The First Land Herald/430-09-35
| Article Number: 16 |
| Dateline: 430-09-35 |
| DEATH BLOW TO A DEMON So, it is done. Maelshyve is dying, her essence dissolving. It may be eons before the last mote of her is finally gone, but at long last, we have assured she cannot corrupt our home any further. I slept for days after the deed was done. It was a process longer and more arduous than I expected, even given Osven's warnings that it would be so. Here I will detail my journey into the soul of the demon, and what I witnessed there. Osven contacted me a few andaen before we would gather. The device was ready, and it was time. Somehow, on the day, it was as if she knew. As I prepared to leave the Crossing, the back of my neck prickled, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Everyone was receiving visions: whirlpools of ichor, blood-red triangles, blue-scaled tentacles. Our plane was already starting to writhe under the press of her thumb. It was decided that two groups would implant devices into the two locations where Maelshyve's influence is strongest: her Fortress in the Zaulfung and the Moors near Shard, where there is access to the Abyss. I chose to attend the Fortress location, and found myself once again descending in the skeletal claw and slogging through the muck. Perune led the way, and we ever so slowly made our way past the rope bridge and the deadly puzzles and finally came to the area near the fallen altar, where a wall of silver liquid dripped with peculiar purpose. There Osven settled the device (see picture), which as I understood it would grip with impossible strength until our task was finished. [A sketch is included of the final device, and although it is rendered in the standard black strokes, it includes numerous fine notes and labels so that the reader can discern the many different materials used. Composed of nested rings, the device appears to be designed with unparalleled craftsmanship. The sturdy outer ring is spiraled brass and steel, with eight facets smoothly alloyed into the overall structure, alternating between dull, mottled cambrinth and orichalcum. The inner ring is a spiral of niello and lodestone, and bears several spokes supporting a central sphere of cambrinth; a note indicates it is capable of spinning freely with only the barest whisper of friction. A minute inscription on the inner ring displays the letter "O".] Upon focusing on the device, I could sense the volatility of a Feral Energy enchantment. Structures derived from wild mana admixtures were piled high like precarious bricks, continuously sparking against one another. The sense I had was that it was ever on the verge of explosion. I could clearly see each facet and gauge roughly its progress toward activation. In addition to the five mana types (if one can call Arcane a true mana type), there were facets for sapience, blood, vigor, and motive. To our surprise, the area became magically peaceful with the implantation of the device, which turned out to be both a blessing and a curse; we could work in relative peace, but so could those who came to disrupt our progress. It seems that as we filled the device, so could others empty it. Several times we were visited by known demon worshippers — whom I will not satisfy at this time with mention of their names. In some cases we were lucky enough that one of our fighters could lure them away to their deaths, but at other times they drained away our progress. Although I was not at the Abyss location, I had news that their device was constantly under drain and required incredible effort to fill. Still, fill them we did. Men and women opened their veins to this creation, fainted under the strain of mental and physical exhaustion, and occasionally burned their attunement out for some minutes when pushing too hard. Some died. We had to learn how to walk the line, give as much as we could and then cut ourselves off abruptly, as the drawing would become suddenly more powerful near the end of what we could give. Meanwhile, the breath of Maelshyve was ever-present on our necks, her whisper in our ears. She'd tease about how we were too late, too feeble. I often felt a sudden stab of fear that her influence was doing unspeakable things to my body, and I admit I had to check to ensure my skin remained smooth and free of scales. The wall of silver liquid flowed unceasingly, occasionally distending with an anguished face or glistening with a pair of sanguine-red lights like piercing eyes. We had to sustain high levels of depletion for days on end, madness creeping at the same time. I became unable to tell day from night, curling up in a damp stone crevice for rest only when I could not force myself to continue. Once we were visited by her cultists, their tentacles writhing beneath their robes, shifting movements shuffling them together so I could never get a good look at them. They sang their paean and cut their palms, then melted into nothing. The only other thing of note was that they, for some reason, pointed at me. A short time later, we were all beset by visions again, too numerous and detailed to catalog here. Once again there was the whirling of ichor and the attempt to swim