong with me?

Pax's keen eyes seemed to notice something that Ilsa at first did not. It had been about a month since Barvelle. As Ilsa coughed and attempted to spit away the foul taste in her mouth, her eyes were a mix of fear and bewilderment.

Somewhere mixed deep down behind those feelings, was maybe even a sense of happiness.

"Vrein..."

 

[unanun]

"The Czar is probably ("probably?") a sharp fellow. The fake golems we gave to Coul will not hold under intense scrutiny." The door cracked open and a haggard Ophanim greeted them.

As three they sat around the pantograph. The avian's hands, despite the trembling in other parts of his body, were rock steady and slowly moved the device as he peered at it through a set of ten successive magnifying optics. More circles in circles. Ophanim's body seemed to be becoming circular. His back was smoothly curved. The blood vessels in his bloodshot eyes apparently spiraled into his iris. The effects in his room were arranged concentric to the pantograph in the center. Arktus and Michel exchanged a glance before returning their attention to ..

"More."

Ophanim twitched. "How thin can I make this needle? How tight can I fit the lever arms together? I've reached my limit, Sages - the mere act of hammering the parts together deforms them. I had to purposely forge the individual parts to be bent so that my hammering would straighten them out."

"How deep must we go ... "

Michel hesitantly reached forward and laid a worn hand on the avian's shoulder. "It is better if you take a rest. Perhaps Arktus can help."

The Calm Sage sat down across from the other two. "Whatever reasoning went into this spell circle ... it is safe to assume that it will continue without end, however ridiculous that sounds."

"IT WILL FOREVER REMAIN BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING."

Arktus and Michel froze. Only Ophanim had the naivete to swivel his eyes. He was not present at the General Assembly meeting so many months ago when the secret of the Ghoul Sage was revealed. He only saw a white cloaked ghoul walk in circles around them, driving the nightmare deeper into his mind.

"MICHEL. TRYING TO USE MY EYES AND EARS FOR THE BLUE REPUBLIC? I DON'T REMEMBER THIS BEING A PART OF OUR AGREEMENT."

"Nor do I remember you forbidding it, Mordakar."

"YES .. HOW EASY IT IS TO CLAIM INNOCENCE, WHEN YOU CAN HAVE LITTLE IGNORANT CREATURES DO IT FOR YOU." Cold, cold fingers landed on the avian's shoulders. The hood peaked into Ophanim's peripheral vision, and it swiveled to look at him, eyes into infinite deep. "TELL ME, CAGED BIRD, WHAT YOU'VE FOUND."

 

[Nemopedia]

[Ophanim Hayyoth]

From his sleep deprived and overworked state the avian lost his usual sharpness for details and change, while his mind was locked and overfilled with the circles and the thought of the lost company he had. It was all to the point that no action and word from the outside would reach to him, just him and his little world as he kept on working, occasionally mumbling to himself as to keep his mind company. The two next to him just mere voices he had started to hear on a daily base within his mind.

However a new presence entered the room and with a basking voice this new company had finally found its way to Ophanim's attention. The avian foolishly turned around to see a figure that made him feel chills down his spine as he tried to think of reasons why there was fear rising inside of his chest. The white cloak that covered this person, or maybe even something as it didn't entirely feel like a living being, came closer to him, its fingers digging into his shoulders as goose bumps formed all over the avian's body.

Ignorant, was what the being told him. This unknown something, this existence on which Ophanim couldn't quite place his finger on, called him ignorant, but for what? For what goal the circles he drew around him were used? He had sure that he had been told the reason why the creation of the spell circles were needed, but due to fatigue and due to the overwhelming intimidation he couldn't recall what these words were and neither repeat them. His already blank mind only being able to mumble an answer of nonsense to the question the being asked him.

"Emptiness, darkness, endless…" he stammered mindlessly, as if he was describing what there was inside of the hood. None of the words registered inside of his mind, the locksmith had no idea what was coming over at him right at the moment as his eyes blankly stared to what was in front of him.

 

[E.T.]

