From the Hidden City (Warhammer Lizardmen Temple-City Quest)

Mechanization: Three Gifts
Evolve Kindly Senior trait to Eager Tutor won.

Day 44 Potec's Season, 11653

Xilotl knelt in the dirt and drew a claw through the soil, feeling the way it piled up against their finger. Loose and faintly moist from a passing rain shower— conjured by one of the overseeing artisan-priests to prevent erosion, it filled the gaps between scales and clung to where flesh met claw.

"Mmm," they hummed, standing up and shaking the dirt off their hand.

Like called to like and a resonance beyond sound rippled out from a point within the artisan-priests. Green ghyran flared, wriggling deeper into the soil, furred ghur hissed and scurried away while brilliant chamon gleamed into prominence, rising like the dawn to the surface of the soil. An uneven patina fading away in seconds as the aethyric resonance Xilotl had created dissipated and the other Winds settled once again.

Sweeping their gaze across the rest of the field they spied Ittetuhlot standing amidst a trio of stegadon and their crowd of handlers, deep in discussion. Behind the great beasts lay timber cages lined with wooden teeth, the rope of their harnesses slack across their backs as they paused in their labor; piles of dead vines and stalks gathered within.

Turning back to the ground at their feet, Xilotl considered what they had observed.

More than a century since these fields had been rejuvenated— decades of planting and harvesting, mere weeks between cycles, had taken a toll upon the soil beneath their feet. Brachiating rivers of ghyran wound through the dirt, isolated nodes of chamon and sparks of azyr and aqshy flickering in between them. There was a tang to the air that Xilotl had not tasted in centuries.

Not since… since those first few decades in the wake of the Great Catastrophe, when every hand had been required simply to feed all the new mouths suddenly occupying the temple-city. Drastic Efforts had been required. Even as the wild tides of magic had begun to retreat and the stars started to right themselves, the world still churning from the accumulated unreality; the artisan-priests of Zlatlan (and beyond) had poured yet more magic out. Fields of golden and crimson-purple eared xiuhtotl sprouted overnight, their roots sheltered by the broad leaves of huahexotl gourds, and their stalks wrapped up in the clinging tendrils of chuotl.

And still thousands died in those years, starving as entire harvests turned to poison and fields became desiccated wastelands.

Hard won lessons had been bought by those lives.

Magic could only push a field so far, could only substitute for time up to a point before food in the belly became venom in the veins. There was a unique scent-flavor-feeling to a field on the brink of disaster, an iron and blood taste mixed with the rancid odor of rotting blood and the feeling of something crawling up the spine. Xilotl had become intimately familiar with it over those years.

Thankfully this was far from that. Zlatlan knew exactly how far to push a field; at lower intensities, certain combinations of plants could be grown nearly indefinitely, the various biotic and chemical processes working to produce healthier soil. Such methods had fed the Servants of the Old Ones since the first temple-cities were founded.

But they were more suitable to a reality very different to the one they found themselves in.

Before the Great Catastrophe, if there was too little food in one place it was easier to simply move bodies about until things were again balanced. Afterwards though, that was no longer possible; simply communicating between Huitzacatlan and Chuqitzan took significant effort, and without the magical enchantment laid over the jungles of Chuqitzan'xlamund'botl the lands beyond Zlatlan still threatened to spill forth fresh, new horrors.

Shortcuts had to be taken.

As the years dragged on Zlatlan honed its knowledge. While the Three Gifts were invaluable staples growing them together required significant investments of labor, but separately? Or in pairs? Such planting patterns could be maintained without nearly as much effort, especially the tall growing xiuhtotl. Dried it could be stored for years under the proper conditions.

Xiuhtotl was a greedy plant though; drying out the soil it grew in and imbalancing it with an overabundance of aqshy and hysh— it took only a few plantings for a field to lose much of its fertility without intervention.

And while the other two Gifts were less harsh upon the land they presented their own difficulties. Without support from some sort of sturdy partner or external framework chuotl proved to be much less productive, its fruit grew small and stunted, smothered in the dirt. Planting it alongside xiuhtotl was most common, but wooden frameworks could also serve and allow a second crop to be planted alongside.

Huahexotl did not damage the soil nor did it need support for best results, but it could easily choke out a field if whatever it was planted alongside was not already well established.

Not only the Three Gifts were grown of course. There were other, lesser, crops; some like cuamoqli had been brought over from Chuqitzan while others had been discovered in Huitzacatlan. Cuamoqli was a low growing shrub whose roots grew thick and fat with useful starches, that could be eaten roasted, made into mashes or flours, and even the leaves could be eaten by beast and zar'kaix alike.

Growing all the food required for both required speed to make up for the lack of simple space. In the years since the Great Catastrophe the artisan-priests of Zlatlan had learned exactly how to take a field to the edge of failure without ever tumbling over the edge. Thirteen parts in twenty of the temple-city's fields remained active at any one time, the other seven parts left fallow.

Like forging a blade, one could not simply keep beating at hot metal and expect to form a proper edge. Improper alloys— bad nutrient mixtures in the soils. Quenching— a year or two of idleness. Beat an edge too thin— grow something too intensive for too long. Too much, or too little heat— waiting too long to conduct certain rituals or carrying them out too soon. So much needed careful attention, that could go wrong.

Xilotl had not attended a field in centuries, having long since returned to their forge, but little had changed in that time. Some fine tuning of planting cycles and harvesting. Largely though it remained as they remembered, which simplified the work ahead of them somewhat, rather than needing to familiarize themselves with new practices they and Ittetuhlot could instead proceed to finding where the greatest savings in labor could be found.

