Rememberings #2

Mental Note #2

Sub: MMNTM

Project: Magnifier continued.

Project: Magnifier, entry three, day 21

Definition: Mental Bridging - The process of establishing a mental link over moderate distance that allows for instantaneous and understandable communication between individuals who are able to perceive such links.

Audio Memorial PM4: Status update: My wound has healed, and productivity continues! During my incumbency on Plane One, I saw fit to attempt to locate any other useful leavings of those beings who created the confluence that I will be attempting to transport. Thanks to my less than satisfactory encounter with the last Plane Two motive (lis. Audio Memorial PM3) , I am now seeking to understand better the way the other, non-horse motives of Plan Two communicate.

To this end, I deployed Burnsighters and located a series of constructed pillars, complete with inscriptions of some kind that may communicate language. This theory is untested, but not unlikely. Language, in usual terms, is the expression of ideas via mental bridging. However, I observed from my encounter with the horse that it communicated not with mental bridging, but with audible and visual cues. While audible communication can be helpful for recording information (such as this memorial), I have no reason to assume that I speak the same language as the Plane Two motives. I also have no reason to assume that the other motives on Plane Two are any different from the horse in regards to the types of cues used. My theory is that these pillars play host to the visual cues used in communication between entities that use such linguistic forms, if not the audible cues in addition.

As burnsighters are too imprecise to ascertain the details of any visual cues that may be present, and may not prompt the audible response that physical presence may, I am forced to physically manifest on Plane Two once again.

My last manifestation did not go over well.

In light of this fact, I have elected to monitor the first pillar and landfall site over a period of three days in order to perceive any patterns that may indicate a safe time to manifest. While I acknowledge that the loss of no small number of Burnsighters is unavoidable in long-term monitoring, I am of the opinion that the information gathered will more than make up for the peril I may later endure to replenish my supply. Additionally, physical manifestation may present the opportunity for some amount of reclamation of spent equipment.

Project: Magnifier, entry four, day 23

Audio Memorial PM5: End of day two of monitoring of pillar and landfall site. Both day/night cycles thus far have indicated that those motives that are inclined to be hostile are most active at night. I do not anticipate that the data of day three will be any different. As such, I have tentatively scheduled my Plane Two manifestation for mid day on the day after I have completed my surveillance.

During my long hours of staring through burnsighters, I found occasion to theory craft and test a few systems for frameless interplanar transportation. I have had little luck. While generating an interplanar tear large enough to bring the confluence from Plane Two to Plane One is a relatively simple matter of upscaling and reversing the system I use to deploy Burnsighters, physically moving the confluence is a somewhat more strenuous matter. Preliminary testing indicates that Plane Two, though not alive in the everyday sense of the word, is resisting my efforts to remove large amounts of matter from it. Solving this issue will require my full attention, and as such has been relegated to a later date.

Project: Magnifier, entry five, day 25

Audio Memorial PM6: I have experienced another bout of recall, this one much more intense than the last. I shall now detail the events that led up to said experience.

I was proceeding as planned (lis. Audio Memorial PM5) with my study of Plane Two motive inscribed characters. Having completed the three flybys dictated by protocol, I proceeded to manifest near the inscription pillar at midday. Once again, my Void Step system immediately failed. This phenomenon has led me to a supposition; Gravity is a constant on Plane Two. As I took the data from last manifestation into account, the failure of my Void Step system led to a drop of only two feet. Landfall having been successful, I proceeded toward the inscribed pillar.

My first observation on the pillar was that it was constructed from the remains of deceased flora. My second was that it was much wider and flatter at the top than at the bottom. I supposed that this was to provide as much room for inscription at eye level as possible. However, there were no inscriptions on the side that I approached from. While walking around the pillar, I noticed that the consistency of the plane’s surface changed somewhat. While at first I had been walking through the flora I now know to be called “grass,” I found myself on a mixture of sediments and a substance not unlike the pearlescent stone of Plane One. This mixture formed three lines away from the inscribed pillar, the first coming from the direction that the inscribed face pointed in, and the other two to the left and right of said direction. While I am still uncertain as to the origin of these lines or their exact purpose, I believe them to be groundcover to promote ease of walking. While this theory may seem non sequitur, all motives that I have encountered thus far on Plane Two use walking as their primary mode of transport. It is reasonable to assume that beings of any intelligence would want to streamline this process as much as possible.

Before I began my study of the inscriptions, I took pains to survey in every direction with my ocular lens bent to maximum magnification for any possibly hostile motives. As I saw nothing but a group of squat pink motives feed on the grass (ground foliage), I began my study.

After long hours of study and mental analysis, I had enhanced my ability to understand the inscriptions significantly. So much so, in fact, that I was able to ascertain the meaning and purpose of the pillar in question. It would seem that the purpose of the pillar was to provide navigational information to those traveling along the sediment/grey stone path that I had observed earlier. The path to the right led to a location known as “Dragonsworn,” (which roughly translates to “bound or given to large fire breathing reptiles”)  and the path to the left led to a location known as “Deltheria,” (which roughly translates to “Wooded Valley Mammal that gives birth to live young”).

By this time, Plane Two’s sun had set. Whilst I was musing about an exploratory foray to observe these valley dwelling mammals, I became aware of the audible indicator of something approaching me from behind at great speed. Having turned around, I saw a being with four legs, tattered flesh, and a dead-looking face pelting towards me. As I watched, the motive’s open chest cavity began to glow from a whirling ball of sparks within.

The moment I heard the sizzling of the sparks in the motive’s core, a familiar yet unknown system sprang to mind. The hand of my shorter arm tingled, and almost before I had willed my hand into motion, I was sweeping it in front of me, pouring energy into the system. The charging motive had slowed once it got near me, apparently satisfied at being in my immediate vicinity. The sparking convection inside the motive intensified. That point is when the kinetic wave that the system had released impacted it. The motive was thrown back, and then detonated in mid air with an explosion of surprising magnitude. I shielded my eye with my arm as the shock wave rolled over me, and in that instant was seemingly transported back in time by the sheer strength of my recall.

The explosion of the undead charger temporarily turned the artificial night into day. My hand still tingled from casting my last spell, but I had no time to rest. The legions of undead pressed ever forward, sheltered by the choking darkness summoned by their mistress.

