[Mkguild] MK: Snow Storm- Part 10

[Hallan Mirayas]

Act III: Snow Fall

Late evening, Feb 29, 708 CR

 

    Help me!

 

    Trapped in the form of a quadrupedal dire wolf,
a captive cowered in the center of a strange, circular room.  The room was
made entirely of marble, half black and half white.  Eighteen thrones
circled it, nine to each side, with the two most directly in front of him
raised above the others on daises, the black throne half a step lower than the
white.  The white side glowed by the light of crystal orbs and silver
metal wrought in orderly geometric patterns.  The dark side smouldered
with dim, ever-burning torches and chaotic accretions of twisted iron.

 

    Help me!

 

    The wolf paid little attention to the décor,
straining in unadulterated panic against the chains that held him in place.
 One of glowing silver and one of flaming iron, each bound him to a ring
set into the floor, one on each side of the dividing line between light and
darkness. No matter how he flailed against them, neither would yield, and he
only burned his mouth when he tried in desperation to bite them.  The
collar choked him when he tried to pull his head out of it, and weighed
damningly on his neck when he didn't.  For the hundredth time, he tried to
change forms.  Taur, man, dog, anything to shake loose!  He'd have
more easily tried to halt the sun in the sky.  For the hundredth time, he
slammed into a wall in his mind, and pain crashed down on him like a wagonload
of bricks.  His legs buckled and he collapsed to the cold floor, gasping
and sobbing.

 

    Please, help me!

 

-----

 

    Whisper slammed down
into the snow, cleaving into the paving stones underneath.  But its target was gone, and Misha looked for
it in wild bewilderment.  "What-
Where did- Drift?  Drift??"

 

    Raven approached.  When had she arrived?  A sick feeling suddenly curdled in Misha's
gut.  He remembered another time when
Raven had seemed to appear from nowhere after a gap in his memory: after the
daedra Suspira had tried to ensorcel the patrons of the Deaf Mule two years ago.

 

    "Where is
Drift?"

 

    "Lord Revonos
attempted to take your friend after his Oath, but Lady Akkala has disputed his
claim.  He has been taken before the
Celestial Court to be judged."

 

    "The Celestial
Court?"

 

    "A full assembly of
the aedra and daedra lords, meeting on neutral ground."

 

    Anger built in him, at
the daedra for causing this and at himself for his powerlessness to stop it, but
he quashed it for the moment.  There
would be time later to be angry.  "What
will they do to him?"

 

    "They will decide
whether his prior obligation to Lady Akkala supersedes his new oath to Lord
Revonos, and whether he was coerced into making the latter."

 

    "And if the answer
is 'no'?"

 

    The she-wolf turned
away, saying nothing.

 

    He touched her on the
shoulder.  "Raven?"

 

    A pained twitch
flickered across the Lothanasa's eyes, an unexpected crack in the Lothanasa's
habitually stoic expression.  "Pray to
your Eli for a miracle, Misha.  It may be
your friend's only hope."

 

-----

 

    The doors behind the wolf opened and he whirled
in a clatter of chains.  He then bolted in
terror to the end of their reach when he saw who had stepped through: a woman
in tight red leather whom he did not recognize, and a man in black armor whom
he did.  Nobody trusted the Lord of
Murder enough to walk ahead of them, so he always preceded everyone into the
hall of the Celestial Court.  Suspira,
Goddess of Lust, walked in with him, arm in arm, kindred spirits of selfish malice.  "And you got him by guile?  You,
who would rather smash down a wall than look for a door?" She laughed
so hard her generous cleavage nearly bounced out of its halter.  "I never would have expected it."



    Revonos bared his teeth
in a feral grin.  "Nobody ever does."

 

    "You're so
clever," Suspira purred, brushing her fingertip down his nose.  "Agemnos must be furious!"  The rattling
of chains drew her attention as the wolf thrashed like a hooked fish.  She leaned down and cooed, reaching for
him.  "And this must be the fool
himself...  What lovely fur he has!"