BREAK

Hours later the two skinks found their way to Xilotl's workshop in the forge district, a large chamber towards the northwestern corner of the northeastern district. One wall of the chamber was dominated by an enormous hearth; a sloping half-octagon of stone and obsinite, edges inscribed with glowing glyphs, and set with a bronze door wide as the span of the artisan-priests arm and tall enough to reach mid chest on a saurus. On the front of the door were the glyphs of Potec, Xokha, and Chotec.

Various tools hung from the walls and three sets of enormous stone plinths were arrayed before the forge, while a wooden table and a bed were set against the wall farthest from the hearth. It was at this table that Ittetuhlot joined their fellow skink.

"Harvesting is the main issue," said the chief.

Xilotl clicked their tongue, "Still need to investigate processing and transport."

"Planting and harvesting are the most labor intensive portions of food production. Gathering mature crops takes dozens per hectare on average, savings there are most likely to see greatest return."

"True… but, take chuotl for instance. Brute mechanical methods will either damage support frameworks or partner crops, adversely impacting overall efficiency— less forceful solutions are too likely to leave significant portions of each harvest on the vine, requiring additional labor. Post-harvest processing presents much simpler conditions."

Ittetuhlot growled in frustration, "You are correct. Still harvesting operations are the primary bottleneck on labor."

"That is true," agreed Xilotl, "And worthy of investigation, but reliable, if limited, gains are likely from other sections."

Potec's Season, 11653 to Caxuatn's Season, 11657

Splitting their time between continuing to speak with the skinks and kroxigor working the fields and those hauling, storing, and turning the gathered crops into usable food the next several years passed rapidly. And as Xilotl had predicted it was much easier to develop mechanisms to simplify those tasks.

Generally both xiuhtotl and chuotl were prepared for storage by drying, there were enormous courtyards scattered across the barrios of Zlatlan where ears and pods could be spread out to dry beneath the open sun. Very similar to the process of drying aziki seeds turning into tea. From there though further processing and storage differed significantly. Dried pods were easily split in the hand and the beans within sifted from the paper remnants of the pods by pairs of skinks; one holding a large leaf fan while the other shook handfuls of beans in a loosely woven basket. Pod fragments were carried away by the wind, leaving only the seeds. Once separated from their pods the chuotl seeds could simply be stored anywhere dry, rehydrated and cooked as needed.

Huahexotl barely needed preparation at all. Their thick, waxy rinds kept out most pests and diseases, allowing them to be harvested and stored for months without worry.

But the kernels of xiuhtotl on the other hand needed to be separated from the dense, tough, cob to which they clung; a task typically done by hand simply by applying lateral pressure to the kernels. To even get to that point though required stripping the tough outer leaves and layer of fibers that lay between them and the kernels. From there the kernels were often ground into flour or meal for storage, though they could also be easily stored whole.

Cuamoqli was a more temperamental plant. Once cut the roots had to be quickly processed or else they became inedible, turning black and unpleasant to the taste.

Most fields of cuamoqli were harvested in a gradual sequence where sections of the fields reached maturity days apart so that fresh cuamoqli could either be used fresh or processed before another yield was produced. Processing involved first skinning the roots before then pulping by either stone mallets or mills (hand cranked or otherwise operated), after which the resulting mash would be wet screened over large wooden tanks to separate the starches from the rest of the pulp. Then the starches are allowed to settle in the tanks, the upper layers usually removed to be rescreened, and agitated before being allowed to settle again.

Several areas of inefficiency were obvious; husking ears of xiuhtotl, pod and seed separation, starch settlement, screening the cuamoqli mash, kernel separation and grinding just to name a few.

But there was a balance to be struck between brute labor savings and the cost of implementation. Purely mechanical solutions were preferred over anything with all but the most minimal enchantments.

BREAK

Xilotl designed a device composed of two wooden disks, each set with stone studs on their inner faces that counter-rotated to one another by a hand crank. Set into a wooden ring that sat atop four legs, a pair of mechanical arms attached to the sides of each plate ran down to a pair of pedals that when activated on pressed the two plates together.

Place over a basket or other container, cobs were fed into the top of the plates and as the plates rotated they tore the kernels free to drop into the container below. A loosely woven mat could be placed between the bottom of the device and the container, allowing the kernels to fall through but capturing the denuded cobs which could then be carried off by other skinks. Rather than dozens of skinks slowly separating kernels over hours, a small team of skinks could do the same work in roughly the same time. There were further efficiencies to be gained by increasing the number of devices working together, but Xilotl had little time to contemplate them as they had to move on.

Most grinding, whether for flour or meal, was done by either hand mills— heavy stones only a little larger than a skink's head with wooden handles that were laborious rotated with kernels or cuamoqli root between them, or by larger examples worked by two or three kroxigor at a time. The latter were as wide across than a skink was tall. Once up to speed they were actually quite efficient but the effort required to lift the mill stones in order to place kernels or roots where they needed to go and then to get the stones moving was not insignificant. In fact it was enough that overall they were not terribly efficient.

Xilotl spent at least three seasons iterating over several designs involving various gear ratios or pulley systems in order to more efficiently generate the force required. Each worked, technically. But the mechanical complexity meant that maintenance would be a significant, ongoing issue.

It wasn't until the artisan-priest was delivering a new greatbow for one of the cruisers that a more efficient solution struck them.