I spun, whirl after whirl, arms spread, channeling the heat from the air and concentrating it in front of me. The air around me grew cold, and that’s when I knew I had gathered enough. I stopped spinning and screamed at the horde, and with my scream came fire. A cone of the risen were completely incinerated. The breathing room that their absence provided was enough to allow the foot soldiers to close ranks. The Thirian Guard had been fighting with great valor, stalwartly holding off the zombies and skeletons that poured forth from the gloom. However, they had gone unsupported until recently, when I and my kinsmen from Telthos had arrived, and were being worn down by the constant onslaught. Having repaired the most recent break in the line, I had a moment to coordinate the other members of my Cloak. While I was not the most senior member out of the nine members of my cloak, they all acknowledged my command in combat. I had the analytical mind necessary for strategy and more raw magical talent than most, if not all, of my teachers. Or so they had told me. I mused, in that brief moment of respite, that that was not the way I had imagined myself first coming to Thirian. My teachers at Telthos were so enthused by the promise I had shown that they were going to send me to Thirian to be evaluated by the royal mages there. But alas, all hell had broken loose, and my talents were needed to defend all that was good in this world.

The time for contemplation ended where I noticed a bulge in the lines. Another breakage was imminent, and, judging by the numbers of undead clustered at that point, I would need more than my analytical mind and a bit of fire to seal it this time. I needed help.

I reached out with the new Mental Bridge spell I had written and established with the other members of my cloak. Caethius was nearby, but he was more suited to bombarding the hordes from afar considering his powerful ice-based spells and advanced age. The only other members of my Cloak that I could reach where Yenna and Ardriel. They will do nicely, I remember thinking.

“Yenna, Ardriel!” I thought at them. They looked my direction, and I sensed their curiosity over the mental bridge. I pointed to the bulge, and they understood. We all converged on the buckling point and prepared our litany of spells. Yenna and Ardriel were a formidable fighting pair. Ardriel was skilled at magic that affected large numbers, generally allies, bolstering and reinforcing those on his side. Ardriel’s blessings could drive one to superhuman feats of strength, speed, and durability. Alternatively, he could slow the reactions of his enemies or blind them with pulses of light. Yenna, for her part, was an accomplished swordmage. She was in the habit of setting her twin swords ablaze, or coating them with acidic fluid. She would then wade into battle, relying on Ardriel’s magic to keep her safe and on the offensive. Their natural synergy was further augmented by the fact that they were a couple.

It was with these two behind me that, when the line broke, I drove forward. We formed a three man wedge and fought viciously out from our broken lines, trying to make time for the foot soldiers to regroup. Yenna was efficient as ever, but Ardriel was exceeding all expectations. I felt his magic surging through me, providing me much needed fuel to work the elaborate spellcraft I was fond of.

The mental bridge allowed us to communicate easily even in the midst of combat. I was curious why Ardriel’s magic was so strong. I remember thinking at him, “Ardriel, you are burning brighter than normal. Is everything alright?”  

“Yes. No… Spithrindetr went down.” came the reply.

Then I understood what had happened. Spithrindetr, the newest member of my Cloak and a burgeoning pyromancer, had been overcome. When a mage knew death was imminent and unavoidable, and had allies left standing, he would channel all his remaining power into one of those allies. Doing so would not only empower the mage into whom the magic was channeled, but resulted in the immediate immolation of the channeler. Such a death was preferable for many when compared to bleeding out after an arrow shot or sword strike. Spithrindetr had chosen to give his power to Ardriel. He pushed forward with us, defiant of the forces of darkness even in death.

So push forward we did. I had noticed during previous engagements that, if a witch came under threat, any near by undead would immediately come to her aid. In light of that data, I lead Yenna and Ardriel towards the nearest enemy spellcaster I could see. At first, a group of zombies opposed us. Yenna made quick work of them. Then, a pair of undead chargers rushed us. I knew that neither Adriel nor Yenna could put an immediate halt to the explosive opponent, so I waited until they had primed themselves, then threw them back with a kinetic blast. They blew a hole in the ranks of their allies, streamlining our assault on the witch. However, whilst I had been focused on the more immediate threat, a charred skeleton seething with dark energy had crept up on me. Before I could parry it’s blade with my kinetics, it slashed into my arm. I then ensnared it with a flash vine spell, but the damage had been done. The flesh on my right arm began to wither away, leaving only the bone. I had to isolate the infection. “Ardriel, help me,” I thought. He and Yenna then covered my sides as I threw up a quick system to keep the withering at bay, banish the pain, and restore the use of my arm, skeletal though it may have been.

That was when Yenna was hurt. In his haste to cover me, Ardriel had let the magic shielding Yenna falter. As a result, an arrow flew straight into her stomach. Ardriel rushed to her side. I, having patched myself up as best I could, surged to my feet and summoned another cone of flame. I incinerated most of the undead in front of me, but one of the shivering, warped souls blinked out of the way. At that moment, a bolt of green corruption struck me from above, searing into my chest. I fell to a kneel. Then I gasped and spluttered as the witches magic burned through my lungs.

I had fallen next to a man of Glaroz, one of the renowned hammer wielders. Is this how I too would end? One more body on the field of an endless battle?

I looked back, and Ardriel looked up. He was holding Yenna in his arms, her lifeblood staining the mud red. A wall of undead was surging towards them. He looked down at her, and then they both looked at me. The pair nodded, and then began to glow. As they glowed brighter and brighter, I felt more and more power flood into me.

“For Oen.”

In a final blast of radiance, they disappeared. I felt Ardriel’s magic flood through me, the bright white sparks of his life magic keeping me breathing. Then I heard the warped undead appear before me, saw it’s unnaturally black legs. My grip closed around the hammer of the fallen warrior of Glaroz. Under ordinary circumstances, I never could have lifted it, much less swung it. But with Ardriel’s strength flowing through me, and Yenna’s hours of practice, I found the way. I surged to my feet, dealing a crushing upward blow to the warped soul. The monster was sent flying back, and as it did, a blue, spheroid gem fell from it’s hands.

Despite all the power flowing through my veins, I could not stay standing. I fell to my knees again. I was more magic than man by that point, as Ardriel’s magic sustained me but could not stop the corruption. In a haze, I picked up the gem. I could tell that the gem would function as a system for spell casting. Systems where my own theory, part of the reason my teachers had thought me so gifted. They enabled me to cast spells only by thinking of the frame I would need, instead of using the hand gestures and incantations that other mages used. This gem, this pearl… it would cast a spell all on it’s own if I put power into it.

