Talstran awaits the final confrontation. He sacrifices Drecissa to complete the summoning of Ruinquake, the last living fragment of the Azlanti god of Destruction. The heroes rally all of their resources and all of their tales to defy a mortal's hate and dead god's power. None of their stories will ever be the same.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
- W.B. Yeats
“Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.”
- Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
“The urge to destroy is also a creative urge.”
- Mikhail Bakunin
“In a time of destruction, create something.”
- Yando Frenel, Gnomish Bard from Eoport
When the heroes arrived at the Deepening Trench, Talstran was already waiting for them. Having mustered only a single Figure of four Elite Guards to his aid, he had to know that there was no victory to be had here and no escape. Indeed, he intended neither. He made sure they could see him when he drew the Azlanti ceremonial blade of Scal across Drecissa's throat without so much as a monologue. Behind a curtain of blood, he let her grasping body slide into the deep.
The entire time, three bards were gathered around an ancient instrument, playing something Azariel recognized as the Hymn of Intimidation, an ode to the High Priestess of Scal once written for her. Even the robes they wore hinted at some ceremonial descendant of the cult another version of herself had once spread so well throughout the Azlanti Empire. Then Talstran spoke, and the threat was clear. He was petulant in defeat and summoning something that would lay waste. Indiscriminately.
The party leapt into action. Woog fired at Talstran. Crabman scuttled into battle. Orag went after Drecissa. Stormfizzle summoned a storm. Luckums skulked around a fortification. Shroktath engaged a pair of elemental sharks. And Azariel raged at the desecration of it all.
"You know nothing of Scal!" She declared. "Destruction leads to rebirth! Not mindless violence!"
The Elite Guards were taken aback by her intensity, but fired their harpoons, regardless, at the most dangerous of them, Stormfizzle and Woog. The party sprung into action. Talstran found Luckums skulking and unleashed a merciless attack that nearly ended her. Managing only narrowly to survive, she drew on all resources to imprison him in a globe of invulnerability. The hymn ended, and the bards began a low chanting before two of them went invisible.
Soon, everyone felt the approach of the thing in the trench as it began to rise from stygian depths. Orag was the first to see the horror and lost his grip on Drecissa's body in the maelstrom of currents that foretold its ascent. Re-clasping her limp form tightly, he swam as fast as he could, propelled upward by a tsunami of rising sea.
And so the party beheld Ruinquake, the beast that had doomed the Wavewalker himself. And a battle ensued that would shape all of their destinies.
The vicious commander manages to escape your clutches. He's fled the city and you have him on the run. Not long after you've secured the city, your scouts report his presence near the Deepening Trench. Apparently he's making no effort to hide. When you arrive, he's waiting for you.
Talstran stands at the edge of the Deepening, holding a blade to Drecissa's throat.
A trio of Aquatic Elves chant at the edge… they aren’t priests. What are they? Bards? They,re playing old Azlanti music. A Hymn to Scal (Azariel – "The Hymn of Intimidation")… you realize that it was originally composed for you when you were High Priestess. Underwater, the sound is sublime, and the memories it stirs in you are poignant and heartbreaking and threaten to overwhelm you. That’s when you realize why their dress looked familiar. They are wearing some descendant of ceremonial robes of Scal.
Drecissa calls out to you, something like an apology, struggling against Talstran with a sudden burst of energy. When he sees that he has your attention, he draws the knife across her neck without saying a word. Her eyes expand in shock as a red curtain rises up across her face. He lets her body slide into the Deepening Trench. She reaches out to you and more blood froths from her mouth and the wound in her neck as she tries to speak. She slips into the darkness. “Damn she-fish.” He sheaths the blade.
(Stormfizzle, you easily categorize it - Azlanti. Ceremonial. Cult of Scal)
As he speaks, his voice is even and reasonable. Though his scarred visage makes him appear wild and mad. Or maybe that was already there.
“You come here? Vermin! Sandcrawlers, in my house? Who’s watching yours, little spotted crabs? Who’s watching your house?”
“It would seem I cannot stop you from destroying my city. But perhaps I can avenge it, by destroying yours.”
“You think you’re the Wavewalker now? Pah. It destroyed him. I’m sure it will make short work of you too.”
The music fades, and he prepares for your onslaught.
“I’ll see you in hell.”
Azariel: You have been picking up remnants of Scal’s power since you emerged in this time. There’s been no sign of a living church, and yet there has been a great well of power nearby. At first you allowed yourself to think it was some trick of the Tropics.
The well of Scal’s power is coming closer… rising from the Deepening Trench. There was a time you would have revelled in this, and the shame of that is the most powerful emotion you feel.