Rather than attempting to keep the same dimensions of grinding stone, why not size down and instead keep power delivery constant?

Because of the particulars of Zlatlan's sacred geometry there were a few parts of the temple-city that saw fairly consistent winds. Particularly along a line drawn southwest of the Temple of Tzunki towards the west gate and one drawn northwest from the center of the temple-city through the temple complex containing the Temples of Chotec, Tlanxla, and Uxmac. Using the same basic principles that drove sailing vessels, Xilotl built a wind driven mill that though smaller in capacity could operate near constantly with minimal supervision.

Day. Night.

Four narrow sails sat at the top of a narrow stone pyramid set atop a broad octagonal wooden platform, and as they caught the wind they spun a timber axle which was connected by a pair of perpendicular gears to another timber axle which in turn drove the upper of two millstones. Simple levers allow the same millstone and the attached axle to be raised and lowered in order to stop grinding.

In a few years more than a dozen would be built.

But again Xilotl had little time to consider such things, as they once again moved on. Addressing the processing of cuamoqli was more difficult, as many of the primary constraints were due to chemical processes; oxidation and enzymatic reactions occurring in the roots after they were cut. Magic could slow or even halt those processes, but that would mean involving at least a dozen artisan-priests on an ongoing basis.

They judged the opportunity cost greater than the expected benefit.

Unfortunately they could not see any great efficiencies to be had, only a small increase. By digging out a few dedicated settling tanks and then building large dedicated screens to fit them a meaningful amount of scale could be achieved. It would rarely reach capacity, but the overall labor outlay for processing cuamoqli would still go down as it could be more or less continuously processed in small amounts.

Day 67 Caxuatn's Season, 11657

"Mraaaa!"

Ittetuhlot watched one of the bastiladon stubbornly refuse to move beneath the waiting yoke.

Beside it the other beast chewed placidly at a pile of leaves, casting a brief glance at its young companion with a distinct air of irritation before returning to its meal. Two skink handlers scrambled over top of its shoulders, adjusting the leather strapping so it sat in the seam between shell and flesh as it ran down to the first leg joint.

Midspan of the beam a trio of thick poles kept the yoke beam aloft.

"Initial trials were conducted only with the most agreeable beast but— "

At last one of the handlers goaded the beast into action waving a bundle of leafy fronds in its face, and the bastiladon stepped beneath the beam of the yoke. Working quickly the rest of the handlers coaxed it into stepping into the leather straps and began adjusting the fitting so that the yoke would sit correctly against its shell.

" —we have begun expanding trials to younger beasts, to get them used to the devices."

"Mmmm, " Lord Wik'keer'mal hummed, his attention for the moment more focused on the troop of huiniyot curiously watching the proceedings from beneath the shades of his palanquin.

Standing a little over shoulder height ahead of the bastiladon was an enormous device of Ittetuhlot's own devising. At least in principle. It had taken several iterations and the help of several more mechanically inclined chiefs to reach the current design; it was a four and a half meter long wedge set on eight wheels each as tall as a skink, two on each outside edge and four more between the two bastiladon. At the front of the wedge were several narrow plows in between which were pairs of bronze blades.

Behind the leading edge lay a screw, one to either side of the center, oriented so that whatever fell on them would be carried to the center of the device where a ramp of segmented wood with low partitions would carry things up and over the back of the mechanism. Bands of thick rope linked the wheels to the internal mechanisms, so that as the bastiladon drove it forward it would constantly work to move the harvest up and over, dropping stalks and ears into the center where they could be picked up by waiting crews.

"Fine tuning of the catch mechanism is still ongoing," keeping a large moving cart moving in sync between two beasts was proving more difficult to manage than initially thought.

Ittetuhlot was confident a final design would be ready by the end of the decade though.

With a start the two bastiladon finally moved into place, the yoke fully settled against the rim of their shells and the whole mechanism began to creep forward. Two openings allowed both beasts to see where they were going, by primary guidance was done by a handler to either side with a long pole that tapped at their side whenever the apparatus began to veer.

The first stalks of xiuhtotl met the front edge, bending forward slightly before the mass of growth ahead forced them into the cutting blades. Gradually the first few ears and scraps of crushed stalk appeared over top of the ramp, carried slowly up and over. One of the waiting skinks picked up an ear of xiuhtotl and quickly brought it over.

A good half a meter of stalk still clung to the bottom, but the tough exterior leaf was still attached and there was no sign of crushing or other damage.

"Progress," said the slann.

Notes: No vote this time. This one really fought me. Next up Experimental Pool Work. Comments, critique, etc.
 
Experimental Pool Work: Progress
Day 33 Chotec's Season, 11653

Korai hefted a piece of stone as big as a skink's head up to their eye and inspected it for a long moment. From between scattered teeth their tongue flicked out and briefly touched the rock.

Solid, workable stone. Except—

Bringing the rock directly to their mouth they worried at one corner of it for a moment before a chip shot off and the whole stone split. One half fell down into their waiting hand and they spat the other out, Korai turned to Liss'en Ohp.

"See. Weak."

"Thick-skulled oaf," Liss'en Ohp hissed, snatching up the stone fragment from the ground, "No one means to start chewing on them," wiping away the worst of the slobber the skink began to inspect it for themselves, muttering beneath their breath, "Dust-blind… brute… "

Korai shook their head and flipped the other piece of stone about in their hands, digging one claw into the soft stone.

"Jointing."

With a soft crack the stone split again into globular chunks, one clutched gently in their large hand while the other fell with a clatter to the stone pavement of the courtyard. Liss'en Ohp let out an outraged yelp, whipping around to glare at the kroxigor.

