Descent into Darkness
This is the currently ongoing story of Taakhooshi and his research into demonology and the unfortunate consequences of said research.
Descent into Darkness?
Part 1
The stench of death was in the air.
The stench of many dead yeti, but also the stench of my fear, as the yeti's big brother, aka the krag dweller continued to pound on me. And no, of course this was not any old krag dweller, this was a grizzled, mean looking one, with many scars running up and down its body, one particularly gruesome scar straight across its face.
Good ol' Rheteger had sent me here to kill this dweller, and judging by the scars, he had sent plenty of other adventurers here, albeit unsuccessfully, as only the living get to form scars, and this dweller was definitely amongst the living, a group I was soon to depart from. I could also see the bodies piled against the right wall, their weapons across from me. Maybe I should have seen that, and realized what I had gotten myself into. Maybe not.
The final blow was about to come, as I saw the grizzled old krag dweller lift a huge boulder high above its head and bring it down on me. I was laying on the ground, my wits knocked out of me from the previous hits, my blood pooling all around. Maybe I would get lucky, as it were, and have the dweller slip in my blood and miss?
No such luck.
Then, everything froze.
No, not frozen like the cold, although it was cold up here, something I could feel even with krolvin ancestry, but this was not that. This was as if all had stopped.
Unfortunately, it was just delaying the inevitable, as I seemed to be frozen as well, and I could see my death in the dwellers eyes as it held the boulder just above my head, the malevolence in its eyes still seeing my death.
Then, I heard a voice. Or did I?
I did. I heard a voice.
It offered salvation, at a cost. Of course, in my studies, trying to master the sorcerous arts, I had heard of pacts with demons, and I knew I had no need of that. or thought I knew, at least. But that came with a penalty; my tricks, as I called them, at least to others, but in reality, my spells, were of lesser potency because I avoided the lore of demons. Certain things I did not, or even could not, do. Things that might save my life. But I had refused them before, what was different now?
The boulder poised above my head was different. I saw my life, and my death, in it, and in this dank cave on the top of Wehntoph was not at all where i wanted to end my life. I thought of all that life, instead of death had to offer, and I thought of my love. I thought of going back to the Landing. I thought of the coins I would get from Rheteger for killing this insignificant, yet grizzled old krag dweller.
And I heard the voice again. It did not try to deceive me, it knew that I knew what it was, and what it had to offer. And yet, that made it worse, as I knew what was to come. I took its offer of salvation, knwoing that this was the first step on a road many had travelled, with a poor end for those many. It saved me this time, and would save me again. No further on that road would I travel, though, because I could steel myself against any further temptation.
Could I?
Part 2
Studying in the Guild library was troublesome. Even with the sign stating Quiet was required in the library, and with the reputation I had as both a proficient sorcerer and good in a fight, the others in the Guild continued to look down on me. Racism and prejudice were rampant, which came as a surprise, given the many dark-skinned elves, especially faendryl , that found their way to sorcery. Why was this, I wondered, as those faendryl themselves often felt the sting of prejudice and discrimination. And yet, it seemed life was a circle, and these dark skinned elves then looked down on others as a way of fighting back, perhaps.
Well, then.
But there was another place in the Guild that I found conducive to study, the so-called planetarium. Actually just a draft pine platform high above the guild, with a powerful telescope for viewing the stars, I could find peace and quiet here to study, if I brought my books with me. The cold, drafty wind bothered the others, but not I, and I could thank my foul krolvin father for that, at least, if for nothing else. Plus, few others would be caught dead on this small platform with one such as I.
As I studied the various tomes I brought up here with me, the telescope beckoned me. I kept studying, but the scope kept beckoning. Finally I turned to it, and scanned the sky, and found Jastev's Crystal. Supposedly Jastev sees the fate of the world in it, although I find that the Arkati care little for us mortals, except as mere playthings. Perhaps I could see something of my future in it, even still?
Four stars in the base of the crystal, and four in the ball itself, and I began looking for portents, for patterns.
Nothing.
Then, they began to blur. Fearing something foul, I pulled away from the scope, and readied my defenses.
Or thought I did. But no, I was stuck, as if bound, to the scope, and watched as the vision unfolded itself before me. I thought I saw myself, or at least a reasonable semblance of myself, being beset upon by foul beings, but so blurred I could not tell what they were.
Then, I saw myself calling for help through mystic means, the energies flowing around me. Red, and dark they were, and I feared them, or at least my semblance feared them, as I could almost see the fear radiating from him. Or me?
Nevertheless, he continued with his chanting, as something took shape in betwixt him and the beings assaulting him. Something, in the form of a demon? Yes, it was, some sort of half-snake, half human, with scythes for talons, and snakes for horns. A shade of deep black, even, and from my limited knowledge, I could see this was an abryan'ra demon, a kind supposed to be un-summonable by the tenets of most sorcerers. How was this, I thought, but the vision compelled me to watch as this foul demon came to my semblances aid, and slew the things assaulting him.
Then, as it was done, the demon turned to my semblance and smiling, dug its claws in his chest, and seemed to draw something out, almost as if in payment, before fading away. My semblance then began to slowly walk away, looking lesser in soul, in heart, with his head low.
As the vision faded away, I found myself down on the floor of the platform, , with a strange feeling that I had learned something, and I felt that I knew more about demons. I vowed that I would not use this lore, for it was demonstrably dangerous, at least in my vision. I gathered my belongings and climed down from the platform, heading into the Library to return the books.