in it, exhausted. Also a great black shell, cracked open. A huge bone construct, swirling high above a black abyss. A mass of green eyes. Time grew indeterminate once more. I must have slept. Progress was achingly slow, and the meters on the facets seemed to change and winnow every time I blinked — or were they improved? I felt that we flickered within those last slivers of charge indefinitely. Perhaps some part of us is still living, left behind, in that moment of anticipation. Yet ultimately, finally, with a surprising thrum, the device warned us that we had completely filled a facet. Slowly, ever so slowly, we eked out progress on the rest, until the final thrum was heard. I awoke to learn from Osven that we could now traverse through the horrific silver wall, and the devices required more charging inside, though they were already projecting forces antithetical to Maelshyve. He prepared me for the inside by telling me that it would be "a dying Maelshyve... In there is a realm designed by her will, or, the opposite, her will rendered into the rules of our Plane. Either or. But there are Others nearby, and I wager some of what you see is not just what She wills, but what They will." I steeled myself to enter what I knew would be nothing less than some form of hellscape. Still, one can never prepare for the breaking of one's own mind. Again, what I saw is too much to render here and must be done in more detail elsewhere. But what I can say is that I sped through *something*, images rushing past me, my bones grinding, the bubble of reality around me tenuous. I saw vast smithies and contorted cathedrals, angular forms, blinding light. I arrived at a place I will call the Involution, within the Soul of Maelshyve herself. Everything was incomprehensible, except where it wasn't. The wide path flowed like melted wax, and a step off of it, I learned, resulted in death within a place people were calling in whispers, "the Plane of Exile." Maelshyve's Fortress flickered in the sky, and the crystallized air felt like I was pushing through a sea of glass shards, shattering and burning as I navigated. As I traveled, I saw millstones, vortices, discarded machinery and weapons, chaotic puzzles of rearranging cobblestones, and flaking monoliths growing from fragmented ground. Formulae floated in the air. At the concentricity, a gargantuan sphere of hissing ichor billowed with smoke and crackled with radiant blue lightning. I smelled overripe fruit and burnt sugar, along with the noxious sting of solvent. We set to the devices again, constantly disrupted by heaving ripples of Maelshyve's essence, which scattered us about the spiral path. Many fell to weariness, their feet leading them involuntarily off the path and into Exile. Maelshyve's influence continued to exert itself also, most notably in the form of a weeping child, who begged for help, only to split apart into steaming tentacles. Still we pressed on, charging, finally achieving our end. This time I was awake to witness the activation. With a loud *SNAP*, all eight facets simultaneously erupted with their massive energy stores, causing the fused outer rings to warp and expand violently. The two inner rings burst with radiance and began to spin along perpendicular axes, churning great gobs of ichor from the gargantuan sphere as they tunneled inward, trailing a brilliant beam of light shining forth from a perfect circle rimmed with smoldering char. The ichor sphere quaked wildly, and countless grasping arms reached outward, triple-tined claws grabbing hold of everyone present and twisting viciously as they receded back into the sphere! My vision went dark, and I saw the demoness crouched, her back to me, tail wrapped around her form and wings held aloft as she gorged on crumbs, her every breath ragged and forced. Stunned, I was forced into what I will call the Interval. I had traveled through the circle of light, and bizarrely saw the ichor sphere above me. Somehow I could tell that the beam, coming as it did from the devices, was projecting an incursion of our own Plane of Abiding into this place. Reality continued to ripple around me, jerking me from one eccentricity to another. I found I could not orient myself to determine which way was the path of life and which would lead to my unmaking. I froze. Osven appeared and babbled with all the froth of an addict: "It's here! It's all here! Everything laid out! This is everything!" I grabbed him to shake some sense into him; when this didn't work, I slapped him. (Perhaps this was the most satisfying moment of this adventure, from a personal point of view.) He was then able to tell me the path to take. I learned to traverse the area by moving, according to my senses, "up" and "down," although movement was not so much physical as it was like hewing to a single thread of peace amidst pandemonium: the beam. The Interval was by far the most maddening location so far, memories echoing around me, fractal starbursts and broken fragments of reality blurring in and out of focus. Mosaics and diagrams loomed out of the chaos, describing her will, her plans, her history. Perhaps her thoughts. Somehow she had coalesced into image. Finally