"Simpleton! Brute!"

Raising the edge of the rock to their mouth Korai began to gnaw gently on the corner, savoring the deep, earthy tone of it and hint of heat that lingered on the tongue.

After a brief pause, the foreskink let out a resigned grumble, "Well, more stone is needed for the murals of the eastern hall— what do you suggest, you sun-addled ko'chuul?"

Korai considered the question. Much of the soft sedimented rock in the caves below was just as jointed as the piece they held now, with irregular faults crisscrossing at unpredictable angle; a result of geologically recent and repeated tectonic activity all along the coast. Poor material for cladding a hall. Deposits further inland were known, but that would delay work some.

Then the kroxigor remembered a particular stretch of stone as they had been excavating the second set of north east tunnels, just over three years back. It had shown remarkably little jointing.

Given its position it could also be safely expanded into a secondary chamber without disturbing the important geometries of the section.

"Come," they said, still chewing on the rock.

"Wha— w-wait!" Liss'en Ohp scurried after the kroxigor, "Dust-clogged idi— "

Day 59 Yuxa's Season, 11655

Awanabil'tat pushed through the curtain hanging vines hanging across the small, side entryway into the chamber, disturbing the colony of small, brightly colored frogs sipping nectar from their broad petalled flowers in the process and setting off a chorus of trills. The alarm did not travel far, drowned out by the echoes of hammers and conversations that filled the vast chamber before him. Narrow, stepped stalagmites and stalactites sprouted from the floors and ceilings like mirrored forests of denuded trunks— many sprouted fungal shelves of wood and rope where masons carefully carved away the stone to grow them higher.

Each face of the stalactites were carved with glyphs and designs that flowed and ran… dripping occasional flashes of light from small carved lenses of crystal set into their tips.

Two sentries appeared from within the dense press of ferns and bushes growing in the beds of dirt lining the path, only briefly glancing at Awanabil'tat before returning to their posts within brush.

Tens of meters above the ceiling sparkled with false stars between the stalactites. He spied constellations both alien and familiar; all five Itzl Stars, scattered between the dangling spars of stone, Tlanxla's Chariot, and the Swarm of Vermin. Each placed precisely amongst the shadows that shrouded the furthest limits of the cavern roof from view. Alongside the soft glow of glyph lamps and flickering light of torches they gave just enough light to navigate the perpetual night of the chamber.

Having been focused on a matter in the outer chambers for the last lunar month, a pocket of weak stone under the corner of one of the pools, Awanabil'tat had not witnessed much of the recent progress on the main chamber personally. In that short time the paths connecting the pools proper to the scattered barracks, training yards, and ritual chambers had been completed and the first of the three shrines had been erected in the north east corner.

Pausing for a moment Awanbil'tat tried to sense if the chamber had grown warmer since he had last been there, but could not sense any change to the muggy atmosphere from the four pools at the center. He began walking again.

Away from the edge of the cavern the growth quickly became less dense, beds of dirt suddenly only filled with a few new shoots and occasional transplants. Which also had the effect of opening up the chamber immensely to the eye; though the sightlines from the ground were broken up by the stalagmites, promising good cover in case of assault. Through gaps created by spiderwebbed paths he could just make out the occasional shape of a waiting barracks or training yard.

Just minutes later he came to the pools themselves. Surrounded by a series of low buildings and a broad avenue that stretched all the way around and between them, the pools took up nearly a third of the total area of the chamber. Sitting raised up from the ground, they were four— first and largest a circular pond set at the 'top' of the formation while the other three formed long rays stretching out beneath. Stripes of stained stone wove between the pools, running down their sides and to the bottom, hiding the buried bronze pipes that carried away the sulfur gasses of the vents beneath.

Heated in small hidden chambers by those same pipes, each pool let off a constant cloud of steam.

Or would when they were full. At the moment only the main pool held water, its inner walls already decorated with the glyphs and lines necessary for the magic to work.

Making his way past the circular pool Awanabil'tat closed his eyes and opened his senses to the Geomantic Web. Even so far beneath the surface Zlatlan still muted— no, overwhelmed, the fluctuations of the Web from the ongoing construction and spell work. He could still sense the growing buzz, but it was a faint, distant thing drowned out by the much greater hum of Zlatlan above.

Over the last few decades, since his experience in Tor Anroc with the embassy he had been working to hone his senses and been met with not too little success.

Construction Roll - 15 + 30 (Awanabil'tat Construction) + 10 (Xehtzaihl Construction) + 5 (Secrets of Sacred Geometry) + 15 (Clinometer of Xokha) = 75

Working to adjust elements of a project just by feel was still a slow process, requiring frequent double checking with careful calculations and precise measurement but he had made progress. He knew even before he sighted the actual work, for instance, that one of the secondary arrays on the middle pool would need to be redone— the tone of it wavered in a way that told Awanabil'tat that it was not fully connecting to the surrounding glyph work.

Hurrying over he stepped up onto the lip of the pool and scanned for the array in question. There, two-fifths of the length of the pool along the western side.

No obvious defects announced themselves from a distance but as he approached closer, walking down the walking running alongside the work scaffolding, the issue became apparent. Listening to the discordant buzz there was a grinding towards the far end, like stone rubbing against stone.

Part of the array, three linked glyphs nestled at the center of a square spiral, was over-rotated and the opening of the spiral was just off the direct line to another part of the array. It was only a three degree variance. Most enchantments had significantly greater tolerances than that; but this pool was underground, beneath many meters of rock with connections to the rest of the city-glyph whose point of origins were closer to level.

