Mirage’s PoV - Cemna
Sage picked another gloomy location for a regroup point, on the edge of a petrified forest where the pebble-strewn beach extends into the mainland behind us. Out on the central isle of the crescent bay, flashes of light come followed by booming explosions and are, I hope, a sign that Sidero’s playtime is going well. The weaponry she controls having become increasingly destructive over the last months.
The smell of rotting fish wafts up from the shoreline and causes the muzzles of the inexperienced Hound Archons around me to wrinkle in disgust. Those accompanying Livia and Cyrus don’t flinch but continue to monitor their surroundings. The example they set refocuses the younger Celestials here for training on keeping watch.
“How long do you expect to be gone?”
“Mother said they’re allowed three days for their re-match, despite Liranë being able to keep hydrated now. Master Jarithä has ruled that since it was the time set by their initial fight, it will be sufficient for a rematch. Even she admits it’ll give them time to spar without restraint and an opportunity for locals to view their playtime. She hopes it becomes a bi-annual event given this one falls on the Novice’s midyear break but doesn’t expect it to be more often.”
Cyrus smiles when I glance his way, but I’m still unsure what to make of Livia’s almost ever-present shadow, mentor, and consistent trouble magnet. “After their frequent practice matches, it will be interesting to see the outcome with them loosening their restraint.”
“I get to meet the girls,” Livia says gleefully before waving a finger at Torm. “Don’t mope; maybe we’ll let you come next time.”
“Never mind, I’m content to wait until she’s fully healed; we’ve been exchanging messages,” Torm states, unperturbed by Livia’s teasing. Stepping forward, he gives the diminutive woman a hug—Livia almost disappearing in his embrace—before he regards Livia at arm’s length with a proud smile that has her beaming back. “Pass that along for me.”
“No, I’ll pass it along for both of us,” rebuffs Livia, playfully tilting her nose in the air before turning back to me. “Never mind me, how long do you expect to be gone?”
“I’ll see what the situation is like before I decide. After all that I’ve learnt fighting the undead and from Sidero’s use of runes, I’m sure I can significantly improve the cadre’s security,” I reply. “I had some discussions with Sidero last break and explained the situation. She suggested a multi-layer, escalating lethality approach, though I’m not sure I want to make use of the hair-thin wire options she was drooling over.”
“The next lot of spies will regret coming by?” asks Livia.
Waving her concern aside, I dig into a bag for her present, the extent of materials I’ve packed making it challenging to find anything. “The techniques the Daughters use when teaching the Affinities aren’t duplicatable and the grimoires and texts they had in their possession weren’t secrets. It was the Assassin that was more concerning.”
“What?!” Livia and Torm exclaim, their differing pitches making a strange echo.
I blink when I realise that hadn’t been common knowledge. “It’s all good; no one got hurt except the Assassin.”
Pulling the cloth wrapped parcel from my storage bag, I hold it out to Livia, who glances over the box barely bigger than my palm. “I know it’s not your birthday, but I’ll miss it if I’m gone for a while.”
“No one else worries about birthdays except Amdirlain,” protests Livia, but still claims her present and gives me a beaming smile; the seasons she’s been fighting here haven’t dimmed her spirit. “Some communities exchange gifts at different solstices in the year.”
A shimmering pane on the beach accompanies a sudden silence from the island. It rapidly clears and transforms into a Portal which Sidero strides through with a facetted orb in her grasp. The moment she’s clear, the Portal snaps shut behind her, and she moves towards us, humming happily, no doubt from the Planetars’ active auras.
When those whose auras are touching her turn them off, Sidero smiles and purrs. “You didn’t have to stop the vibrations; I was getting wet for you, honest.”
Her every motion looks like a stalking animal, and the chains shift in silent serpentine movements around her. The spikes give the impression of tongues licking scents from the air, like a snake trying to find prey.
“Come to see me off as well, Sidero?” asks Livia casually, and I wonder what she sees in Sidero’s aura. I can’t smell blood, and I wouldn’t have expected the auras to cause her enough pain to warrant such care. “You didn’t have to stop the light show.”
“Hey Squirt, Pu… and assorted entities,” says Sidero, cutting off mid-word. She continues, waving the orb so sunlight reflects off runes etched into its facets. “I’ve got the world by the balls now, one of them.”
Even with the auras off, she stops a distance away, and the others give her space. The muscles in her forearm bunch and strain before the orb explodes.
