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December Episode: "Cataclysm"
The hills and valleys of the once-lush landscape were now charred and twisted by necromantic magics. Above, the sky was choked with dust and smoke. Strewn about the fields were the skeletal remains of soldiers. In a few spots, tainted fungus sprang from the ground, releasing foul spores into the air. The conditions of the battlefield did not concern the contending mages; they simply continued the battle as they had for days.
On one side of the conflict stood three Undead mages: Saelar, Hahnain and Renselm. The Archons of the Way, they had been called. Their shambling forms moved silently across the battlefield, their backs bent with effort and exhaustion, straightening only to fling deadly spells at their opponent. When the battle had begun, the three had hurled as many insults as they had spells, but as the arcane combat dragged on, their taunts faltered and ceased. Now, they spoke only the words of their incantations, always with one unified voice. Even their ritual gestures were performed in flawless unison.
Opposing these three was a lone Undead master, tall and striking: His Eternal Splendor, Geraine. His form was not so decayed as those of the Archons, nor were his attacks as violent and uncontrolled. Geraine's actions were calculated and deliberate as he calmly observed his enemies. Rarely would he attack, preferring instead to study their actions, absorbing or deflecting the dark bolts they hurled at him. In many respects he was fascinated by their rebellion.
Suddenly, quiet fell across the smoldering field of bones. The three Archons ceased their attacks and drew together, communing silently in the way of mages. One of the three brandished the Book of Eibhil, the artifact which made it possible for such lesser mages to challenge their master. At the very edge of his hearing, Geraine could barely discern whispered words in a woman's voice. Then the three figures spread out, having reached some conclusion. They formed a line abreast and began a new ritual, intoning words in the dead language of the Falatacot. Geraine frowned as he recognized certain phrases, certain stanzas, from his own previous readings of the stolen Book. His eyes grew wide with horror as he realized what was occurring…and how little he could do to interfere. Overwhelmed by the Book's suggestions, Geraine's enemies were casting a spell they could not possibly understand or control. The Archons were breaking the world.
As Geraine watched helplessly, unable to intervene, each of the Archons executed ritual movements in perfect time with his fellows. An expanding vortex of energy began to form above them. Wind whipped at Geraine's robes and stung his skin as the vortex distorted and stretched across the heavens above. The Archons' movements grew more frenzied as the power they had summoned overwhelmed their senses. Though they still capered and shouted in unison, Geraine noticed an increasing delay in the movements of the Archon bearing the Book—Saelar. His movements fell out of step with his fellows, almost as if he were struggling to stop.
As the ritual built to its conclusion, Saelar lifted his head and looked directly at Geraine. Over the roaring wind, Geraine could barely make out Saelar's tortured voice. "Cannot...stop...the void...the void calls...for release. Ancient crimes...Stop...Stop!"
Without warning, alien images and thoughts flooded into Geraine's mind. He staggered back as unfamiliar memories crowded out his own thoughts—memories of the Archons' discovery of the Book of Eibhil, of their treasonous theft of the same Book years later, and of the secrets and lies it had whispered to them in the poisonous dark...
The Olthoi fell with a shriek, its limbs blackened and withered by Saelar's white-hot flames.
"More will come soon," Saelar announced to his companions. "We must secure the Book."
Saelar and the others had spent days in an arduous trek through the winding passages of Vasmora, hiding from the Olthoi hordes who had taken up residence in these dark passages. Their goal was a hidden vault, the resting place of the Book of Eibhil for more than ten thousand years. Now, the door to that vault lay before them.
"Finally! Geraine was a fool to entrust Amauxi with the Book and its keeping. With the death of his puppet, Geraine nearly lost his precious Book for all eternity," Hahnain sneered.
"Quiet, Hahnain," Saelar said. He ran his hand carefully along the surface of the vault's door, searching for hidden traps and secret latches. "Curious that the Olthoi have overrun every other chamber in the place, yet this one vault remains untouched."
"Olthoi are sensitive to magic," remarked Renslem, who spoke rarely. "They fear the Book's power."
Saelar moved his hand in a circular pattern across the vault's door, and a thin crack appeared in the surface. As the crack widened, air rushed into the vault—a sound which called to mind some colossal creature gasping for breath. Cautiously, the three Undead entered the chamber. It was empty, save for a dais upon which rested the legendary Book.
