THE ENDLESS CHURCH, SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE KUTUM WASTELANDS:
“Tell me, my friend, what do you perceive when gazing into the endless depths of fate?” The ancient Lich stayed quiet as reality shifted and time briefly lost its meaning. His guest, an old man who bore the scars of a long-forgotten past, waited patiently as frost crept through the windows and the candles danced due to the sudden gust of wind that whistled through the enormous fortress. A fortress that had once been a beautiful church, dedicated to the divine will of Orgon.
And yet as other Gods before him, he too succumbed to powers well beyond the reach of mortals. Tricked by shapeless entities playing at being schemers and rulers. When the Lich finally answered, his voice carried like the luring song of a thinly frozen lake.
“The dragons are waking from their slumber and the shackles of the old worlds begin falling apart. The ancient vampire clans have started to take notice and are preparing for war once more. The oldest and most noblest of witches stay shrouded within their towers and castles as they try to bind fate just as I have tried to bind life. And there are outsiders dancing and poking around near the borders of this feeble reality, too near for this shaky balance of divinity to last.”
“Will it happen again then?” The man asked his oldest friend. His eyes were hard and without mercy and his grimace promised destruction to anyone in his way, even Death herself would not dare to stand up to him. But that was something the ancient Lich had also proudly proclaimed once upon a time.
“It has already happened. The gates have been weakened and something or someone slipped through. As always the abyss will gladly make place for the fresh drops of Arcana that trickled in. What is it you seek this time, Markral? Answers? At what point will answers stop satisfying you?”
Makral pondered this question as he stared out into the Wasteland. A void storm raged in the distance and if he looked long enough he thought he might even see the eye of a Voidborn staring hungrily at what was left of his soul and humanity. No use then, he would prepare for war once more.
Chapter 1: Be Careful What You Wish For
The night outside was as dark as it could ever be and the smell of blood that wavered through the ancient halls added to the superstitious paranoia of the soldiers tasked to guard the court summoner.
The ambient mana was heavy, and suffocating, and if one was sufficiently skilled in magic perception they could have tasted the pure madness that had taken hold, deep inside the catacombs of the old city. None of them knew what the night would bring, only the summoner himself as well as the Emperor and his oldest son had any idea about the forces they would dare to fiddle with.
The three had found an old ritual, hidden away behind dusty tomes in the depths of the forbidden library. A doorway to an unknown world. A world where even the most obscure forms of divination had failed to reach. A sacrifice to summon something from beyond the veils of reality.
The court summoner was an old man. Cruel and cold and yet even he had people he cared for and things he loved. Such had always been the duality of man. With shaking hands he finished the final pattern of the rune framework.
His level was high for a human, both as a general practitioner of the arts and more specifically, as a summoner. Even then, a ritual that included sacrifices was rare and the power one might wield with such a thing unimaginable.
There was a reason the empire had outlawed blood rituals under threat of death. The smell of bloody innards filled his nostrils and he did his best to avoid looking at the lifeless faces of the small children that were lying around him in a circle on the ground. Silver knives were plunged into their hearts which seemed to pulse anew with each additional rune that he finished carving into their flesh.
The final step, the final atrocity in the name of summoning something that could bring them doom or salvation in the face of the gods. He turned to the old woman in front of him. She was staring at him with unimaginable disgust and hate.
Justified really, they had taken her grandchildren from her and then made her watch as they slaughtered each of the seven with curved blades in a sick ritual preparation dance that the book had specified as necessary. His voice didn’t waver as he turned to address the final victim of this cursed night.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry this had to happen.” He spoke, but his voice was weak and unsure and the soldiers around him felt his anxiety. Yet they stayed for the alternative was torture and execution for disobeying the Emperor. The cave they were in seemed to glow as ethereal fog rose from the sacrificed bodies. A yew stick cut exactly thirteen inches in length, a few words spoken with the true conviction of bringing death for the final step.
He was no stranger to killing in cold blood, lots of unfortunate criminals and traitors had found their end on his examination table, yet this all seemed more final, more real. The old lady in front of him spat at their feet and cursed them all out in her native tongue.
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And then he felt it. Too euphoric to care. So much power at his fingers, it was addictive, how would he ever be able to give this up again? Was this how the ancient witches and warriors of the first war of the heavens felt? He spoke the words. A sickly gray flash exploded out of the stick and smashed into the sixty-something grandmother they had kidnapped from one of the war-torn areas of the outer frontiers. A few of the soldiers staggered back in surprise as the mana became graspable and for a second he feared that such a display could easily awaken the banished and bound monsters that were slumbering deeper within this old labyrinth of pathways and tombs.