The witch was standing over me then. “You are a fool if you think you can stop us. Such a waste of talent. We could save you if only you would yeild to us. We could use you.”

That was when I began to channel into the pearl. At first, it was only my own magic. Then I clutched the pearl to my chest, letting Ardriel and Yenna’s magic flow into it instead of me.

I looked up at the witch then. My life all but gone, the last vestiges of magic I had passing into the pearl, I found the strength to whisper only two words, “...for...Oen…”

The pearl shattered.

A blinding flash of magenta-

The death scream of a witch-

The feeling of falling-

And then-

I snapped back to the present, quite disoriented. The breadth of my revelation drove the breath out of me, leaving me physically exhausted. Oen… the name echoes through my mind even now. I remember everything from that battle, but where Oen was, what it truly stood for, what other facets my life had aside from my spellcasting and my cloak… those memories still elude me. At that point, I was very tired and night was beginning in earnest. I summoned a planar pearl, but before I crushed it, I looked at it, truly looked at it, in light of what I had just seen and remembered.

Project: Magnifier may take longer than I had originally thought.

Rememberings

Mental Note #3

Sub: MMNTM

Project: Magnifier continued.

Project Magnifier, entry five, day 26

Memorial PM6: I have been quite thoroughly confusticated. Regardless of my last, incredibly strong recall, my first action after returning to Plane One was to continue work on Project: Magnifier. However, I have encountered a problem in all of my smaller-scale tests thus far: the removal and movement of the confluence from the surrounding terrain. Plane Two’s ability to resist any attempt to remove large amounts of matter from it is both remarkable and very strong. I have attempted to assuage the issue by substituting matter from Plane One for that which Plane Two would be losing, and while this has lessened the issue somewhat, it has not nearly remedied the problem. This does give somewhat more weight to my theory that Plane Two is, in some way, alive, and able to make value judgements. As such, I have labeled this phenomenon “Planar Fervor,” or PrFr

Despite three days of constant trial and error, I have yet to make any appreciable progress towards mitigating PrFr. The idea of transporting the Confluence in small units has, of course, occurred to me. This method, while theoretically viable, is not realistically implementable. While I am well accomplished in spell casting, and the intricacies therein, I lack the raw power necessary to power so many systems, even given a large amount of time. I also came upon the idea of freeing the confluence before hand and distancing it from the plane’s surface before attempting to transport it. However, the sheer amount of explosives needed for such a venture renders this method both strangely attractive and frighteningly unaccomplishable. An alternative must be found.

Project: Magnifier, entry six, day 28

Memorial PM7: I have come to the conclusion that I need to prepare myself for bouts of recall any time I choose to manifest on Plane Two. Such events are becoming plainly consistent. I must also enhance my knowledge of the variety of substance viscosities on Plane Two, so as to avoid any more gravity-inspired injuries. I believe I have at least two viable systems for both. Regardless, I, as any good scientist ought, shall now detail the reason for these musings.

Whilst pondering the PrFr issue and surveying via Burnsighter, I perceived that one of my Co-habitants of Plane One had found it’s way onto Plane Two. In the brief glimpse allowed by the flyby, I saw the Plane One motive remove a sizable slab of stone from a nearby mountainside quickly and apparently without effort. Considering that my most recent stall in Project: Magnifier was doing precisely that, I was understandably intrigued. As such, I began monitoring the small interplanar tears that routinely appear throughout Plane One in anticipation of a Cohabitant exiting the plane. When one of the Plane One motives betook itself to do so, I recorded it’s position on Plane Two and started the flybys routine for a manifestation.

What I saw via my three Burnsighters was a grey-white expanse of rolling, wispy hills. I also saw no sign of the Plane One Motive. In hindsight, this ought to have been my first clue that all was not as it appeared. Heedless of this, and supposing that the Cohabitant would be easily located upon arrival, I proceeded to manifest upon what I thought to be the surface of Plane Two, strange white, floral groundcover notwithstanding.

I found myself swiftly dropping through the grey-white expanse. I came to the swift conclusion that what I had seen from Plane One was not, in fact, flora, but some form of airborne vapor. Having fallen entirely through said vapor, I became aware of what I recognized as the proper surface of Plane Two very, very far below me. I also noticed that I was both surrounded and being pelted by small particles of water. Whenever these particles came in contact with my skin, the produced a very uncomfortable stinging feeling. While I had noticed this phenomenon during my first manifestation on Plane Two, it had been significantly milder in the case of groundborne water. Whether this change was a result of the slight difference in chemical makeup or the varying velocities of the peculiar samples, I have yet to ascertain.

Whatever the exact cause of the feeling, it, combined with my sensation of falling, is what I believe to have been the trigger for my most recent memory recall. This bout was no less immersive than the last. It also appears to have been chronologically linked to my previous recall. It’s contents are as follows:

I was falling. I was falling, and I was burning. Strange purple lights flickered by me as I fell. Green light emanated from me, the witches’ fire still trying to burn through what remained of my limbs. There was so much pain, the vile magic eating away at my very soul. I may have lost consciousness during the fall, but there was no way to tell. The procession of Atralic lights continued ever onward as I fell farther and farther.

Finally the interplanar lights faded, and I beheld a massive, white island floating suspended in a grey void. I fell towards it, a green comet on my final descent. Delirious as I was, I braced what was left of my mind for the sudden, jarring end that my landing would bring.

It never came. Instead, my resting place was a pool of some dark, liquid. As I hit the surface and began to sink, I noted that what looked like a rib cage surrounded the edge of the pool. Is this someone’s blood? I wondered, not that it mattered.

As I sank deeper into the black, I felt the burning on my body and soul ease. It was replaced by something that still stung, but did not feel like it was spreading. I took some small comfort in this. I had been given the chance to die of naturally, instead of simply being consumed by dark magic. Then, through the remnants of my shattered link with my Cloak, I felt a presence brush my mind, vast, alien, circling like a shark, yet detached. I recognized in this other presence a feeling I myself shared. It was looking at me, not to consume me, but out of resigned curiosity. It new it’s end was coming, if it had not already come, and was simply waiting to pass completely into whatever was to come after.

