Functioning Chumesa

Eleven Through Twenty-Four

2011-10-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

Lots of chapters completed since I last posted. Here's the run-down of what was removed:

11: 1383

12: 326

13: 641

14: 71

15: 1583

16: 846

17: 1596

18: 256

19: 938

20: 1425

21: 484

22: 386

23: 219

24: 250

Although in a certain sense it feels like I am taking a good thing and gutting it (especially in those chapters with only a few words removed), I think my honest overall evaluation is that I am actually making it better. It is my hope that when I walk away from this editdown my story will not only be more marketable (a must) but also more cohesive and enjoyable.

I have tapped the goodwill of some new friends to do me the favor of reading through the story fresh and make certain it all still makes sense. It would be totally embarrassing if I accidentally removed necessary plot points, but I don't really think that will happen.

Onward toward the goal at this point. I need to lose a little over 9000 words to reach my goal.

Eight Nine Ten

2011-09-06T18:31:00.001-07:00

Chapter eight down 827 words.
Chapter nine down 502 words.
Chapter ten down 333 words.

19,705 words remaining to destroy.

The Hardest Part?

2011-09-03T22:30:00.000-07:00

Possibly the most difficult aspect of trimming words out of the story is removing ideas, situations and (sometimes) characters. I often wonder if the story will maintain the same feel as it has these elements purged away. Well, not wonder as much as worry. I am unable to quantify what exactly builds the atmosphere of my book, which makes me fearful I am destroying it.

Not today! Chapter seven edited down very smoothly. I kept almost every aspect of the story while removing 795 words! I knew there would be chapters where I had a lot of capricious sentences. I am so relieved to finally run into one.

Better Tracking, Mild Progress

2011-09-01T18:54:00.001-07:00

I must confess I've stalled a bit after completing chapter four. It is not due to discouragement, though. Rather, it is because I took some time for outside consultation about my progress thus far. Additionally, I am spending some time doing a second pass over all the chapters I have edited so far. After reading them aloud to some friends, I found more areas where I would like to make changes.

I also found myself spending an inordinately large amount of time figuring out how much progress I've made by going back and recounting everything over and over. To alleviate this, I created a simple spreadsheet to track my progress in the editdown. I added a link to the sidebar for anyone else interested in following my work.

I expect I will still be making posts whenever a chapter is successfully finished though. I can't help but be happy right now as I finally hit that 5k mark I was hoping for in my prelude. Well, 5606. Still... it is in the 5k vicinity.

Even Less

2011-08-25T17:12:00.000-07:00

Chapter two's edit-down is finished. Unfortunately the information in the chapter is valued much too highly by myself to be axed in any great quantity. The writing was atrocious as well and I spent most of my time fixing it.

Still, 153 words gone.

A Less Than Encouraging Start

2011-08-24T16:49:00.000-07:00

Chapter one has been edited now. The whole process lasted about five hours and involved culling many beloved turns of phrase from the manuscript. I cut until I felt I could cut no more.
Former length: 4498
New length: 3946
Words vaporized: 552

I was hoping for something over 1000, but this will have to do for now. Once I finish the whole book I will review and determine whether a second round of cutting is necessary.

Prelude Rewrite

2011-08-22T13:01:00.000-07:00

I have finished with a reworking of the prelude. I began with three goals in mind:
1. To give the story more of a hook with more action and less explanation in the prelude
2. To fix some of the chronology of the original prelude which did not match up. (Specifically, Gramfeld would have had to be eleven years older than intended.)
3. To reduce the word count from 14,000 to something closer to 5,000

Of these goals, I feel I was very successful with 1 and 2, but not so much with 3. The new prelude sits comfortably at 11,468 words, meaning I only managed to cull a little over 2,000 words from it.

Since I have to scrape at least 35,000 words out of the book as a whole, this is a less than encouraging start, but it is a start nonetheless. Now I must simply press on. Hopefully I will be able to find an average of 1,000 words to reduce per each of the 40 chapters I am setting out to review.

Synergy

2011-07-28T21:06:00.000-07:00

It has been intimated to me on several occasions that writing and working are two very separate concepts for the vast, vast majority of writers. Making enough money off of writing to somehow survive and focus on writing alone is some kind of privilege that few can ever hope to attain. Writing is more an exercise in telling a story than it is an exercise in making a living.

At first, I felt this sort of division was ludicrous at best. Writing is very hard work. It requires discipline and focus that your average leisure hour simply cannot easily afford. Why is it that we as authors must accept the fact we will never be worth more than the passing interest of our readers. We accept that only a select few of us - not necessarily the best - will ever achieve the dizzying heights of greatness which allow for financial sustainability. I have devoted a great deal of time and effort into the pursuit of a method by which I might skirt this reality. Simply put, I feel it is unfair.

Incidentally, I have been writing more or less full-time for approximately seven years now. It has brought me from starry-eyed wonder to despair and back again several times over. I have seen myself squander opportunity after opportunity. I have taken for granted the absolute blessing of time to write. I have been arrogant and I have been humbled. In this time, I have developed many ideas, but I have produced very little in the way of concrete writing. In some ways, I look at the past seven years as time wasted. In many other ways I look back over them as valuable experiences.

Now, though, life is changing. The mission of writing is becoming more urgent to me. This is happening simultaneous to - or perhaps as a result of - my need to rejoin the drudgery of the everyday workforce. I have spent my entire life working on a complex and largely unfinished science fiction epic series. It's a big series. I could easily span fifty books (probably more) if time and effort were limitless. Every waking moment involves pondering the plot of this gargantuan beast I have constructed. Every passing moment is another opportunity to immerse myself in its fiction. This is why the "regular" working world does seem so very much like drudgery to me.

My goal is, and on some level always has been, to write this story. To present it to the world. Between tinkering with the plot and trying to find the best way of getting the story out there, I have molded my life around this project. Working at another job is merely a distraction and, sadly, a necessary one. Bills never stop coming.

Perhaps I have approached the task of writing all wrong. Maybe I came at this whole thing backwards. It certainly is feasible that I would make such a mistake. Somehow, somewhere, I need to find a commonality with all the other writers in the world who invest their lives not so much into writing as they do into the passing needs of finances. I need to find that baseline synergy (a word which is despicable but necessary) which allows me to write with more proficiency than I have shown in the past while simultaneously burning countless hours working at a job - any job - which manages to pay the bills without distracting me too much from my real desire.

This seems to be the hardest challenge for any writer. It is the muse killer and it threatens me now.

Haitus

2011-06-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

Due to an unforseen return to the working world, progress on the re-edit of The Great War is coming along significantly slower than I had hoped. It will be interesting to see where I can fit the project in around the edges of life.

In the meantime and in more positive news, I have stumbled across a very good prospect to do the artwork for the Mesizhetobek graphic novel. It will be a few weeks before we can meet to discuss the project and see whether we are interested in working together, but it is quite exciting to have a new prospect on the horizon for the next series.

The Amindraean Arc

2011-05-21T23:18:00.000-07:00

I am toying with the idea of continuing the historical account in the vein of the Prophecy Archives by writing a series of books, ostensibly by a different author, which picks up where the Archives left off and continues the story through Jaltikij history to the changing of names and the age of conquest.

It would certainly be an interesting companion piece to the main storyline and it would tend to leave followers of the Prophecy Archives series with some hope for the continuation of the characters and plot structure they have come to know and love.

I will certainly posit more about this potential offshoot of the storyline as it develops in my mind.

Additional Revision

2011-05-16T08:45:00.000-07:00

I know I hit orange on The Great War and even began a campaign of queries in an attempt to get it published, however, I have come to the difficult decision to enter a sixth editing phase for the book. It has been many months since I finalized the last draft and a cursory reading has informed me that I could easily drop the word count if I put the time into streamlining the text some more.

Therefore, The Great War is entering its sixth round of editing, with the purpose being to reduce the word count from 135,000 to 100,000.

Additionally, though I did not mention it previously, I have taken up new employ in an effort to pay my bills and have been thus occupied since May 2nd. The job is difficult and consuming enough that developing the plot of the third book has become a futile endeavor. I am confident, though, that I can make progress on editing in tandem to the work, which is part of the reason why I made the hard decision to return to this process.

A New Class

2011-03-23T22:23:00.000-07:00

It is with some amount of trepidation that I decided today to remove the epic "Cas" from the planned story order for Act 1. There are several reasons for this, ranging from important to whimsical, but I only plan to list a few of them here.

1) First and foremost, while simultaneously least important, I have a strong desire to keep the book count for Act 1 to exactly 10. With "Cas" in the mix, it bumped my count to 11 because of the split in story progression (It Just So Happens, It Happens Just So).

2) Secondly, I have lost a lot of my fire for the project of "Cas" as I have invested more time in the plot as a whole. I have realized it is important not to get bogged down with merely establishing the setting while the rest of the story suffers from neglect. Also, it is taking me a lot longer to produce books than I intended, so I just don't feel it merits the extra time.

3) Thirdly, the alternative format I have decided upon for the relation of "Cas" is not really "Act-level" presentation. I envision the work more as a wiki than as a novel now, even though the intent of it is to be blatantly dry and pseudo-historical. Hence, I couldn't feel right about making it an established part of the Act order any more.

4) Fourthly (and lastly), I decided that I needed to establish a new class of material for the story as a whole. This class is not exactly "plot point" and not entirely "meta" either. I haven't really come up with a name for it yet, but it will encompass materials like the "meet a character" interviews, which I would like to eventually compile into book format without making them a part of the story progression as a whole.

So, the long and short of it is that I have created a new class of companion materials for the storyline, however, I have not labeled this class or made any definitive plans on how to present it.

Break Broken

2010-12-30T09:29:00.000-08:00

With the intensity of the movies behind me, I am back to writing again. Currently I am working on solidifying the overall storyline before I dive into the third book. I am also looking for a more permanent source of income (read: likely a job) which is a minor hindrance I am doing my best to work around.

Hopefully, more updates soon.

Hiatus

2010-08-01T21:16:00.000-07:00

I am on a short break from working on my stories as the pressures of life and bills have once again taken over. The plot for Book 3 sees some tinkering on occasion - as time allows - and I expect to get back into the swing of writing once my current job has ended.

The Prophecy Archives: The Great War [Mini Synopsis]

2010-06-19T01:07:00.000-07:00

I am posting this here because it has been acclaimed as a good summary and introduction to The Prophecy Archives: The Great War. It is a combination of an elevator pitch and a mini synopsis.

Amidst four streams of power - the physical, the emotional, the spiritual, and the magical - The Great War overwhelms a divided island as it exposes the treachery and nobility found in the hearts of mankind.

The North and the South have never shared anything but hatred. Centuries of contention and feuds too many to name have kept the two separated as surely as the disease-ridden wastes of Celeukra which divide their island in half. Yet, kings and peasants are joined together by a hope and belief in the "prophecy of power" which promises an inevitable unity under one leader. As the three kingdoms of the south each make their own plans to bring about the harmony foretold, a secretive and immensely powerful faction hidden away amongst the tribes of the north seeks to impose a different vision of the ancient prophecy's meaning upon the island. Love, destiny, betrayal and revenge meet head-on in a sweeping conflict as heroes and villains alike tap into the four streams of power to find any possible advantage in The Great War.

Emergency Rewrite

2010-06-17T12:23:00.000-07:00

After some review while sitting down at last to work on my query letter I decided the first chapter of the book meandered a bit much. I feel it should do more to befriend the reader's attention and less to disseminate information about the story (it's still thick with setting even after the changes). Chulon's flashback has been all but removed and the chapter as a whole has been refined down to a fraction of its former self. Now it drives directly at the first confrontation in (I think) a better fashion.

I am still clinging to some concern over the loss of a large chunk of Chulon's personal history (most notably his interactions with Katarine), but I might be able to work some of the details elsewhere into the story.

The final word count for the story is hovering around 135,000 words. It is possible I might devote some time to trimming any remaining fat from the narrative in an effort to get it closer to the 120,000 range.

The Sections

2010-06-01T23:40:00.000-07:00

Activity: These are posts which give a more descriptive overview of my occupation(s).

Information: These are posts which describe this weblog and how it works. They can also describe my plans and current business model as a whole.

Meta: These are posts which give holistic information about my current project or series. The information is typically explicit and not contained in any actual writing (aside from reference).

Progression: These are simple posts which give basic information about work done on the current book/project.

Prose: These are posts which contain actual writing from the current project. Typically prose posts are unedited and raw (meaning full of mistakes).

What is happening now

2010-06-01T23:28:00.000-07:00

With book two finished it has been tempting to take some time to sit back and relax unencumbered by the pressures of performance. This time around I am trying not to do so. Since it is my desire to expand my audience as much as possible, I have been seriously pursuing the idea of getting an agent. There isn't much else to say at this point, since I haven't finalized my query letter or chosen a list of agencies yet.

Currently, I am trying to create a more solidified roadmap of what I would like to do with the rest of the series beyond Act 1. I have a lot of ideas mulling around in my head which have been difficult to get down on paper. Despite that, I think I am making headway on the project and I am confident I will soon be in a position to better describe the story as a whole - as a project with many different steps. I feel it is always best to lay out the steps I would like to take before I proceed so I can develop some kind of plan for how to achieve those goals.

Getting this roadmap finalized and putting together a solid query letter are my two highest priorities at the moment. After that, I need to sit down and do some serious research on agencies to get a list together.

The two main distractions from these tasks are cleaning [+ looking for a new place to live] and finishing work on my new desks. I try to keep these from interfering too much with my daily work, but one of the curses of being at home is the constant need to attend to other concerns. For those who may have noticed, this post represents a significant change in the attitude of Functioning ChuMesa. I felt it was appropriate to give it a more personal air in line with the overall evolution of my writing philosophy.

Final Touches

2010-04-12T11:28:00.000-07:00

Book Two is finished at last. What was originally slated to take only one year blossomed into a three year adventure as the book underwent a few major changes and my content delivery philosophy underwent even more. I will be moving on to a few public readings of the finished work as well as actively seeking a publisher for the series.

This represents a significant change in the vision of Chu'Mesa Studios which merits a moment of explanation. I still believe in the original business model. I think it is solid and worthwhile, especially for an independent artist. However, over the years I have come to realize that I limited my audience to an elite few by veering so quickly away from "normal" publishing avenues. I don't want to restrict my work and that was never the goal of the site. The goal is to open the work up to everyone as fluidly and fairly as possible. While Chu'Mesa Studios has, for me, been a terrific success, I feel it is important to expand my horizons now.

I have moved over the years from a static website to a semi-dynamic website to an attempt at a more adept and connected presentation. Throughout this process I have discovered a great wealth of technical limitations, many of which I simply don't have the time to overcome. There's a lot I would like to do with the site that I simply cannot accomplish with the resources at my disposal. Despite this, I think Chu'Mesa Studios has metamorphosed into an exceptionally nimble online presentation. I am now focused on connecting with my readers through a 3 step process which I am continually refining.

First, there is the chumesa.com website which lays out the facts about the story. I foresee it being a repository for all the meta information which will allow faithful readers to keep track of where they are in the universe and how characters are set to interact with the story as a whole.

Second, there is Functioning Chu'Mesa which I keep updated with daily happenings, writing progress and thoughts about this process as a whole.

Third, there are the Google Wave live writing events. These allow trusted readers to interact directly with the process of writing by being present and afforded a voice during my actual writing sessions.

Across these three offerings I think Chu'Mesa Studios is beginning to offer the kind of experience I want to deliver to my audience. So, it is with confidence and anticipation that I move forward to Book Three of The Prophecy Archives series.

The End... At Last

2010-04-04T23:10:00.000-07:00

The end of the second editing phase for Book 2 is finally in sight. The final piece of the puzzle will be put in place on Monday, April 5th, 2010 starting at 9a.m. PST. I will be writing the epilogue [Wave name begins with "Epilogue"] live on Google Wave. Feel free to e-mail me for access to the wave so you can watch and participate as I work.

Editing Standstill

2010-01-20T22:58:00.000-08:00

December has come and gone now without any further progress on the book. I have cataloged all of my intended edits, but the project has lain dormant since certain interruptions have stolen all of my attentions away. I believe there is a shift coming in my schedule for about two weeks from the end of January to the beginning of February which I anticipate will allow for the serious pursuit of editing once more.

If all goes well, this book will see the light of day before February is over - several months behind schedule, but I am confident all the better for it.

Editing Additions

2009-11-30T01:17:00.001-08:00

I must admit the editing process for this book is entirely different from my experiences with my first book. I find myself adding a significant amount of new information into the story, reshaping certain passages and even characters to fit the overall direction of the series better. It has become a rather exciting process, though also beleaguered by additional time expenditure. This is my way of admitting the editing process for this book is taking much longer than initially anticipated.

My attentions have been thus far divided and are no longer so. I am filled with a hope that this means the book will see its completion sometime before the month of December departs from me.

On a happier note, the flow of ideas conjured by hours of menial editing has seen new inspiration for the role of the character of Dremmech, now Dremmech Foclaux. Also the plot of the third book is coming together nicely in the off moments of the process. Though this book may wallow in despair of creating any new records, I am confident book 3 will slip out of me much more quickly in the days to come.

Editing Phase

2009-09-25T21:28:00.000-07:00

I have entered the editing phase in earnest. Though I originally intended to be completely finished with the book by the close of September, it has now become clear it will take some additional time to complete.

I have made a good starting list of issues which need to be addressed with the book as quickly as possible and find myself neck-deep in the process. I cannot make an estimate right now how long it will take to complete the editing phase, but I have begun work on the third book in addition to my editing efforts. I feel this will not overload my work schedule at this time, but I promise work on the new book will come second to my editing obligations.

(P) C40

2009-06-17T12:43:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 40 - One Won

Complete
- 6 pages
- 1812 words
- 10168 characters

(P) C39

2009-06-16T20:23:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 39 - The Kemolen

Complete
- 4 pages
- 1254 words
- 7172 characters

(P) C38

2009-06-16T11:58:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 38 - Eviscerated

Complete
- 4 pages
- 1297 words
- 7236 characters

(P) C37

2009-06-12T16:13:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 37 - Convergence

Complete
- 14 pages
- 4571 words
- 25570 characters

(P) C36

2009-06-11T11:15:00.001-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 36 - Change

Complete
- 5 pages
- 1708 words
- 9741 characters

Final Chapter Count

2009-06-11T09:57:00.001-07:00

The final chapter count for the first draft version of The Prophecy Archives - The Great War will be 40 chapters.

(P) C35

2009-06-09T15:00:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 35 - Purge

Complete
- 6 pages
- 2080 words
- 11457 characters

(P) C34

2009-06-09T10:51:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 34 - Severed

Complete
- 3 pages
- 922 words
- 5106 characters

(P) C33

2009-06-03T14:41:00.001-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 33 - Cas

Complete
- 4 pages
- 1376 words
- 7470 characters

(P) C32

2009-06-02T11:37:00.001-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 32 - For Death

Complete
- 10 pages
- 3321 words
- 19305 charactersView Blog

(P) C31

2009-05-27T22:35:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 31 - Siege

Complete
- 6 pages
- 1988 words
- 11713 characters

(P) C30

2009-05-11T16:31:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 30 - The Ortakij, The Jaltikij, And Calugress

Complete
- 11 pages
- 3620 words
- 20618 characters

(P) C29

2009-05-06T10:59:00.001-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 29 - Failures

Complete
- 8 pages
- 2326 words
- 13225 characters

(P) C28

2009-05-04T17:26:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 28 - The Power Of Magic

Complete
- 9 pages
- 3057 words
- 17337 characters

(P) C27

2009-05-04T08:26:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 27 - Desperation And Duty

Complete
- 8 pages
- 2479 words
- 13910 characters

(P) C26

2009-04-24T14:07:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 26 - Clarvis For Afshire

Complete
- 13 pages
- 4039 words
- 22851 characters

(P) C25

2009-04-21T12:51:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 25 - The Massacre Of Brenton

Complete
- 5 pages
- 1555 words
- 8919 characters

(P) C24

2009-04-17T22:24:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 24 - Reckoning

Complete
- 10 pages
- 3217 words
- 19037 characters

(P) C23

2009-04-09T14:49:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 23 - Allegiance Demands

Complete
- 5 pages
- 1486 words
- 8459 characters

(P) C22

2009-04-08T13:03:00.000-07:00

S1B2
The Prophecy Archives - The Great War
Chapter 22 - The Generals Of Lom

Complete
- 7 pages
- 2053 words
- 11818 characters

C10(3) "The..."