“Ahh, the rush of experience never gets old. Silly Lich should have hidden its phylactery better. Guess it didn’t have a wicket-keeper ready for me to slip by,” murmurs Sidero. I catch the tension around her eyes easing, and Livia visibly relaxes, even though Sidero’s spikes are still twitching.
“What was all the fighting?”
“Dealing with guards, mostly more of those weird Demons distorted by negative energy,” Sidero shrugs. “This was the dead boy that got away last week. Orcus doesn’t care how much of a mess we make of this place, does he? To him—undead or dead—it doesn’t matter as long as their life has ended. Mission accomplished. Bet if you could bring some of them back to life, that would get his attention.”
“They’ve been dead for too many years; even resurrection has its limits,” Torm answers, and Sidero shudders beneath the chains.
Her hands clench into tight fists, and as they relax, her tone softens. “Torm?”
“Yes, Sidero?”
“Sorry for the times I’ve called you puppy; Amdirlain scolded me, and she’s right,” says Sidero.
“Perhaps you should give yourself a break,” replies Torm. His unbothered tone clarifies that the name had never worried him, but he gives her a concerned look and motions to her writhing chains.
“Can’t do that anymore. They won’t even store in Inventory, and I can hold hundreds of tons. Their appearance is deceptive. If I weren’t supporting them, I’d be paste right now.”
“Just let them drop to the ground then,” Torm proposes, and Sidero gives a bitter laugh.
“No, they’ve reached the point where the only person that can take them off me is Mother darling,” Sidero says. “I don’t even need to use Chain Minion anymore; they’re acting alive now.”
“Level?”
“That dead boy pushed me into ninety-five by the skin of my teeth. Fortunately it’s still a target-rich environment, and unlike Amdirlain—with her Class requirements—I don’t have to be selective about how I kill things,” Sidero says lightly. When her sulphur gaze turns back towards me, a collection of chests appears on the ground. “Materials that will help with that project; ensure you can power them up or down without digging them up.”
“But wouldn’t you just plant them before troops come in?” I ask, moving towards the closet chest. I’m surprised when Sidero backs away; her focus on the closest chains sets a shiver up my spine.
“If they all don’t go off, they’ll be hazards for civilians. Ideally, you’d set them up so you can bury them well in advance and then control their activation—avoids scouts spotting them and knowing the ground to avoid. Also, you’ll need a way to check that they’re still present and haven’t been dug up by anyone.”
The first chests are spheres smaller than a thumbnail, with runes already marked out but not yet etched. While the last contains thin metal sheets of notes and little cups with broad, curved mouths. The detailed marks for etching the runes already in place surprise me.
“You didn’t have to do all this, and why the guides?”
“Metals Control makes construction like that easy, and you said you were going to be teaching other Artificers. Anyway, there are a bunch of thoughts about their use and diagrams for alterations in the notes,” Sidero adds when I pick up the first metal sheet. “Yngvarr got all nervous about knowledge Amdirlain shared; these are based on weapons of war from our world but I crafted them with magic instead.”
“I thought we were just discussing security for the compound,” I say.
The sheer coldness of Sidero’s smile cuts me off. “If you don’t think the Greeks sent that Assassin, I’ve got a few bridges to sell you. Things will probably progress to armies soon enough. When they stick their heads out, make sure you lop them off.”
“Be careful not to unleash the spectre of weapons that lay waste to cities,” Cyrus cautions, and Sidero bitterly laughs.
“Those exist already, Mon-” Sidero stopped, rolled her neck, and started again. “Master Cyrus, but I’ve not seen anything used in the lower planes.”
Cyrus regarded her critically, and Sidero huffed in amusement where I’d seen her verbally lash out for the same look months before. “You’re fighting your nature more, Sidero.”
“No, I’m fighting a perversion of my human life that this form tries to inflict on me. The closer I get to the edge, the less I want to give in to its temptations,” corrects Sidero and gives Livia a wave. “See you around, Squirt.”
Livia raises an eyebrow at her teasing tone and the twitch of a smile ruining the look. “I thought you said you weren’t giving into temptation.”
“That’s nothing of the kind, more of an affectation,” Sidero replies.
The only response is a huff from Livia before she opens a Gate to Limbo, and I can see the monastery floating in the distance. When Livia’s Gate closes, Planar Shift takes me to the Outlands—far from the Domain—and I signal Aggie that I’m ready. I was soon shifting impatiently, wondering if I had time to engrave some spheres, when the Outlands pulsed around me, carrying a resonance of Amdirlain’s energy.