It took two days for Caoimhe to snap herself out of the shambling stupor that had clouded her mind since she had been banished from the city. Hunting seemed to draw her out, perhaps it was just the hunger that cleared her mind long enough to join Shardis in bring down something to fill their bellies. The only other time she truly stirred was when the dragon called for her. Much of the day had to be either spent traveling or hunting and when the sun finally dipped towards the horizon camp was set up hurriedly and all three of them huddled down with every intention of doing nothing until the sun drove them south once again. And yet for all the exhaustion that plagued her if that child chirped and danced long enough she would break through her own tiredness and play with him until he to fell asleep.

In the early hours of morning Glyph sometimes woke up to see her sitting and contemplating the copy of the order that had been forced into her hand. He knew for a fact that she could not read and yet she would just sit and drag her fingers across the seal in contemplation. Eventually they would have to move on and Caoimhe would fold the paper along well defined creases and hide it away among the folds of her jacket.

It was Glyph who finally broke the spell. They were settled for the night, Caoimhe had returned a while back with a mountain hare gripped in her hand and some of its blood staining the bottom of her chin. Glyph sat by the small fire they had spared themselves, a deep cough shaking his frame flecks of red visible in his beard. There was a span of time where the wilding just blinked, her brow furrowing deeply as she moved towards her grandfather, dropping the hare much to the dracling's delight as he dodged around her heels.

"Grandfather?" She said, her voice soft and questioning as she kneeled next to him. One hand flitted up to touch his shoulder. Her eyes were wide with concern, the memory of the dragon children and they plagued that came with them caused her throat to clamp closed and the hair stand up on the back of her neck. They were close now, soon they would be able to hide the shadow of her child in the shade of a much bigger serpent. And perhaps for a little while they would be safe, just maybe.

 

[unanun]

[ooc warning - turn volume down for sound link]

[dash=grey]

"NOTHING. YOU'VE FOUND NOTHING." The Ghoul Sage reached forward and twisted the ten layers of optics around the spell circle. The images within the small circle of glass accelerated, probing deeper and deeper into the pattern until it became a concentric tunnel of light. "HOW PRECISE WILL YOU HAVE TO MAKE YOUR MACHINES TO SEE THE ENDLESS?"

Cold hands grasped Ophanim's head and swiveled them to face the Inner Sages, rooted in agitation and unable to help the Avian. Maybe the Ghoul Sage had magically welded their lips shut, for Michel trembled with either rage or helplessness. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THOSE TWO CREATURES ARE, LITTLE BIRD? THEY ARE HUMANS, RIGHT?"

"TO ME, THEY ARE THE OPPORTUNISTS. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A BODY ROT? IT DISCOLOURS AND SWELLS AND THE INSECTS COME TO LAY THEIR EGGS TO FEAST ON THE FLESH. ON SUNNE, A DEAD BODY IS A FLEETING OASIS."

The Ghoul Sage's words carried a particularly bitter vitriol. "DO YOU PERHAPS TAKE PRIDE IN YOUR CITY ALDUS, BIRDLING? THE SMALL CIVILIZATION YOU HOBBLED TOGETHER, THE CONTRAPTION YOU ARE PROUD TO BE A COG OF ... BUT BUILT ON THE BODY OF A FALLEN GOD? IS MAN NOT LIKE THE FLY THAT LAYS ITS EGGS ON A ROTTING BODY, JUST ANOTHER MAGGOT LOOKING FOR NOURISHMENT FROM THE PAST?"

"THE GODS LITTERED SUNNE FROM THE SKY IN THE CATACLYSM. AND ALL I SEE IS ARE THE LITTLE OPPORTUNISTS, BREAKING THEIR BODIES FREE FROM THE ASH AND ASKING QUESTIONS THAT HAVE INCOMPREHENSIBLE ANSWERS."

"They will understand the answers in time, Mordakar." Arktus stepped forward, and so did Michel, his gauntlets beginning to glow with advent light. "Why are you interfering with us beyond our agreement?"

Laughter whistled from the blackness. "MAYBE I WILL TELL THIS LITTLE BIRD THE SECRET. THEN YOU CAN SPEND THE REST OF HIS LIFE EXTRACTING IT FROM HIS ADDLED MIND." Five fingers, five rods, settled in a pentagram on Ophanim's skull.