2008-06-10T18:31:00.001-07:00

"The Hatred Tribunal"
(WC 2185)

-[ ]-

Months passed and Chulon fell into a routine. He rarely thought about his duty to the southern kingdoms any more, so deeply had he repressed his true identity. Outwardly, he acted every bit like a true believer in the Nhymiggai cause. It was a fine line he walked, twisting his disgust and hatred for the Nhimyggai into an apparent hatred toward the southern kingdoms.
Dremmech had relentlessly examined the minds of all his followers, keeping a sharp eye on them at all times. It was obvious he trusted nobody. As the time passed, his army grew, filling out with more and more eager recruits. Some were from other clans, but Chulon noted that Lom did not question or prevent their addition to the ranks of the Nhimyggai. Those who possessed knowledge of magic were more highly valued than the rest, and were promoted accordingly. Chulon exhibited no magical ability to his superiors, not wanting to rise in the ranks or appear as anything other than mundane now. Dremmech was descriptive enough of the Nhimyggai plans to eventually bring him all the information he would need. The only movement within the ranks Chulon did attempt was to ingratiate himself to Dremmech in the hope of attaining information more quickly.
He had come to fear and respect the power of the Nhimyggai as time passed. Though their magical abilities were questionable and obviously no match for the power of Dour Gujhest, he started to recognize a different power within their ranks. It was a festering sort of persuasion that seeped outward from their very presence. They were hidden and insidious, an aspect which might just grant them enough of an edge to seriously damage the order of the southern kingdoms. Little by little, Chulon was becoming a believer, but not for the sake of hope – for the sake of despair.
He began to wonder if simply bringing warning to the Ortakij would be enough. It would be difficult enough to secure their belief about a hidden source of power like the Nhimyggai. Chulon also recognized an arrogance in himself which would hinder any real preparation against the threat of the Nhimyggai. Once he revealed the Nhimyggai, there would still remain an overconfidence in the southern kingdoms – an unwillingness to believe there could be any power they may need to fear. The Ortakij had been burned by such arrogance before, the loss of Celeukra was a testament to this. Perhaps it was the Nhimyggai who has orchestrated that assault as well. But history would be no teacher here, the Ortakij believed themselves to have prevailed against the might of the northern tribes. They were vigilant, but unshaken.
The Nhimyggai respected the southern kingdoms, if nothing else. They understood the power of their enemy and it inspired them to leverage every ounce of cunning and strategy they possessed. Chulon thought it best to wait for an opportunity to not simply reveal the Nhimyggai and their plans, but to expose them in a moment of true power so the southern kingdoms would be able to see and understand the truth of their enemy.
Revealing Nhimyggai power would be a difficult task. As much as Chulon had come to respect the mysterious group during his involvement, there were very few examples of their ability he could directly point to. Theirs was mostly a campaign of propaganda and endless meetings. Over and over again, the recruits were hounded by Dremmech with generic messages of impending triumph. With every meeting Chulon felt a little more despair creep in. Every time they gathered to speak together about the inevitable triumph of the Nhimyggai, Chulon believed it a little more. He felt the weight of their philosophy enveloping his mind. It was suffocating, filled with a power and presence he had not experienced before. He searched out their words for the taint of magic, thinking they were casting some sort of spell on their audience, but he could find no hint of it. They were leveraging a power he had not experienced before, yet Chulon could not spare the honesty to contemplate it. Revealing his inmost thoughts would be too dangerous. So he took it all in instead, slowly sinking into despair as he came closer to Dremmech.
This routine was interrupted, though, when Dremmech announced a special induction to a secret meeting of the higher powers within the ranks of the Nhimyggai. There was another tier as Chulon had suspected and he was interested to discover who the players would be at this level. As part of their training and preparation for the war ahead, they were to learn new details about the grand plan of the Nhimyggai. Ponyeth assured them war was close at hand.
This new meeting was an enormous gathering, led by Tiernanuu himself. Though Chulon was extremely interested in discovering all he could about this new player, he could also feel a tinge of danger the minute he joined the assembly, as though the power of Tiernanuu's presence were a heat which singed him as he approached. He sensed this new player was far more potent a threat than the creeping presence of Dremmech. They would all be allowed to speak with Tiernanuu, Ponyeth assured him, it was the final step in their training and preparation.
“The Southern Kingdoms have made an error,” Tiernanuu began the meeting with a jubilant tone, “and our time of victory is at hand.”
Everyone fell silent in anticipation, wondering what mistake the great enemy might have made.
“For centuries, the three lands of Akij have been held together by the strength of their greatest bond. They respect each other. They hold each other up. They provide support and aid in times of trial. When the tribes of the north came together against the Ortakij with the biggest display of power this island has ever witnessed, the potency of their attack was dulled by this very bond. We took back Celeukra, we pushed their border south, yet the Ortakij were bolstered anew when the Jaltikij donated supplies and lands to the Ortakij. They were refreshed when the Sinzakij sent their own armies to the new border to support their patrols and build a new bulwark. We spent our collective resources, drained ourselves in the effort, and they were rejuvenated almost immediately. They recovered before we could lick our wounds and forced us to resort to trickery to stave off their recourse.
“The Hatred Tribunal, they called it, when we came together at last because we were united by our hatred for their kingdoms. They laugh at us now, emboldened by their eventual victory. They forget the sting of our fury. They mock our hatred as though it were a weak bond, unable to stand against the might of their mutual respect and admiration. We have learned to respect the power of their bond. We do not respect it because it is superior; we do not respect it because it is unbreakable; we do not respect it because we desire it. We respect it because we understand it and we understand our need to defeat it before we can at last be rid of their tyranny. This island belongs to us! It is ours not theirs! It is our birthright!”
The assembly leaped to its feet in thunderous approval, shouting their agreement in a cacophony of noise which inspired a smile from Tiernanuu.
“For years we have sown dissent amongst them, capitalizing on their differences. The Jaltikij hate the mages, the Sinzakij hate the priests, the Ortakij... the Ortakij are the key.” Tiernanuu paused thoughtfully. “The Ortakij believe in an ancient prophecy. They believe their king is the true king of the island and their lust for this prophecy's fulfillment makes them the most vulnerable. For centuries they have stood proudly against the armies of the northlands, fighting zealously for the hope of crushing our clans. Their dream is to unite the northlands so they can unite the southlands. They see this island as one kingdom – their kingdom, ruled by their king. The Jaltikij and Sinzakij rely on the might of the Ortakij armies to protect them from our attacks. They hide behind their brother kingdom, enjoying a life as free of war and strife as if we did not even exist. They have grown weak and soft, and the Ortakij know it. The Ortakij rely on the weakness of their neighbors, they trust in it. They know their kingdom is the only one with enough power to subjugate the entire island. They know once they conquer Vechtazul it will be a trifling matter to overcome the borders that separate their three lands. The Ortakij are filled with vision. But it is this very vision which will be their downfall!”
More cheering followed. Chulon joined in with every ounce of exuberance he could muster. Somewhere deep in his heart, though he knew no Ortakij soldier would ever admit it, there was a desire present to see the whole of the island united. Tiernanuu, though twisted in his vision, was not far from the truth with his words.
“Our spies have learned of a secret pact between the Jaltikij and Sinzakij, an agreement between their kings. The Ortakij have no knowledge of what is coming, but we will be prepared. We will use this pact to our advantage, opening the door to victory. Even now the leaders of the clans are gathering together to plan strategies. A sort of... new hatred tribunal. Dihloch has created a master plan which will tear the southern kingdoms apart. Their bond of strength will at last be broken and then, when the time is right, we will strike! We will pierce a hole through their hearts so deeply the names of the Akij will become a curse to our sons and grandsons.”
Chulon shuddered at the mention of Dihloch. He knew that name. Somewhere in the recesses of his memory recognition was sparked. He could not place his finger on it, though. Where had he heard that name before? It was not good, he remembered that much.
The meeting had ended and Tiernanuu was working his way through the crowds of recruits, touching their hands, looking into their eyes. Chulon was consumed with trying to pinpoint where he had heard Dihloch's name before. He pushed those thoughts down, trying to regain his composure as Tiernanuu approached. He needed to regain control, he had to find his starting point. He had to settle his mind. He could feel waves of deception coursing through him, and he shuddered at how suddenly and obviously he was out of place in this assembly. He needed to calm himself to subdue this distraction, but he knew the quiet he needed to regain his composure would give him away as surely as the doubts and fears overtaking him now. Tiernanuu still approached, looking into the eyes of the men around him. Chulon could not shirk or step away from this moment. He must stand his ground or lose his place in the Nhimyggai and perhaps his life as well.
He could feel Tiernanuu working his way through him, feel the presence of his inquiry before the man ever turned to look in his eyes. The situation was desperate now as the Nhimyggai's hold began to close around him, searching out his mind. Chulon was sinking fast. He had lost track of his focus, his training in the physical stream of power was failing him in this moment. He grasped reluctantly at the last option before him, forced to open floodgates kept diligently sealed since he walked away from Dour Gujhest so many years before. As Tiernanuu turned his gaze toward Chulon and grasped hold of his hand, Chulon dove mindfirst again into the stream of magical power, calling upon his training in the magic of presence to subdue and mask his innermost thoughts. His eyes met Tiernanuu's with confidence at last in that final moment. He was a Nhimyggai, nothing else. There was nothing concerning about Chulon's presence in this Nhimyggai assembly.
Chulon was amazed at how quickly his magical power came back to him. Like an old hand, he deftly wove magical deception all around himself, hiding away any hint of truth from Tiernanuu's insightful gaze. He could feel the power of the Nhimyggai seeking him out, but it was no match for the strength of his magical ability. He easily deflected and absorbed all inquiries, sliding through the moment with ease.
Tiernanuu paused, nevertheless, looking again at Chulon with interest. The magic so suddenly called upon was noticeable to the Nhimyggai. He could not pinpoint what Chulon was doing, but he knew with certainty that this man possessed strong magics. It aroused Tiernanuu's interest and he noted that he should speak with Dremmech later about Chulon, to find out what uses had been found for him.
As Tiernanuu moved away, Chulon let go of his enchantment, feeling the draining effect of magic, magnified by his lack of practice. He shuddered again, knowing this brief relapse into magic would cost him dearly in the days ahead.

C10(2) "The..."

2008-06-07T23:59:00.000-07:00

"The Hatred Tribunal"
(WC 966)

-[ ]-

After agreeing to the demands of the Nhimyggai, Chulon was instructed to leave the armies of Lom and find a home in a nearby settlement. The warmasters he had formerly served did not question his leaving or raise issue with it. They were apparently familiar with such changes and knew better than to cause any dissention. Everyone he had formerly made acquaintance with seemed to act like he no longer existed.
This new life pressed upon him by the mysterious Nhimyggai was far more dangerous. Chulon spent his nights deep in meditation, focusing on the task of bending his mind so that his thoughts would not give him away. He began to see Nhimyggai where formerly he had only seen peaceful settlers. His instructions were to make a home, act settled and pursue mundane daily activities while he awaited instructions.
The simplicity of his new routine was frequently punctuated by secretive meetings where he and others were indoctrinated in the beliefs and ideals of the Nhimyggai. He learned his immediate superior was a young man named Ponyeth, who seemed little more than a boy to Chulon. He could sense magical ability in him, though, reckless and unbridled. Chulon imagined Ponyeth's ability was likely also largely untrained and unfocused. Apparently a connection to the stream of magical power was prized by the Nhimyggai, making it a reason for the promotion of its followers. Above Ponyeth was a darker man named Dremmech, who usually led their meetings and spoke vehemently against the southern kingdoms.
Dremmech also spoke of another superior named Tiernanuu, but Chulon had yet to meet this one. He wondered how many ranks the Nhimyggai has divided themselves into. It swiftly became apparent that his group, under Dremmech was wholly comprised of people who were local to the area where Chulon had been instructed to settle. He began to see Nhimyggai in places he had not formerly guessed to look. Their identity was obvious to him now, they were the members of any tribe who lived lives completely detached from the tribe's concerns. Ponyeth had told him early on to ignore the commands of the tribe of Lom. He was not a part of the tribe any longer. He was now a part of something much larger, something much more important.
Chulon was not yet sure how much magical ability the Nhimyggai held, he could not find opportunity to test it. As a whole, the group was very secretive and paranoid. They worked hard to remain unseen and unsuspected. Dremmech spoke about the necessity of this often. New recruits like Chulon were told over and over again to hide their allegiance to the Nhimyggai. They were never to speak of it. The mages of the south were always watching, he said, and Chulon later found it amusing just how true this was.
One thing was very apparent, though, it would take a lot of time for Chulon to gather the kind of information he needed. In the quiet moments, he wondered just how much time it would take. Dremmech's speeches were militant, focused on actions against the southlands. He spoke often about an upcoming campaign against Dour Gujhest. Chulon was recruited to fill out the ranks of Dremmech's army, which was being amassed for some form of offensive strike.
To single out Dour Gujhest was a bold maneuver. Chulon was immediately struck by the foolishness of such a plan. To begin with, the Nhimyggai would have to break through the vast defenses of the Ortakij kingdom. They would be faced with the power of Dour Gujhest long before they even reached the Sinzakij borders. Simply getting to Dour Gujhest would be an incredible feat, but once they were there, they would have to contend with the trained and focused power of an entire kingdom of mages.
Chulon knew from experience Dour Gujhest was well fortified. The White Council was ready and able to defend itself against an attack from these Nhimyggai. He began to wonder if the taste of magical ability had driven the Nhimyggai leadership mad. Yet, he knew it would be foolish to assume the failure of the Nhimyggai before he fully understood their capabilities. He was reminded of his battle with Ethegra. Once a friend, and one of the most powerful and solid mages he had ever known, Chulon could scarcely believe Ethegra had fallen to such temptation. If the Nhimyggai were behind Ethegra's conversion, perhaps there was something to their bold strategy after all. Did they intend to turn an entire kingdom of mages into demons?

-[ ]-

Months passed and Chulon fell into a routine. He rarely thought about his duty to the southern kingdoms any more, so deeply had he repressed his true identity. Outwardly, he acted every bit like a true believer in the Nhymiggai cause. It was a fine line he walked, twisting his disgust and hatred for the Nhimyggai into an apparent hatred toward the southern kingdoms.
Dremmech had relentlessly examined the minds of all his followers, keeping a sharp eye on them at all times. It was obvious he trusted nobody. As the time passed, his army grew, filling out with more and more eager recruits. Some were from other clans, but Chulon noted that Lom did not question or prevent their addition to the ranks of the Nhimyggai. Chulon exhibited no magical ability to his superiors, not wanting to rise in the ranks or appear as anything other than mundane now. Dremmech was descriptive enough of the Nhimyggai plans to eventually bring him all the information he would need. He had come to fear and respect the power of the Nhimyggai as time passed. The danger of his position was constant and pressing, so he did not wish to test his luck by attempting to gain recognition.

C10(1) "The..."

2008-06-04T15:35:00.000-07:00

"The Hatred Tribunal"
(WC 1753)

It was a day like any other for Chulon. Lom's warlord had his people gearing up for another battle along their northeastern border. Gulala had made some headway into Lom's holdings there, supplanting their losses along the southeastern portion of the border where Lom had been pushing hard for the past few months. Confident they could maintain their new holdings to the south, the tribe of Lom was hurriedly rushing to the north to quell the advances made by their enemy.
Chulon had yet to see any familiar faces from the tribe of Gulala and though he consoled himself with the reminder that they were all his enemies, he found it a relief not to have to look into the face of any he had formerly pretended were friends.
The shift to the north would be advantageous to Chulon, moving him closer to the tribes of Kier-Ree-Tan so he could make a clean departure from the ranks of Lom's armies. Working his way into the inner circles of the tribe had the unfortunate side effect of making him famous amongst the warriors of Lom. Almost everywhere he traveled now he was recognized and hailed as a hero of the tribe. Though Chulon valued his access to the secret plans of the tribe, his fame made it more difficult for him to move freely now that he wanted to abandon this tribe in favor of another.
He had begun to wonder if his renown would translate into a reputation as a traitor. Perhaps moving from clan to clan had been the trait which had revealed other Ortakij scouts and allowed the clans to weed them out. This did not seem likely, though, because no apparent communication occurred between the clans in any form.
They did not make it to the front lines of the battlefield to the north, though. They were very close when an order from Lom came down through the ranks suddenly. They were to stop and wait. There was no explanation for this abrupt change in strategy and no apparent reason why it would be necessary. But no reason was needed for an order from the leader of the tribe. When he said stop, they would stop.
Chulon wondered if perhaps Gulala had been able to push back along the southern border, causing the warlord to reconsider his aggressive strategies. It seemed unlikely they would be told to simply stop if this were the case. If the warlord were truly concerned about an advance like that, he would have called for them to move back south or press their attacks more quickly. He wouldn't have told them to just stop and wait. Chulon felt there must be something else at work now. In all of his time with the tribes of Gulala and Lom he had never witnessed an action like this.
The army, unsure of what to do next, set about the process of making camp while they waited. Chulon busied himself with this task as well, inwardly hoping they would soon continue northward so he could make his escape from this group. He thought it best to feign his own death on the battlefield. It would raise the fewest questions. Tribal armies did not bother to check the dead or search for wounded. Any who were too damaged to return to camp of their own accord were left where they lay and no more concern was spared for their lives. A clean break like that would shield him from any of the potential difficulties Chulon had worried about.
The army had sat dormant in camp for two days before something happened. Chulon had plenty of time to worry about what might come next. After this time had passed a new group arrived in their camp. This group was strange to Chulon, the fact that they were so well-dressed was the first thing which struck him as very different. They had an air of importance about them and the warriors of Lom's armies gave them wide berth, shrinking back in their presence as though very afraid. This group was obviously of great importance, although Chulon did not recognize any of its members.
After making an initial inspection of the camp, the group settled into one of the tents which had been set up and began calling for warriors to come speak with them. Whispers began to circle through the camp about this strange intrusion. Chulon soon caught the name “Nhimyggai” being whispered repeatedly. He felt his hopes rise sharply. At last he was hearing some confirmation of what Pinmey had told him at Hearkendale. Were the Nhimyggai real? Chulon decided to take this opportunity to find out.
He asked around amongst a few of Lom's warriors, trying to see what they meant. But when he inquired about the Nhimyggai, he was universally met with silence. These men were genuinely afraid of this group. They constantly cast furtive glances in the direction of the tent taken over by the supposed Nhimyggai. He began to think he would get nothing other than blank looks and fear-filled glances when Chulon was called up by his superiors to go to the tent and stand before the Nhimyggai.
He wondered quickly what he should say to win their favor. If the Nhimyggai were all Pinmey had said they were, then Chulon wanted nothing more than to work his way into their ranks. He had begun to question the legitimacy of Pinmey's claims in his time in the north. For as long as he had been there, he had heard no mention of this mysterious group from anyone. Not even a vague whisper about it. Their sudden appearance here was stunning, almost unbelievable. They were like ghosts.
He stepped into the Nhimyggai tent.
“Welcome warrior.”
Seated before Chulon, the group had formed a circle. They all sat stoically, with no visible movement between the eight of them. Dressed as they were, Chulon found it difficult to determine which one had spoken as he entered. They were hidden behind rich, dark garb which covered them completely. Hoods hid their faces from his view, allowing him no cues to what the group was thinking. Wanting to avoid any awkwardness, Chulon seated himself immediately just inside the entry to the tent and looked forward expectantly, wondering what would happen next.
“We have heard you asking questions about our presence here.”
It was a statement, followed by a long pause. Chulon wondered if they expected him to answer. As the silence stretched on, he decided it best to do so.
“I have heard the name Nhimyggai before, but did not know if it was a name for myth or fact. I was simply curious if anyone else knew anything about this name.”
More silence. Not a single figure in the circle moved. Chulon calmed his spirit, focusing on his posture instead of the bizarre spectacle before him. Finally, they spoke again.
“The Nhimyggai are fact. The Nhimyggai are building an army. The Nhimyggai will destroy the Southern Kingdoms.”
Chulon felt it now. It was a sneaking suspicion when he entered the tent, but now he could feel the full force of it weighing against his mind: magic. Despite his long absence from life as a mage, he could still feel the pulse of magic as clearly as when he had practiced it. This group definitely had some magical ability. How much and how strong, he could not say without delving into a temptation he had sworn he would never again entertain. But he knew they were probing him with their arts, seeking something out, probably in his mind. Chulon stifled this realization and focused more intently on his posture. He caressed feelings of belonging and a hatred in his mind. He knew his facade would be discovered if he pushed his mind too far into the unfamiliar and offensive territory of hatred toward his own homeland, so he focused instead on a vague and generalized hatred, building on his own disdain for the tribes to fill his mind with dissatisfaction.
It was a dangerous game Chulon was playing, and somewhere deep inside of himself, he knew the risks. But he could not spare a conscious consideration for this fact. Both heart and mind were bent now under the will of the Nhimyggai and he brewed appropriate thoughts beneath his outward focus on his posture. The perfection and concentration he had learned through Laethecna aided him in this. It stemmed from his own being in a natural way, despite the lies he was trying to perpetrate. It was enough to quell the oppressive feeling of their magic. They must have been satisfied with what they found in Chulon's mind.
“What do the Nhimyggai desire of me?”
“Life, allegiance and obedience. You will fight for the Nhimyggai.”
It sounded like a question, but it was not. Chulon was being instructed by this strange group. He was expected to become a part of their group. There would be no denying their request, but Chulon had no desire to do so. He stood out amongst the warriors of Lom, he had no doubt this had sparked the Nhimyggai's interest in him. Now the wanted him. This was exactly what he wanted.
It was only a matter of time now before Chulon was able to discover what capabilities this mysterious group possessed. Pinmey had been correct, and Chulon was glad he had followed the monk's directions. The Nhimyggai were indeed powerful, but he could not yet say just how powerful they might be. If ever there were a serious threat to the Southern Kingdoms, Chulon knew he was joining its ranks. The fact that the Nhimyggai had been audacious enough to attempt to scan his thoughts proved to him they possessed serious magical abilities. Were they strong enough to challenge Dour Gujhest? Was their army big enough to take on the vast resources of the Ortakij? These questions needed to be answered before he attempted to return to Katarine.
Chulon was impressed that the Nhimyggai had been so successful at hiding themselves amongst the clans of the northlands. How did they accomplish this feat? It appeared fear and intimidation were a large portion of their strategy. The other Ortakij scouts must have been discovered by these Nhimyggai. Staying hidden from the Southern Kingdoms' view was obviously very important to this group. Chulon knew he would have to tread carefully if he intended to deliver a warning to his home in time.

