The First Land Herald/439-07-14

Article Number: 65

Dateline: 439-07-14

BASALT ISLE ASSAULTED -- MAJOR BLOWS DEALT TO LICH AND SIVROCH I am still reeling from the events of that day. That momentous day. It has taken me some time to put pen to parchment, simply because the weight of it would not sink through me. But it is my duty to report to you, and report to you I will. The Coalition Against the Lich, with the support of the Rathan Houses, Therengia, Zoluren, and Ilithi, finally made its move against the Lich Jeihrem, may what ooze remains of him be seared into a smokeless nothingness. The Oshu'k'et, flagship of House Moglin, sailed to Basalt Isle with the support of a fleet of warships and the Aloof Gannet, an airship captained by Uroi Odalva. Upon the deck of the Oshu'k'et there was the holy weapon, the Sanyu Aes. Divine Fire. I thought that we must surely be prepared for anything. By the end of the day, soaked by the storms of Drogor, I had witnessed both destruction and consecration, madness and exultation. I had faced the terrifying truth that our plane can be rent like paper, and the sublime holiness that the protectors of our realm can exert in the face of such evil. I shiver with remembrance. But I digress. Let me tell the story. We began the day facing southeast, our ships pointed toward the dreaded Isle. As we approached, a series of ruby flashes indicated that our scout ahead had found something -- and, suddenly, one of our cogs was rent asunder by that putrid beast, the once-holy kraken twisted into unwilling service. Commodore Khoheke had come prepared, with Kauga the Kraken-slayer already abovedeck. The massive ogre effortlessly broke his own chains and, hoisting a humungous harpoon, heaved it in a perfect arc to land behind the kraken's eye. In an impressive display, he leapt after it, grappling the beast with his bare hands and, with a great churning of the waters, engaged in an epic battle with the tentacled monster. After Kauga ripped the creature's own beak off and stabbed it with it, it finally died -- re-died -- leaving behind peaceful waters, if filmed with the oils of decay. Lasaia started up a chant, "Free Kauga!" which several others took up. We arrived at the barren rock called Basalt Isle. As Zauldin had warned us, the way of our soldiers was blocked by several massive bone barricades, writhing and grasping with unliving force, deadly to those who attempted to climb them. As a small forward force began the task of crushing them down, triage was set up in a watery cavern nearby, where we found a basalt shrine carved into the shape of a turtle, clearly once dedicated to Aluna, the Merelew god. Mother Whiteburn took up at the head of the congregation, next to Commodore Khoheke, and each raised a voice to the gods, Sir Khoheke to Aluna, and Mother Whiteburn to Drogor. Those present took turns stepping up to the altar to wash it and offer their own prayers, ever goaded onward by the zeal of our leaders. I felt the weight of the Immortals close to my heart, as though a reassuring hand gripped my shoulder, and the fury of the shark's hunger filled me. Outside, the winds began to intensify, thunder crashing in the distance. A heavy rain barreled down from the sky, and as I looked outside, I saw the choppy sea send the Oshu'k'et lurching. Skeletons crawled across the jagged basalt rocks, undeterred. Yet as we prayed, the storm continued to grow, swells forcing themselves against the shore and dragging countless undead to sea. The water in the cavern began to drain, pushed away, and the shrine shifted, rivulets of water pouring off of it. Coral and polyps clinging to it unfurled with life, blossoming in brilliant blues, greens, and reds. I was filled with a profound sense of rightness, the balance of the ocean's life restored and sanctified. Satisfied we had done some good, our forces split, some staying at triage, some moving to the fighting at the barricades, and still others manning weapons upon the deck of the Oshu'k'et or the airship. I first took the time to visit the weapons and see them in action. Sir Rileos had a firm grasp upon his crew on the Oshu'k'et, boulders flying from their mangonels toward the undead on the shores or oncoming ships. The Aloof Gannet floated overhead, and I took a very nauseating trip up to it in a fascinating flying contraption called an ornithopter. The airship boasted two Gnomes in cages sending blasts of lightning down toward the Isle or into the clouds of flying banyakea. Perhaps the most breathtaking aspect of that ship, though, was the view from the spyglass. I could clearly see our soldiers battering the second barricade, a swarm of banyakea around them. I returned to the battlefield to aid in the press forward, and we were constantly harried by more banyakea and other abominations. Srinoja the once-Gnome faded in and out of view, staring vacantly at victims who clutched their heads in agony. In time, Sivroch herself landed amongst us and was quickly torn apart by our