You can feel the mythic power of the HIGH PRIESTESS OF SCAL that you once were awakening inside of you… and after all that this world arisen from the ashes has taught you, you are not sure which monster terrifies you more. The one rising from the trench or the one inside of you.
Orag: The Wavewalker awakens inside of you. You can feel his presence and you can feel Seaspike burn with a fierce cold at the presence of its old enemy, vanquished but never defeated
Luckums: You sense it immediately – time flows around this creature. Its size and power create a well that pulls and gathers time towards it. Were the spheres ever meant to hold such a thing? Did the Architects create that?
Shroktath: Your blood burns with the need to protect life. There are enemies before you, but what do they matter in the face of the apocalypse that rises beyond them? For there is also a city full of innocents at your back. How do you take the measure of that?
Stormfizzle: You know you can protect yourself, but can you protect your friends? Can you protect the beautiful city full of wonders still to explore?
Woog: Crossbow locked and loaded. Even Windsplinter gasps. It whispers to you, "Run!"
Crabman: Crabgod.
The tablet adorning city hall fills your memory and Rillkimatai’s tale echoes in your ears…
The mosaic relief along one side of Talasantri plaza stretches the length of City Hall. Its front decorated with a relief showing an alliance of aquatic elves, cecaelias, merfolk, and other underwater creatures battling an enormous monster that looks like a cross between a dragon and a living island
“We were caught off guard when Ruinquake attacked. Our gurads fought against it but were quickly overwhelmed. Then, the Wavewalker appeared, a gleaming spear in his hand and an outsider’s love of the thing he found inside himself when he came to parts unknown…”
“Wavewalker was a surfacer, much like yourselves. Far did he travel above the waves, but he found nowhere he loved so dearly as the world beneath them.
“Here in Talasantri, he rallied the undersea races and gave his life for us. Ultimately, he stood alone against a monstrous creature formed of the cast-off wreckage of islands and ruins devastated by cataclysms. Ruinquake, the beast was called. It had a burning hatred for all things whole and unbroken.
“Wavewalker vanquished Ruinquake and drove it away with his enchanted spear. But it was love that won the day. Ruinquake skulked back to the depths from whence it came. As it retreated, it struck a final blow. Wavewalker died beneath an undersea avalanche before healers could reach him.
This part of the encounter will require something else besides Mathfinder crunch to overcome. My MATH is stronger than yours. But is my STORY stronger? You need to show me some real narrative imagination. I have given you plenty of cues… Because if I just roll d20s, I am going to wipe out both of my gaming groups. I give you 5 minutes to discuss amongst yourselves what you will do. Hero Points. Plot Twists. What Is Best In Life. Narrative Cues and your own Beautiful Imaginations. Above all, working not as individuals, but as a team… Now is not the time to hold back…
So, with RUINQUAKE, NARRATIVE will conquer NUMBERS. Weave me a satisfying narrative.
The beast rising from the depth is covered in a shell of rock and the Ruins of Azlant, bound together by the magma flowing just beneath, visible through the cracks of its armoured joints as it moves. A terrible crashing, steaming, grinding that would humble any mortal industry. This is a pure manifestation of primordial malice, destruction and spite. Brought to life in the time before mortals awoke from their animal slumbers and drawn to their living hopes, not to feed, but to crush.
Azariel realized that the beast emerging from the Deepening Trench was a last fragment of Scal – the long dead Azlanti God of Destruction. Even more, this was the power source from which she had been drawing Scal’s power all these months to cast her divine spells. Left unguided, Ruinquake would lay a path of indiscriminate destruction until the last of Scal’s power was spent. She awoke then to her true self. Destruction leads to rebirth only by the will of those who would defy it. And what force anywhere is more defiant than a band of weary heroes? Inspired, she began to channel her power—Scal’s own power—into Seaspike.
Orag had dimension doored as far as he could into the trench and then jetted deeper still, until he had Drecissa in his hands. All warmth was rapidly leaving her body and darkness was closing in. She seemed so small. So fragile. He had almost lost her in the tumult of Ruinquake’s ascent. When he came shooting out of the depths into the mad melee of Talstran’s last stand, with Ruinquake fast behind him, he took her straight to Azariel.
As gently as he could, he handed Drecissa over to the High Priestess. They looked at one another briefly but exchanged no words. Azariel handed Seaspike to him. His fingers curled around its haft as though they had found their way home. The High Priestess of Scal had already begun her healing ministrations when he set off towards Woog. Ruinquake found purchase on the edge of the Deepening, and let off a roar to shake the Pillars.