 

    The wolf strained
against the chains, black spots dancing in front of his eyes as the collar
throttled him.  His lungs screamed for air, but his instincts screamed
even louder to be away from her, to not let her touch him.  Nonononononononono-  Her
fingertips brushed his cheek and suddenly he was pressing his head against her
hand.  His blood rushed hot.  He
ached with desire for her.  He would do anything to have a chance with
her.  His tongue lolled as he drank in her cinnamon scent, crawling to her
and groveling on the ground in abject abasement, a plaything, a puppet on her
strings.

 

    "Ooh," Suspira purred, running her
fingers through the wolf's gleaming fur.  "Don't damage this one too
much, cousin.  I think I'd like to stud him to my hellhounds, see if
they'll inherit the pelt."

 

    Her companion snorted.  "You know that's impossible."

 

    Suspira smiled a small, coy grin.  "Is
it?"  She trailed her finger along the wolf’s jaw, teasing the whimpering
beast, then got up and walked away to her seat.

 

    The wolf stared after her, jaws agape, as sense
returned to him.  Blood pounded in his ears and his body shook from the
violation, and yet part of him still yearned to crawl after her.  His mind
whirled with confusion.  What... what just happened?

 

    Revonos kicked him.  "Quit drooling,
slave.  She’s mine."  Without further comment, he took his seat.

 

    Overwhelmed, the wolf curled up into a
shivering ball, closed his eyes tight, and tried with all his might to pretend
that none of them existed, that this was all some horrible nightmare, and he
just needed to wake up.  It was a doomed wish, but most of the remaining
aedra and daedra seemed either willing to allow him the moment or disinterested
enough not to care.  Lilith, the daedra goddess of predation and the
undead, paused to look him over before departing with a dismissive sniff, and a
dichotomy of heat and chill marked the passage of the sisters Yajiit and
Oblineth, aedra of fire and daedra of ice.

 

    Only one more decided it was worth his time to
stop: a tall man, thin to the point of emaciation, pale of skin with a dour
expression, and dressed in a dark brown robe. 
He carried a thick book, well-worn and full of notations, which he flipped
open to a fresh page.  Producing a dark
vulture's quill to write with, he spoke in a voice both courteous and polite,
yet coolly distant and utterly devoid of any trace of empathy.  "My name is Lord Tallakath.  If you do manage to get your voice back at
some point, I’d like to get your thoughts on what it felt like to be changed by
Lord Revonos.  I’m certain it was quite painful, but specific details
would be most helpful for my research.  I write for posterity, so your absolute
honesty would be appreciated.  I’m sure you understand."  A
shuddering sob was the only reply.  Tallakath made a note.  "How
interesting."  He left the shivering
beast behind without another word.

 

-----

 

    The doors to the Follower Cathedral slammed
open.  "Where is he?" shouted
Xavier as he stormed in, Priestess Merai chasing up the hall after him.  She didn't catch up in time.  "Where is the man who claims to lead
this wretched mob of fools?"

 

    Father Hough looked up from his prayer
book, from which he'd been reading aloud. 
A small group of people knelt in the pews close to him, having taken
shelter there when the alarm of 'daedra' had spread through the Keep like a
chill wind, and the echoes of their interrupted chant competed with the bang of
the doors for space in the vaulted cathedral ceiling.  Setting the book aside, he rose to his feet
and brushed his robes into their proper order. 
"I am Father Hough.  May I be
of assistance, sir?"

 

    Xavier brushed past the pleasantry,
ignoring in his fury the stares his entrance had gathered.  "Why don't you stupid Patildor teach
your children to beware the daedra?" he snarled.

 

    Hough held up one hand in a futile attempt
to calm the feline. "We Followers are all taught not to consort with any
spiritual powers, and to come to the Ecclesia when those powers come for
them.  The daedra have no hold here and cannot touch us here, so long as
faithful Followers come here."

 

    "As long as you're here?  Can't touch you?  Can't reach you?"  Xavier's speech broke down into fragments as fifteen
different replies all tried to jam themselves out of his mouth at once in a fit
of apoplectic fury.  His hand rose as if
to strike the priest.

 

    A pebbled wall moved from the side of
Xavier's vision, interposing itself between the leopard and the priest.  The mage froze in shock, for the first time
truly seeing the tri-horned Zachary, who was so large that Xavier's
subconscious had labeled him 'scenery'.  At
the same moment, Merai seized Xavier's arm, forcing it down and basketing the
half-bared claws inside her own hand. 
She needn't have bothered- Xavier just stared in baffled amazement at
the gargantuan triceratops as if he'd materialized from thin air, throwing him
at least temporarily off his rant. 
"How on earth do you even fit through the doors?" he finally
asked.

