From hallanmirayas at hotmail.com Mon Dec 9 02:17:24 2024 From: hallanmirayas at hotmail.com (Hallan Mirayas) Date: Mon, 9 Dec 2024 02:17:24 +0000 Subject: [Mkguild] MK: Nightmares (1/2) Message-ID: Nightmares by Hallan Mirayas Previously? Rickkter sifted through the red-stained snow where Linafex and his daughter had fallen, their bodies cleared away for burning. He'd felt and recognized the pulse of a soul gem being activated, and he knew it had to be around here somewhere... Another hand closed on it first, plunged into the snow only an arm's length from where he'd been searching, and the raccoon mage glared when he recognized its owner. "Malger Sutt," he spat. The marten sifted snow from around the gem in his hand, his jade green finery wrapped in a protective heavy cloak that shadowed his features, reducing his visibility down to the faintly glowing gem in the marten's hand. An unworried, even rakish, smile and slight, though not mocking, bow accompanied it. "I'm somewhat surprised you didn't notice me approach, Rickkter." The comment stung, and Rickkter snarled as he drew up, unsheathing his katana and bringing it to bear on the insufferable minstrel-turned-archduke. "Give that to me," he demanded, flicking his eyes to the stone, then back to meet the marten's. "Now. It needs to be destroyed." Malger took a single step back out of reach, acknowledging the threat, but his free hand did not yet stray toward the tassled swords at his own hips. Rickkter knew he was highly skilled with those blades, perhaps even his superior in their specific use, but Sutt had no magic to round out his vulnerabilities. "No." The marten shook his head and tucked the stone away in the folds of his doublet. "The Lady Nocturna insists that the daedress Alexastra remain captive for the time being, for her own safety." One of Rickkter's folded ears twitched up in curiosity as he regarded the fop only a single blade's length, one quick lunge, beyond the tip of his katana. "By what right?" he growled as the snow whipped around them both, dusting the marten's sable fur with white and turning his dark green cloak into a pine in a winter forest. The marten's smile remained, but a hint of hardness slipped into his expression. "By the right of a mother for her child, stolen at birth and hidden from her for four thousand years," he shot back. Both of Rickkter's ears snapped up and forward. "... She's what?" Startled eyes squinted again as a stinging gust of wind whipped the marten's fur and clothing, though the marten himself did not move. "The mother of she who has been captured within this gem. As I just said." Malger twisted the clasp of the gem-holding pocket closed and placed a hand protectively across it. "Were the occasion different, I would willingly hand this over, but right now releasing her would be far too dangerous." "Dangerous? To whom?" Malger's smile finished fading to a firm seriousness. "To her, Rickkter, and by extension, all of us. Many fates rest upon this fulcrum. One error and the lever will shift to the detriment of all. We must wait." "For what?" Rickkter fairly yelled into the wind which, at that moment, chose to ebb and turn his snarl into the echoing bark of an angry beast. "For the proper time." His smile returning, Malger held up one hand, an upraised finger begging a moment's abeyance. "And, until that time, Raven must not know, Lord Rickkter. She would be a weight on the wrong end of the lever were she to discover too early." His hand lowering, Malger stepped forward until the tip of Rickkter's unwavering blade rested lightly against his breast; against the gleaming silver crescent moon of his faith to Nocturna, daedra goddess of dreams and nightmares, bringer of omens. And prophecy. "Trust, milord, that when such time comes to release her from the stone, both you and Lothanasa Raven will be there, on my word of faith to Nocturna and upon my very title. I will let you know when I am prepared and then the Lothanasa. Until then, I will see it kept hidden away where it can harm no-one." Rickkter snarled, his ears once more backing, and slammed his katana neatly back into its scabbard without taking his eyes from the insufferable royal and nightmare worshiper. "Very well, archduke, I will bear this silence. But play me false and I'll see you part company with your overdressed head." Malger actually laughed and bowed more deeply, this time very much mocking, "Very well. Within the year, milord, if not sooner. Trust." "-is a fragile thing." Rickkter growled as he turned about and stalked back into the howl of wind and snow. ----- May 26, 708 CR "Very well," the Duke replied as the briefing concluded. "Then let us move on to the other matter on the agenda." While Misha carefully returned the teeth to the bag, the Duke and the Duchess settled back into their thrones, and he shared a long glance with her before turning his dark brown eyes on Malger Sutt. "Namely, the other extremely dangerous creature you propose to return to my city." Malger nodded in reply, then reached into a pocket and drew forth something held in a closed fist. Turning it upward, an opened hand revealed a sharply faceted stone the size of a robin's egg, green as emerald but as opaque and clouded as jade. Rickkter and Raven both stiffened, as did everyone else in the room when Raven identified it. "The soul gem Arkos Linafex used." The she-wolf's eyes fixed on the marten like hawk talons. "I assume there is an excellent reason you have not destroyed it yet." Her frozen tone implied that there had certainly better be. Malger nodded. "Timing, Lothanasa. If its occupant were released too soon, she would have gone after her better half immediately and been destroyed at Revonos' hands? or worse, under the fangs and claws of her own beloved. The Lady Nocturna foresaw this as the most favorable moment, neither earlier nor later. Her time is now." "Alexis Nightwind," came a dusky voice from a shadowy corner of the ceiling, belonging to the spymaster Andwyn. "Also known as Anastasia Fletcher and the Caravan Cat." "And Deborah of Aldemar," added another. Heads turned. Madog had, as he often did, arrived without sound or notice. He now sat next to the Duke's chair, blue eyes fixed peaceably but cautiously on the green gem. Duke Thomas gestured for everyone to relax, while part of him marveled not for the first time how a mechanical metal fox could so readily display readable emotion? when it wanted to. The rest of him wondered where, or more likely when, Madog had encountered this woman. If 'of Aldemar' meant