Not the bright of the sun, but instead imagine if someone replaced the sun with countless, cheap, fluorescent work place lighting and turned it onto the max setting. High oppressive and it stings the back of the eyes.
The landscape isn't much to look at anyway. Stretches of barren white sand extend in all directions. Well, except for two things. A wave of pure light that is currently turning whatever it touches into aforementioned pure white sand, and the last residence of man, Eulmore, sits on the horizon.
There is revelry coming from the last bastion of mankind. Singing and dancing and cries of joy as the end comes ever closer and closer. Long had they given up on the dream of living long lives and now they make the best of it until the end comes. They grow fat, happy and compliant. There are no more Heroes to defeat the light after all.
Eventually the light comes for the city of Eulmore and revelry turns to screams.
But at last the First has fallen ushering in the Ninth Umbral Calamity. Another successful Rejoining and a mage in ridiculously spiky robes teleports away in a puff of purple and black smoke.
They are more demands, but they filter through his head not unlike the teacher voice from Charlie Brown. And while externally he is complying, internally is nothing but a huge, heaving sigh.
Well, that didn't go as planned, did it? He was supposed to infiltrate after all, but the leader of this group was entirely too distrustful and not even the promise of coin and favors seemed to sway him. Not even from his own kin.
But perhaps being his own kin is exactly why he was so distrusted.
Thoughts on whom he should have picked as a host dance in his head along with the preparedness for the almost scolding he would get from Elidibus for the setback. He loves the man dearly, but sometimes he could get terribly tedious and be terribly dull.
And that is the last thought that goes through his head as the blade of an axe goes through it.
[No shade on anyone who loves lalafells, I think they are cute! But I just imagine Emet would hate it whenever he had to be one, and he must have been over his many lifetimes in canon.]
"An immortal bird?" Hades repeated as they made their way through the restricted area of the Bureau of the Architect.
Hythlodaeus nodded. "To be precise, it is not a living being, but magick woven in the likeness of a bird. One possessed of puissant healing powers. And as befits a masterwork of the Words of Lahabrea, it is a thing of beauty."
"I don’t doubt it. So what, then, is the problem?"
"As I said, it is not a living being. The concept proposed was a magick in avian guise. With this in mind..."
Hythlodaeus stretched out a hand to the enormous gate that stood before them. Soundlessly, the towering doors swung open...and Hades found himself wincing at the ear-rending cry that emanated from within. Furrowing his brow, he stepped across the threshold to be greeted with the sight of a magnificent bird, its plumes fairly afire, circling high in the vaulted hall. Having marked the creature's undeniable beauty, it took him but another moment to identify the problem ─ an unmistakable light shining in its heart. His breath caught in his throat.
"A soul... How?"
Through their mastery of creation magicks, men could weave anything into existence. Anything they could imagine, they could bring forth anything, that is, except a soul. As Hades well knew, souls spontaneously manifested within creatures that were born in accordance with the laws of nature. It was a gift from the star itself, long held to be impossible to recreate. No artificial being, no matter how subtly sculpted in the image of nature, could come to possess a soul. Such creations occupied a separate classification known as arcane entities.
"There was an accident," Hythlodaeus began. "During the concept's examination, a drifting soul merged with it─a soul burdened with regret, judging by the being's behavior. It rages against the pull of the Underworld."
As he listened, Hades kept his gaze fixed on the creature, which flew about in a frenzy. No sooner would it dash itself against the wall in an explosion of broken feathers than it would heal itself and repeat the grisly feat. This self-destructive dance unfolded again and again, with the creature occasionally giving vent to its overflowing magical reserves─or fury, as it seemed to him─as fiery breath.
Witnessing the excruciating display, his thoughts poured forth unbidden from his lips. "Consumed by the fear of death, it thrashes blindly about. It will know only pain and suffering and inflict the same upon others. A pitiful existence."
"Such moving empathy. It's as if you wore the feathers yourself."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. But what do you intend to do with it? Masterwork or no, we cannot well leave it as it is."
There, Hythlodaeus turned to face him, that irritating smile having returned, and again he knew a pang of regret. "As it is immortal after a fashion, we here have not the ability to return it to the Underworld─our efforts would only cause it pain. Nay, we require the services of a powerful mage, and I know of none more powerful than you."
Once more he found himself glaring daggers at his friend, whose grin had become broader than ever. But rather than give him the satisfaction of a complaint, he decided that he would make a debt of it. Without another word, he focused his mind, and as he did, his silhouette wavered and danced. Then all of a sudden, like a shadow lengthening, his form began to swell.