 

    "Very carefully," rumbled the
dinosaur.  "Do not call your heathen
magic here, or I will put you outside." 
Leaning closer, he ruffled the leopard's fur with an exhaled puff of
breath.  "If Father Hough insists, I
may even use a door to do so."

 

    Taking advantage of the blunting of
Xavier's outrage, Merai circled to face the leopard, adding another layer to
the wall between him and Father Hough. 
"Baron Marcus, you are behaving very wildly. I am not certain that
you have entirely avoided a brush with the aura of the Lord of Rage.  We need to go.  Now."

 

    The memory of a wail in the night
extinguished Xavier's fury, but bitterness lingered like dying embers.  Turning with a rippling swirl of his cape, he
walked out the doors of the Cathedral... and immediately flung his hands
wide.  Twin gales roared down the
hallways to either side of him, and candle flames throughout the Cathedral
danced madly as the air inside raced out to fill the vacuum.  Many went out.  Xavier turned, the storm dying away as
quickly as it had come, and his eyes landed on the seven-sided lamp that Drift
had made for Father Hough.  "Still
think they can't reach you?  Tell it to
the maker of that lamp."  Before
Merai or Zachary could stop him, the leopard pointed at the flame and snapped
his fingers.  It vanished instantly.  

 

    In what little light remained, Father Hough
saw the anger and hauteur slip from the leopard's face like a mask, grief and
pain weighing the young nobleman down like leaden chains.  But the slip was only momentary, and the
bitter anger slammed back into place with the finality of a closing door.  "Oh, wait.  You can't. 
Because they reached him."  Without another word, Xavier Marcus vanished
down the corridor, cape snapping in his haste to be away.  Merai flashed Father Hough an apologetic
look, and then hurried after.

 

    While Zachary shut the Cathedral doors,
Father Hough immediately began restoring the Cathedral to order.  The two large tapers on either side of the
altar had, fittingly, survived the blast intact, and from them light spread
back into the darkness.  As an altar boy
carried the flame to Edward Snow's lamp, Hough began to lead a prayer.  "Father Eli, we pray tonight for a lost
soul..."

 

-----

 

    A flare of power announced
the last two arrivals to the Court.  On
the white high throne, a cloud of golden light settled, while on the black
appeared a man of shadows, his eyes glowing blue-white like a pair of flames.  "Let this session of the Celestial Court
come to order!" declared the golden light, High Lord Kammoloth, King of
the Gods.

 

    "Prosecutor, step forth," proclaimed
the shadow man, Lord Ba'al, Prince of the Daedra.

 

    Agemnos stood from his chair, but took no step
forward.  "Lord Ba'al," he said, "I must recuse myself from
the role for this trial, due to a conflict of interest."  He turned
and beckoned to a younger man standing behind his throne, who stepped forward
instead.  Instead of a hand, the young man's right arm ended in a lion's
paw, golden fur tracing like a gauntlet halfway to his elbow, and he made sure
it was displayed prominently.  "My
son, Pride, shall take my place.  I foresee no further difficulties."

 

    "Conflict of interest- ha!  I heard
you got out-gambled by one of your own servants!" Lord Wvelkim, master of
the sea, catcalled from the aedra side.

 

    "Hardly," Agemnos replied, his tone
pitched as if speaking to a half-wit.  He gestured to Artela, seated
across from him.  "If she wins, I'll still have tomorrow to kill or
claim him.  Easily done.  Ergo, a conflict of interest."  

 

    Revonos growled at Pride.  "Throw
this case, and I'll gut you like a squealing pig."

 

    Pride sniffed dismissively, polishing his
leonine claws on his immaculate white shirt.  "As if I would.
 To put my name on a win at the Celestial Court, even one as paltry and
certain as this one-"

 

    "Never call an undecided trial certain,
young Pride."  Lady Artela, Goddess of Mercy, did not step from her
side of the arena so much as flow from it, her grace and poise unmistakable.
 "It is unbecoming... not to mention premature."  Her even
expression then quirked into a slightly scandalous smirk.  "Though,
from what I've heard, you are premature at a lot of things."