'Hey monkey-boy, we know you can't read, put those books away, they ain't for you!" yelled one of the faendryl that had taunted me earlier. All the sudden, rage boiled to the forefront, and I chanted something that I didn't even know, or thought I did not know, and the elf fell to the floor, as if seeing his own personal nightmare. Worse, though, was the shadowy dark shape of the abryan'ra that appeared above him briefly, before disappearing. I saw it, the elf saw it, and the others standing around also saw it, I could tell, by the whispers. They backed off from me, hushed and quiet, fear in their eyes.
It didn't match the fear in my mind, as I realized I had done this, whatever this was, without thought.
Part 3
The power felt good, but I knew it was wrong. So, I avoided it, not using the extra strength in my magics that the lore of the demons gave me, for fear that it would consume me, or that I would embrace it, and no longer be who I was. It took an effort, but I was able to avoid being influenced by the lure of the strength I knew I could use. In fact, it made my magic overall less powerful, as I had to give some effort to avoiding the demon lore.
I avoided the Sorcerer's Guild as much as possible, not wanting to see the others after what happened, but I could not stay away completely, for there was much to learn there, and I took advantage of it, if only to learn how to keep this demon cursed lore at bay. The others now began to avoid me, and there were no more taunts, but I could hear their whispers, now not in the language of the Guild, but most often in the cursed dark elven tongue, which they knew I could not understand. I would chalk that up to them merely wanting to speak in the language of their ancestors, but I knew that they wanted to speak freely without me understanding them. I could guess what they were saying, which made me stay away from the Guild as often as possible.
Time went by, and I felt no longer the touch of the demon, nor did I hear the quiet voice in my head anymore when I slept.
Oh, didn't I mention that?
I had heard a quiet voice in my head for weeks, leading me to power, trying to seduce me towards more use of this newfound, ill-touched power. But I never quite could hear exactly what it said, although I knew the intent. I could only hear it in those last minutes before I slept, although my poorly remembered dreams hinted that I heard the voice in those, as well. But it went away as time went by.
Or so I thought.
Then, one Restday not long ago, there were signs of evil in Wehnimer's. People screamed of foul beasts in the shadows, and creatures in the park where I oft rested my head. Being the good citizen that I am (ha!) or at least hoping for some reward for keeping the peace, I ventured to the park.
The screams were correct, there were beasts about, and more than just the random wandering rolton that Sleepy often misses.
Darken, these were, foul creatures of shadow and darkness. Many red, malevolent eyes stared at me from the shadows, and briefly, I felt the fear of the demon. Was this something from my nightmares?
Fortunately, no. These were mere beasts for the slaughter for my magics. But there were many of them, and I used large amounts of power sending them back to where they came from.
Then, before my eyes, as I stood in a group battling these foul beasts, something, I know not what, came from the ground, and swallowed whole the commander of the militia, Jaired Delone.
The beasts seemed to take strength from this, as they renewed their attacks in ever greater numbers. Many of us were knocked from our feet, to get up and battle again, and some of us fell to our death. The sheer numbers of the beasts forced us to spread out, and I found myself alone, confronted with more than ten of the beasts, my back up against the door of Dakris the Furriers shop, as I tried to stop the hoards pouring through the north gate, and seemingly, up from the ground.
One of them caught me off guard, which, given the sheer numbers, was inevitable, and tore a chunk from my shoulder. I felt the icy chill of its shadow, even through my normal lack of concern for temperatures, and I fell to the ground, stunned, for a moment.
Then, I heard the voice, the one that had been absent from my head for weeks, now, and it was not quiet this time, but loud, and raging, and it lashed out for me, using my power, and my skill, but adding its ill-touched power, to bring forth some form of demon force, instantly shredding the creature that touched me, but then turning on the other creatures, shredding them, as well. I knew this magic, the art of the Torment, to summon forth a demonic force to shred your foe, but I knew it not this powerful, not to shred multiple enemies. I also knew that it was a magic I did not use, for fear of what it was, and what it might bring. It was not at all the same as these darken, not related to them, but certainly, was far more powerful than them, for it tore into them with unstoppable might.
But this was that magic, aided by my lore, and by the voice I had heard. Once it had utterly destroyed the foes I fought, it turned to me, and on its formless face, an evil smirk formed, and it looked at me, and I heard its voice, the same voice I had heard in my head.
'You are mine, whether you want it, or not'
It vanished, and I fell to the ground, unconscious.
Part 4
I woke, and made my way to the Landing, and rested, and dreamed, and prayed.
Prayed?
I never prayed, the Arkati are like petulant children, concerned with their own affairs, why would they help me, or so I thought. Well, I knew it, the Arkati had never helped me, and even one of the so-called good Arkati, the Liabo, had punished me with death for merely trying to abate his anger. Cursed Charl, I spit on his image every time I see it, now.
Enough of that, though. I prayed not to the Liabo, and not for salvation, but to the patron of many a sorcerer, Fash'lo'nae. I knew he cared little for me, and I little for him, but he was the patron of knowledge, whether that knowledge was for ill or for good. For him, I carried around his symbol, and to him, I prayed, to bring me enlightenment, in the form of more knowledge of the lore of the demons, so that I might fight whatever it was that had such a hold on me.
And it worked. I gained knowledge, though I did little research, and what research I did do, seemed to be of little relevance. The tomes in the guild seemed to not have what I wanted. But somehow, I gained knowledge, and I can only attribute it the Patron of Knowledge.
This new learning seemed to keep the voice away, as I did not hear it again, for weeks. I thought I occasionally felt the presence of a yellowish eye, watching over me, but I attributed this to the Fash'lo'nae symbols I now wore openly. I made the pilgrimage to the Garden of Forbidden Knowledge in Solhaven, though I curse that town, for Haven was where I had dealings with that petulant child of an Arkati, Charl, but I do sympathize, for they also suffered Charl's mercy. I found no great enlightment in Fash'lo'nae's refuge, nor did I expect to, as he is not one to care about overt signs of worship, but I felt it was necessary, at least.