what he thought it did, then it referenced a town that had been a ruin before the fall of the Sieulman Empire. Malger's eyes met the Duke's and he nodded in knowing agreement. "Yes, she is known by all of those and more, but she is more properly known as the daedress Alexastra." Raven's hand slid to her hip to rest on the pommel of Elemacil. "Alexastra. Anastasia. Alexis. Those sound like names for a servant of Agemnos, not of Nocturna." The Lord of Greed was well known for giving his minions voluminous and ostentatious names. A shadow flickered across the marten's face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Former servant," he corrected. "She altered her allegiance a month prior to her incarceration." Rickkter pondered the gem as if appraising it anew. "A daughter stolen and hidden, I believe you said." A murmur rippled through the room accompanied by widened eyes and up-pricked ears, all except for Malger's. "That is a subject I would appreciate not discussing, Rickkter," he replied with careful coolness, "especially not in front of her. She does not know. It would be dangerous." "To whom?" "To her." The Duke cleared his throat. "We wander from the point of this meeting,? he said with a sigh, waving one hand for Malger to continue. ?You ask not only for her release, but for her continued presence to be allowed in my kingdom. Given what you've said of the conditions for a mind trapped inside one of those, I'll freely grant the first for the sake of mercy, but the second will require more persuasion." Malger turned to offer a short bow toward the Duke. "Firstly, Lord Thomas, she will present no harm to you. She has sworn an oath, and I will see it renewed before you. Secondly, as Andwyn can attest, you would have great difficulty keeping her out," Malger continued with a sardonic twitch along one side of his muzzle, "and I do not think it is in Metamor's best interests to try. Banning her from keep and kingdom is a provocation she would not suffer lightly, even with her oath of neutrality. Lastly, my Lady has foreseen that her presence will be vital to deciphering the tangled riddle that has been made of this Beast of Revonos, who is expected to have significant importance to the fates of several here in Metamor.? He paused for dramatic effect, tail sweeping slowly side to side behind him as he glanced from the Duke to the Lothanasa, and then Rickkter. ?If he does not go mad or kill himself first, after causing incalculable destruction as he does." "I see." Duke Thomas settled back in his chair, fingers steepled, taking in the eyes of each person in the room. "You've all given your input on why or why not she should be allowed to stay, but I would now like to hear her own reasons directly." He gestured, and a contingent of guards entered, taking up position around the ducal dais. "Stand ready, but let her make the first move for good or ill. I have no doubt she will be disoriented. Rickkter, if you would do the honors?" Misha and Raven moved to join the protective cordon around the Duke, weapons drawn. Misha held Whisper in a firm, aggressive stance while Raven merely drew her gods-touched blade, placed it tip-down before her, and rested both of her hands upon the pommel. Rickkter drew his blades and stepped forward, but Malger slid smoothly to interpose himself. ?Your grace, as I will be her patron, I would like to be the first visage she takes in upon emerging.? He gave the scowling raccoon a beatific smile that showed many sharp white teeth against the brown of his muzzle. ?I daresay should she be presented with one of our foremost warriors, her judgments may skew toward reacting in expectation of attack before anything else. After all, when she befell the trap which ensnares her, she was in battle with all here who bare weapons, save myself.? Thomas cast his somber equine gaze around to the assembled. Misha merely shrugged and Raven gave a short nod, her sharp lupine gaze narrowed at Malger, distrusting whatever game he was playing. She had no history to give her suspicion that he may have ulterior motives but he had two strikes against him that she could not overcome: the first was that he was the son of a bloodthirsty conqueror; the second was the silver crescent of his faith, worn openly upon the breast of his storm grey raiment. Rickkter?s gaze was on the Duke but he could only shrug, as had Misha. He saw no need to gainsay the marten, as he could remove himself to a more defensive location before the daedra was unleashed rather than standing muzzle to muzzle with it. ?As you will, then.? Thomas said with a wave of one hand, settling back into his seat, both thick quasi-equine hands gripping the arms of the chair. Alberta placed one of her hands atop his, seeming to feel more at ease. Considering the wolf, raccoon, and fox were among the best warriors, not to mention users of magic, were there in defense of royals and realm and even the marten, bereft of magic but no less skilled with his twin blades, was capable what calamity was there to fear. With a deep bow from the waist Malger took a step back, away from the throne, and turned toward the cleared space in the center of the chamber. As he had requested there was no circle of containment, no wards, no magics to restrain the daedra upon its release. Merely cold, unadorned stone clean of rushes or rugs. Kneeling, he drew the gleaming crystal from some pocket of his doublet and set it upon the stone. From another pocket he drew forth a simple chisel, large and blocky in the manner of a stonemason rather than jeweler, and a mallet of similar design. Resting the chisel against a smooth facet of the crystal, he raised the mallet to strike. ----- Date Unknown She had called in every favor. Mined dry every resource. Leveraged to the hilt every scrap of information, innuendo, and blackmail that she'd ever come across. All to create this one opportunity. This one chance. The horizon beyond the hills glowed like fire, a fire that terrified her to her very core, but it was their last chance. Their only chance. With just a few more steps, she and Drift would be- Alexis' world exploded in pain as a jagged, fractured blade stabbed through her, severing her spine at the waist. As she collapsed, half-spinning on legs in their very last spasm, she saw Drift thrashing in the air like a hooked fish, white-furred fists pounding at a black-mailed arm gripped around his throat. It lifted. It squeezed. Alexis flung her hand out, trying desperately to conjure forth something, anything that might- CRACK! "Too