[Mkguild] MK: Snow Storm- Part 12

[Hallan Mirayas]

    Alexastra floated in the void.  No sound, no light, no sensation at all, not
even from her own body.  Nothing but her
own thoughts.  They were not happy ones.

 

    It was not the first time she had been
trapped in a soul gem.  That time had not
been pleasant, either, but this was far worse. 
She had, as best as she could tell, saved her beloved from Agemnos'
clutches... only to see him thrown into the hands of Revonos.  Had Nocturna betrayed her?  How could this have happened?  What could she do now?

 

    Once again, she tested the confines of her
prison.  If the gem was flawed, she had
learned ways to exploit that, ways to escape. 
If Linafex had procured the gem from some source other than Lord Agemnos,
there was a slim chance... but no.  Her
jail was secure, and she almost wept. 
She would have to wait until someone released her.  It could be days, it could be eons.  It could be never.

 

    No. 
She pushed that despairing thought away, unwilling to accept such a
catastrophe.  She refused to believe that
she would be so forgotten.  The economics
of the Hells insisted that she would eventually be freed.  Neither Lord Agemnos nor Lady Nocturna were
given to wasting useful resources and, if Lord Agemnos still managed somehow to
win their bet, he would never settle for such a tame torture as eternal
isolation.  No.  This would only be temporary.

 

    So be it. 
She had resources available even here, in the featureless void.  With a thought, she channeled her talent with
illusions into generating a world in her own mind, letting the image of it form
around her.  A body, clothes, a table, a
room, and beyond...  Producing a small
metal top from a pocket she hadn't had a moment before, she set it spinning on
the table, willing it to continue for as long as the illusion lasted.  She was not about to become lost in her own
illusions.  Every outcome she could think
of, she would plan and prepare and train for. 
When she got loose, she would be ready.

 

    And then not even Ba'al himself would stop
her.

 

-----

 

    Drift looked around, jaw
dropping open in disbelief as aedra and daedra alike filed out of the room, the
two on the high thrones simply vanishing from view in the same manner that they
had arrived.  He was left alone.  "Wait! 
What's happening?" he asked when he could finally get his tongue to
move.  "Where are you going?  Don't leave me here-"

 

    The doors shut with a
boom.

 

    "-alone."  He paused a moment, jaw hanging slightly
open.  What on earth had possessed him to
say that?  Now was his best chance to get
out of this crazy place!  Whirling away
from the doors, he prised at the heavy collar around his neck, trying to find a
clasp, trying to squeeze his head out of it. 
Then he reached for the chains attached to it... and froze.  Just thinking
about laying a hand on that black iron, the black iron that had burned with
fire, twisted his gut with nausea and fear. 
He would try the silver chain first. 
If he could get -that- worked out of the floor, then maybe... maybe he'd
be able to try the black.  Work now, panic later, came the old
adage, but it rang hollow this time. 
Fear-taste turned his mouth copper, but he tried to ignore it while he
pulled on the chain.

 

    He might as well have
tried to uproot a mountain.  Its end
buried deep in the floor, the chain didn't budge, and his feet slipped on a
puddle of his own blood and vomit. 
Polished marble proved treacherously slippery for wet paws, and it
wasn't long before he landed chin-first on the floor, hands entangled in the
chains beneath him.  Stars of pain danced
in his eyes, then cleared away... to reveal three pairs of slippered feet
standing before his nose.

 

    The feet appeared
attached to three women in long silver dresses: one black-haired, one white,
one blonde as daylight.  All looked to be
in their early twenties.  Drift didn't
believe it for a moment.  Not here, not
after the beings he'd already encountered. 
"Who are you?"

 

    "We are the
Caretakers of Sanctuary," replied the black-haired woman, banishing with a
graceful gesture the mess Drift had made of the floor.  "I am Luna."

 

    "We are sworn to
neutrality.  You will not be
harmed," continued the blond, lifting Drift to his feet without any
seeming effort.  "I am Phoebe."

 

    "We have been
instructed to see to your care while your Judgement is deliberated,"
finished the white-maned girl, reaching out to touch the chains bound to
Drift's heavy collar.  "I am
Selene."