And so I was done with the curse of the demon lore, and seemed to be free of whatever it was that was affecting me.
But I was wrong. For what I didn't see was the blackouts, the shadows clinging to me, the blackness of my eyes, the purple horns? that occasionally faded into view on my head. I saw none of this, but the resemblance to the abyran'ra demon was unmistakable. I had all the signs of demonic corruption, possibly leading to some sort of possession, but I could not see them, nor did I notice them at all.
And no one told me.
They merely asked if I was doing fine, was okay, was alright, and of course, I replied that I was fine, as I knew none of what they saw.
I was descending into darkness, and I knew it not.
Part 5
Days passed, and friends, and others surreptitiously glancing at me, giving me odd looks, and remarking that I was acting strange lately. I even spoke with the Mind mage of the Landing at length, by the name of Nilandia, and she told me that there was something wrong, but could not tell me what, exactly.
Then there was the little sylph girl, she seemed to know what it was, but could not speak well in the common tongue, so I paid her little heed.
Still, though, despite all this, I did not see any of this happening, so I was loath to trust in others, given the many ulterior motives I had seen in others, even those supposedly trustworthy. Too, my love was gone, and her voice was the one I could trust, but she was off on her own, communing with nature. I felt bad for the things that had happened to her, and I understood her desire to be closer to her patron, Imaera, even though I did not follow such.
But enough was said to me that I felt it needed further investigation.
I made my way to the guild, and the private areas, and the library, as well, and found something I could trust: a mirror. The mirror would not lie to me.
So, I stood there in amazement, as shortly after I began studying myself, I saw the fur on my very skin move in intricate patterns for a short period, before settling back to normal. I had seen those patterns before, I know it.
But where?
Then, not long later, the runic tattoos along my arms pulsed with some sort of eldritch light, in a pattern not random, that was similar to what I saw just minutes earlier.
The strangest thing, though: I could not see this, looking at myself, but only in the mirror. As if something was blocking my perception, trying to deceive me.
Perhaps the others were right, and they did see something, and it did happen, though I saw it not.
To the library, then.
There, I dug into many tomes of knowledge, spending many hours studying things, and many more hours merely trying to decipher what I read. My research was hindered, though, as I had to search other tomes for the meaning of every fifth word I read, so ancient and obscure was the knowledge I was seeking.
Finally, having exhausted all my talents at seeking knowledge, I went to Guildmaster Baire, and asked him if he could shed any light on what might be happening to me. He was of little help, wanting me to progress further in my Guild training, but he hinted that there was possible things that could be done to fix my condition, if I was willing to make some sacrifices.
Resolute, I decided to both take Baire's recommendation, and further my guild studies, and also to do more research. Perhaps I would travel to the other guildhalls and investigate the other archives. There may be other tomes hidden away there. The guildhall at Illistim was always hinted at being difficult to enter; maybe it protected some eldritch knowledge?
I will start there.
Part 6
Investigations of the archives of other guild halls did not go well, but I did learn something, although not from the archives.
In fact, it went quite poorly.
In many places in the archives, I found references to the 'sphere'. Questioning my fellow guildmates sometimes led to cold stares, other times to silence, but occasionally, some would tell me that the sphere was sometimes a source of knowledge.
They were right, but they didn't know it. Again, the prejudice towards me because of my heritage raised its ugly head. They were trying to lead me to my death, though I did not know it.
Finding little else to guide me, I went searching the guildhalls for information about the 'sphere' I found no more information, but I did find what might be the sphere. Being curious as to what this spehere offered, I studied over it. In the most strangest of places I found it, a box in the guild shop in the frozen town of Icemule. I asked the clerk about it, but he seemed strangely silent. I proceeded to examine it more closely, curious as to what knowledge this small, marble sized sphere could offer. I closely watched the curious patterns of colors on its surface, dark colors of purple, deepest black, and other eldritch colors. I studied it for many hours, and tried various spells designed to gain knowledge of items, but none of them gained me anything. Finally, against my better judgement, I tried to hold the sphere.
Perhaps that was a mistake, as I felt my entire being split into many particles, and my life force ripped from me.
Stunned, I felt as if I was floating in the air. I looked down, and saw my armor, all of my belongings laying there, as if my body was still in them, but it was not. It was nowhere to be found.
The clerk looked slightly stunned at what had happened, but the knowing look in his eye stated otherwise. Most likely he had seen this before.
As I floated there, I felt something pulling me. Suddenly, I was in a library. In front of me was not the librarian, but a large, yellow eye, not attached to anything, although the room was shrouded in darkness.
It spoke.
It knew my name, even.
"Taakhooshi Grolvindaari", it spoke to me, in its gravelly voice, hinting of many ages of life, of much knowledge, and learning.
"You have failed to learn. What you have done should be your end, your death. But I see things for you. For this, you must go back to do those things. I will not tell you what these are. But there is much for you to do. You will do it. Or you will see me again, and then, it will be the worse for you."
"Still, I will show you something. Look now", the eye commanded, and a set of aged, liver spotted, bony hands held out an ancient tome, bound in leather, and opened it. I gazed at the pages opened and saw a lifelike image that seemed to show my body laying on the floor where I had left it. There was something wrong though.
There was something else there.
Not the store clerk, in whose shop I had apparently died.
Not someone else.
Something else.
