I had practiced and trained with my skills, both magical and physical over the past several days, making exhaustive use of the ring and the training facilities I found within. My frequent use had allowed me to learn something interesting about Beleros Aura. Not only would it respond intuitively to intent, but it also had an ability strangely reminiscent of echolocation for bats. I could pulse and ping my surrounding area, and the aura somehow adjusted to circumstance.
In this case, instead of damage, the aura pulsed dispel.
Once.
Twice.
Finally, at the very limits of my range, changes occurred.
Illusion began to fail, and those that had been hiding behind the veil of shadow and lies began to be revealed. A few guests at first, morphing into Gorgons.
That first change seemed to spark an avalanche as more and more succumbed to Beleros' Aura and were stripped of their false identities. At least half the guards were revealed to be other once they appeared in their real forms. Satyrs and Children of Artemis sprinkled amongst them.
But the most enlightening and damaging revelation was Lady Patricia herself.
Gone was the beautiful aristocratic Seelie noble.
In her place was a Siren, a daughter of Acheleos and one of the Pleiads. These women were fated to bewitch any man that would love them, but that love was cursed, and no man could survive long under their tender ministrations.
Even with the illusion dispelled, her beauty remained. Except for those characteristics and traits that were exclusive to Siren, she was very similar in form to the illusion she had crafted. The 'extras' added a wrongness to her shape and seeming.
The changes were not unattractive.
Simply other.
Sirens are a weird amalgam, part human part bird. But their features and characteristics emphasized and were based more on that bird lineage. The features that had been hidden by illusion once revealed, interestingly softened the stark, austere mien she'd created.
Tufts of feathers interwoven with hair. A neck ruffle of down. Eyes devoid of lashes and brows, sclera a uniform black, she was glaring menacing and in fury as her true identity was exposed.
Screams rent the air as the gathered Sidhe came face to face with that which had been hidden. The sounds of chairs being overturned, weapons being drawn, and spells both for protection and attack being cast filled the room.
Lord Kel remained unmoved. A slight smile graced his face, and I knew beyond certainty. He was part of the plot to allow Olympus to subjugate and destroy Talahm. At some point, he had become a participant in Zeus' quest to control the Summerlands.
I wondered if Patricia was his real wife or a double that had used enchantment and illusion to replace her and assume her identity.
"It appears there was no need to inform you or your court of the intrusion and conspiracies from Olympus and Asgard to infiltrate your lands," I said sarcastically to Lord Kel. "I suppose it makes some sense. Their plan to expand and devour what belongs to the Sidhe would start with a no-account minor Ranked potentate, in some backward forgotten fief, and expand outward."
"I wonder if you are instrumental in Zeus' planned invasion or just an initial stepping-stone in the path that will lead directly to the Capital?" I mused aloud.
"Zeus?" Lady Patricia sneered. "That blowhard? He has never been the smartest of the Olympians.
"The most prolific, yes, that man can barely keep his toga below his knees, but he is too easily manipulated and lead by his baser instincts. No, this little adventure has not been sanctioned by Zeus.
"Dolus, God of Guile and Apate, Goddess of Deception, have conspired to trick both Pantheons. They are tired of being relegated to minor deities, whispered and mocked by their brothers and sisters.
"Guile and Deception.
"They are uniquely qualified and imminently powerful enough to use tricks, illusions, and conspirators to further their schemes," Lady Patricia bragged.
"No sibling rivalry in that family," I sneered as an aside to my Vassals, "The Greeks are nothing if not manipulative. They espouse integrity and honor to those that worship them while ignoring those ideals themselves. They systematically insist on practicing a divinity or patricide, fratricide, and matricide."
"If it moves, they will either kill it or fuck it. They have no shame. And barely any honor. If the Fates didn't exist to warn them of the consequence of their hubris, they would spend their time in battle with each other, until no one remained."
"You dare," Patricia hissed!
"Dare?" I asked.
"You invade Talahm. Kidnap me. Try to have me killed. And are angered by my effrontery?
"The Gods of Talahm may be in Sleep, but their children See!