 

    Drift's eyes widened as
the silver and black chains faded into a ghostly transparency, vanishing into
apparent nothingness halfway to the floor. 
"What did-"

 

    "Your bonds are
unbroken," intoned Luna, circling to Drift's left.

 

    "But you are
granted temporary parole and respite," Phoebe spoke, circling to Drift's
right.

 

    "We will take you
to a place where you may refresh yourself," proclaimed Selene.  She stayed where she was, and the three of
them raised their hands in a circle around Drift.  And then, quite suddenly, they were elsewhere.

-----

 

    Revonos slammed Pride
against the wall by his shirt collar. 
"What do you mean, I might not win?" he roared.  "It's obvious!"

 

    His feet dangling two
full feet off the ground, Pride couldn't quite maintain his father's famous
sang froid.  Prying fruitlessly at Revonos'
iron grip, the daedra noble gasped, "'S'not what I said!  I said- ow! 
Put me down, you maniac- ow!!" 
Eventually, even Pride deduced that struggling with and insulting the
Lord of Rage wasn't going to be a successful strategy, and he went still.  "Ahem. 
I beg your pardon.  If you desire
my clarification and assistance, I must respectfully request that you put me
down.  At a convenient time.  Preferably soon.  Ish. 
Please."

 

    Growling, Revonos shook
Pride a few more times to make sure he had really stopped resisting, then
dropped him with a sulking scowl. 
"All right, you scrawny pipsqueak. 
Tell me what you really meant, and stop talking like you're still in the
courtroom.  I'm not stupid, and I won't
let a jumped-up little scrub like you talk down to me.  Clear?"

 

   
"Indubit-"  Pride
checked himself.  "Very clear.  Crystal clear, even.  As clear as-"  A steely glare from Revonos stopped him
again.  Pride took a deep breath and
decided to try a different approach: flattery. 
"Your lordship, most fearsome of warriors, if your humble servant
unin- that is, accidentally implied that you might l- that you might.... be
less than successful in your right and worthy claim on that idiot fool of a
mortal," Pride began, drooping his head in penitent obeisance, "then
I must abjectly beg your forgiveness for misspeaking.  That was far from my intent.

 

    Pride's delivery grew
smoother as he warmed to his work. 
Sliding off to the side, he plucked a golden goblet of ambrosia from a
nearby servant's platter and offered it, gesturing with his free hand to an
opulent, sumptuously upholstered chair nearby. 
"Please, refresh yourself, milord, while I correct my
misspeaking."

 

    Revonos eyed both drink
and chair distrustfully for a few moments, recognizing he was being managed,
but decided to go along with it. 
"Correct yourself quickly," he snapped as he sat, taking a
large gulp from the goblet.  "You
have until I finish my drink, or I'll embed this in your skull."

 

    "And you would be
right to do so, oh mighty one," Pride soothed, "but stay your wrath
for just a few moments and I think you will find it worth the wait."  Pulling over a relatively plain ottoman,
Pride seated himself to subtly place his head lower than Revonos', and folded
his hands in his lap.  "You, of all
people, know that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy."

 

    Revonos took another
large gulp, belched, and scowled. 
"Get on with it."

 

    Pride hurried on.  "I believe your case is certain, as far
as claiming him is concerned, no matter the mitigating circu- ahem.  You will surely claim him.  However, there is some precedent that you
might not be able to -keep- him, at least not indefinitely."

 

    The goblet creaked a
warning in Revonos' fist, starting to deform in his tightening grip.

 

    "I say this only as a warning,"
Pride blurted, willing his face to turn a bit pale for his client's
benefit.  "Not as a sure thing, but
just as a distant possibility.  I would
not want you to be caught off- to be surprised unexpectedly if a time limit
were set on your ownership."

 

    Revonos scowled, but
then sighed and took another long gulp from his drink.  "I remember," he grumbled, and a
bit of the tension slipped from Pride's shoulders.

 

    "Truly, you are
wise, my lord.  Have you considered what
you might do if such a decision occurs?" 
Revonos wound up to hurl the goblet at Pride's head for asking such an
idiot question, but Pride beat him to it with a hasty addition.  "I mean no offense, oh most powerful and
dreaded Lord Revonos, but I've had a thought that I think you might find
amusing, if you would be willing to accept suggestions from such a lowly
creature as myself.  Free of charge,
even."