Other arrays had needed to be moved in order to account for the new approach angle. And one of those that had been placed above the first array just so happened to resonate in just such a way that some of the magic from the over-rotation leaked through to it every few seconds. Rather than a neat and tidy aethyric dead zone between the two there was now an intermittent flow of magic between one array and another.

"Halt, " everyone within earshot stopped, "This section," he gestured to the spiraling square and the glyphs, "Will need reconstruction."

Day 22 Caxuatn's Season, 11656

"Move nine masons from three to five, and be sure to send another request to Xotli'huanchi for additional carpenters," Xehtzaihl said to the scribe, "Middle section is still showing instability in the western wall… absolutely no excavation," they glared at the scribe, "And I mean none, before additional bracing is in place."

Pool two had been delayed by three weeks just last year because of similar issues and the intersection connecting two, three, and four threatened to be an even larger pocket of the stuff.

They already had the equivalent of an entire work team off the line because of injuries, plus half a dozen more working at reduced capacity, not to mention the other dozen rotated back to work above ground

With the major work done on the main chamber there was an excess of work teams. It was possible to just continue pushing through, assign back up teams from the reserve to fill in gaps as they came up, but that would be wasteful. Speed here would be paid for with delay elsewhere.

And speaking of delays, Xehtzaihl could not afford to delay any more, "When you've done that, go to pool one and if Goroqtli is available, confirm there have been no further shifts to the timetable."

Watching just long enough to confirm the scribe had made note of their words, they turned away and set off. Laying in the first stage of enchantments on pool one had been days ahead of schedule, then more than a lunar-month behind, and was now supposedly on schedule again— Xehtzaihl wanted to be sure there would be no more surprises. Better to have known for a certainty before meeting with Lord Udhi-Tegha and Awanabil'tat, in case the matter needed greater attention, but there were never enough hours in the day.

From pool four the corridor was almost entirely finished. Taller than a carnosaurs with sloping walls that met at a narrow, flat roof, and wide enough for an entire column to march down the hallway was designed to serve all five of the outer pools operating at maximum capacity all at once. Maximum theoretical capacity; hundreds of freshly-spawned bodies all pouring out of the pools twice an hour. Even at the height of the Geomantic Web, when it had spanned two continents, it had never actually happened.

Two corridors connected each pool, meeting at intersections that connected three corridors together that then connected to either another pool or the main chamber. Wooden columns and beams, some more than a quarter meter thick braced the raw rock. Bronze plates as large as their chest, enchanted to absorb shock were embedded in the stone between each bracing frame

None of that could be seen of course.

All of it was hidden behind soft, sandstone cladding. Carved into the cladding were various scenes from both the history of Zlatlan and the servants of the Old Ones as a whole; here ranks of saurus marching, spears and swords raised in preparation for war, there the glorious light of Chotec raising the first zar'kaix'khanx from pools as slann looked on. There were scenes of labor and craft. Images of the gloried dead.

Most of what lay upon the walls leading from pool four was of the history of Zlatlan itself, from the moment of arrival— three slann surrounded by ranks of temple-guard, backed by warbeasts, haloed by the corona of an open portal. When the walls were first raised, great blocks floated into place by slann or hefted by the straining arms of kroxigor. Scene after scene of great columns marching forth from the Gate of Chotec, and on the horizon the distant forms of the other temple-cities of Huitzacatlan.

Where the corridor from pool four met those from three, five, and the main chamber the intersection opened briefly into a small courtyard. To the side of each entrance stood a pair of wide columns taller than a kroxigor, carved in the shape of three heads stacked atop one another; one each of a skink, saurus, and kroxigor in different orders.

Then again it was more murals and reliefs before Xehtzaihl finally emerged into the main chamber.

Wet, hot air filled the chamber.

Following the paths the shipwright eventually made it to the far southern wall of the cavern, where a broad sloped avenue led up and into the forge distinct. There were also access points to the east and west of the cavern itself, but those would have taken the skink farther from their destination. Climbing up the winding, zigzagging stairs along the wall of the district Xehtzaihl at last found themselves upon the surface once again, only a short walk form the central plaza and the star-chamber of Lord Udhi-Tegha.

Notes: No vote this time. Comments, critique, etc.
 
Experimental Pool Work: In Shadow
Deep within the bowels of each temple, where lie the lower archives; those storehouses of ancient records, domain of hoary scribes, past aisles of stone shelves there is a spot. Fifteen paces by fifteen paces across, precisely, no matter who or what trods their length. There silence sits long and heavy and shadows yawn in bated anticipation.

One who walks with the correct authority, warded by certain permissions, may come and see not bare stone and emptiness, but a cube of obsinite— five meters to a side and five meters tall, a circular slab set into one face decorated by ring after ring of golden-glyphs gleaming with fell magics. Each promising a retribution greater and more terrible than the last should the unworthy breach their seal. No lock or key opens the way, for those recognized the portal simply opens and the waiting forms of temple-guard retreat back into the shadowed crevices that hid them.

Within lie the greatest treasure of any temple-city, hung like curtains between polished poles of bone set deep into the floor, the Sacred Plaques of the Old Ones through which they once revealed their instructions to their Servants in ages gone. Each a rectangle three hand lengths wide and five tall, and etched with innumerable tiny glyphs and geometric designs like the fine filaments of fungal mycelium.

