Open Chronicles Come and Hear the Word

[Kiia Sidra]

It was a small gathering. Perhaps eight individuals sat upon small colorful rugs, their legs crossed and their eyes closed in contemplation. The room was dim, for the thick clay walls did wonders against the searing sun of Amol-Kalit, and only a single fire in front of the group lit the surroundings. Intricate tapestries covered most of the walls, and here and there clay pots and jugs were set out; water would be offered to any who came within.

Scattered amongst all of this were plants. Small shrubby things, beautiful flowers, vines that twisted up wooden poles. Cacti, both diminutive and giant, with frightening thorns or perhaps a misleadingly smooth surface. Some hung in baskets from the ceiling, and their leaves overflowed downwards. It was a soothing atmosphere, if not a bit unusual. The amount of water needed to maintain such a collection was not trivial in the area, and many of the plants did not appear to be native.

She had spent a few months here, some miles yet from Ragash. In time she would move on and continue her journey to see this "prophet" her people spoke of, but for now she would resupply and offer her services to the people here.

The devotees sat in straight lines before the fire, and on the opposite side sat a woman. She, too, had her legs crossed and her eyes closed. Her hands rested quietly in her lap, palms upturned. Her dark skin and pointed ears immediately spoke to her abtati heritage, and likewise almost all of those assembled before her were sand elves as well. White designs of intricate trees and branches twisted across every inch of her skin. They were a stark contrast to her natural pigment, and they were painted orange in the flickering light.

The room was clouded by the fumes of incense, and Kiia began to speak.

"We come here in the eyes of Abtatu to calm our minds and our spirits, that we may live in Their way. Dwell not on the hardships that plague you, for these are the trials They set before us. [Cast your minds back to the sands, back to their natural home]." She spoke the last phrase in the language of the Abtati.

A faint hum or two came from the assembled elves, but otherwise they remained in silence broken only by the snap of wood on the fire.

More time passed, but to anyone whose mind had truly reached serenity, it would seem as but a moment. Kiia lifted her hands, spoke an elvish blessing, and the ceremony was concluded. As always, after the meditations, she offered to cleanse the ills of any who desired it through the will of the gods. This particular congregation had been mostly sand elves, and so she had tailored her address to them. She was a follower of Abtatu, first and foremost, but the majority of Their teachings were universal, and so in an effort to reach out to more people Kiia was not opposed to including the Annunaki Pantheon that so many of the other races followed in these lands.

An abtati man approached her, his back arched and in obvious pain. A woman accompanied him, and she explained that he had been unable to move properly for many days. "Come," Kiia beckoned, and she offered a graceful hand which the man clutched in both of his. Kiia's other hand went to rest on one of the plants in a small pot beside her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

The plant began to wilt, its leaves wrinkled and its stem bowed, and the verdant green left it. It turned brown and dry, and the leaves cracked and fell from the stems which were steadily twisting into shriveled black twigs. At last it seemed to fall apart to dust entirely.

The tattooed elven woman opened her eyes, "By Abtatu, be healed." Her grip tightened around the man's hands, and with a sigh of deepest relief, he slowly began to stand. He stood at his full height for only a moment, though, for he quickly knelt next to Kiia and lavished praise upon her. Grateful tears stained the cool stone floor, and Kiia disentangled herself from the situation with practiced ease. It is nothing, it is Abtatu's will, et cetera.

She continued in this fashion for two more visitors, one of which had brought her a brand new plant in a fine tempered pot. It was a lovely thing, with broad leaves and red flowers.

As the people left, her eyes fell upon a new face, one she had not noticed before. "Hello," she intoned in a breathy, ethereal voice. "Have you come to be healed by the will of the Gods?"

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

Kalia had stood surreptitiously at the back of the room while the ceremony played out, his Kalitian armor glistened in the firelight. It was a simple ceremony, he was a traveler and not quite familiar with this particular type of worship. But he often enjoyed being among the Abtati people, even if he didn't understand all of their ways, as he often did while he was alive.
He was in this particular village as a freelance adventurer and offered his services on several occasions already, dealing with local troubles or even just helping out with personal projects. He stood as a giant among them, so his strength was invaluable.

As the ceremony was wrapping up he watched the priestess heal some of the sick among the villagers. That is what intrigued him the most. Did she truly draw power from Abtatu? Did she draw power from the plant? Or did Abtatu bless her with power through the plant?
This matter of gods was of... intimate... interest to him.
Soon he found he was the only one left. He had let his thoughts carry him away and the priestess now spoke to him.
The face she saw was that of a mask he wore, one that covered his features. He normally claimed that he obtained all of his armor and weapons by exploring an old Kalitian tomb, but the truth was this was the armor he wore in life, and this was the mask styled after his own true face the he wore in death.

He stepped forward and sat before the priestess. His voice echoed metallically behind his bronze mask.
"If I were to ever be healed... It would be against the will of the gods. A curse of the gods rests upon this body and I've no guidance on how to break it."
He had said the same thing to priests before, knowing they could not provide him an answer. The gods struck him down, so there was no way one of their servants would help him, or give him insight into how he can be free of his curse.
Kiia Sidra

 

[Kiia Sidra]

As the person approached her and the shadows around them thinned, she was shocked that she had not noticed him earlier. He stood half again the height of the tallest among them, and his golden facemask glinted in the firelight.

She did her best not to show her surprise on her face. As a priestess and healer she often faced people of rather shocking appearance. Most of them were diseased or deformed, seeking cures for their ailments and mercy from the gods. She had great practice at concealing her reactions to the unexpected, or disgust.

And so she nodded gently to the giant in the room as he sat by her. “I see,” she answered, lifted a clay vase and pouring a thin stream of glittering clear water into a small clay cup. She offered it to Kalia first, and would pour herself another if he accepted. She took a sip. “If it is a curse from the gods you bear, then only the gods can release you.” She took an extra stick of incense from a pot behind her and lit it in the fire, placing it next to the others that burned and brought forth their fragrances.