Who are you? I asked it. I? It replied, I am the sovereign of the sky, the liege of the void, and the humbler of men… now humbled. Emperor. Disinterested as this vast conscience was toward me, I sensed it expected an answer, so I gave it one. Hail, Emperor. I am the servant of Oen, the delver of secrets, the hopeful savant… now hopeless. Seeker. At this, I felt Emperor stop his circling and focus on me intently. Hail, Seeker. You had hope once, a love of discovery and creation. I have never known a thing such as you. At this, Emperor paused, and I felt him wavering between his wish to simply fade and the small spark of curiosity he had gained from my mind. I think… I would like to create before I fade. Emperor thought. I would like to know what it feels like. Will you do this with me, Seeker? I did not know how I could help, but I felt that there could be no harm in trying. I do not think we can save ourselves, Seeker, but perhaps we can create something… new. If we are to do this, then you must rise. I doubted I could do anything of the sort, and found the suggestion almost comical. Then I felt Emperor’s alien strength flood into me, his vast conscience flow into my chest. Then came the almost furious command: Rise!

I rose, gasping, from the remains of Emperor’s body. His blood, made servant to what part of his mind lingered on, flowed over my desiccated frame, forming simple lungs, liquid muscles, and enhancing my one remaining eye. I clawed my way through massive bones, torn, black flesh, and over a massive, tattered wing. Seeker, there was once an object that gave me strength. There is only one such left, and to it, you must go. An image of a strange, revolving crystal appeared in my mind. I looked with my new eye towards, the place that Emperor’s memory told me it would be, and I saw it glimmering in the distance.

I don’t know how long I dragged myself along, Emperor urging me on all the way. I almost gave up when I was half way up the tower that the crystal rested on, my fluid fingers sticking to it’s smooth surface. Finally, my strength utterly spent, I reached the top. I gazed into the crystal, a geometric, tumbling thing that rested on a bed of fire, and was both terrified and excited. A few tentative wisps of magenta energy flowed from it into my improvised body. Emperor, sensing how near we were, let loose a roar that echoed out of my strange lungs, a sound of obstinance and victory, and I roared with him.

The crystal loosed a torrent of energy into me. I felt the body that Emperor made for me taking root, forming around the core of my being, becoming less of an improvisation and more a truly living thing. Emperor’s ecstasy blasted through me. We have done it, Seeker! We have created! I have only ever commanded death, but today I command… live!

That was when I really began.

My mind having returned to the present, I marveled at what I had learned. My earliest memory before my bouts of recall began was one concept, to live, echoing through my mind as I sat atop a tower of obsidian in Plane One. That singular thought was what had motivated me to begin my journey of exploration.

The next thing I noticed was that I was still falling.

The surface of plane one was uncomfortably close to me, and I was hurtling towards it at speeds that would undoubtedly undo everything Seeker and Emperor had worked so hard to create. I had no time to summon a Planar Pearl, so I had to improvise. I threw up a quick kinetic system to strengthen and reinforce my legs, layer upon layer, support upon support. A few short moments and one bone-shattering impact later, I found myself in the midst of my own modest impact crater.

Upon my first attempt at standing, I perceived that my leg bones had, regardless of my swiftly crafted kinetic system, both fractured into numerous pieces. I suppose that this was better than the alternative of total annihilation. That said, my temporary loss of the function of half of my limbs put a swift end to my Cohabitant-watching foray. In light of this, I summoned a Planar Pearl and returned to Plane One. At this moment, I am recuperating from my injuries. Project: Magnifier grows more intriguing every step forward I take.

The fall of Thirian

Far beyond Deltheria's heights,
In places deep where darkness sleeps,
Where light once shown as fires of hope,
Now veil hides our keep,

In sunless depths an evil slept with darkness in its dreams,
From ancient tomb it drew is power,
Counting every hour,

Out from the west would come the storm to bring both wind and rain,
And in the mists it birthed our end,
From ancient evil found

From dock and ship would come no sound
No drum, no horn, no cry,
As far from there we saw them die,
Ancient light fade from the sky,

Then Thurin Rose from carven throne,
Our legions sent to march,
Strong we thought our cities built by fathers now long gone,

Telfon fought,
As Fena fell,
As Sedran sank beneath the dell,

From towers high,
Would arrow fly,
Till gates came down from fire and ash and banner fell to earth,

Into the night did they take flight,
From ancient hall once bright,
As burned the town and spared were none,
Few would flee their fate,

Far beyond Itherian towers,
A peoples time cut down to hours,
As hell fire claimed our homes,

In darkened halls where hero sleeps,
Beyond the veil that hides our ancient keeps,
In faded light stood stewards tall,
With ancient tome stacked wall to wall,

With runes of power would fight our creed,
The mages stone in Telthos shone,
In battles fought where souls were freed,
Till solemn few escaped,

In Glarrim dwelt the hammer passed,
Unto our kin, from warriors now gone,
Above the peal of battle rose the songs the Tulgrim sang,
Songs of doom unto their foes and strength of warriors might,

Then from the deep came they, and rent our halls into pieces,
And Glarrim fell into the earth unseated from its roots,
Into the gloom with ancient stone,
Tulgrim fled their ancient home,

Thirian last of all still stood,
On ancient fire now cold and still,
Where last of all our blood will spill,

In bitter battle wept did they,
For brothers fallen fought,
In bitter rage and anguish drowned the sons of Dullin's day,

Till from the mountains bayed the hounds,
That haunting lonely note,
And from the graves they swore they'd take,
Were snatched, Dullin's folk,
And slain were they, the witches wraiths, with every ardent stroke,

An arrow nocked and fired from bow would bring the huntress down,
As crazed our king with ancient curse claimed life and fled this worlds bounds,

Gone are those who once we loved, and homes we fought to keep,
Claimed by the veil that guards our lands,
In long dead lost of stone.

First Foray into the Atral

Here is recorded the first encounter with the Atralic entity that came to be known as Joek, the Oldest Wizard.

Years after their escape from the cursed homeland of Oen, the people of Itheria had created the beginnings of a new city. It was to be a walled fortress, Deltheria, a bulwark against the darkness in the southern land of Libertas. The foundations of a grand cathedral were being laid, masons were raising towers, and woodsmen harvested the abundant lumber of the mountains for the carpenters to make houses. The people of Itheria had traveled long, and now they sought to rest their feet, and build new lives. Monsters still appeared occasionally, creeping from the deeps and the depths of the yet untamed forests, but Deltheria's walls were high and strong -- the exiles could relax at last.

Their sense of peace did not last.