 

    "How dare you-"

 

    "Shut up, Pride," Agemnos interrupted.
 If he though Wvelkim a half-wit, his tone suggested that he clearly
thought his son a complete idiot.  "She's goading you.  Do try
to show -some- dignity."  He took
his seat.

 

    Pride seized the wolf's jaw in his lion-clawed
hand and lifted it, looking into the beast's wild and terrified eyes for a
moment before casting it loose.  Grimacing in disgust as if he'd just
stuck his hand into a bucket of filth, he drew a silken handkerchief from a
pocket to wipe the barest fleck of frothy spittle from one knuckle.
 Throwing the cloth away as if it had been hopelessly soiled, the daedra
noble turned to face the two high thrones.  "My Lord Ba'al," he
said with an ingratiating bow, "Assuming that the esteemed Lord Revonos
has no objections, I would ask that this creature's voice be returned to it for
the time being.  Otherwise, we'll be here all night listening to this
whimpering."

 

    "Higher quality whimpering!" Revonos
demanded with a raucous guffaw.  "Go ahead- I can always take it away
again later!"

 

    "Klepnos?" the shadow intoned.

 

    Halfway around the circle, another of the
daedra jerked to startled awareness.  Interrupted in the midst of a
bizarre three-way argument with voices only he could hear, Klepnos, the Lord of
Madness, shook himself.  "At once, my lord!" came the quick
reply, and he held his hand out toward the captive.  His face broadened
into a mischievous grin as he advised the creature, "There may be some
momentary discomfort."  Then his fingers crooked as if seizing the
beast from afar, and the bottom dropped out of the wolf's reality.

 

    For an instant, he was back in Metamor,
collapsed to all fours, the stench of burned flesh and fur filling his nostrils
from his scorched hands.  A roaring inferno swept through every cell in his
body, screams of pain ripping his throat raw as a terrible pressure pulled at
him from all directions at once.  Then, just when his bones were about to
shatter into a million razor-edged shards, his flesh on the very edge of
tearing apart from the inside out, Klepnos jerked his hand back.  Reality
slammed back into place with a gut-wrenching lurch and dumped Drift on the
courtroom floor in a crumpled, shuddering heap.

 

    "There we go," the Trickster Lord
said over Drift's choked, retching sobs, dusting his hands off theatrically
before sitting back on his throne.  "All fixed."  Several
of the daedra laughed.

 

    Lady Artela laid her hand gently on the
samoyed's convulsing shoulder as he heaved himself dry, and beckoned to two of
the aedra.  "Lady Akkala, Lady Velena, would you aid me, please?"  When they arrived, she said, "Do what
you can," and then interposed herself between the trio and the rapidly
approaching Pride.

 

    "What do you think you're doing?" the
daedra demanded, a question that evoked a disgusted scowl from Agemnos just as
it brought a smile to Artela.

 

    "Healing his wounds and calming his
spirit," the goddess replied, with a slow, level tone that suggested she
was speaking to a particularly dull-witted child.  "Otherwise, we'll
be here all night listening to his whimpering. 
We wouldn't want that, would we?"  Several of the aedra
laughed in turn.

 

    Pride's scowl darkened with humiliation,
knowing he'd walked right into that one, and he recovered with bad grace.
 "Fine.  See if I care," he retorted dismissively, shooting
a hateful glare at Drift before spinning away to stalk back to his side of the
courtroom.  More laughter chased him, this time from both sides, and his
jaw clenched.  He didn't dare strike back at Artela, but that mongrel
mortal was another matter.  That would have to come later, though, and he
soothed his wounded ego with contemplations of just what he might do once this
case was properly decided.  Revonos' arenas were assuredly brutal, but
Pride was certain he could think of something to make them worse.

 

   
Drift recognized Akkala's kind visage and the help the two goddesses were
offering, but he couldn't stop himself from shrinking away.  Not with Suspira's attentions so fresh in his
mind.  Not when his jaw ached where
Akkala had healed him of tetanus, as if her Mark had become a brand burning its
way into his bones.  Not while a panic
that he couldn't control bound his heart in ice, growing tighter as they came
nearer, and his muscles quivered like jelly after being nearly ripped apart...
again.  Teeth chattering, he cowered
against the edge of the light half of the circle, terrified by their approach,
yet not daring to cross into the dark.