She regarded her visitor. His size prohibited him from being Abtati, as did his dress. He was far too covered, and no sand elf other than her unfortunate brother had needed to shield themselves that much from the desert’s glare. The style was all wrong, too. It was… old. Kiia could not remember seeing it before, but there was something familiar about it. Perhaps it had been borrowed in part by modern peoples, or perhaps a piece had been at the corner of a ruin she explored. In any case, it was clearly of the desert, just not this desert.

He carried himself well. His posture and manner of speech were practiced, performatory almost. She was speaking to nobility, and given that he had not made a show of it, quite significant nobility indeed. The lesser lords would miss no excuse to declare their status. The truly great rulers, the old families of power, these had nothing to prove, and they demonstrated their class through grace.

“I know a thing or two about the gods,” she continued, her lips wet by the drink and reflecting the fire’s light. “And when they curse, it is usually to teach a lesson. Perhaps, if you were to show you have learned this lesson, they would release you.” She took another sip of cool water and savored the feeling as it ran down her throat.

“If you will indulge me, what lesson do you think the gods would wish to teach you?” Her eyes flashed with a devilish curiosity, or maybe that was just the fire beside them.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

He accepted the water but only held the cup in his large fingers without drinking it. His mask did not allow for anything to pass through, even the eyes were mere paintings which caused one to wonder how he could even see.
"Only the gods could release you"... Yes, that was the expected answer. But if that were the case then there was no hope, and Kalia can never accept that.
The priestess certainly was knowledgeable about the gods, or her god in particular. And she had a right to be confident in her knowledge. But Kalia had seen... Kalia had experienced... He knew intimately... The true ways of the gods.

A lesson... Yes, what lesson could the gods want for him to learn from his forced but clearly unintended undeath and immortality? What was the lesson that he was to learn and bring with him to the grave?
"What lesson do I think the gods want to teach me?"
He shook his head slowly before the eyes of the mask rested on the priestess once more.
"It's not the lesson they wanted to teach me that brought this curse upon me... But the secret they didn't want me to learn... Had they discovered my transgression sooner, then they would have found a way to kill me outright before I was beyond the reach of the void."
The void... that dark expanse of blank nothingness that his soul was almost banished to because no god would have allowed him peace in any heaven of their making. Indeed, if they were truly all knowing beings, then they would have found a way to truly kill him instead of risking his return and the exposure of their secret to Arethil.

He placed the cup on the floor beside him and regarded the priestess again. This Abtati was attractive, in fact it wouldn't be a stretch for people to use the words "Beautiful" and "Elf" synonymously. But even in his day, however long ago that was, beauty such as hers was rare. He wondered if he could guess her heritage just by her physical features. Surely he's seen an Abtati of similar appearance at some point, he may have even met one of her great ancestors.

"Pardon me, I was rude for not introducing myself. I am Kalia Khastan, a freelance adventurer. I aided this village with the Al-Rammal Zabal migration last week."
He took an apologetic tone and inclined his head to her.
"And please forgive my earlier tone. I've suffered under this curse for longer than I care to recall, and the gods have offered no hope of reprieve. I've only had my own magic and will to rely on since the day I was afflicted."

Spoiler

Al-Rammal Zabal (Dune-Pickers)

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia’s face remained neutral, the hint of a pleasant smile playing at her lips, but her eyes were alight with interest. Many of her guests over the years had come from afar, but very few of them had been interesting.

Forbidden knowledge, and punishment for finding it. Kiia was by all accounts a loyal servant of Abtatu, but Their teachings were flexible. They were more of a concept than a true being. Formless, genderless, timeless. They taught enlightenment through contemplation and solitude, through attuning oneself to the natural world. They rarely forbade knowledge… at least not in her own interpretation of Their gospel. Being an oral tradition, Abtati teachings had some variance between tribes.

“You must be quite remarkable to have found something the Gods did not wish to be found.”

She took another slow sip, quelling her beating heart. She moved with a quiet grace, gentle enough to barely disrupt the gentle plumes of smoke that snaked from the incense embers, but her mind turned quickly.

“And even more remarkable, to have survived against their ire for so long.”

She set the cup down and looked Kalia over. Her eyes were a lighter shade of brown that would be expected, and they glittered like jewels that sought to pierce through that golden mask and see who was truly sitting before her.

“You may call me Kiia,” she said with a gentle nod. “I am sure the village is grateful for your assistance. From what I hear, Al-Rammal Zabal are quite the nuisance. Yet I sense this is not what drew you here. No… this is not coincidence.” She swirled a hand through the wafting smoke and observed the patterns it made. “If you have spurned the gods so, what has brought you to my place of worship?”

The smoke dissipated, and she brought her eyes back to his painted-on face. “Perhaps you seek the guidance of a new god. One that may have… alternative plans for you.”

She wished desperately to learn more about this curse, about this knowledge that had cost him his soul, or whatever metaphor he chose to use. Such a subject would need to be approached carefully, however, and could not be rushed.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

How much to reveal, how much to conceal... Fate? If it was fate, destiny, or more than coincidence that brought him here, then it couldn't be for anything good. Could he safely reveal the secret to one who follows the gods? She was a priestess so it was safe to assume her faith was unshakable, luckily he did not sense she was a zealot, she seemed to be a reasonable person not prone to making rash decisions or snap judgements.
But if she knew what he knew of the gods, would her faith be so solid? And would that be a good thing, for her or for him?
"I don't believe in fate. We choose our paths and reap the consequences. The gods have simply been around long enough to tap into the flow at certain points and make semi-accurate predictions based on experience. It may be predicted that we met, but the purpose of our meeting is for us to determine."
He said this all with a cold practicality. He'd gotten good at nuancing his voice to make himself seem more alive, but every once in a while he let his guard down and the emotionless state of his undeath would slip out.

"If your god would hear me out, I would be pleasantly surprised if not exceedingly cautious. Only demons and fallen deities have given me an ear, and such beings cannot be trusted. But I do not seek to make any pledge to a new god, I've had my own fill of being their puppet."
His tone softened again.
"I apologize if anything I say offends you or your faith. Non of this is your fault and I mean no disrespect."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Quite the opposite of offense, Kiia's elegant pointed ears drank in Kalia's words gluttonously. Perhaps he was a madman, she had dealt with plenty. Every now and then someone would claim to have special knowledge from the gods, or more rarely, to be a god themselves. This knowledge was rarely more than ramblings, and the diseased mind within revealed itself readily.

