His Maker's Plan
(Written by Nicholai and Samiyah)
The Arcane Laboratory
[Exits: north down]
Cluttered on tables strewn with strange artifacts are opened books that contain some old and ancient arcane tongue. There is a feeling of immense energy that flows through this room. You sense the power in the artifacts and the incredible ancientness of the room. Here too, fine layers of dust cover everything and you wonder who was the last who entered here. You wonder who was the last who left. You notice the swirl of coalescing mist... and wonder if you will be the last to enter... but not the last to leave.
(White Aura) A uniquely handsome Ogre stands before you in mage's garb.
(Dark Purple Aura) Nicholai is here.
(Charmed) the ghost of a worshiper of Ginny is here
Candles guttered in their mirrored sconces, shedding a dim and wavering light over the laboratory, the scent of the potent herbs within the tallow battling the smell of stagnancy and age within the chamber. The two standing within the room needed no augmentation to read the books spread out amidst a scattering of ritual objects and collected components upon the wide oak table. The potency of Kindred sight made even these conditions clear as day and the Ogre Mage had long since memorized every word of his tomes. The vampire absentmindedly toyed with a small pile of costly gems collected from across the world, from exotic desert opals to flawless, glittering diamonds, idly tossing them into the open, staring eyes of an elven skull one by one. Aphelion and Raage’s diligent assistance had allowed him to assemble them all far faster than he thought possible. The pieces were coming together. This plan might well work…
Nicholai extended one pale finger, indicating a specific line in one of the oldest books, a scattering of dust clinging to the ancient vellum. “Venom’s thoughts were clouded on this aspect of the process. Can you provide any clarity?”
The Ogre nodded. “It refers to the specific sequence in which the binding spells must be cast. Once the skull has been prepared, that is when the true work begins. First is the recitation…” The Ogre continued for some time, his deep voice a low rumble, detailing each of the wards that would be layered upon the object.
The Eldest nodded and then turned to the charmed spirit hovering nearby, an arcane gesture bolstering the spell’s grasp on its will. “Is a virgin sacrifice necessary for the creation process?”
The ghostly mage’s reply was inaudible, but his mind-voice was clear enough: *Necessary? No. A pleasant reinforcement of the binding and delightful diversion? Yes.*
The Ogre indicated the ghost with a nod of his head. “A clever resource to draw upon, that one...”
The Eldest could feel the spirit continue to struggle against the bonds his Charm imposed. He grinned briefly, flashing his fangs, and nodded. Molo’s quest to become an Arch-Lich was legendary, and it seemed an obvious choice to draw upon the lore gathered by his mortal form. Nicholai had divined most of the ritual from information gleaned through his bond with Venom, but it never hurt to have substantiating evidence and experience in an undertaking of this magnitude.
Khan said, indicating the skull, ‘Now, I think you’re going to have the greatest challenge when you lay down the first of the spell-traps…’
Summoning Chamber
[Exits: east]
This room is rather spartan except for the strange glyphs and wards drawn upon the portal, floors, walls and ceilings. The mystic runes seem to be made to imprison a summoned creature and contain them here indefinitely.
(Dark Purple Aura) Nicholai is kneeling here.
The last of hundreds of sigils had been traced upon the floor in virgin blood, the cloying, coppery scent causing his Thirst to stir. Nicholai surveyed his elaborate and painstaking handiwork. The skull, ornamented with priceless gemstones and obscure magical runes, lay before him on a cloth made of the outer shell of a diamond golem. Unguents made of the rarest of potions had been applied to it in the required manner, interspersed with spells, the complexity of which had surprised even him. All of the enchantments had been laid over the course of three days and nights, the work initiated at the dark of the moon. He had not paused for rest or ceased his chanting and casting for the entire duration. He had forbidden any of the Lost from assisting. If there was a cost to be paid for this task, it would be he, alone, that paid it. It was only right; Venom was his sole progeny. It was his responsibility.
In the back of his mind, the disruption of his bond with his Chyld, bound into slumber by the will of the Demi-Lich he sought to contain, was its usual distraction. It hardened his resolve yet again. Mayhem had become a disturbance in the flow of the community of the Lost, a cause of distress to DarkClaw, and a grating irritation that had to be dealt with.
With a deep sigh and an intense longing to be back in the quiet – if perhaps not the solitude – of his tree, Nicholai picked up the skull, cradling it in both hands, and began the final incantation, his normally beguiling voice a hoarse ruin.
