Outlands

Amdirlain’s giggles lightened her steps, but an unexpected sight stopped her as she broke through the treeline. Two Dwarves in armour, one in gleaming Mithril chainmail, the other in leather, stood at the edge of her Domain. When she focused on them, their avatars’ auras against the Domain’s perimeter made it clear who they were. Not wanting to make them wait, Amdirlain teleported to them. “Clangeddin and Vergadain; I hope you’re not here to scold me.”

Clangeddin wore an open-face helm with his chain to allow for his full white beard—combed out but unbraided, it came down to his belt. A pair of axe handles peeked up above one shoulder, making her wonder if he called them to hand or if there was an odd harness at work. Vergadain didn’t wear a helm, but his auburn hair and beard were both braided tightly. His leather armour was covered in knife sheaths strapped at nearly every spot possible, and Amdirlain spotted more than a few not in plain sight. When she’d addressed them, they fixed her with assessing gazes, though they seemed to look for far different things. Clangeddin’s gaze weighed her up physically, while Vergadain focused on what she wore and carried about her person.

Clangeddin’s laughter echoed loudly, followed by a metallic ring as he slapped his gauntleted hand against his thigh in amusement. “Why would we scold our potential little sister?”

Amdirlain stopped and blinked for a moment before she blurted a response. “What are you talking about?”

“We wanted to invite you before the Elven courts got their mitts on you. We’ve been around more than a few planets and eons before they joined the festivities,” Vergadain stated, his wide smile splitting his beard.

Clangeddin nodded seriously. “Berronar heard of Mab’s involvement and decided you needed proper allies. The Elven courts introduced your faith to another world, and you reached a third yourself. They should have invited you after you wiggled out of the Demon’s grasp. Since they’ve dragged their heels, we’d like to help you tweak their noses.”

“Please come in,” Amdirlain said, stepping to one side as she motioned them forward. “This is most unexpected.”

At her invitation, the Domain’s aura welcomed their own, and the two Deities’ entry didn’t even cause a ripple.

“More will be along,” declared Vergadain. “Thautam wants to talk about your clergy helping Dwarven wizards connect to more affinities. I believe your Priestess already agreed to help in Stoneheart, but there are other worlds. So, we’d like to invite you to join our family’s Pantheon.”

“I’m a Fallen though,” protested Amdirlain.

Clangeddin stepped forward and clasped her hand in his own. “So what! We tolerate Abbathor in our midst. If we can tolerate that greedy sod, we can adopt you. Even if you’re lacking a beard, youngling. Now, I’ve heard you can change your shape. Why don’t you lose some height and put on a proper beard?”

At his amused look, Amdirlain just reached out and tapped his nose. “Nope, if your family adopts me, you’ll have to get used to a beardless sister.”

Another five Dwarves, only one in armour, appeared where Clangeddin and Vergadain had been waiting. Amdirlain felt their aura’s interaction with her Domain and steadied herself. Clangeddin’s hand gave a reassuring squeeze while she caught her mental balance, and he released her with a nod. The new arrivals were unique in both their clothing and aura. Even their clothing was rich with Celestial energies, but from there, their aspects varied.

Moradin’s avatar was a nearly bald dwarf with a long steel-grey beard. The bald edge reached to just above his ears, and the fringe of hair left grew down across his shoulders. Clad in heavy-duty clothing, he looked ready for a day’s work at a forge.

Flame-red hair with hints of oranges matched Berronar’s beard, with both in a tight braid. Emerald flecks that matched her eyes appeared frequently along the silver wire woven through both to keep them under control.

Amdirlain had seen Dwarves travelling through Eyrarháls dressed in similarly practical clothing to Marthammor. Heavy leather clothes, and solid boots, their dark earthen tones a strange contrast to the sun-gold of his eyes. Though their tones blended in with the deep brown of his hair and beard, which looked wind tousled.

