[Emperors of the Fading Suns] [Emperors of the Fading Suns] Chapter 6, Scene 17: Renovations

xarvh

xarvh

Malevolent Entertainer
The once flying palace is now buried under enough dirt to form a small hill, its presence betrayed only by the large crystal door of the main entrance and the six towers that rise above the dirt; while the original number was twenty-five, most towers are now ruined or must have been removed outright.


The door is perfectly flat, but the dusty crystal surface is opaque.

The door is closed.


You know from Flicker that there are several available openings where the crystal is cracked and free from dirt, but these openings are very small.
 
The armored figure puts gauntlet to the crystal door, gently wipes away the dust. Extends essence to reach out and see if the door can be coaxed open, or if there is anything with which to attune.


"I believe this is all you, My Pillar."

Perc + Occult roll, 7d10 for 6 successes.
 
Cunning Fangs looks over the Manse, her distress at it's disrepair obvious. Her opinion of the Dragon Kings of Ankss has sunk to new lows - not only have they utterly failed as the Unconquered Sun's favored, or the stewards of this city, but they let its prize jewel, the only thing of worth in this miserable swamp fall to disrepair.


Running her fingers along the crystal, she mutters half to herself and half to Mirror. "I could probably force myself through one of the breaches with a small enough form, but there is no telling what would happen to the defenses inside. Generally, one would need to be in the Hearthstone room to attune, which is at the moment sealed away...


She sighs, letting a bit of her Essence trickle along the door, hoping perhaps that the Manse still recognizes an ancient attunement, even one passed through several incarnations.


Is anything ever that straightforward?
 
"I am loath to break anything so beautiful and of mine own possession."


Taps lightly on the crystal door.


"Which doesn't even address whether I could crack it open. I rather doubt it, actually."


"What about Hopping Puppeteers, my Pillar? Perhaps another entrance will appear, when this is better excavated?"
 
"Hopping Puppeteers, or Blood Apes, or any number of servitors should enable us to gain access to the Manse in its entirety, but I would prefer not to broach that just yet. Nor turn to your scythe."


"But that lacks a certain elegance, and if the Manse is designed to withstand intrusions from within, attacking it would almost certainly set those off. Not to mention already marring this badly neglected work of art..." she ran her fingers over the crystal, her expression almost apologetic, as if she felt she should have been here.


A smile comes to her face, the kind of smile that suggests she both has an idea, and is terribly pleased with it's cleverness.


"I want you to hit me."
 
The armored figure spins, faceless helm focused on Fangs. "What?! No! Why would you even - "


Voice cuts off in a dying gurgle.


Haltingly, draws back arm, fist shaking, torso pulling back.


"You will evade, turn aside my blow, with the best of your martial abilities," voice wavers, then moans, "This is but a training exercise."


And launches a blow at Fangs's face, a real attack, full of raw violence, the Dog of War slipping the leash.
 
Cunning Fangs straightens her spine as she faces Mirror, listening to her command, as much a plea as an order, though she treats it as the latter, as it is from her mate's lips.


A moment before the gauntleted fist reaches her face, Mirror hears a whisper. "Have faith my heart." The blow strikes empty air, her mate vanishes, replaced with five clouds of swirling, singing birds, Jays of blue and black, Cardinals of the deepest red, and Warblers in all the colors one might please to name.


The birds spiraled up into the sky, streaming into the cracks and spaces in the walls of the manse, descending into its depths to take the form of the Sorceress again, smiling softly as she proceeded to search for the core of the Manse, where its Hearthstone hopefully rested - or a means to open this place, to allow her mate entry.
 
Fangs


Rather than being built by the works of stonemasons, the walls around Fangs have obviously been conceived by the magi-engineers of the First Age.


Down the passage where she arrived and through the ample main corridor that opens from the Manse's doors and up the stairs, the sorceress reaches the large control room.


All the surfaces are made of opaque crystals, including the instrumentation that has obviously laid unused for centuries. Cracks, misplaced and badly replaced components seem to be the rule rather than the exception.

Stunt 2 for Fangs
 
Cunning Fangs growls softly, looking over the damaged corridors and ruined components.


"That such art lies wasted is a crime..."


She keeps descending into the broken manse, searching for the heart of the structure, hoping she would not find it in tatters, her eyes searching for anything that might indicate either a means of opening the Manse.
 