C9 "The Lesser..."

2008-06-02T11:13:00.001-07:00

"The Lesser Gods"
(WC 2039)

Delyth had not traveled far from Dour Gujhest when, with a pointed smile, she stopped abruptly and sat down. Phillip stopped as well, hoping to stay hidden off to the side of the road and a good distance behind her. Though it felt strange to be stalking this woman, his orders from the White Council were clear. It became obvious, however, that his presence was not as unnoticed as he had hoped. Delyth was staring directly at him, apparently waiting for Phillip to reveal himself. He wondered if this was simply a coincidence, if perhaps she had not seen him but was merely looking in his direction, but a raised eyebrow followed by a motion for him to come over to where she was sitting removed those doubts from his mind. Despite his great care in remaining hidden, she had somehow spotted his presence. Phillip felt embarrassed as he stepped out and walked toward her.
“Why are you following me?” She called out to him as he came close.
Phillip wondered what kind of explanation he could possibly give for his actions. Although his training told him to invent a reason and hide his true purpose for being there, his heart told him to simply be honest.
“It is my duty to learn how you were able to defeat a demon.” He looked into her eyes, hoping to convey some sense of trustworthiness. To his surprise, as she held his gaze she did not look concerned, timid or frightened by his presence. There was a distinct sense of curiosity behind her eyes, as though simply holding his gaze would tell her more than he was saying. Phillip didn't mind. He was suddenly struck by the simple beauty of Delyth's eyes and found it difficult to look away.
So enraptured was he, her next question went almost unnoticed. But then he realized she had been speaking and he broke her gaze suddenly, blushing like a young man and feeling uncomfortable with himself.
“Why do you think I defeated the demon? I simply said the demon does not exist.” Delyth cocked her head to the side and tried to meet Phillip's gaze once again. Embarrassed afresh, Phillip avoided her stare although those eyes felt like gravity wells drawing him in. He took a deep breath and mentally chastised himself for being so unexpectedly foolish and juvenile in her presence. Having regained a measure of his composure, Phillip pondered her response briefly.
“I suppose knowing the nature of a demon tells me you would not have survived unless you fought for and won your freedom.” Phillip was staring at the ground now, coldly suppressing both emotion and instinct in response to the feelings that her gaze had awakened within him.
Delyth sighed lightly and placed one of her hands gently on Phillip's downturned head in a consoling fashion. “I think you have assumed too much.”
He was struck by the clarity of this statement. He felt justified in his assumptions because they were shared by the White Council, as though communal consent created truth. If he removed those assumptions completely, though, what would remain? There was still an unanswered mystery. He knew Delyth had been stolen away from the town of Hearkendale, many witnesses confirmed it. He knew Delyth had survived, she was sitting in front of him now. He knew the demon which attacked Hearkendale had disappeared completely, he could find no evidence of it to track or follow. What did these three facts actually mean? Either Delyth was lying to him, or he was missing something.
“How did you survive the demon attack?” Phillip asked at length, looking up into her eyes once again.
She grabbed his gaze as he looked up, staring at him in a colder and more serious way now.
“I already told you I would not talk about it.” She replied bluntly and with a tinge of annoyance.
Phillip held her gaze defiantly, though, determined to fulfill his duty to the White Council. “I am sorry for my rudeness in following you and spying on you like I have. But you must understand, I cannot leave you until I answer this question. I am sworn to serve the White Council, so I must not fail.”
Delyth looked away toward the horizon. The day was waning, though evening was still hours away. Her hair was caught in the breeze, flitting around her face. Phillip was now struck again by her beauty. He admired her hair especially, intrigued by its color, and wondering whether he had ever seen such a vibrant shade of red before. She looked so vulnerable now, sitting there and contemplating the determination of his quest. Phillip thought he had been too harsh just now, pitting himself against her desire to leave the past in the past. He returned to chiding himself, feeling suddenly guilty about his treatment of a grieving widow. Her poise and grace made it easy to forget all she had been through, but remembering now, Phillip felt horrible about his behavior.
“Your White Council is dogged and insistent...” Delyth said finally, “...and inconsiderate and cruel. Do you have no creativity? Or must you try an force an answer to a question without one?”
She did not look at him. Phillip was once more rendered speechless by her insights. He was unsure of what to do. Never before had he felt so shameful and out of place in his work. He wanted to abandon his search for answers, but knew he could not. His oath needed to be fulfilled before he could return home. He was trapped now in a bad position, much worse than he had feared when the White had originally placed the burden of this quest upon his shoulders. He felt following Delyth any further would be nothing other than wrong but what then should he do?
“I would feel better if you walked with me as a friend.” Delyth broke Phillip's stunned silence. “I enjoy talking with you and I would prefer not to be alone right now.”
Phillip nodded, inwardly relieved to push off making a decision about what he needed to do next. Besides, it offered him an opportunity to do something nice for her for a change. Perhaps he could start to repair the hurt he was obviously perpetuating.

-[ ]-

Despite what Delyth had said, they continued onward for many hours in silence. Phillip brooded over his own behavior, still somewhat surprised and disappointed in himself. He could not think of any question to ask that did not seem to him immediately offensive and inconsiderate. Perhaps the gap between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest had indeed grown to wide to bridge. He was consumed with his own concerns – with the concerns of the White Council and the mission he was tied into. It made him wish he could better understand the Eclosei and their motivations. It was this realization which eventually led him to his first acceptable idea of the day.
“Why do you worship the gods?” He spoke up at last, breaking the long silence. His question did not sound the same upon saying it out loud as it had when it was being formed in his head. Phillip hoped the honest intention of what he asked would come through and not the skewed connotations which could easily be interpreted from his choice of words. Delyth gave him enough time to worry about this before she finally answered.
“I think men worship gods for the same reason they study magic. They are born with the drive for power. They wish to rule over the world and shape it in some way. The gods offer a connection to this kind of power.”
“Why?” Phillip asked, then clarified, “Why do we want to rule and shape the world?”
“It is the way men were created. It's part of their nature.”
Phillip frowned at this thought. He was unhappy with the suggestion that mankind was somehow enslaved to some kind of hidden desire. “You think the gods created us so that we would rely on them for power? Why would they do this?”
Delyth laughed lightly. “I think we were all created by something far greater than the gods you know.”
Phillip was quiet for awhile longer and Delyth did not interrupt his train of thought. She had suggested there was something even bigger and farther beyond the world as most knew it. The mages taught there were four streams of power, Phillip had always assumed it was the streams which ruled over creation and the fate of the world. Perhaps she felt the same way.
“Do you know about the four streams of power?” He asked, not wanting to get ahead of himself.
“Yes, they are the guidelines for the third age of mankind.”
It was a matter-of-fact response, but Phillip persisted. “I have always thought these streams persisted through eternity, forming and perfecting life.”
“No, you haven't always thought this way.” Delyth said abruptly and with a measure of disappointment. “Men are not meant to know the true nature of their existence. I don't know why, yet your true purpose can be discovered if you know where to look for the answers.”
“I have not always thought this way?” Phillip noted the lightly scoffing tone of his voice. Delyth had always acted familiar with him, as though they knew each other in the past. Phillip could not think of why, he remembered nothing which indicated they had known each other before. Aside from this, he could not remember thinking any other way than what he had expressed except for the time before he had learned about the streams of power themselves.
“Nevermind.” She rolled her eyes. “The streams of power are simply a manifestation of order. They originate from the source of such things.” Delyth paused a moment.. “They will end with the source as well – and so shall we.”
“So you worship the gods because you believe they are somehow greater than the streams of power?” Came Phillip's retort. He noted the scoffing tone in his voice had not subsided and tried to force himself to be more caring.
“I believe in something greater than the streams of power, yes.”
They had stopped walking and regarded each other now with a measure of consternation.
“So the Eclosei are superior to Dour Gujhest after all. They are more enlightened?” Phillip could scarcely believe this was what he had said next. He felt himself living out the indignation of a schoolchild.
“I don't think the Eclosei realize there is anything beyond their Entat of gods either. They are subject to the order of this age, just as the mages are.” It was a comfortingly mild response, especially considering how heated Phillip had been acting.
“Why are you Eclosei if you do not believe in what they are doing?”
“But I do believe in what they are doing. They are seeking out the truth. I believe in what the mages are doing as well.” She placed her hand on Phillip's shoulder. “You needn't be tied down to the idea Dour Gujhest and the Eclosei should be opposed to each other.”
Phillip looked down at the ground. He had thought he might be a source of comfort for Delyth on her journey. He had thought some form of service he could provide would help ease her grief. How differently their conversation had gone. It was she who comforted him, offering small reassurances which touched his heart on a very personal level. Phillip wondered again if he really had known this woman at some point in the past.
“Why don't you return to Hearkendale?” Phillip asked suddenly. The question had only just dawned upon him, but it seemed an obvious one. If she believed the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest did not need to work in opposition to one another, why wasn't she returning to the mission her late husband had founded to bridge this very rift? “They worry about you. Your presence would help them recover and it might help you as well...” His voice trailed off.
“Hearkendale is no longer what it was meant to be,” She responded sadly, “There is no reason for me to return.”

C8(2) "History"

2008-05-28T16:48:00.001-07:00

"History"
(WC 1313)

In truth, though, the king's real reason for naming his daughter had nothing to do with the protector herself. You've heard me mention the ancient book, well, it's the real reason the king chose to name her so.
“Years ago, before Tiala was even born, King Solonom discovered an ancient manuscript buried deep within the King's vault. It was apparent to him that nobody had read or even seen this book for a very long time, so he was naturally very curious about it. Through studying it, the King was able to discover many facts about our past which were quite different than what tradition would tell us. Now, normally nobody would know about this book or what it holds, because the King has kept it hidden away for years in fear of what the scholars might say about it but Tiala here, being a true daughter of the King, caught sight of this book one day and was also overcome by curiosity.”
Jaltizhetobek winked slyly at Tiala, who giggled lightly. “She stole the book away from the King for a time and delved into its secrets. And then she shared it with me, which was a great privilege and honor,” He bowed slightly before continuing.
“The book says many fantastical things. Much of it is difficult or impossible to read, but there are newer sections which chronicle many of the events surrounding the creation and demise of the Ancient Kingdom. Now, to be fair, there really isn't very much that's known about the Ancient Kingdom. We have our traditions and our opinions, sure, but true facts are few and far between.
“I think this is because there are so many different sides to the issue. Each of our three kingdoms has its own opinion about the Ancient Kingdom and tradition holds that the kingdom split because of these differences. Our ancestors couldn't see a way to live all together as one kingdom with so many different ideals floating about between them. That's why there was no great war or cataclysm which caused the separation of the Ancient Kingdom. All we know is the nobles came together in Calugress and mutually agreed to go their separate ways.
“The Jaltikij wanted nothing to do with the mages for some reason. Something about the dealings of Dour Gujhest had angered that entire faction, so they wanted to create a kingdom free from mages, a place where people could live and grow and develop without the influences of magic. It's a tradition that still continues today, as you know well, which is why poor Mesyth here has never set foot in our fair city and why she must be subjected to the noble's endless inquiries
“The Ortakij weren't particularly upset about anything, it seems. They were the faction that most desired to see the Ancient Kingdom continue. The Ortakij claimed to have the true King as their leader and wanted things to stay the way they had been for years. But it was not to be. Seeing that their beloved Ancient Kingdom would last no longer, they clung to the second prophecy as a vision of their future. They choose to believe that one day the true King – whose very heir rules over their lands – will reunite the three kingdoms once again in a new age of peace and prosperity.
“The Sinzakij did not trust the claims of the Ortakij and they did not like the way the Jaltikij shunned the mages. It was the Sinzakij, I think, who felt most strongly that a split in the Ancient Kingdom would serve everyone's interests best. I don't think the Sinzakij ever really wanted to see the kingdom divided, but they were able to recognize the vastness of the gaps forming between the three factions. There is a certain sense of wisdom in their call to draw up border lines and allow each side to take some time and 'clean their wounds' so to speak.
“But the ancient book sheds some more light on what happened at Calugress. Not a lot more, mind you, there are still many things left unsaid but it does give a deeper sense of why it was so important for these three groups to separate. You see, there was actually some kind of conflict that erupted within Calugress between the nobles. I don't know if it was just a friendly row or if more serious things were going on behind the scenes, but the ancient book says that many nobles were lost or killed almost over night because of this great argument. So, the truth is the nobles came together after this tragedy and decided they had to do something to prevent any more people from dying. It seemed the very heart of the kingdom was torn out overnight when they stopped working together and started attacking each other instead.
“Anyway, that's not really the point I was trying to get to. The really interesting thing the ancient book speaks about is the name of the Ancient Kingdom. Have you ever wondered why we are always calling it that? 'The Ancient Kingdom.' It seems so formal and nondescript. Well apparently naming the kingdom had become a big issue with the nobles back in those days. Something had happened which caused their king to decree that they would no longer use their true name – which was the Philosus. I don't know what it was, the book doesn't mention the event specifically, but there was something that happened which grieved them so much they were willing to give up the name which was their birthright. So, for many years they had no name and they sort of seemed to drift aimlessly. The book makes a point about how lost the kingdom was without a name to unite it. This continued until King Machal decreed that the kingdom would be known as Tiala – a new name to unite its people under a common cause.
“Apparently this Tial had done something for the Ancient Kingdom – stepped in somehow and saved it. Because she had done so much for them, King Machal wanted to honor her name and her legacy. There is even talk of an enormous temple which was to be constructed in her honor, so the people could come together and worship Tial, but they must have thought better of it, because there is no temple or even remains of a temple for Tial. It's all for the best, I suppose, since Tial isn't really a deity she probably wouldn't care much for people worshipping her anyway.
“But that's the real reason why Solonom named his daughter what he did. He, like many Kings before him, longs to see the three kingdoms reunited as one, setting aside their differences. He simply took the name King Machal had chosen and gave it to his daughter as an expression of the longing in his heart. It was also a very clever name to give to the daughter who would one day unite the Sinzakij and Jaltikij kingdoms through marriage. With two of the kingdoms linked as they will be, who is to say what the future may hold? Perhaps we will see the second prophecy come true after all.”
Jaltizhetobek stood abruptly after saying this and peered out his window. Mesyth was unsure why, since it was too dark outside to discern anything anyway. But he seemed contemplative, so neither one of the girls wanted to interrupt him. Then he yawned and turned back toward them.
“It is late, ladies, and you should be tucked away safely within the castle. Come, I will escort you back.”
Tiala looked a bit disappointed and Mesyth wondered how many stories she had hoped to hear that night. Neither one of them offered any objection, though. Silently, they stood and followed the burly blacksmith out the door and back to the castle.