"Balance will be maintained," I pronounced my anger rising.
"Haven't you wondered why System would allow a nobody with a dual nature and bloodline to ascend to such heights?
"Has it occurred to you that I am the stone dropped into the pond? The beginning of ripples that grow and culminate in the massive waves that crash and beat at the shore?
"Your Gods of Guile and Deception may be a Power, but System is a POWER. You are really going to risk breaking the balance that System has created?" I demanded.
I wasn't sure where this sudden idea came from. Maybe hints from my conversation with S-Prime and Caraid. But it made a strange logic. It explained why I'd retained my memories. S-Prime allowed me to maintain my knowledge of those other-worldly pantheons. The myths and legends, I was familiar with would allow me to understand their motivations and histories.
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Was I S-Primes's solution to Olympus and Asgardian expansion? Probably not. This was all just justification and extrapolation on my part. And even with my increased abilities and intellect, I would never really be able to discern S-Primes's motivation.
"How were you convinced to participate in this madness, Lord Kel?" I asked.
Lady Patricia spared a withering and dismissive glance back towards Lord Kel, her actions telegraphing her thoughts and contempt for Lord Kel, before returning her focus on me. She gestured negligently, almost dismissively towards the Seelie Lord.
My perception caught the barest spark of magic as a resonating feedback between Lord Kel and Lady Patricia pulsed briefly. Once I noticed the connection, it was child's play to stretch out my powers to understand.
[Elfshot,] Caraid announced. [Elfshot is a vile substance, a creation made by Sidhe enemies to try to enslave and control. It is modeled and based on Foxglove, an herb that has been proven to protect against Sidhe curses, and proven effective against Tinneas Sidhe, a fairy disease. It has an addictive quality to its nature, and it will weaken a Sidhe to the point of death during the withdrawal phase.]
[Its most horrific side-effect os the removal of free will. Those who became addicted are easily enslaved.]
"How long has Lord Kel been ensnared by elf-shot and made a puppet to your mental commands?" I wondered aloud.
"Long enough that he has become addicted to the drug. He will do anything. Say anything, as long as I supply him with my very own special blend.
"There is no cure now.
“His last few levels ups have re-written his body's cells to depend on the vitality that only my Elfshot can supply," Lady Patricia bragged.
The movements and jockeying for position behind me had continued as Lady Patricia and I addressed each other. Although it appeared I was oblivious to her guards and underlings' maneuvers, I was aware.
When they finally felt they were positioned strategically, they struck. There seemed no rhyme nor reason to who they attacked. Strong, weak, male, female. No one was spared. The blood flowed as one after another, those that had been attending the banquet were wounded or slain.
We were not exempt from their madness, but their insanity was of little consequence, attacks were easily blocked as Cedric and Uron moved in a synchronized concert of defense to deflect and guard.
I could have summoned my weapon and shield to join the battle, but the Wild Magic was not done with me this day.
And it was no longer playful.
Wind can be gentle, but it can also be torrential and destructive. And it was this destruction the Wild Magic chose to release. Swirling and twisting into a vortex, winds forming a funnel that picked up Cedric, Uron, Lohne, and myself. We began spinning, faster and faster. A living tornado of destruction subsumed by Seelie flesh. And as we revolved faster and faster, the Wild Magic prodded and guided our voices.
The four of us in concert, our voices wailing like Banshee, sending shivers of fright and horror down the backs of those who heard us, began to chant. And because our voices were amplified by the Wild Magic, the sound carried. First heard by those on the dais, then the room, then the keep, and finally, the city at large heard as we focused the Wild Magic and spoke words into substance.
"We are
Prince, Brother, Two-souls as one.
We see,
We name you, an Oathbreaker,
We name you, kin-slayer,
We name you, the breaker of Guest rights.
We act,
And we call upon the Wild Hunt,
Let action be met with reaction
Lies and false oaths are judged,
Let the Wild Hunt ride
And by riding decide.
We judge,
A judgment has been made
Four voices as one.
Salvation or Doom,
The Wild Hunt will choose.
We trust."
All motion stopped.