Thautam’s clothing was like the Dwarven townsfolk she’d seen in Duskstone, though the pants and tunic had runes stitched with mithril thread. His choice of deep brown clothing did not match his sapphire-blue eyes, but they were by a few jewels amid the rings on his fingers.

Gorn wore solid plate armour and was the only one carrying a shield. His armour and weapons seemed well maintained but showed signs of frequent use. Among them, he seemed the only one ready to move at a moment’s notice. His focus looking out for dangers to defend against rather than looking for battle as she’d found among the Norse. Deep blue eyes regarded her from within his helm, and a broad nose sat above his precisely trimmed auburn beard, which reached barely to the top of his breastplate.

“Moradin, Berronar, Marthammor, Thautam, and Gorn, I bid you welcome.”

Marthammor strode in, heading straight for her. Without delay, he caught her hand in a double clasp.

“Lady Dawn, it’s good to see you again,” Marthammor declared, giving her hand a solid shake, yet Amdirlain could feel his restraint. “You’ve somewhat of your old appearance about you.”

“Never thought I’d have Orc worshipers, Amdirlain. Not only that, but they’re fixated on protecting their tribe’s territory rather than seeking conquests as many try,” Gorm said. He reached up and patted her upper arm in a friendly greeting. “I guess having a tall one about would be handy for reaching a bar’s top shelves.”

“I guess being around a group of shorter individuals means the good stuff hidden under the bar is accessible,” countered Amdirlain, and Gorm just grinned. “Why don’t we grab a table in the mead hall? I’m sure one of us can keep eavesdroppers ignorant if anything needs discretion.”

“That sounds sensible,” Moradin said, tapping Gorm on the shoulder to prompt him to release her hand. Though he was quick to take it up in his own grip. “I’d like to learn why your Priestess requested use of the great Portal in my Temple.”

“One thing at a time, husband. Let’s get settled and have no ears listening, as Amdirlain suggested.” Berronar chided Moradin from where she and Thautam followed the other three at a slower pace.

“With Amdirlain’s permission, I can ensure none overhear anything we don’t wish shared beyond us for now.” Thautam said, “Our people are by nature inclined to particular affinities, yet you and your High Priestess have helped many overcome that issue. I had thought to seek your aid for more, but our parents had another suggestion since you shook up practices that had limited one world. It was not within our Portfolios to encourage such change in traditions, though we can see the potential it offers once you put it to them.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking with this adoption offer. While I’m grateful for the offer, I’ll need to know if it will limit my activities,” Amdirlain said.

“Limits,” Moradin said thoughtfully and nodded sharply before exchanging a glance with Berronar. “Perhaps we need to hear what else you have on your to-do list that you mentioned to young Jantar.”

Amdirlain smiled ruefully at the weight in their glance. “Lots. Is your whole Pantheon bound by the Accord?”

“Yes,” Berronar sighed, and stroked her beard thoughtfully.

Amdirlain winced but motioned towards the mead hall. “Let’s go sit and talk. I’d like to learn more of the situation in Mélamar.”

They easily found a place on benches inside the mead hall to talk. Amdirlain was glad her Petitioners were far outnumbered by the Norse Celestials in her Domain. When they were settled, a brunette teenager brought them mugs of mead, and Amdirlain stopped cold when she felt the moment of the girl’s death. Despite the violence that had stolen her life, she felt calm and at peace. The knowledge settled in Amdirlain’s memory, but she kept herself composed, and Amdirlain rested her hand on the girl’s arm. “I’ll see what I can do for the rest of your family, Runa.”

“Thank you, Amdirlain. I hope they are safe, but the living world is not in anyone’s control. Though I hope I improved it during my time among them,” Runa said, nodding politely to the guests before heading back behind the bar. A momentary focus of her attention made Amdirlain aware of the comfort Runa took in her work in the hall.

