The trio of Eadwald, Hevaeck and Priernuss arrived to the bookstore around late noon as they themselves too got lost along the sloped streets of Vhoragos as the outer districts proved vaster than the inner districts. Though while in name it was called a bookstore, in truth it resembled an archive as the edifice stretched far and wide and consisted of at least three floors with the roof being the pagoda style of the east.
The almost blindingly white walls themselves stood out like a sore as the bookstore was wedged between two gloomy stores selling fish brought from the nearest river and lake or the far shores of the north. On the other side a blacksmith set up shop, with weapons and armor visible through the large and barred windows waiting to be claimed by their new owners. Eadwald could not help but compare it to their settlement’s blacksmith’s work. Compared to that, these weapons appeared quite dull both in luster and in sharpness, though they still could cut through the thick hide of most monsters, but even he could tell these would bounce off the limbs of a hill giant.
“Maybe another time. For now focus on the task.” Priernuss brought him out of his momentary stupor and the trio headed straight for the steps leading onto the bookstore’s door. Like with the tavern they stayed at, the bookstore too had an elevated ground floor, through which one had to enter through the ornated door bearing the bizarre figure of Septurrion, who sewn eyes seemed to stare right into Eadwald’s eyes as he entered first, pushing open the door.
Within the grand hall of the bookstore, they were greeted by the xirong man himself, Da Yun an exotic man with short, well-kept dark hair, wide and slit eyes that seemed to be closed as he genially greeted them with a smile and a light bow. The quite slender man dwarfing before the three altered men was clad in a naturally flowing dark gown embroidered with symbols of Septurrion’s domain – on the back a spindle with eight sharply riveted spokes, on the sleeves and trims intertwining threads slithering along the soft linen.
Beyond the short man whose triangular face was covered in a thick beard and a peculiar moustache, laid the dozens of towering bookshelves, protruding from the wooden floor up to the bright ivory ceiling decorated with the painted on sphinxes of Septurrion who guard and share the knowledge of eons to all those who could answer the three questions of theirs, though he also spotted the dim and grim servitors of Dhaekenia, Carrier of Souls, Listener of the Fading.
The place itself was lit by the effort of Illius’s light seeping through the pristine glass of the windows, and the arkhaine bubbles floating aimlessly high above their heads, occasionally half submerged into the ceiling which itself lit up with the warm glow of amber they emanated.
“How may I be of your service!” Da Yun asked in his sibilant voice, and in a low tone which clearly reached them as the silence within the bookstore, library was quite palpable. Priernuss stepped forward and bowed lightly before he stated their business. “We came from afar and are planning to stay here. Is there a section on the city and its history?”
Da Yun stroked his beard as his eyes opened slightly, revealing the yellow, piercing eyes with a cross shaped pupil similar to the sphinxes depicted on the ceiling. “Come follow me.” Not far from the center were two stairs facing each other as they took a weird turn to the second floor where Eadwald halted for a moment. Da Yun looked at him and chuckled quite childishly. “First time?” He asked while standing on the phantasmal projection of raging waves beneath his feet, stretching across the middle of the second floor.
“Or just afraid of his domain and its deep secrets?” He asked as Eadwald remained speechless while his heart beat with an unnatural pace while nausea tinged his throat and eyes. Da Yun’s fingers loudly snapped and at once he felt the nausea fade, the pace of his heart regulated once more whilst the waves disappeared, in their place a picturesque vista blanketed by pure white snow and towering trees blooming shades of white, mauve and crimson in the corners.
“Sorry, honestly was the first time I gazed upon his domain.” He apologized. “No need, everyone has their curses. I myself can’t stand the heat of my homeland, even in the colder seasons. Now come it is not far.”
After he led them to the section on the history of the city, he gave them a bell with the instruction to shake it lightly when they found what they look for, shake it heavily if not and are in need of aid. What felt like hours to Eadwald passed as they went through each book near in their elevation. Though most only delved on the subject of what came before, lived before even the 19th legion trampled over the snow blanketed land.
Then there were the tomes that also mentioned the various places around the city worth seeing for visitors, including the House of Deos they visited where those lost in the last battle of The Exodus rested, dreaming their long dream. Or the Garden Parcel, a large arkhaine botanical garden created by the Selvriost Circle’s druids who visited the city many a decade ago, leaving their mark in the north-western section of the residential and commerce district.
As time passed, Eadwald got quite lost in the books, and subconsciously began to search for information, be it small or hefty on the Dragon Praetors of the city – as he recalled Ulrich talking how each colonial city and capital has a Wing of the Order chaptered usually in the cities’ military district – though the more he looked, the more dejected he got at seeing them, as it seemed the capital had none as most of the northern Wing were sent back to Nidumiath, though no reason were given as even the authors’ of the book questioned this decision or at least veiled them as theories of what may have led the Elhyrissiar to decree their departure from the North.