slow," Lord Revonos sneered as he dropped Drift's broken body in a crumpled heap. Head lolling, brown eyes lifeless and staring- "Damnation!" Alexastra swore, banishing the illusion with a slash of her hand. The spinning top on the table beside her spun on, unceasing, uncaring. Again. Again! She had failed again! How many times would it take to find a way through? Nocturna had said there would be- CRACK! Alexastra's head snapped up in alarm as glowing green cracks spiderwebbed through the space around her. "No!" she protested. "Not ye-" CRACK!! She shielded her eyes as the light grew blinding? ----- The dense wood mallet met the flattened metal cap of the chisel with a muffled crack that became a sharp, subtle, tinkling sound like paper-thin glass shattering as the edge of the chisel bit into the ensorcelled stone. It was the last subtle thing to happen for the next several minutes, a frozen moment in time before an ear-straining peal and a blinding green flash shook the room and struck spots into the vision of those not quick enough to shield their gaze. At the center of it all, the crystal crumbled to dust as Malger staggered back from it, blinded and deafened. Above it, a shape coalesced? ----- Reality twisted sideways and dropped out from under her. Fire roared down her back as she crashed onto a bare stone floor, a pained grunt jerked through gritted teeth. The impact reopened the claw slashes Thestilus' three-story drop kick had inflicted. Not content with that indignity, it also reawakened an army of bruises and lesser cuts all across her body. Bright sunlight seared eyes that had been adapted to a clouded winter night a moment before, and water begin to trickle through her fur as storm-driven snow flash-melted in sudden heat. "Ow," she squeaked, her lungs in rebellion. Severed senses screamed, forcing her to wrest them back under her control with an effort of will. A mind that swore the fight was ages ago warred with a body that had battled for its life mere seconds past, and vertigo spun the world around her. The two realities tangled in a snarl for which Alexastra knew instinctively she didn't have time. She pushed her weariness away with an effort that left her shaking, and clung to her presence on the mortal plane by her battered, bloodied fingernails. And then it got worse. Her eyes were still blinded but her nose was working fine, and it told her where she was and who was around her. Spice, incense, several variations of musk, oiled metal and seasoned leather, all underlain by the faint hint of petrichor peculiar to Metamor Keep. She bit back a curse that would have smoked the air around her, coughed to clear her lungs, and shoved that pain into a closet in her mind. The door bowed and the hinges creaked, but they held. For now. Calm. Confidence. Poise. She had anticipated this. Prepared for this. This was an acceptable part of The Plan. The next part involved not getting stabbed, shot, or bisected. Propping herself up on an elbow, Alexastra hooked a clawed thumb under the collar of her leather armor and tugged forth a crescent moon medallion on a fine silver chain. "A moment's respite, if you please," she continued, showing her empty hands palm-out before carefully reaching from a pocket. When her watchers tensed, she moved slower and spoke to reassure them. "It's not a weapon, but a tool. I need to be certain you're real." Her fingertips fished a small metal top from a pocket, seemingly a simple child's toy made of unmarked and unremarkable metal, and set it spinning on the floor before her. "One can never be too careful after spending time in a soul stone. Please do not interfere." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a gray-garbed someone make a confirming gesture, but she pressed everything around her out of her mind. Focusing all of her attention and will on the spinning tool before her, she silently demanded that the top keep spinning. Spinning eternally. If this was still a dream, she still had time. Time to think. Time to plan. Time to come up with any way to survive crossing purposes with the Lord of Rage- The faint tinkle of metal toppling onto stone sounded a death knell for her chances. Forcibly repressing an instinctive shiver of terror at what she knew she was now up against, Alexastra steadied her features and tucked the tool away with the ease of practiced motion. There would be time to process the enormity of her new challenges later. Right now, she had mortals to deal with. There was, at least, one good sign: none of them had attacked her on sight. Yet. Finally, she looked up and took in her surroundings. The chamber was spartan, bereft of furnishings, but a half dozen guards in the livery of Metamor flanked the dais upon which the royal stallion and mare sat. Before that throne stood the wolf Lightbringer priestess, grounded sword before her, and the fox hunter with his black axe in hand stood beside her. Between them sat the irritating sight of a gleaming fox, a large feral form made entirely of metal, whom she knew very well indeed. The raccoon battlemage she could smell but not see; he was certain to be in a tactically sound location somewhere behind her, just as the spymaster was above. Closer than all of them, though, stood a tall, lanky brown furred figure wearing a rich doublet of a deep stormcloud grey over a surcoat of black upon which rested a silver crescent moon necklace, a double to her own. In one hand he held a wooden mallet and in the other a stonecutter?s chisel. So. This was Nocturna's favored, and he was the one who had shattered the soul stone and released her. At least that motive was readily apparent. Calm. Confidence. Poise. Shifting her gaze past him, Alexastra levered herself into a half-seated position, then forced herself to stand in spite of her spine's screaming protests. With a practiced flick of a clasp, her belt of daggers swung loose and was carefully handed over to the marten once he'd put the mallet and chisel away. ?Archduke Sutt,? she intoned, wincing inwardly at the raspy creak of her normally smooth soprano. "I entrust these to you for this parley, along with my gratitude for my release. I will remember you." Spreading her wings around her like a skirt as she dipped into as deep a curtsey toward the dais as her back would allow, Alexastra then swept them up around herself like a dark leather cape, arms crossed over her chest to frame her silver crescent between the darkness of her wrists and the saffron of her neck ruff. Appearances were important. The meltwater still