Kalia did not seem mad. Odd, absolutely, but not witless. She had set her drink down and sat cross-legged and straight-backed, listening with the same inscrutable expression as before, only her eyes hinting at her intents.

"You needn't worry about such things," she said in response to his apology. "I would be a poor subject indeed if my faith were so easily threatened," a soft smile. "Those who balk at the views of others lack conviction in their own."

These things he said of the gods, he made them out to be just like any other being of the worldly plane. Old and powerful, certaintly, but flawed. It was... appealing. The Abtati faith had never been as rigid as some of the other beliefs in Arethil. Many tribes did not even believe Abtatu to be a god or goddess, and regarded their faith as little more than a moral code, more or less. Kiia did not think this was wrong, per se, and while she preferred to think of her god as a true being it was impossible to know for sure.

At least, she had thought so until this tall stranger arrived with his off-hand mention of direct dealings with the divine.

"Abtatu has been called demon before," she continued, "The migrants to these harsh lands do not always understand our ways. It is natural, of course, to demonize those who raid your traveling parties." The Abtati, until very recently, primarily subsisted as nomads and would do whatever was needed to survive. "The desert is unforgiving. Many believe that the weak do not deserve its pity."

Her expression softened, the first change her face had seen in some time. "I do not hold quite so harsh a view, as you can see," she gestured to the plants around her, the lifeforce that allowed her to care for the weak and broken amongst them.

"I, of course, cannot grant you an audience with Abtatu, but Their ears are always open. Simply speak, and They will listen. But-" She lifted a hand as if to cut off her own thoughts, "I would not ask this of you, for your path is, as you say, your own."

She stood and smoothed the light silks that adorned her. A few golden clasps held them to her shoulders and waist, and they draped naturally over. "I should like to feel the sun before it sets. Would you join me for a walk, Kalia Khastan?" Although his relationship to the gods seemed tense, he was not adverse to speaking of it. Indeed, he continued to hint at its nature. Kiia believed he truly did wish to speak of it, perhaps he had little opportunity to do so. She thought maybe, just maybe, a more casual atmosphere might loosen his tongue.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

Kalia nodded and stood up with her. She was indeed unlike many priestesses that he'd met. Even in his own time and homeland the priests and clerics of Annunaki pantheon were rarely so open minded. And she genuinely seemed interested in his story, hanging on his words in a way that only a few people he's met in this age have done.
He was still cautious, though. Once he reached out to a Cleric of the Annunaki Pantheon, the priest left to pray but returned with his brothers and sisters with a directive from their god to kill him. He didn't wish for a repeat of that event, so he remained reluctant.

He opened the door for her and followed her out of the building and up to the edge of the village. A wind was kicking up in the distance, so as they watched the sun lowering in the dimming sky they could see wisps of sand blowing off the tips of the dunes.
It was a beautiful scene and he wished he had the emotional capacity to enjoy it, but with his undead body he lacked any form of chemical activity that would bring about emotion.
He stood beside her in the deepening shadows watching the sun and wishing he could experience the warmth like she did.
He sighed in his frustration.
"I used to watch the sunset... In a different time and a different place. The intersection of the two desert rivers. The sun would dance and sparkle in the surface of the water and reflect the light all over the city that used to rest on its banks."
Not for the first, nor last time, he thought about his home, the city Djedi Akhmis.
His city.
He folded his arms across his chest, the glare of the sun turning his bronze armor red.
His voice sounded tired.
"I am old... Even I don't know exactly how old I am or how much time has passed since... My home was buried and nothing was the same. Cities I didn't recognize, ruins that were familiar to me... And I... Was like this."

He knelt down and grabbed a fist full of sand, letting it slowly sift through his fingers.
If he was going to tell her it was now or never, there was nothing to gain by waiting.
"For my transgression the gods struck me down, they killed me. And because of the gravity of my sin my soul was committed to the void where non finds rest... But I was also saved by my transgression, because the gods were too late to stop me. Before my soul passed into the void, the souls committed to me elevated me, and I transcended my mortal soul..."
He looked at her with his painted eyes.
"That is my sin, priestess Kiia. I reached for godhood and succeeded. And now I've awakened in this world cursed to either return to the void, or to complete my ascension."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Dusk in the desert was a special kind of magic. The color of the sky finally matched its ferocious heat as the horizon ignited in deep oranges and pinks. The dunes became shadowed on one side, yet remained blinding on the other, and they cast mesmerizing patterns over the landscape as they shifted inch by inch, eon by eon.

Kiia walked with her newest companion, her steps like falling leaves next to the shuddering impacts of the giant beside her. Still, he moved with poise, there was nothing brutish about him.

The winds blew at her silks and sent the tails billowing behind her. Sand peppered her skin, but she scarcely noticed it. Kalia’s voice fit the scene well.

“I know the place,” Kiia said with a small smile. “It is more beautiful than I could ever describe.”

There were few places in Amol Kalit that she had not been at least in passing, but she suspected Kalia’s wandering surpassed even her own. If he was as old as he said, it was entirely possible he had walked the entire desert several times over. Cities did not rot in the desert, they did not sink beneath rains or snow. Only the sands claimed them here, and they did this very slowly. There were several ruins in the area he had described, and they were ancient indeed.

Her pulse quickened as he began his tale. Would he reveal his secrets now? Yes. She had to admit, she had not been entirely prepared for something so blasphemous. It was wonderful.

Anyone listening in on the conversation would know for certain that the masked man was mad. Killed by the gods themselves, but brought back to life by pledged souls? It was not only preposterous, it was unthinkable. But anyone listening in on the conversation would not have the knowledge that Kiia Sidra had amassed. They would not know that this “void” had been mentioned by many names in many scriptures. They would not know of the texts that the Pantheon wished to keep secret, but through Abtati lips survived.

She thought in silence again, her mind turning invisible pages with the speed of lightning. She turned her body to face Kalia’s painted gaze. The wind pressed her silks tightly to the side of her body, outlining her shape to the right while she appeared to melt into the wind itself on her left.

