Titanfall Revelations

[Itra]

The familiar sensation was one of horror – The dying throes of a deity, and the divine are not meant to die! It was a chilling ripple through the Heka that She had not felt in ages; not since the great holy war of the First Ordening claimed so many immortal souls before Her presence. She could never forget those peers She had known, nor the sight them brought to slaughter one by one. She was witness to all, and could not speak a word of mourning; desire for continued existence required Her to seal away vindictive anger beneath a lock forged of fear. With the short and brutal war, fondness for those providers of safety and stability was necessarily replaced with uncaring indifference – for that was provider of security now. To mourn for those who defied Annuk’s will was to join Them in fate.

Doubtless They thought Her a coward in Their last moments. Doubtless They were right. Now They didn’t think at all; for compassion means nothing in the face of might.

Such was the Annunaki way.

The light invoked by Seneschal illuminated the chamber, chasing away the fog that had impeded Her former scrying. She could see Her priest, his robes soaked in blood from fresh wounds inflicted from the battle. A state She often saw the careless fool in, and often inflicted by lesser beings. But She had to be fair; Andekhah is no lesser being. She’d heal Her priest's wounds this time; going further to cleanse the blood from his robes. She was about to use him as Her prophet properly, and he’d better look the part. His confused expression alone told Her he didn’t understand. It didn’t matter; he didn’t have to.

How She wished to drink in Andekhah’s suffering throes of death, though there was no time to do so. Another goddess had given up Her existence to grant their progress, and no such sacrifice could be in vain. She had seen so many others perish and had been able to do naught about it – but this place was not the Astral Valley. This time, there were no divine present to cause Her restraint. The anger felt then only added to the fury carried onward; and She was well aware the one She ought direct it upon waited for Her further ahead.

A shimmering ray of light joined the cavern’s ceiling to the floor between Her priest and Her foe. The string of light shot outward in expansion to form a luminant curtain, leaving Andekhah trapped behind the temporary barrier; or the patchwork that remained of it once it had shifted beneath the weight of magic's unpredictability. There was enough room between the rays of light to allow others passage through, though it remained enough to prove obstacle to Her gargantuan foe. Yet while She wove the curtain, She noticed Her priest invoking more divine power; bestowing the same blessing of might on the elf anew. The situation didn’t call for it; his useless action was nothing more than a simultaneous waste of both time and power.

She spoke out in protest; but with the final blessing of Seneschal, Her voice carried beyond Her priest to be heard by all in his presence. So they too would know of Her now; but times were too dire to fret. She delivered words spoken in harmonious chords; unmistakably divine, and unmistakably angry. Clearly not of the pleading voice that brought them here, for She was goddess who made demand – not plea.

“Cease casting! Move forth, and do so quickly!

One waits further onward! Bring Me to him!”

“But what of your instruction to slay she who looked upon-”

This was not the time to correct Her.

“Go and fetch Me that target for My wrath!

Move with haste! Lest you become it YOURSELF!!”

He acquiesced immediately – but with absolute gracelessness, nearly stumbling over himself in his rush onward with the symbol glowing brightly in hand.

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

He could not sense Itra's presence, but the deity's blessing would definitely be felt.

Before he fired that arrow, he felt his pain subside- No, it vanished.

That's more like it. ​

He assumed that Kiros casting just took it's time to work. With the Goddess bestowed blessing of might, he felt rejuvenated, raising his arms to the appropriate length and pulling back on the bow string with added vigor. He almost felt as if the elven ancestors are guiding this action, and with this newfound vitality, he released the arrow and sent it darting straight into the queen's abdomen.

Enchantments are... working? At least they somewhat were; the arrow that's embedded into the Queen had radiated arcane energy before disappearing. This obviously pained her, but it wasn't enough! The hordes demeanor changed in an instant. They seemed devoid of any ability to think for themselves. Almost in sync as they charged. He can't kill them all with a bow, so he decided to change up the playing field.

He used a simple alteration trick via the runes on his bow. They all flashed a kaleidoscope of several colors-- something it's not supposed to do-- before the bow in his hands erupted in a prolonged, which is also usual, burst of ethereal green light that finally faded, revealing the bow to now be a five foot branch with a blade at the tip.

This was a minor trick, simply reverting the bow into it's previous form while keeping the blade from the bow intact. The worst this trick could do in these times was fail. As he grasped the spear with both hands, he realized that the pain in his shoulder had started to return, forcing him to loosen his grip with that hand.