trickling through her fur and dripping to the floor subtly marred the effect, but that was something she could work to her advantage with the right turn of phrase. "Lord Thomas, Lady Alberta, Lothanasa, I am Alexastra, servant of the Lady Nocturna. By the High Lord and the Dark Prince of the planes beyond, I state and affirm my oath of neutrality. I bring you no omen, offer you no threat, and intend you no harm. In the name of the Lady Nocturna, I request safe harbor," she intoned, allowing herself to sound just a touch out of breath as if she had just been fighting a few minutes before. Which, to be fair, she had. "I ask only to remain in peace while I seek someone of great importance to me." How long had it been for them? Years? A decade? More? No, not a decade. They were too little changed. A handful of years, most likely. Remarkable. "My apologies for the state you find me in; as you can see, I've had a busy evening." She raised a finger to flick some droplets drooping from the whiskers above her right eye, then asked the most immediately important question. "If it please you, may I inquire what the date is?" ----- May 22, 708 CR Three months. Her eyes widened, and a glance to Archduke Sutt confirmed it. Only three months. Somehow, they'd gotten him out after only three months. Incredible. That was the only explanation she could fathom for why she would have been released at any time other than immediately. She would have to ask how they had managed that, but later. For now, there was but one single priority. She locked her muscles against an exhaustion-fueled wobble, snapped her gaze back the Duke, and gimlet eyes sliced down to the unspoken truth with the ruthless precision of a battlefield scalpel. "You have him." "Yes." "I will see him. At the soonest possibility." Her words came out clipped, but she had to see. Had to see what damage had been done to her Edward. And there would be damage. That had been Lord Revonos' aura that night, make no mistake, and the Lord of Rage was not gentle with those who drew his interest. In the corner of her eye, the Archduke bristled, and several pairs of eyes narrowed across the room. Good. As planned. "He is not in a condition for viewing," Duke Thomas said with a shake of his head, settling back in his throne as if closing the door on that conversation. "Of that I have no doubt," Alexastra retorted, then visibly checked herself, taking a moment to breathe and return her ears to an upright position. Carefully? "Again, my apologies. As I said, I have had a long night: one that, for you, was months ago, but to me that crisis point was mere minutes ago, and things were not going well." She closed her eyes and took another breath, deliberately allowing herself to settle. "The rush of battle is an untrustworthy ally, a fragile reed upon which to rely." The well-practiced mantra relaxed her muscles and steadied her stance. Her eyes opened again. "But with all due respect to the Lothanasa and the Battle Lord-" she flicked an ear in the direction of the raccoon behind her, "-I am very clearly the most well-trained and best-equipped person to assess what has been done to my Edward within a hundred days' travel. "To that end, great Duke and Duchess?" Alexastra unfurled her wings and swept them before her with a flourish, and a writing desk materialized from thin air before her, tilted toward the dais. Upon it coalesced a curl of vellum, a gleaming raven's quill, and a reservoir of ink the color of night itself. "I propose to you a deal." A flash of anger narrowed the Lothanasa's eyes, and Alexastra heard leather gloves tighten behind her. Reaction is good, now backtrack? Holding her hands up in placation, Alexastra swept the desk away in a waft of smoke with a flick of her fingers and an apologetic bow of her head. "My apologies: old habits. Please? allow me to rephrase." Folding her hands together and steepling them against her chin, Alexastra furrowed her brow in consideration. When next she spoke, her words came slow and weighty. "The question that I need to be asking? is not 'what do you want', but? what can I offer you in exchange for what I want?" She glanced to the wolf priestess. "Is that more acceptable, Lothanasa Hin'Elric?" Raven's grip loosened fractionally on the hilt of her mithril blade, but her eyes remained narrowed and suspicious. Guarded acceptance in response to an admission of a weakened position, without pushing for more. Good. I can work with this. Now to move into the endgame of this negotiation. Returning her attention to the Duke and Duchess, Alexastra laid out the best hand of cards she'd been dealt in more than a year. "I offer you skills and experience honed over millennia, training unmatched by any of the operatives of your peers. I offer you the most traceless of infiltrations, the deftest of intrigues, the most subtle of sabotages. Information gathering worthy of an Emperor, coupled with capabilities that none of your other spies can match, all unhampered by the tattletale signs of the Metamor Curse." Her eyes locked onto those of Duke Thomas and did not waver. "In short, I offer you my services, under the direct supervision of Spymaster Andwyn and thus under you, for as long as my Edward lives." Alexastra's chin lifted slightly as a thin smile of challenge ghosted across her lips. "This is not an offer that any of you or your next hundred generations of descendants are likely to see again. Shall I retire while you consider it?" A snort behind her signaled Rickkter's entry into the conversation. "You speak very boldly for someone who is clearly beat to ribbons and in the company of at least two who could, in your current state, kill you one-on-one." Alexastra did not turn, her attention still fully on the Duke, but she answered over her shoulder. "As the saying goes, rattling a sword in its scabbard makes noise: drawing it does not. If you had intended to attack me, you would have done so already. Also, I can give three very good reasons why you should not. Firstly, you would offend the Lady Nocturna by attacking an agent of hers who negotiates with you unarmed, in good faith, and under oath of truce. Secondly, injured I may be, but I assure you I still have enough left in me to make any victory you might achieve by assaulting me ruinously pyrrhic." Her eyes narrowed, and her voice grew harsh. "Lastly, I have not thrown dice against the Master Gambler himself with both Edward's and my lives on the line to be stopped by anything you can bring against me. That I promise you. But?" She took a breath. Her