“The gods are Good,” she began, an almost necessary disclaimer for the words she would utter next, “but they are jealous. I am not surprised they killed you for attempting to join them as an equal.” Her eyes ran down the length of his armor again. She remembered where she had seen it now.

Dangerous thoughts shot through her, for although she followed the divine she was but mortal, and mortals all too easily felt the allure of power. She quieted the ideas, but they continued to simmer beneath the surface.

“I wonder, in which direction did herding Al-Rammal Zabal take you? The Void, or Ascension?” It was a joke, but she did wonder what a man of such immense self-professed power was doing helping desert villages with pests.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

She said she actually knew the place he described, which threw him for a loop until he reasoned that she hadn't seen that view from the vantage point of a high balcony. At that very intersection of rivers along the banks is where his capital city used to rest.
And she couldn't have been there recently, or she would have found that his ancient city and his final resting place has resurfaced from the sands that claimed it.

Her form was certainly pleasing to the eye, but he lacked any reaction be it chemical or physical, which only frustrated him because he knew what he would have felt and would have wanted. Undeath was truly a curse to the man who didn't know how much he craved physical touch until he was physically unable to experience it.
He nodded in agreement with her statement, the gods were indeed jealous creatures and ultimately Kalia couldn't blame them for what they did, but that so far hasn't stopped him from hating them.
"The gods covet their position, yes. You're the first Cleric to admit to this. For a mere human to try and reach for the title of god, supposedly the lowest of the lowest creatures in Arethil... The act itself is a direct insult to the power of the gods. But even THAT was not the reason they slew me. I imagine many of the gods would have admired a human who ascended to their level under his own power."

His own robes, cloaks and scarves rippled in the wind, a bronze kopesh was sheathed at his hip and a bladed scepter hung from loops on his belt behind his back. (Both weapons were heavily enchanted if one were so attuned to notice.)
The wrappings that tightly covered his entire body were also visible between the ornate armor pieces.
"As I searched for the truth about the gods, I posed a question... Why are the gods so interested in this world? Did they create it? Why? Why do they need or want worshippers?"
Kalia was growing to trust Kiia, she was open minded and listening, interested, interesting, beautiful.
He was planning on telling her everything and accepting the consequences.
His voice lowered as the shadows deepened across his mask.
"I could only find one answer that remained consistent across all accounts and scriptures... The mortal soul, the source of power and status among the gods, the currency of the heavens. The mortal soul is the most valuable substance in any world, invaluable, absolutely priceless."
He growled at his next words.
"Imagine my rage when I learned the true goal of the gods... They barter with their followers, offering paltry magic or absolution or promised paradise in return for this priceless thing that every living creature holds dear..."
He clenched his fist.
"The gods get a bargain... A little bit of magic in return for unlimited power and status in the universe? They don't even have to pay the true value for the soul simply by convincing their followers that their soul is only worth a few heavenly gifts based on their pious servitude and the pledging of their soul in death."

He pulled off his mask, behind the bronze visage was not some grotesque deformity or affliction, in fact there wasn't much to see but the tight wrappings that covered every inch of his body without even a space left for eyes or mouth. He was indeed a mummy that stood before her, preserved even though he had no flesh beneath the wrappings, only bone.
"I am now undead, an unintended outcome of a curse that was meant to kill me outright, because they realized what I knew in addition to achieving my goals. That I would expose them if given the chance. But as I said, those who already pledged themselves to me were enough to save me from such a fate and kept the curse from essentially killing my soul. I'm now a prisoner in my own corpse, and I must break this curse to feel the breath of life or even experience my own paradise when I'm finally finished with this world."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia listened intently to Kalia’s tale. It was bizarre and yet rang with the truth of a thousand verses of the scripture she had so diligently studied.

To anyone else, his words would be poison. If this was why the gods had struck him down then who would dare hear them? Who would dare to risk the same fate by learning the secrets that had earned him his curse? But Kiia did not fear curses, she did not fear the gods. Respected, certainly. Obeyed, of course. But feared… this was not the word. Abtatu was not so direct in Their actions. The Pantheon… less important. The thousand unnamed deities of the civilizations of old? They may listen, if they still cared.

He removed his mask, and even Kiia could not prevent a momentary lapse in her neutral expression, as awe filled her eyes and her soft smile dropped into lips barely split open in wonder. She corrected quickly.

“You are Alzaaeim,” she said in a whisper. She had meant to speak fully, but her throat had become tense and would not allow it. She swallowed, closed her eyes, forcing herself to regain her composure. It was not becoming of a priestess to fawn.

Alzaaeim was not a story that many knew. Even amongst the Abtati, it was obscure and rarely remembered. In supreme irony, it was only through written script on ancient stone that one of the sand elves’ oldest legends was reborn into oral tradition through her, and only to a handful of people at that.

Alzaaeim. The Pretender. The Arrogant. The Fool. These were the titles that had been passed down through the ages of the man who would attempt to be a god. The details had been worn away through time, stuck back together in retellings across ages. The accounts differed in the specifics, but always the same outcome. For his audacity, he was cursed to wander forever. In between the life he knew and the paradise he sought. Granted a fraction of his power only to sustain his unclean existence. It was a cautionary tale, but like most, it was rooted in truth.

She just had not realized how much truth. Now she could see it, his armor crudely carved into the stone. His painted face matching the tombs that surrounded the tablets.

His actions had been blasphemous, without question. But… it was not sacrilege to learn his story. And if he held even a fraction of the powers spoken of in legend… he would be very interesting indeed.

“Did you know you were not forgotten?”

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

That name... Those words she spoke... What?
The Alzaaeim?
That was not his name, but he knew it's meaning and saw recognition in her eyes. Was this a surviving legend of his attempt? How had anything of his past survived to this age? All his people, all his subjects, his allies, his enemies, all who knew of him and Djedi Akhmis, gone without leaving any trace for future generations to find.

How...