The wolf riding rangers had formed their own nation after aiding in the flight from Oen. There, they built their own cities and houses. There, they raised their wolves, practiced their woodcraft, all the while guarding their own interests, though still aiding the people of Itheria as close allies, having come from the same kin. They took to a narrow expanse of land north of Itheria's holdings and guarded that way from monsters like the volatile, creeping shadows that had assaulted the old kingdom fortresses, and the screaming abominations that had destroyed Thirian's walls. It was thought that, while it was a wilder life, it was also one of relative safety. Few beasts or monsters came within the realm of shadow guarded by the rangers without being torn to shreds by their hunting hounds. It came, therefore, as even more of a shock when they were the first assaulted by this new threat.

On the 16th of Immersum, one of the rangers came down from the mountains, seeking an audience with the Keepers of Itheria. He had come from a watchpost set in the mountains near Itheria's northern most city of Glarim. When questioned by the Triarchy as to the reason for his panic, the ranger could only say that the watchpost had vanished. The night before had been the new moon, a time when high concentrations of aberration monsters appeared.

The ranger explained, "It was the dead of the night, with the dark moon over head. I was on the end of my patrol, when my hounds went mad, and a rent opened in the sky above the cabin. Those stretched abominations poured out in numbers I have never seen in this land. Behind them, the realm of Atral sparked and writhed; I even saw chalky islands suspended in the void there. Then a static filled chuckle sounded, and a great black hand filled with stars reached down and scooped up my house. Then the rift closed.
"It took us all of yesterday to slay all the abominations, and it is only now that I come to ask for your aid. We have little knowledge of these beings aside from what has be told through stories, having come too late to the battle in Thirian to have fought them our selves."

A war party was put together and made their way to the portal claimed and guarded by the kingdom of Noetheria. This force was led by Keeper Cleric, at the head of two legions of the Creed, and Keeper Tulthorion, bearer of Glorgrim, who was followed by all but ten of the Elite Guard. In all, it was an army of six-hundred and fifty men. They knew the Dragon to be dead, and Beothell was slain, but perhaps some further horror was still hiding within the void between worlds, ready to bring the shadows against Oen's beleaguered people once again.

Man after man, they entered the portal.

Down, down, down they plunged, watching flickers of phantom light and the purple void of Atral rise around them. They came to rest on the entry island, a chalky slab of alien rock, miles in diameter. Atral beings shuffled listlessly in small packs, whispering and coughing to each other. Long thin blades of black glass grew from the island, reflecting and bending the phantom non-light of the void into fractal shapes. Some of the spires were no taller than grass, others more massive than any tower of Deltheria's walls. All were jagged; the sharp edges quickly shredded the loose robes and capes worn by the wizards. More than one unfortunate man put his armored boot down on smaller ones, and it went clean through.

Cleric commanded a portion of the mages to help the injured to the Dragonslayers shrine, where the black heart of that beast held open the only portal back out of the Atralic realm. This delegation, plus the losses of those injured by the sharp stone of this strange place, removed an eighth of the Keepers' forces.

The abominations proved far less aggressive than when they were encountered away from their home; only making direct eye-contact with one or making a loud noise nearby caused it to become enraged, and after cutting down a few such attackers the explorers quickly learned to keep their eyes down.  It took them a couple of hours of navigating the dangerous terrain before they came to the edge of the island, and the source of the attack on the rangers.

Out past the edge of of the island, suspended in the space of the Atral, was the cabin of the ranger. It was pristine, there was even a tree still rooted in the ground that cabin was resting on. The grass had paled somewhat, and the cabin had no light inside. The image was distinctly surreal, and the new island that the cabin created seemed extremely out of place.

Tulthorion looked up, "What purpose would this serve?"

"Keeper, look!" One of wizards the raised a finger to a point to one side of the cabin island, where a terrible figure floated atop a black glass shard. "What manner of monster is that?"

It was man-like, but could by no stretch be called a man. Nor was it one of the Atralic aberrations that Beothell had summoned to assault Thirian. Its most striking feature was a huge pale eye, surrounded by a black lid, which sat upon its shoulders in place of a head. The eye seemed almost liquid, rippling slowly in some nonexistent breeze, a pink pupil staring unerringly at the cabin. The rest of its body was covered by a tattered blue robe, covered in faded esoteric sigils picked out in yellow thread. Wrapped around its waist was a belt of golden rope. Where ever it showed, the entity's skin was black; liquid night, painted on a skeletal frame. It did not stand on the black shard, but floated about a hand-span above it, the ruined feet dangling below its robe slowly dripping void ooze. For all its horror, it took a rather civilized pose; hands clasped behind a straight back.

Cleric called out, "Creature, what is the meaning of this abduction?"

The eye flicked down at the Keeper, slowly traversing the small army behind him. One arm pulled out from its sleeves; it was bent in numerous places, all of them wrong. In a warped claw of a hand, it held a small piece of purple flesh. The creature blinked slowly, and the sorcerers felt an alien presence skating across their psyches; barely perceptible. Finally, it focused on Cleric. He felt a disjointed mind touching his, asking to communicate. Withdrawing at first, he cautiously established telepathic communication. The mind he encountered was both highly ordered, and drastically alien: all thoughts and meanings were filtered through its own private lexicon, and difficult to decipher.

"Greetings, motives. You appear well equipped for negative action. Please declare your origin and intent. Now."

Cleric passed this message on to Tulthorion, explaining the mental exchange.

Tulthorion raised his hammer. "Stop with the mind games, monster! You attacked our home. Our intent is your destruction, that Itheria may be safe once more!"

Its mental communications stifled, the creature raised the purple flesh to its face, and in a quick lunge blinked, biting off a piece. Its entire body shivered, buzzing in and out of reality, much the same as the other beings of Atral. Then, it began to walk towards the main island across empty space, each foot setting down on a platform of phantom-light and purple sparks, the void giving it a path to walk down. The pale eye rippled in time to its voice. It was like a bad recording of the voice of one near death, echoed through unknowable distance. "Unacsssseptable, motives. I harmed nothing. 'Asssault' would mean I meant you harm. I never want to harm experimental subjeckkks. I am only trying to understand this ckkkkonfluence more fully. Knowledge is important, is it not?" At this point, it had reached the main island, and floated at the front of the army, gazing slightly down at the two Keepers.