voice mellowed, her hackles settled, and the black eyes of an angry daedress faded to the chocolate brown of a Metamorian flying fox. "Conflict between us serves no purpose to anyone but the enemies of everyone in this room. You have something I want, Duke Hassan: the life of my Edward and the time and facilities to try to redress all that has been done to him. I have something you want: the talents, connections, training, and skills of a spy beyond anything you would ever find in this mortal realm. Your enemies might as well have protected their secrets with a paper box and some string, and I offer them to you as grapes on a platter." Duke Thomas returned her gaze unflinching, his expression closed and inscrutable for the few long moments he took to consider the proposition. Then he picked up her offered cards and swept them from the table with the finality of a headsman's axe. "Absolutely not." Alexastra felt the ground drop out from under her, heard the door holding back her anxiety and pain creak and groan as the room spun. What? Her lips moved, tried to form the words, but she had no air. How? Why? The Lord of Metamor's eyes narrowed. "If you were caught-" "Wouldn't happen," Alexastra flailed against the sudden undertow, but the Duke trampled her protest. "If. You. Were. Caught. Metamor would be accused of conspiring with daedra. Never mind that you are of Nocturna; those arrayed against us could use that as a spur to isolate us, or worse, to lay the starting embers of a holy war. Diplomatic catastrophe." "It wouldn't-" "NO. This discussion is ended." The Duke rose to his feet, preparing to leave. "With all respect, Archduke, I-" "Wait!" The force Alexastra injected into that word nearly took her off her feet. With one hand outstretched in supplication, she grasped at the one final strand of straw remaining to her. Her legs buckled, dropping her to her knees as they refused to support her, all her energy now reserved for keeping her head clear enough to speak. "The daedra?" she panted, "the daedra have a word for 'falling in love with a mortal'. It includes connotations of handing all of your secrets and possessions over to your worst enemy and then flinging yourself headfirst off a cliff into a pit of barbed, poisonous spikes. Intellectually speaking, it rhymes with 'insanity'." The effort exhausted her, and her hand fell. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "And yet... here I am. You mortals are a summer mist to us, here one moment and gone the next. You are creatures of a day." Taking a breath, she marshalled everything she had left to keep the Duke in this room, in this conversation, in this moment. "And yet... in that one day... how some of you live! That was my Edward, my candle in the dark: so fragile, so fleeting? but he was beautiful and he was wonderful and he was mine. I upended my world for him, risked everything I had for him, gambled everything that I am. For him! I. Need. Him!" The words echoed in the suddenly silent room. This was the last ditch. This was her back to the wall. Her voice dropped, her eyes narrowed to slits, and every word ground through gritted teeth with all the menace of an ancient creature pushed to its last extremity. "I will pay whatever price you are willing to ask that is within my power to give if it allows me to care for and tend to him. You will not see an offer like this again," she growled. "Not in all the lifespans of all the worlds. "Choose. Carefully." Duke Thomas took a long, slow breath as he rubbed his powerful equine chin slowly with one hand. The other rested upon the arm of his impromptu throne, Lady Alberta?s hand resting upon his forearm. ?Indeed, this is an unprecedented offer and? an opportunity, of sorts. One of such a weight that I must take time to consider and confer with my advisors.? Dark, troubled eyes shifted their focus slightly to one side. "Your grace, what say you?? Malger turned toward the high seat and sketched a deep genuflection only a mustelid?s long spine could offer, his tail giving a horizontal flourish. ?My matron was most adamant on this point, sire. For once the portents were not ambiguous riddles; she bids us aid this woman, for all that she is of the darker planes. In her stead, I proffer my word of conduct, as she has again sworn her oath of peace before us all, and specifically to you directly.? Thomas breathed a heavy sigh. ?Very well, your grace.? Releasing his chin, he gave a slight dismissive flick of his thick, blunt fingertips. ?Conduct her to a suite and see that she is cared for, but kept under watchful guard. I will confer and, with luck, decide upon a course of action before the dawn.? Again the pine marten bent with a flourish of foppish attire and tail, despite his station actually outranking the equine Duke to whom he bowed. ?I will see to it, your grace. I will house her within my own residences, though I gladly accept any you wish to share in her guarding.? -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From hallanmirayas at hotmail.com Mon Dec 9 02:21:12 2024 From: hallanmirayas at hotmail.com (Hallan Mirayas) Date: Mon, 9 Dec 2024 02:21:12 +0000 Subject: [Mkguild] MK: Nightmares (2/2) Message-ID: Drift paced in his cell. Three steps across, ignore the squeeze of aedra ground at the edge, three steps back. Ignore the pain. Three steps across. Endure. Three steps back. Repeat. He had long ago lost count of the passes. Three steps. Turn. Three steps. Anything to keep his mind running, to keep himself awake. Anything to avoid the memories that lurked in ambush in his nightmares. Three steps. Turn. Three steps- Wait. Where was the pressure, the threatened vice closing on his toes? Where- A key rattled in the lock of his cell. At the same moment, a scent hit his nose? and he was suddenly back in the Halls of Revonos. They had taunted him with that scent again and again, jeered and laughed as ice stabbed his heart, buried memories and slaughtered hopes hacked at with a shovel and dragged bleeding back to the surface. Pain always followed, a living avalanche of claws and teeth, fists and daggers, torment unending? until the day the denizens of the Sixth Hell reaped the whirlwind of his wrath. Until the stones drank deep of their blood and the Beast of Revonos feasted on their entrails to the sound of his master's roaring laughter. Then he did it again, and again, until his former tormentors learned that to taunt the Blood Wolf was to court annihilation. Until they learned to fear the golden-eyed glare of the Frozen Flame. Drift was already in motion as the door swung, teeth bared in fury that any would dare to try that old trick again, and his claws speared through the intruder's chest like- Wait. The stones were gray. Not red. The blood that splashed across them ran down in rivulets, instead of vanishing into the thirsty dust. The weight slumping onto his arm reminded him that he had arms instead of- That shape. That shape! He knew that shape! He knew those wings! Even as it slumped lifeless, blood frothing in pink bubbles at the corners of its mouth, he knew that face. He knew- That ring. No. Nono. Impossible. No! It was impossible! Nononononono- Thunder roared -nonono- as the ground split open -nonono- under his feet, and as the void -nonono- took him, he glimpsed his own body -NONONO!