 

    "Free of charge,
huh?"  Revonos snorted.  "Your father would choke you and save me
the trouble."  The daedra lord
finished his drink and crumpled the goblet into a metal ball with one fist,
eyeing Pride's forehead as if already imagining what damage it might do.  "All right.  One chance to impress me, kid.  Make it count."

 

    Pride smiled.  Now was his chance.  Now was his opportunity to make that mortal
suffer for his earlier humiliation in the courtroom.  Leaning forward and dropping his voice into a
conspiratorial whisper, Pride said, "Give him everything he asked
for.  Power beyond reckoning, beyond
controlling.  Forge him into a living
weapon... and then let him loose.  Just
imagine the potential for chaos and destruction...  Imagine how much suffering you'll cause, and
how distracted Akkala will be trying to untangle the mess.  If you must give him back, make him a
poisoned gift."

 

    Revonos sat back in his
chair, the seed of an idea sinking into fertile soil, and a smile slowly spread
across his craggy face.  "...I like
your style, kid," he said finally, tossing the crumpled goblet over his
shoulder and breaking into a malicious grin. 
He laughed, loud and raucous, then rose and slapped Pride on the back
hard enough to nearly unseat him. 
"I know just how to do it, too."  Snatching up two goblets of ambrosia, he
handed one off to the young daedra noble, and then guzzled the other down in
one triumphant swig.  "Stop by my
arenas sometime:  I'll make sure you get
the best seat in the house... after mine, of course."

 

    Pride smiled over the
lip of his own goblet, savoring the sweetness of success.  "Of course."

 

-----

 

    The room in which Drift
and the three sisters materialized was lushly carpeted in red and lit by
firelight.  A steaming bath had been
drawn in an ivory-and-gold tub by the blazing stone hearth, and a platter of
food by a palatial four-poster bed.    "Here, you may wash, eat, and rest, as
you choose," Luna began as the three moved back into a line facing the
samoyed.

 

   Forestalling Drift's
incredulous gape, Phoebe raised a warding hand. 
"We do not say whether or not you will find yourself able to enjoy
them as you normally would..."

 

    "...Only that,
should you fall into the power of the Lord of Rage, it may be quite some time
before another such chance presents itself," advised Selene.  "You would be wise to take it while you
can."

 

    The three sisters bowed
and took their leave, by the door this time. 
Drift didn't hear a lock click, but who knew what other measures these
beings might invoke?  Eyeing all three
options of bath, food, and bed in equal disbelief, he then looked to the
window.  It opened easily enough. Daring
only a quick glance around, lest he be spotted, he quickly gauged the distance
to the ground and decided he might have a chance... with a little help.  The bed linens worked nicely, once he tied
one end to a bedpost.  Casting the other
end of the bedsheet rope out the window, he started to climb down the wall...
and finally took a real look at his surroundings.

 

    A twenty-foot fall to
land flat on his back drove the wind from his lungs, but it barely registered
compared to the enormity of the spectacle rising into the sky above him.  A castle fortress towered into the sky, its
grand architecture effortlessly dwarfing Metamor, and it gleamed with the
rainbow iridescence of mother-of-pearl, colors ever-shifting.  And, although the ground on which he'd landed
felt warm and temperate, and he could smell grass and flowers and orchards in
abundance, roiling stormclouds raced in a solid cylinder as far up as his eye could
see.  The mother of all blizzards wrapped
itself around this incredible, impossible building and its environs.

 

    Where?  How?  Drift shook himself and focused on
remembering how to breathe.  It didn't
matter what this place was.  The only
thing that mattered was getting away and-

 

    "You really need to
watch that first step.  It's a long one."

 

    If Drift could have
screamed, he would have.  The
green-clothed crazy one- what was his
name? Clepnos? leaned against the wall right next to Drift's feet, as if
he'd been waiting there for Drift to fall.

 

    "I was.  See-r of the future, remember?"

 

    "How-" Drift
wheezed.