Shroktath caught Orag’s eye. The old Salt Beard had inspired the young Half-Orc from the their first encounter. Led him to embrace the light. But when Shroktath thought of the Orag he had known and looked at him now, it was hardly Orag anymore. It was a creature of the depths. More crustacean and tentacle than man. But it was still life. And all the more beautiful for being a transformation that Orag had chosen. So be it, he thought. He reached out his hand.
Orag moved towards Shroktath, though he hardly knew why. He had to get the artifact to Woog. When he had gripped Seaspike, the Wavewalker went from being an itch inside of him to a boiling all-encompassing presence and the last shreds of Orag were pressed into a corner of his own mind. During the weeks long siege of Talasnatri, Shroktath had tried to explain how he had discovered that he bore the blood of the Gardeners. That these “Gardeners” had tended to Sentar since its creation. That his ancestors had somewhere back in time been one of these heralds of the Architects, and that he had become a Tribune of the Spheres. He realized that Shroktath was willing what was left of Orag to come to him. That he had something yet to bestow.
Orag lifted the spear to his friend, and the Half-Orc put his hand on it and began to pour vitality into the artifact—not just his own life force, but all that he could draw from the living sea around him.
Before Ruinquake rose from the depths, it was preceded by thousands of sea creatures, mundane and monstrous, fleeing its path. As though it were an earthquake or a volcanic eruption or both. Seeing all of these bottom dwellers consumed with fear, Crabman began frothing at the mouth. He lifted his Demon Pipe above him and shot a great flamestrike towards the ocean surface. A beacon to rally the crawling, scuttling, swimming and oozing things of depths out of their animal fears. A rallying cry for the lowest of the low.
Woog heard Wind Splinter tell him to “run.” As usual, sound tactical advice. He realized there was nothing a lone crossbow man could do against such a thing, even armed with such a crossbow. “I can keep everyone safe…” he said aloud to no one. Let them find a solution. Woog began systematically to send bolts speeding through the water, finishing off Talstran’s Elves. His party would do what they had to do against the nightmare that had just revealed itself. Woog felt a bump from behind, and then an intense pressure in his chest. He looked down. How long had that blade been protruding from below his sternum?
Shroktath and Orag held Seaspike between them, a culinary glint of green ectoplasm leaking form their eyes. Seeing them, Woog decided he needed to intervene, “Fuck, that’s a lot of power.” Seaspike would kill them. But there was this damn blade. He turned and introduced the Elven bard that had impaled him to Wind Splinter. “I am the tool,” he said. “The launching vessel.” Blood leaked from his mouth.
Shroktath and Orag approached Woog with Seaspike. Woog took hold and immediately had Wind Splinter’s attention. The three of them began to laugh mightily. Seaspike was filled with power drawn from the life all around them, and it glowed with the essence of the Wavewalker himself. Woog lifted Seaspike into Wind Splinter’s flight groove, and it would have seemed that the crossbow grew to accommodate the spear. From crossbow to ballista, or maybe it was just a trick of perspective caused by the vibrations in the water. He was faltering now. But he drew a bead on the looming apocalypse moving towards them. The seafloor shook, sending out concussion rings.
After being attacked by Talstran, Luckums had but a sliver of life force left. The Aquatic Elven commander’s scarred face was flushed with rage inside the globe of invulnerability she had desperately cast around him. He had bent his sword and pounded his hands bloody on the inside of the shell. “You stay here,” she said. She felt the temporal energy well moving with Ruinquake towards her companions, and reached out towards an imperceptible ribbon of it, vanishing from the current moment.
Suddenly, her injuries are a memory. She follows a ribbon to Shroktath’s past, after he was abandoned by his clan and adopted by the church of Heironeous. A simple interaction with the skulking goblin in the shadows to make him more caring of others changes the focus of his life. She finds a deformed weaponsmith, carving a crossbow stock that would become godlike. Small design changes to allow it to extend to accommodated missiles of any size.
So many more moments to influence. She becomes everywhen at once. So many versions of Luckums crashing through different moments in the timestream. The consequences can wait. The odds are too great! But no. The heroes are great as well.
Stromfizzle watched events unfold before him from the small blind of coral and waving kelp in which he had sought cover to cast his spells. A strange calm descended upon him, though he found he was shaking. He looked down at his hands and quietly promised himself that when he got home, he would spend more time polishing gemstones on the banks of creeks. He thought of everything that had brought him to this moment.