[/dash]

 

[Nemopedia]

[Ophanim Hayyoth]

With widening eyes and a rising surprise Ophanim watched the new presence do what had taken him so long. He, the locksmith who had been invited to Barvelle with the reasoning of being 'the best' and yet there was someone else doing his work with so much ease. Who was this? With a new founded awe and a building fear that was working its way up from his stomach to his throat Ophanim switched his eyes between the circles back to the cloaked figure and back again.

However, everything was soon replaced again by fright as he was forced to look into the direction of the other two. Frozen in spot and uselessly standing by the avian wondered with just who they were dealing with. What was it that this cloaked figure had and knew that made them all stand still and demand all of their attention? Weren't these the figures he should be able to rely on the most? Along with his fear a certain feeling of anger crept up onto him, why had they come here and why did they have to bring the other with them?

Somehow the thought that his deceased partner, Ferri might have not died by accident also flew by. A bitter distaste formed inside of his mouth as Ophanim tried to calm down, realising that once again his thoughts were running their own lives.

Mordakar. The name had been mentioned before, but Ophanim hadn't paid much mind to it, too busy consuming himself within his fear and the suddenness of the whole situation. Now that he had finally woken up from his trance, now that he could think a little more clearly the avian had finally caught the name of this third figure. Not that it helped him much in finding out what this presence was.

What caught his interest the most was what the duo said, seemingly finally having found their courage to speak and move again. What was there to understand and what agreement? From the moment that they had entered and in which Ophanim had recollected himself his feelings had gone from fear to anger and confusion to distrust. The last part which Mordakar added before placing his hand into formation on his head didn't help much either. What secret?

Again a numbing feeling took over his body as the male sat still, not daring to move, not even the pupils of his eyes and or to lift his hands up to feel around. What secret was there that the inner sages didn't know yet and why had this Mordakar decided to tell him this secret? The whole event dizzied him, making him wonder how much more there was to come. He had believed that all he was to do and called for was to help out with the golems, a project that would have him dismissed soon enough so that he could return to Aldus and pick up his dull life again. It didn't seem that he was to return anywhere soon though and for the first time the avian realised to himself that he was naïve and foolish to think that he could return in and to peace. It was however already too late to realise as it seemed that he was stuck in something that looked like a sacrificial ritual.

 

[Peregrine]

The Ring of Maeshov, skyblue

[dash=white]The Pegulian envoy had set up camp within the snow-free center of the Ring of Maeshov, and many hundreds of tents had been set up around ten fires, which burned brightly in the late evening light. Their number had easily tripled from the group of men and women who had left Barvelle, as small parties from Aldus, Tavark, and the other scattered nomadic people of Pegulis had found their way to the caravan, but their numbers were still pitiful compared to the task that faced them. The faulty golem sat towards the edge of the camp, near the penned horses, but even it did not add much weight to the Pegulian bluff.

A scout found Coul sitting outside of his small fur tent, and quickly saluted before reporting that a lone mounted figure had been sighted drawing close to the Ring from the north. Coul stood, and quickly told the scout to go find Helena, before bringing her to the northernmost pillar that created the Ring.

Helena and the scout caught up with Coul less than fifty feet before the pillar. Helena settled in beside him before the scout moved up towards the carved stone pillar. The small group gave the support a wide berth as they moved outside the Ring. It had never proven harmful, but there was no sense in tampering with the unknown needlessly.

The scout pointed towards the horizon line, and it was easy to see the mounted silhouette slowly descending against the white field of snow.

"What should I do, General?"

"Wait." Coul replied firmly. "We are awaiting others, and a lone rider cannot do much against us."

Only a few minutes later, the scout shifting restlessly against the frigid Pegulian wind, and the figure drew close enough for Coul and Helena to make out the rider. Both of them let out a small breath of relief as the figure of Ilsa formed together in the dusk. Coul quickly dismissed the scout, who saluted and ran off, before the two moved out to meet Ilsa away from the encampment.