The demon I had seen before was perched on my bodies shoulder. Its fingers were dug into my head. There were string connecting it to my body.
This was bad. For all meanings of bad.
The eye spoke again. "You must master that thing. Or you will come to a poor end, for it will master you. You have much potential. Seek more learning from all you can, no matter their intent. You will learn. Or you will end."
I felt my life force being ripped apart, once again, and then reformed. I was still in the frozen town of Icemule, laying on my back, my mind numbed, my senses all in shock.
I stood, and sought to learn. Or die.
Part 7
First, I sought the Guildmaster of the Landing Guild, to seek his guidance. He asked me to focus on the more basic learning of the guild, the knowledge of alchemy, and that of illusions, instructing me that learning such basics would lead to greater wisdom, and more mental fortitude to withstand such as might be afflicting me. So, I did, and the arcane masters of the guild gave me many tasks, mostly to seek out others of the guild and learn from them.
There are a number of sorcerers in the Lands, many of them respected, and many welcome to teach others. The High Summoner of River's Rest, the Lady Ephelysse, is one of those, and I sought her tutelage, and received it. But her and I had had disagreements in the past, and I felt a certain unease when I was around her. She taught me well enough, as it were, but I felt she was holding something back, perhaps the darker knowledge that my investigations led me to believe would be key. Still, though, I learned much from her. From others in the guild as, well, did I learn.
There was one, however, who was rumored to be the longest lived sorcerer ever, longer even than some of the Arkati, if that were even possible. I discounted such flights of dark fancy, but I knew there had to be some truth, and with such a long life, this person would be most knowledgeable, as well. Though not rumored to be very accepting of apprentices, I sought him out, to beg for his teaching. Given what was at stake, I felt I could make some sacrifices, and even grovel a bit, if necessary, to learn.
And so I found him, Caden Ferra, a warlock of the Dhe'nar clan of the dark elves, aged almost two millennia. I had never seen such an elf so old, the years and ages he had lived had begun to take their toll, no, not begun, but were well along in taking their toll on his mortal form. I did not tell him thus, however, but approached him with confidence, but also with respect. I could show no weakness with this one, but nor could I show disrespect, a fine line to walk in seeking his teaching.
Somehow, though, it has seemed to work. He has shown me numerous methods of forming illusions, and while these all seemed like trivial drudge work, it did help my confidence, and seemed to help my concentration. The strange episodes I was having seemed to lessen, or at least that is what others tell me, as I still have not been able to discern them, other than with the help of a mirror.
They did still happen, though, as occasionally I would get strange looks from people I knew to be friends. As I said, not as often, but still enough to worry me. I continued with my studies, seeking out the Warlock Caden often for instruction. He continued to teach me more lore, but I could tell his patience with me was wearing somewhat thin. Although, it was worth it for the knowledge gained, I would have to be careful how far I pushed him. The stories of the destructive powers he was capable of were enough warning for me.
I sought other means of focusing my concentration, as well. Surprisingly, music seemed to be a calming influence on my mood, and on the strange goings on around me. It helped my concentration, and cleared my head, even, although the tunes I was drawn to were inevitably mournful, sad, somber tunes, of love lost, of death, of friends passing, and such others. It was, perhaps, a reflection of my mood. It drove some away, but it helped me.
More research also seemed to help, if only to help determine the actual source of my problems. As I looked further into it, it seemed I may have been mistaken in what I thought it was. The demon I thought I had seen was just a messenger, a slave for another, more powerful, more corrupting, more subtle demon. But that would have to be confirmed before I could face those fears.
I did question the Warlock Caden about the demon, without explanation as to why. A Vathor demon, he called it, when I described it, and told me somewhat of its powers, and went on to claim that a sorcerer that could successfully summon and control such a demon would be mighty indeed, for he would then be able to force the Varoth demon to make a construct called a Necleriine from the body of person, thus getting two powerful demons under the summoners control.
I shuddered inside when he told me of that, for I had a fearsome premonition that that was what this thing might have planned for me.
Part 8
They had forsaken me.
All of them.
Well, most of them.
Accusations of child murder, although that little brat of an orc had it coming, I did NOT kill her. The Lady Summoner of the Rest flinging false accusations around, and everyone believing her. I knew I could not trust a single one of those dark elves.
Even my love questioned me. She doubted me.
Me.
The mind mage believed me, but she could see the truth in my head. I trust her, at least. Although I still am wary of her. She can see things in my head that even I did not know were there.
The warlock Caden did not believe me, but that didn't matter. In fact, I think he was, not impressed, because that is not the right word, nor proud, either, but at least more willing to teach me. He no doubt felt that my respect for life was non-existent, much like his feelings on the matter.
Either way, that little orc brat needed to die, and if she did die after I left, I do not care. She killed many of the citizens of River's Rest with her little tricks on that wand she found, and if the lady Summoner cannot see that, then she is not the so-called "Protector of River's Rest" that she thinks she is. I think that father of hers is telling lies, but no matter.
I will shed no tears for any of them.
What concerns me more was the incident in the park the other day. Well, it both concerns me, and gives me hope.
Hope, you ask? How so?
I may have found a way to keep the demon at bay, for it is now all but certain in my mind that I am being plagued by a demon. A Vathor demon, if the information I have gleaned from my studies is at all relevant to the matter.
But, why hope?
Some of the knowledge has hinted that music, oft purported to sooth the savage beast, can have a similar effect. Certainly, song has often been used to summon and control eldritch energies; just observe some of the powerful song-wizards of legend, how they use music and song to smite their enemies. But, is it something relevant to my situation?
