Indeed, Hlak|hnchaeir was more worried by the spirit constructs.
While he couldn't fault their use in this, such use presented far more
danger to a living thecology than the corrupted spirit they had
attacked.
In the dark of night, in the Century Grove, around the perimeter of
the crash, entities stepped out of shadows to look with mundane eyes
upon the devastation. Some were more shadow than matter, others more
spirit than substance. Some existed purely as reflections of others, far
away, while at least one was there almost entire in physical form, with
only a dark glint of black and crimson in the planes of spirit to
signify it's presence. They observe only, and whisper to each other.
Wood, metal, and crystal -- the smell of sulfur, of salt water, of
vacuum -- touched by light and dark, by mortality and eternity, by
laughter and sorrow; in the perceptions of other spirits Hlak|hnchaeir
was no shining power but rather a dim brown glow like a fire banked for
the night, or a baulk of wood smoldering at its core. From behind his
protections Hlak|hnchaeir offered respect to those who seem to notice
him. He'd reached this world with the cooperation of the Lords of Orhan,
and been told that certain of the local gods would be informed of his
arrival. He hadn't expected such a gathering though, and was careful to
display as little fear as he might before these powerful entities,
maintaining his silence unless addressed.
He continues to watch as the much reduced spirit of corruption
reaches his seed of harmony.
The corruption reaches the seed and both spirits are reduced. Without
a physical anchor or more skill than
Hlak|hnchaeir currently possesses the the effect is as with the
artificial spirit forms, reduction and mutual annihilation.
The dark forms around you appear to observe this as well. As their
conversation continues with a slight pause after the event. Cold and
dark seep around the perimeter, shadows lacing and meshing a web of
darkness, or 'non-ness' around the clearing. More spirits arrow in from
the south, artificial constructs, but the larger, stronger entities in
the circle eradicate them casually. They watch you with cold non-eyes
that are black laced with crimson. Black glass under firelight.
"Unlife!" Hlak|hnchaeir realized in horror, "but so many! They must
be causing nightmares in mortals for dozens of miles!" He'd known that
Unlife was stronger on this new world, but he'd never imagined something
like this. Without an anchor in a mortal heart all he dared to do was
stand on the defensive. Should they attack he would strike back, until
then he would look to his defenses, try to interpret their actions and
words, and hope that the dawn would
disperse them.
As he listens their mutters and grunts resolve into a tangled mess
of several parallel conversations.
"Not of this place -- destroy it. There is potential -- turn it.
Unknown thing -- study it."
"It is tied here but loosely, we could sever the connection and
watch it unravel, slowly going insane for a few centuries."
"Eat/Consume/Destroy/Fear"
Though Hlak|hnchaeir was a spirit of battle, he wasn't formed for
personal combat. He was more used to attacking at a distance. Though
there were tricks he could play if attacked, those tricks would be
better saved for another time. At least if his contact with his vessel
was severed he wouldn't unravel. Like a mortal soul from a dead body, he
would be drawn to the Gate of Souls and return to the realm of his god.
He continues to hold his defenses and wait.
One form steps away from it's brothers, a separate pool of black
laced through with glints of crimson. It paces around you, inspecting
without touching your defenses. It picks a spot and stops. A wave of
malevolence envelops it as it forms a construct to launch it
Hlak|hnchaeir --
And it dies.
Appearing beside Hlak|hnchaeir appeared a silvermaned pure white
horse with golden horn some two feet long sprung from it's forehead,
nestled between intelligent eyes. "The Lord of Night has requested
we stand to your defense until His hand can take your vessel under it's
direct protection. If at all possible, His hand will be here before the
sun reaches it's zenith tomorrow. Until then, we shall abide."
About the unicorn, thought constructs, some patently impossible,
others apparently purely mundane creatures such as raccoons and
squirrels. Like a haze of light, numerous little specks of light and
potential dance about the beast.
Hlak|hnchaeir gestures in respect to the unicorn. "My thanks noble
sir. In truth I was preparing a prayer to the Lords of Orhan even as you
appeared."
"It is my nature to serve those above, but your thanks are
welcomed."
Hlak|hnchaeir was surprised that he felt so calm. Fear was there, of
course, but it was overlain with determination and confidence. A
wordless understanding of the task before him and the reason why he was
in this place at this time filled him. He had not faltered at this first
trial, and he promised himself he would not falter in the future.