“Nothing. I found nothing yet.” Priernuss heaved a sigh as he leaned against the separating spine of the bookshelf with arms folded. “Should we ask?” Hevaeck feeling just as frustrated asked while shutting a red, leather bound book on the recent history of the city. Priernuss who took the bell pulled it out from his thick coats’ pocket and stared at it, still not fully trusting the xirong man.
But just as he was about to ring it per the instructions, Da Yun glided over the glass panel reflecting the phantasmal image embedded into the floor, carrying stacks of heavy books. Noticing them he stopped and asked with his usual genial attitude. “Have you found what you looked for?”
“We found quite a few interesting ones, but is there a book containing an extensive scripture regarding what lies below our feet?” Da Yun looked pensive for a moment, then placed the stacks of books on the nearest table and hovered up in the air and picked up a book on a higher elevation of the bookself. “This, it even contains drafts of the architect.”
Priernuss took it without hesitation, then signaled to the two to pick up some others’ as they began to study it while Da Yun left with a smile under his beard.
**
“Well, we can do this the easy way or the hard way!” Uchitemar said as he towered over Ashnan wrought in menacing shadows as the light of the few candles that lit up the room barely bathed his pale silvery form draped in the eastern ceremonial garments. “Why betray your people?” Ashnan asked while gritting his teeth, trying to buy time for himself, Gna and Azugh.
“There is no betrayal here. Now tell me where is the Chosen. I know he arrived to the city, and I know he was escorted by the custodiir three days ago.” His tone changed, his voice became gravelly as he leaned closer and the tip of his finger touched Ashnan’s faux forehead of dry dusky skin and fur faintly hung over it. Then he screamed as he felt invisible leeches penetrating through his skin, skull and appending themselves to his brain.
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“I see. That explains why the poison did not work.” His cry grew louder when he felt his bones once more rearranging themselves, his flesh and skin contort, his sinew loosing the little mass gained by sculpted into the muscular form of a faun, a cold pain coursed through his mouth as his teeth sharpened back.
“You do have quite the erudite magus if he is capable of this much altering. I wonder if he is a Whisperer himself.” Uchitemar wondered as he stared blankly, breaking through the innate mental defenses of Ashnan who was assailed by many pains of differing degrees, though his screaming lessened amidst the ecstatic sensation tinging his soul and body. He felt like his mind was on the brink of shattering amidst resisting the memory sapping leeches and him veiling his efforts of a risky effort that may backfire.
Though he knew that it was better to die than let the traitor learn of Eadwald’s altered appearance. “You know it will be just worse for you if you resist?” It was not the first time he had to split his mind, his will. Decades before, he first met with Ulrich and Gna during a small mission of hunting down a group of bandits holed up in a deserted village. Feeling confident wearing the enchanted armor of living alloy, they strode in unprepared without scouting the number of the bandits and without confirmation whether they had a magus or not.
All these foolishness led to their comrades to be slaughtered, and the trio to be captured for interrogation, resulting in their minds probed by the bandits’ magus who himself was a deserter of the 7th Legion. At that time, he devised the trick taught to him by an old demikin veneficiar, a trick of showing memories reformed. And like then, Uchitemar screamed out loud this time and leapt into the back of his futon while drenched in cold sweat.
For a short moment, he stood face to face with a Scylla’s tentacle resembling a grotesque, deformed lupine head split open akin to a ravenous worm, bearing fangs and appendages serving the purpose of restraining and dragging the prey of the amphibious beast. And like back then, Gna locked the magus’s neck and began to put pressure on it as his muscled arm thickened.
Uchitemar struggled for air, then as his momentary fear subsides, his hands latched onto Gna’s faux arms who gritted his teeth before letting go and falling onto the table, breaking it and the contents on it. His now fair aevhen appearing flesh gained a darker, rotten color reeking with the malodorous aroma of decaying flesh and epidermis. Ashnan still bound by the spell, propelled himself by generating a mild gust of wind and sent the niuvhen down onto the floor as his secured ankles swept through his.
“Quick, now!” He yelled and not wasting the opportunity, Gna bit off the tip of his tongue completely, and leapt pouring his mana, shaping it, into his fists which gained the distinctiveness of galvanized alloys, and with downward swing planted it straight into the floor as Uchitemar proved quicker rolling out from the way and back onto his feet unbalanced.
“Damn it!” Gna cursed as he felt the coldness of finality condensing before the niuvhen. His fist planted deep into the floor, and possessing not just the distinctiveness, but also the heavy weight of galvanized alloys, maybe even heavier than them thanks to the sudden conjuration of the spell as his arm barely fidgeted from the floor as certain doom took a vast amorphous shape before Uchitemar.
Just as he was about to accept his fate, he felt the spell wane behind him followed by the thud of Uchitemar’s body hitting the floor, a part of the broken table sticking out from his chest. The heavy breathing of Azugh filling the silent room, staring at the lifeless form, his hands shaking from excitement and regret born from the extinction of another’s life, a feeling Gna himself experienced a few times before it felt distant, almost non-existent.
