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But mind you, be wary
For in the mountain they sing
To dwellers in darkness
The darkness will cling
Excerpt from a mountain song heard in the Albweiss.
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The darkness enveloping Midnight resonated with her presence, melding seamlessly with her ebony fur, infiltrating and intertwining with her very essence. She embraced it, feeding it with her energy, and as the darkness withdrew, satiated, it moved with a purpose, pulling her along its sinuous path. Midnight followed and led at the same time; allowing the darkness to draw her through the mountain tunnels, while simultaneously feeding those strands of darkness that lay in the direction she desired.
In the depths of the Albweiss Mountains, Midnight traversed winding tunnels with a grace born of growing familiarity. Her newfound mastery over darkness unveiled concealed alcoves and clandestine paths, with the darkness guiding her through minute openings in the rock that defied the constraints of a purely physical being.
Midnight revelled in the exploration. The manifold paths formed complex web of darkness, resounding with the distant echoes of water droplets and the faint traces of the mountain’s breath. At times, she encountered inhabitants of the tunnels — creatures adapted to the perpetual absence of light. Some acknowledged her presence, offering their venom when asked. She took what they provided, assimilating their essence into her own.
Initially, enduring the transformative process proved to be a formidable challenge, yet it was a pain that Midnight learned to not only endure but embrace. When she imbibed the venom, her heart both shivered with the strain and raced with anticipation. It compelled her body contort and twist, yet it also instigated the change and growth she desired. Midnight sought the pain because it embodied her desire to become a creature of venom — a being of heightened senses where her mind, sight, hearing, and feeling all intensified in unison. The venom wrought change, expanding the boundaries of darkness within her, and extending her very essence into the all-encompassing nothing that surrounded her.
With each immersion into the transformative ritual, as Midnight imbibed more and delved deeper into the awareness and abilities birthed from the pain, the pulsating rhythm of darkness resonated more powerfully within her. Simultaneously, her senses grew more attuned to the ancient heartbeat of the mountains, echoing through the stone. The air grew colder, and the scent of damp rock enveloped her, a reminder that she delved into the very core of the Albweiss Mountains. The lightless tunnels responded to her presence, unveiling and shaping new pathways, exposing both foreign presences as well as those that inherently belonged.
In the heart of the Albweiss Mountains, Midnight discovered a cavern bathed in a soft, silvery luminescence. The walls shimmered with reflective crystals, emanating a gentle radiance that created an eerie yet strangely harmonious balance between darkness and light.
As Midnight ventured deeper into the cavern, the crystals stirred, responding to her presence with radiant pulses of prismatic light. This crystal heartbeat reverberated through the walls, where it animated once-lifeless forms of warrior figures seemingly fused into the crystals. Violently released, they tore themselves from their crystalline confines, shards scattering left and right as they broke free through sheer force.
These were golems — beings of enchanted creation, their bodies composed of shards, their hands wielding an assortment of blunt and cutting weapons of crystal. Pulsating witch runes adorned their heads and chests, a clear manifestation of witchcraft, the first overt magical presence Midnight encountered in the Albweiss Mountains. On closer examination, she discerned that the golems were not entirely crystalline; rather, the crystals had encased humanoid beings now trapped within. In one, a wizard's silhouette remained discernible; in another, the features of a ker adventurer — their contorted forms frozen in eternal agony behind the translucent veil of crystal fragments.
Even shrouded in darkness, Midnight had triggered the defense. Yet, none of the golems advanced towards her. Instead, they adhered to a predictable patrol, each following a designated route from one end of the cavern to the other. Their heavy steps echoed in the cavern, the distorted clash of shards resonating against the crystal ground. A significant number of golems clustered at the farthest end of the chamber, opposite to where Midnight had infiltrated. It was evident that their collective attention was fixed upon an unnatural chamber entrance hewn into the rock wall. This entrance stood as a crystalline door adorned with additional witch runes, leaving no doubt that it held the key to their vigilant guardianship.
Midnight had halted, observing, sensing. The darkness disclosed no humanoid presences; no witches lingered within her perception. The only discernible living entities were an enclave of crystalline insects hovering above the golems, delicate beings strewn across the cave ceiling. Thriving in the presence of the pulsating crystals, they refracted feeble glimmers with their translucent bodies. Their soft, melodic hums filled the cavern, multiplying through dense echoes and reaching Midnight as subtle vibrations emanating from the walls.