Her sigh of relief drew Berronar’s attention, and the Goddess nodded at her. “New Powers often struggle to understand the transformation of Petitioners. I’ve seen it among them on many worlds. You’ve got a welcoming place here, a sense of a home. Good families pitch in together to get things done, without putting a burden solely on one, helping them find their place. You’ve let them keep their individuality and they’ll seek familiar things while they adjust.”

“Thank you. I don’t suppose you’ve got other pearls of wisdom?” Amdirlain asked seriously.

“Don’t say pearls,” warned Marthammor, giving Vergadain a cheeky look.

Vergadain rolled his eyes at his brother and motioned to Clangeddin. “You well and truly lost that bet, I hadn’t even had a sip.”

“Fine, I’ll ask my Champion on Karak to aid with rescuing your Chosen,” Clangeddin grumbled. “Mind you, I’m not setting it as a quest, but purely voluntary. If they help, you’ll need to reward them properly for their efforts.”

Vergadain gave a pleased smile. “That’s agreeable.”

“Do they often bet that way?” Amdirlain asked Berronar.

“Children,” huffed Berronar. “That they do, though most often Clangeddin sends help regardless. The Faithful have their strong points, and our family has many gifted followers in some worlds.”

Clangeddin gave his mother a wounded look. “It’s only often because his followers always get themselves in over their heads.”

”We should show you natural Portals to a few primitive worlds. Let you get yourself established in more places,” Vergadain offered, ignoring the exchange.

A raised hand from Moradin cut him off, and he quickly closed his mouth. “One thing at a time, son. Would you tell us about this to-do list of yours, Amdirlain? I’d like to know if there is any way we can assist.”

“I’ll ensure no one hears the details within or without your Domain, if that’s agreeable,” offered Thautam.

“Thanks,” Amdirlain said and waited until she felt a Spell settle in place before she continued. “Top of the list is getting myself and my friends free of our curse. But during my first time in the Ten Kingdoms, I encountered followers of Set with a caravan of Norse slaves and a tortured Celestial.”

Moradin grimaced at her words. “That fellow is an unpleasant topic, but remaining ignorant helps no one.”

* * *

Berronar patted her arm as the others vanished. “Thank you for showing us around your Domain, Amdirlain. I’m sorry our offer would cause issues with your plans. When things are more settled for you, or if you need help, we’ll be here for you. Like your Petitioners, seek the familiar to adjust, consider doing the same—it’ll help ground you. It’s why each realm has elements of what drew Faithful to us, so they have that focus in their existence.”

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With that last piece of advice, Berronar left Amdirlain to her thoughts, and she went in search of the Archons.

Amdirlain found them sitting in a circle under a large apple tree, with Pip drifting through the branches. “Apologies for the delay. I had some very unexpected guests.”

“Were they really Gods?” Pip asked, darting down to hover just above Mirage’s head “They looked rather short to be Gods.”

Mirage stuck her hand up and lightly clasped the meshwork surrounding Pip. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m so sorry,” Pip mumbled, and Mirage lightly patted her side.

Hook glanced at the pair before directing his attention to Amdirlain. “Is there a particular reason you chose Monk as your main Class?”

“Not a single reason, but initially I was in a very dangerous place with nothing. A Monk focuses on overcoming physical limits. Strength of will is a determining factor rather than reliance upon equipment,” Amdirlain replied.

Iris snorted in amusement at Amdirlain’s response. “Having nothing sounds familiar. I know we can select this Class, but will you teach us? Or do we just pick it and other classes we want and learn as we go?”

“I’d be happy to teach you whenever you’re ready to learn,” responded Amdirlain.

The swiftness of her response brought smiles from the others, and they rose to their feet.

Amdirlain laughed warmly at their eagerness. “Well, now is fine. Everyone spread out and we’ll begin with some simple activities.”

As if in response to her words, the Domain’s energy rippled, and seven more figures appeared among them as a stream of notifications hit.

* * *

Ebusuku’s PoV - The Maze

“Your wounds stink, and black lines are growing under your skin. I’m not leading you anywhere.”

“I’ll keep my word.”