 

    "In another
reality, you pushed a mattress out first, in case this happened."  Klepnos shrugged without uncrossing his
arms.  "Oh, well, can't win 'em
all.  At least you didn't land on the
spiked rails.  Wait, those aren't
here...  never mind.  Go ahead, run off now.  I won't stop you."

 

    Drift staggered to his
feet, deciding to take his chance before the daedra changed his mind.  First hobbling, then jogging, then running,
Drift hit a full sprint as he neared the cloud wall.  Whatever the storm was, he-

 

    The chains attached to
his collar, forgotten in their faded state, snapped suddenly taut and his
collar slammed backward into his throat. 
Checked mid-stride at a full sprint, Drift's feet went out from under
him and he slammed to the ground. 
Something cracked, and the samoyed's body went numb from the neck down.

 

    That was where Klepnos
found him a half-minute later.  Stooping,
the daedra lord patted the paralyzed, suffocating samoyed with blasé unconcern,
ignoring the wide, panicked eyes.  "Not
a bad attempt, but I told you this would happen.  No, wait... that was another time.  Wasn't it?"  Darkness started to close on Drift's vision
as the daedra rambled, and the Lord of Madness frowned.  "Oh, stop complaining- you'll be
fine.  You are much too entertaining for
me to let you die of a silly broken neck. 
Back to your room, little boy." 
He snapped his fingers.

 

    The three sisters bowed
and took their leave, and Drift collapsed in a shivering heap on the red
carpeted floor.  Firelight illuminated
his shaking hand as he felt his neck, undamaged, unchoked, only the lingering
memory of pain and terror.  Did that really just- 

 

    Something tapped on the
window.  When Drift turned to look,
Klepnos was sitting on the ledge, smiling. 
With a jaunty wave, he vanished.

 

    Drift spent the rest of
the evening in a corner, curled into as tight a ball as he could manage.

 

-----

 

    In spite of his best
efforts, Drift eventually fell asleep, and he dreamed of Alexis in his
arms.  "Survive," she
said.  "That is all the advice I can
give you.  Do not trust to hope.  A sliver of hope in a sea of despair will
draw Revonos like iron to a lodestone." 
She stroked his cheek, her eyes full of sorrow.  "If you must hope, hide it well.  Bury it deep out of sight, or he will use it
against you."

 

-----

 

    Morning finally came,
and Drift woke to find himself chained in the courtroom again.  Again the aedra and daedra filed in, this
time in silence, and the two judges appeared in their twin flashes of light and
dark.  "Edward Snow," Lord
Kammoloth intoned.  "Our
deliberations are concluded.  Now stand
and hear your judgement."

 

    Drift stood on wobbly
legs, shaking with fear under the gaze of the assembled aedra and daedra.  His hands clenched together around faint
hope.  Please, Eli, please...

 

    "It is the decision
of this court," continued Lord Ba'al, "that this mortal, Edward Snow,
showed no signs of compulsion in making his Oath to Revonos.  It was done of his own free will.  His Oath to Revonos therefore supersedes his
earlier Oath to Akkala, and it is Revonos' right to claim him as he intends."

 

    The Lord of Rage grinned
as Akkala's silver chain to Drift's collar snapped, her mark on Drift's jaw
dimming to black.  The collar shifted
from half iron and half silver to heavy black iron emblazoned with the Sundered
Shield of Revonos.  He started to rise,
the other end of the iron chain materializing in his hand.

 

    "Hold,
Revonos," Kammoloth commanded and, begrudgingly, the dark lord
paused.  "Though we found no direct
compulsion, the evidence of entrapment and the madness of trauma are
unmistakable, and the foretelling of our seers all point to an eventual
severing of your control."  Pride
and Revonos shared a glance, anticipating what was coming next.  "It is therefore the decision of this
court that this mortal shall be rendered to you until such time as that
severance occurs, or a thousand years have passed, whichever is earlier, at
which point his duties revert to their prior owner."

 

    Drift backed away,
looking around in wild panic.  None of
the aedra would meet his pleading gaze.  All
of them, every one of them, looked away. 
"A thou-  a thousand years?" he whispered,
his throat choking on anything louder. 
"How-"

 

    "You will not age
during your punishment, Edward Snow," continued the High Lord, his voice stern,
but edged with pity. "Nor will Lord Revonos be allowed to cause your
permanent death.  You have, however, made
one of the most all-encompassing Oaths I have ever heard sworn, and I do not
envy the trials you will be made to endure."