Of course... The Abtati, there was no way the priests could have taken them... Perhaps even some of the priests themselves kept some record of his existence, he was excited but also chastised himself for a fool, to think he could truly go unnoticed even in this age.
He dropped his adopted adventurer accent, which was essentially exaggerated heroic mannerisms and speech. He returned to his deep Kalitian accent.
"How is it you know of me? How is it I've come to be known as the Alzaaeim?"
He took an unintentionally threatening step towards her.
"Tell me, what do you know about me? How old is my legend, how old am I, how do I free myself?"
He bent down his featureless wrapped face to hers and took her earnestly by her slim shoulders, "What do you know about the Alzaaeim?!"

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia did not frighten easily, but Kalia's sudden shift in... everything... it was startling. His massive frame moved quickly, and before she could step back she was in his hands. They held no warmth, no pulse beneath their armor. They held her with a stillness reserved for statues and corpses. She realized, with a pang of concern, that she could not use her abilities on him to defend herself. He had no life to take.

Her neutral expression had gone, but her face showed more surprise than fear. Her eyes were wide, pale amber irises staring into blank linen wraps. "It..." she stammered, "...it is a story. Old, very old." His desperation was the most human thing he had shown so far, and it answered her question quite definitively.

She should have known better than to expect him to rejoice. How foolish of her, to expect the ancient wanderer to find happiness in knowing his curse was not entirely private. She had given him a glimmer of hope, a faint chance at the answers he sought. She had none.

"It is an Abtati word, but old. Borrowed. A tale passed down abtati to abtati until it was lost beneath the sand. I uncovered it in a tomb far to the south. A burial ground of my people. It was... unspeakably ancient." She recalled the crumbling sandstone, the odd sarcophagi that surely had not been meant for such a place, already ancient by the time they were relocated. "I thought it was only a fable, a lesson against pride... until..." her eyes passed over his armor again, the symbols flying back into her memory.

"I am sorry," she said sadly, "The story ends with your curse. It does not say how, or if, it can be removed." She looked at where she thought eyes should be. The mask, now in the sand, stared up at the darkening sky.

"Please release me." She asked in a soft but firm voice.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

Rising hope... And crushing defeat... She had no answers in her brief recognition of an ancient story that may or may not pertain to him. He didn't have the physical capacity to feel sadness or despair, which meant what he now felt was in his very soul, utterly crushing disappointment.
When she requested him to release her he did so, but slid his wrapped hands down her arms as he went to his knees, his hands falling limply as he hung his head, still nearly as tall as her even on his knees.

He spoke, this time lifelessly, without any accent or mannerisms whatsoever.
"When I first faced the desert after I awoke... A sandstorm caught me, I felt nothing but knew that my bones were being scoured clean... I cannot cry, I have nothing in my eyes to shed tears..."
He lifted his head, looking up at her with that blank face of linens.
"I am a creature of the spirit now, bound to my own corpse like a prison. But it's in my soul where the pain now resides, deep and penetrating."
He hung his head again.
"I apologise for my outburst... But that is also how deeply hope struck..."

If there was even some form of legend that survived him and his empire, then there was enough reason for people to turn away from him, leaving him without hope of overcoming the curse himself.
One idea he had for escaping the curse was to build up a cult and following to eventually grow in power and transcend the god who placed the curse on him, but the last thing he needed was a name of Alzaaeim to turn potential followers away from his fold.
"I am not Alzaaeim... I am no pretender, though I can see why the gods and their priests would wish to paint me so... I can still hear the prayers of my people, they wait for their king to return to his throne in a heaven he built with his own power... I've achieved my goal, I am a god, if only in part, sperated from my own paradise and followers by gods far older than me..."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia was a more prideful person than she projected to the outside world. Even to herself she tried to deny it. It was not the place of clergy to have pride, for their lives had already been forfeited to the gods and their will. Still… she was mortal, and that unfortunate condition came with side effects.

It was unusual for her to feel guilt, but the emotion came bubbling to the surface in a gentle stream as Kalia’s powerful and imposing body melted before her into despair. His hands loosened and slid their cold grasp down her slender arms until they lay limp in the sand. She would have knelt before him herself, had she not been almost level with him already.

His words prompted an intruder into her guilt. A dangerous thought. As a healer and spiritual leader she Kiia a certain sway over the ordinary people. She enjoyed this, she could not deny it. If asked she would say it was her pleasure to spread the word of Abtatu, and to heal his subjects in need. This was true, but a more shameful part of her liked the power. If Kalia were telling the truth, and he must be, then she was in the presence of a god. Something she could only have dreamed of just moments prior, and she craved that strength.

Her desire to continue this relationship and the guilt that filled her sent her mind ablaze, searching for any way to help him, to try and work out the nuances of his curse. A thought struck her.

“Perhaps there is a way.”

His tales lined up with the legends, more or less… but the logic of it seemed backwards to her.

“When Abtatu created the elves from sand, They granted life to the desert itself.” She stared into the sunset’s burning colors. “They formed us from Amol-Kalit and breathed life into us from Their own being.” She looked at the wrapped face. “Do you see? They did not feed off of our souls, They granted them to us. In time, all Abtati will return to Them. This is why I do not fear the gods, Kalia Khastan, for I know what awaits my soul after death. I am part of Abtatu, and no other may claim me.”

She reached forwards and touched the cloths, running elegant fingers over his face. “You have claimed worshippers. Have you created them?”

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

Kalia was thoughtful for a moment, the pause allowing him to once more be free if his emotion.
That was a thought he hadn't considered, to create his own followers, beings of himself and for himself. He had assumed such abilities were beyond him in his current state, but truthfully he had no idea what he was truly capable of.

He reached down and sifted the sand through his fingers.
Even in her tale of Abtati he couldn't see any contradiction between this god and the one's that defied him. Even ones own creation could choose to turn to other gods if they have freewill. But still, something about her suggestion nagged at him.
"If Abtati created the sand elves of the desert and of himself, wouldn't returning to him simply be redundant? He would simply be recycling the power he has, not increasing it..."
Almost as soon as he said it he knew that wasn't true...
"No... wait, that makes sense!"
A race propagates, they join with each other and create new life.
This put Abtatu in a new light for Kalia... Very few gods could claim that they created a race, that they created their followers. That sort of relationship between god and creation would be much different, like a father to a child, there is love there which would explain why Abtatu would do such a thing that seems so circular in reasoning, but it also did more for the sake of the creation than for the creator.