When I didn’t resist the call, rainbow walls suddenly surrounded me, exactly like Amdirlain and Runa described. The bright wall ahead would challenge a summer sun while the glass-smooth sides were cool to the touch, like brushing against a shadow, drinking away the summer sun’s heat. Though the moment I touch it, the pane bursts apart and its energy ripples within the summoning circle that marks my arrival point.
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The chamber I appeared in wasn’t large enough to allow me to stand fully upright; after so much time spent looking human, it shocked me how much I’d grown.
Drawn carefully in chalk on a smooth greenish-grey stone floor, the runes that define its limits were similar yet different from the Artificer’s craft. The circle seemed to harness the energy, and it coiled almost dormant along the circle’s edge within True Sight. Even with my hunched position, I could see beyond the circle’s edge to where the greenish-grey floor met red stone blocks, each nearly a human torso in size. The stones’ perfectly smooth finish, and the way the barest hint of a line between them that vanishes when I momentarily disabled True Sight, spoke of Dwarf-like skill. Indeed, the only unevenness about the construction was the fine wavey grain of the white cedar door and a trio of individuals standing around a nearby brazier.
They make an odd collection: a muscular young man, and more muscular female with greenish skin, and a lean female whose rune-crusted veil doesn’t match her practical leathers. The three are small compared with my current size, but the greenish female looking up at me exceeds Torm’s human height. One thing is consistent: they all wear Amdirlain’s symbol and I can feel their solid Faith in her.
With the jaws of two dropping open, I shift to the human appearance I’ve frequently used, and my clothes reform around me. A slight reflective effect along the summoning circle’s edge lets me take in my form’s alabaster skin. Pushing back my wild mane of red hair, I can’t decide if it’s the lighting in here or if I made myself too pale—but it’s what I practised. I reassess the rest of my choices, but I’m happy with the effect of my straight nose, wide set emerald eyes, and full lips.
“You are?”
My words at first get no reaction before the young man moves a hand towards his paling face. Clean-shaven, his paling skin has an ashen edge matched by the washed-out blue of his gaze. He runs long fingers across his sturdy face, pinching the bridge of his nose while he tries to catch his breath.
“Radovan. I’m sorry, goodness, High Priestess Aggie could have provided me more warning. She said you were a Hound Archon, not an old Hound Archon. I summoned one to help a Priest of Kläppa once, and he didn’t drain me anywhere near…”
The greenish female supports him with one hand and gently hushes him. “You’re rambling, Radovan. I’m Rika, and this is….”
“I’m Tomila,” the veiled lady’s interjection cut off Rika before she could introduce her.
“Pleased to meet you all, though I had expected a call from a Priest not a Summoner. Considering she discussed it with Ebusuku, I’m sure I can guess whose idea it was not to tell me. Which likely means Ebusuku’s got a motivation to be secretive,” I admit and try for a reassuring smile.
“My apologies for my part in this then; I’ll release you to return,” Radovan stated. “Just need to get my breath.”
“Hold up, I just told you it’s unexpected not that it’s not allowed, I’m told the cadre asked Aggie for some security help, and she passed the request along. Is that still the case?”
“Yes,” protests Radovan, almost wobbling on his feet from exhaustion. “We still should have had a Priest Summon you.”
Rika gives Radovan a chiding look and shakes her head. “Summoners gain experience by summoning and maintaining agreements, and you’ve been stagnating from your easy summons. It was this, go back to adventuring, or join the guards if you wanted to progress much further.”
When he goes to protest again, I wave for attention. “I’m not worried about who summoned me, as long as I can help the cadre.”
“We need to have an agreement so that you can cross the circle,” explains Radovan.
As I raise a hand again, he stops and blinks at me in confusion. “I’ve read about a Summoner’s abilities, but I want to know what you would like from an agreement. How did you conduct the summoning—did she give you my name?”
Radovan hurriedly shook his head, his forceful motions making my own brains feel rattled. “No, that isn’t always needed. She created a token for me representing you. It’s not something another can use—she created it solely for my use—and it’s consumed by a summoning regardless of success.”
Pausing, he pointed to the still smouldering brazier sitting outside the circle. “Burning it activated the energised summoning. Though I could have just done a general call for help, that is a more open call for aid. Sorry, I’m rambling, I’m sure. It’s just, summoning you ran me low on Mana. Rika, help, please?”
