The Veteran laughs as another deadly
strike tears into Nye'ddeth, sending the shrieking, writhing thing
flickering back through the air. Besides him, one of the “angels”
Ormid summoned darts close to it, its blades of ice and darkness
biting with supernatural effect into the alien dimensions' boiling
form.
“Come on!” Screams Llewellyn,
“We've nearly got him!”
Standing a little away from main melee,
Ormid struggles to take it all in. Apart from the wounds Nye'ddeth
had suffered, everything else has been “re-set”; his allies
wounds healed, their vigour restored, their cumulative wounds –
physical and mental – forgotten. More to the point, none of them
except himself, seem to have the slightest inkling as to how badly
things had been going before, each one swapping boasts and merry
insults to the lethal entity they battle, mocking its “weakness”
and praising their own “awesome skills.”
“So this is the power of a God?” He
whispers to himself, before summoning his magic to help end the
battle...
20:35 – The very substance of the
chamber resonates with the discordant screams and manic thrashing of
Nye'ddeth, as its physical form is finally torn apart by the combined
might of the newly rejuvenated party; mewling and slumping into
itself as it loses its dimensional cohesion and fades into
nothingness.
With the “death” of the sentient
planar shard, the chamber in which they battle slowly reverts to its
normal form; a scene of abject carnage replacing the distorted arena.
The group find themselves in a vast hall, which was once some kind of
construct manufactorum, complete with sunken bed within which
artificers could work, vast cranes of complex construction, and
reinforced benches and walls. Massive fragments of half-completed
constructs lie scattered about the place, and in several areas, small
alchemical fires sputter and fume, casting erratic shadows over the
other inhabitants of this still, sickening place – the dead.
Twenty or more Imbuers lie in various
states of undress and mutilation. Some are locked together as if they
died during coitus, whilst others have clearly been the subjects of
frenzied assaults. Still others have inflicted their fatal wounds
upon themselves; throats gaping, eyes empty, their cold, rigid hands
still gripping the tools with which they killed themselves.
A few are alive, though so traumatised
and damaged mentally that they are unable to do anything other than
sit, staring dazedly around them, smeared in excrement and blood.
However, one figure stands across from
the group, panting in his pain, his hands severed. It is the
Lir'Aelwyn. For a moment the group say nothing, wondering how he will
react to them. However, he meets their gazes with calmness, and nods
his thanks, his beautiful features darkened with pain.
“Y-you saved us.” He breathes
suddenly, stumbling, “You. Saved. Us...”
10/1/50
For the last two days the group have
helped Illithayne (the aelwyn and High Charismacist) establish
contact with those Imbuers that fled when the Xixan intrusion began,
and to tally and bury the dead. Many Imbuers have lost their minds
during the intrusion, and will need constant care for the rest of
their lives, but overall, at least a third of the school's mages have
survived.
Illithayne has used a powerful scroll
to restore his hands, though they are sore looking, raw things at
present. He has also explained to the group how the intrusion
occurred – telling them it was the result of tampering with a
Xixian item sold to the Collegiate by agents of a Feyan group known
as the Grey Philosophy (both Ormid and the Veteran scowl at this,
remembering their own trials with that group of thieves and tomb
robbers back in Laertaine's ruins, so many moons ago). He also
explains that he tried to seal away the artefact by capping the rune
circle that lead to the lab where it was being examined, and posting
several guardians to prevent access – the Scaladar and Helmed
Horror - though by the time he reached the lower labs, the opening
ritual had been completed and Nye'ddeth had emerged into this
dimension. Illithayne winces as he recalls his own battle with the
planar shard, and almost breaks down as he recalls the constant
assaults against his will by the “bridge glyphs”, breaking into a
chuckle when he explains that in truth, the agony of having his hands
cut off was like a balm compared to the constant, attempted violation
of his mind by their sorcery.
Word has been sent by Rammanum to all
the other schools, and it has been agreed that they shall all meet
within the Imbuer's tower over the next week in order to plan how
they will work together to activate the Settari Weapon – though
there is already tension reported between several of the schools, the
worst being between the gruff mages of the Helldazzlers and the
mercurial casters of the Disciples of Change.
11/1/50 – 28/1/50 – Over the next
couple of weeks a frenzy of activity envelops the tower, as groups of
mages from the five schools arrive to learn of their part in the
activation ritual. Initially this is a tumultuous time, with egos and
philosophies clashing, and a simmering undercurrent of mistrust and
arrogance bubbling away, ready to erupt into spectacular violence at
the slightest spark. However, with Rammanum's help, Ormid manages to
massage hurt feelings, and get the leaders of the various orders to
concentrate on their similarities rather than their differences.