Sage smashed the poultice jar against the closest wall before he upends the bag. The leather roll filled with makeshift tools drops to the ground amid keys chiming on stone. “You’ve gotten enough keys for those left. I’ll give them out when we gather next, if I can’t get to them earlier. I’m not going to let you kill yourself from pride.”

“Isn’t it my choice?”

“Yes, but it’s a stupid choice,” Sage snarls. “How am I supposed to stand myself if you don’t…”

Pain bends me in two, the berries I recently ate spraying across the stairs as I turn my face away. Sage passes me the waterskin after I stop gasping, and two of him suddenly appear swimming before me. His hand is so cold it feels like ice against my skin.

“Please Ebusuku, I’ll tell them of Amdirlain, I promise, but you need to start on the next level now. You’ll not survive two more trips through the maze, even if nothing more attacks us. Your skin isn’t ebony anymore, it’s grey, and you’re burning up.”

The stone is drinking my heat and I can’t remember laying down, but Sage is crouched beside me. Droplets trickling across my neck make me aware of the dripping rag in his hand.

“What happened?”

Sage frowns grimly. “You passed out. Do you remember sitting down?”

A vague memory claws its way to the surface, and I nod reluctantly as the memory seems so vague

“We’re both going downstairs,” Sage states, and turns to gather the keys.

I lean on a sheathed sword to get to my feet by the time he’s done, but with the trembling in my knees I abandon the second sword.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to manage traps.”

The words themselves exhaust me and I move to lean against the wall.

“Then we’ll die down there together,” Sage states firmly, without glancing at the flames above. “If the keys are like other things, they’ll be with me when I reappear in my hole. Now let me help you get down the stairs, it would be stupid if you slipped and broke your neck.”

Step by step I manage, propped up between Sage and the wall. Each time my weight comes down on my right leg, it drives pain into my crotch that burns up through my guts. The rough stone underfoot turns into smooth tiles, and I have to watch my step. At the base of the stairs, an archway draws a line before the start of first mosaic. Their borders are as bright with colours as the scenes within are dark. Picture after picture stretches out before me, disappearing into the gloom, each some three metres square.

“The floor’s pictures aren’t the same,” Sage says, his gaze moving over the black stone room shown within. A young stupid succubus being addressed by a Gilöglp, the details so sharp and clear.

“Was there a border before?”

“I think so, I remember stepping on it and then I fell.”

Sage helps me ease to the ground. After long minutes of work with hands that I fight to stop shaking, I pry up a tile to find gears beneath. Levers and chains run into the walls. Nearly an hour of work later and I find the oddness: the mosaic in the middle isn’t trapped, only the border.

When I rise and step out onto it, Abyssal Heat devours its way through me and I want the mortal pain back. The moment from my memories shown within the picture drives its barbed hooks in and drags me under.

The wind pushes hard, bringing with it a scent thick with copper and rotting fruit. It makes me wish for Dis’ sulphuric stench. This place is so dull and colourless, I miss the red glow shimmering off the metal buildings. There is only black stone, and more stone, a black land, mirroring the blackness overhead. My new home has no sun, no moon, not even a single star. I miss Dis’s burning flame-filled sky. Here is only blackness reaching toward eternity, a void consuming even sanity; eternally empty, and eternally hungry.

The Gilöglp’s gaze weighs on me but I stay in battle calm. His sinuous body is only just longer than my sabres, and the black fur looks like stone spikes from his sharp, pointed nose, past keen eyes and sharper teeth, to the top of his long tail. My palms itch, and I want to drive my daggers into his obsidian gaze. I much preferred the tutors among Hell’s Damned. His lessons are as erratic as his fur, full of jagged edges, and sharp twists for no other purpose than to twist. He started the lesson speaking of the metals needing the fury of Furnace’s great volcanos to be refined. Now, less than an hour later, he’s speaking of the mating rituals of Skëll Drakes. The lesson didn’t take a break, just thirty-eight erratic twists and hops. I’d much prefer he tell me how to kill one quickly. If he doesn’t change the topic—and soon—I might use him to douche a Skëll female.