C8(1) "History"

2008-05-27T18:25:00.000-07:00

"History"
(WC 1481)

“Why were you named Tiala?”
Tiala stopped short at the question. They had been sneaking along the wall of one of the castle's courtyards, but the absence of guards had emboldened Mesyth to ask the question which had been bothering her of late. Indignant that the Jaltikij nobles had locked her new friend away in one of the castle's towers, only letting her out when they wished to ask questions, Tiala had insisted upon sneaking Mesyth away from the castle grounds to show her the city of Calugress. Mesyth objected weakly, but her desire to break the monotony, coupled with her intense curiosity about Calugress had made her resistance weak and half-hearted. This was the fifth evening they had stolen away late in the night.
Tiala was fearless, curious about everything and bold enough to poke and prod until she learned what she wanted. Normally Mesyth would have been scared to lurk through the alleyways of the city so late at night. Calugress was well managed, but no city was entirely devoid of criminal activities. Unsavory characters of all sorts could be seen conducting their evil affairs once the sun had disappeared from the horizon. However, Tiala handled herself with a singular confidence, brandishing her sword aggressively. She had assured Mesyth it would be acceptable for her to use magic on any attackers if they were placed in a dangerous position, but so far nobody had dared to approach them.
“I know some reasons,” Tiala said softly, not turning to look at Mesyth, “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Mesyth collected her thoughts quickly, “In the temple at Mount Isteray, Tial is a well-known name, but it is not a good name. As priests, we were taught many things about the evils of Tial. We were taught to fear her return. Your name means 'of Tial' and I wonder why.”
“What do the mages say about Tial?” The princess asked after a long pause.
This was an unexpected question. Mesyth had to think about it. “I can't remember the mages ever speaking of Tial.” This suddenly seemed strange to her.
Tiala nodded as though Mesyth had answered her own question, but the young mage was still confused. She wondered if the princess was going to explain herself.
“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Tiala spoke up again, resuming her walk along the courtyard wall, “Arnold Jaltizhetobek – a blacksmith of Calugress – he'll answer your question best.”
Mesyth stifled another question in her throat, thinking it best to wait until Tiala had answered in her own way before asking any more questions.
Arnold Jaltizhetobek was a huge man, larger than anyone Mesyth had ever met before. His appearance suited his trade well, she thought, taking note of how easily he wielded the massive hammers of a blacksmith. He let out a jolly laugh upon opening his stable doors and seeing Tiala there to greet him.
“Welcome young princess and friend.” He said, smiling broadly. “How can I assist my king's most favored daughter this evening?” The light of amusement danced plainly behind his eyes as he beckoned for them to come in before he closed the door.
“Meet Mesyth, mage of Dour Gujhest,” Tiala giggled with a flourish, but Jaltizhetobek's amused demeanor faded swiftly to seriousness.
“You have stolen the mage from the castle?” He asked earnestly.
“Well, I couldn't just let her sit there and stare at the walls all day...” Tiala put her hands on her hips authoritatively and frowned a little. “I thought you would be excited to meet a mage.”
Jaltizhetobek smiled again. “That I am, your majesty. That I am.” He looked at Mesyth, who stood shyly by the door. “She's a tiny thing.”
“Tiny but strong!” Tiala piped up, “She could defeat you as easily as swatting a bug!” Mesyth doubted this, but it elicited a jovial laugh from the massive Jaltizhetobek.
“That she could,” He agreed, moving back to his anvil to douse a chestplate he had been working on when they came to his door. “But you should both be careful. Without the king's protection... there are many here who would like to hurt this poor girl.”
Mesyth shuffled uncomfortably.
“Her name is Mesyth.” Tiala said, “She grew up in the temple at Mount Isteray and she wants to know why I would be named after the famous evil Tial.”
Jaltizhetobek stopped and looked again at Mesyth. “You were raised by the Eclosei yet you became a mage?” He seemed surprised. Mesyth didn't blame him for that, she knew she could never return home after such a betrayal. Jaltikij distrust of Dour Gujhest paled in comparison to the hatred she had grown up with.
“The Eclosei believe a great many things are evil.” Jaltizhetobek said after a pause. “This is their job.” He frowned, then smiled, then frowned again as he thought. “They aren't always wrong, you know, when they say something is evil. But, they aren't always right either.”
Mesyth nodded in agreement. She hadn't placed much trust in the teachings of the Eclosei. “I only wondered what is significant about this Tial. I know nothing of the name except that the Eclosei believe it evil.”
Jaltizhetobek nodded again. “I grew up in the Ortakij kingdom, did you know that Tiala?”
The princess laughed, “You tell me every time I come here.”
“Well, my father claimed a piece of land north of Celeukra, in territories held by the Ortakij before the great northern assault stole it all away from us. When we lost our home to the conflict, I was very bitter and angry at our enemies for what they had done, but my father laughed at me for it. He taught me to have more understanding for the clans of the north. See, they struggle just to eat every day. They fight amongst themselves and live in danger and desperation. To them, we are the evil ones – we have stolen more from them than they can ever take back. My father said we ought to pity them. Their unwillingness to form a treaty of peace with our kingdoms has condemned them.” Jaltizhetobek nodded to himself, his head bobbing up and down while he agreed with what he had just said. Mesyth found this trait amusing and it placed her at ease.
“See, there are always two sides to every struggle. We can see and understand our side clearly, because it's ours. We feel right and justified in what we have done and what we are planning to do because we understand our reasons. Our enemies are the same way. They feel right and justified in what they are doing because they have their reasons – reasons we may never understand. Just calling our enemies evil is convenient, but wrong. The Eclosei have stopped wondering what the reasons for things are. If they disagree, they just call it evil.”
Tiala found a nearby seat and Mesyth joined her.
“Tial has been called a deity – a goddess – but it is not true. King Solonom knows this and he wants to honor her memory because nobody else will. Our ancestors revered her because of her great power. They did not hate her as the Eclosei teaches now. You may have heard that she is a goddess, yes?” Jaltizhetobek looked at Mesyth, who nodded. “According to the ancient book, she is a protector. The gods are subject to her as are we. She possesses ultimate power over everything in the world – not to rule it as the gods would, but to protect it from chaos.”
Jaltizhetobek pulled a chair of his own over so he could sit and talk to them. “If the manuscripts are true, and she possesses ultimate power, then why would she allow herself to be maligned so by mankind? If her desire was to rule over us, then where is she? There are only two conclusions a reasonable person can come to. Either she is not all powerful like the manuscripts claim and the teachings about her are lies or she is not evil like the Eclosei claim and something has caused her to hide herself from us.
“Do you know why the Eclosei teach Tial is evil?” He asked without waiting for an answer, “It is because she neutered their deity, Smilles. She took some great power away from him. The Eclosei teach she did this just to spite them and make their cause suffer in the world. But this doesn't make sense. She is described as the protector, so if she did take power away from their god, it must have been because he was trying to misuse it. She punished their god and now they are pouting about it.”
Jaltizhetobek smiled broadly. “You ask why Tiala is named after Tial as though this were a bad thing. I can think of no better name to be given.

C7 "North"

2008-05-08T13:00:00.000-07:00

"North"
(WC 2371)

“What do you know of the tribes?” Chulon sat with Katarine. It had been years since they patrolled together, but their comradery held fast. He knew that she would have valuable insight to help him in his attempt to infiltrate the clan structure to be found in Vechtazul.
“We know they are not very suspicious of newcomers.” Katarine said after some thought. “We have placed a few scouts in their ranks and the transition has always gone easily. I don't think they expect any of us would leave the comforts of home in favor of the harsh conditions they live in.”
There was something about Katarine's voice that gave Chulon reason to doubt what she was saying. It wasn't that he felt she was lying to him, he simply sensed she was holding something back.
“There's more to it... what else?” Chulon was blunt. Katarine had initially trained him in Laethecna. It seemed a natural course, he was the only one who had survived their mutual encounter all those years ago. He felt they still shared a certain bond because of it though. There was a respect Chulon had for Katarine which would never wane.
“You should know that most of our scouts have never returned.” Katarine looked him squarely in the eye. “They are accepted and they do fine for a long time. Many of them report very important things which help our defense greatly, but.... The longer they stay up there, the more likely it is they will just... disappear.”
“Disappear?” Chulon furrowed his brow at the vagueness. She wouldn't be vague unless there were truly no reason to speculate about what had happened to their scouts. “Do they become sympathetic? Or are they discovered?”
“I believe they are discovered. It doesn't make sense after all the time they spend in the group... they always report acceptance and companionship. We have tried many different means of introducing them to the life up there, exhausted all of our tactics. Somehow, they always lose contact and then they are gone. We send more scouts, but nobody ever sees these missing again.”
Chulon was starting to believe Pinmey's fantastic accusation about a magical society working within the bounds of the northern tribes. Katarine wouldn't make something like this up.
“Do you think there is another force at work... something more powerful and... insightful than the clan leadership?” He baited her, hoping to discover if the Ortakij knew anything of this society Pinmey had told him about. But Katarine shook her head in bewilderment.
“If there is something else at work in the northlands, we have never seen evidence of it. I don't know what it is, but scouting up there is a suicide mission. We don't ask our men to do it any more. Only those who volunteer are sent.”
Chulon sighed. He was hoping to glean some useful information before attempting to infiltrate the clan structure in Vechtazul, but so far he had only encountered fear and resistance to his plan.
“If there is something at work within the tribes, I will find it Katarine. I will find it and get out.”
Now it was Katarine who sighed. Chulon was capable, more capable than any of the scouts they had sent so far. But what he desired was a terrible risk. He represented a resource that the Ortakij could use. She felt strongly that if he wanted to re-engage the fight against the north, there were better ways to go about it. But she sensed there were things Chulon was holding back. He had motivations unspoken which drove him to this course. She could not approve, but there seemed little to be done to stop him. He had always been a stubborn one.
“If you must go, there are two things you should know.” She said at last, resigned to this unfortunate course. “Start with the tribe of Gulala. Our scouts there have always lasted the longest. But don't stay there. Move to different tribes. Stay moving. Don't settle in any one place too long. The only pattern I have seen is that once our men stop moving, they stop reporting back.”
It wasn't much, but it was a starting point. He had already relieved himself of all the valuables he carried. The things which held special meaning for him, he gave to Katarine for safe keeping. There wasn't much, just an old ring and the medallion he had earned from the Ortakij for surviving a demon attack. Katarine promised they would be waiting for him when he returned. Valuables of any sort would immediately raise suspicion from the clans. Nobody in the north had the means to possess such things.
Chulon decided to stay in Guervin for a few more days. Katarine had many stories to tell and if the clans were as dangerous as she was indicating, he felt it wise to enjoy what could be his last days in the civilized world. One of his favorite places in Guervin was atop the Ridgewall, so named because it overlooked the Ridge of Kemolen. He did not know who Kemolen was or what the significance of that ridge had once been, but the name had been passed down diligently through the generations. Chulon assumed it had more meaning to the northern clans who once ruled this region.
As he stood atop the Ridgewall and gazed out over the vast expanse that was Guervin, its five districts and magnificent heart, Chulon was amazed that a society as disorganized and chaotic as the clans were could have come together and manufactured such a marvel. Some said the magnificence of Guervin rivaled the beauty of Calugress. Chulon disagreed, much preferring the beauty of Calugress' intricate architectural feats, but even history showed kings of the Ancient Kingdom giving Guervin preference.
The city certainly offered more protection than Calugress. The latter was built piece by piece, slowly spreading across the Chixsin Plateau. Calugress lacked Guervin's high walls and protected gates. Sometime in the distant past one of the Jaltikij kings had decreed that a defensive wall be built around Calugress, but it was not integrated into the city and it lacked the feeling of strength that Guervin's outer wall exuded. The Ridgewall stood out from the rest of the city's sense of power, rising above the strong heights of the other, simpler walls. The Ridgewall was wide and arched, making a smooth curve around the city from its southern tip to its eastern reprise. As it made the journey from point to point, it rose smoothly into the air from the junction with the southern wall and then sunk down again to meet the eastern wall. Punctuating the length were three towers. What purpose they had originally served was unclear, but they were definitely part of the original design. It was the towers which had first revealed the hidden glories of the Ridgewall to Chulon. They were used now by Dour Gujhest to house its mages. The southernmost tower was for the Red, the middle one for the White and the northernmost tower was reserved for Ortakij emissaries. Once, Chulon had defined himself as a powerful White mage. When he visited Guervin for the White Council, he would stay there in the tower reserved for White Mages. It was well appointed and comfortable in that tower, which made it little surprise to Chulon that so few of the White ever bothered to venture upward onto the Ridgewall. Those who did, though, would always find time to return. He technically had no right to be on the Ridgewall now, but nobody would bother to question his presence.
Legend spoke of a great deity who had constructed Guervin for the tribes, as a place where they could come and settle their disputes. It was supposedly this same deity who had saved the Ancient Kingdom from falling into turmoil on countless occasions. It seemed there could be no other way this magnificent city would have ever existed, so hard was it to believe the clans could have accomplished it. But Chulon had his reservations about the legends surrounding this supposed deity. She was said to be a protector, given supreme power over all of the world, but if that were true why had she not been seen or heard from for hundreds of years? All gods made themselves known, from the greatest to the least among them. Chulon couldn't believe in some fantastical governor who never bothered to govern. Hard as it was to imagine, the clans had somehow come together in Guervin. Perhaps the power which had been invested into the creation of this city was the same mysterious power which was ferreting out the Ortakij scouts in the northlands. Perhaps there was more to the northern clans than any in the Southern Kingdoms had yet dared to imagine.
What would he find in the Vechtazul Solace?

-[ ]-

Several months in the tribe of Gulala had revealed many interesting things to Chulon. He had almost immediately confirmed the source of demons to be at the heart of the tribes somewhere. Gulala was at war with the neighboring tribe of Lom and he was almost immediately accosted by stories of demon attacks occuring even in the northlands. Apparently the leadership in Gulala believed the demons were coming from the tribe of Lom, which had long sought to overthrow them. Gulala survived by virtue of its size, but Lom was making distressing headway against them in recent months.
There was not much more to be learned from Gulala, they knew very little about the demons themselves. Chulon was not sure if the accusations leveled against Lom were accurate or simply guesses prompted by recent losses. Either way, it seemed apparent the tribe of Lom would be the best move for him as he continued his search. Evidence of demonic attacks was plainly visible throughout Gulala's holdings, leaving little doubt in Chulon's mind that he was closing in on the source.
Chulon feared bridging the gap between Lom and Gulala would be difficult, wondering if some hatred between the two clans would prove to be a roadblock. These fears were unjustified, though. Lom welcomed any who would defect into its fold, more than happy to drain resources from their enemy in any way possible. Chulon noted that survival was more important than origins, a tool he knew he could use effectively as he sought to uncover their secrets.
The clans were not as disorganized as Chulon had come to believe. Most of them maintained clear borderlines and established small towns across the countryside. These villages were transient affairs, constantly vulnerable to attack, but if a clan managed to put its neighbors on the defensive, as Lom had done, it would secure as much safety for itself as could be expected. None of the clans respected any other, though temporary treaties seemed to come and go with great regularity. Lom was currently allied with the two tribed of Plooryt and the tribe of Suspralty in their fight against Gulala, but Chulon witnessed firsthand many instances where members of Lom were almost openly plotting against their own allies, making plans for a new war after Gulala was defeated. It seemed to be an endless cycle. All of the clans were constantly locked in battle against each other for some measure of dominance. But there was no dominance to be had. Each clan could sustain a certain amount of power, but no more. Once they grew to a certain size, the clans would fracture from the inside out, splitting into different, new clans which were divided by their own separate interests. These divisions would eventually form into new official clans which would then proceed to war against each other all over again.
There was no rule of law to govern these groups and no central ideal to strive for. They simply chased after whatever appeared most attractive to them at the time. From his dealings, Chulon could clearly see that the clans did not recognize or understand their need for unity and laws because they constantly blamed all of their problems on the kingdoms to the south. In their opinion, if the southern kingdoms did not exist then there would be ample land and supplies to save them all from the cycle of war. Chulon shook his head inwardly at the purposelessness of their endeavors. Nothing Lom or any of the other tribes did would have any meaning or lasting value.
The quickest path to the inner circles and secrets of the clans was through service and displays of power. This was a benefit to Chulon, because he could easily climb the ranks to fame through the clans' incessant battles. It was not long before the leadership of Lom began to take notice of Chulon's incredible battlefield prowess. They showed favor by thrusting him relentlessly into more and more battles. It was primitive, but it served their needs, and he was willing to do what was necessary to work his way into their confidence. He felt comforted in his actions when he reminded himself that all who fell before him on the field of battle were ultimately members of the clans of Vechtazul. Anyone he killed would be one less marauder to harass the northern border of the Ortakij kingdom.
He continued for several months in this way within the tribe of Lom, helping their interests and ensuring they succeeded in all their warlord set his mind to. With the trained expertise of a Laethecna at their back, Lom made new headway against the tribe of Gulala. Chulon had hoped to see them unleash a demon or get some sense of where such attacks stemmed from, but his own prowess seemed to supersede any need the tribe might have for such assistance. This bothered Chulon until he made up his mind to move on from the tribe of Lom and pursue a relationship with one of the tribes further to the north, perhaps one of the eight tribes of Kier-Ree-Tan, which were the most unknown to the soldiers of the Ortakij. Perhaps it was time for some added risk.
Before he could make this move, though, things changed drastically for Chulon.

C6 "The Court..."

2008-05-01T10:54:00.001-07:00

"The Court Of Calugress"
(WC 3603)

It was not a long trip from the heart of Dour Gujhest to Calugress, but the diplomatic caravan took their time in getting there. Once Mesyth had spoken with Viligau to accept her release only a few days were available for readying her for her first experiences with the Jaltikij. The White Council seemed especially concerned, not really knowing what to expect from the Jaltikij. A few of the White seemed to know more about the affairs of the Jaltikij because they had been directly involved in making advisements on the political affairs of the Sinzakij, whose relationship with the Jaltikij was open and friendly. King Esric Sinzakij highly valued the assistance of the mages and kept several close to his throne. Still, none of the mages had ever dealt with a Jaltikij noble directly or been allowed to do so.
It seemed that many in the White Council wanted to use the few days they had to fill Mesyth's head with all sorts of information and carefully planned responses, but Viligau stood in the gap for the young mage in all of these matters, reassuring her time and again that she need only be honest about what she knew and everything would be alright. The whole process went by in a blur, but Delyth stayed by her side and kept her calm until the day they departed.
It was hardest for Mesyth to say goodbye to her mother. It seemed unfair to finally get to see Delyth again after all of these years only to be whisked away on an errand of such great importance. She did not know when she would be able to see her mother again or how long she would be expected to stay with the Jaltikij. The gravity of her mission had not yet overtaken her mind either, allowing her to focus on one sadness at a time. Finally, she departed from the White Council in the heart of Dour Gujhest and traveled to the southernmost tip of the rim of Dour Gujhest. There her mage entourage connected her with the diplomatic caravan and said their goodbyes. It was not until this moment that Mesyth realized she would be the only mage making this journey.
She was surrounded by rough men, soldiers mostly, who protected the traveling diplomats. Thankfully there was no call for her to be social. The diplomats and soldiers showed little interest in the mage under their charge, offering her a carriage of her own to ride in, separate from the others. They brought her food and drink regularly, but otherwise ignored her presence altogether. This did not seem strange to Mesyth, who rather preferred the solitude of this arrangement. She was not in the mood to familiarize herself with a group of strangers and felt far more comfortable confining herself to the protection of her carriage walls. Being cut off from all that was familiar to her was difficult enough.
Mesyth decided with firmness, as they plodded across the countryside, that she would work hard and perform all the tasks required of her. She began to take comfort in the importance of her position. The levity of it all made her wonder why the Jaltikij were suddenly so interested in getting to know more about the mages. What had changed? Were they in need of assistance? Did they wish to establish a magic school of their own? What had prompted their desire to build new relationships with Dour Gujhest?