Reaching into the magic forged into the sword which anchored him to
the physical world Hlak|hnchaeir caused it to blaze with light. Using
that anchor he took a part of that physical light and transformed it
into a spiritual light which he then offered to the unicorn along with
his true name. "Welcome and well come! Such hospitality as I may offer
is yours. I am Hlak|hnchaeir."
|
As all the water in a pond is connected, so is all the realm of spirit.
As ripples in a pond, actions in spirit touch mortal hearts and dreams
who interpret them individually. Dreams that night were full of
darkness, falling, and loss, but a very few dreamed something different.
A fire blazed in a clearing in a wood. Snow covered the clearing,
although close to the fire it was well packed. A man (though the elf
who dreamed saw an elf) stood with his back to the fire. The man wore a
uniform which, though still well tended, was much mended and gave the
impression that it didn't fit the man as well as it once had.
Then the dreamer's attention was drawn to the shadows around the fire.
Things rustled in the bushes among the shadows. Horrors which couldn't
be seen clearly, but which desired to pounce on the man and snap him up.
Looking back at the man it was obvious he knew the shadows were there.
Occasionally he would reach behind himself to add wood to the fire so
that it would not die. Other times he would sharpen a weapon in his
hand. With a calm that was uncanny he watched the shadows around the
fire giving the impression that whatever lurked the shadows might kill
him, but he would take as many of them with him as he could before
falling.
Then one of the horrors leaped! To some it was a wolf, to others a
great hound, or a serpent, or a shark, or even just a cloud of darkness,
but before it could be seen clearly a silver streak intercepted it in
mid-air, breaking its back and tossing it back into the shadows around
the clearing. Standing still, the silver resolved into a unicorn, or a
stag, or even a ram, and the man turned to the newcomer and bowed,
smiling.
|
The unicorn blazed with the eldritch light as it absorbed, subsumed
the offered light and his horn blazed with radiance. "My thanks. They
are unlikely to attack in force now. But we must still be vigilant. The
hand will be notified tonight, then it is up to him to come and take the
vessel under his protection."
"Until the chosen takes up the sword heesh cannot be distinguished
within hisser community," Hlak|hnchaeir said. "But what if those who
stand against choose to attack that whole community?"
"The Lords and Ladies must watch the Balance, and cannot
interfere directly. We shall hold their attention here. A few may sneak
off to cause mayhem, but the community will defend itself from any
physical manifestations."
The show of force by the unicorn has certainly broken the resolve of
the rest to attack for the time being. They recognize that if
it attacks, the rest can try for you. Time in the physical
passes slowly, and within the circle on the spiritual, a few of the
entities flicker out and a away. As their numbers decrease, the circle
thins, until they can no longer isolate you from the outside.
Hlak|hnchaeir settled into his anchor with the sword. Now was not the
time to chase after a future threat of unknown power and potential.
"In the realm where I grew," he mused, "there would be thousands of
spirits in a place like this. Every tree, every bush, each insect hive
would have a spirit. Spirits would oversee the nesting birds, bring
together bee and flower, guide the worms in the slow turning of the
soil, and generally tend the other courses of nature. Most of those
spirits would be sleeping, without a personal identity, but the spirit
of the grove as a whole would be awake and aware. In village, town, and
city also there would be multitudes of spirits -- each with a nature
appropriate to its place."
"And when mortals chose to change the land, they would offer respect
to the spirits. The trees they cut would be blessed that new spirits
would grow in whatever they shaped the wood to form. Even the spirits of
middens were respected for their ability to return the spirits of home
to the wild." Hlak|hnchaeir sighed, "Not that there were no conflicts
between mortal and spirit, but the spirits knew that it was mortals who
kept them awake, and mortals knew that without spirits their lives would
lose savor. Of course, when appropriate to their nature, the spirits of
different gatherings would war against each other as well."
"In the long it's my task to shape a balance between world and spirit
which aids both. . . But faced with what to me is a barren desert, a
hostile desert which seeks to eat whatever seeds I might plant, I'm
unsure of where to start."
"It is said in ages past," speaks the unicorn, "the ones
that came before tore the veil away and co-mingled the worlds of matter
and spirit. They had great power but no wisdom and used the spirits of
place to forge armies capable of passing from one world to the
other." It shakes it's mane, bit's of light cascading to the ground.
"In the years that passed, their powers drew the powers of other
places closer, thinning the veil between their world and that of the
Opposite. Now these come and go at will, and the few
spirits remaining have learned to hide or disguise themselves. We fight
a war upon multiple planes. Perhaps the Lord of Night will have a plan,
as Dreams are the cousin to Spirit, and He has instructed His hand to
take your vessel under it's protection."