It seems to be so, for when I sit and play, I find my concentration has been, well, concentrated. That is ,I find myself more in focus, and able to resist evil urges, and other distractions. The most telling, though, was as I was playing, I felt whatever was plaguing me to be almost in pain; I could feel it weakening slightly.
In fact, I think it was so threatened by it, that it tried to warn me away, using what power it was able to project onto this plane in an actual attack on me, even perhaps a vision of my eventual fate. For what it had planned for me was to create another demon, something it could control, and wreak more havoc than possible by itself. Through fire was this other demon created, and fire was what it could use to warn, and even harm me, at this stage in its plans.
As I was playing my lute in the park, concentrating intensely on my music, focusing my efforts, it must have felt threatened, for it used its power to cause me to burst into agonizing flames. I was stunned, in shock, and could do naught, but fortunately, one of the few who had not forsaken me was there, and perhaps saved my life. A sylph, no less, she was, and perhaps I should rethink my thoughts on that haughty, closed-minded race that are the Sylvankind. But no matter. She saved my life, and I think it was the combination of the water she doused me with, and the holiness behind it that prevented my death.
It does seem to confirm my thoughts on what is plaguing me, as well as a probable vulnerability, though, and bears further research. I will not question the Warlock Caden directly, but I will try and tease the knowledge of these demons from him, without him guessing at my intent, or my affliction, as he may attempt to use it to his own advantage.
This should prove interesting.
Part 9
She had done it.
Accused me of consorting with demons.
And even worse, when I tried to explain what was happening, and how I was fighting against it, she gave me no sympathy. Threw me to the wolves, even, or I suppose, to the demons would be a more appropriate way to describe it.
Fah. Through the Gate and to Eternity for her. All I had to hold me was her, and she threw me to the demons. Abandoned me.
To Eternity with all of them, then. I will do this without their help.
Perhaps I can deal with this demon? Feed it something else? Use it?
I need to learn more, though. The Warlock Caden could teach me, if I approach him correctly. It will take much finesse, especially to prevent him from learning why I need his knowledge. Surely, he would use this against me. No doubt he would summon the Vathor himself, use me to make the Necleriine, for his own power. No, I will not allow that to happen. I must be careful.
As for that spiteful women, well, I will not harm her, but her little kitty cat keeps following me around. No doubt, she is lovelorn, and using her pet to check on me, but she rejected me, and that, well, that means she deserves whatever happens to her. I spoke with that foul red bandit the other eve, and he...he had the gall to put the blame on me. Feh. Perhaps she will run to his arms. they deserve each other, a spiteful little girl, and a foul bandit. I have slain many of his like on tasks for the Adventurer's Guild, I will slay him, as well, if needs must. Better, though, to leave them to each other.
Funny, though, I do seem to feel her presence around me, though she is not there. She meant more to me than she knew, I must be remembering her spirit, wallowing in the past. I need to disregard that, and think on the current issue.
The darkness began again, and that is troubling. My mind has slipped from its focus, most likely from thinking overmuch on that woman. I shall have to avoid that, for if I lose that focus, it will end poorly for me. I have been bothered overmuch, though, by ignorant ones, asking me of things better left alone. That one, bubbly happy little gnome in particular was quite annoying. Perhaps I could divert the Vathor to him, have it makes him into a nice skin suit for a necleriine I could control? That sounds almost ideal. Yes, I shall have to think on that more.
A positive note, though; I found more out about my music, and my lute. Once I deciphered the runes on it, and performed the appropriate ritual, I was able to bring forth its true nature. If I can use it in just the right way, I can gain more power over these demonic forces. The beauty of it is astounding, the artwork intricate, as I look at it, I see it was etched in intricate detail across the plumwood face showing a dark and humanoid creature with razored spikes. The creatures wings are lifted in flight, its talons drawn, as it flees a piercing shaft of light depicted in gold tracing beside the fretted neck of the lute. Certainly, this is significant, for that is the very figure of the demon that plagues me, or at least of what I saw of it. This cannot be coincidence that I was only recently able to unlock these runes. I will look more into this.
I did have some fool of a human speak with me, and pass a message on from that one called the Watcher. He thinks he knows all. Hah! He knows but what stares him right in the face, and even that is suspect. The message from him was arrogant; he had the gall to tell me the music, and the lute were not helping. Little does he know. He should stick to robbing travelers of their coins, for that is all he is good for. Hiding in the shadows, lurking about as if he knows all, when he knows little. I do not trust those who hide in the shadows, who knows what they are doing? Bah. I shall show him the error of his ways, at some point, when I have time to worry about insignificant insects such as him. Not this day, though, there are other issues that needs must be addressed.
To the library, at the Guild. More research.
Part 10
My research bore fruit. At least, I think it did. But more on that later, something else occurred that was of significance.
The Marshall.
Some know him by other names, but he is the Lord Marshall of the Landing, and as such, has access to things most people know nothing about. I suppose I would have fallen into the group of 'most people', but thanks to the Marshall, I no longer do.
I was in the park one eve, by myself, when a hooded figure appeared, as if from the shadows themselves. The Watcher could take lessons from this one about hiding, I thought to myself. The figure motioned to me to follow him, and I did. I did not know who this was, but I had my suspicions.
He led me to the keep, the stronghold of the Landing, and then down, down, deep. Deep beneath the keep we went, and then, I watched as he touched a dark sigil on the wall, and vanished. Knowing somewhat of such sigils, I touched it myself, and with a flash, appeared in another room, a room with no doors, no windows, no way out...
Well, of course, I was able to return the way I came. And the hooded figure was there, as well, although without the hood. He had removed it, and then, I knew I had recognized him earlier, as it was the Marshall, Jaired.