As the legions of bugs came, he braced himself and prepared to strike, only for an immense wave of light to wipe them all out, sweeping through them as the next chamber was now visible in the distance.

The next few things that happened... well... he honestly wished he was back in the Falwood where gods, monsters and legions of bug creatures were hardly ever seen. He shielded his eyes from the luminous curtain that now trapped the queen. He turned and saw the priest with the same symbol as before, followed by the pain of his injures slowly fading. All of this was confusing... is he casting two spells at once...? Normally this would be a question that's very possible, but thanks to you-know-what, it's almost unheard of. Then, it all became somewhat clear.

“Cease casting! Move forth, and do so quickly!

One waits further onward! Bring Me to him!”

“But what of your instruction to slay she who looked upon-”

This was not the time to correct Her.

“Go and fetch me that target for My wrath!

Move with haste! Lest you become it YOURSELF!!”

He had also heard him mention him ask What Crook, where?! To no one. Either he has issues... or he's talking to somebody. Finally, he heard that somebody, and it was a voice so authoritative that he began walking the moment she demanded. He's never heard anything like it, and he never wants to again. Practically petrified, the last sentence from her also forced him to quicken his pace and run beside Kiros. Now, hopefully, was the time to ask "What the hell-- Who the hell was that? It-- She instructed you here?" He could barely get his sentence out as he was processing what just happened.

"What target? What is a Crook?" He hated to assault him with a bunch of questions, but he simply came here off a hunch and try to restore magic so he can effectively protect his home, but this landed him submerged in a flood of mystery with near death experiences and he isn't even close to paddling up to the surface. Assuming off previous dialog, Kiros could certainly toss him a life preserver to answer regarding the wrathful voice. Maybe even this target. Is his companion some sort of Holy Hitman? How is he in pristine condition again...

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

The last blessing had done well, and he prepared another in attempt to finish off Andekhah; but in the midst of his new divinely ordered objective, he had been interrupted with yet another. Now he held two, of apparently equal importance. Abandonment of a given quest could well result in a smiting, and much the same could be said for failure to undertake one newly given. Both outcomes had occurred with enough frequency before that Kiros knew not what to make of the conflicting orders. Whichever action was the correct one to take was completely indeterminable.

...And asking Her evidently was not the proper action either. Well, at least She made Her immediate desires clear.

Her voice and command was nothing out of the ordinary for Kiros, he’d had many years to grow weary of hearing it. But the startled expressions of those around him was an unexpected and unforeseen sight; they had heard Her speak too!

He had only ever heard Her speak aloud before the presence of another once, and She had not gotten along well with Farzad Oldsummer in the slightest. While Itra remained vocal about Her perpetual and universal irritation, She did not seem bothered by this occurrence at all. Kiros was as confused as the bewildered expression Xzaar returned to him.

The unexpected event had already thrown Kiros off guard, and now the elf requested an explanation. Most fair to do so, given that both were running headlong and blind towards whatever would await them. But how does one respond? Kiros had many cover stories to explain and conceal himself; but never was he prepared to deliver such truth, nor did he have the slightest clue how.

He had no time to stay and explain; Xzaar moved too at Her command, running along beside him to where the guiding light led. Answers were shared as both dashed towards their divinely guided destination; what few he had, at least.

“Yes-” came his brief response, which left much wanting until he gained the breath to continue. He wondered what had happened to the other voice; hoped to hear it as he scrambled onward.

It seemed he would not ever again.

“She is a holy goddess.”

“And She is a wrathful goddess.” he panted out the words while he ran at full sprint. He had no clue what laid ahead of him, and no faith whatsoever that She would keep him safe. He wouldn't have bid Xzaar towards whatever laid ahead, but was glad the elf had accompanied him. A small relief to have another by his side, and great gratitude that he would not have to undertake this daunting task alone.

“And has sent me to restore arcane order.” He added, speaking of Her with a tone of faith that belied his own doubt. The notion of Arethil's fate resting in Her hands bothered him greatly; and rightly so. But the guiding voice of warmth was no longer present. Xzaar couldn't know of Itra's petty and spiteful nature. It would do no good and bid no confidence; further, if She held presence She'd no doubt show him Herself.

“Whomever is responsible must be with the crook ahead!”

There seemed no other option. They must reach the crook, and he must bring the holy symbol to it.

Frightened, confused and lacking of both breath and time; Kiros had done the unthinkable.

He placed absolute faith in Her.

What choice did they have?