As they approached, Ilsa straightened up on her horse, doing her best to mask the nausea she was experiencing. Sweat glistened across her forehead, though that just as easily could have been the temperature change. Slowing the horse to a halt, Ilsa saluted cordially, attempting to maintain her professionalism. "General. Sage Helena. It's good to see you both. What--" her voice faltered for a moment as she stifled a gag, pausing to clear her throat. "What's the situation?"

Coul responded to Ilsa's salute promptly, before moving in beside her horse. Helena fell into step moments later. "Ilsa. I'm glad you were able to make it. Right now, we are taking a few days of well deserved rest before we enter the Cheronese. Scouts have returned with reports of the Kaustir army. The situation is... as dire as we feared."

The small group remained silent as they wound towards the center of the encampment. Ilsa left her horse with the stable hands, before following after Coul and Helena. The three finally stopped in a small portion of the camp, where about fifty men were gathered about a separate fire. Unlike the rest of the camp they were oddly silent, and when Coul and Helena entered they immediately stood at attention. Coul waved a hand, and they returned to their seats.

Ilsa nodded in acknowledgment towards the group of soldiers, recognizing a few familiar faces from her time in Barvelle. As the men settled back into quiet chatter, she turned to face Coul and Helena. "This is the group of soldiers you assembled?" Ilsa's frustration was clear despite her voice being but a whisper. Coul's letter hadn't specified an exact number of soldiers in the caravan. "This is... like trying to use a snowbank to stop an avalanche!"

"You think I do not know this!?" Coul replied, his voice a harsh, almost broken murmur. He took a deep breath, and Helena laid a hand on his shoulder. When he began to speak again, his voice was much calmer. "This is why I must ask you for something... drastic. Something that would take you away from Pegulis for an... indefinite amount of time."

Unwilling to allow Coul to slowly work up to what they both knew he had no choice but to ask, Helena interrupted. "Captain Lisbon, we need you to lead these men into the heart of the Kaustir army, and work as an undercover sabotage group within the Kaustir military itself."

Ilsa almost winced at the title of "Captain," hands moving almost instinctively to her stomach at their request; she quietly considered what this might mean for her health - and her child's health. Swallowing heavily, she nodded and took in a deep breath as she came to a decision. "Well, it doesn't appear that I have much choice."

"You do have a choice," Coul replied, despite Helena's fierce look. "Every one of the men and women before you has volunteered for the position. If you refuse, they will choose their own leader."

"But none of them have your experience," Helena interrupted smoothly. Nothing on her expression showed how much of a toll sending these soldiers into the depths of the Kaustir army was going to cost her, how many sleepless nights it would create. She knew what she must do. "Even with you, the chances of this succeeding are slim. But, without you, they fall even further."

It was clear that Helena and Coul had argued long and hard over the necessity of this covert group, and who would lead it. But, even though Coul wanted to give the woman who had already sacrificed so much for Peguis every chance to refuse, he could not contradict what Helena was saying.

The illusion of choice was not comforting to Ilsa. Despite being tired of getting dragged around by fate, Ilsa nodded once again. "I will lead them," she confirmed, knowing full well that her decision to do so might mean death; at least it would be in service to Pegulis, rather than at the hands of a lynch mob in her hometown. Finding a renewed sense of determination, her hazel eyes studied the small group of soldiers as she devised a plan.

"I'll only need a handful. Perhaps no more than ten for the inside team. Leave the rest outside so that those of us on the inside can have a team to relay information back to you or to communicate orders." Her eyes settled on Bridgette, the red-haired guardswoman from Barvelle. "We can communicate using the Aldus Watch mirrors."

With another deep breath as she continued to think, Ilsa turned her gaze to the sprawling plains of the Chersonese. How could they easily assimilate into Kaustir? "We'll pose as soldiers defecting-- no, it would raise too much suspicion. We'll have to lose the armor and try to pass as a tribal group native to the Chersonese. We can be captured, and offer services to Kaustir."

Coul and Helena exchanged mirroring glances of concern. "...and if Kaustir doesn't believe you?" Helena inquired.