Rika gave an amused, tusky grin and motioned him towards the closest wall. “Sit down and catch your breath, then you two can figure out a loose wording that makes you both happy.“
Tomila supported him to the wall, and Rika only turned back to me once he was seated. Their distraction gave me a moment to make sure my clothing had properly adjusted and settled during the resizing. The possibility to check against knowledge gain from books and what others have told me about them is tempting. Rika’s name rings a bell and I make a note to ask how being Yngvarr’s apprentice went for her.
“As I said, I’ve read about Summoners but didn't speak to anyone directly about them. From your perspective, what’s the issue with his progression?” I ask, and Rika doesn’t hesitate in answering.
“Radovan‘s a rare talent—Summoner and Magus—but he’s young. Summoners bring forth entities from various planes that let them use the conduit to their original Plane to draw energy. It empowers the Summoner physically and mentally while providing an assortment of powers like a Wizard’s spells. The nature of the summoned entity determines the nature of the benefit. He normally summons Earth Elementals and has helped the cadre with the various construction projects since Yngvarr’s departure.”
“What’s your theory about the spells he’ll be able to cast with an agreement from me?”
“That differs between Deities, in theory he’ll be able to form various effects with Celestial energy,” Rika said, shrugging. “Worst case, it should be a balanced natural effect that might help the crops of the tenant farmers; growing herbs for our Alchemists is something we don’t have time to do ourselves.”
A flicker of thoughts on Amdirlain’s Fallen form and her curse has me fighting back a shudder. “That’s not the worst case.”
“The worst case we expect,” suggests Rika.
“Alright, but any agreement we set has to include terms for breaking it if this goes wrong,” I state firmly. “There are things that could twist an agreement, and I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Rika nods and points a thick thumb back to Radovan. “He comes from a long line of Summoners, he’ll certainly be able to verify any questions about Summoner capabilities.”
Tomila, crouching next to Radovan, puts a hand on his shoulder, her hand glowing with a Blessing. The soft Celestial tones finish, but True Sight lets me see Mana moving between them and vanishing when it sinks into Radovan‘s flesh. Though colour returns to his skin in a rush, it still takes minutes before he’s on his feet again and giving me a formal bow.
“I offer an agreement to support your stay on this Plane. Upon your acceptance, I’ll serve as an anchor for your presence. I ask that you allow me to access the energy carried by your entry onto this plane. I offer to support your endeavours while here, and a Wizard’s Staff,” states Radovan. His pronouncement has the waiting energy humming, its presence becoming an offered hand, with runes glowing within the potential link.
When a familiar staff is retrieved from a storage bag, I have to hold back a smile as I admire it again. Shaped from deep brown wood, shod in mithril that spirals up to its top where its clasps a red crystal—identical to one I’d recently gushed over to Ebusuku.
“Provided I might break the bond between us at my will and that you’d share information about the Summoner’s art with me.”
My words shimmer through the energy of his offering, setting twisting runes into existence within its pattern. Runes showing control radiating from me, join with runes I’ve never seen, and divination runes swirl in the mix.
“I agree,” replies Radovan.
“I agree.”
With my response, the circle bursts and I see the energy form a link between us, a crystalline spiralling cord shines golden for a moment before it vanishes.
“I’m sure that Amdirlain would say this is all funny currency games. Did Aggie give you that staff?”
Radovan blinks and looks at the staff curiously. “How did you know?”
“An Artificer in Duskstone made it as a commission for Ebusuku. She never told me who it was intended for. My boss is a sneak,” I laugh, and step forward, the line of the circle no longer glowing with contained energy.
“Why would she do that?”
“Apparently, it seems I’ve been missing some presents over the years.”
At the blank look on their faces, I wave them off giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s a long story. Let’s just blame Amdirlain and Ebusuku for liking to mother some of us. I’m not sure who came up with the idea since Ebusuku often adds her own twist to achieving Amdirlain’s goals.”
“When you say Ebusuku is your boss?” asks Rika curiously.
“She keeps us sorted out for Amdirlain—she’s a Solar,” my quick words cause Rika’s eyebrows to lift.
Radovan still looks a bit worn and Rika takes her time ushering us out the door onto a covered pathway. The stone flooring sits only a short step above grass level in an open area between two wings of a U-Shaped building. To either side, the structure looks to provides them five stories of space assuming the interior of the high peaked slate roof doesn’t serve a function as well.