He conjured a heightened aggressive storm cloud directed at the titanic beast but held back before releasing it. Luckums was crashing around through time. He gradually remembered meeting her back on the mainland at a wizarding school in Riot’s Gate. She’d mopped floors. The memory rose to the surface from the depths of the past. Empowered lightning bolt. He poured more energy into the cloud. Destruction is an opportunity for rebirth. Another empowered lightning bolt. He thought of the most powerful spell he’d ever seen, back at the colony. Yet another empowered lightning bolt. He moved his hands in great sweeping circles and his excitement grew. Stormfizzle hardly realized he had started to scream. His storm cloud began to twist. Would it work underwater? Empowered lightning bolt! Crabman’s biting, snapping, scraping creatures were caught up in the swirling currents. Luckums had left behind a book about weather control. He had flipped through it. Of course! THAT’s how Helekheterie did it! He was exultant.
SHARKNADO!
Luckums could see all their ribbons in the timestream coalescing in this moment. But Ruinquake was too large to see past. She saw Seaspike fly out of Wind Splinter. A torpedo carving an arc through the water, a single ribbon of time being drawn in its wake. It all comes to this moment…
Woog sunk to his knees as his vision narrowed. Oh yeah, a sucking chest wound. He looked up into the face of a blindfolded child with many pointed teeth. He was being held as though he were a crossbow. His arms twitched their last with muscle memory. Drills. Aim, shoot, reload. Aim, shoot…
Something of the Wavewalker was ripped from Orag when Seaspike when hurtling at Ruinquake. The ghost was done with him. The colossal monster was barely visible behind a great swirling whirlpool of sea creatures. Suddenly, he found it hard to see and he couldn’t breathe…
Shroktah, full of life, awoke from his reverie to find himself charging towards the demon. He would impale himself on it if he had to. Seaspike struck down its roaring gullet, sending a concussion wave outwards. Shroktath was knocked backwards, into another consciousness…
Luckums was back on the seafloor, her mind reeling. Time manipulation creates paradoxes. Paradoxes are potentially more ruinous that Ruinquake could ever be. She had one more place to visit, to purge the timestream of all herselves. Casting off, she followed her own ribbon back to the Rock of Bral. She would have to stop herself from ever pursuing this branch of magic in the first place. There she was. Walking down Bral’s busy streets. She grabs herself by the shoulders, “Do not visit the Chronomancer!” She looks shocked. And then resolved. A sudden elastic twang, pulls her back to now. Did I get the message? She wonders…
Orag was wearing heavy armour, not covered in coral scales. His gills were gone. The nictating membranes on eyes were gone. There was a vast emptiness inside him, and when he went to breathe, the sea poured in, and he began to heave. A sudden panic sent him clamouring towards the surface. Not the thought of drowning beneath the waves. But the thought of never seeing Anya again. Not watching his get grow and follow him through the hills above the sea, as he once followed his own Da…
Drecissa’s wounds were unquenchable. By the time Azariel understood what might be happening, the young mermaiden’s body had consumed nearly all of her divine energy. It probably would have drawn on Azariel’s own life force had High Priestess not broke off the channelling. Drecissa’s body began to glow like the space between Ruinquake’s stony carapace, as though magma flowed through her veins.
Sacrifice. Destruction. And now, present at the rebirth. By her own hand. Azariel-that-was would have been exultant. And yet, here and now, she just felt sad for a young maid’s life cut short. And tired. So tired. Drecissa was far beyond her now. And Scal would do what Scal had always done, with or without her. She looked around to see how her Companions faired. Woog was slumped awkwardly, propped up by Wind Splinter. An Elven blade protruded from his chest. She stumbled back from Drecissa and thought, “I won’t let Woog die.”
Seapsike had exited the back of its head, but it left something inside. A spreading, burning poison. Ruinquake had not been hurt like that in centuries. And the pain was growing worse. It could hear its old nemesis now. As though he were carving a cathedral from its insides. What was he called? That cursed surfacer bard? Oh, of course, Wavewalker! The name filled Ruinquake with rage. He was everywhere inside Ruinquake. Singing and laughing. Not afraid at all. Just like these other puny mortals, defying it.
Ruinquake lashed out. There was a mortal fortification nearby. It smashed it out of spite, and to ease its pain. That’s better. A little destruction and more to come. That’s what it needed. It turned towards Talasantri when the electrified crab-nado vortex enveloped it. When it tried to roar, hundreds of tiny stinging vermin entered its maw. Then, one of its legs failed it. And then another. Slowly, it was being pushed back to the trench. And then the demi-god rose up before it.
Crabman felt a strange love for Ruinquake. After all, was it not also as the lowest creature, on the scale of the gods? As powerful as it was, it curled in on itself and sunk back into the crushing depths. Dying. And Crabman rode that sea monster. He rode it. Holding onto a stony eye stock, he was finally at ease with his place in the world. A trail of bubbles followed behind his raised halberd. “I like myself,” he thought. Though the actual formulation was more like, “Crabman likes Crabman.”