He explained that this room was somewhat of a secret, used only rarely, but did offer some use to those who require quiet and the lack of human presence when performing certain............rituals. He left it to me to discern what these rituals might be, but that I was welcome to use it at anytime. He did mention that he had heard of the troubles I was having, and while he had not experienced that same thing, there were certain similarities to some incidents in his past, and that if I needed advice, he was willing to help.
I thanked him for his offered, and indicated that I would be speaking with him at some point, but for now, I would like to continue my research.
And I did just that, returning to the Guild library, but noting the chamber shown me by the Marshall for later use.
But what else?
The woman who had scorned me?
The research?
The demon itself?
Where should I turn?
My questions were answered in the Guild. As I was studying, digging into more and more esoteric tomes, a woman came to me. She spoke little, in fact she spoke not at all, but she handed me something, and then turned to leave. I glanced down at what she had handed me, briefly, and when I looked up, she was gone. I attempted to use arcane arts to find her, but my vision was not just blocked, it was as if I had hit a wall, with my head. The resulting headache convinced me not to look any further for her, at least not by such means, so I turned my attention to the gift.
A pin, it was. And at first appearance, it was sickeningly sweet, a butterfly, colored orange and white, it seemed to almost be a child's adornment, something for a young girl to wear, for her to be pretty.
But then, I looked deeper, and was fortunate to be somewhere safe, for when I looked up from the trinket, hours had passed. The vortex of colors within had drug me into its depths, and I felt as though only moments had passed, and yet also as if years had passed. All the knowledge I had read, the research I had done, all seemed to have been reviewed at once, and flooded, no, forced into me, almost as if it were seared into my brain. The rituals to summon demons, the art of controlling them, all the necessary protections, everything all at once, was given to me, even, as I said, forced onto me. This little trinket seemed to be more than it appeared at first. I felt as though I could now face the one tormenting me. And I would. Two weeks hence, when the four moons, Lornon, Liabo, Tilaok, and Makari, will be in conjunction, will be the time. I will contact it, and then, then I shall destroy it. It will torment me no more. The chamber under the Keep will prove perfect for this, I think. That is where the demon shall meet its end.
Before then, though I needs must deal with the other distraction, the scorned woman. Something changed in her head, for she came crawling back to me, blaming herself for what ailed me, begging forgiveness. Fool woman. She knows little of what she talks. But she might yet serve some useful purpose. Perhaps I could offer her to the demon, to distract it, weaken its power? I must think on that.
I wonder if the demon would take such a broken thing, or dismiss her out of hand? She came to me this last eve, and showed me that she had carved something in her arm, all bloody it was She claimed to have done that for me.
Yes, yes I can use that. The demon would like that.
Part 11
I spoke less and less to everyone, they were all against me. Foul beasts they were, especially the Slyphs, with their incessant chattering. But I tried, I tried to play nice with them, for I needed some of them. And the more I could sacrifice, the better. Enough to satisfy the demon, and then, some for me.
For me.
Yes, that's right. For me. If I had to suffer through this, why should I suffer alone? More, why should I not come out ahead?
So, I would. I would come out ahead, and damn the cost to others. They could all burn, for all I cared.
The one, though, that I wanted to see hurt, to feel the pain, my pain, she who scorned me, she would pay, and I would make her pay, and it would be good. So good. And she would be the key to my survival, my power, my VICTORY!
Ah, yes, Beatrise. She scorned me in my hour of need, and for that, well, she will fall.
- blink::
- blink::
What happened?
Was I dead?
I felt a connection to life, and a dream of a pain , fierce pain in my head, and then, something refusing my call for aid. Not only refused my call, but then, I think it send its power into me, stopping my heart dead on.
It was the demon.
But, I felt free.
How? I could not feel the prescence, I felt as if I was just awake from a dream, a nightmare, even.
But I was dead.
True, I had died before. And been saved, even. This time, though, was different. I felt all the normal things that happened when I was on deaths door, about to cross through the gate, for like many warriors, this was not an uncommon place to be. But I also felt free.
I felt no influence of the demon on me, and then, I began to remember what I had been doing, what I was like, the things I had said, and done, to others. And I felt sorrow, for they were my friends, and my love, and what I was planning on doing....was beyond the pale.
To my love. Yes, I planned on sacrificing her. But that was not me. No. It was the demon, I could feel it controlling my thoughts, or, I mean, I could remember the feeling of being under its control, but now, I was free.
Death must have freed me from its grasp. Though, I feared what would happen if I was brought to life again. No doubt, it would control me. I would know, though, now. I could influence it, I think. Subtly mold it, to what I wanted, to save my friends, my love, from what it planned.
And then they were there. The mind mage. The paladin. The rogue with a heart of...well, with a good heart. And the sylvan priestess.
They took my corpse to a place of quiet, a place of peace, a place where I could be safe, a sanctuary. I felt free, and knew the demon was even further from me. And I could talk, they could hear me, my friends!
I pleaded with them, and tried to tell them what was happening, and I think they understood, and I pleaded, and begged, even, for them to leave me dead, for I feared what was to come, the demons control on me. But that was not to be.
At least, I made my message clear, and I think they understood, especially when I asked, from deep inside, for them to protect my love.
And then, the sylvan priestess, she passed her blessing on me, and I felt the spark of life flow back into me.
And the demon as well.
I scowled at all of them, gathered around, concern in their eyes, and plotted their death.
But deep inside, the part of me that was still me, I knew I could win against this demon, and save my friends, and most of all, my love.
Whatever the cost.
I would pay it.