The Heart of the Tree
[Exits: down]
Thick branches heavy with foliage encircle a hollow area in the heart of the tree. The foliage is too thick to see the outside world, but is lit by the soft glow that emanates from the branches. A warm white light bathes the small area here. Leafy branches jutting into the enclosed space provide areas resembling soft beds of leaves which look inviting to the weary wanderer. You notice a carving in the tree.
The sky is cloudy and a warm southerly breeze blows.
(Dark Purple Aura) Nicholai is resting here.
Samiyah is resting here.
Stretched out full length on a sturdy branch, the bard shivered slightly as she indicated the bag held in Nicholai’s grasp with a carefully casual flick of one dusky, henna-patterned finger. “Is that it?” Her eyes traced the contours of the object within the fabric container, memories of her own transformative journey to destroy the last such creation flooding back to her.
Nicholai nodded. Though he did not speak of its manufacture, the ashen tone to his always pale skin spoke of the exhausting and intense effort involved in the phylactery’s construction. He rested in the crook of two branches, leaning back against the trunk, taking comfort from its solidity. The fingers of one hand lightly traced the initials carved so long ago into the wood. The wind stirred his dark hair slightly, carrying the perfume of the flowers at the tree’s base, the warmth of the fur of the cat twining around the legs of the Guardian, the scent of the villagers milling about… and the bard’s sweetness. His mouth watered slightly, though he hid it effortlessly with the will and practice of centuries.
Samiyah gnawed pensively on her full lower lip, the nervous gesture entirely familiar to her companion. At long last, she spoke, uncertainty bringing out the desert lilt she usually worked to suppress. “… Do you need help? To... To cut his thread?”
The vampire phrased his response carefully. “Need? No.” He paused and then added nonchalantly, “I am fairly certain that Raage and I can do this on our own.”
“But it would be easier, safer for you, with more help?” She persisted, fidgeting with one of the ornaments braided into her long hair. She sat up, straddling the wide branch and looking at him directly, worry written all over her expressive, youthful face.
He held her gaze for a moment then answered truthfully. “Yes.” He looked away into the branches, where a sparrow looking for bugs provided a convenient excuse to release her from the potent weight of his regard. He added quietly, his tone couched to one of gentle speculation, rather than confrontation. “Though I think you have your own reasons for wanting to assist.”
Samiyah colored deeply, shifting uncomfortably. “He hurt my sister. And.. uh… Seraph commanded it before He left,” she said lamely, looking away, studying a nearby leaf. Her pulse leapt in unconscious response to the blatantly obvious misdirection so foreign to her nature.
Nicholai remained silent, simply watching her once more, one brow raised.
With a sigh, she said more honestly, stammering out the difficult truth. “I hate him. He has hurt me and hurt those I love, many times. And.. um.. I want to hurt him back for what he has done.” She paused and then admitted quietly, eyes downcast, “But I am also afraid of him, still. And I am afraid of how it will change me to kill someone.”
Nicholai’s lips curved in an entirely evil grin of triumph at her confession, which he carefully concealed with a tilt of his head and a well-timed (though not entirely false) stretch of weariness. The girl had long denied any violence in her nature, though he had instinctively known it was there within her passionate heart. Like a gardener carefully shaping a growing plant, he answered in a conciliatory and comforting tone.
"Your desire to avenge your family and friends is natural. It does not make you like him. Your brother, Cresom, fights and slays those who threaten him and those whom he cares about. Do you view him any lesser for doing so?”
“No!”
“You do not give in to fear. You stand up for yourself and your friends, and the very fact that you have friends makes you stronger than Venom." He pointedly glanced down at the glass ring upon his finger where both a physical and spectral flower served as her reminder to him of hope and caring.
She asked tentatively, “So.. How shall this be done?” Her demeanor was that of a nervous student seeking instruction, and his iron control was all that kept him from grinning once more.
Nicholai leaned forward, answering evenly. “Mayhem will not give up control willingly, so therein is our course of action. He will willingly trap himself, either through his desire for power or a false sense of security. We only need to give him reason to do so. Mayhem’s overconfidence is his downfall. He does not suspect what we have, nor would he allow himself to believe he can be defeated. Venom is still alive inside, I have felt it…and if I can weaken Mayhem enough, he may have a chance. If that should fail, then it will take all we have to destroy him.”
(To be continued)