When Woog opened his eyes, Wind Splinter was not holding his head. It was Azariel. She looked less stern, though no less lost in thought. “I didn’t die,” thought Woog. “Huh.” He fell into a deep slumber, as can only be had beneath a blanket of waves.
Azariel had watched her god reborn. She let the power of creation slip through her fingers without regret. She cradled her friends head in her lap as she removed the blade and healed his wounds. Somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, the hollow left by the memory of her twin, Odlidar chided her, “You just did something for someone else with no benefit to yourself. Who are you?”
“I don’t know,” Azariel responded aloud.
Ruinquake was no more.
POST CREDITS SCENE NUMBER ONE
Awakening to the Architects, Shroktath’s vision shifts. He is deep beneath the Maruss Ocean on Sentar, moving towards the surface. He is soaring through the sky. The Pillars of Sentar pass from his sight. He is rising through the atmosphere, seeing his impaled homeworld again from the first touch of Wildspace as he once did as a slave prisoner on the decks of the Inordinate Amount.
He is ascending forever, surrounded by a dizzying, dancing carousel of stars. He is passing through the shell of the Lost Sphere that houses the seed of his world. He is moving through the Maelstrom into the Shattered Sphere in which the Lost Sphere is secretly nested. His perspective is widening. He is hurtling more quickly, past the Rock of Bral. Riotous. Incorrigible. Outwards still, past the Grinder, and beyond into the Phlogiston between the spheres. He can see the six of them floating and bobbing. Even they grow small, as his perspective widens again.
He is reaching the edge of everything. The Last Sphere is real! He is passing through it, wearing a crown of steel stone. Beyond, there is a blinding nothing. A vast and empty void, lone and level. There is only the crushing pressure of a cyclopean consciousness, looking for a way in, to make everything One.
POST CREDITS SCENE NUMBER TWO
Stormfizzle walks up to Talstran, now enclosed inside two concentric globes of invulnerability, one nested inside the other. He jangles a set of seashells, like the keys of a little gaoler. The Aquatic Elf glowers. Stormfizzle pats the outer globe, mostly just to poke the bear. He smiles, and swim-walks past, down the flooded hall of Talasantri’s High Court. The gnome opens the door to the hall where the first of the witnesses are being called in Talstran’s trial for high treason. Anemora rises, unfurling her magnificent sparkling tail, and takes an oath to the Ocean to be a fountain of the Truth.
POST CREDITS SCENE NUMBER THREE
A large mantis shrimp has emerged from the Deepening Trench. It carries something towards a coral formation on the outskirts of Talasantri. It pauses to strike a curious lobster that it is getting too close then buries itself in the sand and waits. Several hours later, it hears its secret name being called. It shakes off the sand and presents what it has been carrying. A large open claw closes around Seaspike.
AND, SCENE.
We had a villain to track down.
Basile, Hazel, Khalid, and Chenwulf were out - exhausted by the battle to retake the city. But those of us who were able organized a party to pursue Talstran into the caves.
He waited, wanting us to catch him. Talstran started off by bringing out his hostage, the lady Drecissa. Without a word, he gutted her like a fish bound for the fryer, and tossed her body into the trench behind him. Even with all I’ve seen in battle, the violence, the casual yet incredible cruelty with which sliced her open sent a chill through me which I had a tough time shaking.
The battle was joined. Orag magically blinked through the water in a furious effort to recover and save the lady Drecissa. Luckums almost met her end at the end of Talstran’s blades. My heart leapt into my throat, and I was just about to drop everything to get over and heal Luckums (note to self: I’ve got to talk to her - again - about unnecessary risks and the fortitude of slightly built goblins in melee) but as the battle had raged we were all increasingly aware of another type of shaking. The ground beneath us, and eventually the very water around us, started to vibrate. Something big was coming, and then, at that very moment I was about to rush over to Luckums’ side, there it was.
Massive. Ugly. Full of hate, evil, and radiating the will to destroy all and enjoy doing it too. Ruinquake, the others called it. I’ve never experienced anything like it, and gods willing, won’t ever again. This demon-crab-magma creature was easily the size of the Inordinate Amount. It rose out of the trench, and I could sense the awareness from all of our heroes: we could fight Talstran, we could take down his henchmen, we could save lady Drecissa, but this thing was coming to destroy us.
