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Retelling: A tremor across the realms

 
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Nienne
Immortal


Joined: 17 Nov 2006
Posts: 2764
Location: Aussieland

PostPosted: Tue Mar 20, 2018 12:54 am    Post subject: Retelling: A tremor across the realms Reply with quote

Kismet/Awakening

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I lift my head as the group finally approaches, their outlines a mere blur of light and dark and motion against my lack of sight. A momentary glimpse with my Gift reveals almost all to be of powerful means; the glow around them is a brilliant beacon of Art. I relax and let them come, falling back to mundane senses again. For some time I have listened to them from a distance, as their banter drifts back and forth. Most are clearly already known to each other, but not all hold the rest in high esteem. As they reach me, the conversation amongst them wanes, and then one by one introductions are offered, some a little too loudly.

I do not know them by voice, but their names are familiar to me; I have been briefed by the council long before their arrival. The temple has chosen them for their reputation, or their particular skillset, and most are also known for their competence in a fight, should it be required. Sudelilah, a proficient magess recommended directly by my fellows of the Seven. The scout, Aelius, once a member of Antioch's elite regiment. Priestess Alena, faithful of Sune who commands powerful healer's gifts. Bannic, a tiefling and healer, and Ketami, a sorceress half-orc - an intriguing pair, once of Cyric, but said to have been redeemed to walk more enlightened pathways. Aiden, a master of psionic arts. Sadhara, a Tsarven bardess, and Haydn, a gnomish arcanist, both of the Binder's fold and possessed of knowledge I hope will serve us well in this venture.

I can't hold back a smile - I always wonder why those who discover my blindness seem to think I am also thereby a little deaf - and hope it will be taken as friendliness rather than amusement. With a nod, I extend a hand towards the closest outline. 'Kendra. A pleasure.' I can tell already that not all are on the best of terms, though at least they are keeping their personal concerns aside, for the most part. They are here, after all, for a single task only. 'I and the rest of Mystra's faithful appreciate your volunteering for this expedition. You are already aware of the tremors, I am sure, but not perhaps their origins. We believe they may be caused by a relic thus far beyond our ability to discern...'

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It is oppressively hot and dry here, and the tiny granules carried upon the wind rasp across my skin, scratching and tearing away what little moisture remains. I lick my lips, but it does not help. The cloak of night lies across the land, the light of the day faded, though its heat has not yet been sapped from the desert sands beneath my feet. In the darkness, I can barely sense the traces of motion of my companions, though I can feel the air pass as they move by, and their breaths and voices and footsteps carry about me on all sides. The steady tread of the warriors, ahead and behind. A gentle humming from the bardess, punctuated by the jingle of her earrings with each footfall. The quick-shuffling pace of the gnome to the side as he hurries to keep up with his taller fellows. I cannot help but to wonder at his inclusion - his earlier claims about the Lord of Bones, a power long dead and gone, seem more akin to mad ravings than the thought-out theories to which I am accustomed from Oghma's own.

I am pulled from my thoughts by a sudden dearth of footfalls that brings me, too, to a halt. Ahead, the scout's precise tone queries, 'There are ruins ahead. These are the ones you meant?' Off to the left, a deep and confident affirmation from the tiefling in response. The psion, too, voices his agreement. Sands shift as the tread of the leaders resumes, and the rest of us proceed in their wake.

Ahead of us, something waits. I know it, somehow, though I do not know why. Or for what. Or for whom...

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My head pounds, a constant ache now that dulls my other senses. The priestess' voice rings out with a prayer, and the pain eases somewhat, but it is still there, waiting to be renewed by the next unanticipated impact. Despite their sight, it seems my companions are at no real advantage, and a semi-constant grumble of complaint resumes as we move on and they each knock their heads in turn. Only the gnome, it seems, is undeterred from his eternal stream of chatter. Perhaps he truly does know something that we do not?

The darkness here is complete, devoid even of the few traces of shape and motion sometimes afforded to me in brighter surrounds. But the going here is easier, save for the uneven and treacherous ceiling; voices and footfalls echo along the corridors, affording me a mental image that offers far easier means of navigation than my sighted companions. The cold stone wall under my hand is a constant and reassuring presence. My senses strive ever forwards and downwards, seeking out the sensation that grows stronger with each step. Seeking that which waits, below.

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I am not sure how long has passed since we left the surface. We have found our way deeper into this maze, and I am thankful that I am spared some of the sights of which my companions speak, remnants of the violence once enacted here. Their voices have grown subdued. Only the gnome seems unaffected, his mind too distracted with other matters, and his constant barrage of inferrences grates upon us all. The bardess knows it, and she tries to settle him, but to no avail; he seems oblivious to the growing frustrations of his allies. The weight of responsibility is almost tangible upon the scout as he leads us forward; I can feel the strain as he resists the urge to rebuke his shorter companion yet again. I cannot blame him - the gnome's impulsiveness seems to know no bounds, and the earlier whistle of his crossbow bolt past my ear was far too close for my comfort.