-[ ]-

“Mages aren't allowed into the Jaltikij kingdom. How does that make you feel?” The questioning had started almost immediately after Mesyth arrived. She was given a small chamber not far from the meeting hall where she would discover most of her work was to take place. The caravan had arrived late at night and Mesyth was allowed only as much rest as she could steal before dawn.
The Jaltikij treated her in a gruff manner, sending a stoic guardsman to knock on her door first thing in the morning and escort her directly to the meeting hall. She had yet to see much of the famed city of Calugress. Having heard stories of its beauty, she was hoping to have an opportunity to explore the city, but she was locked away within the castle walls. Her window was a thin slit through the stone that overlooked nothing more spectacular than another castle wall; blank, cold and hard.
There wasn't much time to be disappointed about this, though, because the Court of Calugress required almost constant attention. The Court itself was nothing impressive, just a semicircular table governed by five noblemen. Mesyth could barely remember their names, but after a couple days she had started to get the hang of it. One of the five was obviously compassionate toward her and often rephrased questions in a more comforting way to help her through the process. She remembered his name first and most easily, because Jorit actually seemed to care about her.
There was another who was very loud, but generally happy, and Mesyth found him very amusing. His name was Tomal, but he rarely asked any questions of substance. He seemed mostly interested in what the food and quarters were like in Dour Gujhest. He asked repeatedly about the availability of ale, a question which struck Mesyth as immediately odd, but she was so well humored by his apparent seriousness that she laughingly responded that there was no ale to be had in Dour Gujhest except under special circumstances.
Her giggling was cut short, though, by the harshest of the five. His name was Calte and he quite obviously did not like Mesyth or trust her in any way. He did most of the questioning throughout, repeating many of the inquiries multiple times every day she sat before them.
The other two were harder to remember. One was Kurshid. He seemed largely disinterested in the whole affair. Oftentimes he would arrive very late, walking in casually after Calte had already been hammering away at the same questions for several hours. Kurshid always looked bored, but he did occasionally ask a bizarre question or two, mostly his inquiries frightened Mesyth, but she tried to stay calm and honest. The fifth had been called Intath, but Mesyth often forgot his name. He simply sat in silence, staring at her all day long without saying a word. Truthfully, Intath was the one she feared the most, because of his silence. There he sat, day after day, just looking at her with no expression on his face.
The entire day was not consumed with only questioning Mesyth. Occasionally, the Court would have her sit aside and watch silently as they brought in one of the Sinzakij diplomats and asked them some questions about affairs of state. The noblemen of the Court took some pains to be kinder and more compassionate to the diplomats, setting a stark contrast to their treatment of Mesyth. They would often ask baited questions about the relationship between the Sinzakij politics and Dour Gujhest, but Mesyth was comforted by the shrewd answers that were always offered by the diplomats. Apparently they were very familiar with the Jaltikij mistrust of the mages and well versed in quieting these fears.
“It makes me feel a little sad, but I have always been taught it is my duty and responsibility to respect the wishes of others.” Mesyth answered. They had asked this question over and over again. In some ways it was becoming routine for her, she knew the answers she would give before they even finished asking the question.
“What are you capable of?” This question came from Kurshid, surprisingly, and it was one she had not heard before. Mesyth took a moment to compose her thoughts.
“Sir, I am only a young student in Dour Gujhest so my abilities are not yet completely developed.” She began, hoping as she always hoped when answering a new and unfamiliar question that she was not revealing anything which might be deemed inappropriate or offensive to the Jaltikij. Viligau had assured her simple honest would win the day, so she tried to always rely on his advice. “I study what is called “lesser elemental magic” and this means that I am learning to manipulate the four basic elements of life: earth, water, wind and fire. I must confess that my knowledge of earth, wind and fire is very limited, but I do enjoy working with the water element.”
“You have not told me what you are capable of.” Kurshid retorted with an air of annoyance.
“What he means is,” Jorit spoke up, “What are some of the things specifically that you can do?”
Mesyth thought about this for another moment. It was a strange question, one which was outside of the focus of her training. When studying magic, students were not encouraged to define their progress by a list of things they could or could not do. There were simply too many options available. Magical manipulation of water meant the student was opened to using water in whatever way seemed best to them at the time. All of the attributes of the element lay open before them and were only limited to the student's creativity and needs. Using water was an adaptive process, something that depended entirely upon what the situation might call for. Defining specific abilities was a foreign exercise to Mesyth and it required her to sit and think about some of the things she might do if she needed to. “I suppose I could freeze things, or I could possibly cause it to rain. But sometimes the conditions are not ideal so it takes more ability than I might have to do things like that. But I could turn water into air or make it burn or I could freeze it solid. I might be able to throw a solid block of ice at something. Or maybe if I needed to break through a wall I could freeze the water inside the wall and cause it to expand rapidly so it would break the structure of the wall from the inside out.” Mesyth tried to be as creative as she could. “I could use water to catch someone who was falling, or maybe to make a slide for them. Or I could use it to make a slide just for fun. I could make a wall to protect myself maybe, but that would also depend on the conditions. Oh, I can make water dance. We have fountains at Dour Gujhest and sometimes I just make the water dance. It is so beautiful.”
Mesyth stopped, a little breathless from getting carried away with her ideas. It was a look from Kurshid that made her stop, though, for he was obviously not amused by her speculations.
“Are all of the mages only able to play with water?” He growled once she had fallen silent.
“No, sir.” Mesyth replied respectfully. “Elemental magic is only the beginning of magical training. There are many more abilities to be learned.”
“With so many different abilities to choose from,” Calte began, “What exactly is the mage agenda? What do the mages want? How do they intend to use their power in the world?”
Back to the familiar again, Mesyth took a deep breath and tried to remember her answer. “Mages are charged with the responsibility to help anyone they can in any way they can.”
“Aren't you trained to tell people what to do and to force them to do what you think is best?”
“No sir. Forcing someone to do anything against their will is strictly forbidden. We are taught to obey the laws of our land.” Mesyth responded.
“Do you feel you are better than everyone else because you use magic?” It was another new question.
“No sir.”
“You said you were taught to obey the laws of your land,” Calte leaned forward, “Do you think our laws do not apply to you?”
“No sir. I believe it is my responsibility to respect and uphold your laws while I am present in your land.” Mesyth could muster no better response, but wondered if they were setting some kind of trap.
Jorit sighed and interjected “Can you accept the authority and leadership of those who are not mages?”
Before Mesyth could answer, Kurshid interrupted asking, “If we decided you were dangerous and were to execute you, what would you do?”
“We are taught to respect and obey the leaders of the land.” Mesyth replied cautiously, feeling very threatened by the mention of execution. “However, we are ultimately subject to the rule of our leaders at Dour Gujhest. If you deemed me dangerous and were to execute me, I would attempt to return to Dour Gujhest.”
Calte looked meaningfully at Jorit, as though he had won an argument. Jorit, however, appeared unphased.
“Thank you for your honesty, Mesyth,” He said, “We are going to release you to your quarters today. There are some matters we wish to discuss before we continue.”
Mesyth was a little confused by this turn of events. She couldn't help but wonder how serious Kurshid was in asking her about what she would do if they tried to execute her. She was not sure what to do with herself now that she had been released from the Court in the middle of the day. She did not know if she would be allowed to exit the castle walls and see the city or if she would be expected to sit and do nothing in her quarters.
This question was soon answered though, for the guard returned and escorted her directly back to her room. Feeling somewhat imprisoned, especially after what had just been said, Mesyth fretted for a few hours, pacing and trying to calm herself. Finally, she decided that the best thing she could do with the circumstance was try to get some much-needed sleep. There was little else for her to do anyway.

-[ ]-

“Hey!” A sharp nudge to her shoulder woke Mesyth up suddenly. It was dark in her room, she must have slept away the rest of the day. Someone was standing next to her in the dark, but she was usually woken by the sound of the guard knocking on her door. The door was closed.
“Ah!” Mesyth let out a short, sharp scream and pulled away from the figure next to her bed.
The next thing she heard was the crisp and clear sound of metal on metal and as her eyes adjusted she saw the figure stumble back a step and draw a sword.
Mesyth jumped backward into the corner, throwing her hands up.
“What do you want?” She asked, frightened.
The person with the sword stood still for a moment, then relaxed and stood upright again, re-sheathing the weapon.
“Aren't you the mage the Court is questioning?” It was a female voice and it calmed Mesyth down a little.
“Yes.” She replied timidly.
The strange girl burst into laughter suddenly. “I thought you were going to use some kind of magic on me, I am sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”
Mesyth hedged a step forward. “Who are you?”
“What do you mean who am I?” The girl retorted with pomp. “Don't you recognize me? I am the Grand Magistrate of... of... Outside Kingdom Affairs.”
“What is that?” Mesyth asked, wondering why an official would sneak up on her in the dark.
“Nevermind that,” The girl snapped, “I am here for questioning. Please sit.”
“I... I would like to ask the guard about this.” Mesyth stammered, edging closer to the door. This girl seemed nice, but mischievous. Besides, she was armed and Mesyth did not trust her.
“No don't!” The girl waved Mesyth away from the door. “Please.”
Mesyth stopped hesitantly. The girl sat down on one of the stools in the room. “I am not a Grand Magistrate.”
“Who are you?” Mesyth asked again.
“Princess Tiala Tulase Fra Jaltikij at your service.” She stood and curtsied abruptly and then sat down again. Mesyth edged closer to the door again.
“Wait!” The girl insisted. “I am telling the truth. My father would be very upset if he knew I was here. Please don't tell the guard.
“You're a Jaltikij princess?” Mesyth asked dubiously.
“I am the Jaltikij princess.” Tiala said importantly. “And since I am the reason you are here, I think I deserve to be able to ask you some questions myself.”
The reason? Mesyth herself did not even know why she had been brought here. The White Council did not know why the Jaltikij were suddenly so interested in the mages. Was it all because a girl was curious? That hardly explained the inquisition Mesyth had endured these past few days.
“What do you mean you're 'the reason' I am here?” Mesyth managed.
“You really don't know?” Tiala raised an eyebrow. “Haven't you heard about the treaty between the Jaltikij and Sinzakij?”
Mesyth thought about this for a moment. Wasn't there already a treaty between the Jaltikij and Sinzakij? She thought there must have been, they were such friendly neighbors. But she shook her head “no.”
“I thought the mages were supposed to know everything.” Tiala looked incredulous. “Don't you guys keep tabs on all our dealing so you can meddle and make sure everything works out the way you want it to?”
Mesyth had not heard this before. She was aware that the White Council had dealings with the Sinzakij and Ortakij kings, but the idea they were meddling or trying to manipulate the turn of political events seemed wholly preposterous to her. She felt a little like she was back in the chamber of the Court, being asked divisive and ridiculous questions by the Jaltikij nobles. Mesyth decided this must be the Jaltikij princess and the whole of the Jatikij nobility must be under some kind of delusion that the mages were evil, conniving dictators.
“No.” It was the only reply Mesyth could muster. She was still struggling with disbelief over how acidic the Jaltikij were toward Dour Gujhest or anything relating to it. No wonder they had closed their borders to the mages. With so much distrust in their kingdom it was amazing they would ever talk to a mage.
“What is this treaty and why am I here?” Mesyth sunk into a stool, now very curious about what this girl had to tell her.
“Well,” Tiala leaned forward, “I am the youngest child of King Solonom. He always hoped to have a son, but it's been a long time since I was born and the kingdom has lost hope that the King will produce an heir. It's just a delicious circumstance, you see, because I was a disappointment to my father when I was born, but now I am the hope of the Jaltikij.” Tiala winked mischievously. “When I was still very young, the King – distressed that he was only able to have daughters – was scared for the future of his kingdom. So he got together in secret with the Sinzakij King and they made a pact. They agreed that if King Solonom did not produce an heir by the time I was ten, then a marriage would be arranged between the Sinzakij Prince and the Jaltikij Princess. That's me. So there you have it, the marriage was arranged and now, with the wedding getting so close, the Jaltikij kingdom is in an uproar. They are all worried about what it means to be joined together with the Sinzakij kingdom and they want to know every detail. So the King brought a mage here – you – to get all the dirty details about what it means to be joined together with the kingdom where the mages live.”
“You're getting married?” Mesyth looked at Tiala, who appeared to be several years younger than she. How could this girl be getting married? Mesyth hadn't even considered the possibility of marriage yet. It seemed so far off to her.
“Well, yeah.” Tiala snorted. “It's part of the treaty.” She shook her head incredulously. “I don't even call it a marriage. I call it the treaty. Although the Sinzakij Prince is... well, most people would say I am a very lucky girl.”
It was a brash way of putting it. But Tiala did not seem concerned about the marriage. She spoke so flippantly, yet something in her demeanor was comforting to Mesyth allowing her to relax around Tiala. They continued talking for a few more hours, Tiala taking in as many details about life in Dour Gujhest as she could manage. Mesyth wondered if the young princess secretly wanted to become a mage. It was certainly obvious that Tiala longed to at least visit the cities of magic.
For her part, Mesyth tried to pry as much information about the Jaltikij out of Tiala as she could manage. It was greatly comforting to her to hear about the nobles in the kingdom from a female's perspective. Tiala openly mocked Kurshid and Calte, assuring Mesyth that the King thought very little of those two nobles and only allowed them in the Court because of their birthright. Something about this revelation made Mesyth feel better. Perhaps the Jaltikij were not all bad. Tiala was certainly very friendly and forthright.
Getting to know her put a new face on Mesyth's visit to the Jaltikij Court. It filled her with assurance and reminded her that she had an opportunity to bridge the gap between the Jaltikij and Dour Gujhest. And her efforts in doing so would be for the betterment of both kingdoms.

C5 "Mesyth..."

2008-04-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

"Mesyth Petora"
(WC 2622)

“Mother!” Mesyth squealed when she caught sight of Delyth. Though she had run away from home a few years before, Mesyth never felt as though she had defied her parents' wishes by her actions. Delyth herself had expressed approval for Mesyth's desires. Only her sister Aelyth disapproved of her plans to become a mage. Seeing her mother again after such a long absence was a great relief to Mesyth.
Delyth had caught up to her daughter late in the day, after Mesyth's studies were completed. They both hurried to embrace each other, but Mesyth immediately realized, in spite of the long absence, something was different about her mother's demeanor.
“What is wrong?” She asked from the safety of her mother's embrace.
Delyth continued to hold her close in silence, knowing that news of Heirzem's death would crush her poor daughter's spirit. Both of her daughters had bonded very quickly with Heirzem after Delyth and he were married. Heirzem filled a much-needed void in their lives, something that Delyth had been concerned about as her daughters grew up. They needed a father in their lives.
Telling Mesyth what had happened was difficult. Part of her wanted to be blunt about it, to have the truth out and clean up after. But another part of her wondered if there might be some other way to tell of what had happened.
“I have wanted to come see you every day.” Delyth began, stroking Mesyth's hair. “Do you remember the project Heirzem wanted to pursue?”
“The settlement?” Mesyth wanted to be sure.
“Yes, Hearkendale. Shortly after you set out for Dour Gujhest, he got approval for the project.” Delyth smiled to herself inadvertently. “He was so passionate about it.”
“So... you have not been at the temple these years?” Mesyth pulled back and looked up into Delyth's face.
“No, daughter, we have been only a little way from here, working hard to establish Heirzem's vision. I have missed both you and Aelyth terribly, but the process of putting it all together has demanded constant attention.” Delyth paused again and gripped Mesyth's hand. “I was planning to come see you soon, but I couldn't help but think that there was something... wrong about Hearkendale. We were both looking into it every day, trying to find the source.”
“Tell me what is wrong, mother, you are scaring me.” Mesyth feared the worst.
“I want you to know that Heirzem and I are both very proud of you.” Delyth steeled herself against the moment. “But I did not come here only to visit you. A demon attacked Hearkendale and the mages have asked me to come and speak with them about what happened. But Mesyth, I was away during the attack and... Heirzem died defending the town.”
“What?” Came the pained whisper. Mesyth's head spun and she staggered a bit, trying to come closer to her mother. Delyth wrapped her arms around her daughter swiftly and guided her to a nearby bench. Mesyth's small body began to shake with sobs as she curled tighter and closer to her mother. How could Heirzem be dead?

-[ ]-

“Mesyth has much to deal with,” Phillip began, “I do not think you could easily convince her to attend to this errand. She has not yet passed beyond the School of Lesser Elemental Magic and I sense there will be a measure of hesitation in her. She will not wish to abandon her studies so soon when there is much left for her to learn.”
It had been almost a day since Delyth was dismissed from the White Council, but Phillip still stood before them, answering questions and sharing any insights that he could muster. The discussion had turned now to an emissarial mission to the Jaltikij kingdom. It had been a long time since the Jaltikij agreed to allow any mage to step across their borders. Long ago, when the Ancient Kingdom was teetering on the precipice of its eventual demise, the Jaltikij legend claimed that it was the mages who fractured what remained. It was the source of distrust between the Jaltikij empire and Dour Gujhest. For their part, the mages had always respected the neighboring kingdom's desire to be free from any mage influence. All of the mages White and Red were strictly forbidden from visiting Jaltikij lands. The White Council took it so seriously that any mage who was known to have broken this one rule would be banished from Dour Gujhest permanently.
But there was nothing in the Jaltikij legend that spoke to exactly why the mages were so deeply distrusted by an entire kingdom. Though they were blamed for the downfall of the Ancient Kingdom, there was no account of what exactly they had done to deserve such infamy. Phillip knew that a convoy into the Jaltikij lands with a mage was an important moment in the history of their world.
He could see the logic of the White Council in suddenly latching onto Mesyth Petora as an obvious candidate. The Jaltikij in recent days had often pointed to the division between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest as evidence of the corruption they felt permeated the mage society. Sending a young mage who had roots in both the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest would serve to silence those sort of accusations before they would even need to be answered.
Phillip himself worried, though, about the inexperience of Mesyth. Would it really be the wisest course to send a mage who knew very little of magic instead of one who was powerful and well-versed in their ways? It seemed to him that the Jaltikij deserved honesty and experience more than they deserved a token.
Kitcau sighed. “I fear you are right about her reluctance. We are going to call for a day of release.”
The day of release was a great moment in a mage's life. Phillip still remembered his own day of release, the nervousness and the great hope within him to be assigned to something noble or important. His station wasn't so bad, but it certainly hadn't held the romantic nobility of what they were proposing to hand to Mesyth. Being released from Dour Gujhest on an assignment was essentially the same as being ordered to do so. Mesyth would have little choice in the matter if they did call a day of release. She could either accept the assignment with gratitude or she could refuse and be banished from the school. Refusals were no light matter to the White Council. Phillip thought it a cruel position to put a grieving young woman into, but he could understand the importance of the moment. If Dour Gujhest failed to send the correct person on this convoy it could mean another century of strife between the Jaltikij and Dour Gujhest. Mending old wounds was far more important than looking after the fragile feelings of a student. Or so the logic of it seemed to say.
“I too am reluctant to press such a hard task on a young student,” Viligau spoke up, “But I have searched the matter thoroughly and I know this is the right thing to do. Mesyth Petora should go. What we need to know is what you think of Delyth and how she will advise her daughter in this situation.”
“I think Delyth will do what is best for her daughter. I cannot say what that is.” Phillip shrugged helplessly. “My judgement is clouded by what is best for Dour Gujhest, what is best for the Sinzakij, and what is best for the Jaltikij. Delyth left her home at Isteray to take on a mission she deemed to be important. I believe she understands the importance of such work.”
Viligau nodded and sat back. Lylis, Ilsodar and Kitcau were whispering to each other. The White Council had been known to carry on in this manner for days at a time. Mages who had been taught at the School of Life Magic were all instructed in a magical technique which imbued them with the ability to stay awake and alert for days at a time. This sort of magic took its toll eventually, requiring a red mage of Phillip's caliber to seek rest and recovery afterward. The benefit of dealing with such matters fully in one session far outweighed any inconvenience to come afterward.
Fortunately for Phillip, this session would not last for days. His efficiency in relating the details of his experiences and the White Council's desire to deal with the matter of Mesyth Petora were bringing his report swiftly to a close and he could sense it was so. Still, he wondered what the White were discussing between themselves so intently.
“We are releasing you from the matter of demonic research. Losing Ethegra to such corruption is a serious blow to many of us who valued him as a friend. We will mourn together. Though discovering the root of these demonic attacks must still be a priority for us, we feel that your talents would be better served by following Delyth and determining by what means she was able to defeat a demon. If she was granted divine power to free herself and retain her own will, we must know how this is accomplished.” Viligau leaned forward again and repeated for emphasis. “We must know how she defeated the demon. This concludes our meeting.”
As the White Mages stood and made their way out of the room, Phillip pondered how best to discover something about Delyth which she had stated repeatedly she had no intention of revealing. Perhaps he should try to force her to tell him. There were magics that could be used to delve into her mind. The very thought of such an action disgusted Phillip though.
There would be no sense in asking Delyth again about the matter. She would only become annoyed by his persistence. Perhaps if he simply observed her interactions without her knowledge he could glean some insight into what ability she possessed. This would probably be the best method of uncovering the truth. If she thought that she was alone and nobody was watching her, then Phillip could possibly catch a glimpse of what secret she was keeping hidden from the mages. It would be a difficult task, he knew. She was renowned for her ability to disappear suddenly and Phillip himself had struggled to find even a trace of her in the forest outside Hearkendale when Chulon had asked him to find her.
Still, he could think of no other way to uncover the truth of the matter.