"This 'abduction', so called, was simply the next ssssstep in Projecttttt: Magnifier. My deepest condolences, motives, if you were inconvenienced by the system I put into use for the extraction of the confluence. Intentssshhhh, stated. Will any further eckkkkkssplanation be rekkkkquired?" It took another blinking bite of the purple thing in its claw, and shivered briefly out of reality, leaving a cloud of purple sparks behind. It then reappeared about three feet away, still focused on the Keepers, and began to float back towards them.

Cleric stepped forward, and requested the cabin returned to its original location, as a show of good faith. The creature claimed this quite impossible, as any such attempt would create much the same results as before: monsters from the Atral would pour out of the rift. It continued to eat as it conversed, leading to a bit of rubbernecking from the Keepers as they attempted to keep it in sight.

It did ask if there was anything else it could do to end any further "negative actions", and said it could teach the sorcerers of Itheria about the Atral, should the Itherians be able to assure it safety from 'aggressive motives'. Cleric was about to turn him down, intending to leave this stand off, when one of the wizards of the Creed pushed his way to the front of the column.

Upon catching Cleric's attention, he explained that he had been conferring with the members of his cloak, and one of the oldest had recognized the sigils on the creature's robe. He had seen them in an ancient tome, before the fall of Oen. They were from a sect of Oen sorcerers. Cleric whirled back to the creature, "Who are you? Where did you get those robes?"

Its eye stilled for a moment. "I...am...Joe--kkkkkkk -- an old wizard. I know not how many lunar ssssscycles have passed since I entered Plane One. I have always had these vestmentsssssss, though they have sustained some wear and partickkkkkulate staining over time."

The Keepers consulted with each other and their advisers. They decided that, if nothing else, it would be good to keep this warped wizard close. So much the better if he was once of Oen, and they could somehow remove his affliction.

Tulthorion pointed his hammer at the ancient wizard. "Very well...Joek? You may accompany us back to Deltheria. Should you cause further problems, I will not hesitate to pursue 'negative action'.

Joek finished his last bite of the purple lump, teleporting directly in front of Tulthorion. "Exemplary! I have always wanted to create an institution to further knowledge."

Thus, while they set out after an enemy, this day the people of Itheria gained a new ally. He took up residence in the mountains, near the site of the cabin he had abducted, and cultivated the strange purple fruit that he was so fond of, and cared for horses, which he had something of a mania for. When not taken by either of these pastimes, he spent his time at his Institute, teaching grandly convoluted lectures to the wizards of the Creed who thought it worth their time to piece together meaning out of his strange lectures.

So ends the account of Itheria's first foray into the Atral Realm, as put down by Amadaus Piminy, wizard first level of the Creed of Itheria.

Chronicles Volume 3

Chronicles Volume 3

Here is written what is left to be recorded of the fall of Oen, and the exile of our people.
Having devoured 6 of the 9 cities of Oen, the storm and its mistress, along with the hordes she commanded slowly marched on the final three citadels. Above us, the skies swirled in ever more sickening shades of green.
With what was left of our preciously dwindling time, we tended the wounded, buried the dead, and made ready for the onslaught to come. The cattle and animals in or around Thirian were set lose to their grazing pastures outside on the mountain slopes to prevent them from being turned by Beothell's mysterious powers.
Thirian consisted of many interconnected walls, gates, and moats. On it's outer most edge, the walls followed what was at one point, the edge of the volcano's caldera. Behind this, the ground fell away sharply towards the inner valley, the only means of travel being the long narrow roads built of stone running from each of the four outer gates, one set in each cardinal direction. These roads ran parallel to the walls in a sloping circle until they eventually reached the valley below. On its western edge was a lake fed from the winter snows that would cover the mountain each year, and would slowly drain through the tunnels the volcano had left in ages past.
To the North, South and East flowed a moat that encircled the rest of the valley, also being fed by the lake until mid summer when it would dry into small ravines of thick mud, rendering it just as impassable. Farmland spread out in the volcanic soil from the base of the cliffs to the outskirts of the city its self. Though being simpler and less grand in scale than the innermost of the city, the outskirts of Thirian were never the less well kept. Fishermen, bladesmiths and other various trades kept shops and homes here, and much of Thirians commerce happened in this part of the city.
Large stone and obsidian walls, fashioned in such a way as to leave no groove to hand or foot for an enemy to scale, formed the inner edge of the first circle of the city. Each alley and street of the outer tier being fashioned in such a way as they could be closed, forcing an invader to follow a single straight path to one of only 2 gates entering into the inner city. Long thick spurs of wall culminating in small towers stuck out from this into the outer city at regular intervals, providing the defenders the ability to fire into the city its self from many angles if an enemy force ever got so far. Instead of towers, small keeps were placed along the ring created by the 2nd wall, each with a machine built on top that could hurl projectiles out into the plains inside the outer walls. These were supplied with ammunition from the tunnels under the mountain that were not submerged and supplied the city with fuel as well as explosive compounds.
The 2nd ring, also known as the median, contained many of the churches, courts, artisan buildings, shops, and homes. Here, a smaller version of the library in Telthos was built, and extended into and through the 3rd ring of walls, into the innermost city. At its center, Thirian was, to put it in terms unfit for its description, beautiful beyond measure.
Beyond the gates that guarded it were parks, fountains, gardens, and even a small forest ringing the main citadel its self. Six great towers stuck out from the sides of the central building, each overlooking the battlements of the median and core walls of Thirian. Each carrying its own machines for hurling stone and fire into the plains.
At the center, in a great courtyard, stood the most ancient of the beacons of Oen, known as the Ancient Light.
This was Thirian, Anduels flame, the Star of Oen. This was the Anvil from which the spine had been forged.
As the wind whipped the outer walls as if trying to push them in on top of us, we prepared. The inside of the ancient volcano calm as the wind swept over top. So many years having passed since they had seen use or practice, we hoped desperately that the engines on our battlements would fire, and not simply erupt into balls of flame.
Six thousand readied for the witch's assault. but not as men who had once fought long ago, in the dawn of our power. Six of the great lights that had once pushed back the outer darkness were now gone. Now we fought in the fading light of the final three.

The dawn drew near but would not come, and finally, the storm almost seemed to stall on the face of the mountain, as if it would not be goaded into climbing it.