It's slow and at times frustrating
work, but slowly and surely, the disparate schools begin to come
together, eventually deciding for themselves that they can benefit
from sharing at least some theories and plans. News has also
got out that the most potent schools of magic are coming together to
form a “Unifying Order”, and over the weeks a number of other
schools of magic seek to gain “entry” into it – an idea that
many feel may be worth exploring once the threat in the North has
been ended.
Rammanum is a source of both endless
gratitude from the group, and some discomfort, for “she” is not
at all what anyone was expecting. Where she had given the impression
of a human female when speaking in their minds, in the “flesh”
she is something very different. When she first arrived, Ormid went
to greet her personally, accompanied by the rest of the group (save
Shadevia, who has become ever more isolative, and is seen less and
less by everyone). He struggled however to keep his surprise hidden,
when he discovered that Rammanum occupies an intricate artifice body,
made from thousands of thin “bandages” of rune inscribed metal,
and that even in person she speaks directly into his mind.
Time passes in a blur, and with all the
great minds of the gathered mages poring over the divined plans of
the weapon, they begin to understand both how it works, and how to
fire it.
And then, suddenly, it's time to do
just that.
29/1/50
– 14:50 – Within a great hall the collected mages of the five
guilds assemble before the rune-struck horns of a portal pylon,
whilst Anton
Azvierre and
several of his disciples begin the ritual to activate it. The air
thrums with both potent magical energies, and a sense of epic
expectation; the silent momentum of incredible events that will
forever change the destiny of the world. Held aloft by potent
rituals, the group look down on the serried ranks of mages, and hope
that they are going to be able to work together as they have
practised so often over the last few weeks, and fire the weapon
successfully at its vast target thousands of miles to the North.
Crawling lines of coruscating energy
snakes up the pylons, and arcs from the tips towards each other. As
they meet, there is a loud, flat, bang, and a drop in the air
pressure as a gateway is forged between the tower and the outskirts
of Leskin Holdt's camp, a roar of shock echoing from within it, the
alarmed voices of his students joining the chorus.
14:51 – 15:06 - Moving through with
practised discipline the mages emerge into the steaming heat and
oppressive humidity of Anathar's jungles, moving with confidence to
their allotted posts. Leskin and his students rush out to meet them,
their eyes widening in shock as they spy the multitudes of potent
spell casters heading their ways.
“What the hell?”
Then
he sees the group, floating above them, Llewellyn waving madly and
giggling. For a moment Leskin doesn't recognise them (they have
changed so much both physically and intangibly since he last saw them
– which to him was only an hour or so ago). However, he then spots
the warforged, and his anger melts away in a wave of sheer disbelief.
“What. The....?”
15:07 – 15:17 – Whilst Leskin and
his students stand dumbstruck, the mages move to their respective
areas. The magi of the Binding Circle seek the glyphs of the
outermost circle, the Disciples of the Change, the next circle in,
and the Helldazzlers the innermost circle. The diviners of the Cabal
of Ubiquitous Sight take up positions around the central mechanism,
which is manned by artificers from the Imbuers Collegiate.
Above them float the group, and the
leaders of the five schools, each ready to shout advice if and when
it is needed.
From the volcano echoes distant
rumbles, and the group smile, remembering their terrifying journey
through its deadly guts, racing against time to find their goal
before their protective spells wore off. Above them, the sky is
covered in thickening cloud, and thunder growls with ominous portent
from their depths.
“All right,” Breathes Rammanum's
telepathic voice, “it is time. Brothers and sisters, begin your
work.”
For a moment nothing seems to happen.
Then, on the outer circle, the conjurers begin to enact rituals of
summoning, the air crackling with energy as they open portals to the
nearest elemental dimensions, their potent spells seeking out and
dragging forth beings of primal, ferocious elemental might.
Flames of fabulous, impossible colours
jet upwards with semi-sentient roars, and shrieking maelstroms of
aeolian rage bubble and blister as the first spirits are drawn into
this plane. Numerous cracks emanate from other glyphs as invisible
but grotesquely powerful earth spirits are summoned, whilst eruptions
of frost, acid and lava herald the arrival of other, equally potent
entities. Thunder rumbles again above and below as nature responds to
the epic magics being unleashed, and each binder fights hard to
maintain their concentration and to correctly fulfil their part in
this weapons firing.
Soon the entire outer circle is awash
with a curtain of seething elemental spirits, barely held in check by
the desperate and masterful castings of the Binding Circle magi,
signifying that it is time for the Disciples and the Helldazzlers to
do their parts.