Sharp clicks echo through the Hall behind me, and I listen to their approach. The slightest pause warns me to drop to one side, shifting my wings away before I hit the ground. I don’t rise to my feet but Blink into a cupboard’s shadow before I twist into a crouch. The acidic sharpness of blood makes me smile, and a glance reveals my tutor pulling a dagger from his side. Blood pulses from the wound, whatever enchantment the blade carries preventing it from sealing immediately. Dropping the dagger, the Gilöglp vanishes as well, leaving behind droplets of black blood staining the table it had perched on.

“You pass Daughter.”

Mother’s words are clear, but I stay put. Mana Sense had let me feel the outer wards, and I’ve no way past them. The inner wards likewise carry the runes to prevent dimensional options, so I wait to see what game we’re playing. On the balcony, I could climb between levels, but its archways are visible from the door. I listen hard and hear what could be the rustle of wings, but their sound isn’t quite right. Since they sound as if they’re approaching the equipment racks on the other wall, I have Blink carry me to that far corner. The spatial power is so useful even though I long for something better.

A reflection off a metal plate shows Mother had been stalking towards my first hiding spot, her wings, and tail tight against her back. Her ebony skin is as black as the room’s stonework, though watching her move is never dull. Her outfit is so tight Mother might as well paint the leather in place, the way its colour blends with her skin, makes her look nude. Muscles flex within her form, and yet the tension becomes wrong for moving forward. Blink moves me again and sets my back to the open hall—just within the ward—a backwards tumble takes me through them and ends with me in a crouch again. I focus to Blink into the corridor below, and Mother speaks again. “In Lilith’s name.”

The code phrase ends the exercise. Tempting as it is to repay her for that painful tutor, I step back into the room. ”What did Grandmother say?”

The muscles flex and bunch under the enchanted hide at my question in a way I’ve seen only a few times. She’s not weighing her words, she’s furious, perhaps more than I’ve ever seen. “I will stay in the Abyss until she reaches a resolution.”

The words fall bitten off into the silence in the room

“If you’re staying, can I go back to Hell?”

“You need to stay in the Abyss. Without its Heat, your body isn’t growing properly. It seems your father’s nature influenced that aspect of you,” Mother replies, and I don’t hide the distaste in my expression.

“Did the Four really destroy him?”

Mother’s face remains calm despite the excitement in my question; not even a hint of the panic I’ve seen from others regarding the Titan’s Servants. “His forces’ assault allowed the Leviathan to flee. They shattered his body on the five planes he controlled. The last battle between them was in Kapùcterv, the new Lord there has even commissioned a tent from his skin.”

The certainty of his death is clear. They'd never dare the insult if there was any risk of vengeance being taken for it. I can’t help the delighted smile that twists my lips and Mother’s assessing gaze weighs me up. “Would he sell me enough for a pillow to kick? Why aren’t we killing Demons instead of learning about them? I don’t understand why you even let him touch you, let alone fuck you.”

“You’re only seven Ebusuku; you’ll understand in time. Be grateful that I did, or you wouldn’t exist.”

“I’m a Demon, Mother! Why would I be grateful for that? I’d rather spend eternity in Hell, being weak than a moment here. I hate you for bringing me back.”

There is a spark of emotion in her gaze that my younger self doesn’t notice, and wouldn’t have understood. The memory releases me in that instant. I can feel Sage’s breath across my skin, and I know he’s far too close.

Crouched beside me again, positioned awkwardly trying to support my head from landing on the border. “You collapsed.”

His hands support me gently as I sit properly, and the gloom in the corridor disappears. The mosaic is no longer present as a familiar key sits on blank stone, its promise of release from this loud and clear. My gaze follows the corridor that stretches further than I can see, and I consider the sadness I’d seen in my Mother’s gaze. What else had I missed among all the years? Was this corridor about things I’d missed or teasing me with the life I’ve lived?