As she moved along the wall to her left, the insects directly above her fell silent. Midnight first thought they had sensed her within the darkness. However, she soon realised that their reaction differed from the instinctual hush exhibited when insects recognised her presence as she hunted or stalked prey in their immediate vicinity. This silence was not an instinctual response prompted by anticipation or fear. No, it was not that they recognised her; it was Midnight who directed them. They had no choice. The silence did not come from them. She was the silence. She was silence that moved.
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Unhindered by the crystal golems, the darkness and silence that was Midnight passed through the cavern. Remaining by the wall opposite the crystal door, she seamlessly slipped through a narrow crevice no wider than the rift through which she had infiltrated the cavern.
She left. None of this concerned her. Midnight had no reason to explore the cavern or approach the crystal door, and no intention of entangling herself in a confrontation with witches. Her duty lay in fulfilling her wizard's command, swiftly delivering his messages. She had already taken from the mountain what she needed.
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The rift through which she continued had formed at the culmination of an underground river, its dwindling currents absorbed by the stony ground. As Midnight followed the path upwards, the pallid streams thickened into a small subterranean river, fed by seepage from the surrounding walls. Advancing along the course, the faint rivulets swelled and evolved into interconnected pools, sprawling into grand, hollow chambers.
Amid the soft echo of trickling water and the gradual hush of settling streams, Midnight discerned a haunting sound emanating from the surrounding tunnels. Exiting the grand chamber, she entered the weeping tunnels, where the very stone itself seemed to mourn. These passageways were saturated with a melancholic energy that bore down heavily on her spirit. Navigating through this oppressive atmosphere, she encountered sorrowful wails and distant whispers echoing into the subsequent chambers. In one such chamber, where the sorrow reached its zenith, Midnight perceived a haunting melody. The beautiful tune beckoned from the edge of the largest pool, promising solace, while an undertone hinted at concealed secrets.
Midnight felt the seductive pull to follow the enchanting voice that so soothingly disrupted the oppressive atmosphere, but she resisted. She suspected the melody to be a trap, a lure seeking to entice those who listened too closely into the river's depths. Likely a siren. Midnight didn’t do sirens. The setting, the melody — it all evoked disturbing memories; far too familiar for comfort. She and Yves had gone through exactly this before, and Midnight had absolutely no desire to ever do that again. With no tolerance for sirens and her past experiences granting her great resistance against enchanting sounds, courtesy of the Feathers of Varna, Midnight passed by. She left both the alluring melody and the haunting wails behind, focusing instead on the emerging silence as the distracting sounds faded with every step.
A day later, Midnight encountered another odd entity that produced music. It was a being of humanoid stature, yet not a race Midnight could identify. This being played a flute and danced around a rod. A minor serpent, pierced atop of the rod, emitted a soft glow.
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Midnight observed from a distance without approaching, choosing to pass by.
In the adjacent cave, she discovered a figure that bore the semblance of a wizard child, wearing a simple helmet that might well be an artefact.
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It was not a wizard. Its distinctive energy signature revealed that it was also not a tairan, and most likely not a human either. Whatever its true nature, it had disguised itself, masquerading as a frail and frightened entity that pretended not to notice Midnight. Such transparent deceit held no sway over Midnight, and she had no patience for this cowardly charade.
There were several such encounters that disrupted the otherwise silent days spent in darkness. There were also encounters amidst the darkness, with beings that Midnight would not have perceived before her transformation.
As she ventured further into the southern reaches of the mountain range, the tunnels became the abode of grotesque creatures, slithering and skittering through the darkness. Bloated arachnids scuttled along the walls, their chitinous bodies pulsating with a sickly glow. Midnight's fur bristled with unease as she observed these arachnids climbing along their intricate webs. She was acutely aware that they all sensed her presence. Despite their keen awareness, the atmosphere here differed starkly from her encounter with the weavers. While Midnight respected the rockshade weavers as cunning trappers and formidable fighters, these arachnids felt feeble and senseless. Amidst the darkness, they were fundamentally amiss. They seemed to prevail simply due to the sheer mass of their numbers. Their existence left a bitter taste on Midnight's heightened senses.
She did not seek venom from them, nor did she engage with them or interfere otherwise. As a being of darkness, she traversed the webs unhindered, passing through their domain where ensnared critters and larger insects served as stark reminders of her own experiences. As she observed how some still struggled while others hung lifeless, resigned to their fate, Midnight understood that she never again wanted to feel like prey.