I found the devices once again, resting atop the forehead of a massive outline of Maelshyve, her arms stretched wide as if receiving adulation. I learned that we must continue, for a final charge. Although the ripples still tossed us through the Interval frequently, we floated down again and again to the devices, gripping them to charge what we could. Feral waves of unbridled fear and rage emanated from Maelshyve's outline regularly, nearly drowning us in raw emotion. Occasionally we were stunned by piercing wails, or psychically overwhelmed with feelings of supplication or fear. Still we pressed on. Partway through I was overtaken by a vision. A melliferous voice began to sing a mournful dirge, broken by the sound of weeping. I saw Maelshyve crouched, her great winged back facing me, and the voice stretched along chords that only existed in the tortured rules of that space. Suddenly, she stopped singing, noticed me, and screamed in fury. As I spoke to others of it, I realized that her song was audible only to me. Osven warned me of listening to her; I think he feared she might somehow seduce me. I must admit, it was the only time that I glimpsed something beautiful in her. A shred of Kaldaran, perhaps. We struggled the most to fill the Life mana facet, at times down to just one or two Life users charging. Osven left to gather reinforcements. After he left, Maelshyve began to plague us with illusions. One time, we saw hairline fractures spread across the walls, radiant black energy coursing inward. Another, the devices convulsed, screaming and exploding with black lightning, metal shards ripping through the air. Each time the illusion shattered, and things were left as they were before. I believe it was part of her attempt to throw us off. Visions tormented us also. This time I saw myself, carving away flesh to reveal dusky blue scales. I still itch at the memory. With a bone-rattling *SNAP*, the devices activated for a final time. Above the cacophony of light and noise, a woman screamed in pain. But suddenly, everything went wrong. Void-black ichor surged everywhere, wrapping the devices, grinding them into stuttering and slowing. Osven appeared out of nowhere, shouting, "No!" He shattered a vial against the inky vines and sawed with a knife. The tendrils whipped at him, and he muttered a quick phrase and vanished again. The devices rattled, broken and ineffective. I heard a woman laughing with mirth and contempt. Somehow I saw the true essence of Maelshyve then, a sphere of bubbling tar rippling with vortices of demonic filth, an endless fractal expansion at every point. A mirror fractured and I fell into my reflection, the unfolding sphere slowly extending hideous triple-tined claws covered in radiant green eyes — unavoidable, inescapable, all-encompassing. I realized I was screaming. Suddenly appearing again, Osven slammed another vial into the mass of tendrils binding the devices, then impaled his hand with his ritual knife. Reality reasserted itself with a shock, and a brilliant circle appeared at the mixture of solution, blood, and knife. Between writhing tendrils, I saw Osven flare with oozing reddish-black energy that pulsated and coursed down his arm. The knife erupted with white light, which slowly encompassed him entirely and poured into the device. Then he desiccated, skin tearing and flaking away, his body crumbling, eyes burning pure white. His skeletal remains pushed the knife deeper into the circle, and the devices spun with renewed vigor, the tendrils scattering. Osven's remains collapsed into dust. The demon began to scream. The devices accelerated and finished their work. They thrummed with power, constant and unchanging, stable and complete. The sense of Maelshyve's essence shrank, a fragmenting shadow, a broken and lobotomized remnant. From there we were able to enter a chamber, which I will call the Pith. A whirlpool of violent change, scalding heat here, shocking cold there, decay or crystal or subsonic rumble swirling as if circling the final drain. I can only surmise that it is whatever is left of her decaying soul. Take care when entering, as it is populated by ur-maeldryths, the final fragments of her, which are beyond the abilities of all but the most expert combatants — though I did hear Father Liurilias slew several on his own. Also, any misstep is death in Exile or feeds what remains of her, and do not speak too loudly or you will lose your tongue. So I say again, it is done. Maelshyve, against all odds, is defeated, to dissolve through the next millennia. When the exhaustion passes, we should celebrate. As for Osven, it appears that the Necromancer did as he promised, even at the ultimate cost to himself. If he could hear me, to him I would say: I hate you. I hate your vanity and ego, I hate your secrets. I hate the filthy magic that courses through you, and I hate the path you took. But thank you. Thank you. Navesi Daerthon |
| Real Date: Unknown Date |
| Subject(s): Attunement Cambrinth Darkmist Moor Demons Maelshyve Mana Niello Necromancer Orichalcum Osven Philosopher's Knot Plane of Abiding Plane of Exile Shard Soul of Maelshyve Ur-maeldryth Zaulfung |
| Author(s): Navesi |