 

[Andekhah]

Pain coursed through the Queen as her body cried out in distress. The wound had not been deep, but the crackling, burning energy had radiated from it. Much of her was expendable: spikes, claws, horns, teeth, even a limb or two or perhaps a wing... but not this. Her greatest purpose and the root of her immense power lied in her hive, her children. Their lives were short but their numbers many, numbers she had birthed since time immemorial.

Her rage, her pain, it flared through her subjects as they charged and then: blinding light.

Andekhah screamed as a hundred insectoids were incinerated in an instant, a hundred burning lights that penetrated her mind and seared it.

She fell to her side, smashing to the ground with a reverberating crunch. The Seneschal's attack had decimated her legions and while it had not killed her, it had sapped her of all strength. It was an effort merely to observe the cavern through beady, vestigial eyes. Her mental connections had been totally severed.

The Shaxa that had not been atomized staggered and fell, disoriented and blinded. They would pose no further threat.

Despite her rage, despite her pain, the Queen and her hive could do nothing to halt the group's advance.

 

[Xihuitl]

It was unfortunate that Xihuitl could not blink, for the light that filled the cavern was immense. It took several seconds for the dazzled spots to clear from his vision, and when he came to he saw... emptiness. The cavern had been cleared all but for the edges. The Shaxa that lingered there wandered aimlessly, clutching their heads and eyes. The great queen lay to her side, her pulsing underbelly the only sign of her lingering life.

The Seneschal's words echoed in his mind. Something in that far chamber was of grave importance. His companions seemed to agree, and the small Chi'nzen scout hurried after them, his shorter legs moving in a blur to match their pace.

 

[Seneschal]

Vergeßo-Avellini did not care for the power he could feel coursing through him. He cared for the wealth and reknown it would bring.

With his mind's eye he could feel every Portal Stone. There were many more than he had ever marked into his famous maps. Some were fragile things, perhaps buried or sunk and lacking the magic to work. Each had its own signature. A sense of where the stone had come from. The great betrayal to create them in the first place.

And he could feel the danger too. Lurking in the shadows between worlds. A place just beyond the darkness between the Portal Stones themselves. Dormant. Waiting.

The Herald be damned, he would not make the same mistakes of the past. Suddenly he did care for the power. The Crook could work miracles and he could be the one to bring back the greatness that left this world tens of thousands of years ago.

"Keep working!" he screamed at the insects. They ignored him. Slowing in their work as their queen was injured.

Keeping one hand on the Crook he turned to see the interlopers. Desperation rose up. He had one hand on endless power. He could not give it up.

"A deal!" he cried out. "The power could be shared!"

Anything was better than giving it up.

Kiros Rahnel Xzaar Vixneel

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

Finally, he could see sight of another; doubtless the very one She had directed them towards. Now within line of sight and at conversational distance, the holy symbol continued to do little more than glow – thought it had become much brighter than it had been before Andekhah.

Clearly, simply bringing the symbol before the victim of Her ire wasn’t sufficient. Yet, She hadn’t told him what was, and he had little time to guess.

Avellini however, was swift to resort to bargaining as a means of maintaining his hold on what he desired. An attitude the priest was familiar with, not unlike many of those noble peers he had known from his youth at Annuakat. Avellini, though his offer, had extended the needed opportunity to reach his objective. Provided the man was truthful about his offer in the first place, which Kiros held heavy doubt in. The freely-given offer was instinctively seen as a potential trick.

Kiros stood still, his leering eyes and authoritative posture conveying an attitude of confidence far greater than what he truly felt. Beneath the stoic front, he pondered what the trick might be and what Avellini might do to protect his prize. The fright on his face appeared to be genuine however – perhaps this was no ploy of Avellini’s. Both expression and appearance told of a man who held little confidence or sureness of action.

Perhaps he was lost? Kiros would make a ploy of his own. A true Kaliti, he knew that trust was better taken than freely received, and he had plenty of false wisdom to tempt.

Moreover; he had to explain the attention-grabbing glow of the symbol away somehow...

“An unfair deal, for we shall need this.” Kiros spun his lie, spreading an arm to beckon the others back while holding the symbol in his other. He stepped forth towards him briskly but authoritatively, continuing to play into the false notion he held hidden wisdom about the crook so recently unearthed. He was not even sure if his actions were correct; were they not, he hoped the guiding voice would speak again.

But no warning would come from the late deity, and he was left with no word but Hers for guidance. That they were the concerns of another god besides Her gave them legitimacy, but that the plan was Hers gave him little confidence. He still wasn't clear on what the plan was, beyond mere arrival.