-[ ]-

The day of release had not gone as the White Council had hoped. Mesyth had not said a word when they assigned her to the diplomatic caravan. She did not acknowledge or accept the assignment, she simply turned and walked away quickly.
Viligau knew better than to push the matter with the young woman. Normally a mage's refusal to respond to the White Council would be a serious offense, but he valued Mesyth for this mission too highly to rush off on brash procedure. They allowed her to leave without a word, hoping that she would return later and accept the assignment. The whole affair had certainly caused a stir within Dour Gujhest. The combined effect of the newfound knowledge of Mesyth's origins and her silence in the face of a highly esteemed release served to grant her some infamy amongst her fellow students. Very few people understood the problems at the root of the situation. Very few people knew that Mesyth's father had recently been killed by a demonic attack. It was this knowledge that held the hand of the White Council in the matter and provided Mesyth an opportunity to sort out how she felt about the matter.
“How could I go?” She cried from Delyth's lap. Mesyth had spent a lot of time crying lately. She wanted nothing more than to return to the Temple at Mount Isteray where she could feel the comfort of her mother and sister at the expense of the rest of the world.
Delyth stroked her daughter's hair lightly, allowing some time before speaking about this new development. She was irritated that the mages had been so inconsiderate in their dealings with her daughter. It would have harmed nothing to wait a few weeks or months before pressing forward with their diplomatic convoy. Still, she readily recognized the value of the placement being offered to Mesyth.
“Darling, there are events of great importance at work in our lives today.” She said softly. “Your father felt the call of greatness just like you are feeling it now. He knew there would be danger and difficulty, but he faced his calling anyway. Let his example guide you.”
Mesyth calmed ever so slightly, her tears running themselves out and her body settling away from the sobs which had ruled it until now. There was warmth and comfort in her mother's embrace and it was a safe place from which she could look out at the rest of the world and think about what lay before her with some clarity. It was a wonderful thing that the bond between mother and daughter had survived the years of absence. Despite the harshness of the events which brought them together again, Mesyth felt just as much comfort in Delyth's presence as she had when she still lived in the same house.
Leaving Dour Gujhest seemed all wrong to her. It had surprised her to be called before the White Council on a day of release for none knew better than Mesyth that she was not yet finished with her training. Kind old Viligau had taken the effort to assure her training would continue once she returned from this assignment. It still seemed so very strange to be released on a matter of such importance before she was finished with even the basics of magical training.
Nevertheless, it was obvious that this assignment was filled with all kinds of prestige. The other mages had looked upon her with such a sense of awe once it had been offered to her. Like she was special in some unseen way and it had earned her special consideration. She wished that were true, but she feared she had only been chosen because of her history with the Eclosei. Delyth had comforted those insecurities away, reminding her that whoever they chose to go would have to be someone worthy of representing Dour Gujhest. It would have to be someone that they were confident in, someone who could be trusted to answer any questions about the mage society with honesty and tact. If the White Council did not feel Mesyth was capable of such things, they would not have asked her to go.
Time passed in silence as she lay in her mother's comforting embrace and pondered the seriousness of it all. This was her chance to make a difference in the world. Her chance to do something which would help all of the mages. It was an important opportunity, and realizing this revealed another part of her, deep inside, which desired to be the person who opened the Jaltikij borders to Dour Gujhest in renewed friendship and trust.
“If I go, will you come with me?” Mesyth looked up at her mother with hope.
Delyth sighed deeply and sadly. “I wish that I could. I want nothing more than to be at your side, my dear. But your sister remains at the temple. I fear she has already heard news of what happened. I need to be there for her as well.”
It was true. What must Aelyth be going through, all alone at the temple hearing news of Heirzem's death?

C4 "White Council"

2008-04-29T11:43:00.001-07:00

"White Council"
(WC 2089)

Delyth allowed very little time for Phillip to ponder her seemingly miraculous survival. Perhaps he would have had more, but the trip to Dour Gujhest did not take much time from the outskirts of Hearkndale. She filled the hours by peppering Phillip constantly with questions. Once she had learned about his former Laethecna companion, she expressed unending interest in everything Phillip might know about Chulon. It actually made for some interesting conversation and Phillip didn't mind speaking about it since Chulon had been on his mind since they had parted ways.
Chulon held some surprising secrets that Phillip was anxious to validate with the White Council. Apparently he had once been a mage like Phillip, but not just an ordinary mage. Chulon had once been a member of the ruling elite in Dour Gujhest, a White mage of great power. He said he had voluntarily given up his discipline in magical power because his search for greater power had gotten out of hand.
This was how Chulon had recognized Ethegra. It was Ethegra the White who had convinced Chulon to step away from magic entirely before he succumbed to temptation and turned into a demon. Phillip knew this sort of thing was exceptionally rare, but also standard practice within Dour Gujhest for dealing with one of their number who chased after magical power too greedily. Delyth was curious about it, Phillip thought, because she wanted to hear the assurances that Dour Gujhest was careful to avoid creating demons. Phillip could understand that, a demon being born from a greedy mage was a devastating occurrence. It was sort of like suicide for the person to succumb to it, and the devastation caused was also unfortunate. It was the devastation which worried Phillip the most for Delyth. He was concerned that she too might develop a hatred for the mages because one of their fallen had murdered her husband.
For all of his concerns, though, Phillip had to admit it was encouraging to see Delyth so openly interested in visiting Dour Gujhest. It must certainly have helped that her daughter studied there. Phillip was anxious to meet this Mesyth Petora. Delyth had stated her daughter was in the School of Lesser Elemental Magic, which meant she was not a very powerful mage - either because she was very new to the studies or because she simply did not have a strong enough connection to the stream of magic. Mages worked hard to cultivate their connection to magical power, it was a focus of their discipline. Perhaps that was the real problem, Phillip mused, their focus on becoming more connected to the power; perhaps it was inevitable that a mage would get bitten by temptation.
It was in the midst of their conversations that Delyth revealed something to Phillip which he had not yet considered. Spending so much time worrying about the sudden rise in demons had blinded him to the fact that the Eclosei were dealing with a similar problem brought on directly by the rise of demonic activity. Many of the towns which had been attacked were now protected by minions who were created in response to demonic threats. The Eclosei were very concerned about this sudden rise in minions. They worshipped the gods but feared them greatly as well. It was unclear, even to the Eclosei, what a god's intentions would be for his minion, but the physical manifestation of divine power was nothing to be taken lightly. The occasional rise of a minion was one thing, because a minion could be overcome or controlled if necessary, but at terrible cost. The sudden rise of many minions was a problem though. Phillip wondered what might happen if these minions stood together against the armies of men.
Apocalyptic visions of the gods taking over the whole of the known world were quelled, though, because they passed the Rim of Dour Gujhest shortly after Delyth brought it up. Dour Gijhest was an amazing sight to behold. The architecture was defined predominantly by the tall, thin spires that jutted upward into the sky. It made the whole of the central city resemble a ribbon falling to earth from some great height. Many artisans had spent their careers within Dour Gujhest, wreathing their structures in fanciful decorations. Some murals were almost informational, telling stories and parables which related to the lessons to be taught within the walls of the buildings while others were simply exuberant expressions of beauty. The whole city was alive with light and color.
Delyth would eventually need to make her way north of the city to see her daughter. Only two of the six schools of magical study were actually located within the central city. The other four schools were located to the north, south, east and west of the heart of Dour Gujhest. These schools resembled small towns of their own, reflecting the majestic architecture found within the central city, but lacking its scale.
For now, though Phillip thought it best to direct Delyth toward some temporary quarters where she would be able to take some rest. It had been a long day of travel and there was little time or energy left for interviewing the White Council. Aside from that, Phillip would need to make sure that such a meeting could be organized with the council. Though they expected mages like Phillip to make reports upon returning, the White Council was also very busy with the many affairs of Dour Gujhest. Fortunately, Phillip was able to schedule a meeting in the morning of the next day, due mostly to the intriguing question of how Delyth had managed to escape the power of the demon who had taken her. There was also the lingering question of why a demon would bother taking a captive in the first place. Both were strange occurrences that the White Council was eager to better understand. After attending to Delyth's needs, Phillip at last found some rest for himself.

-[ ]-

“I am curious why you have taken no definition for yourself.” The White Mage Kitcau asked Delyth. They had been prodding her occasionally between asking Phillip for details about his dealings since he was last in their presence. The conversation had turned now and was becoming more focused on Delyth and her daughter. The White Mage Sa had already confirmed that Mesyth Petora was a student in her School of Lesser Elemental Magic, and the upper table of the White Council seemed especially interested in this fact.
The lower table of the White Council was mostly uninvolved in discussions like these. Many of them were not even present, attending to other affairs within Dour Gujhest instead of helping out with mundane details like reports of the outside world. A few of the lower table were present, though, sitting casually behind Phillip and Delyth, listening only.
“My husband, Heirzem chose to leave his name behind upon joining the order of Drujon. It was his feeling that taking a name from his Eclosei order might hinder his goals, so he chose to remain without. I choose to honor his decision as well.” The practice of removing one's name when serving under a god was common amongst the Eclosei, nothing of note, but Phillip could sense that there was something about the name given to Delyth's daughters that was driving the inquiry more than a concern about Delyth's lack of a defining designation.
“I wonder why you would name your daughter after Petora.” Sa persisted.
“Petora is the honored god of the temple at Mount Isteray. Mesyth and her sister were orphaned and left at the steps of the temple, so I named them accordingly.” Delyth showed interest in Sa's questions for the first time since they had begun the inquiry. So far, Phillip had noted an incredible concession of patience in her demeanor. He could tell that she was standing before the council simply to appease the ritual of it all, but would much rather be off speaking with her daughter instead. It impressed him that she would spend the time to be forthright and available to the council despite the tragic circumstances that had brought her there. It filled him with a sense of respect and responsibility toward her. He wondered if the White Council realized the coldness with which they presented themselves to this poor woman.
“I wonder if we could allow Delyth to return to her rest or to see her daughter, these questions seem a bit much considering the circumstances.” Phillip interjected, wanting to save her from the tedium of continuing the inquisition.
“It is not your place to-” Sa began, but was immediately interrupted by Viligau who spoke with firmness, “Perhaps your are right. Delyth, we have many questions to ask, but we do not wish to be tiresome. Would you like to take a break? Perhaps travel to see your daughter?”
“I will answer your questions.” Delyth responded kindly, placing a reassuring hand on Phillip's shoulder, “Phillip... is just concerned for my grief over Heirzem's death. I appreciate his consideration.”
Sa took a deep breath and recomposed herself. Ilsodar continued the line of questioning for her, “We are curious why you would honor this god as Petora and not as Smilles. The name Petora is archaic, from a legend about the god's clash with an older and greater deity.”
Delyth smiled in amusement. “Petora was the god's name of power, before his power was taken from him for a sin he committed. The priests of the temple at Mount Isteray still lament their god's chastisement and still honor him in their most reverent ways as Petora. They think of that name as being higher and more worshipful than the name Smilles. I felt that to honor their beliefs and their hopes I should use Petora and not Smilles.”
“You speak of honoring the gods of the Eclosei and you speak of a desire to pay homage to even their deepest beliefs. Why then would you allow your daughter to study here? Many of the priests in the Eclosei, especially those on Mount Isteray, decry the study of magic as being sinful and wrong.” It was Kitcau who spoke this time. It was obvious that he was having some difficulty with the logic of a high-ranking member of the Eclosei allowing their children access to the otherwise forbidden fruits of magic.
Though Delyth could plainly recognize the depth of the White Council's concern, she knew there would be no forthright answer to their inquiry which would allay their suspicions. She herself had encouraged Mesyth to pursue the dream of studying magic, but she did not want the prejudices between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest to affect her daughter's ability to continue pursuing those dreams. “Mesyth is a very headstrong girl. She wanted to study magic so badly that when she came of age, she ran away from the temple and traveled to Dour Gujhest of her own accord.” It was a measured response and it had the desired effect. She could see the suspicion melt away from their faces as they pondered the answer.
“There is one other matter which intrigues us,” Sa spoke again, “We are told you were stolen from Hearkendale by a demon at the end of its attack. Yet you tell us that this demon no longer exists. I am sure you can understand our curiosity...”
“I have already told Phillip everything that I have to say about this demon. I will say nothing more about it.” Delyth was firm. It was a surprising trait, much like her incredible patience with the process as a whole. Standing before the White Council was a fearful experience. The mages exuded a sense of their incredible power and ability. They cultivated it carefully to inspire honesty in the people they spoke with. Delyth seemed completely unaffected by the show though. Her opinions and decisions were entirely her own, not swayed by their pomp or display.
Sa whispered something to Ilsodar and then sat back in resignation. Viligau made a motion and the other four White Mages nodded in agreement. Then he spoke to Delyth once more, “We appreciate your willingness to speak with us. If you perhaps feel that we should know anything else about the attack on Hearkendale, please let us know. We have provided an escort for you, who will take you to your daughter. He is waiting outside.”
Delyth curtsied politely and left the room to Phillip and his superiors, who still had many questions for him.

White Council

2008-04-29T10:45:00.000-07:00

[editorial: Sometimes you have to define it before you can write about it. I just needed a point of reference before I could dive into the narrative.]

The White Mage Council of the Great War

The Upper Table

Lylis [ Female ] Never quiet, but often reserved, Lylis is a voice of reason and compassion who easily understands the position and needs of others. She is an expert at diplomacy and the magic of presence, a trait which earned her a spot on the upper table almost immediately despite the fact that her brother is older and has served with the White Council longer – but as a member of the lower table.

Viligau [ Male ] Old, but still quick of mind, Viligau makes use of himself as a teacher in the oft-mocked School of Emotion or “School of Love.” There, he continues to explore the dichotomy between the magic of emotional control and the stream of emotional power. Viligau rose to power within the White Council as an expert of the magic of logic, a root to the diplomatic magics most often employed by the White Countil. This background gives him an ordered perspective as he explores and teaches the nuances of emotion magic.

Sa [ Female ] The youngest of the White Mages present at the upper table, Sa has proven her ability in elemental magic. Never satisfied with what she already knows, Sa pursues continued exploration into the elements with vigor and intensity. Her fascination with elemental magic is unique in the White Council, as most of the White Mages tend to view elemental magic as primitive and brutish compared to the sophistication and subtlety present in the other schools. Sa thus fulfills a much-needed role in the White Council as an advocate and monitor for the schools of elemental magic. She oversees both the School of Lesser Elemental Magic and the School of Greater Elemental magic.

Ilsodar [ Male ] Kind and giving, Ilsodar exemplifies the traits required for an expert in Life Magic. He is a selfless mage who is always conscientious of the needs which surround his particular field of expertise. Life Magic is essential to the outreaches of Dour Gujhest and Ilsodar delegates its resources with profundity and care. He has long been an example to all other mages of the intelligence and wisdom necessary in the exercise of magical ability.

Kitcau [ Male ] The acting representative of the magic of logic, Kitcau is known to often defer to the insights of his fellow expert Viligau in matters relating to logic. This is never to be taken as a weakness in Kitcau, though, as he is the most predominant and outstanding figure to emerge with expertise in the field of Logic Magic. Kitcau remains mostly reserved about his own personal opinions, often being seen to make recommendations that go starkly against what he might feel is the better course. He takes his discipline seriously and always seeks to make use of it for the good of others in any way possible.

The Lower Table

Tennek [ Male ] Life Magic

Will [ Male ] Presence Magic

Bursh [ Male ] Life Magic

Bleneth [ Female ] Logic Magic

Pim [ Female ] Presence Magic

Mylis [ Male ] Logic Magic

Tonis [ Male ] Logic Magic

Felineau[ Female ] Life Magic

Sudrio [ Female ] Logic Magic

Pylora [ Female ] Presence Magic

Roop [ Male ] Presence Magic

Okolau [ Male ] Life Magic

Shurba [ Female ] Presence Magic

C3(2) "Delyth"

2008-04-24T11:32:00.001-07:00

"Delyth"
(WC 1098)

Oddly there was no sign of the demon to be found in or around Hearkendale. After parting ways with Chulon, Phillip made his way cautiously into the forests ringing the town. He spent the entire morning trudging through the undergrowth looking for any sign of which direction the demon would have gone. He smelled the air and reached out in search of some magical residue left by a demon's chaotic presence. He found nothing and this began to frustrate him. Still, he persisted, intent on dealing with the problem as he had promised.
Not knowing what else to do, Phillip made circles around the town of Hearkendale, widening his search slowly until he could find a marking or something to follow. It was strange that a demon would have covered his tracks so thoroughly, but strangeness had been his companion these past few months. Dour Gujhest was incredibly worried about the rise in demons, it was a dangerous turn of events and none in the White Council could explain why it was happening so suddenly.
So many dear friends had been lost. The occasional loss could be understood in a wry sort of way. The White tampered with magical power that bore a potency beyond what could easily be imagined. It was a discipline, something that required care and precision to execute successfully on a regular basis. But there was something romantic about manipulating that kind of power. There was something powerful about being tapped into a force like that. Sometimes, mages would succumb to the temptations of the magic. They would wrap themselves up in the stream of power completely, siphoning from it with reckless abandon until at last they lost their sanity.
Pure power had no regard for order or morality. Being swept away by the current of pure magical power removed a mage from his human sensibilities. It allowed him to forget the importance of his fellow man.
“What are you searching for?” The voice was a soft lilt that interrupted Phillip's musing unexpectedly. He had seen no signs of any person nearby. He turned to see an astonishingly beautiful woman seated on a tree stump behind him. Her brow was arched with amusement.
Phillip gazed at her for a moment before reminding himself to answer her question. He couldn't help but feel that he had met this woman somewhere before. “I am searching for a demon and a woman who was stolen away from the town nearby.”
“Ah.” Came the response. The amusement drained from her face and she sighed deeply. “I am the woman you seek, but you will not find any demon. It does not exist any more.”
Phillip believed her, but could not understand why. He couldn't shake the feeling that he somehow knew this woman. “I...,” he faltered, “Should I know you?”
Her brow arched again mischievously and Phillip thought it strange how her face could show such mischief and such grief all at once. “You men and your silly games. If you cannot say whether we have met, I am afraid I cannot say either.”
It was an odd response. Phillip thought it must mean that they had met somewhere before. She seemed to remember him or their meeting enough to be cryptic about it.
“I have trouble believing that this demon no longer exists... can you tell me what happened to it?” Phillip decided to deal with current matters instead of trying to dig up something lost to his memory.
Delyth stared at him for a few moments with no readable expression on her face. Her gaze made Phillip feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. He felt distinctly as though he were letting this woman down in some way, though there was nothing in her demeanor which overtly suggested that she felt the same.
“The truth of what I said is unaffected by your belief of disbelief. You need not know why or how, you need only decide if you believe me or you do not.” Delyth said at last and with finality.
She was obviously telling the truth, Phillip thought, and there was something in the authority of her air that made him believe something more powerful was afoot in this situation. Demons were not easily defeated or eliminated. To his knowledge, only Laethecna or a minion could overcome the chaos of a demon's magical ability in direct combat. If she had been stolen away by the demon, then Delyth could not possibly have avoided direct combat. Phillip looked at her again. She was lithe and beautiful, yes, but bore no signs of the physical ability necessary to be called Laethecna.
Her husband was a spiritual leader in the sect of Drujon, Phillip thought that perhaps she had submitted herself to the power of that god and been transformed into a minion to fight the demon. As he looked at her, though, it was apparent that she was no minion. She still retained her own free will. Perhaps she had become a minion and then ceased to be a minion after it was all over? This sort of thing was unheard-of. No god would relinquish the connection with the physical world that a minion provided. If a person subjected their will in such a manner it would be permanent. He had no way to confirm this, though, for though it was unprecedented and bore further inquiry, Phillip could tell that Delyth had no intention of answering any more questions about what happened.
She had turned away from him in disinterest, though she still remained seated on her stump. Phillip thought that perhaps if he could convince her to come to Dour Gujhest with him there might be a chance that the mage council could delve more deeply into what had happened and perhaps uncover the truth of the situation.
“You have found me now. What do you want to do next?” She interrupted his train of thought.
“I must return home to Dour Gujhest now and make reports about all that I have seen. I am sure you are anxious to return to-”
“I would like to go to Dour Gujhest.” Delyth interrupted him. “I would like to see my daughter.”
“Daughter?” The thought of a member of the Eclosei letting their child grow up in the ways of magic surprised Phillip. It went against every prejudice that had been taught and upheld for hundreds of years between the two factions.
Delyth smiled at him. “Her name is Mesyth Petora. She is in the School of Lesser Elemental Magic and I have not seen her in... many years.”