From the north, we heard faintly, the horns sound. Hopeful we watched from our own walls as the battle we knew was underway raged. Finally, a cry went out, but it was without heart. We waited to hear the sound of the light of Telthos die, as it had finally disappeared, but it never came.
Again the horns, and the wait. Glaroz was not more than a league from Thirian, and was the best defended of all of Oen. Being hewn from stone in the roots of the mountains, it could only be assailed from one direction, and its gates were thought to be impassable once closed. If Glaroz would not hold, we had little hope Thirian would stand long.
As hours dragged on, many grew weary, but could not leave their post to seek rest. A great thunderous crash startled any who had dared to doze, and the earth shook as if staggering from a grievous blow, but the beacon of Glaroz stayed lit, at least for a time. As the light of Glaroz finally died, we knew, our time had come.

It was not long before we could make out the shape and form of our enemies marching from the mist surrounding Thirian. Legions of the undead walked in rank and file, though without any real order. Bow and sword were mixed with creatures carrying axes and whatever else might have come to hand. And behind, the black and forlorn faces of the volatile beings that had brought down the gates of Telfon.
Behind even them were numerous coven of witches.
As they made their way forward, they spread out and encircling the city, impressive and terrifying considering the force needed to do so.
Archers strung arrow to bow and waited.
It could not be told if each heard her for themselves, or if somehow she spread her voice into the wind, but all heard her speak.
She sounded as ancient as she would have been, and almost sweet, but without any doubt, Beothell's voice refracted an essence of barely controlled energy, and she spoke without showing her self.
"People of Oen. Long ago you took from me my home. Beneath your cities are the bones of my sisters and of my brothers. Your king Dullin humiliated me and the covens of Heshlan. Since I have traveled beyond even the bounds of this world, and I have come with renewed ability. Even your precious beacons have failed you. I will take Oen back into darkness."
As the last echo of her voice died down, and without a word or a signal, the hoards broke into a silent run.

As the sprinting nightmares entered range, our archers took aim and let out the first volley, and the silence was broken. Screaming now from rage and wounds, the dead hit the walls of Thirian like a wave and shattered against it. Even the explosive horrors did little to damage the walls we built so long ago. Lightning flashed as the coven appeared within our walls. Their fire this time would not aid them, as Thirians stone would not catch, and the roofs and wooden structures of Thirian had been covered in water soaked cloth and hide. Our Mage's met them, and the air its self thrummed and cracked as magic was cast and parried. On the outer walls archers fell on both sides, but again, the enemy could not breach the walls.
Protected by wards and spells, the explosions of the dark creatures could not penetrate the stone, and instead sent ethereal sparks flying into the air as they detonated.
As the battle rang out from the walls above, those not engaged with the witches marched out onto the plains and formed a line in case the gates were breached.
Covered by long shields, men with swords and axes took front rank, behind which stood men hefting long pikes, and in the rear, our archers fell into file. Each legion formed a wedge connecting at its widest point with the next. Any charge would be met with spear and sword as they threw themselves into the jaws created to consume them.

Far into the mists brought by the storm and the rain, beyond the walls, something far more sinister was being summoned. Great gates, entering into and exiting from nothing were being erected, and with ever greater fear we sought to drive the undead from the walls, their bodies slowly building up around them.
The rain finally drew slower and stopped, the men of Thirian wiped blood and rain from their eyes and fought on. Sudden purple fire rose far afield, and the gateways threw forth great sparks as they were completed and lit. Even soaked by rain, the grass and foliage around them faded and burned away as heat and fire emanated from them. From these, great hideous creatures came. each having three heads, and never touching the earth beneath them. They seemed to be made from porous stone like bone and flew by the heat they carried with them. Even the beasts attacking the city blew away as ash as these new ungodly creatures approached the walls. Just out of bowshot they stopped and began to fire. Screaming in against our walls they seemed to fire demonic heads that exploded and incinerated anyone they were near. Even more terrifying, it sounded as if the souls of those claimed by their onslaught were drawn back towards these beasts, fighting and screaming in terror not to be taken, but without hope. Those defending the walls grew thin, and even more, ran than fell.
Losing hope the men of Oen began to fly the walls, though they had nowhere to run but further into the trap in which they found themselves.
It was nearly without belief we heard the horns sound from within the caves that gaped from the sides of the caldera wall. The Mages Creed of Telthos, and the hammer bearers of Glaroz marched out, bringing with them the beacons. Each was born to the center of Thirian and combined with the beacon there, and together, they pushed back the oppressive darkness creeping into the city and renewed the strength of the defenders. Lunicia, the stewardess of Telthos, and Tulthorion of Glaroz, knowing they would not hold, had pulled their people back into the tunnels and ancient paths the volcano had forged and made their way to Thirian. Lunicia and her daughter Luna brought with them the great bow. Made many generations ago, it had witnessed the first fall of Beothell. Tulthorion brought the hammer Glorgrim, handed down from father to kin since the time of Dullin, the first King of Oen. Arrows from the bows of the Lunari, as they were known, streaked into the sky. From enchanted bows, they voiced their own defiant screaming hiss as they arched in towards the enemy. Several of the three-headed demons fell, and our defenses were renewed. The damage from the enemy siege beasts had apparently been done however. Standing behind them was a new creature. These resembled men, but as if they had been stretched out and burned. They vibrated and shimmered with an unholy purple light. It is believed that these were the twisted remains of those claimed by the demonic missiles hurled against us, tearing away and enslaving the souls of the fallen. As the legions of undead continued to hurl themselves at the walls, these new beings simple removed them. They moved so quickly they could barely be seen, and the height of our walls seemed to be of no consequence. We found them among us before we knew they were even there. Not only could they clear our troops from the walls, they cleared the walls themselves.
Stone simply vanished from underneath our feet, and the outer wall fell.
These new creatures could not be hit with any projectile, they simply moved around them and slew the archer responsible. The Lunari instead focused solely on taking down the remaining fell beasts that had created them.
How many more creatures Beothell could bring against us we did not know, but we knew our plight was dire.
The hordes of Beothell fell from the heights into the plains surrounding us, heedless of the slopes. They filled the moat with their own bodies and charged forward. As they met our phalanx, they once again broke like water on rock. For a time they were held, but their numbers only seemed to grow as time went on. As each of our brethren fell, they would rise and take up sword against us. This would in time be called the war of tears. It was not enough Beothell would take our homes, she would bring our own kin to fight against us. With great rage, we wept and fought all the more desperately. Behind us, the siege engines of Thirian were being brought into readiness, and with great roars, they belched fire and brought ruin to forces Beothell marched against us. Tulthorian and his kin marching forward, relieved the exhausted front of Thirian guard, and continued the fight, the first sifting like sand through the ranks of the 2nd, allowing the enemy to fall into fresh swords.