“But time is too short to decline.” He continued. The symbol’s glow grew brighter as he closed distance. It seemed that Her demand to be brought before Avellini required him to bring the symbol within close proximity; perhaps contact. But best to be sure, for he did not want to squander the lone guess he might be able to make. Still, the warm voice spoke no words and made no bid for him to stop. Though discomforted by it, Kiros took this silence as approval.

“So shall it be; let us share in it's power.”

With that, he moved the holy symbol towards the crook, placing it in between Avellini's fingers in the hand he kept adhered to it. As soon as the edge of the disk made contact, a blinding flash erupted from the point it did.

May She know what She is doing

At least this time...

 

[Itra]

Spoiler: Angry Goddess Music

The room fell immediately and ghastly silent, save for the lone rolling metallic grind of the symbol rocking back and forth in its state of attraction against the crook. Already glowing with such brightness as to be an assault on the eyes, the luminescence of the symbol flared exponentially in short order. All was bathed in a blinding orange light that soon turned to a white of such magnitude that not even one’s self could be seen.

This blinding glow knew no boundary, and would begin to glow off the surface and walls of the cavern. The vision of all within would become obstructed by the glaring white light, regardless of location.

The light slowly faded, revealing a grey sweeping fog so thick as to be just as obstructive to vision as the glow had been; fog that looked not the slightest bit natural. Any motions through the dense fog were made as if they were done submerged beneath water, despite the arid dryness it held. As the fog gradually continued to thin out, one’s hands would become visible, and then the hazy silhouettes of others.

The surface available to stand on, if it could be called that, was nothing more than even more of the hazy mist at their feet. It was so dense as to be completely opaque, and with a feel of grainy sand beneath the obscuring smoke that clung atop.

She was wanting of little more than to simply revert Arethil to it’s former status quo; She had not even the slightest desire to take stewardship of the world. That would entail an awful lot of work She didn’t care to partake in, if She even could. She held neither the requisite status nor power to act upon Arethil without incurring the attention of other deities; all of whom dwarfed Her, and none of whom would ever allow a 'lesser' god to manipulate it. Divine dominion was Hers by technicality at best; should She actually wield it to take action the greater gods did not approve of, She would be struck down in moments and share the fate of Her former peers.

Normally, what plans She held in mind would be impermissible. But normally, the divine did not die. For if this matter was of great enough importance to warrant the sacrifice of one such as Seneschal, it was of great enough importance to warrant Itra's judgment.

Should they allow it, She would bring retribution upon this mortal who had so earned it. Should they deny it, let Her die this day without the label of coward.

The shifting fog seemed to play tricks on the eyes; errantly coalescing into edges hinting at a great form beneath it even further beyond in the distance. So vague and obscure to plausibly be little more than the eyes playing tricks, yet the drifting haze hinted at it too frequently for it to be mere illusion. Whatever brief hints that could be visually caught would be insufficient to connect them all to a single shape; even then, whatever silhouette the illusory magics implied in the fog would be of no recognizable or sensible form. It was nothing the likes of anything that had ever been seen.

Inexplicably and without warning, the enigmatic form beneath it appeared determinable. As if the mind had somehow managed to connect the fleeting hints received and finally made sense of what the eyes saw. No sooner had such been apparent than the vague collection of hinted edges took on clear shape in another instant; as if She moved not through location but reality itself to reveal Her great towering form above them all. One more would be revealed at position in the centre, with a telltale rattling of chain emanating from his direction.

For that was where She placed Avellini himself. If looks could kill, such would be to his fortune; for Her ominous and hateful glare foretold of a fate far worse in store.

Her priest had surprisingly accomplished his task; She had made contact with the crook, just as Avellini had. With both of them connected through this artifact of power, She finally held the means to catch Her quarry. This mortal thought himself wiser than the gods in making contact with the crook. Ironically, the very fact that he had would become his own undoing. For in so doing, he had become accessible to Her. By now, She had accumulated many truly terrible ideas and was itching to inflict them upon him.

But these mortals needed to know who was inflicting punishment, or they might not be aware of the consequences. She'd had this form in mind for just such a purpose; and now that Her secrecy had been compromised, She may as well use it.