 

    Dvalin, the Lord of Storms, huffed in
annoyance.  "Can you two hurry this
up, please?"

 

    "Why, cousin, are we keeping you from
someone?" Suspira purred with a knowing smile.

 

    Velena and Akkala ignored them both.  "Peace, Snowchild," Akkala began,
but Velena stopped her with an upraised hand, her lips drawing down into a
troubled frown.

 

    "Wait...  Something is not right here."  Extending her upraised hand palm-out toward
the trembling samoyed, the Goddess of Love closed her eyes and
concentrated.  Panic drew tighter around
Drift's heart as he felt a warmth wash over him, the scent of roses on the air,
and Velena turned a pointed glance toward Revonos.  "A trap," she declared, a statement
of fact rather than an accusation, and the dark-armored daedra smirked in
reply.  Velena made a quick motion with her
hand, as if severing a thread, and the ice around Drift's heart shattered.

 

    "You're no
fun," Revonos scoffed.   

 

    His voice still
shattered from screaming, Drift could only ask with his eyes.  But Velena understood.  Kneeling down in front of him, she stroked his
cheek with her fingertips.  "Love brooks
no falsehoods, Snowchild."  Her eyes
soft with compassion, Velena produced a soft cloth and began to wipe the tears,
blood, and worse from Drift's face.  "Breathe,
Edward.  Your fear is understandable, but
panic has been thrust upon you.  It is
now broken.  Be at peace, for the moment."

 

    Warmth washed over Drift
again when Velena touched him, but this time it settled over his shoulders like
a cloak.  A strange feeling of security
settled with it, as if his fear was a rainstorm and her touch had placed a
glass bowl over him to shield him from it.  He could recognize in his mind
that it was still there, slowly sinking away from its sanity-clawing peak, but
he felt it only as a detached observer instead of a participant being drowned
in it.  It was a strange feeling, this calm, but welcome beyond words.
 Weariness dragged at him as his adrenaline ebbed.  His racing heart
slowed, his muscles eased, his tail hesitantly uncurled from against his belly.
 Akkala’s touch similarly wiped away his burns and weariness, and he knew
he should be grateful, but it was to Velena that Drift clung like a drowning
sailor in a storm.  "Don’t go.  Please don’t leave me," he
begged, though each word felt like knives in his throat.

 

    "I am sorry," the golden-haired
goddess replied, "but Lord Revonos will accuse me of influencing the trial
if I stay."  She flashed another
angry glare at the dark-armored man, who smiled knowingly in reply.  "Be brave, Snowchild.  Not all hope is lost.  You can endure this, and you will."  With one last gentle stroke of his ears, Lady
Velena slipped from Drift's grasp, her silken dress sliding like water through
his fingers, and the dread of anticipation twisted Drift's guts as her induced
Calm slowly faded.  Wordlessly pleading for just one more moment, he
crawled after her to the limit of his chains.

 

    A mailed foot interposed itself, attached to a
male figure clad entirely in silver armor.  Narrowed eyes glared down in
contempt-filled disapproval through the slit of a closed visor.  "Get
to your feet, man," he instructed, hauling the rag-clad canine up with a
single hand and then casting him back to the center of the circle as if
repelled by his presence.  "You’ve made your choices, and you’ll have
your fair chance at court.  Face your fate with some dignity."

 

    "For what little time left that you have
any," added Lord Revonos with a sneer from across the room.

 

    "Be silent, Revonos."

 

    "Make me, Dokorath."

 

    A flare of power cut the bickering short.
 "That will be enough of that," Lord Ba’al interceded.  To
Pride, he asked, "Are you now ready to proceed, Prosecutor?"

 

    The daedra noble bowed to both high thrones.
 "Yes, my lords."

 

    "Advocate of the Accused, are you ready to
proceed?" asked Lord Kammaloth.

 

    "Yes, my lords," replied Artela.

 

    "Very well.  Then I declare this
meeting of the Celestial Court now in session.  Prosecutor, you may state
your case."

 		 	   		  
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