Wasn't that what Kalia aspired to be? A god that paid a soul for its true worth? A god that loved his followers and cared for them instead of using them like cattle or currency?
He looked up at Kiia.
"Since my people were taken from me... I must find a way to create a new people! Then I must guide them, nurture them, help them grow... Then perhaps one day I will have the power to break my curse. It will be slow, but that might just work!"
He stood up quickly but refrained from embracing her, even though hope once again lifted his soul.
He picked up his mask and wind blew the sand away as he placed it back over his face.
"Priestess Kiia, what other sage advice do you have for a cursed god? I don't know how but I will repay you in any way you wish, I am indebted to you."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia was glad that Kalia’s vigor seemed to have returned. Truth be told, it was unsettling to see such a large and powerful man reduced to despair before her. As he explained, she started to understand what he had been saying before. Not entirely, of course, for it was a new and strange way of viewing the gods, but there was reason within it. Kiia vowed to think on this more, and to examine just how much souls were worth.

Beside the relief and eagerness at new ideas, Kiia felt wonder. She was witness to history, after all. The moment that Kalia Khastan, cursed god, the Alzaaeim of legend, decided to shirk his bonds and plunge his hand back into the mystic rivers of creation. At least, that was how these events played in her mind.

The sun began its slow dip beneath the ground, and the sprawling white tattoos across Kiia’s body took on a dark red hue. The wind lessened, and her silks rested naturally against her. She smiled her trademark smile once again. Subtle, subdued, cryptic.

“I would never presume to hold a favor from a god. But, if you would allow it, I should like to follow this journey of yours. Perhaps, the next time we meet, you will have birthed new beings into the world.”

Her words were measured and controlled. She knew better than to speak her true thoughts too plainly. To have a god in her debt, even a fallen one, was monumentous. If this undead giant was truly the divine being he claimed to be then he could not take back his word, could not reclaim his promises. She would cash in this debt, but not now. Something in the winds told her she may need his favor in the years to come.

Her eyes turned to the bloodied red orb of the sun. “Things are changing,” she said, “The desert has grown restless. In the West they speak of a profit. A giant of fire. I do not yet know if I believe these stories, but if you want somewhere to start, that is where I would look.”

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

She was shrewd, even if she didn't show it Kalia was adept in the realms of politics and reading people, listening to the unspoken words that resided between the lines.
Still, it didn't make him trust her any less.
He gave a hearty laugh, returning to his adventurer persona.
"Perhaps I shall name my creation after you in honor of the aid that you have given me! Provided creation of life is within my power to achieve."
For all he knew there could be a hundred factors or more!
Would his undeath effect his powers enough and corrupt his ability to create life? Would the curse itself block him? Is he simply a god of death and will never be able to create life? The possibilities were as endless as the obstacles, but was it worth it to try?
The last rays of the sun turned his mask and armor to blood as it made it's final descent below the horizon.

She spoke of a prophet, and that rang some bells.
He nodded and spoke solemnly.
"I know of whom you speak, The god emperor Gerra. I do not know if he is truly a god or not either... But his empire deals most harshly with the undead, I assume he espoused that value. In my current state it would not be wise for me to meet him."
He watched as the sun finally disappear and all they could see is the receding glow. Kalia turned fully to Kiia.
"If I recall correctly, it's the Abtati themselves that held him as the subject of prophesy and aided in his rise to power. I would assume that you knew more."
He turned and prepared to walk back to the temple.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia actually gave a gentle laugh at his proclamation. “How strange it would be to have a people bear my name. Of course, I would be honored by such a gesture.” She was not one to correct the divine, even those who had been thrown back to the ground.

She had not known of the Empire’s distaste for the undead, and his questioning did raise some good points. “There are many prophesies in the Abtati tradition,” she said with a nod to Kalia. He knew his history, but she supposed he had lived more of it than most. “This particular one, the Djinn who will raise the Abtati back to their former seat of power, it was not always so well known. Of course, there is not a sand elf alive today that has not heard it, given the Empire’s unbroken expansion.”

She turned from the sunset and began to walk back to the town, beckoning the dead king to follow her. “I will say that the events have been... consistent with the stories. Retaking ancient strongholds, unbroken in battle, an immunity to fire.” It was all quite remarkable, in truth. “Indeed, I do know more than most on this subject, which is why I seek to meet this ‘God Emperor.’ Is he truly a champion of Abtatu? It is entirely possible, but I would see for myself.”

The darkening sky had quickly begun to sap the heat from the stone and sand, greedily reclaiming what the sun had so freely given just an hour before. “I have travelled this desert for nearly three centuries. A fleeting moment compared to your longevity, but long enough. The Empire has risen in but the span of a year. There is much there to consider.”

Was Gerra the Djinn of legend? Maybe. It would be all the more reason to claim him as an ally. Even if the stories proved false, an Emperor of any caliber would be a powerful friend. Kiia did not have a uniform following, instead adopting the nomadic inclinations of her people’s traditions. Even so, she would be recognized as a figure of divine authority by most. She planned to wield this in her favor to gain an audience with the fire giant.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

Kalia was thoughtful as he followed the priestess.
He had thought long and hard and did much research when he first heard about the giant emperor, his own findings were inconclusive but he learned enough to make educated guesses.
"The Emperor is sometimes referred to as an avatar, sometimes as a djinn, sometimes as a god. But judging by his feats past and present, I would say that he is a demigod at the VERY least. Some of his abilities can be attributed to his lineage with giants. I myself had a similar lineage... Even a similar legacy with how quickly my kingdom grew, drawing similarities between us. But if the prophecies are to be believed and he is in the service of Abtatu, then this Gerra is my opposite, what I could have been had I devoted myself to the gods instead of defying them."
He traced his fingers along the lines of his mask.
He may be older than any known record or knowledge, but he's only been awake for almost two years and only lived for about thirty of those years in the past.
One would think that a being as old as himself would possess some sort of special insight, but even in his great wisdom as a king he's no wiser now than the day he was slain.
But this elf had extensive knowledge... Perhaps she can be pried to fill in some of the cavernous gaps in his knowledge.