A great winged serpent before all with upper body and face of human appearance, She reached a height comparable to a building the mortals might deem twelve stories tall. At the crook of Her elbows, arms became great feathered wings coated in flawless plumage. Light from above refracted upon them with an unnatural shine of faint reddish tint. Each was of length that rivalled even the largest of their war ships, and extended out far to Her sides. Behind and beside Her head sprouted two horns of width even greater than it; of bronzen texture with length and size that rivalled Her torso itself. Two more of equal size sprouted from behind them, curving down behind Her head. Atop the scaffolding afforded by Her horns sprawled a colossal mass of curled hair so thick as to nearly cover those behind Her. Strands akin to spun gold cascaded down and weaved in between to spread the mass of hair over a proportionally massive size compared to that of Her body.

Her tail lay behind in winding curls, starting at Her hips and reaching the floor before continuing on for such distance that length could not even be guessed at. All along it was covered in scales of twilight blue, with a winding pattern of black and deep charcoal grey roaming atop it. Starting well beneath where Her hominid figure turned serpentine were underscales in hue too hard to determine beneath the shadows occluding them.

What light that poured down upon Her through the endless shifting fog shone off Her in a way not natural; for this was a being beyond the natural order. Every inch the light touch would radiantly reflect it with an ethereal shine; yet wherever the light was occluded from reach was left an unnatural black, darker than any possible shadow.

To Her front stood Her priest; clad in robes of bright white, unmarred by stains of blood. He still held the symbol in his hand, standing in silence as She awaited introduction that evidently would not come unprompted. She had anointed him as a priest. He was tasked as a priest. So it was much to Her further annoyance that She'd need to bid him upon the task that ought be innate to him.

“I have arrived to dispense My judgment;

My priest shall speak of both I and himself”

“She holds domain over Pneria and insight; She is the lunar goddess Itra.

And I am Kiros Rahnel, prophet of Her.”

The name was a surprise; She thought the word to be some insult that crass wizard used. The introduction Kiros gave was almost adequate. But She held audience and would have to do without chastising or correction this time.

Itra looked down upon Vergeßo-Avellini with a glare of unnatural hatred, towering well above all with the hazy silhouette of Her tail rolling in the distance. Perhaps he attempted speech; it would not matter, his voice would carry neither weight nor distance here. Only Hers did; and once She had Her fill of Her victim’s terror She began to give verdict in a voice of roaring harmony that boomed through the air as if from the skies; if it even still existed beyond the ever present fog.

“I allow your wish for riches and fame;
Have a mountain of gold to call your own.
To it, forever shall you be kept chained.
Of My punishment, shall you become known.

I condemn your soul and claim it as Mine,
You shall exist expressly to suffer;
For defying will beyond the divine,
And begetting the sacrifice of Her.

For the ascension you dared to attempt
And actions against Arethil’s order,
For this I render My divine judgment:
Let you be subjected to My torture.

May it not end until time required
To allow sufficient atonement for you:
Which is never! And I shall not tire;
For what you’ve done, no duration could suit.

You have dared to defy mortality
And are most deserving of My wrath; thus
I shall maintain your state of agony,
As you could not ever suffer enough.

For all time shall you decorate My home,
With your body chained to My mountainside;
Whereupon vultures rend flesh down to bone,
With talons shall they rip apart your hide.

Let the sun upon you blister your skin,
Bringing pain to even sinew and bone.
Insects shall feast upon you like carrion
With what they devour ever regrown.

These agents of justice at My behest,
Let what they tear off be replaced again.
To let your torment be given no rest;
With endless supply to painfully rend.

Never shall you move in all your days,
With body forever locked in lame state;
Aside from eyes that give unwilling gaze
To your own punishment and deserved fate.

I shall flay you in times I find boring,
And such condition occurs frequently.
Through My heavens your suffering shall ring
In pained howls to forever delight Me.

Should fitting agony I hear absence,
I shall arrive with malice and ire.
Ever shall I punish you with diligence,
I'll make sure your pain never expires.

For should it ever wane, I shall add more;
Ensuring not a moment of relief.
I’ve endless hate and suffering in store;
Such befits you, whom gods deem to be thief!

There’s much to do; oh, you shall entertain.
You’ve much to endure in My world of pain!

Unending torture!

Never shall you die!

Your own private hell!

I shall be your guide!”​

With that, a winding chain leapt upwards from the dense fog that was floor, running between Avellini and the tip of Her tail that held grasp of it. His body held not an ounce of life as he was flung upwards, save for a mouth that could scream and eyes that could do nothing but watch. The ever present fog obscured him from view shortly after She had sent him towards his fate, with the horrified noises he made and metallic rattling of chain fading to inaudibility soon after.