warriors. Her ghost exclaimed, "You think this a victory? You think Us defeated? You know nothing of the forces you meddle with! You bring your childish forces to our shores? You bring your temporary death to we who have mastered eternity? You are all fools! You will all burn." My breath stopped as her corpse began to flex and pulse, a deluge of black ichor pouring from her mouth into a hissing puddle all around her. The iron ring binding her ankle grew red hot and shattered, her laughter echoing around us. Twitching and rearranging grotesquely, the corpse continued to vomit black liquid until it writhed into a sphere around her, solidifying into thick plates with red and green streaks, a glowing red membrane beneath. Writhing tendrils slunk into the ground. We jumped into action, cutting at the aberrant cocoon and sweeping away the creatures that seemed to appear from nowhere to repair it. It shuddered and emitted a low grinding noise, periodically sucking globules of material through its tentacles, changing its orientation slightly, or expanding suddenly with a nauseating scent of burnt hair and cloying sweetness. Despite our attacks, it continued to grow and shift until it began to emit a keening whine, building louder and louder. Suddenly, we found ourselves caught in a spray of ichor erupting from the base of the cocoon and trapping us in a sticky mess of evaporating, oily slime. We were also attacked by the writhing tentacles, knocked to the ground as they spread across the entire area. But as I pulled free, my cheek still pressed to the black sands, I saw a large claw press against the inside of the cocoon, bearing three razor-sharp talons. Another came, and another, until the membrane tore wide open, a new, monstrous Sivroch emerging. [A sketch is included in a dark, ink-heavy style. It shows a monstrous abomination in a barely humanoid form, held aloft by five lengthy tentacles plunged into the ground below. Seven gleaming eyes bearing double-slit pupils stare acidly from a head covered in a helm of dense quills and crowned by wickedly spiraling horns. Her maw is split in an unhinged roar, bearing mighty tusks and revealing three rows of shark-like teeth and impossibly long fangs. The bone-plated body is etched with numerous symbols and patterns, more implied than detailed completely. A cloak of black ichor billows like smoke behind her, a pair of insectile wings barely visible beneath it.] She rose and fell beneath waves of our soldiers attacking, revealing new attacks such as a great buffet of wind and a geyser of hissing acid sprayed from her maw. I was horrified to see the Philosopher Zharen wielding his monstrous, Necromantic axe, landing the final blow to cut her cleanly in half, before she leapt up again and vanished into the sky. Though I was still reeling from what I had witnessed, I was given no time to recover. I noticed people all around me were beginning to disappear. People roared in fury, madly babbling and ranting about minutiae before vanishing. Sometimes the air would ripple and suddenly shatter around them in a cascade of broken mirror fragments, or their faces would flash through a panoply of emotions, or they were surrounded by a billowing pillar of ash or bound head and foot in pulsating flesh. Suddenly, I had no more time to witness as I suddenly smelled a wild bouquet of flowers, the rich aroma surrounding me until I found myself elsewhere. I was in a field of grass, wildflowers blooming and dying around me in a rapid loop of birth and decay. Skeletons spread across the ground, flowers growing through gaps in ribs and eye sockets. A few others were with me. We knew not what to do but study our surroundings, wondering if we could affect a way back. Before I could determine what to do, though, I was suddenly pulled away again, to a different sort of landscape. This time it was a vast desert of silver sands beneath a starry sky, though an endless horde of distorted reflections faced me, each bearing a hideously wide grin. I fled the reflections and, thank the gods, returned back to the battlefield. I later learned that there were many different versions of these "mazes," and it seems that each corresponds to a particular demon. By the time I returned, I realized that we were progressing in destroying the barricades, which had allowed us to deploy new weapons on the beach. Gnomish panjandrums, two massive kertig discs sandwiching a medley of swiveling gears and pistons, were unleashed like rolling chariots, bouncing across the battlefield and then exploding violently. Additionally, situated within a tower was a massive ballista, modified with hexagonal corundum columns bearing cambrinth bands. Elementalists were able to guide gravel into a firing crucible, shaping it once it became molten rock, and sending it out as either deadly scattershot in the skies, or onto the battlefield as a fiercely spinning star. The additional measures seemed to be helping, though our forces were still facing a seemingly