All three were quiet for a long moment. Finally, Saelar spoke. "It's beautiful. We must bring this to Geraine." As his hand stretched out to grasp the Book, Saelar thought he heard a whispering voice in the empty room. He turned to find its source, but his search was interrupted by an outburst from Hahnain.
"Why should we give it to him?" Hahnain spat out the words. "He'll use its power for his own ends, just as he did when he ruled from the Ice Throne. But think—with the Book's power we could rule this world, instead of remaining pawns of that spoiled Prince!"
"The lessons taught by the folly of the Lords still hold true," Saelar said calmly. "We must not repeat their arrogance, their folly. Surely, if we bring Geraine what he most desires, he will share its secrets and powers with us. This great deed will surely elevate us above Geraine's mere servants—indeed, we may rise above Lady Aerfalle and Lord Rytheran in his favor. Loyalty shall be our path to greatness."
Hahnain sighed, "You are a bigger fool than I thought, my friend."
Upon returning from Vasmora, the three found Lady Aerfalle and presented the Book to her. She had smiled broadly, saying that Geraine would be pleased. And since that day…silence. A year passed, then another; then a decade; then a century. Saelar and his companions returned to their old duties in the libraries, but never again were they entrusted with such a task as the recovery of the Book. Had Geraine even believed they would achieve their goal, or had he simply considered them...expendable? Over the long years, Geraine schemed and planned, always growing in power, always relying on the Book—the Book that had, for one brief moment, belonged to Saelar and his fellows.
Now, word spread of a great celebration commemorating the completion of Rytheran's Mage Academy. Surely, Saelar thought, Geraine will use this opportunity to reward us for our efforts. Before the assembled crowd, Geraine would honor his greatest servants, announcing their new ranks and stations for the gathered Undead kingdom to hear. At the ceremony, Saelar, Hahnain and Renselm arrived in their finest raiment, glorious even among the rich costumes of the other Undead lords. They waited impatiently for Geraine to speak. Finally, the moment arrived, as Geraine slowly mounted the steps to his ceremonial throne, flanked by his Sand King guards.
Geraine spoke at length to the crowd. He commended them for their patience, for their adherence to the winding path and the unseen ways. He spoke of the Book of Eibhil and how it had led them all to victory. Finally, he spoke of those who had recovered the Book and commended each of them individually. He closed his remarks with the words, "I name these three my Archons of the Way, for now and eternity! I charge them with maintaining our great libraries and halls of lore. They shall preserve our knowledge forever!" And Geraine smiled.
The crowd turned to the three and applauded, but Saelar didn't hear them. He didn't hear anything. He was too stunned. The three had already served patiently in the libraries of Dericost for many long centuries! They would never eclipse Rytheran or Aerfalle; indeed, those Firstborn would probably laugh to hear of Saelar's ridiculous aspirations. Geraine's sole gift to his greatest servants was a meaningless title. These thoughts raced through Saelar's mind, over and over again.
He spent the rest of the occasion in a haze of bitter frustration, mechanically responding to all those who congratulated him. Only when Rytheran approached him later, in private, did his feelings erupt to the surface. He spoke to Rytheran of his shock, his anger over Geraine's casual dismissal of his actions, of how little Geraine truly thought of him. Rytheran, predictably, rose to defend his patron's actions, and Saelar realized that nothing could be gained by talking to his old friend. He excused himself and left the Academy.
As he left, he thought to himself: This will not stand. No, it would not stand at all.
The flood of memories slowed to a trickle, then stopped. Geraine focused once more on the three figures in front of him. Too late, he understood how their ambitions had driven them to rebellion, how they had slipped forever beyond his control.
Saelar's voice rose to a shriek. "Cannot stop...cannot...No...No...NO..." Any further protests were lost to the howling winds as the tempest above the Archons reached its zenith.
Now, finally, all the pieces were in place. It was time to act. Geraine moved his hands quickly and surely, using the knowledge Saelar had given him to weave a spell that might contain the Archons' terrible apocalypse. He could not save the traitors—nor did he particularly care to—but he must wield all his might to oppose the Book's power, or the world would be split asunder. Faster and faster his hands flew, when above the din, Geraine heard Saelar utter one final word:
"Run."