"Then..." Ilsa's voice trailed as she tried, and failed, to envision a better outcome. "Then, we die."[/dash]

 

[unanun]

"LITTLE BIRD," The Ghoul Sage continued after a small pause, "DON'T YOU FIND IT PECULIAR THAT YOU WERE GIVEN SUCH A STRANGELY SPECIFIC TASK, TO INVESTIGATE SUCH A COMPLEX MATTER OF SUCH SIGNIFICANCE? DON'T YOU THINK ... THAT THEY ALREADY KNEW THE ANSWER?"

"Grandfather? Grandfather!" Her calls were lost on ears filled with coughing. Glyph bent over, the force of his retching drowning out Caoimhe's pleas. Even Shardis, usually aloof regarding the old bard, allowed her ears to flicker with concern.

"Ach ..." Glyph irritably wiped blood and spittle from his mouth and flung it to the ground, "... treasured feygela, I am the last of my line. I do not have enough time to pass on my stories, my tethers of friendship, nor my wisdom to you, nach a mool." He reached into his bag. Caoimhe saw the way in which he moved, his trembling fingers opening satchels and pouches, feeling the herbs, letting bits and pieces slip and pollute the other bags. It was a clumsy, absent-minded way of moving, and it hinted at where his mind was - or where it was going soon.

"So you will have to repeat it. I was only taught a tiny piece of what I know, and I've only taught you a tiny piece of what I know. You will spend a lifetime getting to where I am now ... and on your deathbed, only then, will all the pieces fit together and you will have truly original thought. Fercockt!" The pipe smouldered in his slack-jawed lips, and he did not draw a breath.

"Glyph ... " Caoimhe looked in his glassy eyes, but they were sunken with the sign of death.

The clouds passed from his eyes. "Although, I still have a few things to do. Dreck! I wish to let go of the thread, but someone is always closing my hand around it. Come along then." The dogs howled and strained against the ropes tied to the sled.

"The journey of discovery is worth a thousand lessons."

"KAUSTIR KNOCKS ON YOUR DOORSTEP AND YOU TRY TO TEACH CHILDREN HOW TO WIELD MY GOLEMS. WHEN YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO."

"Pegulis needs to learn to stand on its own."

"WITH THE HELP OF DIVINE INTERVENTION?"

"Pegulis is more than the thermic gems that Eirene brokered from you, Mordakar. Each citizen has their own burden of knowledge. We cannot simply keep handing down trinkets in times of crisis. They need to learn to fend for themselves."

"SEE HOW," The Ghoul Sage leaned downward and cupped a hand to Ophanim's ear, as if speaking to an old friend, "THEY ACT?" The inner sages were framed in the avian's vision, framed in concentric circles - "LIKE ME ... TWO SETS OF IMMORTALS, PLAYING AROUND WITH PEGULIS."

Ophanim twisted his head, the reverie broken, but found nothing behind him.

 

[Silvir]

Eydis stood up from the fire and looked at the rider entering camp accompanied by Coul. She looked familiar, but from a distance the anthro girl couldn't be sure. So she moved the food that was slowly preparing at the fire, into a position that would take it longer to finish. Then the girl headed of to see who the newcomer was.
it didn't take long to confirm though it seemed they where having an important talk. The anthro folded her large ears back to avoid listening in on it by mistake. It seemed important and she was just another ranger tagging along. Not the time to get in trouble out of curiosity.

Folding her arms Eydis kept at a respectful distance. It looked strange with all those serious soldiers standing there. A chosen group?
It all was quite gloomy yet Ilsa seemed somewhat distant compared to the others. The antro girl shifted her weight to the other leg and averted her eyes knowing she was prying into things best left alone by the looks of it. It was difficult not getting into trouble when curiosity was in her nature.

But perhaps having an idea of what these people planned could be good considering the many things at stake here. She needed to pick up that book for her father. In secret and safely. But she also wanted the negotiations to proceed as well. She did not want to know what that strange mage had planned.

 

[Nemopedia]

Ophanim Hayyoth

"What nonsense…"

It was the first sound that Ophanim made after his little 'wake up'. Did this mean that his time had been wasted? That he had been working on something already known, already figured out, only to start over and repeat something already done? How many more like him? How many others were tricked like this? Was this what Ferri's death had meant to them? How many others had been tested and played around like he was and perhaps even lost their lives?