Once Avellini's flailing form vanished from view, Itra's gaze moved from the skies She had sent him to those on the ground before Her. Reddish orange eyes looked down over all present, one after another with Her unnatural glare of hatred. She spoke not a word, nor did She deign to do so when the more important matter of divine retribution awaited Her eager attention.

She spread Her colossal wings out; each scintillating limb of flight was spread out into the distance on each side of Her, of greater size than the course sail of the largest ship. Outstretched limbs expanded Her unnaturally black shadow out until it became a lake of darkness beneath Her, and a flap of Her wings sent the shifting smoke into a chaotic frenzy. With a push off the ground from Her coiled, serpentine tail, She launched Herself skyward into flight. In short time, She disappeared into the seemingly endless sea of smoke - and it was as if She was never there to begin with. Upon Her departure the smoke began to clear rapidly, and the familiar scene returned to them in but moments. Even though it had just been witnessed, the very events likely felt as unreal as a dream.

As She preferred it to be; no mortals could truly understand the process of the divine. Everything had to be a metaphor, everything had to be a witnessed event. These fools...if they could not write about it in their trite books, it may as well not exist. So She'd given them something to write about; may the scene She wove motivate them to record this moment in history, and may they smarten up enough to not repeat it.

Through the portal stones all would hear a voice different than the last; harmonious, feminine and irate.

“Let the crook’s thief be known for his failure

And of punishment for his transgression”

Once the fog had cleared entirely, there was a length of string with bright golden colour and texture akin to Her hair laid on the ground. It rested before Xzaar Vixneel; presented as if it were a bequeathed gift, and looked to be as long as one of his bowstrings might be. The bright shine left a highly noticeable contrast against the rocky ground it rested on. It did not look the slightest bit natural, but neither did it appear malefic.

After noting the gift before the elf, Her priest took notice of an odd metallic gleam not far from his own feet. With a look of seeming gratitude at the mostly buried holy symbol, he approached briskly towards it. He brushed away the debris and dirt covering both it and the handle She had restored, but his expression furrowed into one of disappointment before he limply reached down to pluck it from the ground. It was the same stupid expression the ingrate often wore whenever She rewarded him with a favour.

Seemingly ever pointless to expend the effort...

 

[Xzaar Vixneel]

He had kept his opinion on gods to himself when the topic had arisen during their journey to the portal stone. He's never believed that most of them even existed and that the power people may draw from them is their own innate magic rather than something given from a deity. He was wrong. So fucking wrong and as the existence of gods were proven right before his eyes, it put the fear of... well, a god into him. Avellini's desperate pleas to share the crook was something he didn't believe at all. You'd be better off painting a face onto a brick wall and haggling with that than trying to get one over on this particular elf. Skilled in the art of deception and empathy magic, he had studied extensively to understand the brain so he could maximize the potential of Empathy and exploit the weaknesses of their emotions. Avellini clutched the crook as if he was protecting his newborn child. Was he biding his time for something? Didn't matter. Most people that want power are tyrannical people anyway.

The holy symbol and the crook had cast the area around them in an ethereal, orange light that reflected off the cave walls. The light grew more intense, turning white as he tossed his arms over his eyes to protect them from the brightness. He hadn't seen anything like this-- wait... "I can't fucking see anything..." He had turned his back from the light, but the intensity did not lessen. In fact, it worsened. It brightened to a point where his hands were completely obscured from his own view.

When the unbearable light had finally vanished, it left a mysterious fog in it's absence. The fog had permeated the area, and the cloud was so dense that it concealed all within it. He couldn't make sense of it all. Even the ground was hazy. The ominous mist had thinned, and he descried the silhouette of what he assumed to be Kiros in the distance. He had taken a few steps towards it, but being unable to see the ground or anything else had disorientated him, making each step require the use of his staff to maintain his balance. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He felt sluggish, almost as if he was submerged under water. He could breath so he knew that wasn't the case. Only one other thought crossed his mind. "Did I die..." He, of course, did not want to accept that. Not while the Falwood cried out. Not while magic is failing.

He felt like he was going mad. He heard nothing. Seen nothing. He felt like he was in a void of some kind. He wanted to call out to the Priest, but he was terrified that something would happen to him if he dared to shout. The elf had halted completely when he saw... something... move in the corner of his eye. He instantly turned, staff pointed to whatever it was, but it was just empty fog. He saw it again at his left, and actually summoned the courage to take a swipe at it with his weapon, still hitting open air. He felt as if he was being stalked, and that's when he finally managed to call out, "Kiros!!!" He backed away, rapidly pointing his weapon in the direction of anything that looked as if it moved.