endless stream of undead and banyakeas, in addition to the Srinoja apparition. The final barricade fell. The weapons were turned on Jeihrem's own manor. We expected to tear it down, fire our weapon upon a little worm huddling inside. We were mistaken. The ground began to shake, and a foul wind blew across the land, smelling of rot and salt. The ground and sea oozed with blood, sinew, and flesh, ropey burls of fat and meat bubbling up from the surface and evaporating into a choking miasma. Swirling around, the bloody mist arced high into the air and gathered into a vile cloud above before extending tendrils down toward the manor. Beyond the manor, a form arose. Clad in black steel armor and trailing a greatcloak of billowing shadow, it grew taller and taller. A tornado of blood and bone surged into Jeihrem, and he grew to a towering height, darkening the isle with his shadow. He grew to the height of a building, then beyond, far beyond, rivaling in my mind only the towers of Shard. [A sketch is included, dark with the looming form of Jeihrem inked in black. Viewed in proportion to the isle and its village, he appears about 200 feet tall, armor-clad and face obscured by his black steel helm. One gargantuan foot is raised, poised to step down on a swarm of tiny soldiers below. Overhead, the miasmic swirl of bones and blood spiral up to him, as if his entire body were absorbing a pinguid, narcotic smoke.] The elementalists with me were white with fear, and everyone scrambled to turn their weapons upon Jeihrem. "Gods above, FIRE IT NOW!" This time, we shaped the molten ironrock into numerous ten foot long, red-hot javelins, which we sent arcing through the sky toward the armored titan. Panjandrums rolled up to him and exploded against his legs, bolts of electricity flew from the airship, and maelstorms of ice and compressed balls of fire launched from the Oshu'k'et. He was staggered, but he kept moving. Hefting a massive tyrium claymore, he slammed the blade into the ground. Hideous shadows tinged with sickening no-color sprayed outward from the buried weapon. I could hear something, clamoring and emboldened, called to this weakened point in reality. Those of scream and howl, chattering and skittering, tooth and claw and maw and too-many-eyes began to squirm through the fringe, along the edges. Jeihrem dispassionately twisted the blade, slashing sideways. A flare of void burst forth from the blade's wake, leaving a harsh afterglow. I struggled to make sense of the broken space left in the wake of the weapon, forms clamoring at the edges, conflicted screaming and otherworldly vantage visible through the orange haze beyond the gash in reality, no-color ripples billowing at its boundary. A ceaseless horde poured forth from the rent, clawing and charging across the opening. They surged with an almost desperation, screaming against the new laws of this plane. In the midst of the chaos, I saw the Monstrosity Sivroch lock seven eyes onto Zauldin, blurring too fast to follow to pursue him, tentacles splayed wide. He whipped around to face her, spraying a hissing stream of acid into her face, the orange globe orbiting his head erupting into flames which burst around her torso. Sivroch roared in fury and skewered Zauldin with a pair of tentacles, pinning him to the ground. Her claws tore at his chest, abdomen, and arms, but Zauldin stabbed upward with his burnt and scarred fist, and a stream of acid and fire slammed into Sivroch's stomach. She snarled in pain and, with her remaining tentacles, ripped Zauldin's arms free from his body. Staring down at her prey, Sivroch's unblinking eyes glared in concentration, and Zauldin began to scream, then burble, then choke on his drool. Holding his twitching body aloft in her tentacles, Sivroch hurled him towards the rent in reality. Zauldin's body sailed through the air, and grasping tendrils emerged from the rend to envelop and draw him in. With the barest ripple, the body vanished, and Sivroch rumbled in a horrifying parody of laughter. I felt a sinking in my stomach as I realized his soul must be trapped, consumed beyond the reach of the Immortals. Farewell, purified one. I am sorry you never got your vengeance. Sir Rileos was kind enough to relate to me his experience at the Holy weapon, the Sanyu Aes. There, Sir Khoheke took charge of the weapon (see the below illustration). [An included sketch is rendered with an exceedingly light hand, showing a great silvery orb centered upon a glowing stone, tracks traced across the surface bearing mounted rods tipped with sequential glass lenses. Fine lines point to the various parts of the orb, noting its construction is of silversteel, the tracks are brass, and the glowing stone is a soulstone. Radiating concentric circles are drawn with exacting precision about the orb, unfurling in perfect tridecagons.] As Sir Khoheke started his use of the weapon, hair-like wisps of billowing light blew from him and wrapped around unseen lines and forms stretching throughout