In almost the same breath, there was an awareness of our tremendous capability as a team. We’d worked so hard, and so intensely together to lead the invasion to victory, we had the strange but powerful connection of the key, the G-nome, our past and our future stories coming together. In our time in this strange (to us) underwater world, we’d learned something of the history of this place, and the story of how a bard from the surface named “Wavewalker,” had fallen in love with its people and come to call this world his home. He’d given his life to defend this place against an earlier attack by Ruinquake, and he’d used the very spear, “Sea Spike,” that Orag now held.
Without words, we kind of knew what we had to try, I think, within a few seconds of this monstrosity rumbling to the top of the chasm. We knew we had to finish Wavewalker’s story, and combine our strengths to have his spear complete its mission to kill this abomination. Orag brought forth the spear, and called on the spirit of Wavewalker to guide it. I placed my hand on Sea Spike and poured my soul, my mission to protect life, into the spear. Azariel was engaged in some intense set of rituals that pulsed with arcane and divine power. Stormfizzle practically blazed with magical energy, summoning up a gigantic water tornado to drag and slow the monstrosity down. I caught a glimpse of Luckums - strangely frozen in concentration yet flickering occasionally, like a shadow play on a wall.
And then Woog stepped up to Orag and me. He had an incredible sense of calm and sureness about him. His crossbow (with which he clearly shared some sort of magical bond) had grown into the size of a small ballista, and as the three of us guided the spear into the bolt track we caught each other’s eyes. Orag started laughing, and in a heartbeat, we all were. Pure joy. This was exactly what we were supposed to be doing - where, when, with who, against what. Perfect. What a moment. Whatever a “Gardener” was, I was being it.
And then, tragedy? Just as Woog was about to let fly, two of Talstran’s invisible minions appeared behind him and impaled him with a huge sword. I’ve got to hand it to Woog. The look of surprise on his face flickered only for a moment, and then, he did what he was born to do: he took aim and fired.
The ancient spear sped to its destination true. Down the maw of the awful demon of ruination it went, that hammer blow and the force of Stormfizzle’s magic pulling it back down to the ocean depths as lady Drecissa, glowing with the magic of Azariel’s rituals, capped the moment off by banishing Ruinquake back to the depths of whatever dimension it had come from.
With Azariel rushing to Woog’s aid, I sensed Orag leaping to the fray to my left, and I went to follow but I only made it about two steps. In an instant, I felt my entire being overcome, as if hot magma had been poured through me. And in the heat was a vision - though I’ll be damned if I can remember much of it now. The spheres? A sphere within a sphere? The 8th sphere? Some sense of the architects? The only thing I really can remember is the end - a piece of steelstone, shaped like an acorn, pressed into my chest, spreading roots of its power through my being, the sensation both incredibly painful and pleasant. That part of the vision is baked in pretty good - I can close my eyes and trace the pattern the roots formed in my chest.
I woke up back in the Dome city, exhausted but deeply satisfied. Against seemingly insurmountable odds, we had won again. Which gave me a thought. We needed to re-christen our ship - “The Inordinate Odds.” That’s what it should be called. I was excited enough by the idea, I went to get up so I could jot it down, felt the room spinning, and thought better of it. I could just have a lie down for a bit longer, thanks. It had been quite the day’s work.
Shroktath to Orag - this is the big one, for Shroktath. He cries and drools a bit, almost has trouble getting the words out. "Thank you. So much. You've influenced me more than you know. Enjoy life, and embrace the fun messiness of it all. I feel like I take you with me wherever I go - a voice reminding me to live fully." He picks Orag up in a big, sloppy bear hug. For Orag, he has crafted something kind of like a swiss army knife, but for eating. A bunch of different eating utensils, all contained in one device.
Shroktath to Azariel - much more formal. Shroktath has forged a hair pin for Azariel that looks like a phoenix rising from the fires of destruction. Little details on the phoenix, however, incorporate the underwater world - bits of scales, as the phoenix feathers. tiny pearls for the eyes, fire coral for the flames from which the phoenix emerges. "Your words on destruction and rebirth will stay with me. I thank you for your wisdom and power."
Shroktath to Woog - "Your pure focus amid sacrifice was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Thank you." Shroktath has crafted a quiver for Woog's bolts. It has been designed to give Woog easier, and more efficient, access to bolts of different kinds. There is a touch labelling system across the top, so he can know which bolt compartment he is touching/reaching for by feel of symbol. Inscribed with symbols for fire, cold, lightning, poison, etc. Across the body of the quiver, in very small letters, are the following words. "Every action pure and perfect," "May your aim be true," "Do what must be done," etc.