- tearing apart a prison guard, smashing -NONONO!!- the gates off their hinges, and -NONONO!!!- starting a rampage through the town below -NOOOOOOO!!!!!! He woke up screaming. ---- Carcarak stirred. A waft of air brought a new scent to him, one that he recognized? and at the same time did not. The dissonance frustrated him; a mental state that, within the most avid disciple Lord Revonos had ever known, flashed over instantly into a paranoid, smouldering rage. He paced in anticipation. Eyes widened and jaws slavered when the ordered crush of aedra ground faded, and when the key turned in the lock, his tail wagged. Once. Then he lunged. Blood fountained. It would not be the last to do so this night! The Beast of Revonos was loosed! Let the world tremble! Combat in this new arena was ridiculously easy, and he reveled in it as he heaped the corpses high! Screams of terror poured into his ears and he savored them; the very best kind of applause. Joy and bliss and feral satisfaction- Carcarak snapped awake in the middle of breaking a dark horse-man's back, and the scream in his mouth morphed into an indignant roar as he saw the cell around him, the door shut, the aedra crush intact. No dead bodies. None. His fury detonated. Adamantine claws ripped and raked at everything around him. The straw pallet flew into tatters like dust in a whirlwind. Shards sprayed from the gray stone of his cage, deep gouges slashed wherever he could reach. The door ward flared over and over to keep him away as he exploded, apoplectic with rage. How had he been brought back here?!? And more importantly? "WHO STOLE MY KILLS!?!" ---- May 26, 708 CR "Malger, the next time you pray to your goddess, would you mind telling her that she didn't need to shout?" Misha grumbled. A sleepless night hung like lead weights on the fox's ears and body. He was not the only one to look so burdened. The council had reconvened. Of all of them, only Rickkter and Malger looked like they'd had any rest, and even the raccoon looked rumpled. "I'll second that," Ricckter groused. Misha tilted his head, faintly puzzled. "I thought you had wards-" "I do," the raccoon mage interrupted, his ears flattening. "Kayla didn't." He shot Malger a glare. Malger smiled warmly, with a soft, rueful chuckle and a slight bow of his head. Then his entire expression hardened in an instant, whiskers set in frozen tension. All the whimsical jocularity, all the hints of music in his voice, vanished like a door closing on a lightless room. "Then you're not likely to forget it now, are you?" he replied in a soft growl. "And in this case, it's one of the most direct indications I've ever heard of from her. Edward Snow's sanity hangs by a fraying thread, and if he is not handled precisely correctly, his fall to madness will bring catastrophe. Here, now, in Metamor, is the only chance he has to avoid that fate, and only if Alexastra is involved in precisely the right manner." "Lord Sammekh concurs," Lothanasa hin'Elric growled. Narrowed eyes and a reluctant frown suggested her dislike for having to say it, but a deep breath smoothed her features and restored her equilibrium. "The creature Snow has become is... vexatious to his sight, but catastrophe can be avoided. The Ladies Akkala and Velena have already offered their support and aid in his care, on the condition that he remain here in Metamor. Do not send him away. He would return as surely as metal to a lodestone, and he would bring devastation in his wake." "Vexatious?" Misha asked with a frown, leaning across the table at which they sat. "What do you mean, 'vexatious'?" "When Lord Sammekh examines the future," Raven explained, splaying out her fingers on the table in illustration, "he looks through the possibilities in search of the one that best serves all parties involved." She folded in her fingers as she spoke until only the index finger of her right hand remained, which she brought up vertically between them. "But for some reason," she continued, "your friend's future refuses to resolve to just one path." Raven lifted her left hand and hooked both index fingers around each other in a double helix so tight the tendons stood out under her fur. "For some reason not yet understood, your friend always has two: overlapping, almost superimposed. Each fighting to overshadow and repress the other, neither succeeding, all the way up to the end?" Raven folded her hands together and gazed at Misha across her knuckles, her voice soft with sorrow. "When they tear each other apart." "When they what??" Misha's chair scraped across the stone, nearly toppling as he jolted to his feet. "I'm sorry, Misha. A year. Maybe two. That's as far as Lord Sammekh can see of his fate before it passes from his sight. As far as can be foreseen, the best you can do is make him comfortable in the time he has. All the other options lead to war, across the world and across the heavens. He would not say more." She sighed and laid her hands back down on the table. "I'm sorry, Misha. I know he was important to you." Misha sat back down with a thump, completely poleaxed. Rickkter picked up the questioning in his stead. "Sutt, you said that Misha 'getting there in time' would prevent disaster." The archduke, still devoid of his usual flippancy, retorted, "No, I said doom, and that has been averted." He gestured toward the fox. "Misha and his compatriots arrived at precisely the right time, as they were forewarned to do. If the Beast had made it to the Valley with the strength he showed in the shadow of the Murk, there would have been too many distractions and threats for words to reach him, and he would have laid waste to the entire region before being brought to bay and slain, at ruinous cost. That's supposing some power-hungry fool like Nasoj didn't try to capture him