the area, centered around the Sanyu Aes. The weapon thrummed to life, rods sliding along their swivels around the orb, which began to softly glow, golden flashes of light flickering at its base. In time, the lines of golden light built around it, expanding in a series of concentric circles, ordered and exact, but with some gaps. The pattern continued to expand and became ever more complex, circles overlaying squares overlaying octagons composed of billowing triangles. As he continued, his form began to waver until a spectral version of himself left his body and hovered above the ground, arms wide, a missing left hand the only distinguishing feature. He directed the Paladins present to expand the designs, and they grasped them physically somehow, reinforcing them and binding them more tightly about the weapon's core. The gaps in the ordered lines of the pattern shrank, the structure becoming increasingly indomitable. Sir Rileos felt an undeniable weight building, uncomfortable though reassuring, pushing him away and then toward the weapon. The pattern flared with brilliance, blinding light swirling and involuting, snapping between two and three dimensional forms. The orb roared like the sun, the kertig bars holding it aloft glowing red hot. Sir Khoheke's specter somehow managed to flow downward, merging into the orb itself as the bars began to spark. He called for everyone to energize it. They poured themselves into it, wisps of silvery light flowing from their hands, coalescing into the pattern. Tridecagons, those most Holy of shapes, snapped into place. The pattern churned with blinding speed and radiant light, a whirlpool of structure and order, and as one, the group braced against the pattern, shield arms forward. Razor-edged vertices spun faster and faster, and the pressure became almost unbearable. Sir Rileos dug deep within his soul, shifting his right leg slightly and pressing forward, his shield arm aching with the effort. Finally, it erupted with light, orbs twinkling in and out of existence in a constant, ordered sequence, racing faster and faster around the structure. Leaving blurred streamers behind as the thick lines spiraled and twisted, the pattern raced faster and faster, glowing brighter and brighter. The sense was of law reaffirming, expunging deviations. Sir Khoheke began to scream. The pattern exploded with a deafening rumble, and the air took on a silvery-golden hue. Sir Rileos was pressed backwards by a heavy weight, indomitable, undeniable, absolutely correct and righteous. He felt it with a certainty, the coda of the place, full of manipulations and errors, alterations and injustices, and his soul exploded, rewriting and revising, correcting the imbalances. The beacon burned outward. It roared and roared and roared again. Golden light poured forth, cascading from the skies, golden lines raining down gently and blossoming into ribbons of exact starbursts and spirals. From my own vantage on the beach, I detected for a fleeting moment an illuminated banner, composed of precise lines and silvery wisps emanating from a silvery spiral, unfurling form horizon to horizon, perfect forms overlapping with perfect forms in an endlessly nested and shifting display. The blow was struck. Jeihrem roared and fell to his knees, hands crashing into the sea, the weight bearing down on him. Sivroch wailed in agony, melting and breaking, bits bursting into ash or sloughing away. Srinoja shattered, crystalline panes falling upward, evaporating, a haggard Gnome visible beneath. The rend billowed as if caught in a strong wind, then began to close. Several thick pseudopods managed to slam forcefully into the ground, sending globs of material into the land, but were battered down and shattered into smoke. Jeihrem began to shrink, flames billowing in the gaps of his armor. He made one final attempt to make it to the Oshu'k'et, calling forth a bilious purple, worming mist to act as a barrier over his head. However, several volleys from all of our assembled weapons struck simultaneously, and he was slammed downward, finally exploding into vaporous black ichor. As the golden light continued to stream downward, the rend in reality closed completely, its summoned nightmares scattering to ash. I wish I could say this was the end of Jeihrem, but sadly I saw that ooze that remained stream toward the writhing form of Sivroch, enveloping her and retreating to the manor. He was dealt a mighty blow but, alas, not a fatal one. Several large orbs of bone were launched into the sky, then, exploding into a cloud of jagged shrapnel that rained down on the shoreline and the Oshu'k'et. Sir Rileos told me that the Paladins aboard seamlessly dove to protect Sir Khoheke, shields overhead in a steel ceiling. However, the Sanyu Aes was hit and destroyed, the golden rain ceasing. In the chaos, a single ornithopter took to the skies, its pilot pushed out. I saw Srinoja at the controls. Moments after it arrived at the airship, a hairline fracture in reality