Influence +67!

Between his frantic management of Claudette’s images and the headaches that eventually forced Randidly to pause and take breaks, his sense of time became relatively murky. That rising sense of momentum carried him ceaselessly from one task to the next. The entire world was rocked by the force of the unleashed blizzard, giving him endless opportunities to sharpen Claudette’s image.

He couldn’t feel temperature, but looking at the world, Randidly etched ‘cold’ into the bedrock of this abandoned place.

However, this chance to alter her image in such a critical way wouldn’t last forever. When he reached a point where he was satisfied with the desolation that Claudette had unleashed and turned his attention to the core areas, the storm had drifted apart, leaving only a few soft snow flurries in its wake.

Randidly’s mental nucleus rapidly ascended the mountains, passing right by the temple to the Patron of the Sun that had been completely smothered by the snow, and then descended to the next area.

He was somewhat thrown by the strange, curving hooks of stone that jutted out of the ground every few meters in the area below the mountain range. The storm had only built here, not dumped its payload like the rest of the world had been forced to experience, so the stone talons were covered with a thick layer of dark blue frost, but largely visible. They were as tall as a man, forming a bizarre field of shadows and sharp edges.

He hummed with curiosity: why the hell had Claudette added these things to her image?

He drifted amongst them, carefully sharpening their points and magnifying the brutality of their shape. As he refined this field of talons, he decided that this couldn’t have been caused by the arrival of Claudette’s sword. No, in the history of this world, this was a strange phenomenon that was already present. Which meant that it probably played a large role in the history of the Lizakh.

Randidly allowed his awareness to fall away as he cast his mind into the creative space where he could develop the history of the Lizakh. He envisioned them as a budding population, spreading outward from the cradle of this world on the other side of the sea. First with towns, then with cities, and finally with an empire that set sail to find more land. They built their high temple underneath the watchful gaze of the sun and then descended to find this warped field.

A holy site, but a different sort of location. Randidly buzzed. In his swirling perspective, he could almost see those first warriors looking solemnly out at the strange outcroppings of stone. A hell, created by the Patron of the Sun to punish those who fell from grace.

Wind flowed wildly through the stone talons, drawing out a constant hum as the air caressed the strange protuberances. To the first Lizakh who arrived here, it would have sounded like the cries of the damned. The picture in Randidly’s mind became even more clear.

Then Randidly had a flash of inspiration he moved past the talon fields to an area very near the stretch of tundra that housed Claudette’s image sword. There, several low hills clustered together to form a valley insulated from the wind. He walked into that space and carefully observed the surroundings. Within that valley, several natural hot springs spurted upward from the core of this world, warming the valley to livable temperatures for the reptilian people.

And here they built a great city, a triumph of the Sun over the horrid field of talons. Randidly stretched out his mental energies and quickly threw together several densely connected buildings. Due to the heat and the strange climate, Randidly took care to imagine great glass gardens and sun-bathing locations, using the heat from below to make up for the pale rays that came from the sun. This city had been called Tunathia, the City of the Cold Sun.

Of course, when the sword eventually arrived… The light and warmth that had been present in Randidly’s imagination began to be tainted with the cold fingers of baleful isolation that crept down from the sword. Under the influence of Claudette’s frigid aura, the buildings sagged and aged. Those warm flows that had previously kept the city alive were gradually infected with the sword’s dangerous emotions. The effect was small at first; a member of the Lizakh exposed too directly to the whispering darkness would walk out into the wilderness around Tunathia and never return.

Then the hot springs began to fail. One by one, the sources of warmth around this city died. And without that warmth, the insidious influence within Claudette’s sword began to run rampant. A darkness settled into the hearts of most of the population, which culminated into a night of violence and death, where the Lizakh gave in to their base desires and attacked their neighbors in a blind rage.

Suddenly, Randidly witnessed how this city could help his earlier insights.

Of course, not all of the population was affected; one young warrior in particular had just arrived at Tunathia, so the horrible emotions didn’t have the chance to infect him. That was D’min, who would eventually lead the expedition back to the original of the desolation, taking right to the root of his trauma… but that is for later.

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He gathered the few self-aware individuals remaining and fled South from this horror. They were forced to leave with very few supplies, resulting in almost half of their number succumbing to the elements and ambushes. For they found that as the darkness spread, horrid, fleshy creatures had taken up residence in the field of talons. Only after killing one of the bloody things did they realize that these were fallen Lizakh, who in their madness had stripped off their scales and given themselves fully to the cold darkness.