The gap in the U-shaped formation is devoid of ornamentation and leads to a road filled with women wearing leathers identical to Tomila. On the far side is a training ground—like in the Domain—busy with drilling troops. Beyond them is a much shorter barn-shaped structure that looks almost grown. The blue sky has only a few grey clouds, and the warm yellow sunlight is far different from Cemna or Letveri.
“Is that the original transfer location for the attacks on the Gnarls?”
On the other side of Radovan, I catch Tomila’s quick nod, but clearer still is her hands clenching into fists. “We all worked hard to earn the right to take the fight to them.”
“Would you show me the platoon achievement board?” I ask, and her gaze turns my way still hidden behind the veil.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that one of Amdirlain’s Celestials knows all about the building,” admits Tomila.
“Knowing, seeing, and understanding are different things. Amdirlain went to lengths to share a lot of details about herself with those Ebusuku brought together. She mentioned feeling the aid she provided you all was insufficient.”
“She felt what she did was insufficient?” Tomila asks, her words a soft whisper, and I wonder if I should have admitted that for Amdirlain.
“Perhaps I’m out of place, but I’ve heard her speaking to Solveiga about it. To her, until someone’s fully back on their feet, the task isn’t done. She had to leave before she considered everyone had properly recovered,” I explain.
From Tomila’s dry laugh, though it’s clearly no surprise. She touches the medallion at her throat and nods respectfully. “She mothered every one of us. We could all tell the nights she stood guard to calm our rest. Please give our lady my love. She gave all we needed to grow strong again.”
Despite the scolding, I’m likely to get from Ebusuku it’s still worth the risk. When I push the memory of Tomila’s words across my Oath-Link to Amdirlain I immediately feel a bittersweet sigh. Though I’m not sure she intends me to receive the images of a teenage girl with a nose-less, claw-shredded face. There was so much damage done that after healing, her face had been covered by a strange shiny skin. Amid the images, I catch the words of Amdirlain’s response. “I just did and she wants you to know she’s happy you’re well. She remembered you and wished she could have done more. She also said it’s not just strength that is important in life, but she’s glad you have it.”
“She did more than we could ever have hoped; I lived, others weren’t so lucky,” says Tomila and starts out across the courtyard’s grass. “I’ll show you all the compound, but shall we start with a tour of the staging post?”
“I’d like that,” I agree and let Radovan and Rika catch up. When he’s walking alongside me I toss him a question Rika’s introduction had left me. “Why is yours considered a rare talent, Radovan?”
“Those offered the Magus Class are rare and it’s even rarer for people to take it on since much of the Class knowledge was lost in the scourge. The senior Magi spent their lives holding back the Dragons’ minions while others sped the Persian fleet towards the west. They’d sent their books with their apprentices, but they fell victim to fighting along the way, other classes weren’t so unfortunate or possessed masters among the other peoples.”
Studying him for a moment, I can only give a shrug. “You don’t look Persian, but the way you explain it makes it sound like the Magi were Persian.”
“Both my parents’ bloodlines are primarily Slavic, but my many times great-grandfather was Persian. The Magus Class shows up in my father’s line from time to time. I’m the only one living with the talent, so I inherited my great-grandfather’s scrolls. Why were you so tall, and difficult to summon?” asks Radovan, before we get to the road.
“I’d blame that on my combined levels being over three hundred and seventy,” I say, not mentioning my Tier 7 Prestige Class, and continue before he can stammer a question. “We’ve all levelled lots clearing out the undead from a region larger than the entire ten kingdoms and Elven lands combined, and we’ve a lot more left to do. I’ve only been levelling three classes even though Ebusuku has suggested repeatedly I add a physical combat Class.”
“How many undead have you been fighting?” asked Tomila, stealing the conversation from an ashen-faced Radovan.
“Last time I asked, Sage’s estimate was that Amdirlain’s forces have destroyed over a hundred million combined, but he’s not got tallies from some teams. Try asking Master Farhad for kills and you get I dealt with those I found. Plus, we have one helper who just goes: I’ve got better things to do than maths about what I’ve incinerated. Which, given the sheer number of ash marks she bakes into the rock, any of us would admit is fair. But they’re just the worst offenders, not the only ones.”
When Radovan’s mouth drops open, Tomila laughs warily. “Did you think Aggie would suggest seeking her help if she weren’t far stronger? By the way, what do you wish to be called?”
“You can call me Leira.”