He walked beside her. She seemed convinced that he was indeed a god, and if so then she was the first. That bolstered much of his confidence, but it still felt a little weird to be revered again as someone with authority. For the two years he's been awake he had chosen to be Kalia Khastan, the freelance adventurer. Working for bit of gold here and there that he didn't really need since he didn't really have any needs.
He was used to being a servant, much like before he became the god king of Djedi Akhmis.

"Do you happen to know how Abtatu formed the Abtati from the sand? If I knew more details I wonder if I could find a way to repeat the process or use it as the basis of performing my own form of creation."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia's footsteps were nearly silent on the sand. Kalia's words about the Emperor rang true with her, for his accomplishments were many and could not be ignored. Giant's blood gave an answer to Kalia's immensity, and the priestess ticked off that particular question in her mind. Of course, many more curiosities had been spawned.

"Devotion to the gods is the greatest path for a mortal to take," she said in a very practiced recitation. The undead king's fate would surely have been kinder had he done so, but such lessons would do him little good now. After all, he was hardly mortal.

She was glad to hear his question, for she always enjoyed telling the stories. Stories were what the Abtati had, after all. Paper turned to dust in the harsh sunlight, and stones were too heavy to carry. They could not afford much cloth, and what little they had was made for function, not decoration. For those that could afford it, tapestries and cloths most often bore images of the tales, but these faded with time.

"Ahh," she said, lifting her head to the budding stars. "The birth of the Abtati." It was one of her favorites, and her voice recalled it easily. "In the beginning time the world was empty, and the gods slowly filled it with life. Abtatu saw that the deserts were free and fierce, much like Themself. They sought to make a people to live in accordance with Their will. Not to tame the desert, but to live within it. To master it. To be as a part of it. To this end, They used the sand from Amol-Kalit itself. They took water from the oases and sculpted our bodies with Their invisible hands. They went to each mold, each empty vessel, and breathed Their own breath into our lungs." She paused to allow the images to fill her mind. It was a beautiful tale.

"In doing this, Abtatu melded part of Themself with the desert itself. We are the product of that fusion. When our imperfect bodies crumble, the spirit we were gifted shall return to Abtatu, while the sand and water we were made from returns to the desert."

It was a story most often told to children, the first of many that they would hear. It was unusual to deliver this sermon to an adult, much less an outsider, and certainly to a self-professed god. She could see how the Pantheon had cast him down, for he had much to learn of the divine. Perhaps his undeath would be a boon of sorts, granting him all the time he could ever need to learn and grow.

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

They approached the building and Kalia held the door for her before following her inside.
He cringed a bit at her statement since to him devotion to the gods was participation in extortion.
"When the gods give something of equal value in return for the souls they claim, I might believe that. For some devoted people all they have ever known from the gods is how they take."
He spoke of the many villages he'd visited in his time as an adventurer, the many villages with churches devoted to the divines that only ever experienced plague, famine, poverty, bandit attacks, death, and only just enough blessing to prolong their suffering a little longer.

It was indeed a pretty story and Kalia followed it.
Shaping sand and water to create a mold for life was something he could do easily enough and began to feel a little bit of excitement reach his soul, but then she spoke of the breath... That was the lifegiver... His excitement fell again.
"A breath... Abtatu gave them a breath of life..." A defeated sigh, "Any breath I have is a wind of death. Once more I'm back where I started, I must break this curse and return to life if I'm ever going to create a life, or give something of myself that's not touched by the void. I can already animate corpses, and I can shape water and sand and enchant it to serve my will, but breath of life? If it's not metaphorical then I need lungs first. Otherwise I simply need to be alive in order to give life."

He sat down again, deep in thought.
"The only lead I might have to uncovering the secret of my curse is either the legend you discovered, or it's written on the walls in my tomb city where I awoke."

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia was curious at Kalia's response. He had been spurned most harshly by the gods, but then again he had attempted to join their ranks without their blessings. She could not claim to know why the gods so jealously guarded their power, or why Kalia was seen as such a threat when there was hundreds of minor deities within the Pantheon. She could only guess and think on how she would have handled the situation, and being mortal she could not possibly hope to understand the divine. However, here on Arethil, the more people who matched you in power and influence, the less your power actually mattered. Could it be that simple in the heavens?

"Is not an eternal heaven a worthwhile reward?" She asked. If Kalia knew the secrets of the afterlife, or details of what the gods truly offered, she was terribly interested. She would never admit to having doubts about the promises of Abtatu, but the eyes of a fallen god could perhaps see things more clearly.

She stepped back into her humble home with a kind look of thanks to the giant as he held the door. His words were sad once again, and again he revealed how fitting his punishment truly was. Had the gods really failed in their intentions, as Kalia claimed, or had they wished for him to linger in undeath? To be so close and yet impossibly far from salvation? More puzzles to ponder.

She sat on a small cushion, the fire now reduced to low glowing embers, and she placed more wood atop it. She motioned for Kalia to join her again. "Life and death can be relative," she said cooly, and placed her right hand upon the leaves of the plant she had been gifted earlier. Without taking her eyes from Kalia, she siphoned the energy from the green leaves. A minute tension in her neck was the only evidence of effort, and the plant wilted, blackened, and shriveled. She moved her left hand to another dead plant, the one she had used earlier to heal her followers. Now its color returned, and the stems swelled and stood tall once more, the leaves unfurling from cracked husks to full greenery.

"Of course," she continued after her demonstration, "souls are a more complicated matter. I can transfer life from one thing to another, but I cannot move the souls. Once that passes into the beyond, only darker arts may retrieve it." Kiia had only resurrected a handful of people, and she regretted each attempt. Not only did such an action require the entire lifeforce of another, it returned life to an empty shell. The bodies had lived once more, but the people never truly returned. Unable to support themselves they quickly died again.

A thought, the latest in a line of very treacherous ideas. Kalia claimed to reanimate the dead. Necromancers of this sort often claimed to manipulate souls, to force them into spent bodies. If Kalia could move the souls, and she the lifeforce... what could they achieve together?