Hlak|hnchaeir paused in thought before speaking. "I believe I
understand. Mortals must understand that Spirit is not a tool to abuse,
but a field to be tended. I shall begin with my chosen vessel, and tend
that idea carefully." If Hlak|hnchaeir had truly had a head he would
have shaken it in a negative. "The task ahead is far more dangerous for
both the chosen vessel and myself than I had thought. I welcome the Lord
of Night's protection, and offer my thanks."
"Still, in this environment I'm going to need to tap into a greatmyth
to accomplish anything." Hlak|hnchaeir paused. "The only greatmyth I can
think of that suits is 'Glory's Choice.' Unless there's a prophecy I and
my vessels might fulfill, or there's a local myth you can suggest?"
"There are many," the unicorn replies, "The hand
currently attempts to complete one. Perhaps in aiding him you may find
what you seek. His prophecy is nearly complete, but the final task
remains. He failed in his first attempt and must now beard the greatest
danger of the Ages in his own lair."
"Good," Hlak|hnchaeir said. "In the end, I feel the sadness of
'Glory's Choice' outweighs its glory. Though I will still use it if I
must. What is the form of this nearly complete prophecy?"
Near Dawn, the unicorn recites for you:
Three times three the tasks now stand.
Three parts each to three separate but united.
For the first third, find that which is hidden.
The first third of the first third is to save the second third.
The second third of the first is persuade the first.
The third third is to retrieve the third.
The second third is to find the three next three thirds.
The first should be the last.
The second needs to be the first.
The last is the second, if you have the first you took second.
The final third needs to be the quickest of the three.
First find the forgotten three.
Second destroy the birthplace of the first two.
Third use the last third to break the one.
The first third will gain the attention of the one.
The second third will raise his ire.
The third third will spell his doom.
You will not stand alone.
|
"They damaged the one, but he was not broken permanently, though
his grasp his been sufficiently damaged to set his plans back several
generations."
Hlak|hnchaeir is obviously startled. "A bit obscure, isn't it. Where
I came from a prophecy is designed, in part, to capture mortal hearts
and minds and so draw the power of the spiritrealm into that course."
Now that he knows the prophecy Hlak|hnchaeir peers into the spiritworld
attempting to make out any current it may have created there .
There is evidence of OLD constructions across the spiritplane, tying
people to their localities. Spiritual borders, long established and
reinforced with power drawn from across dimensions. Those borders lie in
shambles and already the spirits trapped by them have begun to mix and
mingle more freely.
The old borders tie into multiples of three in some way, and they
all also tie back to a nexus of power, also recently demolished. Currents of
power ripple and flow between these ruins.
An old order has been overthrown, allowing a new growth to blossom
from it's ashes. This seems to be part of what caused the wasteland, the
artificial stagnancy of these walls.
What do mortals call the current year?" Hlak|hnchaeir asked suddenly.
Late Summer, 6,050th year of the Third Age of Ire since the dawn
of recorded time.
"Last year should be close enough," Hlak|hnchaeir murmurs.
"The year is sixty forty-nine," he sings at the surrounding
spirits in defiance as the sun rises.
The year is sixty forty-nine; I hear the birds of war.
Flame and Famine stalk the land, and Death marks ev'ry door.
Good people listen to these words, recall this prophecy:
Hope cannot be banished, love flies free.
Yes, Hope cannot be banished, love flies free.
As fall gives way to winter, so day gives way to night.
Yet fire offers help from cold, and gives the gift of light.
No night can last forever; the day will come again,
With the pride and help and fire of mortal men.
Yes, the pride and help and fire of mortal men.
When you wear the chains of freedom you show responsibility.
For freedom's only freedom when it's shared by you and me.
The light will chase the dark away and night give way to dawn.
When people share the fredom that's their own.
Yes, people share the fredom that's your own.
The year is sixty forty-nine; I hear the birds of war.
Flame and Famine stalks the land, and Death marks ev'ry door.
Good people listen to these words, recall this prophecy:
Hope cannot be banished, love flies free.
Yes, Hope cannot be banished, love flies free.
|
The unicorn watches the sun crest the eastern hills and feels the
force of your working. He shudders once, gently. The people here
shall remember, but so too shall these darklings. He shakes once,
gently, and sparkles of light catch and amplify the morning sun.
He/she/it starts to fade into the radiance, the assorted beings that
traveled with it glowing brighter as well. The one we oppose will
soon know, and his knowing shall make him plan. The Hand will need to be
informed, tell him that a dead god's spirit, forged in a star, may be
used against your vessel, if the opposed can breach where the last child
of the unnamed empress lies in madness.