Part 12 aka, the end
I felt the demon controlling me, but even as it did so, it mocked me, as well. Taunted me, telling me all the things it would do to those I loved, to my friends, to everyone I had ever touched in some way. And to the innocent, as well, those I had never known, had never done anything, but they would suffer as well.
I bided my time, holding the small core of myself together, like a fortress, deep inside, and consoled myself that somehow, some way, I would defeat this thing, this creature, this demon. It was hard, nay, near impossible, to keep something of me, of myself, together, but I did. Somehow. I think the taunting even helped, as it gave me something to focus on.
I watched, from inside, as I went about life, or some twisted version of life, the demon ever plotting, gaining information, seeing the lands, the people, and seeing how to destroy them all. And learning, more and more, each day. Worse though, was the damage being done to those I loved, and how they saw me. There were some, though, that knew the truth, and I tried as hard as I could to reach out to them, to communicate even a little with them, and I think.....I think I was able to do so. At least, it seemed so.
Then, while looking for treasure in the depths of the labyrinth on Wehntoph, I heard, no felt, a voice, a voice like the demons, but stronger, more potent, more....evil.
'It was time', I heard, and I did its bidding; well, my body did so, under the control of the demon. It was strange, though, for now I heard two voices. The demon inside of me, and the voice from elsewhere. They were the same, almost, but subtly different. I wonder, what was the voice inside me, then, if it was not this demon? Or was it the same one, except it had lost something of itself, was of lesser power, because it was controlling me?
I wonder if I could use this somehow.
I would have to do so quickly, since the demon had begun its final preparations for.....well, for the foul plan it had.
I called for my love, Beatrise to come, and she did, but she was wary, cautious, even fearful of me. I was hopeful, but then quickly disheartened, as she was only somewhat cautious, and I knew the demon could overcome that. Then, another woman came, the Lady Myriamie, and I knew she would help, for I had told her, even pleaded with her, to aid me, when I could speak freely, and I know her, and her Knight of Dreams had understood, and would help. But then, I was shocked when she seemed to conspire with the demon, to get my love to come with me, as part of the demon's plans.
What was she doing?
Was I deceived these many months that I knew Myriamie?
Was she secretly a foul agent of evil?
What about Taeghan? Was he likewise deceived by her beauty, hiding an evil, rotten core?
No. It was not possible. I would have seen aught before this. So this must be some plan of hers, to deceive the demon. At least it must be so, or all was lost.
Beatrise would not come with me, and then, even better (or worse, for the demon), the mind mage came, and whisked her away to safety, a magical sanctuary. But it was not to last forever, and I could feel the demon using my powers to slowly break the walls of the sanctuary. The walls were crumbling, Myriamie was calling for Beatrise to appear, and I could feel the demons plans falling into place.
And then, with a flash of blue light, the barriers to the sanctuary vanished. Nilandia was able to escape the demon's wrath, but my love, was not, as she was stunned, and shaken by the breaking of the sanctuary, and then, the demon used my magic to further stun her into submission. I, and Myriamie, grabbed her and drug her off to a place I knew of, a foul place, with a sacrificial altar of stone.
The dark power hung heavy in the air, and the foulness of the place, deep beneath the earth, was thick and strangling. We secured Beatrise to the altar, tying her tight, as I screamed inside, using all my might to fight against the demon, no longer content to wait, to bide my time, for I knew the end was near, either for me, or for the demon.
The ritual began, the demon using items of power, tokens, representations of the might of the demon, and his prey. A silken maiden, for my love, and a winged demon, of copper, and fire, and then it began, with chanting, from my lips, but of no language I had ever spoken. I could feel it in my bones, and I could see the effect on my love, the fear in her eyes, the fear for herself, and for me, and then, I knew she was truly my love, for the concern for me I could see in her was greater than ever.
Then, salvation was on me, as al the heroes (and some anti-heroes) of the lands showed. Called there by Myriamie, her subterfuge paid dividends, and I could feel the demon inside me raging in anger that it had been betrayed.
But no, it was not to be, as with a wave of my hands, the demon used me to flatten all present.
One, though, remained standing, in his metal armor, the might of Vaalor and Ronan shining from him. The knight, raised his balde, and slammed in into me, to free me from the demon, with death, the final cleansing.
And it worked, I was slain, and free.
Or so I thought.
I was wrong.
Free, yes, but so was the demon. It manifested in the sacrificial chamber, all of its planning and rituals complete, and it was merely waiting for someone to kill the only thing holding it back. Me. It had tricked me, let me feel free in death. But it was not to be, for although I was free, so was it.
Few there could even survive the might of the demon, once free, much less even attempt to stop it. Fortunately, it had other plans, for it left the chambers, and went off.
To where, though?
Shortly, those left behind knew to where, as the Wehnimer's began to be assaulted by demons, small and large. None, though, were close to the power of the one that had come through me, and though the defenders of the Landing were brave, and fierce, and strong, they could no stand before the combined might of the demon lord, and his minions.
Worse, still, the demon lord slew many a would-be hero, and made fierce demons from their corpse, demons of flame, and foul whips, and went on to slay more, big and small.
Then, from the shadows, with calm, emotionless eyes, stepped a warrior, wrapped in a cloak, a whirling dervish of death. And his blades were swift, and keen, and the demons fell like wheat to his scythe. Others were encouraged, and more rose up, powerful wizards, brave warriors, knights, priests, healers, all of them.