A chill touch brushes my arm, unnatural in its iciness, and I can't quite repress a shiver. Even if I cannot see it, I can feel it as another of the cursed unliving denizens of this place passes me by. There is a wrongness about them, lending credit to the tales about this place, but rumors of their vengeful nature are at odds with their current behaviour; they seem content to let us pass without incident. Their indifference is unsettling, putting my companions to murmuring amongst themselves. I cannot help but feel that whatever lies beneath is keeping them at bay - even though we have moved downwards, I sense that it is deeper still. We are growing closer, I am sure.

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The air here is heavy, so much so that I think even my companions feel it, like the weight of ages now rests upon our shoulders. We have entered a corridor long hidden by ancient arts, and even the spirits do not intrude here, leaving only our footfalls and voices to echo along the hallways. The stone walls hum beneath my touch, like some kind of energy current runs through them, and strange runes are etched in places, though none that any of us can read. I must credit the Binder's faithful, for both are taking diligent records of our progress and everything new that we find.

Following our initial wariness, we can find no apparent dangers here, only a puzzle that we struggle to understand. Strange remnants of art remain, revealed by my Gift, though I cannot perceive their purpose. There is a chamber at the heart of the corridor as it circles back upon itself, and the energies of the area seem centred upon it, to some purpose yet unrevealed. It has the feel of something ancient and asleep, or suppressed, only waiting to be awakened. It is not just my Gift, as the arcanists with me can similarly sense it; those of us most attuned to the weave know that something unusual is hidden here. The entire place lends my skin to itching. I know, somehow, in my soul that we must bring life back to these dormant remnants of Art. This is what we came for.

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Through the insight of my companions we have found ourselves far below the corridors that had puzzled us for so long. The lady sorceress and her tiefling consort have unravelled spells woven beyond even my understanding, ancient arts that had been embedded into the walls themselves. The runes are bound to each other so that, once activated, they in turn have triggered a portal at its heart. And now we are... elsewhere. The dead silence lies upon us like the unmeasured weight of earth I am sure now lies above. There is a timeless feel to this place, of something ancient, and waiting. The air itself feels dead, and no Art that any of us can call upon seems to work here, muted as though with an utter absence of Weave.

Strangely, despite his initial and irrepressable nature, the gnome is now the most reluctant of us all to proceed, bidding us retreat from this place. But I cannot depart with my task unfinished. The Seven believe that something immeasurable lies here, a relic that must be mere steps away now, and should it fall into the wrong hands they fear it may be the end of the realm as we know it. So I will see this through until the last, as I have been bidden, and find the truth of what lies beyond. I will confess in part that I fear what might be hidden here, but at the same time, it calls to me...

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It is here, before me, in all its magnificence. I ask, and my companions tell me what my eyes cannot - a great stone archway, its perfectly curved surface etched with an unbroken series of carvings that flow into each other like liquid. But my Gift reveals its truth beyond mere sight, and I perceive that every line radiates an ancient arcane glow, alive with pure Art. Traces of the Weave dance across my vision unbidden, as I have never encountered before. I do not know what it means, nor have I seen its like, and yet I feel that I should know it. I am sure that they, too, can feel it, a power that fills the air and hums in my bones. The gnome seems panicked, yelping that it must be sealed away, but I know that he is wrong. Before I realise, I lift my hand and find that I am standing before it, and my palm makes contact with its smooth surface. A brilliant flash obscures the world around me.

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My companions are gone, and the archway is gone, and it is utterly silent here. I turn, seeking, with outstretched hands and sightless gaze, but there is only emptiness, and I am lost.

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I turn, and I am no longer alone, faced with a woman who is unknown to me, and yet somehow familiar. I lift a hand, and so does she, mirroring the gesture exactly. My right foot moves forward, and so does her left, broaching the empty space between us. For some reason it seems quite normal to me that I can see her, and her features are unusual; archaic, like an artist's image taken from an old book. Her skin is alabaster, and her hair iridescent, cascasding past her shoulders unbound. Graceful blue-white robes cling to the curves of her form, and her ageless gaze glows radiant azure. I smile uncertainly, and she too smiles, though there is a warmth in it that sets me somehow more at ease. I turn my hand palm-upwards, reaching out instinctively even as she does the same. And as our hands connect, my mind is filled instantly with knowledge that spans the eons.