spidered outwards like a broken mirror, then suddenly vanished. The airship fled to the open sea. Somehow, also, an unnatural glow twisted beneath the waves below. Ships long thought dead floated to the surface, crewed by sailors of bone and spectral figures. It seems Jeihrem had a fleet at his command after all, though now it was clearly listless and uncontrolled. We took this as our cue and departed, gathering everyone to the Oshu'k'et. Despite the damage sustained by the bone shrapnel, we made it back to Acenamacra without issue. Commodore Khoheke had the following comments to make about our results. "What we could do, we have done tonight... We shook the very foundations of the Lich's unhallowed throne. The Lich is licking his wounds... The nature of a lich's demonic patronage is such that it is difficult to fully expunge them from the plane. But his influence is blunted, and his focus will turn inward for a while." When I asked if he might not return to ambulatory form for some time, he replied, "If the weapon struck as hard a blow as I felt with my spirit, yes." Sir Khoheke added, "I am optimistic that the seas will calm, and trade will flourish once more... [The cancer] is in remission, for now. That is the best that we can hope for. This was but the first attempt at designing and deploying such a weapon. The weapon is lost, but much will be learned." About the Sanyu Aes itself, he said, "The weapon marshaled the sanctified souls of the Paladins who assisted in order to strengthen the Bulwark. [The Bulwark] is nothing more and nothing less than a reinforcement of cosmic order, the bars on the cell that keeps entropy and hostile extraplanar entities away from our plane. I was not [the weapon's] designer, so I am perhaps not the best person to speak on its mechanism. But what I understand -- and experienced -- is that, using the souls of the righteous Paladins as a sort of focal lens, it brought the Bulwark down to seal the void of entropy centered on that Isle." Finally, he spoke a little of Kauga's fate. "Kauga is still in our custody. His performance was exemplary, and that will no doubt weigh positively in his favor. I am not the arbiter of his fate. But I will be sure to report this as a substantial mitigating factor to the Rathan government... [A trial] will be held. I do not have a date to offer." We may not have destroyed the Lich utterly, but we learned a great deal, and I suppose reducing a man of that unimaginable power to ooze for a long period will suffice for the present. It is time to rejoice in our victory, and mourn the loss of Zauldin. I must take a moment to touch upon the many, many brave adventurers who put themselves to this task with both zeal and discipline. There were too many for me to accurately take note of every name, nor even see every face in each position, so here I will call out a select few -- selected because they volunteered to thankless leadership positions, because they were nominated to me specifically, or because they were those I have not seen or called out before. If there are any I missed, I beg my dear readers to send me notes so that I might publish corrections. In leadership positions, I saw Sir Kenamer, Saragos, Mazrian, Sir Madigan, Sir Vanzok, and Anuril leading on the battlefield, Sir Rileos taking charge of the mangonels upon the Oshu'k'et, Dantia directing the Battle Empaths, Mother Whiteburn leading the altar consecration, and Kaelie and Mother Zynell directing the triage. I was told or saw particular heroism from Damiza, Karthor, Penrhyn, and Kethrai the Battle Empaths, Father Solitudines, Iryta, Tichond, Denbi, Kolja, Aislynn, Chisul, Remyngton, and Ameline of triage, Constantia, Tirost, Woten, Amaci, and Anuril the Elementalists, Medikaus, Hoshii, Father Wintidal, Eonon, Chandeler, Mendira, Akolu, Father Boam, Pyppa, and Briaen of the Aloof Gannet crew, Zalinyar, Miskton, Apollys, Sozinho, and Yvela of the panjandrum crew, and Payros, Karturis, Kytref, and Sar of the Oshu'k'et crew. Again, due to the sheer size of this event, it was impossible for me to see everyone, so know that all efforts should be praised. Ultimately, it was a massive effort that we undertook, and we achieved several unprecedented results. We melted a lich, sealed a tear in reality, and focused the power of the soul into laser precision. We cannot forget the sacrifice made by our ally Zauldin, or the pain and suffering endured in labyrinthine madness and the grind of battle, but today we deserve a little rest. Victory comes only after many struggles and countless defeats. We struggle, we take blows, we give them in return. We rejoice when we are still standing, and our enemies are ooze. For the Abiding, Navesi Daerthon True Bard, Zoluren's Herald Editor in Chief of the First Land Herald

Real Date: 10/07/21

Subject(s): Aloof Gannet Aluna banyakea Basalt Isle Coalition Against the Lich Drogor Jeihrem Kauga Khoheke Lich ornithopter panjandrum S'Kra Mur Houses Sivroch Srinoja Uroi

Author(s): Navesi