Finally, Beothell appeared. With her she brought 12 acolytes, witches not yet initiated into a coven, each bearing a stone with an engraved image of a dragon. As she advanced she would stretch out her hand and many who still fought, simply withered away. Calling down lighting from the storm above, she struck into her own ranks. We already fought skeletal beings, but this changed them, charring them black and seeming to give them new power. They were taller now, and with their extended reach, they began to make headway, those they did not kill immediately being struck with a horrible curse, their flesh turning grey and falling from their bones. Sounding the retreat, we fell back into the outskirts of the city, closing down the streets and alleys to force the enemy into a narrow channel for our archers. Tulthorion, having slain the first of the mysterious creatures created by the siege demons, had found their weakness. They would not fly from a sword, even if they could not be touched by arrows. The hammer bearers of Glaroz took the walls with the Lunari archers, and as they poured volley after volley into the enemy, the hammers of Glaroz defended them.
Then, from behind us, a great explosion ripped through the city. One of the siege engines had detonated leaving behind it a broken ruin that had once been the keep on which it sat. The wall of the median was compromised, broken, and would not stand an assault.
Fighting street by street now, each step was contested, but slowly given up all the same.

In the plains, Beothell directed her acolytes in erecting yet another gateway, and as the last portal stones were set in place, Beothell brought from a satchel, 12 great orbs, placing each into one of the portal stones. With a great static crack the gate opened, and from it, we could hear the thunderous roar of a dragon. From the look of amazement on Beothell's face, we guessed all was not well for her however, as the sound of battle emanated from the gate, and the withered spirits fighting us flashed away and into the portal letting out enraged screams as they left. Then a great peal and sounds of death erupted from the dragon's gate. The gate suddenly closed and shattered, cracking the earth beneath it as it was destroyed killing anything near it.
Enraged and screaming Beothell rose into the air carried by the wind of the storm. For the first time, the witch actually fought us her self. If not for the Mages creed of Telthos many more may have fallen to her wrath. Almost as if bending time, men slowed, unable to run to escape, their swords and arms losing their ability to harm, and their strength draining from them. Clouds of poison erupted from the earth beneath many, and they suffocated in the fumes. Gathering their strength, the Creed and the other mages of Oen sustained much of her assault, and, just barely, we cast her from the air. As she fell, Lunicia drew her bow, nocking an arrow, she let fly. The shaft found its mark. Beothell found the earth mortally wounded, but as she lay dying, her gaze met that of Lunicia. Filled with absolute hatred and nearly glowing with dying power, she bored into Lunicia, transfixing her. The last words Lunicia would utter were spoken in Beothells voice. "Oen is beyond saving. My spells are bound and will not fall with me".
With that, Lunicia was released and sank into the arms of her daughter as breathe left her.

Calling for retreat, those left to defend the city fell within its final ring of walls. Being hard pressed, gates were closed even as men fought outside them, intending to give their lives in the dying hope that those inside would hold. Then, from beyond the cliffs surrounding Thirian, rose the long echoing baying of many hounds. Looking up, a great grey wolf stood on the southern heights. Bounding down from rock to rock, hundreds of these beasts hurtled down towards the battle below them. Panting, eyes red with bloodlust, jaws wide, they hurtled into the flank of the undead hordes, they carving a path around what was left of our forces. Materializing, almost magically, men clothed in the fur of the beasts they road, unsheathing swords of black steel. They seemed to meld with shadow and would disappear and reappear at random, driving the enemy before them. These were the men who had watched for so long in the forests and fields of Oen. We had thought them overly cautious and foolish. Now humbled, it was we who had been shown as fools, and it is to them we owe everything.
Being urged to move, we began to make a run to the south through the opening given us, all but Thurin, our King. Enraged and seeming to have gone insane from the battle around him, he would not be persuaded to leave, and slew two men who attempted to bring him by force. Instead, he ran into the depths of the library. To what ancient vault or tomb of long-dead mage, we do not know, but he returned bearing a dust-covered tome. As the last of our people retreated over the southern rim, I would stand and watch. Thurin will forever be remembered for his valor in battle, but more so now will he be known for the great curse he unleashed that destroyed what was left of a once great land.
As he uttered the final words and closed the pages he held, he drew his sword once again and fell upon it. Drawing in from the darkness surrounding the now burning city the mist grew thick and sickly and began to fan outwards. Thirian was never seen again after this, and anything in the city at the time is thought to have been devoured by whatever invocation was used. Even were Thirian found again, none would dare to enter that cursed veil.

Carrying the three last beacons of Oen, we fled down the southern face of the mountain into the forests surrounding, still followed by the last of the hordes of seemingly endless bodies that had brought down our homeland.  Behind us, we could still hear the howls and the gnashing teeth of the wolves. As the hordes entered the forests, they were claimed by arrows from unseen bows. The men who had drawn us from the graves in which we should have been buried once again found refuge within the trees and shadows and not one of Beothells force would ever again emerge.
Whispered voices from places unseen kept us together and going in the right direction, and eventually, we came out into great grasslands far from Thirian and the borders of Oen.
With no home, and grieving heavily for the loss of everything we had once known, it was decided we would march East. From travelers and wandering sages we had heard of land where we might find a refuge, and of rulers who dealt fairly with travelers. We would eventually find the kingdom and the friendship of Ancelstierre and their King. In the years that would come after, we would learn it was they that had slain the dragon in the void, and unknowingly even at that moment, had given us precious moments with which to last until help arrived.

Laying down to sleep, we would find the great cost of the terrible curse wrought by our king.
When we woke, the land had changed beneath us, and ever since, the lands in and around the old kingdom have never ceased changing. We followed the stars east, never trusting landmarks, as we knew they would eventually be gone, claimed by the curse of Thurin, eaten up the mist that would turn forest to dessert, or swamp, or mountains each time it came back to visit the land.

Oen will never again have a king, and its name bares a great curse. Itheria rises from its people and is kept by the guardians of the last 3 beacons.

"Far beyond, Deltheria's hights, In places deep, our halls are cold, In times of dread, would fall our keeps, in places old, would fade the light"

A Line taken from "The fall of Thirian".