Time and momentum froze as even the Wild Magic staggered and quieted. The tableau of fighting forces freezing mid-swing. No eyes blinked. No breath was taken. As this event outside of time marshaled eldritch forces and energies. Life had become a tapestry, woven by the Fates themselves, and like those threads, the Fates used to determine how long an individual lived, those whom the Wild Hunt would judge were held in abeyance as the forces were formed and the threads plucked.
Movement.
Ever so slow wisps of fog gathered and coalesced. Billowing from the cardinal directions, flowing to give form. The Huntsmen was built from the fog. Ideas and nightmares made manifest. As the fog increased so too did his appearance.
Not born fully formed and fleshed out, but a layering, like creating a skyscraper. Foundations built and solidified one floor at a time. Feet, legs, waist, chest, arms, head, horns.
No color. Just compressed fog.
The wisps of movement barely noticeable in the fully formed huntsmen. But the eyes. The eyes would strike terror and fear into any that caught his attention. Pools of blackness and emptiness, they had the ability to possess any who fell beneath his glance.
The first king of Sidhe.
Undying.
His vow of eternal vengeance against Oathbreakers so profound he broke free of Fate's grasp.
Gwyn ap Nudd. King of Annwn. Betrayed by King Arthur and doomed to battle his brother for supremacy every year for all eternity. Theirs became the contest between Summer and Winter. Fated to be embroiled in an unwinnable contest as long as the world turns, and the sun rises.
Slowly. Execrably. He raised his horn, his symbol of authority, and sounded the clarion call. A majestic trumpeting, a call to arms resounded in melody, a trumpeting that stirred the martial soul of those who heard.
The fog responded to this call. Rapidly flowing to surround and fill the room. And as it touched, those who had died. Those who were severely wounded. The sound beckoned, and they were asked, 'Will you join?' And those that answered the call. Those few, transformed.
A King was nothing without an army. And so, Gwyn ap Nudd would have his army. The fog approached, and Fate decided. There seemed no rhyme or reason to whom the choice was given.
Dead and dying seemed to be given the choice first. Join him. Become a part of the Hunt. A timeless duty. An existence that broke the chains of life, death, and reincarnation, and made you a part of something more. Those men and women who would stand at the end, when the Universe’s dying ember finally failed and all that remained of life ceased.
Those few who would battle to stem the tides of Ragnarok. Who would answer the call when the trumpets sounded on Judgment day and banish injustice. They would join his horde and take part in an everlasting brotherhood, an army duty-bound to answer the call of those betrayed.
Beware those who would summon the hunt. For the Wild Hunt cares not for politics, rank, or wealth. And all those within sight and sound of his corporal form will be judged. Those found wanting will still join his armies, but as animals instead of men. Mounts to be ridden by those favored few who comprised his forces.
And as he called. Some answered. The dead first. Rising again and moving to stand at his back. They had been the few who died before his arrival, but they were not enough. So, he continued to sound his horn. Continued to call his army.
No more of those in the room were willing to answer that haunting melody. They were too inured in the fabric of life and refused to forego the pleasures that life offered. So, the fog once again responded.
Where before it had created Gwyn ap Nudd. Now it created his huntsmen. Arches and flashes of lightning began to strike. Rumbling thunder accompanying the flashes of light as the fog became super-charged. Particles of plasma and energy merging flawlessly. Mounts. Weapons. Men. All sprung fully formed, energy constructs, devoid of emotion, no longer possibilities and imagination.
His trusted men.
Those who have followed him in hunts past counting, rose to once again follow his commands.
And then the scales of justice were summoned. The balance would be restored. Scales that could weigh sins and allow Gwyn ap Nudd and the Huntsmen to see how each individuals balance measured, the outcome of accusation and condemnation. Weighing mercilessly the sins of omission as well as commission. And as more and more scales were formed over more of the crowd, hanging like the sword of Damocles above each individual's head, a verdict was assigned to all those gathered.
[You have been offered a Quest. Will you join the Wild Hunt and ride as a Huntsman to destroy the treachery found here this day?]
[Accept Yes/No]