I ignore the key and rise, moving forward three metres to the far end of the blank square. The next picture, with the pieces of bodies strewn about draws my gaze and I recognise the moment that awaits. Among the blood-soaked bodies I’d left behind that day, I wonder what I’d missed. Urgency weighs on me but I sit, and when Sage passes me the tools, I force the trembling to still and remove the border tiles to check things are the same.

The presence of the key tempts me with the Abyssal Heat’s agony. I hadn’t realised I’d hurt my Mother with the blade in my words. With my checks finished at last, I rise, balancing carefully on my good leg, and hop forward, planning my fall safely away from the border.

* * *

Amdirlain's PoV - Outlands

[Summoning Notification

You have received a summons from High Traveller Aggie, via your ‘Use’ name.

Your willpower, intelligence, and total levels all exceed that of the summoner.

They meet no conditions to compel you to respond.

You can ignore this summons.

Do you wish to accept the summons? ]

Amdirlain kept her expression composed as she looked at the gathered Hound Archons. “Keep practicing what we've covered for now. If I'll be gone awhile, I'll send a message. . Mirage, please talk to one of the Patrol leaders about some good locations for gaining combat experience.”

“I’ll chat with them, Amdirlain,” confirmed Mirage, waving Hook away as he went to interject.

Yes.

At her agreement, the summoning energy wrapped around her and Amdirlain suddenly found herself on the threshold of a Portal within a room decorated with Moradin’s symbol. They’d set gemstones and runes into the adamantine archway, and they glowed now with the Spell’s residual energy. The field retracting caused her to revert to her natural state, and the curve of her wings nearly touched the ceiling.

Aggie stood next to a nearby brazier, the coals within still smoking. Her gaze climbed up over Amdirlain and blinked slowly. “Amdirlain, you're taller than I’d expected.”

Amdirlain stepped forward, shrunk to match Aggie’s height, and caught her in a sudden hug that made the other woman start. “Aggie, why did you risk yourself that way?”

“Moke’s preparations are complete,” replied Aggie, her words drawn out and hollow with fatigue. “I’ve drawings of every temple and shrine, along with an item to help you track down any Priests away from them.”

“How?”

“Like what Lêdhins did to you. It doesn’t scry for the Priests, its enchantment focuses on Set’s symbols.”

Amdirlain paused and started again. “How did you get it done so quickly?”

“You rescued some key members of the Charter House. They and their friends knew the adventuring teams we could trust,” explained Aggie. “For over a decade, we had a standing bounty for information, and they scoured the kingdoms tracking down leads. There are locations outside the boundaries of Egypt. As you suspected, the Altar came from the west. We found a few hidden temples in Nova Roma, including an underground complex.”

“Time for my work to get started then,” Amdirlain agreed.

Aggie straightened, an admonishing frown appearing as her gaze locked on Amdirlain’s. “Started? You’ve done so much already. Don’t risk yourself doing this, please!”

With a kiss on the cheek, Amdirlain stroked Aggie’s shoulders. “It’s a promise I made over a decade ago. Knowing the suffering they cause has been weighing on me.”

“It’s been going on for centuries, it’s not your doing. You are not responsible for their actions,” insisted Aggie.

Amdirlain nodded and stepped back, her hands slipping from Aggie’s shoulders.

“It’s still early afternoon here,” informed Aggie. “So given we’re northeast from the Ten Kingdoms, you’ve plenty of time before nightfall to study the drawings. High Crafter Qidnak would like to discuss your training fund idea; Jantar of Duskstone was talking to them about it when I arrived. He’s already given me a ward stone to let you teleport out of Stoneheart without issues.”

“Let’s have a chat then,” Amdirlain said. “Also, I heard what you started doing to help their Wizards; thank you. Would you like me to help out for a bit this afternoon?”

“That would be good, but only if there is time.”