 

    "A thousand...  Please..."  Drift's legs gave way.  He buckled to his knees, hands on the ground,
head hanging.  Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani...

 

    Revonos grinned, pulling
the chain from the ground and forcing his prey's head to lift.  "No more begging to them, Carcarak.  You beg to -me-."

    

    Drift shook his head, terrified beyond words,
yet he tried to hold onto what little scrap of dignity he had left.  It
didn’t last.  Fire lashed down the chain into his body and he screamed.
 "Lesson one, dog," Revonos snarled at the samoyed, who sobbed
in fear.  Revonos backhanded him across the muzzle to shut him up.  "You
do what I tell you to, when I tell you to do it.  Now beg!"

 

    Words poured from the samoyed's mouth like a
torrent.  "Please!  Please, no!  Let me go!  Please!"

 

    "Good boy.  Now..."
 Revonos smiled as the dog's bones started crunching.  "Scream."
 And Drift obeyed.

 

-----

 

Epilogue:

 

    Misha tried and failed
to will his face into an expression of stone as he, Caroline, and Madog looked
over the ruin Drift had left of his forge and his workshop.  Shattered dreams lay all around him: shards
of fabric, metal, paper, and wood, lingering memories of a terrified scream.  Misha closed his eyes and tried not to think
about it.  He'd lost so many friends over
the years... so many taken far before their time...  when would it end?  Would Metamor ever really know peace?  Would he?

 

    Caroline's hand slid
into his, and Madog pressed his metal side against Misha's leg.  "You don't have to do this,"
Caroline offered.  "Madog and I can
handle it."

 

    "No," Misha
sighed, opening his eyes again.  "I
promised him I'd see to his things if something happened to him."  Steeling himself, he kissed Caroline on the
cheek and stroked Madog between the ears. 
"Come on... we've got a lot of work to do."

 

    When did I get so old? Weariness dragged at the fox, the aches of bruises
and strained muscle slowing him down as he started picking up wreckage, setting
what was salvageable on the table next to Drift's family Canticles.  He paused to brush his fingers across the
book, drawing solace from-

 

    Shattered manacles dipped into a pool... and were drawn out as a
gleaming sword.

 

    What?  Misha froze, his hand still on the old
leather book.  What was-

 

    "Mama,
no!"  Madog's yelp distracted Misha,
and the vision sank away into the back of his mind.  He turned to see Madog pulling Caroline back
from lighting the forge, scraps of old and ravaged paper piled up for tinder.

 

    "What is it,
Madog?" the fox asked, and Madog flew to the hearth to retrieve a
particularly old and yellowed strip from the pile.  Dashing over to the table, the mechanical fox
set it in the 'keep' pile on top of the Canticles, next to Misha's hand.

 

    "It special!"
Madog exclaimed.  "Got a
secret!"

 

    "A secret?"
Caroline asked as she approached, rubbing her tailtip where Madog had bitten
her.

 

    "Very old secret, Mama,"
the metal fox replied, eyeing the blank, featureless paper with an expression
of wonder.  "Been hiding for years
and years.  Secret big as the
world..."

 

-----

 

    Chained to Revonos'
throne, an enormous dire wolf panted in the Sixth Hell.  His first fight had started mere moments
after his arrival, and he lay beaten and bloodied on the red sandstone floor.  His foreleg ached where it had been ripped
out of its socket and shattered.  Once
the fight was over and he had earned a kick in the ribs for losing, Revonos had
jammed the limb back into place and healed it.  The restoration had been just as brutal and
painful as the rending.  Carcarak's gaze
flicked to every shadow, trying to keep track of all the eyes sizing him
up.  Whispered arguments over who would
be next to try the lord's newest prize erupted into scuffles and fights of
their own, then died down to more watching.

 

    And all the while, deep
inside the beast's mind, a hidden corner fixed on his last memory of Metamor: a
fox-man's determined face.  A mantra of
madness repeated itself over and over: Must
stay alive.  Misha will find me.  He
-will- find me.

 

Fin.

 		 	   		  
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