Chapter V - Brimstone

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris felt her stomach clench tightly at the prediction that her grandson would have to kill his beloved, only to have her rise later. It seemed that this was the proverbial darkness before the dawn, and it broke her heart that he'd have to do it. She took the whole matter with a heavy gulp and a sigh.

The Archmage eyed the elderly deity sadly. "This is the part that arises in religions of having to take a leap of faith and hoping everything turns out alright," she observed, inhaling deeply to steel herself even if seemed like He had punched her in the gut with the news. "I've been there before, and it's always difficult to fathom even while knowing a good turn is on the horizon."

At the mention of help, she quizzically arched an eyebrow at him and responded, "Whoever it is, I suppose we'll be grateful for their aid. However, if it is in the form of the Chamberlain, he might just get a punch in the face first."

[IamLEAM1983]

The deity managed to look both somber and a tad amused. It might've been something with his eyebrows. "For the Chamberlain to assist you, a rather enterprising demon or spirit would have to take him over. Like your Vassago, I've searched across the paths of Time and Possibility alike, to best guide you. I haven't found an outcome that ends with this man's extraordinary prowess with the Black Speech being used for Good. Still, the Artisan has taught me to expect surprises along the way. I suppose we'll both see."

He shook his head. "I can think of a handful of more likely contenders, but I'll refrain from developing this line of thought further. You, after all, deserve your free will. Prophecy has to end at some point, and give way to choice."

A moment passed. "Before I impart to you what I offered Lucian Rothchild, I would pose a request. You have done more than enough for both your rebellion against Amaxi and that against the Pitspawn, so I would not hold it against you if you would prefer to hang your tiara, once it all ends. Still, I would humbly ask that you petition for those of my Scions that you will free in the coming weeks and months to be allowed to elect residence in Hope. There is one possibility that sees your islet reach across further into the Atlantic - towards a new landmass. A new Dalarath. Freedom will leave many of my children to the Loyalists' depredations, and they've long been scattered across your world."

The old druid gave her an earnest glance. "Many will soon see the light of hope in your actions. In many outcomes, the Pit's abuse shakes thousands of minds free of Amaxi's cruelty. I know your Tom Magnus only designed for his people to find shelter and exile, if need be - but mine also will. They will be lost and afraid, caught between the Many-Armed's ruthlessness and the Pitspawn's lack of pity. Even if Nereus is not free at present, you must remind them of Dalarath's true project - what you both so clearly embodied for a brief moment in time. The weak and desperate will only need compassion to join your stead, but the fearful ones will require trust. You were their Queen for a time, and you and your consort gave their lives purpose.

Many already call Walpurgis home, thanks to Jubal Whitney. Unfortunately, this leaves them with no watchtower - no means to watch the brine pool networks for infiltrators or spies. A home on the waterfont was crucial to those who still served me, in the early days of the corruption."

[TennyoCeres84]

The Architect didn't need to wait long for the roane to answer His request. Due to her innate compassion, she deeply nodded. "Of course, I would resume my role as a queen to guide them and function as a source of hope. New Dalarath will rise from the sea once more to be a home for those Void Weaver's who no longer wish to follow Amaxi's path and a lookout to watch those who would try to thwart us," she declared.

[IamLEAM1983]

The old god's relief was a quiet and subtle thing, but it was there. 

"Thank you, Meris," the Architect stated. "You already know of several would-be residents to this new Dalarath, and more will be displaced shortly. Some will be in express need of guidance. I hope you'll find it in you to assist them, despite your own travails."

A short moment passed. "Would you receive what is mine to offer, Archmage? You are under no duress, unlike Lucian Rothchild. There is no final death for you to forestall, no immediately greater potential to unlock. If you claim what is mine to teach, you do so in the understanding that it shall only complement what is already yours. Lucian may have recovered my Creations' old birthright, your situation remains your own."

[TennyoCeres84]

"I would receive it graciously and use it to best uphold the original tenets of your Creations, aid them where they need guidance, and protect the Artisan's world and creations to the best of my ability," Meris promised, sincere in her acceptance. The Archmage knew what was demanded of her, the power and responsibility that she would be offered.

[IamLEAM1983]

The being Lucian had called Nodens looked solemn. "Some of what I may impart can be passed along through your own words, other aspects must be brought to light more directly. You already understand how Archmages rise above death to an immortality of their own making. Seeing the Real for what it is requires the opening of another window. As I have no desire to have you suffer further, we shall instead revisit your defining moment."

He took her hand, the palace bleeding away into blinding white light around them, until the creaking and sway of her old brig across Caribbean waters became perceptible. Light gave way to the islands' azure waters and endless blue skies, to the smell of expended gunpowder and freshly spilled blood. Around them, the corpses of Meris' old shipmates were strewn about, some desperately grasping for support as they fell in agonizingly slow motion. In front of Meris and the Architect was another Meris - that of her final mortal days - as the Chamberlain's flintlock round pierced both pelt, clothing and her chest. She'd see shock in her own eyes, Samigina's own features decomposing from raucous joy into sudden alarm. There was no sound, even as the fish-like being's lips slowly and desperately etched her name, his jagged teeth flashing, sunlight catching in the long gray flange of his beard. The once-mortal Meris' motions were so slow it seemed as though she wouldn't so much collapse to the ground as she would gracefully splay her limbs across the main deck. Gobbets of suspended flesh, bone and blood shot forth out of the flintlock ball's opposite force, a tiny piece of her own breastbone glinting in the light as a small bead of saltwater collided with it in mid-air.

"As Necromancers could attest, death is less final than it would seem. Medicine has long since pushed back Sammael's window of opportunity, and the Reaper has gracefully abided by your kind's desire to live longer and more resilient lives. Tiny faultlines in the Artisan's design might take some of you - cancer, congenital defects, genetic predispositions - but by and large, death has been left to you and your people as something to better understand, or perhaps challenge. Through entirely mundane means, mortals grow ever closer to grasping Eternity as understood by your Creation's angels and demons. It may take untold millennia and your quite possibly abandoning the confines of your mortal coils for your Automaton friends' mechanical and digital confines, but this remains an ever-present possibility. Most supernatural means of extended life have arisen out of necessity, in comparison; as both the Artisan and myself saw the need for guardians within your plane. Life serendipitously makes its way towards deathlessness, while immortality as you conceive it is a rigid construct. Few are those immortals that can simply be; even the Thrones and Princes give way to your plane's myriad tides and eddies. Thanks to this, a servant of Pride may grow to be kind-hearted, while one of Sloth might eventually develop a palate for concerted action. By the same laws, an incubus can and has learned to love, rather than lust for."

In that stretched-out second, the Chamberlain's face slowly was turning from steely focus to a flash of mean exultation, tentacles curling in time with the flintlock's small generated soundwave. "To control the Real is to Be, at least in its physical parameters. My creed was never designed to calcify my followers' minds, or else they would grow no better than Amaxi's, over time. Their body was what was preserved, maintained in the state of their Ascension within all conceivable reason, their minds only receiving a boon of certainty and purpose. Everything else, I refrained from altering - even in Lucian. Of course, all laws still must be obeyed, and there are levels of injury I cannot in good conscience protect you or Lucian from. If your fate is to die as per your body's inclinations following a catastrophe, then die you shall. That said, to see what Lucian sees is to see beyond mere physical dysfunctions, to witness the Real as it is meant to be. Once it is witnessed, wounds heal within moments."

He looked back to Meris. "I want you to look upon yourself not as an Archmage, but as a Void Weaver. Kneel down, and bring yourself back. Assist the Ascension ritual's effects on your own coil, and bring them into being. Fear not - this is but a reconstruction. I would not be so foolhardy as to base your Archmagehood upon a temporal paradox. You might be tempted to channel Nereus' Black Speech lessons, but these are but a flawed basis for what you must attempt. Think on Dalar, whom you've just met. Consider Jubal Whitney's brotherhood and their linguistic efforts. Most of all, take your time. You've already died once, and this is but a shade of the past. You cannot save this woman, as you already know just how it is she's managed to save herself."

He lightly paused. "As a hint, I'll supply that your Cantor training houses some part of what you should do, even if notions like melody or tone are less important than what it is that they signify."

[TennyoCeres84]

His hint told her the right direction she needed to go in, to resume her body to its normal stasis. Kneeling beside her pirate self, she let a hand hover over where the injuries were. The right vibration was what was needed to knit the damaged tissues back together. She recalled reading about Thomas Young's double slit experiment and how it had proved that light's vibrations existed as both particle and wave. Everything from notes from her songs to the faint quiver of a spider's web all functioned as a series of vibrations, even down to the smallest bits that made up matter. They strummed cohesively and rhythmically to maintain their form and movement, all working harmoniously with each other.

Her mental acknowledgement of the vibration began subtly, barely a whisper. It become notably more obvious as she focused on the stopping of her double's blood loss. Skin, bone, and muscle seemed to reverse to their previous locations as they hummed together. The heart began to pump once more, the noise beating in her ears as it grew with vitality. The mortal wounds then seemingly closed. The younger seeming mage's eyes fluttered as she stood up to glare coldly at the Chamberlain, complexion flushed and hale again. To the Archamage, it seemed somehow different from the longer time it had taken the Ascension spell to return her from death's clutches.

[IamLEAM1983]

Meris' tutor merely looked on as the remainder of the events played out, altered in unsuspected ways. It served as testament to this unexplored fork in Meris' life - that of what would've happened if she'd found the Architect before finding immortality.

The roane would sense that her past self wasn't so much looking on to her dead crewmates, or much less the Chamberlain - cold determination steered into willpower by a kind of odd serenity she wouldn't have remembered feeling, in the way the events had actually unfolded. Meris' past self looked down on her healed chest, horror birthed in her nemesis' eyes, followed by the lashing of his tendrils as madness and world-ending spite left his lips. The past Meris merely turned her head sideways to a degree, as if flinching from something unpleasant, but with the self-restraint and control of someone possessed of a complete sense of clarity. She gestured past the creature that had enthralled its way into the East India Company and who now deceitfully acted as a privateer in the Queen's Navy - and caused the Chamberlain's massive war ship to collapse in on itself with the loud shriek of tortured metal and breaking wood. Desperate and enraged, the Squid reached for his brace of pistols with his tentacles, pulling out two more, and shot her point-blank. The spherical pellets seemed to phase through her, the roane's grasp of the Real allowing her to dismiss the projectiles as inconsequential.

"Go back if ye want," she said, as Samigina looked on, seemingly astonished. "You've already lost. In some circumstances, I score your hide with lightning and leave ye to Dalarath's healers for decades. Go back to yer dead gods all ye want - the slate'll be wiped clean, in the end. Clean of you."

The Chamberlain looked horrified. "What ARE you?!" he asked, which left the resurrected roane to look merely saddened. Coming from a species that routinely violated natural laws, the question didn't make much sense. Still, she didn't answer and watched him stumble portside, lose his balance as one of his feet went overboard, only to catch himself in her ship's shrouds. He looked down into the shark-infested waters, gave the Orcadian swashbuckler one last rage and terror-filled look, and flung himself into the drink, never to re-emerge. It was there that the Architect chose to cull the simulation, the surviving and dead crewmembers disappearing along with Captain Sam. Only Meris herself and the old man were left. He headed aft and stared out at the horizon, Great Inagua's verdant band visible in the distance.

"Lucian now hears and sees the building blocks of your Universe," he said. "You've seen a figment of it in your own past self. Now, try and steer us to shore the way one of my Sons might. Do not touch the wheel. Instead, feel for how water, wood and metal interact. Feel the currents of the archipelago, and the ways in which the Artisan graciously allowed them to thread the needle with this Creation's twine. Do not use magic - you'll find I've suppressed your training's dominion over the elements, in this place. Consider how Samigina hasn't simply assisted you over the aeons, but has brought boons to all gentlemen and ladies of fortune in search of hope. You are but their standard-bearer."

Where the Chamberlain's ship had disappeared, the Flying Dutchman rose out of the waters, a familiar and yet new figure standing at its bow, one foot rested higher. It looked like a Squid in full piratical garb, but the eyes and the added wink were definitely Sam's, as he waved his hat at the pair. 

"To the French colonies, me lads!" she'd hear him shout enthusiastically, "We's got ourselves some Respite Point survivors in need of a little peace! That's precious cargo, there! Watch for Englishmen - we don't know which ones work for our dear ol' friend! That's two weeks to Saint Lucia and I want us there a'fore them summer storms!" The rest of his tirade was swallowed by capstan clicks and the shouts of his men as sails were unfurled, Sam shouting something to the wind that resulted in both his ship and Meris' deserted platform being picked up by a strong and warm gust.

[TennyoCeres84]

The notion of not using her elemental abilities had seemed rather contrary to her, but this was part of a learning process. Meris gazed at the entirety of the scene and saw similar vibrations coursing through the ship, wind, water, and the nearby archipelago, now feeling them in her core. Even if each individual wave or shift in the land moved at a different pace, they seemed to synchronize with her. The vessel slowly crept along, at first, and gained in speed as her understanding of the currents and inner workings of their surroundings increased.

The partial reliving of the memory caused her to let out an enthusiastic cheer, as though she seemed to be enjoying the sensation of traveling once more over the sea, this time without the use of magic. A tiny part of her wanted to balk in disbelief, but her eagerness to learn currently held the reins of her mind.

[IamLEAM1983]

The Architect merely smiled and looked on as the coast neared, almost half an hour passing, judging by the sun's course, before he carefully unraveled the simulation. A white fog formed in front of the ship as they approached the coastline, eventually swallowing the ship. When it dispelled, Meris stood in another freeze-frame moment, the skies above Hope turned red and filled with the haze of the suddenly-dispelled winter, the air almost offensively moist around her. She stood halfway across Centennial Park and faced an dais of upturned stones and soil. On it rested a throne of cooled and formed magma, and the now-mangled body of Leonard Ephesian sat in it, Hellfire chewing through its integrity and manifesting as rheumy eyes and a spread of cancerous growths that displaced the fur. The Black Goat didn't seem to mind and merely looked past the Archmage, gazing at the wall of Angelic fury and bared fangs that stood across from him. In the streets around the park, cars lay upturned and storefronts were either marred by spreading cracks or had had their windows shattered, as spreading founts of both Hellfire and Celestial light fought for every scrap of terrain. On either side of him, corporeal Hellspawn filled the streets, waiting for the charge with the bated breath and barely-restrained rage of feral dogs.

Still, one detail had changed that wasn't true to Centennial Park's layout in the real world: a partially-thawed pond lay between both forces, and its reflection showed something peculiar. Instead of the usual inverted image of the Tree's top-most branches or the refracted angel wings to be expected, the pond looked twilit - absolutely filled with stars. The swirling cosmos served as backdrop to spires of molten and shaped stone Meris would find familiar, if still fairly new. This had to be Dalarath in its first land-bound incarnation. Stranger still, the side of the pond closest to the angels showed somber-looking Squids, their white robes now complemented by steel plates, with shaped helmets hugging close to their cephalopod skulls. Swords, shields, staves and whips were visible, along with the isolated servants of the Architect's longer and more rifle-like take on a crossbow. Across from them, blackened, torn and ichor-stained robes quivered with madness and evil relish, what had been the fresh and new power granted to them by the Others distorting the air around them. The first of them, the first to betray their Maker, sat in a palanquin of which the height and position exactly mirrored the Goat's own throne.

Lucian stepped forth from the throng of wings and fangs, the pond reflecting him as one of the more steel-clad followers of the Architect, his Augur's staff tipped with steel. They both spoke - the exact same words leaving their lips at the exact same time. Only placenames and concepts differed.

"We will not beg, Prince. We will not grovel or plead. We will defend what is ours, protect those we love and bring peace to those who cannot see reason. This is not a threat, nor is it a promise - it is but a fact."

A long pause, as the former Augur and her friend both looked across the distance. He then called out. "To those of you too scared to lay down your weapons - be not afraid. Those who would strike you as you take my hand are but cowards. True bravery is within your grasp, and we shall defend your choice with every ounce of our power. Should you fall, know that you have been seen, and that help is on the way. Rest, shelter and all of this plane's boons lie with us. With your commander lies but destruction and decay."

A few arms and weapons shifted in the world and its reflection. "How does it feel, to know I know who you intended to strike? I've seen you move - the Tree has seen you move - and it is much more merciful than I. Think long and hard before slitting your neighbor's throat."

Slowly, both worlds saw a few weaker hands in the enemy's ranks push forward. Some were cut down as soon as they stirred, others made it to the pond's edge, a humanoid demon and Void Weaver matching their gestures as blackened arrows of Brimstone or forged matter caught their turned backs and ended their sudden and desperate grasp for freedom. In both cases, only two survived the enemy's retaliation, demon and Void Weaver alike ducking through the enemy's ranks, Alana and Arthur immediately working to triage the pair of defectors. In Dalarath's reflection, the unseen healer sounded suspiciously like a younger Delmar, his tone hurried as the Architect's words whispered peace and clarity through to a mind that had all but lost them.

"My kind has seen this before," warned both the ancient Augur and Lucian. "Long has the Artisan's Creation been beset by jealous hands, and long have we survived your predecessors. You may yet bring us to the brink - but we will survive you."

The Architect looked back to Meris. "Try and step a little closer to the pond. See who it is you reflect as; who you once were before I bequeathed you to the Artisan and let Her ensconce you in Orcadian strength and compassion."