Through the thrum of gathering aether, he heard Hythlodaeus remark, "Never ceases to impress me..."
He knew well what his friend beheld─the unbridled power of the Underworld, pouring forth into his being. In such moments, he felt as if he was one with its flow. Though mages were plentiful, not even among the rest of the Fourteen could one find another capable of wielding such power.
Ere long, his transformation was complete, and Hythlodaeus was left to crane his neck up at him. "Indeed, there is no better candidate. Allow me to congratulate you again, Emet-Selch."
He let out a quiet breath, a sigh mingled with laughter. Then he faced the bird and set about his task.
My name rang out in the Capitol, the caller's voice resounding around the foyer.
I could hardly pretend not to have heard (alas), and thus turned to face my pursuer. I had been so close to escaping...
The voice belonged, as I knew it would, to a white-robed youth of small stature, who was hastening across the hall. His red mask marked him out as one of the Convocation of Fourteen. Elidibus.
I fixed him with an inquiring look as he recovered his breath. When at last he spoke, it was (as ever) in earnest.
"Do you know of the volcano we’ll be discussing at the next session?"
"I know that we are due for some pyrotechnics..."
According to reports circulated among the Convocation, there had been unusual aetherial activity on an isolated volcanic isle─which is to say, an eruption was forthcoming.
The island had one village upon it, and a wealth of fertile farmland─all of which would soon be lost. But that was simply the way of the world. As in many such cases, our role was merely to acknowledge the fact. The islanders would do the same, and those who deemed it prudent had likely already begun to move elsewhere. While it was true that the Convocation intended to discuss the matter, the conclusion would be no less inevitable.
But then why had Elidibus approached me?
"Well...Azem went there, and is resolved to stop the eruption."
Naturally. I felt my brow furrowing, and fought to suppress a scowl that threatened to pull my forehead down over my eyes.
"How?" I eventually managed.
"You have heard of Ifrita, yes? The fire spirit?"
"Lahabrea's masterwork. An impressive concept, even for him."
“It truly is incredible,” the youth said with quiet fervency, the determined line of his lips curving into a grin. Generally, I found his ardent admiration for the rest of the Council endearing─if embarrassing─but at that moment, I was rather preoccupied with the implications of his suggestion. It's a wonder my brow ever recovered.
Ifrita. A manifestation of concentrated fire aether. I could see what Azem was planning: transform the volcano's aether into Ifrita, draw her away, and then destroy her elsewhere. This would safely disperse the excess. Of course, the plan required someone to procure the concept of Ifrita for Azem. But if that someone was not Lahabrea himself, who else could it be?
As everyone knew, concepts were stored in the Bureau of the Architect, and not all could be readily removed for personal use. The chief of the bureau, however, could grant access as he pleased.
Who else indeed. I pictured my friend cheerfully sending Azem off to battle without a second thought. Forgetting my mask, I clapped my palm to my forehead in exasperation─which Elidibus duly took as a sign that I understood.
"If things get out of hand, Azem could be censured again," and here the youth paused. "But I'm sure that won't happen. Not with your help."
My brow resumed its descent.
"...Very well. But are you certain it is wise for the emissary to ally himself with so divisive a figure?"
"Oh, I'm not," he replied with practiced deftness. "I'm simply giving Azem's opinion on the matter equal weight. The rest of the Fourteen have yet to reach a verdict, after all."
On this point, I could not argue─though I wasn't particularly inclined to agree. And so I shrugged, musing inwardly that Azem was lucky the current emissary was such a kindly soul. Before we parted ways, however, I couldn't resist asking one more question.
"Did you happen to find out why Azem is so keen on preventing this eruption?"
The youth frowned, inevitably striving to recall his conversation with Azem as accurately as possible. It wouldn't do for the emissary to speak unadvisedly, after all. I waited politely.
"If I recall correctly," he began at length, with the air of one about to reveal a grave truth, "the grapes grown on that isle are particularly delicious. Or so Azem said. They must be truly remarkable."
"Indeed." I couldn't bring myself to shatter his faith. I did, however, vow to treat my "friends" to a lecture on priorities.
Blissfully ignorant of my misgivings, the young man smiled to himself again, and bade me farewell. As he wandered away, I swore I heard him murmur something about Azem's "ever refreshing perspective."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Memory 1
Not the bright of the sun, but instead imagine if someone replaced the sun with countless, cheap, fluorescent work place lighting and turned it onto the max setting. High oppressive and it stings the back of the eyes.