Shroktath to Stormfizzle - "Luckums is a scary good wizard, but I have never seen a display the likes of your storm clouds against Ruinquake before. Thank you for bringing your great powers to our defence in that battle." For Stormfizzle, he has designed a metalic insert to fit into a spell component pouch. Again, this is organized to help the bearer access components more quickly/by touch with symbols.
Shroktath to Chenwulf: "Your fierceness and absolute bravery in battle are a truly beautiful sight. As a warrior, watching you move in battle is like hearing a perfectly balanced and moving poem. May your fists never fail you." For Chenewulf, Shroktath has crafted brass knuckles. Except, these brass knuckles can be separated and worn as piercings (ears, nose, nipples), and pass as common/forgettable jewelry. However, they can be manipulated interlocked to form brass knuckles if needed.
Day 338 - The Rise of the Ruinquake
Talastran the Coward had fled the City taking Anemora's daughter Drecissa hostage. Chenwulf recklessly took pursuit into the depths while the others quickly assembled a rescue party with more care and preparation. They went off hot on the coward's trail. I stayed behind with Basile and Hazel to hold the situation in the City together. I could not bare the thought of all the wounded that we had caused not having hope or succour. The three of us organized means to collect the wounded and move them towards rest and healing centres. I worked with the new leadership under Anemora to further control the city's worst tendencies to revenge and violence towards order and rebuilding. My role was minor in it all.
Just as things started to go from apparently hopeless to a glimpse of hope, the Ruinquake started. We could see its effects even from Talasandri. Even from that distance, Basile, Hazel and I knew our comrades were facing the challenge of their lives. Again, we organized the forces of Talisantri to protect the helpless and provide what order we could, Anemora ever in calm control.
When the quakes finally stopped, the terror also washed away. We knew our comrades had succeeded. We went to the gate to receive them and provide care if needed. I counted heads as they each came through, clearly victorious but not jubilant at all. My heart sank as I saw Orag and Woog carrying Shroktath on a litter. A moment later though I saw his chest heave, unconscious with a steelstone acorn in his chest but definitely alive. Anemora was beside me, ever present with erudite congratulations dripping with gravitas. Regal like a queen; no wonder Chenwulf dove headlong into an ocean trench to find her daughter. Both thoughts hit me at the same time as the sergeant in my head counted and re-counted the company of adventurers. No Chenwulf: not returned from the depths. That thought disappeared as I saw the last of the group, Azariel, but not Drecissa. Anemora straightened and searched in an increasingly frantic way. Azariel simply shook her head and then Anemora immediately collapsed in tears. A fierce woman that stared down entire armies sank to the ground in unrestrained sobbing, quintessentially noble nonetheless. I knelt beside her and held her hand and it seemed like time simply stopped around us.
go gently dear friend
rest in peace among the waves
your loss is our sadness
In the time of the Wavewalker, there existed a celestial that was... a bit different from his fellows. Less perfect. Odd. Big, a bit slow (certainly by celestial standards) and in love with beauty. To the point where he would get lost in it, dreaming about it for years at a time, finding an avenue of beauty in the realms of mortals and devoting himself to it fully. The other celestials were tolerant of this, and tried not to judge... but it was a bit of a Rudolph among the Reindeer situation.
And then... his being found the Wavewalker. It wasn't just the artistic gifts of the bard himself, which were considerable, but the unique art/music that Wavewalker was able to create in the underwater world - the blending of cultures, instruments, ideas, and the modulation of the music through the water (which the Wavewalker learned to play with and through, adding the different modulations/effects of different temperatures/types of water as if they were different and unique instruments). The celestial was entranced. And then, immersed in the art, he found a new level of beauty he had never known existed. The beauty of the love the Wavewalker had for this underwater world. It came through in his art. It was as if a lover of writing had only been exposed to children's books, and suddenly discovered Shakespeare.
And then - Ruinquake. As in the later battle of the Heroes of the Spheres, Ruinquake brought with it a host of beasties and critters that swarmed Wavewalker and his allies, threatening to overwhelm them. The Celestial was ripped from his reverie, and for the first time in his existence, knew fear. The Wavewalker, and all his beauty, would be destroyed. Gone forever. The celestial appeared in the midst of the battle, with one goal in mind - protect Wavewalker at all costs. In a fury, the celestial, fought off the swarm of smaller creatures but in its focus left itself open to a devastating attack from Ruinquake. A mighty claw came down and decapitated the celestial, but he had played his part. It bought Wavewalker enough time and space to launch Sea Spike into Ruinquake, banishing it back to the depths until the time of the Heroes of the Spheres.