Each temple in Zlatlan holds more than a dozen plaques. More than a hundred across the entire temple-city, half again what all the temples of Chuqitzan put together hold. Treasures more precious than even the slann themselves.

Day 29 Potec's Season, 11652

Huanxi'otl and Qu'ata'xamundi sat across from one another in the Star Chamber of the latter; a simple hexagonal room, arcing high overhead, walls decorated with the glyphs of the Old Ones. Scattered around the edge of the edge of the chamber on plinths and held in skeletal wooden frameworks were the fossilized of remains from before the coming of the Old Ones to the world— segmented coils wrapped around a hook clawed hand, some sort of multi-chambered shell, a thin tube bristling with long spikes, and more and stranger.

Between the slann on a wooden stand was a single Sacred Plaque, surface rippling slowly with prismatic waves. Symbols and patterns shifted and rearranged themselves.

Sat upon their palanquins, eyes closed, their breath slow and gently inflating and deflating their great chests, neither slann witness those changes. Not with their eyes.

Lesser souls needed to contemplate the Sacred Plaques indirectly, reading vast cosmic meaning and universal truth from the gross matter of their ever changing surfaces by sight and feel. Slann were beyond such crude methods though, their manifold minds and souls of diamond cut perfection had been crafted for greater purpose.



Swirling constellations of half-formed glyphs stretched across a moonsilver skyn held up between pillars of braided crystal. Arcs of lightning kilometers wide met mid-air and rained down sparks on a landscape of roiling shadow, where they landed towering mirror flowers sprouted, petals reflecting impossibilities.

Huanxi'otl braced himself against buffeting winds of long dead tongues.

Overwhelmed, he remained transfixed. Motionless, a rock upon which great tidal currents broke. Shapeless shadows moved beyond perception and direction inverted; beneath the wheeling sky, above the shadow sea and gleaming quicksilver flowers.

Somewhere a bell tolled— out of nothingness unfolded fractal temple-pyramids. Three, five, seven, eleven pointed stars rising in stepped procession.

Rainbow highways rising from their peaks to join together into a vast network that spread from horizon to horizon all around him. Faint, indistinct figures crawled along them like lines of ants. And in the emptiness between the temples and highways the darkness rippled and began to distend, shadow thinning until it ran like rain drops off a leaf and from within the darkness appeared the pale, gleaming surface of Tlazcotl's Eye.

Again tolled the bell, a pure tone, ringing, ringing, ringing—



Night, deepest black and stitched with glittering stars stretched out in every direction.

In a ripple of the umbral warp and weft a squashed teardrop of quicksilver curves appeared in a halo of heavenly fire. Through the void it flew on vast, diaphanous wings of violet that caught invisible currents and bent them into motion, with impossible grace the teardrop swum through the darkness. Flashing across great distances.

Signals raced across the void like lightning; aggressive demands of surrender and identity. Powers to shatter worlds and blacken the stars themselves turned themselves upon the teardrop and… quieted.

Adamantine minds of steel and iron quailed, bending their knees and supplicating themselves like meek slaves. Gnashing, growling predatory souls whined like chastised hounds.

But the voice within the quicksilver vessel ignored them all, racing on.

Soon it neared the fourth world from the star, a jewel of green and blue and white whose orbits glittered with other shapes of quicksilver; these too the voice ignored—

" —Security-and-Safety to Adversary-Collaborator, query purpose, affirm status."

Instead of making for the orbits closer to the world it made for the white moon of the world, pockmarked with craters and fissures. Finding a particular depression, perfectly circular with walls kilometers high, it gently turned and fell toward one of its walls, where the deep shadows hid a wide rectangular cavern.

From that cavern another voice reached out.

"Warning, approach restricted. Damage-dissolution-dea— "

This time the voice within the quicksilver teardrop did respond, "Local-isolate-echo-pattern, acknowledge deep-actual-secondary, confirm. Await instruction."

"Acknowledged, deep-actual-secondary. Ready."

"Alert, local-isolate-agent-primary-all, delivery pending; live specimen, sensitive high-priority. Immediate incubation/containment necessary. Acknowledge."

"Local-isolate-agent-primary-Kra'kro acknowledges, local-isolate-agent-primary-Qrua acknowledges."

Part of the vessel began to distend and pull away, forming a droplet connected only by thin quicksilver strands that eventually snapped. Free the droplet shot off towards the cavern, arcing through the void on small violet wings until it slipped between the yawning opening and came to a stop within an instant. Great basaltic walls rose on either side, their surfaces etched with mammoth labyrinthine diamonds, the ceiling and floor covered in regularly spaced designs of intertwining arcs and circles which lit the room with pure, white light.

Off the back wall, three great corridors ran off into the depths of lunar stone. Contraptions of dark metal and stone lay scattered across the vast hangar, stretched arrowheads and toppled columns.

And before the vessel floated to figures; two long, bent legs dangled beneath a wide, bloated body from which extended a pair of thick, muscled arms. Large sloping heads sat atop their bodies with a wide mouth that nearly split their face and bulging black eyes that glowed with an inner light. Their gazes were fixed firmly on the quicksilver droplet— a quiet whining, popping sound echoing through the hangar.

Finally after several moments the underside of the vessels parted like a curtain, revealing darkness.

And from within that darkness echoed out a voice like a tidal wave. Both figures rocked back as if struck, their eyes widening fractionally as the psychic pressure washed over them and their minds froze in surprise.

"Qrua, Kra'kro (Servants) (Local-isolate-agent-primary-all). Delivery; live specimen, sensitive high-priority (I come with a new specimen) (Delivery pending)."