Just behind the control room lies a deck with a crown-shaped metallic socket, where a small spark snaps randomly, discharging the Essence otherwise destined to form a Heartstone; despite the odd layout, there is no doubt that this is the Heartroom.

You can either attune to the Manse from the Heartroom, either open the doors from the control room. No need to roll, jest describe.


The Manse is apparently too broken to produce a heartstone.
 
Cunning Fangs briefly regrets the oaths she made to Flicker as she watches the Essence of this place spark randomly, as if to try to reforge a long vanished Hearthstone, shaking her head softly. Were it not for her sister's predilections for the Dragon Kings...a society so utterly failed at preserving the gifts it was given was not one she was inclined to treat so gingerly.


Finding her core of inner calm - or more accurately, a core of long-burning, slow determination that momentarily quieted her thoughts, she reached out to the Manse, it's patterns at once foreign and familiar.


You are mine.





She feels the call to attune to the Manse, but pushes it aside for the moment, instead going to the control room, the door barring Mirror's way sliding open with a grinding sound of long disused mechanics.
 
Part of the console has been tentatively rigged to allow control of the doors and is easy to operate; the main door opens slowly and gets stuck before it is completely open, but the space is more than enough to let Mirror pass.
 
As soon as the doors slide open, the armored figure is through, physically helping the doors to open by pushing them apart. "Fangs! My Mate! Where are you?"
 
Realizing her wanderings are not entirely intuitive, Fangs goes to retrieve her mate, leading Mirror toward the center of the broken Manse.


"It is ours my heart, but I am afraid it is...sundered."
 
The armored figure stands still on the threshold to the heart-chamber, and only after long moments enters.


"I would have been shocked if it were not sundered and in great disrepair," rumbles from beneath the faceless helm. "How long has it laid here? Did it not crash? Quite possibly not even the savants of Lookshy or the Realm would have been able to repair it. If we can but get half of it in working order, that will still be a great accomplishment."


Reaches out with gauntletted fingers and inner essence, to where the heartstone should be, seeking to align with what remains of this place.


"Now that this is ours once more, what should be our first steps to restoring it?"
 
Cunning Fangs quirks a slight smile. "Search the manse, see if anyone was clever enough to leave a set of plans?"


Sighing, she looks over the tattered, broken Manse. "Clearing debris may help, as would assessing the full extent of the damage. And rendering it defensible, should the natives decide to reconsider taking us up on our generosity."
 
"Shall we conduct a tour, and assess the damage? I expect to feel daunted by the task, but we'll have a better idea of what resources to amass."


Pauses.


"And I would like to see where we lived, so long ago."
 
On each corner of each corridor there are Old Realm prayers to Illiqtrath, the Manse's god.


But other than that there is not trace of him. He surely will have the plans though.
 
Cunning Fangs nodded. "It would be good to explore, see what we have to work with."





They wandered the halls, and the sorceress traced her fingers over the prayers, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Where have you gone, Little God? Your portfolio lies here, your sanctum presumably here, and yet...the halls are empty."





They continued to walk, straying deeper into the Manse, past ruined salons, looted store houses, and chambers that surely had a purpose once, centuries ago, when this Manse was a palace, a fortress and a sanctum all at once. And in the center, a beautiful room, feeling serene and almost natural, despite being buried deep within the Manse. Yet for all it's peace and serenity, there was a darkness to it. The furniture was in ruins, and not from the decay of time, or even the carelessness of looters. A table was shattered into a half-dozen pieces. A set of deep furrows, wide as a massive beast's paws, scored the stone itself. In a corner, a shattered jade helm rested, split in two, a skull still resting inside it.


The Lunar frowned and bent over, running her slender fingers over the ruined helm with a careful reverence, then traced the lines of the claw marks.





"This. This is the true heart of the Manse. Not that room above - that was it's brain. This..." her voice sounded distant, and she stood, stretching slightly. "This is where I died."


She quirked her head to the side, noticing a curious negative space in the room, as if an extra piece of furniture was missing - not shattered, or broken, but gone. She bent over, staring at the ground for a few minutes, noticing the discoloration. It had been drenched with blood, then washed repeatedly, the floor showing wear from such use.


Her throat was raw from screaming, sobbing, her pleas long having lost coherence. The room smelt of fear, blood and burnt fur, and she looked up, dazed, as her mate examined some part of her, as if measuring whether or not she had yet given enough of herself, her stamina and healing blessing her with life - and prolonging her suffering.