But the most effective, the ones that any normal person would least expect to defend the town, were the rogues, the bandits, the thieves, the scoundrels. Moving from the shadows to attack, and then disappearing as the demons searched, and futilely tried to counter their blows, slowly bleeding the foul beast until the fell, and went back to their native realms, the shadow warriors, the so-called thieves and rogues, were the force the drove the demons back. The Lady of the Shadows, the Crimson Bandit, and the Lord Marshall, the whirling dervish of a warrior himself, they all drove the demons to their the death, if death was the word for what happened to the foul creatures.
And I? I was brought back to life, through the grace of a shining priestess, but what could I do? I was the cause of all of this, and to do anything was to invite more of them, more of the demons to my new found home. No, I stayed back, and did what I could to help, using the magics I knew to provide extra strength and protection to the true warriors.
The battle raged back and forth, within the walls of the Landing, and without. The demons seemed endless, but for every one of them, there was true bravery and courage from the defenders of the town matching their skills and powers against the beasts. Many brave warriors fell, but many more demons were sent back, with prejudice, to their realm, and the Arkati smiled on us that day, for many favors were asked to give life to the dead, to go out and fight again.
Too many tales of courage, of might and of bravery could be told of that day, and I will leave that to others. Suffice it to say that I was shamed by the effort that was put forth that day by the brave defenders of Wehnimer's Landing, shamed that my actions had brought all this upon us, and at the same time, fiercely proud of my compatriots, that they would rise to the occasion, even at the risk of their lives, in defending the town, and ultimately, defending my soul, for the demon could take my soul at any time, if I was given to it, but no one would allow that.
And then, the foul beast, the foul Vathor demon behind all of this was slain, by the Lord Marshall himself, with the help of many others, of course, but by his blade. And everyone thought it was over, the leader of the demons slain, and the lesser ones leaving, and dying.
But I knew it was not over.
Not yet.
I could still feel the demon tugging at my soul, and I knew what must be done. As did the Lord Marshall.
With a look from him, a quick glance with no words, but with much meaning, we proceeded to the depths of the Keep.
To the Sigil room, deep within the keep, we went.
And I called to it, the vathor that had a-hold of my soul. I called it by its name, for when it was within me, I drew some knowledge from it, as well. And that was to be its undoing. It would die by my hand, and that would sever the connection to this realm. It could not come back once that was done.
It came, and I was terrified, and at the same time, emboldened. It came by my bidding. Not under my control, no, but my bidding, and it had no choice in the matter.
But what now? I swung at it, but could not harm it. I cast magics at it, and again, could not harm it. It laughed at me, then, a cold, foul, evil laugh, and prepared to strike me down, knowing that once it did so, it could never be banished from this realm again. And in my heart, I knew this was the end.
Then, from the deep shadows of the Sigil room, the dervish struck. And struck again. And again, and again, and never-ending, whirling tornado of razor-sharp blades.
The vathor was powerless to stop him, and the dervish continued to bleed the vathor dry. But then he stopped. The vathor was writhing on the ground, the pain of a thousand cuts overwhelming even it.
And the Lord Marshall, the whirling dervish, who had slain this demon once, looked at me, with nothing in his eyes, and told me that I knew what must be done. With that, he left.
And I looked at the foul beast, and with one swing of my blade, I ended it.
With that, it was done. The vathor would never return, not this one, at least. And I, well, I was alive. As was my love, and the others, my companions who had stood by me through all of this, despite my best efforts.
To them, I must go, and make my apologies, beg their forgiveness, make amends in some way. That story is for another day, however.
I would be remiss, though, without telling of how I was changed. I would no longer be known as a warlock, or witch doctor, or other titles denoting my power, my might. Instead, I would be Taakhooshi the Questor, searching for redemption.
As for the Lord Marshall? Well, to me, he was no longer the Lord Marshall. Instead, he would be known as Demon Slayer, for without his help, the beast would never have been slain.
Epilogue
The road to recovery, such as it were, was difficult. I say was, when I should really say it is still. I am still traveling it, and shall be, for many moons.
The scars of that night, and the days and nights leading to it, were many. Some borne by myself, some borne by others. And of those others, there were many who would never forgive, much less forget. The suspicious glances, the sidelong looks, those who crossed to the other side of the street when they saw me coming, that was what hurt the most. The open threats, the taunts, those I could ignore. It was the loss of all trust by many who knew me, even though they knew the truth, or at least had been told of the truth. And as I said, the common folk would most like never trust me. It bore hard on a man's soul, that did, whatever the heritage that man held.
Then, as if to make it worse, my shame was plain to see by all. A shadowy figure began following me wherever I went. To be sure, it was very similar to the magics that wizards used to carry heavy loads around, in the shape of a disk, and I could even use it as such, but it was not. Not the same, that is, and it showed the shadowy taint on my soul. I am not sure if it is merely dark, like my soul feels, or if it is some form of demon not yet heard of. I have tried every form of divining I know, and asked many others, and no one can taste any hint of demon-corruption in it, but still. It is there, day, and night, and I can not rid myself of it. I have become resigned to the darkness, now, it shall haunt me everafter.
So, I travelled. I left the Landing for four moons, and went vast distances, seeking answers, but also seeking solitude, for I could not bear, anymore, to face those who, rightfully, were fearful of me. I sought knowledge, aye, but not the kind of dangerous knowledge I sought previously. I practiced the arts martial, hoping the numbing exhaustion that came from swinging a blade would help purge my mind of foulness. I tried to rid myself of the dark shadow that followed me everywhere, most of all.
And I did. It left, never to return. Or so I thought.
I came back to the place I called home, the Landing. And the first night there, after leaving the merchant ship I had hired for passage behind, I saw it.
The shadow had returned. And in it, I could see reflections of the moon.
The Crimson Moon.