C3(1) "Delyth"

2008-04-22T15:43:00.001-07:00

"Delyth"
(WC 997)

“What does Drujon mean to you?” Phillip was usually a quiet man, so the question surprised Chulon as they walked through the early morning silence of Hearkendale. They had been in the town for over a week now, trying to answer a question which was becoming more pressing with each demon attack: “why?”
Chulon thought about the question for a moment. “It means nothing. The god of nothing perhaps?”
Phillip nodded, but stopped walking. They were at the edge of the large, empty town square. “The inhabitants of Hearkendale followed Heirzem. Heirzem was from the sect of Drujon. Drujon is the god of nothing. So they have no temple in their town.” Phillip mused aloud. “It makes sense in all the wrong ways.”
Chulon knew what he meant. There was something about Hearkendale that felt unnatural to him. Laethecna taught him to rely on logic and all that Phillip had just said seemed perfectly logical. Yet, as he looked at the big empty town square - the place where they would have expected to see a temple – the logic of it felt... unsettled. It was as though a dark wall had been painted over with white paint. Though the paint covered the original color, somehow the darkness was still visible through it.
“Do you think that Hearkendale was meant to be a trap?” Phillip sounded doubtful even as he asked the question.
“A trap in what way?”
They started walking again as Phillip formed a response. “If Hearkendale is a settlement under the god of nothing, then why would they say their mission was to reach out and establish a bridge between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest? How does nothingness motivate that kind of connection?”
They stopped again, closer to the center of the square. Rivensorn was walking toward them. Phillip leaned in confidentially toward Chulon, “Hearkendale, to the best of my knowledge, has not once attempted to contact Dour Gujhest.”
“Chulon,” Rivensorn hailed them, “I must speak with you.” He pulled Chulon aside, indicating Phillip should stay away with a stern look from his eyes. It was clear that Rivensorn did not trust the mage. It was also clear that he had no intention of learning such trust either. Phillip did not mind it so much, he considered Rivensorn and the other inhabitants of Hearkendale to be incredibly gracious for simply allowing him to stay for as long as he had and investigate what had happened there. Phillip understood the deep divide that separated him from these people because of the power he had disciplined himself in.
“Have you spoken with Pinmey?” Rivensorn began in earnest.
“Yes.”
“He believes there is a sect of magic users – Nhimyggai - in the northlands who are responsible for the demonic attacks.” Rivensorn grabbed Chulon's shoulder and pulled him closer. “I think he might be right. If these demon attacks persist as they have been... the Eclosei will react. I sent work back to Mount Isteray shortly before you arrived and from their response I can't imagine how a war between the Eclosei and the mages could be avoided. They said that they have lost over thirty temples within the Sinzakij and Ortakij kingdoms to these attacks. The demons are targeting our priests and monks specifically and Dour Gujhest will be held responsible for this.” Rivensorn paused and looked at Chulon with a mixture of despair and frustration that Chulon had not expected to see. “War between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest would be devastating. I fear I do not know who would win or what would be left of either faction by the time all was written. More importantly, such a conflict would tear the heart out of the Ortakij and Sinzakij kingdoms, greatly weakening their defenses. If these Nhimyggai wanted to destroy us, well...”
Chulon nodded. He very much doubted that Dour Gujhest would stoop to waging war against the Eclosei, nonetheless there could be some substance to the idea that these attacks were somehow motivated by magic users from Vechtazul. There had to be some outside influence involved. So many mages turning to demonic ways was inconceivable otherwise.
“Also,” Rivensorn lowered his voice even further, “I am haunted by the thought of what has happened to Delyth. Please, I need to know - and that demon... it must be destroyed. I would search for it myself, but I have passed the power of vengeance on to Jilan and the cycle of cleansing has been interrupted because of it. I fear we are powerless to finish it. We need justice, Chulon.”
Chulon nodded again. The cycle of cleansing vengeance was nothing to be trifled with. Rivensorn already bore so many signs of degradation from his decision to take up the mantle of leadership; somehow Chulon felt it was the least he could do to relieve the man from this burden.
“Your demon will be cleansed, Rivensorn, set your mind at ease.” Chulon patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, “I will not fail.”
“Thank you.”
Rivensorn set his jaw and hurried off to attend other business as Hearkendale began to awaken with the morning. Chulon motioned to Phillip.
“My time here is finished.” He said when the mage came closer. “I must travel north, into Vechtazul Solace. I think there are answers to be found there.”
Phillip smiled. “You knew I would be returning to Dour Gujhest. Are you sure you won't also return?”
Chulon shook his head. “There is nothing more for me in Dour Gujhest.”
“Allow me to avenge Delyth then, my friend. There may be something more I can learn from this demon.”
Chulon looked at Phillip with surprise. “You are a mage...”
“There is more to it than that.”
It was a cryptic response and Chulon did not think it wise to leave a matter he had pledged himself to in the hands of someone so obviously ill-suited to the task. But he agreed, to his own surprise, feeling suddenly very confident that Phillip would not fail.

-[ ]-

C2 "The Death..."

2008-04-18T10:35:00.000-07:00

"The Death Of Heirzem"
(WC 3289)

Delyth was the fairest of women, a true jewel in the crown of Hearkendale. Men were inspired by the charisma and vision that drove her husband Heirzem, but they were equally inspired to respect him for the woman who stood faithfully by his side. Had she graced the town more frequently with her presence it could fairly be deemed possible that Delyth herself would have eclipsed Heirzem's position at the heart of Hearkendale's proceedings. She kept mostly to herself, though, remaining mostly confined indoors. She was only ever seen alone when leaving on her frequent solitary walks through the surrounding countryside. Young men, foolishly enchanted by her beauty, would occasionally try to win more time in her presence by following her on these sojourns, but she was renowned for her ability to utterly disappear from sight after exiting the confines of her husband's community.
Because she kept so carefully aloof from the meandering eyes of other men, Delyth strongly retained her reputation as the jewel of Hearkendale. People could sense that their mission in this settlement was right and true and pure because Heirzem stood fast in his leadership and Delyth stood fast by his side. For all of the noble beauty and grace that existed between them there was earned a magical sense of purity for their town.
It was the memory of this purity that most powerfully haunted Rivensorn as he sought to drown his spirit in the comforts of alcohol. He could still hear the weeping voice of Delyth, fallen in mourning at the side of her dead husband. He could still see the look of anger and determination that she bore as the demon fled and dragged her away. There was nothing that Rivensorn could do, no action that he could muster to stop it, for he had arrived too late to help so the power of vengeance did no fully come upon him until he fully comprehended the extent of devastation caused by the attack. The panic and confusion of the moment had betrayed him to an inaction which cursed his every day since. He was absent in their greatest time of need. All of his training and preparation, all of his promise came to nothing more than failure. Herizem was dead and Delyth had not returned.
Heirzem was an idol for Rivensorn, and example of manhood and leadership that inspired the young avenger to strive for understanding that exceeded the simple prejudices he had learned from the spiritual leaders - or Eclosei. Magic was not evil, he reminded himself of the fact daily; the mages were not their enemy. The sentiments he struggled against were not openly held by priest, monk or any other that Rivensorn had known, but their demeanor gave it all away. Their attitudes had awarded him the narrow view of the world which he now stifled and attempted to overcome.
None of the prejudice was present in Heirzem. He had a gruff enthusiasm for reuniting Eclosei with Dour Gujhest that defied any pretense of distrust in his mind. Hearkendale had attracted Rivensorn with the promise of conquest in his mind. An Eclosei establishment that existed well within the traditional borders of mageant influence promised an opportunity to undermine the power and control of the mages. His enthusiasm was misguided, though, for Heirzem had no such vision for Hearkendale. It was to be a mission town, peaceful and diminutive in nature. Their leader worked hard to prevent their establishment from ever appearing to pose any kind of threat to the ways of magic. Heirzem believed that their individual studies could exist together harmoniously and Hearkendale was to be the realization of that belief. Their job was not to sabotage that mages as Rivensorn had suspected, rather it was to create a synergy between their ideals.
Though this effort initially wore hard against his patience, Rivensorn learned much in the way of tolerance by making use of his leader as a mentor and confidant. Though he still could not fathom trusting the practicioners of magic, he knew that the responsibilities of forging that trust fell now completely upon his own shoulders. This was why he had abdicated his traditional post as the town avenger, passing the mantle to Jilan, and stepped forward to replace the noble Heirzem in leading Hearkendale through these troubling times.
The sounds of heckling roused Rivensorn from his depressing reverie as he sat at the local brewery. Newcomers had strayed cautiously into town. Rivensorn stumbled drunkenly to the door and leaned on it as though he might be lying down while standing up. A mage was sidling up the path, eying the inhabitants of Hearkendale cautiously and maintaining a strictly non-threatening demeanor. Along with the mage was another man who appeared to be a warrior. It was apparent that the duo was looking for something, a fact which troubled Rivensorn given the strange combination of his newly acquired responsibilities toward the community and his currently mostly drunken stupor. He thought about moving for a moment, but decided that he would retain a more authoritative air if he remained where he as, propped up against the doorframe.
“Was magic that has damaged our village,” Rivensorn yelled, “so I don't think you can blame people for not wanting you here.” He leered at the mage.
“We mean to help and we do believe that you need what assistance we can offer.” The warrior compansion was the one who replied, stepping forward toward Rivensorn. The mage kept still and quiet, looking patiently at the ground. “Who governs this settlement here?”
“I govern. But we don't need the help of you or any other.” Rivensorn looked down unsteadily and decided that this conversation should continue while seated. “What is your name stranger? Come inside and speak with me.” With that, he stumbled back inside and took hold of the first chair he could find. Another drink would be nice, but he decided he had better do without – for now.
The warrior and mage moved indoors, allowing onlookers to return to their daily tasks. “I am Chulon and this is my companion...” Chulon had asked the mage for his name shortly after their battle at Tannis, but the mage simply shrugged and replied that he had no name. So Chulon took matters into his own hands, “...I call him Phillip.”
“This is an Eclosei settlement,” said Rivensorn, “and our help will come from the priestly factions who are well aware of what has happened here. What business does Dour Gujhest have with my town?”
The mage looked up kindly and finally spoke, “I am not here on behalf of Dour Gujhest, nor should you expect any emissary from them. They will attend to their own matters and should not be construed as seeking discord with your people. I have come at the behest of King Esric, who offers his sympathies and concerns for the many communities which have been disturbed by demons of late.”
Rivensorn raised his brow. “How many communities have been attacked such as this?”
“We've seen many different towns and some suffer more than others.” Chulon interjected. “It seems that they are different demons as well. I did not believe it at first, but I have defeated three of the monsters myself and there are still more attacks.”
Rivensorn looked more closely at Chulon. Demons were not easily defeated. “I have never met a warrior who claimed to defeat even a mage in combat...”
It was a trick question but Chulon was unimpressed. “I did not say I had defeated a mage. If you understand them, it becomes clear that demons are consumed by their abilities. They are reckless and some are not as skilled as you might expect. Every man has a different limit but discipline is the counterbalance to insanity. We are seeking the source of this problem, not petty arguments.”
“We have come on behalf of King Esric,” Phillip reiterated, “our desire is not to test you or upset your mourning. We believe that your town was attacked for a reason, but perhaps we have misjudged. Maybe it would be better if we left the matter in your capable hands.”
Rivensorn glared at the mage. He felt he had been insulted, but he wasn't sure quite how. “You mages think you rule this island...” was his hollow retort.
“Sometimes I think that is true.” The mage sighed deeply.
“How dare you come into my community to insult me!” Rivensorn roared suddenly, leaping onto unsteady feet in anger.
Phillip remained seated calmly. “I meant only that sometimes I suspect mages do think they rule this island. It is a problem that,” he looked pointedly outside the building, “creates more problems.”
Rivensorn calmed himself and thought better of speaking with these strangers any further. “It seems I have acted rashly,” he offered. “Please stay tonight and welcome. I will speak with you more tomorrow, after I have pondered the news you bring.”
Phillip stood and bowed graciously. “Thank you for your kindness, sir.” Chulon did the same.

-[ ]-

Pinmey sat in the town square in the dim early morning light and calmed his mind slowly. He had followed Heirzem like so many others, believing that he could offer meaningful service in the new settlement that they were to establish. Pinmey had learned much since depositing Beturi in the court of the Sinzakij. He had learned that the southern kingdoms were not composed of only the purest forms of evil. In fact, their wholesome normality had served to mend many of the wounds inflicted upon his heart by the harshness of life in the Vechtazul Solace. After finding a home and a new life within the walls of the temple at Mount Isteray, Pinmey had made great strides under his assigned mentors. They were men who truly cared for Pinmey. They wanted only what was best for the young man, with no pretense or hidden agenda about how they might one day use him to their advantage. It was a refreshing difference, and for once Pinmey felt like he belonged somewhere. Living with the Eclosei was not simply a transaction for him, it was a healing process, and it truly felt like home.
He could have remained within the temple walls forever, simply receiving love and acceptance at the hands of the priests and monks. But Pinmey was wont to become restless. In his heart he wanted to do something that would give back to the community that had given him so much. After many years living there and learning about the struggles and hopes held by the Eclosei, Pinmey was delighted when he learned of Heirzem's idea to establish a mission settlement within the Sinzakij lands, so that the Eclosei might extend a hand of friendship toward the mages in an effort to repair the broken relationship between their ways of life.
Pinmey could not say how it had all started, but at some point the mages and priests had simply gone separate ways. They regarded each other with bitterness, envy and, oftentimes, open hatred. The enmity between the Eclosei and Dour Gujhest had a familiar feel to Pinmey. It reminded him of his days with the Nhimyggai, who hated everyone and everything and sought to subjugate the outside world. So it was refreshing when one of his own mentors stepped forward with a plan that held hope and promise for once instead of the usual distrust and anger.
Heirzem had advised Pinmey against joining the expedition, worried that he might not yet be ready to deal with the outside world. Pinmey had shared a great many secrets with Heirzem, things that he had thought he would always keep hidden within for fear of the shame they would bring him. He had spoken openly of his dealings with the Nhimyggai and how he rescued Beturi from certain death. Herizem was only mildly interested in the heroics of the story. What concerned him more was the liberal way Pinmey had dispensed death to his fellow man. So Heirzem felt that Pinmey needed much more time to mend his spirit before he could set himself to the task of helping his fellow man in a mission like Hearkendale. But Pinmey had persisted, convincing Heirzem that it would only be through helping his fellow man that Pinmey could truly repair his broken spirit. Eventually, he had been granted a position with the expedition. It was nothing noteworthy, but Pinmey relished the fact that he had been deemed trustworthy.
He did not want to do anything to violate that trust. So he sat now, surrounded by the emptiness of the square and tried to calm away the feelings of anger and hatred that grew within his sadness. The demonic attack had happened so quickly, he was confused about the exact details. Some kind of confusion spell had overtaken them all it seemed. There were so many details about the attack that were lost now to Pinmey. He could not remember fully what Heirzem had preached. He had seen Delyth there, but he couldn't remember what she had done or whether she had survived. He thought she had disappeared – been dragged away by that demon – but that didn't make a lot of sense. Demons didn't take prisoners... it was unprecedented. They killed and destroyed. They had no carnal desires, only hatred for all of mankind. Why had this one taken Delyth? What sense did that make?
Pinmey remembered that Hearkendale existed to open the arms of the Eclosei to the mages, but he could not remember who their god was. Who did they serve? Who did Heirzem serve? Pinmey remembered the name Drujon, but was unsure if that was a god or an ideal. There was no temple in Hearkendale, but Pinmey had a sneaking suspicion that there should have been a temple in Hearkendale. Or maybe there was none because they did not want to make the mages feel uncomfortable with their presence. But that didn't make sense either. Most of the Sinzakij towns had Eclosei temples in them and this fact had never seemed to bother the mages before. They simply ignored the gods and the temples. How had Heirzem died exactly? Pinmey could not recall. He knew that their leader had fought the thing. He had stood against it. But Pinmey did not remember seeing Heirzem fall in battle. Yet their leader was dead and the demon remained, so surely Heirzem had been slain. There were so many things that were muddied in Pinmey's mind. He found it difficult to stifle the anger rising inside him when he could not even remember the simplest of details about what exactly had happened to Hearkendale.
He enjoyed the town square because of this confusion. He did not know what brilliant mind had devised the plan of creating such a large empty space at the heart of their town, but he was so very thankful for it now. Sitting there on the trodden grass, Pinmey felt a peace from the emptiness of this space. It allowed him a measure of clarity amidst all of the confusion.
“Beautiful morning, is it not?” A voice from next to Pinmey startled him. Someone had joined him there, sitting in the grass, a large man who bore the scars of many battles. Pinmey stifled his surprise and took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Hello.” Pinmey offered, unsure of why this warrior was speaking to him.
“I am Chulon,” The stranger offered, “I traveled here when I heard of the demon attack upon your town.” Pinmey nodded inquisitively. “I am sorry to disturb you,” Chulon also took a deep breath, relishing the fresh morning air, “I can see you are enjoying this fine morning.” He paused. “I am researching the cause of the demon's attack. I am a demon hunter usually, so I am a little new to dealing with the aftermath of such an attack...” Chulon trailed off.
“My name is Pinmey.”
“Do you remember anything about the attack?” Chulon prodded abruptly. “Most everyone here in Hearkendale seemed confused about the exact details of what happened. I don't want to be a bother, but I truly believe that there is something bigger happening around us. In all of my years training and fighting I have never once heard of so many demons attacking the land. I don't know if the mages are losing their grip on sanity or what, but I know there is something about these attacks that I am not seeing. Is there anything you know that I might be missing?”
Pinmey thought about this request for a moment. He felt a twinge of comfort knowing that Hearkendale was not the only place to be assaulted by one of those beastly demons. It intrigued him that Chulon had mentioned the mages might be losing their sanity. Not because Pinmey disliked the mages like so many other Eclosei, but because he clearly remembered how vehemently opposed to them Dihloch had been. He remembered, years ago on the very night that he decided to leave the Nhimyggai and save Beturi that Tiernanuu had spoken of rotting away the foundations of Dour Gujhest through diplomacy. He never really knew what that meant.
“Can a mage be convinced to... become a demon?” Pinmey asked.
It was a surprising question. Chulon thought perhaps that Pinmey was trying to insinuate that these demon attacks might be intentional on the part of the mages, but he was curious enough to play along.
“Well, I can say from experience that a mage can be convinced not to become a demon,” Chulon offered, “so I suppose there might be reason to think that a mage could be convinced to go the other way. The amount of power that some mages wield can be a very tempting force for them.”
Pinmey nodded. “I grew up in the Vechtazul Solace. I was born to the tribe of Morday with some heritage in the tribe of Suspralty. But I fled that land and was taken in by the Eclosei.”
Chulon looked at the young priest questioningly. He was not sure what this man's history might have to do with demonic attacks.
“When I lived in the northlands, I did not serve the tribe of Morday or any other tribe,” Pinmey started again, “because there is a hidden group that connects all of the tribes together. I pledged my allegiance to this group and served them only. The leader of this group has a great hatred for Dour Gujhest. He says that they stole his birthright.” Pinmey stopped talking then, looking off into the sky.
Chulon was still confused about how this related to his investigation. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because this group – the Nhimyggai they call themselves – also knows magic. They used to brag about stealing magical secrets from Dour Gujhest. Before I left, I remember that they claimed they would use diplomacy to rot away the foundations of Dour Gujhest.” Pinmey said this earnestly, with just enough conviction to convince Chulon that it mattered. But Pinmey dropped the matter then and said, “I am sorry, I do not remember much about the attack. I only know that Heirzem is dead and we await word of what to do next.”
Chulon had questioned most of the priests in the settlement over the past few days, but this was the first time that he had encountered someone who had any information besides simple confusion. He wasn't sure how to take Pinmey's claims of a secret magical society in the northlands, but he would ask Rivensorn about the accuracy of Pinmey's claims later. For now he was just thankful to have a sensible idea to look into.

C1 "Ethegra..."