for their own ends first." Finally, a flicker of his humor twitched his whiskers before they dipped into a frown. "While that may have nicely removed that remaining threat to the north, the results of that overthrow would have been worse still." "How?" Rickkter snapped back. "It matters not," the Duke interjected, cutting the argument short with a rap of his hooflet-tipped fingers on the table. "That hurdle is past, and it was never implied to be the only one. So?" The Lord of Metamor turned his attention to both the Archduke and the Lothanasa. "Do either of you have an indication of what our next steps should be?" "There is much that is still in flux, much that is still uncertain. But this much is certain, insofar as my Lady in her wisdom felt necessary to inform me: Alexastra is the key piece to the poisoned puzzle of Edward Snow and the Beast of Revonos. It is ultimately your decision to allow her safe harbor here, but I would strongly advise it." "'Felt necessary'?" Misha roused himself from his stunned state, and his good ear flattened as he quoted the marten's words back to him. "Do you think she's holding something back?" His gaze flicked over to Raven next. "What about you? Would your Lord Sammekh keep something from you?" Raven frowned, disliking being conjoined with the daedra worshiper in the fox-man's questioning, but recognizing the reasoning. "Would he? Absolutely. But not for the reasons you're thinking, Misha Brightleaf." Her eyes bored into Misha's, gold to his gray. "Even if you could speak in a language they would understand, do you think you would be able to give an ant directions from here to the Mule?" "An ant?" "It's a matter of scale, Misha," Malger continued, sliding into the conversational gap with practiced skill. "Field of view. Vocabulary and concepts. No offense is intended. There are things we cannot currently understand- words we haven't even invented yet. Ripples of effect spreading far beyond what we'd consider, but that Sammekh, Nocturna, and even Klepnos do, each in their own way. When the Lothanasa said earlier that Lord Sammekh searches for the best result possible for all involved, it is no small matter, no simple consideration." "They view the entire world, Misha." Raven picked up where Malger left off. "Not just the world as it exists now, but all the could-be's and might-become's, intertwined and entangled like a nest made of spiders' webs. Pull one strand, and the whole thing changes in a million, million different ways. That's what Lord Sammekh sifts through, and then winnows down to a level we can understand." Misha sat back in his chair again, uncertain what he could possibly reply to such a statement. At that moment, Madog nuzzled his head under Misha's fallen hand, and Misha stroked the metal fox's neck and back in turn, allowing himself to be distracted and take time for things to settle in his mind. Once again, Madog had appeared in a room he hadn't been in a moment before, and for that the fox was grateful. A year? Two at most? The other revelation, that the aedra and daedra could? It was too big for him to grasp right now, so he set it aside. Still petting Madog's head, Misha blew out a long sigh. "So? what do we do?" After a moment, he turned his eyes to Duke Thomas. "Or perhaps I should say what do you plan to do, my lord?" ----- White-furred ears twitched, then pricked up and swiveled. That had been a knock on something wooden. Most likely a door, somewhere far away. Then the footsteps of the dungeon keeper. Then the rattle of keys, a tinkle of metal on metal that led to the clunk of a lock and the swinging of hinges. The air faintly stirred, the breeze not strong enough to reach to him, but enough to displace the scents of his cage somewhat. The hinges again, the click of a latch, then the lock again. Footsteps. New ones. Coming closer. The clicks of claws instead of the tread of boots told him a great deal. Two embers of voices in conversation danced across his senses, not quite loud enough to distinguish anything beyond a male and a female. Two voices. Three sets of feet. Interesting. A waft of air finally brought him something. A scent. A painful scent. A forbidden scent. But he remembered the nightmare, and so he waited, ears down and eyes narrowed as a growl built deep in his chest. The wrath of the Blood Drinker, the Heart Eater rumbled outward through the stony corridors, a deadly warning and a lethal promise. For daring to stir that memory, for daring to taunt the Beast of Revonos, he would make them suffer. And yet, deep in his heart, a flicker dared to stir. A tiny gap opened in the stormclouds, and a timid ray of light peeked through. Every muscle tensed, taut as a drawn bowstring. Do not trust to hope. A sliver of hope in a sea of despair will draw Revonos like iron to a lodestone. Then they came into view. The first face, he did not recognize. Gray fur, a black mask, leather armor of some kind. Negligible threat. The third face he saw only dimly, recognizing it as Misha's, but the second eclipsed it in his attention. He knew that face. He knew those eyes. He wanted to believe. How he wanted to believe! For a moment, his ears rose, his eyes widened, his nose quested for more. He took one step forward, then another, stopping just short of the door to his cell, laying a hand against the doorjamb to steady himself. The wards flared in warning, so close that energy sparked off of quivering, forward-swept whiskers. Wisps of smoke curled upward unnoticed as chaotic daedric essence warred with orderly aedra energy. His jaw spasmed, lips and tongue struggling to form a word he'd not even dared to think for? he knew not how long. His voice trembled, dusty and cracking with strain. "Alexis?" Their eyes met, and chocolate eyes widened as golden eyes flared. The sun went out, snuffed as effortlessly as a flickering candle. Designed by the Lord of the Sundered Shield to see through illusions and camouflage, the golden gaze of the Beast of Revonos always saw the fastest way to destroy anything he perceived? and what he saw was not the way to kill a mortal woman. Not even a mortal bat-woman. But it was not a path unrecognized. Drift hurled himself in an instant against the door, and its flaring wards hurled him all the way across the cell into the far wall with a peal like thunder. He was back again a moment later, teeth bared in a rictus of pure, volcanic fury. The adamantine claws of his left hand dug deep into the stone doorway, and his right drew back in a fist. "You! Are! Not! Alexis!!" he screamed, slamming