None but a fledgling fersis took notice of Midnight's silent passage. It struggled, which only tightened the webs around its delicate throat. Still, bloodshot, golden eyes unwaveringly focused on Midnight, following her every step as she moved past. It did not plead, but it watched her. It was very young, and yet, at the threshold of death, its eyes beheld a wise understanding — Midnight could act if she wanted to, but there was no reason for her to do so. Midnight was a transient traveller, not an entity living within the mountain. It was not her place to intervene, and not in her interest to steal another predator’s prey. However, even though Midnight knew all that, her intuitive disgust for these arachnids and the intense smell of fighting life lingered with her for a long time.
At the threshold where the arachnids domain yielded to unclaimed passageways, Midnight detected entities emerging from a depth of darkness far beyond her reach. Though she had never encountered or sensed such beings before, her transformation imbued her with a deeper understanding of the darkness and those who thrived within. Drawing from this newfound knowledge, Midnight recognised these beings by an ancient name, a whisper through the annals of time — DΔϢΠΙΠƓϛ [dawnings]. They were the living contrast of shadows.
Shadows consumed and obscured where light faltered, while DΔϢΠΙΠƓϛ arose from the abyss of utter darkness, taking shape where light dared not tread. Slithering along the cavern walls, their fluid, amorphous shapes momentarily coalesced into grotesque visages. Elongated limbs reached out with cold feelers that brushed against Midnight's form. Their touch, though not invasive, probed and caressed, silently beseeching her for a response.
Midnight understood that they sought something from her. They wanted her to give.
Their touch enveloped her, a collective strength and power that overshadowed and swallowed her own existence. At a fundamental level, she comprehended that these were the laws of the dark realms, and the DΔϢΠΙΠƓϛ had come to imprint them upon her. In the same way that she had requested venom from other entities of darkness, the DΔϢΠΙΠƓϛ now expected her to surrender a part of her essence.
In the span of days past, Midnight had nurtured the darkness within herself, fostering its growth through the compliance of others to her demands. She recognised that the darkness sought expansion within her and her kindred beings, desiring to spread its influence. By aiding Midnight's growth, those who had offered their venom had contributed to the proliferation of darkness itself. Thus, to give unto the DΔϢΠΙΠƓϛ meant to aid in the propagation of darkness.
But Midnight did not want to give.
She felt the power and dominance within these entities, and understood that they could take by force much more than what they requested. Voluntarily giving, respecting the darkness and its rules, only required a fraction of herself. Her wizard was waiting. Compliance would grant her safe passage, an immediate continuation of her journey, while resistance might result in a fight to the death.
It was the sensible thing to do. Yet, beneath the surface of rationality, Midnight could not ignore the inherent truth — to give once meant to give in forever. It meant surrendering to an eternal pact. Offering a fraction of herself would leave her with most of her essence, with almost everything. From that moment forward, she would no longer be her all that with every day would grow into the all that she could ever be. No, if she gave once, she would never again be her complete self. She would forever be almost everything of herself, an existence that would then only grow into almost everything she could ever be. And from there, with each subsequent offering, she would diminish more. She would become less and less, until she would find herself in a situation where one fraction more made all the difference — to live with pride, to survive, to fight alongside her wizard. If Midnight gave to other creatures, she would, again, become not enough.
Nature dictated a balance of giving and taking, an equilibrium of feeding and being fed upon. But Midnight had set herself above nature. She had done so when forging a bond with a wizard, and she had done so again when embracing darkness to be more.
This was her essence, her identity. She was a being of darkness, but she had long before been a familiar, and even before that, she had been a pathera. And she was still. She was all of these things. Refusing to give was an assertion of her identity. Midnight was a born predator, and that meant she would disregard all the rules of darkness, and she would discard all the learned wizard strategy — she would fight to the death before allowing another creature to feed upon her.
This defiance she conveyed to the DΔϢΠΙΠƓϛ. A significant shift occurred in their touch. Their grasp became heavier, more insistent. Where they had touched to make their presence known, their numerous feelers now examined every part of her body extensively, measuring her up while pressing for her essence. With all that she was, Midnight communicated that her resistance was not a mark of disrespect but of dedication to honour to a bond forged long before she embraced darkness and long before the DΔϢΠΙΠƓϛ had touched upon her.
And then, she went further. She asked them to give to her.
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