The landscape isn't much to look at anyway. Stretches of barren white sand extend in all directions. Well, except for two things. A wave of pure light that is currently turning whatever it touches into aforementioned pure white sand, and the last residence of man, Eulmore, sits on the horizon.
There is revelry coming from the last bastion of mankind. Singing and dancing and cries of joy as the end comes ever closer and closer. Long had they given up on the dream of living long lives and now they make the best of it until the end comes. They grow fat, happy and compliant. There are no more Heroes to defeat the light after all.
Eventually the light comes for the city of Eulmore and revelry turns to screams.
But at last the First has fallen ushering in the Ninth Umbral Calamity. Another successful Rejoining and a mage in ridiculously spiky robes teleports away in a puff of purple and black smoke.
Memory 2 - CW violence
A short creature complies wordlessly.
They are more demands, but they filter through his head not unlike the teacher voice from Charlie Brown. And while externally he is complying, internally is nothing but a huge, heaving sigh.
Well, that didn't go as planned, did it? He was supposed to infiltrate after all, but the leader of this group was entirely too distrustful and not even the promise of coin and favors seemed to sway him. Not even from his own kin.
But perhaps being his own kin is exactly why he was so distrusted.
Thoughts on whom he should have picked as a host dance in his head along with the preparedness for the almost scolding he would get from Elidibus for the setback. He loves the man dearly, but sometimes he could get terribly tedious and be terribly dull.
And that is the last thought that goes through his head as the blade of an axe goes through it.
[No shade on anyone who loves lalafells, I think they are cute! But I just imagine Emet would hate it whenever he had to be one, and he must have been over his many lifetimes in canon.]
Firebird
"An immortal bird?" Hades repeated as they made their way through the restricted area of the Bureau of the Architect.
Hythlodaeus nodded. "To be precise, it is not a living being, but magick woven in the likeness of a bird. One possessed of puissant healing powers. And as befits a masterwork of the Words of Lahabrea, it is a thing of beauty."
"I don’t doubt it. So what, then, is the problem?"
"As I said, it is not a living being. The concept proposed was a magick in avian guise. With this in mind..."
Hythlodaeus stretched out a hand to the enormous gate that stood before them. Soundlessly, the towering doors swung open...and Hades found himself wincing at the ear-rending cry that emanated from within. Furrowing his brow, he stepped across the threshold to be greeted with the sight of a magnificent bird, its plumes fairly afire, circling high in the vaulted hall. Having marked the creature's undeniable beauty, it took him but another moment to identify the problem ─ an unmistakable light shining in its heart. His breath caught in his throat.
"A soul... How?"
Through their mastery of creation magicks, men could weave anything into existence. Anything they could imagine, they could bring forth anything, that is, except a soul. As Hades well knew, souls spontaneously manifested within creatures that were born in accordance with the laws of nature. It was a gift from the star itself, long held to be impossible to recreate. No artificial being, no matter how subtly sculpted in the image of nature, could come to possess a soul. Such creations occupied a separate classification known as arcane entities.
"There was an accident," Hythlodaeus began. "During the concept's examination, a drifting soul merged with it─a soul burdened with regret, judging by the being's behavior. It rages against the pull of the Underworld."
As he listened, Hades kept his gaze fixed on the creature, which flew about in a frenzy. No sooner would it dash itself against the wall in an explosion of broken feathers than it would heal itself and repeat the grisly feat. This self-destructive dance unfolded again and again, with the creature occasionally giving vent to its overflowing magical reserves─or fury, as it seemed to him─as fiery breath.
Witnessing the excruciating display, his thoughts poured forth unbidden from his lips. "Consumed by the fear of death, it thrashes blindly about. It will know only pain and suffering and inflict the same upon others. A pitiful existence."
"Such moving empathy. It's as if you wore the feathers yourself."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. But what do you intend to do with it? Masterwork or no, we cannot well leave it as it is."
There, Hythlodaeus turned to face him, that irritating smile having returned, and again he knew a pang of regret. "As it is immortal after a fashion, we here have not the ability to return it to the Underworld─our efforts would only cause it pain. Nay, we require the services of a powerful mage, and I know of none more powerful than you."
Once more he found himself glaring daggers at his friend, whose grin had become broader than ever. But rather than give him the satisfaction of a complaint, he decided that he would make a debt of it. Without another word, he focused his mind, and as he did, his silhouette wavered and danced. Then all of a sudden, like a shadow lengthening, his form began to swell.