He was finally able to distinguish something in the fog, and it revealed a being so colossal and powerful that it petrified him. His hands tightened around the staff, unmoving as... he doesn't even know what that is, but it removed every last thing in his mind that has ever terrified him. Any challenge, any foe, any Dreadlord or wild animal in the falwood had become insignificant to him in this moment. Hell, when he gets back, he might as well fear absolutely nothing at all. This, quite literally, dwarfed anything adverse he's faced.

“I have arrived to dispense My judgment;

My priest shall speak of both I and himself”

He's never heard anything that's ever terrified him in this way.

“She holds domain over Pneria and insight; She is the lunar goddess Itra.

"She's a god...?"

And I am Kiros Rahnel, prophet of Her.”

"He's a prophet...?" The entire idea sounded like a fairy tale to him. What he was witnessing had conflicted with what he believed in all his life, although now he knows who was wrong. Gods are very real, at least this one.

“I allow your wish for riches and fame;
Have a mountain of gold to call your own.
To it, forever shall you be chained.
Of My punishment, shall you be renown.

I condemn your soul and claim it as Mine,
You shall exist expressly to suffer;
For defying will beyond the divine,
And begetting the sacrifice of Her.

For the ascension you dared to attempt
And actions against Arethil’s order,
For this I render My divine judgment:
Let you be subjected to My torture.

May it not end until time required
To allow sufficient atonement for you:
Which is never! And I shall not tire;
For what you’ve done, no duration could suit.

You have dared to defy mortality
And are most deserving of My wrath; thus
I shall maintain your state of agony,
As you could not ever suffer enough.

For all time shall you decorate My home,
With your body chained to My mountainside;
Whereupon vultures rend flesh down to bone,
With talons shall they rip apart your hide.

Let the sun upon you blister your skin,
Bringing pain to even sinew and bone.
Insects shall feast upon you like carrion
With what they devour ever regrown.

These agents of justice at My behest,
Let what they tear off be replaced again.
To let your torment be given no rest;
With endless supply to painfully rend.

Never shall you move in all your days,
With body forever locked in lame state;
Aside from eyes that give unwilling gaze
To your own punishment and deserved fate.

I shall flay you in times I find boring,
And such condition occurs frequently.
Through My heavens your suffering shall ring
In pained howls to forever delight Me.

Should fitting agony I hear absence,
I shall arrive with malice and ire.
Ever shall I punish you with diligence
To ensure your pain never expires.

For should it ever wane, I shall add more;
To ensure you’ve naught moment of relief.
I’ve endless hate and suffering in store;
Such befits you, whom gods deem to be thief!

There’s much to do; oh, you shall entertain.
You’ve much to endure in My world of pain!

Unending torture!

Never shall you die!

Your own private hell!

I shall be your guide!”

Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh Cmon? Let me break the forth wall and tell YOU that he damn near passed out. RIGHT there. Flat on the hard ground. He would've done just that, but what will become of him if he closed his eyes? Nope. Suddenly, the stranger that had offered the deal was flung into the void above, limp and unable to struggle against the chains that bind him. He didn't move an inch nor speak when the goddess looked at all below with her malicious gaze, grasping onto the staff with such force that a jagged end had cut his palm. He was relieved to see that she didn't even speak or kill them all there, and even more grateful at her departure. With a flap of her massive wings, the fog had been sent in every direction, and Xzaar used his arms to shield himself yet again. He lowered his arms as the chaos has vanished. Was it... even there in the first place? He was going to ask that question until he saw that the strange man was gone, and below him...

Once the fog had cleared entirely, there was a length of string with bright golden colour and texture akin to Her hair laid on the ground. It rested before Xzaar Vixneel; presented as if it were a bequeathed gift, and looked to be as long as one of his bowstrings might be. The bright shine left a highly noticeable contrast against the rocky ground it rested on. It did not look the slightest bit natural, but neither did it appear malefic.

He was hesitant to lean down and pick this string up, but after convincing himself it wouldn't kill him, he grabbed the string and examined it closely. It looked as long as a bowstring! "Is this... a gift?" Although he's happy that he's on good terms with a god, the encounter was a little bit too much for the poor elf, and his knees almost gave out, but he caught himself by steading with his staff. He leaned on the cave wall nearby, gazing at the string that was given to him. He wondered what exactly it'd do... but that's a story for another day. He placed it within the small satchel at his hip, taking a deep breath to soothe his nerves. After, he summoned the strength to stand upright, walking over to Kiros, who looked unimpressed with his own gift. "So--" He didn't know what exactly to ask, but he felt he needed to ask something. The turbulent journey so far has amazed, shocked and terrified him thus far, so he didn't know how to put many things into words at the moment. Composing his thoughts, to decided that he shall ask if their goal had been fruitful. "Is it... over? is magic.. restored?"