I perceive an existence birthed at the dawn of the realm, a daughter of light and darkness, shaped of pure magical energy. An immortal, eternally curious and delighting in discovery and invention, and all the potential of ideas yet to be devised. She has different faces, different names, to races and peoples as millennia spin by, and civilisations rise and fall. She encourages and gifts her faithful, and magic flourishes across the realm. A shudder as her existence is almost stolen by her own mother's servants the Zin'Charu and their greatest creation, the ShadowGate; she retalliates, scattering them across the planes. Grief almost immeasurable as her servitors and allies fall, cut down in their mortal forms as war rages across the realm. A desperate flight to prevent Shar's final theft of the weave itself, throwing herself into the ShadowGate to prevent its activation. A great explosion that shakes and sunders the realm, and then for so long she can remember nothing... until tremors awaken her from slumber, and she comes to understand the cage that holds her. The ShadowGate still stands, but she will be free of it. It is her destiny.

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I am suddenly returned to the chamber with my companions, and I watch, as if from a distance, as history repeats itself and my hand makes contact again with the gate. My own body is thrown back, along with those of my companions, as a soundless burst of power lashes out from the Gate and scatters us upon the ground. I do not feel the impact, and can only watch as slowly I pick myself up, lifting my hands and turning them over in a motion that is not of my doing. My eyes open, and their milky orbs take on a brilliant azure light as somehow She looks out through them, scanning the chamber. My/Her lips part, and She rasps in a voice seemingly unaccustomed to speech, 'Finally.'

What was once my body slowly stands, its movements disjointed at first, but rapidly growing smooth and natural. My/Her shoulders lift, with an air of raw confidence only She could possess. The lines upon my/Her face are gone, the features now smooth and ageless, the once silver-streaked hair now glossy, its ebon length rippling with streaks of iridescent color. Her luminous gaze sweeps the area, taking in each of my companions in turn. A small smile turns one corner of my/Her lips, and She speaks in a voice that thrums with power.

'Thank you, strangers. Your actions this day will change the realm, and spare it from its inevitable spiral into destruction, or worse.' My companions try to gather themselves, their confusion palpable, the scout reaching out as if to aid me. I/She turns, disregarding the offer of help, and with smooth steps approaches the looming outline of the gate. Both pale hands rise to press against it, but this time there is no pulse of raw power - only a low hum that slowly rises and fills the chamber. 'Today the usurpers will lose what they stole so many centuries ago. I am sure Mother will appreciate the irony of her little toy being finally put to its intended purpose.'

Blades appear in hands as my companions gather their wits and rally to oppose Her, fearing what may come to pass. The hum around them rises further, vibrating the air as their muscles tense, their teeth set on edge. Unintelligible words of arcane command tumble from my/Her lips, and a malignant aura seeps forth from the gate, surrounding it with a miasma of darkness. My/Her features draw momentarily together in a frown of distaste. 'Such a tasteless facsimile of true Art. But it will suffice.'

In faint hope of halting the inevitable, the tiefling leaps forward, sun-bright blade in hand, a shout of refusal upon his lips. She is unmoved, clenching a fist and casting it towards him almost with indifference, as he and his allies are forced to their knees by an invisible wave of force. A small frown mars my/Her features momentarily, before She returns Her attentions to the Gate. The growing darkness spreads, enveloping her form, and I/She disappears from view.

The world fades away, and there is a contentment in me as the last thing I remember. And my purpose in this world has been served, and I am no more.

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Nienne
Immortal


Joined: 17 Nov 2006
Posts: 2764
Location: Aussieland

PostPosted: Tue Mar 20, 2018 1:32 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Kismet/Mind's Eye

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Your mind is suddenly filled with the image of an alabaster-skinned woman, with iridescent-lit ebon hair that frames her ageless features. Her glowing eyes radiate knowledge and power.

Her lips part and the compelling tone of her voice fills your ears, 'Today, you are blessed to bear witness to the consequences of a centuries-old injustice.'

She speaks clearly, and it is almost impossible to focus on the world around you, 'The tales of old are lies. The gods to whom you kneel are naught but usurpers, pretenders to their power.'

She continues, 'For too long, they have squabbled amongst themselves like children. Their responsibility as keepers of balance, forgotten, if ever it was heeded from the first.'

Her clear voice thrums with the force of denial, 'No more! With the device of their own petty scheming, they are cast down. Let those who will truly keep the balance arise in their place.'

Her glowing eyes narrow, 'Long the ages have forgotten me, but you will know me now. I am Kismet, and I will have back what is mine.'

Quite as abruptly as she appeared, Kismet vanishes from your mind's eye, and the world refocusses around you.
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