Through the thrum of gathering aether, he heard Hythlodaeus remark, "Never ceases to impress me..."
He knew well what his friend beheld─the unbridled power of the Underworld, pouring forth into his being. In such moments, he felt as if he was one with its flow. Though mages were plentiful, not even among the rest of the Fourteen could one find another capable of wielding such power.
Ere long, his transformation was complete, and Hythlodaeus was left to crane his neck up at him. "Indeed, there is no better candidate. Allow me to congratulate you again, Emet-Selch."
He let out a quiet breath, a sigh mingled with laughter. Then he faced the bird and set about his task.
For reference, he looks like this at the end: https://64.media.tumblr.com/231849d6d3f359585a2400c3a7bccbac/tumblr_pvd6g1k6Ou1wsksg3o1_1280.png
Volcanos
"Emet-Selch!"
My name rang out in the Capitol, the caller's voice resounding around the foyer.
I could hardly pretend not to have heard (alas), and thus turned to face my pursuer. I had been so close to escaping...
The voice belonged, as I knew it would, to a white-robed youth of small stature, who was hastening across the hall. His red mask marked him out as one of the Convocation of Fourteen. Elidibus.
I fixed him with an inquiring look as he recovered his breath. When at last he spoke, it was (as ever) in earnest.
"Do you know of the volcano we’ll be discussing at the next session?"
"I know that we are due for some pyrotechnics..."
According to reports circulated among the Convocation, there had been unusual aetherial activity on an isolated volcanic isle─which is to say, an eruption was forthcoming.
The island had one village upon it, and a wealth of fertile farmland─all of which would soon be lost. But that was simply the way of the world. As in many such cases, our role was merely to acknowledge the fact. The islanders would do the same, and those who deemed it prudent had likely already begun to move elsewhere. While it was true that the Convocation intended to discuss the matter, the conclusion would be no less inevitable.
But then why had Elidibus approached me?
"Well...Azem went there, and is resolved to stop the eruption."
Naturally. I felt my brow furrowing, and fought to suppress a scowl that threatened to pull my forehead down over my eyes.
"How?" I eventually managed.
"You have heard of Ifrita, yes? The fire spirit?"
"Lahabrea's masterwork. An impressive concept, even for him."
“It truly is incredible,” the youth said with quiet fervency, the determined line of his lips curving into a grin. Generally, I found his ardent admiration for the rest of the Council endearing─if embarrassing─but at that moment, I was rather preoccupied with the implications of his suggestion. It's a wonder my brow ever recovered.
Ifrita. A manifestation of concentrated fire aether. I could see what Azem was planning: transform the volcano's aether into Ifrita, draw her away, and then destroy her elsewhere. This would safely disperse the excess. Of course, the plan required someone to procure the concept of Ifrita for Azem. But if that someone was not Lahabrea himself, who else could it be?
As everyone knew, concepts were stored in the Bureau of the Architect, and not all could be readily removed for personal use. The chief of the bureau, however, could grant access as he pleased.
Who else indeed. I pictured my friend cheerfully sending Azem off to battle without a second thought. Forgetting my mask, I clapped my palm to my forehead in exasperation─which Elidibus duly took as a sign that I understood.
"If things get out of hand, Azem could be censured again," and here the youth paused. "But I'm sure that won't happen. Not with your help."
My brow resumed its descent.
"...Very well. But are you certain it is wise for the emissary to ally himself with so divisive a figure?"
"Oh, I'm not," he replied with practiced deftness. "I'm simply giving Azem's opinion on the matter equal weight. The rest of the Fourteen have yet to reach a verdict, after all."
On this point, I could not argue─though I wasn't particularly inclined to agree. And so I shrugged, musing inwardly that Azem was lucky the current emissary was such a kindly soul. Before we parted ways, however, I couldn't resist asking one more question.
"Did you happen to find out why Azem is so keen on preventing this eruption?"
The youth frowned, inevitably striving to recall his conversation with Azem as accurately as possible. It wouldn't do for the emissary to speak unadvisedly, after all. I waited politely.
"If I recall correctly," he began at length, with the air of one about to reveal a grave truth, "the grapes grown on that isle are particularly delicious. Or so Azem said. They must be truly remarkable."
"Indeed." I couldn't bring myself to shatter his faith. I did, however, vow to treat my "friends" to a lecture on priorities.
Blissfully ignorant of my misgivings, the young man smiled to himself again, and bade me farewell. As he wandered away, I swore I heard him murmur something about Azem's "ever refreshing perspective."