“Stay still.” Ashan now freed with his captor’s demise leaned closer and held his palm over the blackening flesh and skin. “Take deep breaths son. It will subside slowly.” Following his advice, he sat down facing them and closed his eyes though only for a moment, as Uchitemar’s haunting form stared back at him.
**
The soft crackle of the campfire broke the eerie silence of the accursed woodland as the trio of adventurers posted on night watch stared, watched with dreary eyes as the stacked woof slowly crumbled into ashes while sparks flew towards the portentous blackness above swallowing the gaunt branches of the overhanging gnarled trees. From the gleaming textile surfaces of the tents, the amber light expelled the creeping darkness waiting at the bony foliage infested threshold swallowing even the snow that would expand the warm light if not for the tyranny of the Night.
Wind gently breezed through, sweeping in the soft layer of snow while a soft munching tenderly echoed through the almost silent camp. “We should have continued.” Herius, the truscian man of a deep olive complexion said as he straightened his stalwart form before the fire.
The mesmerizing aurheven sorceress with long lustrous silken black hair and a complexion of dawn red and pink shook her head. “I know how you feel Herius, but traversing during the night with our tired minds and limbs would have been foolish.” Heshe said as she stretched her arms kissed by the deep violet dress robe’s long sleeves ending in forked sleeves with golden embroidered trims.
“She is right. The woodland is even more dangerous during the night, especially here in the deepest parts where other horrors lurk in the dark besides the revenants.” Borulath said in his sibilant, serpentine voice as the warm light reflected on his glistening scaled head whilst he tore off a piece from the bread and offered it to the man whom freed him from slavery two decades ago.
Herius sighed as he himself agreed with the two, yet his instinct screamed at him to leave the woodland as soon as possible hence his desire and reluctance to stop before they reach the tree blessed by the clergy of the Amber Lord. “I am aware. Though it may be foolish of me to say this, but I regret embarking on this journey.”
The trio set out in a large expedition of adventurers from the small town of Guttlian situated near a river flowing towards the eastern shores – their aim to rid the woodland of the Queen of the Damned, one of the weakest of the remaining Lords. “Don’t worry, we have the numbers and the experience.” Heshe touched his knee with a reassuring smile on her enticing visage framed by the dense locks cascading down her gleaming, high collared attire.
It calmed him a little, knowing that the aurhe on his right was quiet famous in the far-south where they first met in the capital, Nukhtamos where they were hired by the local consulios to rid the city of a coven of dementia-magusos conjuring forth horrors from their madness poisoned minds after peering foolishly into the realm of Urhggoth, terrorizing the citizens.
The image of her conjuring forth a spell of the highest grade, a spell mimicking the potent searing of the Illius to incinerate the leader of the coven mutated into a horror of impossible delineations and features too many for practicality as he joked after their payment in the tavern. For a moment as he recalled that heat, the cold that trembled his body even through the thick layers of clothing and armor halted and weirdly soothed him.
“Well I trust you two…” Before he could continue, he stopped and listened to the palpable silence which descended upon their camp. No snoring, no murmuring of the sleepers remained besides the crackling of burning wood before them. Then he heard the soft sound of metallic sheets sliding over one another and the wed thuds of footsteps in the mud, the tender creaking of dead foliage stepped on.
Hearing this too, the other looked sternly in the same direction whilst already on their feet, kicking over their makeshift oaken seats with weapons and spell ready. Then as they saw the dark silhouette in a dim silver armor of with a surface of sculpted draconic scales and a robe sewn from the darkness of night with a large shapeless hood rustled by the gentle wind of dusk, Herius tightened his grip on his long blade before a flash of dim violet blinded them for a moment and he and Heshe collapsed into the mud, their vacant eyes staring at each other.
“Sit. Let’s talk my friend.” Orhadin said as he the makeshift wooden chair Heshe sat on hovered behind him and he slowly sat on it, his ophidian eyes affably staring up at the basiliskian demikin. Borulath’s hands shivered with anger and sorrow, yet he could not move them to cut down the seemingly vulnerable man before him with a scaled, ghastly epidermis lit up by the gentle flames.
“There is nothing to talk about.” He yelled as his yellow eyes lit up for a moment and then lunged at Orhadin before he too ended on the ground devoid of life. Orhadin sighed while fiddling his clawed fingers before the fire whilst his peculiar staff’s trapezohedron top lit up with a sinister violet and black shades sending large motes of nekrotic and aevoron matter into the dozen corpses laying around the camp.
“Poor child of Dusk. May you find salvation in the Blessed Life under her care.” He murmured to himself while the dead rose onto their feet as their shackled souls raging with anger calmed by the magnanimous oblivion granted by Orhadin. “What a beautiful night it is.”