In the end, only seven individuals survived the collapse of Tunathia. They traversed the mountain range and arrived at the Temple of the Sun, where D’min was praised as blessed by the sun, for managing to survive. However, the praises he earned also made him a jealous enemy. That individual shall be called… Yn’ulk, the guardian of the Temple of the Sun…

Congratulations! Your Skill Conviction of the Celestial Cataclysm (T) has grown to Level 504!

For a few seconds, as Randidly walked with the ghosts of this world, he felt like he stood and the past and could see the steady collapse of the Lizakh. A soft hoot distracted him from his imaginings. He refocused on Claudette’s image guide next to him, who didn’t seem to approve or disapprove of the changes he was making. Instead, she just looked confused as Randidly generated all these changes.

Randidly chuckled and then projected his voice. “Yes, these details don’t matter much. But when the story of Claudette interacts with the story of the original natives of this world, that’s when the real value will emerge.”

He didn’t bother to explain that the other reason he took the time to do this was that he was deepening the significance of Claudette’s image. The System didn’t leave much room for Nether to play a role in typical Nexus fights, but thickening the natural Nether that Claudette had access to would give her a constant edge in the future, even if she wasn’t aware of it.

That edge wouldn’t be enough to matter before Don Beigon, but it was at least something definitely knew he could accomplish.

For now, he tried not to dwell too much if his actions would be enough.

Because if he let himself think about that, he began to wonder how long he would need before he could make Commandant Wick pay.

After the flurry of activity, Randidly allowed his mental energies to curl up and recover. The body-less form did seem to recuperate more efficiently, which was a nice bonus. He soon regained his mental acuity and was about to get back to work when he received a message from Alana.

I need some extra Aether to help some little seedlings grow quickly. Will that be a problem?

The spiritual Randidly blinked. He honestly couldn’t remember Alana ever actually asking him for help before. He was briefly tempted to investigate what she was doing, but then he stopped himself; he needed to keep focused on the task at hand. He sent a short message in response. No, take as much as you need.

Thank you.

*****

D’min sat on a large stone stained maroon by the violence of that night three days ago and watched his juvenile brother Kirkrik struggle to hoe the rocky ground in the middle of the canyon. The young Lizakh dragged the implement across the ground until it caught on a stone, causing the scrawny young lizard to lurch sideways.

He was so, so weak still.

D’min felt a tang of sympathy for his brother, but there was nothing he could do. His brother was one of a score of skinny Lizakh juveniles forced to work in order to help their species recover. They raised the hoes above their head in a cluster of trembling arms before swinging them down into the dirt. Despite the Savior’s reassurances, it was difficult for the elders to accept that they would be safe increasing their zone of activity.

So they needed to develop this area as soon as possible.

After the central hatchery recovered enough to return to normalcy, they had reached out to the other sub hatcheries to recall the eggs. To their horror, they discovered that the Sky Otters had simultaneously attacked and destroyed all the other remaining Lizakh settlements. If nothing else, the beasts had been thorough.

In a single night, a population of tens of thousands was reduced to a little over three thousand one hundred. And most of those were juveniles.

Kirkrik brought his hoe down onto the rough soil and clanged the edge off a stone. He then hunched over and began to wrestle a stone the size of his head out of the ground. Two other juveniles needed to come over and work together in order to dislodge the impediment. Then Kirkrik proudly carried his prize over to the debris pile, laughing and bragging before his peers.

We have fallen so far. To D’min’s surprise, he felt something scalding emerge in his chest. Yet did our Patron do anything to help us? If this powerful figure needs us so much… it is beyond time that we receive some assistance in return. Or I fucking hope that it remains sealed forever.

“Soldier D’min.”

D’min shivered, shame and fear over his inner thoughts immediately replacing his private fury. Yn’ulk stood behind him, his muscular arms folded in front of his body. He jerked his chin over to the side. “The Savior has called us. It is time to proceed to the Dungeon, for our training. For the glory of the sun.”

“I- yes, I’ll head over immediately,” D’min said. But as he stood, something occurred to him. Tentatively, he asked. “The Savior said… will someone be here protecting our people?”

Yn’ulk just pointed. D’min followed his finger and saw a massive, reptilian form lounging on top of the cliff above the canyon. It breathed out through its noise and released gouts of ice and snow that hung in the air for several seconds. As though sensing his gaze, the Frost Dragon Broodmother raised its head and looked down at D’min.

Even from afar, the eyes of that beast reached into the Lizardman’s chest and forced the air out of his lungs.

Then it snorted and lowered its head for a nap.

“We do not need to worry about common monsters bothering us,” Yn’ulk said in a low voice. Even he seemed intimidated as he gazed up at the massive dragon.