Numerous questions formed inside of his head. Questions from which he didn't dare to ask an answer for, angering him and shaking his inner being as he felt to be taken for a fool. The arrogance of the sages. To think that he had blindly trusted them when they had invited him for this project, it left a bitter taste inside of his mouth as he could feel his stomach turn. They said that they invited the best amongst of them for this task, that they trusted them to figure it out for them and now he had found that they had known the answer all along. The only one who was desperately looking for an answer was himself, laughed at by the sages behind his back as he worked his endless hours away.

However the conversation was soon cut short and as Ophanim was forced to return his attention back to the one called 'Mordakar' he found himself swayed around by the words spoken. The fact that the other two said nothing that could convince the avian otherwise made his heart only beat harder in frustration. Was Pegulis and all of its people a toy to be discarded like a child did when they were bored of theirs? Were they pieces of a game of chess, from which you could discard your responsibilities whenever you felt like it? Ophanim felt himself break out in cold sweat as his mind rampaged into the direction that the sages were plotting against them, against him. This was a betrayal from a place he never had expected it to come and that made him only the more afraid.

Now with the cloaked figure gone, the space they had been standing at empty and their presence gone, he could breathe again. With a gasp he took in his air, falling over on his knees and hands, trying to put order to his mind. Like how he ordered the gears inside of his clockworks he tried to arrange everything in their rightful place. Strangely enough all that he found was a booming noise inside of his mind, the voice of Mordakar continued to ring inside of his memories and the more he listened, the more he felt convinced of what he had just found and thought.

"How…" Finally calming down a little the avian sat up on his knees, feeling too weak to stand up and not wanting to lose control of his own balance he felt so proud of. He wanted to ask something, but felt unsure of what to ask and whether he was to receive an answer from them. From what he had seen the two had avoided and dodged around with what they truly meant, never coming out straight. There was also the fear that they would try to get rid of him, for he might have found out and or heard too much. Perhaps, and so he decided that he would do for now, it was wise to just act along with them, pretend that there had been nothing changed inside of his heart and that there was no feeling of hurt or betrayal within him.

 

[unanun]

"It is true."

The Calm Sage sat down and placed his finger on the most detailed pantograph that the avian had produced. As he traced the swirl of the pattern, they could see, or more accurately, feel the circle complete itself in a microscopic way. The entire table - the intricate machine, the stone, and paper and the ink - liquefied and swirled into a tall, thin humanoid.

Only the Archon had seen the first ice golems rage through Barvelle. But it did not take memory to instill fear. This creature had the subtle malice of a knife edge. Its icicle fingers fluttered in a breeze unfelt, its comically thin, ovaloid head seeming to spin and regard its surroundings, even though the smooth surface gave no hint of a face. It was inert, waiting for command.

Michel shot eyes wide at Arktus, a mixture of shock, betrayal, and knew-it-all-along dancing across the old wrinkles. The emotions mixed like four immicsible liquids in a boiling pot, different ones coming to the surface as Arktus spoke to the two of them.

"The Ghoul Sage uses ancient magic from before the Cataclysm - things only the half-mad Vonsoon nocturnes remember now. They are hidden inside deep caves in Barvelle, and mutter only to themselves and their children." Arktus swirled his finger on the golem's body, creating smaller spell circles that birthed miniature golems from the main's body, like a hydra or comic tumour. "It would seem that he either slept through the cracking of the earth, or perhaps he was an old god who hid himself away while the rest of them fell into the Prosperos."

"So .. why couldn't you just teach it to me?"

"The theory is long and complex. You can follow the instructions and learn nothing about how it works .. like I did." He gazed deep into the golem's face, perhaps with academic frustration. "So I thought if we could produce it a different way, then we would learn something mo-"

"And how did lying to me help?"

Arktus smiled uncomfortably. "Just a feeling."

"Did you have to wreck my entire table as well?"

"That ... I didn't know would happen. That was why ..."

But are you an immortal, Arktus? Michel's eyes screamed it. What did the Ghoul Sage mean when he said there were two immortals playing over Pegulis' fate? Is the destiny of Pegulis just a tug-o-war between two broken Gods, two broken views .... two broken ideals?

What are you, Arktus?

"Eirene!"​

​

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