In the aftermath of the battle, as the Talisantrian ancestors commemorated the fallen, and divined its outcome, the sacrifice of the Celestial became clear. The Talisantrians were overwhelmed - an angel had been so moved by the beauty of their city's champion, it had given its immortal existence to try and protect them all. The elders of the city had decided to commemorate and honour this noble sacrifice by preserving the armour in a place of honour in the city (like a statue in the city hall?). No one knew the name of the Celestial, so they just called him, and eventually the suit of armour - "the Protector."
In the aftermath of this, more recent, battle against the forces of fascism and their summoning of Ruinquake, the elders decided that it was time the armour be put to use again, and not just remain a dusty monument to the past. And what better way, than to give it to a champion who had protected the city against a 2nd assault from Ruinquake? It seemed fitting, and useful. If the struggles of the past weeks had taught them anything, it was not to rest on their laurels,... or monuments. Threats in the present were real, and needed to be countered. Resources needed to be used.
The day had been like any other until I received a summons to see Anemora. Mostly as a way to mourn, I had been reading the Captain’s Log of the Sea Hag. Chenwulf had been very impressed by her and through his relentless nature, his loyalty to her was also unwavering. After dealing with her on military matters since the liberation of Talasantri and her elevation as its new mayor, I fully understood why.
I was a bit surprised that our meeting was not at City Hall but at her home. I was ushered into her magnificent reception room where she was standing, waiting for me.
“Good morning, Rhaakhec Khalid. Please sit. Would you like something to drink?” she said with a smile that would have caused an umber hulk pause. It took me a second to recognize she was speaking Arabic. My reaction was instinctual, “Salaam Alaikum” and she responded without any delay, “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam”. I sat and smiled, “Yes please some tea would be fine. Thank you for your greeting, your Arabic is excellent, like you have been to Eoport.”
“I have traded with several merchants from Eoport so a few words can be helpful to building a relationship. We do need to get to business though so I will not daly. Rhaakhec, I had two items of business today. Firstly, information. I wanted to confirm your intention to leave Talasantri. We have greatly benefited from you and your colleagues' presence here but I understand your desire to leave. Those of Ancorato are focused on defeating Ochyuma’s vile plans and so must leave immediately. I understand you and yours must return to the stars to thwart plots that threaten the very heavens. As valuable as you have been here during our…troubles…you must be on your way.”
“Yes, Lord Mayor, we will leave within the week but will visit Ancorato first and only very briefly. We understand one or perhaps more of their inhabiting goblins wish to join our crew. We need all the crew we can find.”
“Khalid, that leads me to my second point. Thanks. Talasantri thanks you. I thank you. Both you personally and all of the Saviours of Talasantri. We cannot thank you enough for your efforts to liberate Talasantri and for…everything…you have done since. Your efforts with the military have been behind the curtain but have nonetheless been valuable. Heroes may win battles but soldiers build a better peace. You are a tireless and diligent soldier. I will confirm your recommendation for the new Dome Guard commander. Dhivan the Locathah has an incredible reputation and is an excellent choice. Chenwulf trained him well and so I trust him. In all and with heartfelt good wishes, thank you. Please come this way.”
She took me past art of incredible beauty and diversity. A mixture of items from across Sentar arranged to perfection. She ushered me into a small room to the side of her main viewing gallery. “Khalid, I have been collecting rare and wondrous items for many years. The objects in that case came into my possession many years ago after a team of researchers returned from a ship wreck. They had many items of art for which I had been searching but these objects were amongst the salvage.”
She motioned to a glass case, about the size of a small chest. It was immediately impressive for being filled with air. Inside and beautifully arranged was a pistol. A pistol the likes of which I had never seen or even imagined. “My researchers were initially confused by this object. We do not have pistols and muskets here and know they are rare even among surfacers. It took some time to recognize the form and function of this one. I do not collect or display weapons but its utter uniqueness and incredible craftsmanship motivated me to preserve it even if I could not fit it into my larger gallery. Incredibly it does not rust in the water. I kept it in an air case simply because it is a surfacer object and I wanted to display it in its natural environment. It fully moves and functions. The cylinder behind the shaft, no, not shaft, but barrel…the cylinder behind the barrel, it revolves. Behind it, the hammer moves and locks. Those other metal tubes fit perfectly into the cylinders. The precision in the fit is peerless. My researchers believe this gun is made of a metal beyond Sentar perhaps from the stars themselves. That is trivia though. Instead, look closely at the engraving on the metal. Yes, you see it immediately, of course. They are images of vines and flowers. Incredible precision and detail.”
She took both my hands and looked me right in the eyes. “It occurred to me that the son of a grape farmer that wields guns to fight evil among the stars should have this. Please accept it as a token of my thanks. I know in your hands it will serve great and noble purposes.”