Choreographed to perfection, both
groups begin their chants, whilst the Imbuer's activate a number of
sub-systems within the weapon, the vast stone circles starting to
move around so the triangles within which the glyphs are carved move
to align. Lightning flashes above, and the hell light of the volcano
seems to grow in response. The smell of magic and torn earth fills
the air, mingling with the reek of ozone and sulphur. It seems to
take the triangles forever to slot into place, and several of the
binder's seem on the brink of collapse; blood running from their eyes
and ears as their bodies begin to tear apart under their castings
awesome momentum. However, with a click the circles of stone
move to their correct alignment, and at once there is a deep Whoom
of power, felt in the bellies of every living thing within miles, as
the energy of the bound elementals suddenly rushes through the mystic
connections within the weapon, towards the waiting transmuters,
lighting a fine filigree of runes and sigils previously hidden on
buried spans of the overall structure with brilliant, razor-sharp
light.
At once the transmuters are engulfed in
searing waves of raw, chaotic, elemental power, and several are
killed outright, their bodies consumed by its fury. However, enough
survive and remain conscious to take on that terrible, killing energy
and to harness it within the matrix of their own epic rituals;
focusing and refining it into something that can be channelled into
the weapon – something that the invokers can craft and direct with
the needed control and precision.
More glyphs awaken between the middle
and inner ring as the refined power surges towards the Helldazzlers,
hitting them like a tidal wave. All of them accept the agony with a
grim smile, and welcome the fury of its charge. With deep voices
chanting in unison, they take hold of the focused power and begin to
weave it into an even purer, destructive energy – a raw invocatory
power that will, when directed towards the weapon, awaken its
terrible, sleeping wrath.
It is at this point that the air above
the weapon flickers and glows, the auroral light soon condensing into
a vast sphere, within which floats a scene glimpsed by the group so
long ago...
...The
monstrous Ziggurat of the Gennamene, slowly emerging from the
impossibly vast dimensional rift, atop its support disc of spiked,
dark metal, surrounded by alien tempests of brutal, killing cold...
“Target sighted.” Sighs Rammanum
into everyone's minds, “Portal boundaries clear and locked. Prepare
to initiate firing phase.”
Beneath the group, the weapon looks
like some fantastic firework – lit by the multi-coloured energies
and crystalline fury of its activation rituals, whilst all around the
storm gains strength as the fabric of reality buckles and stretches
under the awesome weight of the magic blazing in this place.
“It's time.” Whispers Ormid, his
eyes filled with tears.
“It's incredible.” Replies the
vyrleen quietly.
And then reality is briefly torn apart.
With the target clearly in sight,
courtesy of the diviners own epic castings, the weapon is brought to
bear, and at last the Helldazzlers can give up their terrible,
agonising burden. Lances of glassy, near colourless power thrust out
from them and converge simultaneously upon the central mechanism,
where the Imbuer's work their own spells of activation, taking the
catastrophic might and focusing it through the weapons ancient
systems.
In a heartbeat the weapon awakens, and
sends an impossible amount of dimensional energy through the skin of
reality. Far to the north, guided by the diviners and the imbuers
skills, amidst the freezing hell of the war front (now evacuated
thanks to warnings sent out by the group to the forces there –
timed so's as not to alert their past selves to what is going on),
the primal energies of creation are suddenly generated within the
portal through which the Ziggurat emerges, as another portal is
forged there by the weapon. Resonating, and gathering even more
energy through Kelter's First Principle, the vast portal flashes
suddenly with blinding, silent radiance, before it collapses in a
terrible, devastating release of power hundreds of thousands of times
more powerful than anything unleashed since the Primal Wars.
For a moment all sanity flees as a
chaotic mass of mangled gravity, buckling dimensional boundaries and
brute physical energy are unleashed in a blast hundreds of miles
across.
Back at the weapon, the entire area is
bathed in agonising heat as it overcharges and burns out, a hurricane
of screaming tempest winds, madly jagging lightning and
mind-shattering noise erupting from it in a burst, throwing everyone
from their feet, blowing apart the weapon and levelling the camp and
surrounding jungle for hundreds of feet in all directions. The view
of the Ziggurat is lost in the maelstrom of unleashed power, though
the last image that hangs there shows it fragmenting into a million
melting shards under the ineffable deluge of primal, consuming
energies released by the portals collapse.
Agonised and disoriented, the group are
scattered by the local eruption, and for a moment all fear they have
gone deaf and blind, their senses briefly overwhelmed by the
brightness and volume of the power that has enveloped the weapon
site. However, after a short while their senses return, and they
hear the ragged cheering and slowly increasing laughter of the mages
at the success of this wild, incredible mission.
Around them, with the massive release
of magic over, nature exerts its own fury, and a massive thunderstorm
breaks out, sheets of hot rain slamming into the battered and
bloodied mages and cringing, terrified students of Leskin's camp.
Finally, after so many adventures, the
group have succeeded. The weapon has been fired, the Ziggurat erased
– and the first seeds of what will become the Unified Order sown.
But this, in truth, is only the start
of their most challenging adventures...