At first, there was nothing but then every bit of power he had ever held immediately drained out of him as he fell forwards toward the ground with a startled cry. The silver around him reacted violently to whatever was happening. The blades vibrated and screamed in what he could only assume was the language of the deepest depths of the underworld.
Then there was silence. “Reverse”, he whispered, his throat hoarse and dry. But there was nothing. There was no connection to the anchors and path-makers waiting for his success. He screamed as the children around him began to rise, some with their innards still hanging out, and all of them drained of blood. Soulless eyes turned to stare at the unmoving body of the old lady.
He kept screaming as the fog rushed around him and began to envelop the woman’s body. He screamed as the undead children began to cut into their chests, drawing additional runes into their pale flesh. There was no blood, only an oozing black substance that dripped out of their wounds.
He stopped screaming as the body of their grandma began to stir and soft laughter filled the air.
“Marvelous, bless the olde magicks, it’s a miracle. A mundane doing the impossible and pulling off a Degenhardt Counter Ritual within an inter-dimensional soul transfer.” The old woman was alive and yet he knew that this was not the old woman anymore.
Her voice was childish and full of madness, something was lurking behind this facade of humanity and he trembled when the eyes of the beings fell on him.
“You there! Give me that foci.” The stick left his hand with a violent tug and sailed into the woman's hand. Telekinesis? Impossible! “A yew wand without a core? Ridiculous. Where did you find the instructions for this? This could have never worked without a substantial amount of sacrifices.”
The being that had possessed the sacrificial vessel looked around. “I see, yes that could work. Using the blood of so many children and making use of the ambient magic around this place. Clever. An instinctual knowledge of runes must have been needed, but very curious to use the ancient variant of the Nordic druid clans.”
He did not know who or what the Nordic druid clans were but he knew it couldn’t be anything good. The being turned to look at him, his passive perception skills told him to not move and to keep his eyes locked with hers. But was this even part of the path, he wasn’t so sure anymore as he felt an odd compulsion bloom inside of him.
He wanted to yell out a warning to the soldiers but found that he could not move his lips and that his guards had been frozen in place, their eyes shaking wildly with fear, had the being bound them all without a single invocation? What kind of monster had he unleashed onto their world?
“Now, let's see what we are working with here. This will hurt you, I apologize in advance, my friend... ALUNE ORBUS!"
A sharp pain, his whole life flashing by in a single instance. The administrators… He felt an odd hunger grow inside of him. Then there was fear. Then there was anger.
“My name is Lewana Wintersong. Maybe it was a mistake to bring me here, there was a very good reason I was locked away after all.” The being seemed lost in thought for a moment before it continued in a mocking tone.
“My own family even supported them in that decision, you know? I had to accept it of course. Of course, I had to!”, The monster laughed at that. “Go and leave with those men of yours. I will promise that I will make good use of the tools you have gifted me with on this day, blessed by the gods of old. The old ones do not look fondly upon wasted potential as you probably know. Do you even know that? I wonder if their reach extends into this world. So many things to learn, isn’t it fascinating? I think it is fascinating.” It grinned at him, with the face of the old lady. Something tried to break through. He saw it on the women’s skin and he didn’t want to be anywhere near it if that were to happen.
He tried to gauge the monster's level. [War Witch - Level 24]
Impossible, a creature at such a low level can’t have any classes!
Once again he whispered: “Reverse”
This time the reverse summoning took hold. With a final glance back at the monster they had unleashed, he knew it would be futile to try and bind such a thing. The being which had called itself Lewana Wintersong was currently humming a song and flexing its new body.
The path of divination was clear. ‘Carry on’ it told him, ‘Carry on’ and they might just stand a chance.
He felt himself smile with sad and empty eyes as he forced himself to ignore the sickening sound of a knife being driven deeper into the flesh of one of the sacrificed children. We can win, we can win, we can win. It was the Mantra he repeated as he got sucked into the astral portal.
Too bad about the guards he had to leave behind, the families would have to be informed and compensated. A mental pep talk for his sanity, one small step out of millions more to come. ‘Carry on, Carry on, Carry on.’
The last thing he saw was a white rabbit in the corner of the room, staring at him.