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Epic the First, summarized; stripped of its music, its poetry, and all of the greater invocations. ("Zirenias, bring me the voice to... etc.") Pared down, it went something like this:
At the start of all things, there had been only one God. Great and powerful, encompassing all, because all was They. Absolute ruler of Locus 1210AΩ and all of its myriad planes. For a time that existed inside the God’s mind, that was all, and all was enough.
But that time was self-referential. Meaningless, with nothing outside to be measured against… and even a God should not be completely alone. A complex situation, because that one God was perfect, allowing no possible change for many long thoughts. Entropy number: 0.
At last, the God acted; doing what emotion craved, and reason warned against. Desiring to cause change, the God began to create. Made stars and their planets first, each of them named and ordered and logged. Next came life to fill all that new ‘space’. The aerial spirits, the void-crossing dragons and (most importantly) the very first Elves. All were given the same commands: Multiply, flourish, speak to your Maker.
Now, there was something to measure. Something different to talk to. For many ages past the Creation, all was well. There was friendship and love between Creator and creatures, for did not their God know and respond to them all?
But they continued to multiply greatly and spread very far, causing their needs and worship to alter. Divergence and disagreement spurred trouble. Chaos arose and war broke out. Then, torn by all of the many conflicting prayers and vows, their God shattered. Became numberless gods, instead; each a part of the whole, but not summing up to their mighty Progenitor. Each with a yearning to make something new for themselves. Thus came the humans, the orcs, the goblins, assemblers and drow.
And thus, matters stood for time beyond telling and age after age, with the First Born… the Elves… over all but their weakened gods. There is one central truth, though: things change.
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He dropped down from that twisted hatch rim onto the floor below. Landed lightly, with almost no sound. Crouching at first; his weapons to hand and ready for battle. Sensed around himself for all that he, Erron and Firelord were worth. Looking, listening and… yes… inhaling deeply for scent. Miche took it all in and wasn’t at all reassured.
His first jumbled impressions were of a sharp demarcation between dust-spangled daylight and grave’s end darkness. Deep gouges plowed through the floor, which had been tiled in bright colors, but now was a shredded mess. Torn seats and snapped bones lay in heaps all around. There were mechanical noises that blended with… seemed like a pair of deep, thudding heartbeats, then a clatter of pebbles and clicks… and a panting wind that puffed and drew through the hatch up above. This far inside, there was also a smell of massed death, from mostly-just-bones to a fresh, recent kill. Above that, he sensed mingled traces of rust, blood and monster. Big. Fast-moving. Right there.
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The elf leapt to one side as a creature shot out of the darkness, clicking what sounded like: “No, wait! Nooooo!” He levitated, igniting his energy blade and spelling a shield. Something big and hard skittered, dropping down from above as the beast underneath just missed his frantically updrawn legs. “Agat!” clicked the one slashing past him. “Agat, where are youargggghhhhh!”
Miche twisted in midair as a long, hooked blade scythed at him, blocked by his shield spell. Mostly. The creatures seemed to resist magic, getting in through his spell, very slowly.
The elf brought his energy blade around. More clicking erupted, sounding like coded orders, becoming the screams and last pleas of all those who’d come here before. Nameless shot away into the darkness, drawing attack and making as much noise as possible, learning to mimic the monsters’ shrill clatter.
Miche’s blade arced faster than thought, leaving a trail of shimmering light. Hit and burned through, slicing the blades of the creature below, nicking the one dropping past him. Another blade pressed through his magical shield, though, seeming to read and adapt to its sigils.
He had to spell… code… on the fly, changing his sigils for new ones as a hook-tip sliced through his shield and into his armored left shoulder. Firelord erupted within him, lighting the tunnel while “Selka” (I command) replaced “Anka” (I empower).
The shield flared and altered. Its strengthened magic snapped the hooked blade in two pieces, one of them stuck in his shoulder. In Firelord’s glow, he glimpsed writhing, shelled creatures with terrible hooks and gaping, sharp beaks; saw their bloody past and their very short futures. The god burned up more manna thrusting his follower forward in time. Not very far, but effectively. Miche had swung his blade here and now. Popped violently forward to have it strike there and then: five heartbeats into the future, from inside both monster’s shelled bodies at once.
A razor-sharp beak clamped onto his right leg, dragging him struggling downward. It fell away, though, as the monstrous creature was roasted alive from within by the elf’s translocated blade. The other one’s head split in a sudden gout of foul, bloody steam. Score… but there was more clicking… lots more… coming louder and closer as a horde of the monsters surged at the edges of Firelord’s glare.
And then, THUNK! Something struck the hatch… the whole wall… outside. The door’s control system whirred and beeped, trying to open that hatch. Daylight was blocked entirely, replaced by a flickering, pasty-white glow. Gottshan. It had to be.
Bang out of other ideas, Miche yelled, “Nameless!” Called aloud for the marten, whom he would not leave behind. Not for his own life or anything else.
From down the wide corridor, a thousand clicked voices cried: “Nameless!” Nothing more and no sign of the worthless animal. Then…
Miche discovered that it was possible to jump while suspended in midair, when the marten leapt onto his wounded leg from below. Dug its claws in and climbed spiraling upward. Stupid pest. Wretched, brave, idiot stench-rat. It clambered up onto his uninjured shoulder, getting there just as Firelord’s light started fading.
After that (no choice at all) Miche held tightly to Nameless and launched himself upward, back through that twisted hatch and into the City that Walks.