Shocked from their momentary stupor both figures bent low in mid-air, their voices coming in perfect unison, echoing harmonies over one another, "Mistress/Lady we did not— "

"Acknowledge-receipt, query progress/status (You were not meant to. How goes the project) (Discretion required. Update)?"

"Tertiary stage has begun, implementation of divinity protocols amongst population two is proceeding rapidly. Complete inoculation expected ten to fifteen generations," said the left most of the pair as he unbent.

Their voices were as candles next to a wildfire.

"Progress amongst population one lags significantly. Proximity to existing infrastructure has led to cross-contamination," continued the other, "Either relocation or more stringent isolation protocols are required to stabilize trajectory."

"Negative (deny, affirm current priorities) (No, we will continue as we have)."

"Yes, Lady/Mistress."

"Now, a new project (Receive delivery) (Delivery of specimen shadow-laurel branch-one)."

Out of the darkness a glass sphere emerged, larger than either of the floating figures, held between two squat discs of black metal filled with some sort of clear, bubbling liquid. Within swam a long pale shape about three meters long and wormlike, with a long reptilian snout and bright, liquid eyes. For a moment the three stared at one another in silent communication.

Behind those eyes the mind that reached out was… young but quick as lightning, probing and testing even as it flinched away from their own gentle approaches.

Bright…

It flinched away from them for a moment, spinning away in a swirl of coiling flesh. Then a moment later it came back, pressing the side of its head against the glass, pale flesh oozing across the glass. A single small beady eye peered out at them.

Strange… fat… crunchy? Smelly…

Grasping hold of the contraption with their minds the two brought it between them and the creature darted away— retreating upwards to the shadows beneath the upper plate. A shiver ran down the length of its form; milky, smooth flesh became iridescent feathers, then pearlescent scales and spikes. Fins sprouted up along its side and shriveled into claws. Bone white plates pushed their way out from between spikes before melting back into scales, fangs sprouted from between its lips and multiplied. Opening wide its maw the creature snapped and then shrank bank, its eyes boring into them.

Day 22 Caxuatn's Season, 11656

"... without any further major delays, all secondary pools should be complete on time," Xehtzaihl finished saying.

From atop the Disc of Yuxa Udhi-Tegha looked down on Xehtzaihl and Awanabil'tat. Mere months remained before the new spawning pools would be ready for his own touch, though his work had begun years ago.

Each of the existing spawning pools of the temple-city took on a different form within the Geomantic Web— those of the western gate were a grand mirror bowl from which the stilt-legged spider servitors plucked the strands of new souls, while those situated around the Temples of Uxmac, Tlanxla, and Chotec were crystal moonless of suspended water, and the pools within the Temples of Xokha, Tepok, and Tlazcotl only showed in the vast moonsilver vines that ran between the temple-glyphs. Beneath those metaphysical surfaces they each connected to the vast submerged soul-kelp forest which he had explored with Ecu'otta less than three decades ago.

His time these last few years had been spent in deep meditation, submerged within the city-glyph of Zlatlan; assembling the arcane components that made up the mystical architecture of the new spawning pools. Physical location and form did not necessarily determine form and location within the Geomantic Web, but they did greatly impact it.

Existing beneath the temple-city placed the spawning pools somewhat awkwardly for geomantic purposes.

Such difficulties had already been considered before even the first pick touched stone, and now it was down to Udhi-Tegha to solve them. He might have done any number of things; 'space' was not a limited quantity in the Geomantic Web in the same way as it was in the material world, but such solutions were less than elegant. No, he had something else in mind.

Under normal conception there was nothing 'beneath' a city-glyph, only deeper layers within and an escape out. And yet… the aethyr was a place of metaphor and analogy. 'Beneath' was not simply a matter of location, but of relativistic position; an inverted topological referent across a basal plane.

From this insight Udhi-Tegha had thus found a useful new perspective from which to view the city-glyph of Zlatlan—- and the Geomantic Web more broadly, one which opened previously invisible horizons to him. Above was still the swirling moonsilver sky and the great gold-bronze plateaus and the grand, lightning filled chasms but inverted to them was now a vast, black basaltic plain under- over- (within?) a howling void. Pale flickering ghost lights occasionally seeped through the cracks and fissures in the plain.

Energy leaking through from all the many arcane mechanisms of the Geomantic Web.

Movement within the space was difficult. Souls required reference points to traverse aethyric landscapes, context from which to collapse infinite possibility down to useful options, and there were none in that place. Even the razor festooned wards were beyond sight though Udhi-Tegha could still feel them.

It took painstaking months and months of meditation to define the limits of the space for himself.

At last though there arrived a day (or perhaps night) when at last he saw dawn on the horizon— an ever approaching dawn, but that was enough to dictate the bounds of this inverted layer. He could now approach the edge just as easily as he could have before.

Doing so, he found that the dawn he had seen was the light of Zlatlan's wards which grew as he approached from a thin glow to towering walls arching high overhead. Udhi-Tegha beheld them, the interlocking gears and looping brambles sprouting from every face. Shadows moved beneath their surface in slow, patient patrols.

Turning away the slann moved again to the 'center' of the inverted basalt plain and there began to slowly construct the scaffolding of the spawning pools in pieces. Five skeletal, upside down pyramids took shape floating above the plain as he cut a circular bowl, smaller than that above, into its surface. Great collars of silverine light he wrought as guidelines for the strands of newborn souls and stacked thousands high, their inner rims lined with the glyphs of Caxuatn, Xhotl, and Xokha. Winches he forged from duty, their sides carved with the glyph of Tzunki. Strange, many-armed contraptions he built of crystal logic and whispering winds, emblazoned with the glyphs of Uxmac and Tepok. Blazing bands of brass wrought with Chotec's glyph on their inner surface.