She did not speak on this, it was perilous even to think of it. Instead, she followed the conversation to the legend of Alzaaeim.

"A disadvantage of oral history is that details are easily lost. Your story is seldom recalled at all, let alone in its full details." She tried to recall the details she had learned as best she could. "There is little said about the curse besides its outcome. Some versions say your soul was destroyed, others say it was stolen, some say you still possess it. Some accounts call you undead, others say your body was turned to stone."

She looked into the painted eyes and her own betrayed excitement. "Perhaps it would be best to visit this tomb." She wished dearly to accompany him. The records she had found in the Abtati ruins had been broken and incomplete. What history could they unearth together? What else would she learn of this cursed god?

 

[Kalia Oro Khastan]

"Is not an eternal heaven a worthwhile reward?"
Of course, a fair question. If mortals received what they desire in the end, is it really so bad?
But the answer was one even Kalia had yet to completely grasp.
"An eternal heaven, a paradise that never ends, joy and peace without limit... Yes, that might very well be a just reward."
The painted eyes of his mask stared straight ahead, emotionless in a face modeled after his own in gentle sleepless repose.
"But when I stood at the precipice of the void I looked around and saw the gods in their realms... I saw a goddess of magic torturing souls of sacrifices and followers alike for her own pleasure, a god of law driving his paladin to execute a friend because he had killed a guard in defense of his daughter, a goddess of love drove two lovers to kill themselves to be together in death because they couldn't be together in life.
I looked and saw a few gods who did give their followers paradise, not all were made into food or playthings for the gods amusement."

Kalia shook his head slowly.
"But when I looked back into the void I saw that it wasn't empty... I, I cannot quite explain what I saw... But there was torment, suffering, weeping, gnashing of teeth. I saw mortals, but also other beings that my heart told me were gods in their true forms, animals, monsters, shapeless creatures. All suffering together.
But I also saw a brightness, a light far more heavenly than any paradise I had just witnessed and that was from its gates alone!"
He turned his painted eyes to Kiia, compassion filled his voice.
"Eternal heaven... That would be a worthwhile reward... But the paradise the gods offer is temporary, finite in comparison to those bright gates."

This was how he knew that the gods intended for him to pass into the void. If mortals stopped believing in them because their secrets were revealed they would diminish. The gods couldn't have a creature like him walking around and undermining their followers and faithful. That's also why he couldn't simply go around shouting it from the rooftops, he knew enough about warfare and strategy to not tip his hand before he was ready for retaliation.

He went and joined Kiia by the fire, kneeling on a cushion across from her.
He watched her demonstration and finally understood her method of healing. She manipulated life, the spirit, the essence, she could manipulate the breath of life.
She spoke about moving souls and he grunted a little.
"Once the body has died the souls pass on to join whatever god, demon, or void that has a claim on that soul. Returning a person to life is treacherous as you already know, no doubt. If a soul doesn't wish to return then the will to live is already gone and they simply wish to return to their paradise.
Sometimes when I reanimate the dead I can give my thrall the discarded spirit which maintains an impression of the person to some degree and maybe recover information in that way, but I can't move souls either. Normally I simply animate corpses with magic and leave the souls and spirits in peace."

He listened intently to her reiteration of the legend, he could see no help there. A vague recollection at best, probably copied from previous records and mixed in with other stories.
But in spite of the meaning the name Alzaaeim rang out to him, perhaps he could take it and use it as part of his new legend.
Kiia expressed her desire to go to the tomb with him, he would have smiled if he had a face, but instead he placed his huge hand on her shoulder.
"I would be honored to have you with me when I go back to my home. We will see what obstacles the gods left in our way together."
Kalia felt happiness rising to effect his soul, he wanted to do something for her to express his joy. He glanced at the plant Kiia drained of life in her demonstration, focusing a little magic he began infusing it with magic, forming an enchantment around it.
Green returned to it's wilted stems and it's blooms opened once again.

Spoiler: Enchanted plant

The enchantment around the plant gathers residual magic from the area, allowing it to continuously replenish it's life force so long as there is magic in the area.
On the flip side it will begin to wilt if there's no magic nearby, making it an effective magic dead zone detector.

 

[Kiia Sidra]

Kiia tried very, very hard to hide her reactions to Kalia’s words. What he said was blasphemy of the highest order, but that really wasn’t far off from the rest of their conversation. It was disquieting, though, to have the very core of her beliefs so casually countered. Oh, she had dealt with hundreds or non-believers and loudmouths who told her and her followers that they were wrong, misguided, or blasphemers themselves, but they had been mortals themselves. Kalia, if he was to be believed, had seen the beyond for himself. His testimony was very disturbing indeed.

If he was correct, which was by no means certain, then the gods may actually be keeping mortals from their true afterlife. If this void was where all unclaimed souls were sent… was the light what was truly promised?

Kiia steadied her thoughts, reminding herself of her own beliefs, morals, and ideals. Abtatu was Good, and They would provide. She mustn’t worry, and she mustn’t doubt Their word. The Pantheon was a different story, and she preferred to interpret Kalia’s account as a reference to them.

As he explained his necromancy her mind eased a bit. Although there was some disappointment that they could not have full mastery over life and death together, she dared not admit this. It was better to leave souls where they belonged, she knew this.

His hand was an odd comfort. Heavy, cold, protective. She was no stranger to the desert or its many dangers, and she was more than capable of protecting herself. Still, one could not help but feel at ease with Kalia as an ally.

“I will await the journey eagerly,” she said, and she gave a genuine smile this time. The smile only grew at his enchantment of her plant, and her eyes were wide with wonder. “Thank you,” she said, touching the leaves. She could feel that the lifeforce had been returned to it… but from where? None had been lost from the other plants or creatures in the room. “It is magnificent.” She took another few moments to admire the gift before speaking again.

“I am afraid I am still a slave to sleep. You are welcome to stay through the night, though I suspect you have no such need for rest. My roof is yours for as long as you wish it, friend.” She laid her hand over his, and it was tiny and fragile by comparison. They would have much to discover together, and she had much to think about before morning. Best to let the dreams come and work through the puzzles with their help.