Course, he can find out the answer to that question himself by attempting empathy magic. He understands it fairly well, but he doesn't active it, simply because he fears the repercussions like last time.

 

[Kiros Rahnel]

He had heard Xzaar's pleas and turned to him; yet he could not give the elf reply. Not in the midst of a ceremony he had no idea he was even about to perform – until Itra had made Her demand. To make such response while being presented as a prophet would incur Her wrath. An unwise decision; and especially so with Her towering above him. All he could give was an expression of comfort in return; one that contradicted the great fret he felt himself. But he had to be steadfast, he had brought Her here. If he had to, he'd incur Her wrath himself should it keep the elf from harm.

Though thankfully it had all come to an end soon, with Her making departure. He too saw the strand before him that was unveiled when She did. Truly, while She seemed to loathe plenty, She had not dispensed any ire towards the elf. Ready as he was to intervene if needed during the unexpected ceremony of judgment, Xzaar had abstained from speaking to Her entirely. Quite wisely so; though Itra's mere presence was surely discouragement enough from the notion.

If only he were so lucky as to have learned what the elf did, but on that fateful day sixteen years past.

Xzaar too wished to know what the strand was, and Kiros chose to weave magic in attempt to answer his inquiry. With his restored staff in hand, he focused his mind on the golden strand before them. With readied state and spoken prayer, he wove his incantation of insight upon it and awaited what answers would come:

This is no reward for you, daft ingrate!​

It was far from the response he expected, yet again. She had deemed it reward; what it did would remain to be seen, but it carried a signature not unlike the blessing She had imparted on the elf. Perhaps She intended some means to bestow the blessing upon him after Her departure. She could be almost nice at times; Quite exceedingly rarely, but sometimes.

“A reward yes; doubtless for your aid and service. She is a holy force, merciless as She may-”

Yet while She had departed from sight, She had apparently not left them entirely. From above them came one final remark from the departed lunar deity. While all could hear it, it was clearly directed upon the wounded Andekhah.

“So despondent you appear without gift,

Ought I gather your dead kin dearly missed?

Those you have raised over these many years,

And from them fashion a bowl for your tears?

Or are those eyes but unable to cry?

Your spawn are as worthless dead as alive.”​

She had interrupted him with evidence of his very statement. Harrowing, but as before he still held gratitude that he had evaded Her wrath entirely. As bitter as he had been during the quest, at least it had come to an end; and without smiting or headache. While he had hoped for some sort of reward beyond the return of his staff, in hindsight expecting such result seemed foolish. Realistically, the outcome was about the best result he could have hoped for.

“I believe so; though I make poor confirmation of such with Her imbued po-” Kiros began, but ultimately would never complete that sentence either; for the additional power he was allowed to wield was not Hers, but his. Rather than imbue him directly, She had merely removed the pain incurred from magical overuse; an intentional restriction She had woven to prevent him from falling victim to magic's first rule. Each spell cast had brought him closer and closer to unknowing death; a potential sacrifice that She had evidently been willing to make.

While he had come dangerously close to such consequences, death would thankfully evade him. Once Itra had made Her true departure, his poor unprepared mind was wracked with a migraine; one of such unbearable ferocity that it simply shut down rather than process the agony involved. His staff fell from his open hand and his unconscious body toppled forward to fall upon the ground with a thud. No further motions would come; aside from those of breathing that told he still carried life, to any who would check.

Magic has a price...

 

[Xihuitl]

The light... the surge of power... it was almost more than his insectoid mind could comprehend. The shapes, the sounds, the surge of energy. He felt the power pass through him and through that faint, mental link to his own hive. The Chi’nzen queen would certainly have turned her attention more strongly to him, if she could reach him in this cursed place.

The Shaxa queen remained motionless save for strained breaths, her remaining kin surrounding her in a great mourning swarm. Her mind was feebly reaching back out to them but no further. It was all she could do to keep her thoughts on her children.

If she heard the disembodied voice, she made no motion to indicate it, but the hive around her did shudder at its sound.

Xihuitl moved cautiously through them towards the other two. Kiros now collapsed, and Xzaar clinging a glowing thread. He peered forwards. Was the crook still there? Was the calamity ended?