The sorceress looked down at the dried blood, full of pain and memories, and her brow furrowed as she realized some of it was fresh. She ran a finger over a droplet, then lifted her hand to her mouth and nose, her hand coming away wet. She doubled over, letting out a wet, ragged cough, groaning as the pain she had been hiding for hours finally came to the surface - in this place where her pain, however well hidden otherwise, was always brought to the surface.





"Ah...the Neverborn express their displeasure with my little gift earlier. Give me a moment, my love..."


 
Indeed it seems like the Dragon Kings could not bear themselves to desecrate all rooms of the Manse, and left many untouched for centuries.


Yet, in within the main room, a small chest on a low table seems to have been used recently.


Its simple lock yields quickly; inside a purple crystal.
 
The violence of ages past is not lost on the armored figure - indeed, the marks are the clearest portion of the rooms, the part that makes the most sense and leaps to grab the Death Knight's attention; they could no more be ignored than a twitterpated youth could ignore the person of their obsession.


Gauntled hands grip the hilt of the great sword, gleaming orichalcum's soft gold glow.


"Then this shall be the first room completely redone," teeth grinding out the words. "Every speck of it, even the empty space into which you stare will be done away with, filled with something worthy of your attention."


And jams the heavy sword into the floor, whether to kill the memory or dull the blade - as if either were possible.


"Damn you, you coward of a predecessor. You had to be the very best at everything, you couldn't stand to let anyone else shine more," the words spit at the sword.


Then Fangs coughs.


"You should not take on my burden, My Pillar." With no wasted motions, pulls down the remains of a tapestry, and cradles Fangs, careful to not let the soulsteel armor touch her. "I am not ungrateful, but I have earned that weight. Your well-being is more important to me."
 
Cunning Fangs palms the purple crystal, holding it in her hand while she hacks up a truly distressing amount of blood, bright red fluid leaking slowly from her nose and eyes as well. Her eyes, blood red and wide with pain, look up at Mirror and she...smiles. Closed lipped, the hide the cause of the warm iron taste in her mouth for a moment, cradled in his arms.


"Perhaps I should not take on your burdens my heart...but here is where I came to do that, in ages past as well. Fitting, is it not?" She pants softly, clearly in pain. She hissed, her venom reserved for someone outside this room, those who held her mate's soul hostage. "You have earned nothing of this. You were not theirs to take. Your soul...was not meant to be answerable to another's. This pain you carry...is an abomination. And if you defend my body with that great blade of yours...then let my body defend your soul. As it always has. Even in those early days, when it was your blade doing the cutting, it was never more than I could bear. I was strong for you once..."


Stubborn will and force, centuries of suffering, a thousand moments clawing against stone and snarling in defiance of fate, several lifetimes spent in sacrifice coalesce into a single moment. An instant of perfect strength, the vow of a half-dozen incarnations never to be so weak again. Her wounds close, the flow of blood halting as her body reknits itself, shimmering with faint, deep purple essence. Cunning Fangs lets out a soft sigh as the pain abates, the power of the Neverborn sapped and drained, diluted across a thousand traces of moonsilver until it lost both force and meaning, their hate succumbing to the labyrinth of her mind and will.


She would be as her mate needed her to be, this one last time.


"They have no power over you my heart. Luna once fueled a war against them with her love. They are fools to match themselves against her Chosen."

Single-moment Montage for CF's massive stamina upgrade + Halting the Scarlet Flow
 
Goodies granted.
The crystal vibrates in Fang's hands, and Illiqtrath's word echo weakly in the room.


- Mistress. Is that you?


Eerie déjà vu creep through Mirror and Fang's skin, flooding their mind with memories not theirs.

It seems a version of the Yasal crystal modified to trap minor gods.
 
A long rattling sigh escapes from the faceless black helm.


"Plainly we disagree on this, but I will not press now. I am grateful, and I also can not convey how much I need you to be vibrant, defiant, by my side. I can claw and fight through anything They throw at me, if you are there, softly silver and pristine, but if I should lose you I will lose myself, utterly and completely."


Gauntlet clutches at head, more instinctively expecting pain than actual pain, as yet another alien set of memories enters the already cacophonous mental landscape. The black writhing echoes attempt to crowd out the new memories.

Xarvh, are you going to flesh out these memories, or leave that for us to do? I'm fine either way.
 
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