2008-04-16T11:41:00.000-07:00

"Ethegra The Fallen"
(WC 4363)

Tannis was a simple town, nestled gently among the rolling hills near the Sinzakij border. Like other settlements, a small temple marked its center and the few simple homes clustered around it as though it were important. In actuality, most of the townspeople ignored the temple entirely, going about their daily tasks with little fear. Although they lived very close to the borderlands, their neighbors, the Ortakij, had a longstanding peace agreement with the Sinzakij. The combination of frequent Red Mage patrols and friendly neighbors both ensured that the people of Tannis felt little desire to concern themselves with the needs of their deity.
Only a few people ever entered that sacred building, and those that did were only just barely citizens of the Sinzakij empire. Certainly they had been born Sinzakij, but since their earliest childhood they had been raised as priests within the walls of the temple at Mount Isteray. There they were taught to commune with the gods and perform mysterious sacred rituals which meant very little to the commoners who would one day surround them. The temple at Mount Isteray was located deep within the Ortakij lands, far away from any Sinzakij influence, making those priests which chose to return to their birthplace more citizens of the Ortakij empire than servants of the Sinzakij. Though there was no animosity borne between these kingdoms, the priests still seemed to be little more than outsiders to the occupants of Tannis.
Nobody really knew how the temple worked or what its real purpose was. It seemed that temples had been around for as long as anyone could remember so it was likely they would remain around for as long as anyone could imagine. All of this was very inconsequential to the townspeople of Tannis. The priests did whatever they did and everyone else found them not so very difficult to ignore. The temple was more important than the commoners were accustomed to recognizing, this much was clear to Chulon as he stood silently and looked over the town. Something about the temple was an attraction, a focal point, and it was about to change Tannis violently, just as it had changed many towns before it. In the distance the sky darkened, confirming his prediction.
Chulon was a powerful man, larger than most at six feet tall and visibly trained in the physical. Many years before he had decided to make a change in his life by focusing on physical ability. He had enlisted in the Sinzakij army as a soldier and quickly rose through their ranks with his natural skill and precision. For the Sinzakij, a soldier's life was an easy one. Wars and battles were fought far to the north where the Ortakij lands bordered the wastes of Celeukra. Were any real threat to make it far enough south to threaten the Sinzakij kingdom, there were hundreds of Red Mages who traveled the land providing an additional measure of protection. Soldiers only trained and participated in contests, sometimes dreaming of the glories of war, but mostly only relying on the bounty of the kings provision to ease their way through the days.
This was not enough to satisfy Chulon, who soon left the king's service in favor of the warrior's life. Free to offer his services and considerable ability wherever it was most needed, Chulon traveled immediately northward to lend his aid in the battles fought by the brave Ortakij. There he found an equal match for his skill and honed it further on the battlefields of Celeukra.
The wily clans of Vechtazul hurled themselves against the stout defenses offered by the Ortakij in some vain hope of breaking the border that separated the wealthy south from the distresses and anarchy of the north. At first Chulon had found this struggle amusing aside from its raw benefit in strengthening his abilities. The feeble efforts of the clans were no match for the well trained precision that guarded the Ortakij from invasion. History told a different story, though, something that warned the Ortakij to remain ever-vigilant against the efforts of their enemies. Many years in the past the clans, a joke to the hardy Ortakij, had engineered an unexpected and devastatingly effective series of attacks. The great offensive pushed the Ortakij border south hundreds of miles to the southern edge of Celeukra. The Ortakij eventually stopped the push from the north, but the attacks were a dire setback to the king's desire to eventually conquer and annex the troublesome northlands.
The wastes of Celeukra were a hard land, difficult enough to control when the Ortakij border had extended beyond them. The king stubbornly refused to abandon the capital city of Guervin, though it had become separated from the rest of his kingdom. He commissioned an enormous wall to be built along the new border, granting his armies some respite from the relentless attacks of the northerners and consolidating his power so that he could protect the capital city and maintain the new border without risking more loss. Though the Ortakij were successful in quelling the onslaught of the northern tribes, too much had been lost to forget the potential power that threatened their lands. It had been a sobering time in history that served to solidify the vigilance of the Ortakij armies.
Chulon knew enough about these events to stifle the ridicule in his heart as they fought the desperate northerners. Power and precision were the lessons he learned from his battles in the north. His successes were for a purpose, though, as he was soon to find out. It was the darkening of the sky that he would always remember.
It was subtle at first, just a chill change in the air that seemed distant and unrelated. Chulon was on a routine patrol with his unit. The whole of the Ortakij army was divided into small sections all organized under leaders who reported to higher leaders. His immediate leader was a woman, Katarine, who was kind and friendly to her men, jovial whenever the occasion allowed for it. Their patrol took them from the shore of Lake Insa eastward to the town of Batene. It was a good day, clear and bright. No attacks had come for weeks which was a rare respite for the Ortakij. Their commanders were turning their thoughts toward expansion once again, seeking to seize any opportunity to begin taking back pieces of Celeukra. Katarine was riding far ahead, obviously enjoying the beauty of the summer day.
Celeukra was a strange place. Legends spoke of a time when deep magic had been sown into the land, changing it into the desolate region that impeded their conquests northward. Somehow fantastically Celeukra had once been a fertile land, ideally suited to support the thriving lives of the clans. But when the Ancient Kingdom had pushed northward to overtake Celeukra, the clans had reacted bitterly, sowing death into the once healthy soil so that nothing would grow there for centuries to come. It was the sickness of this desperate act that had stopped the Ancient Kingdom short and defined such a large barrier between the southern dynasties and the chaos of the north. It made for a good story, but Chulon was not sure how much of it he really believed. Still, as he watched Katarine saunter along admiring the flowers and trees growing along the wall of the Ortakij, he couldn't help but wonder at the strangeness of the land which very suddenly changed from green and alive to the patchy, desolate and dusty waste only a few hundred feet from where they walked.
Chulon's contemplative stupor was mirrored throughout his unit. So they thought very little of the distant darkening of the sky, allowing their minds to believe it was a simple storm blowing across the land. But now he would always remember its unnatural persistence. Its oppression.
The darkening continued, soon followed by the cacophony of unkempt magic. The earth under their feet began to split and shake, throwing the men off balance. The darkened sky coalesced into a threat and then a promise of devastation as shrieks of lightning began riddling the land around them. Fires erupted chaotically, burning some where they stood. Katarine shouted orders to the men who spread out. Chulon crouched in a patch of weeds, beginning to recognize signs of something he had feared for the whole of his life. Chaotic, powerful, unchecked magic was the sign of a demon. Confirmation followed this realization swiftly as a dark figure moved suddenly into view.
The mages feared demons who were said to be what mages themselves became if they gave into the lusts magical addiction. As Chulon watched his comrades run in fear and pain, burned and harassed by the power of the demon, he felt suddenly helpless in his training. The fears of his past had taken shape and it was a horror to behold. Nonetheless, unwilling to die hiding in the grass, Chulon mustered himself to the fullness of his ability, grabbing hold of his blade and reminding himself that the demon was naught more than a man who could be made to bleed and die like the soldiers around him were.
Chulon was both fast and agile, a fearsome opponent on the field of battle. He was well suited to the task of quelling attacks by warriors from the north. But a demon was a different matter. Carried away by the stream of magical power, demons were imbued with a speed and awareness that Chulon could not yet match. Truthfully, Chulon had no hope against such an adversary. But as he hurled himself at the beast, another attacker came briefly into view charging and feinting circles around the demon with a speed and precision unlike anything Chulon had witnessed before. This, too, he had heard of – the Laethecna. A lost art which celebrated the highest forms of physical prowess. Chulon hurled a feeble slash at the demon, which it deflected with ease, tossing him to the side. But the other attacker now held its full attention.
Chulon rolled to his feet, preparing to strike again when a streak of blood sprayed across the ground in front of him and one of the demon's arms dropped limply to its side. Screaming in pain and anger, the demon surrounded itself suddenly within the intensity of a magical firestorm, sending waves of flame outward, scorching everything around it. Chulon leapt backward intimidated by the incredible heat and force of this attack. But the Laethecna was unfazed by the fire. Chulon slid down into a nearby shallow ravine to avoid the heat and watched in amazement as the Laethecna inflicted blow after blow upon the demon, swiftly and fluidly, always careful to avoid the creature's direct attacks. Then it was over. The demon collapsed to the ground and its magics faded away instantly as the Laethecna landed the killing blow at last.
Free of the fire's influence, Chulon stepped forward from his hiding place to take stock of the destruction and death all around. The Laethecna had come to a stop, standing over the fallen demon and breathing calm, measured breaths. He hair had fallen loose in the battle and it suddenly dawned on Chulon that their savior was his own leader, Katarine. Undaunted by his own pathetic performance, Chulon was instilled with a new hope upon witnessing the next level in physical training. The Laethecna had taken the power of the physical and turned it into an art form: every movement a stroke of beauty, every moment one of absolute clarity and control. It was the precision of this art form that could overcome the power of the demon. Demons were unfocused, roiling with more ability than they could ever know how to handle. Their aggression had taken over their reason, leading to the madness of their attacks. That exposed their main weakness. It was control that they had abandoned, and it would be control that would defeat their reign of terror.
So Chulon had trained under Katarine and many others, honing his ability until the fears of his past could be left behind forever. He devoted himself to Laethecna, becoming a renowned demon hunter as he moved away from the now simple life of the border patrols. Once he had surpassed the abilities of the warrior, slaughtering desperate attackers from the north became distasteful to him. It was no longer a battle for him, no longer a risk when he stepped to the line. Everything was calculated and premeditated in his actions so that his enemies could not possibly stand a chance against the ferocity of his ability. But this transition also made him feel more like a murderer than a defender, turning sour the taste of his formerly noble work for the Ortakij. So he had devoted himself to travel and training, further refining his abilities by making opponents of evil men only, matching his premeditated justice against their premeditated injustice.
Now here he stood, silent and hidden at the outskirts of Tannis, awaiting the arrival that the darkening of the sky foretold, preparing himself patiently for the struggle ahead. Demons, once a rare occurrence, had begun to show up more frequently in recent days. Chulon had tracked many across the Ortakij and Sinzakij lands. They seemed universally intent upon attacking town temples, a coincidence that angered Chulon's suspicions. He had tracked this particular demon for a few days now, from its inception which had apparently occurred while one of the White Mages was traveling homeward from the Ortakij capital of Guervin. Somewhere along the line something had snapped for the mage and everything had digressed from there. Chulon was not so concerned with the creation of the demon as he was with its destination. He had preceded the creature steadily since hearing of its existence, seeking out which town it would choose to attack. This one had moved straight toward Tannis with unmistakable intent. It was here in Tannis that Chulon would put an end to its madness.
Just as suddenly as always, the demon appeared at the edge of Tannis and the sky above deepened in darkness severely. Chulon moved from his lookout to a shadow cast by a nearby building. Townspeople scattered as the demon immediately began to lash out. Chulon shifted his position silently, breezing unnoticed past some fleeing peasants and moving swiftly through intermittent waves of fire and earthquakes. He paused for a moment as the demon continued its march toward the center of the settlement. Chulon guaged the demon's movement and ability before dashing in for the first strike.
The first strike was all-important. It would establish the pace for the entire battle, Chulon knew. Most opponents did not realize the importance of their first attack, putting themselves at an immediate disadvantage. Chulon's strike was calculated and quick, carving a shallow gash under one of the demon's ribs as Chulon came across its front before disappearing to the other side. Now he had its attention and the demon paused in its march for a moment, looking for its attacker.
Chulon watched with satisfaction as the demon healed the slice across its stomach unthinkingly. Magic, like any ability carried with it a cost. Endurance was important, even for mages, who trained incessantly to increase their capacity for the sustained use of magic. Battle wounds were easily dealt with by masters of the power, but healing carried the cost of distraction. Enough blows against even the unchecked power of a demon would eventually wear its capacity for magic down until it had nothing left within to draw upon which could save it from that final killing blow which Chulon was even now planning.
The demon responded to Chulon immediately by focusing its power in the last direction it had seen him travel, causing a building next to it to explode into debris and shrapnel which filled the air around them. Chulon moved in again and again, though, switching his angle of attack rapidly to compensate for the demon's angered strikes.
The ground around them was scorched and black, rocks and debris flew about as the demon threw blow after blow at Chulon. But he stayed ever focused and vigilant, watching the movements of the shrapnel and spinning, ducking and dodging his way effortlessly through the maze of defenses that the demon was creating. Again and again he struck, hoping to keep the creature occupied, but this demon's capacity for magic was amazing. Again and again it healed itself, snaking fire all around and hurling boulders endlessly. Home after home suffered the wrath of their battle as the demon struck with more and more stone, thatch and wood.
Endurance was the key. Chulon stayed focused, adjusting his movements and planning his attacks with breakneck speed. In and out he dodged and feinted, piercing the beast with blow after blow from his blades. He exploited the demon's unfocused weakness to his advantage, misdirecting its attacks and spinning confusion all around his attacks. Again and again he struck with ferocity, consumed by strength and power, wholly reliant on the stream of physical power to fuel his onslaught.
Another rock sang past his head as Chulon rolled in low to the ground and cut up from the demon's ankle once to its calf, circling around behind and slicing across the back of it's knees. Then he regained his feet and leapt forward across the demon's other side, shoving a blade through its lower back until it protruded from its side. He left that one there as he circled around the front again, sundering its waist from hip to hip with a cut that would have spilled the intestines of a lesser opponent before he curled his momentum around in front of the demon, dodging a rock and a blast of fire as he ducked back in the direction he just came from. He struck the demon again at the shoulder as he moved back behind it, retrieving the blade left in its side with a brutal yank that opened its side briefly. Chulon moved through a sudden cloudburst of dust at the demon's side, protecting his eyes as he jumped into a strong gash upward through the back of the demon's armpit and shoulder. He brought that strike down again across the back of the demon's neck as he jabbed his other blade ruthlessly into the creature's back before ducking under its other flailing arm and around again to the front for another attack.
It was then that he allowed himself a glimpse of his opponent's face. Though he saw the expected rage and frustration in the demon's eyes, it was the face as a whole that suddenly gave him pause. He recognized the man behind the crazed raging exterior of the demon. It was a face he could never forget. That brief moment of recognition was his undoing, though, as the demon struck out again and caught Chulon full force in the chest, sending him spinning through the air with dizzying pain. Chulon crashed into a small monument that served as the center of the town square, sitting directly in front of the temple. He slid across the ground, dazed and suddenly unfocused, trying to find his balance again. His was a costly mistake, he knew, leaving him no option other than to hope he might be able to escape and nurse his wounds. If he were lucky, he might escape.
The demon did not pause or consider its advantage, attacking immediately against the fallen form of Chulon with lethal power. But its attack was deflected suddenly as a second opponent appeared from behind the remaining buildings of Tannis. Chulon caught sight of it briefly as he struggled to regain his feet. A stream of blackness snaked across the square from this second attacker, magic against magic, pushing the demon back and causing its attack against Chulon to miss completely, carving an arc through a building across the square instead. Finding his balance at last, Chulon fled rapidly into the shadows to recalculate his options. The image of his former friend's face was burnt freshly into his mind, clouding his options. He turned and watched as the battle unfolded, wondering briefly if he could leave the handling of this demon to the new stranger. Their battle was sadly brief though, as the demon's wild magical power responded chaotically to the intervention of this mage. The demon retaliated with wind, rock, fire and death, blasting the strange mage backward through one of the buildings which collapsed and ended their short battle.
There the demon stood, victorious over two opponents, still bent on destroying the temple which defined the center of the town. Once again there was no pause to its attack as it unleashed the full force of its power against the walls of the temple, blowing them outward and disintegrating the front half of the building. Chulon, unable to rejoin the fight without refocusing his thoughts, watched helplessly as the building ignited into flame and its priests scattered in fear. The demon crushed and slaughtered many of them as they tried desperately to get away from its attacks. Explosion after explosion ripped the building apart.
But then Chulon noticed something he had not seen before. Across the town square, kneeling at an altar near the edge of the temple grounds was a simple acolyte, distinguished by his ceremonial acolyte robes. He appeared calm and quiet, praying in supplication as he appeared unaware of the chaos surrounding him. Chulon wondered how long this simple fool had knelt there, ignoring the devastation erupting around him. The demon continued its attacks, tearing apart the last few standing walls of the structure before it finally noticed what Chulon had just seen. With unthinking cruelty, the demon stalked toward the kneeling acolyte and Chulon took his cue to do what he could to save at least one of the survivors of this devastating attack.
Chulon was much too far away to prevent the inevitable, though, and even calling upon all of his incredible speed to bridge the gap, he could not make it to the acolyte before the demon did. Roaring with devilish delight, the demon struck the acolyte with lethal power. Chulon stopped short as the blow landed, though, amazed. The acolyte remained untouched, still praying intently, ignoring the threat standing over him. The demon roared again, hurling blow after blow against the acolyte to no effect. Deflected or absorbed, Chulon could not tell, but he stood stupidly now near the middle of the town square and watched as the acolyte calmly finished his prayer, still unconcerned with the power of the demon next to him. Then he stood slowly, revealing an inner light that seemed to shine through his small body. Chulon could plainly see enormous bleeding gashes covering the simple acolyte's body, but he stood nonetheless, appearing unharmed by the physical damage inflicted upon him. The light intensified and the acolyte's skin darkened around its radiance. Then he turned and seized the demon by the throat, effortlessly lifting the massive creature from the ground as the inner light burned through the demon with increasing intensity, pulsing into it again and again until the brightness of it made Chulon throw his hand in front of his eyes. When the light faded, the demon was gone, incinerated by the power that coursed through the acolyte's body.
As the acolyte returned to his knees in prayer, Chulon knew what had happened. Though it always manifested in a different way, a minion had been born into the world through this demon's attack. He had seen this sort of thing before, in the towns that he did not get to quickly enough. Often a minion would save them from the power of the demon's attack. If mages and demons were the pinnacles of magical power and Laethecna was the pinnacle of physical power, then minions were the pinnacle of spiritual power. The gods were imbued with more power than man could ever hope to attain, but when the world had been ordered, they were severed from the physical realm so that they would only be able to influence men who were willing. Sometimes, when an acolyte was willing to surrender his will completely to the power of their god, a doorway would be opened for the god to manifest his power directly in the physical realm through this servant's body. No power available to man could stand alone against the manifest will of a god.
Chulon stepped back from the scene of the attack. There would be no glory here for him. The demon, once a friend of his, had bested him in battle and the town's god had rescued them from the demon's attack. It would be best if he got out of their way as swiftly as possible. As he surveyed the devastation around him he knew that the townspeople would have a lot of work ahead to recover what had been lost. Doubtless they would all possess a newfound respect and appreciation for their formerly disregarded deity.
“A sad ending for dear Ethegra,” The voice from behind him startled Chulon and he turned to find the mage who had saved his life standing there, “...but an ending nonetheless.”
Chulon had thought the mage to be dead within the pile of debris. How had he survived?
“Did you know Ethegra?” Chulon asked.
“Did you?” The mage replied.
Chulon considered this not entirely friendly response before deciding how to answer. “My name is Chulon, and I once knew Ethegra the White very well. He once saved my life. He changed it, in fact, changed it completely.”
The mage considered this. “I was Ethegra's companion. We were investigating the sudden rise in demon activity across the island. With his fall...” The mage stared off into space. “With the fall of Ethegra I have become convinced that there is an outside influence that is somehow responsible for it all.”
Chulon thought for an uncomfortable moment about the implication of what this mage was saying. “Walk with me mage, perhaps we can inform each other of our discoveries.”

Roadmap

2008-04-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

Act 1: Time And Again
1. The Prophecy Archives - The Birth Of Magic (3)
2. The Prophecy Archives - The Great War (5)
3. The Prophecy Archives - The Death Of Magic
4. The Prophecy Archives - Tamela Orbis
5. Mesizhetobek: Tarsin
6. Mesizhetobek: Fury
7. Mesizhetobek: Respite
8. Mesizhetobek: Honor
9. It Just So Happens
10. It Happens Just So

Act 2: The Guild

-TBA-

Key:
Black = Coming soon.
Blue = In the planning phase.
Green = In the writing phase.
Gray = In the editing phase. (Number indicates edit version)
Orange = Complete. (Number indicates edit version) Can still change.
Red = Finalized and published. Unlikely to change.

What is Functioning Chu'Mesa?

2008-04-15T18:04:00.000-07:00

Functioning Chu'Mesa is an attempt to connect with my audience in a more personal manner.

On of the biggest struggles I repeatedly encounter in the presentation of my stories is the amount of time consumed by the process of it. This is why I established Functioning. Its purpose is to reveal everything that is happening as I work hard to finish my next book. Every day I sit and write for several hours, working my way through plot and trying to craft prose I can be proud to share. Sometimes it is a slow process, but every day brings a new chunk of text that goes toward a finished book. I wanted to share some of that development.

Functioning exists to lay bare my activities and even the stray thoughts I might have about them. I hope those who find it informative also enjoy it and those who seek enjoyment also find it informative.