that fist into the wards with each word, and the collision of forces shook mortar from the stones throughout the dungeon. In the next instant, he let go his hold of the doorway and allowed the ward to push him back a stride, foot claws dragging furrows through the stone as he inhaled deep. Misha recognized that motion with a curse. "Move!" he yelled, reaching out to shove Alexastra aside while he dove for cover. The triple bang of all three layers of wards firing in quick succession almost drowned out the crystalline crack of shattering ice and a gasp from Alexastra. Looking up from where he'd landed, Misha's jaw dropped as ice flecks drifted down like stinging confetti. The longer of Rickkter's dragon swords hummed slightly, still held in a parrying position in front of Alexastra's face, while the raccoon himself swiped at a dusting of pulverized ice on his face and chest. Alexastra picked herself up off the floor, her expression a picture of shock as a hand touched the thin slice across her cheek and came away bloody. A chunk of ice detonating off the door and snatched from midair had made it through all three wards, fragmenting and compressing with each one until a diamond-hard spindle the width of a knitting needle ricocheted off of Rickkter's blade just short of spearing Alexastra through her left eye straight into her brain. And the Beast roared. "I am Carcarak! The Red Jaws! The Beast of Revonos! I am the Blood Wolf and the Frozen Flame, famed and FEARED throughout all the arenas of the Nine Hells!! I am Wrath and War and Pain Unending, and when your screams no longer amuse me, I am Death! On your knees, little morsel, or I'll rip your beating heart from your chest and EAT IT WHILE YOU WATCH!!" Alexastra reeled back in instinctive fear, eyes fixed on the creature in the cell. The disaster. The abomination. Silence fell, broken only by continued invective from the prison cell that, in her shock, Alexastra let flow past her unheeded. Explanations for the catastrophe before her were examined, re-examined, and discarded in quick succession, and her gut twisted as each grew crazier than the one before. What finally settled out boded ill indeed? for someone other than her. The room grew chill, the torches guttering. Alexastra rounded on the fox, her eyes narrowed to stilettos of pure outrage, stayed from striking him only by the threat of Rickkter behind her. If it really was Rickkter. "You lied to me," she accused. "Who are you? How long have we really been gone? I want the truth this time! How dare you mock me with this? this? simulation!?" "What are you talking about, you crazy woman?" Misha objected, startled by the unexpected accusation, but he got no further. "Impossible!" Alexastra snapped. "Absolutely impossible! How many years, to cause that kind of damage? Decades? Centuries? Who are you, and what is the meaning of this deception?" Her voice, frozen though it was, equaled the Beast's in fury, and her eyes promised retribution on a generational scale. You, your parents, your siblings, your lover, your children, your children's children? Misha stepped back a few paces, out of reach, and Whisper materialized in his hand. "Three months and only three months," he repeated calmly, refusing to be provoked or intimidated. He deliberately steered his voice into calm flatness, to counterbalance the extremes around him. "Impossible!" the daedress repeated. "Are you blind?" She stabbed a finger toward the window in the outer door. "Use your magesight! Can you not see the aura around him? The energy?" The Beast in his cell shifted his stance to snarl anew. For an instant, something flickered across his face, like a mask whose wearer had moved just a fraction too quickly, lagging just a hair's breadth behind, and the strangeness of it drew her attention even as it faded. Alexastra's flattened ears rose slowly to half. Her narrowed eyes widened as an ancient memory stirred, ancient even for her. A memory with terrible implications. She'd heard stories, legends even, but? Cold fear dropped into her belly as all of the pieces suddenly clicked into place. It was the only explanation that fit all the data, the only thing that could explain the power of the aura she saw, the short span of time, and that strange, lagging flicker. As she regarded the Beast anew, her voice dropped to a haggard whisper, one word spoken like an iron knell. "Chimera." Alexastra's face paled under her fur as she peered closer, forcing her way through the tangled haze of enchantments cast and torn out and recast again, countless in number and terrifying in strength, a haze that she had first mistaken for a daedric aura of power. Yes, there was power, incredible power, but... The chill dropped from the air, the torches renewed their light. Her lips moved, but the curse died stillborn, her breath stolen. "What? What is it?" "Misha?" "Yes?" She swallowed, hard. "I really wish you'd been lying." Without taking her eyes off the Beast, she began to back away, sidling down the hall, deeper into the dungeon. "Excuse me? I need to confer with my Lady. I'm not leaving, I just? I need a few minutes of privacy." Before anyone could stop her, she had jerked open one of the other cells nearby, stepped in, and slammed the door behind her. A pulse of hellborn hex jammed the lock, sealing her in, and a sweep of her hand shrouded the cell in darkness. Rickkter pulled at the door for a moment, then cast a spell. Sparks flew from the lock, and the raccoon mage backed hastily away before any could land in his fur. He shook his head at Misha, and the fox nodded once in acknowledgement before whistling for one of the prison guards. "Get Raven. Now." As the armor-clad woman hastened to obey, he held up a hand. "Wait. Tell her to bring anything she might have about something called a 'chimera'." He opened up another cell nearby, swinging its door wide. "Then gather up some of the Longs and go find me a large table. We're setting up right in here." In his cell, Carcarak's mad laughter broke like shattered glass, and Drift crumpled to the floor and sobbed. Fin. -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From hallanmirayas at hotmail.com Mon Dec 9 02:24:23 2024 From: hallanmirayas at hotmail.com (Hallan Mirayas) Date: Mon, 9 Dec 2024 02:24:23 +0000 Subject: [Mkguild] Author's note for MK: Nightmares Message-ID: Both dates in section 1/2 should read "May 26, 708 CR" and the date in section 2/2 should read "May 27, 708 CR". My apologies for the typos. -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: