Post by Marto Copperkettle on Apr 5, 2022 12:18:00 GMT
🌲 Co-written with Lykksie , Zola Rhomdaen , Beets The Beetle (Feenix) , Nessa al-Kiram , and lauratolton 🌲
Beets knew she wouldn’t sleep well. She’s got too much on her mind. She disappears to the deck of the Andromeda whilst Zola performs a singing story for Marto and the others. She can hear them below deck whilst the little fairy sits in the rigging, watching the night sky as she’s been doing a lot recently. There’s some laughter and a repeat of a phrase — Beets hears the words “fiend” rhymed with “big ween” and even she giggles. But then all falls silent and she thinks perhaps she should join the others again. She has questions. So many questions. Important questions she wants to ask Khaòs.
“You said we need to be the rocks this wave breaks on. I’m no sailor, but the thing about waves is there is always another coming. Do you know what we need to brace for in this first wave?”
The little beetle fairy freezes. Seems that Marto has already started asking questions.
“Forgive my confusing metaphor,” comes Kháos’ reply into all of their minds. “The storm is constant. The word is unending. These attacks that you have experienced, the resistance you encountered tonight – they are all the same wave. The group that came before them hundreds of years ago, was another. And in hundreds of years from now, another wave will come.”
They all take a moment to deal with the implications of that.
“I don’t know a lot about Selûne, but the High Diviner said she and Shar are sisters,” Marto starts, looking between the two clerics, then to Zola, then back to the half-elf. “What is the war the Moonmaiden started long ago? Perhaps… perhaps there could be an answer in that tale we can use to ‘be the rocks’. Or something.”
Kháos tells them a brief history of Selûne and Shar, and the original rift between the Two-Faced Goddess. When they are done, those who weren’t followers of Selûne have a better understanding of the origins of this conflict.
“The Prophecy we found in the temple mentions five torments,” Marto says. “Do you happen to know what they are?”
“They change from wave to wave. It can be five weapons. Five key figures to take up the mantle. Five blades of grass that the followers of Shar found particularly impressive.” Kháos says this with the driest, most deadpan expression.
“So… we don’t know what their five keys are yet, do we? Or are the five keys these five devils — the ones who attacked your companion — the ones we keep seeing?” he says, gesturing towards the man laying in the cot.
“Presumably this time it is these five devils.”
“Is there a pattern that predicts how rapidly they will act?” Nessa asks. “What do we need to look out for?”
“We know very little about this particular group of her followers. Their modus operandi is unique to them. There is nothing to be gleaned from previous waves that will tell us how this wave will act. The only clue we have so far is the five points of light.”
“And are there other items, like this book, that need protection now before they strike?”
“There are a couple of more items. We will be tracking them down. If and when we find them, we may call upon some of you to help, should you be willing.”
Nessa nods. Beets, who has perched as high as she could in this room in the belly of the ship, speaks.
“I don’t know much about gods or cults and such. I’m just from a small town fairy from a village in the Feywild. But the… servants of these… bad guys… this enemy didn’t seem to go down as easily to the typical blow or two, yet these gals’ heavenly moon blessings seem to do some serious damage. Do you think we all need to get the blessings of the moon goddess on our side if we’re to beat’em?”
“No,” Kháos answers even as they shake their head. “While the Moonmaiden is a source of immense power, you may fight them on your own terms. However, I would recommend magical weapons.” Kháos nods towards Beets’ horn.
Zola asks, “How were the Sharites defeated in the past? By killing their ‘Five Angels’?”
“Simply put, yes. The hands and followers of Selûne rose up to meet the followers of Shar. Inevitably there is a great deal of violence and bloodshed, innocent lives lost. The wave breaks upon the rock. The specifics of each wave of group differ, of course, but all the same, they need to be fought and destroyed.”
“That means we’re going to have to fight them… in the Hells doesn’t it? That’s the only place these creatures can truly be slain…” Marto glances down at his shield, not noticing Nessa’s shiver. “Would seeking help from any other gods be useful?”
“The gods themselves can only do so much on the Material Plane. Seek the help of whomever you find appropriate, but be ready to in turn be their hands and act according to their will in this fight – their instruments, if you will.” They gesture to both themselves and to the man in the bed.
Marto nods, though his brow is furrowed, worry creeping into his blue eyes.
“Those who have been marked by the heralds of Shar in the past… what became of them?”
They all had been speaking in soft tones this whole time. But at Marto’s question a hushed silence ripples through them. No one can quite look directly at the young halfling.
“You have not been marked by Shar. You have been marked by…” they cock their head and squint at the mark on Marto’s ribs “…by the Heralds of Blades and Ash.” They give a small, dry smile. “So that’s what they are calling themselves. Good to know. Regardless, this mark is unique to them. What it does and what will become of those who have been marked by them, I do not know.”
They add, unprompted, “Some have been marked by them, have been singled out for reasons I do not know. Some of you carry the blessing of the Moonmaiden. Either way this fight will find you. Should you wish to remove yourselves from it, I suggest you do it soon.”
Zola’s expression is grim and sorrowful at the description of an eternal war. “It is the lot of those who walk in the light to take up arms against the agents of darkness,” she says, “tragic and tiring as it is.
“I suppose we have met four out of five of these heralds? Adhyël, the smiley one, the dumb one, and… the one who does not fight.”
“I have learned the names of two of them. The red woman, the one who likes fire. Rahmiël. Then there is the one I suspect you met tonight – the vain one. Ophanim. I do not know the name of the vicious one, the one who eats its victims.” Kháos tilts their head. “But the one who… ‘does not fight’, you said? I know nothing of them. Can you describe them?”
In a slightly monotonous way, Marto describes the fiend he was fighting at the end looked like, and what he was doing, making sure to mention his reaction to seeing Seraphina. The unassuming half-elf nods, seemingly deep in thought and eventually just says, “It would seem his purpose is yet to be revealed.”
Zola peers curiously at the man lying on the hammock. “Is he the one who was training people in Fort Ettin? He said something to Velania…?”
Khàos inclines their head. “Indeed. It is he.”
Zola catches a questioning glance from Marto. “Velania is, uh, another priestess of Selûne,” she clarifies for him and the others. She turns back to Kháos. “He’s a champion of Selûne, isn’t he? Was he around for the last…wave?”
They hesitate for a long moment.
“We are entering the realm of topics I am not at liberty to speak of. But rest assured he is your ally in this.”
Their expression has been fairly blank and hard to read this whole time, some of them see a distinct protective and cautious look in their eyes.
Zola nods. “Very well, Kháos. Consider it dropped.”
But Marto was studying the man laying in the cot, wanting to know more. “He knew about the mark on my ribs when I met you in the forest during that whole… choice ritual-yet-not-a-ritual thing. You said something to my friend, Ilthuryn in sign language though. Was it something important? Related to all this?”
“If Ilthuryn would share what we spoke of, it is his choice.”
Marto’s eyes narrow as he frowns. After a beat he nods.
“Gosh all this greater good stuff sure does get complicated huh?” Beets says from her perch in the rigging, her eyes flicking between everyone as they speak.
“Rahmiël is the only one that’s new to me,” Zola says. “When and where was she encountered? Has she been slain like the others?”
“We ran into her… a couple of months back. She escaped then. I do not know what has become of her since.”
“Actually, that’s a thought — with each of these devils, the group of adventurers who faced them, do we know if anyone else has been marked like me?” Marto asks, looking around at the others but also keeping an eye on Kháos. “Your friend knew about me. It’s possible he knows about others. I can’t be the only one,” he adds in a low voice.
“Perhaps he does.” It goes unsaid that the mysterious half-elf is not going to wake the seriously injured and mysterious man to join their discussion at the moment.
Marto’s lips press into a hard line but, again, he doesn’t push. Zola meanwhile is nodding absently with a frown on her face. She repeats the names of the devils in her head. Adhyël the Stallion. Rahmiël the Scorcher. Ophanim the Vain. The Flesh-eater. The Silent.
Beets’ wings flutter as she says, “Just sounds like a bunch of bullies going around tagging people and doing stuff in the name of some all high and ‘mighty demon lord’ to buff themselves up…”
“Shar is not a demon lord,” Kháos corrects Beets. “She is a Goddess in her own right. But they are doing things in her name, that much is clear.”
“Got it… So she’s a big bad.”
“She is what she is. It’s her followers that are our main concern.”
There’s a moment of silence that stretches into an awkward moment as silence as each of the party is either lost in their thoughts, wondering if there’s some question they’ve missed, or waiting to see what someone else says.
Eventually, Zola says, “So I guess now we just… wait for whatever you tell us to do next?”
“I will not give you orders. Most likely, neither will he,” Kháos says, gesturing to the man. “My advice to you at this time would be to prepare. You seem to have made some strides already, doing your research with the High Diviner. Be watchful. Be ready. If there’s work you can help with, we will find you. If we don’t, most likely they will find you instead.”
Nessa moves over to the bed, bows her head and prays, whispering the words of an ancient ritual celebrating the first great warriors from the Netherese empire. When she has finished, she bows lower, honouring the wounded soldier, and turns to the party.
“I am an unworthy servant of the goddess, but I know that she loves freedom, choice, difference and change. The first instruction to novices is ‘Let all on whom my light falls be welcome if they desire to be so.’
“I believe our guide is saying it’s for us to choose our own path and decide how to face this peril according to our abilities. We will not be judged for turning away if we are afraid, but all are welcome to the fight if they desire to be so. There will be no orders. The war will come to us soon enough.” She turns and walks up on deck.