And more. So much more.

He emerged only occasionally from his meditations to take reports on the progress of the pools and ensure his own work would not hold up the timetable. Such as now.

Nodding to Awanabil'tat and Xehtzaihl, he said, "Good. Continue your work."

Closing his eyes he began to slip away anew into meditation, the glyphs of the Disc of Yuxa lighting up and a hum filling the air of the chamber. Both skinks hurried away to quickly return to their duties, but Udhi-Tegha took no notice.

Day 7 Potec's Season, 11658

Connecting the two 'sides' of the city-glyph was simple. At least in theory. All it required was to tunnel through the 'rock' separating the two and begin to draw earthbound magic down from the active city-glyph into the inverted space 'below' it.

That was easier said than done. Moving the 'rock' was trivial, requiring only a thought, but only resulted in more 'rock' appearing to tunnel through. New 'rock' which became steadily more and more difficult to move as he continued on until no matter how strongly Udhi-Tegha willed it the 'rock' would not shift.

His own conception of the 'beneath' layer as an inverted topology working against him. It was a barrier too exact and fundamental to be pierced in so crude a manner.

But there was already something which managed to make its way from one side to the other. Searching out one of the cracks and fissures in the basalt plain, he waited until one of the ghost lights appeared and then followed it into the 'rock.' As the black 'rock' closed in around him and his spirit collapsed down into a thin strand of self he found himself assaulted by an immense ego-pressure.

Like a hurricane wind it bore down on him, whipping his soul with alien self-conceptions and fragments of broken semi-consciousnesses. He tasted sunlight on stone skin and drank starlight through crystal eyes. Insects bore through his flesh and stretched it across impossible distances.

Udhi-Tegha flooded like the tide through a network of capillaries and his senses collapsed down to the barest sense of light and dark. He felt a barrier before him… or not a barrier but a gateway? Ahead was a dim darkness— quiet and cool like the early morning.

From somewhere within he heard whispering, Huanchi.

[] Invoke Huanchi, Jaguar Lord, and pounce like a hunter upon his prey.
[] Invoke Huanchi, the Illusive, to open the way..

Notes: Comments, critique, etc. May or may not be an update next week, depending on how things go.

2 hour Moratorium
 
Experimental Pool Work: Completion
Invoke Huanchi to open the way, won.

Pressure bore down on him from all sides, the weight of mountains and continents pressing down on Udhi-Tegha like the coils of a vast earthen constrictor. Spasms of agony reverberated through his soul.

Geomancy Roll - 25 + 30 (Udhi-Tegha Magic - Disc of Yuxa) + 15 (Geomantic Web Specialist) = 70

threat/intrusion, integrity loss: 5% and rising—

More and more the spiritual pressure pressed in on him from every angle. Trapping him. Not since the Great Catastrophe had he experienced anything like it, the terrible scale of the might set against him. Udhi-Tegha had fought the greater servants of the Enemy.

—ary wards breached. Emergency purification proto—

Now he faced something greater, even through the spiritual agony he could sense the depths it could draw on. It would be utter foolishness to fight, to set himself against this foe in a contest of raw power and control; it would drown him in moments.

He could not escape, he could not fight.

But those were not his only options, not the only possibilities.

Processes built into the very structure of his soul activated. From within Udhi-Tegha heard the call of Huanchi bubbling up unbidden through the myriad layers of his spirit. Two paths opened before him and he had only an instant to decide which to take.

In one he invoked Huanchi, the Jaguar Lord, and pounced like a great hunting cat upon unsuspecting prey.

And in the other he invoked Huanchi, the Illusive, and stole down the hidden way like a shadow.

He chose and from his spiritual lips spilled the words, Huanchi, Lord of Secret Paths and False Ways.

Within the oppressive weight and pressure a glyph of sinuous shadows emerged, like the moon rising between two mountains or a thread passing through the eye of a needle.

—col activated. Intrusion isolated, diss— seal received, emergency abort. Emergency abort.

Suddenly the pressure eased and light bloomed all around Udhi-Tegha, not the bright light of the day star, but a dim sort of half-twilight, as the slann found his spirit suddenly within a darkened corridor of the Temple of Huanchi. All around him swirled whispering winds, tiny whirlwinds of dust that crashed into each other and splintered into dancing motes that caught on the flickering half light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

A particular corridor that stretched for off into an uncertain distance, its sides lined with doorways and portals that opened only into shadow and silence. Power pulsed through the stone. For a moment all was still and quiet as a grave.

Then the air crackled and lightning arced out of the doorways in a lattice of deadly plasma that burned away darkness. Anyone within the corridor at the time would have been killed instantly and even for Udhi-Tegha it was not a pleasant experience. His spirit was buffeted and battered already and the cascade of physical energy rippled into the aethyr, bruising his soul yet further.

Still it was preferable to having his spirit utterly shredded.

Crossroads of Huanchi deactivated for 1 Turn.

Day 9 Potec's Season, 11658


Damage was less than it might have been— he had been a fool to try and force his way through the 'barrier,' but the Old Ones' work could survive even the foolishness of their servants. Such was their foresight. Udhi-Tegha now knew a secret that only those of Second and First had ever known before.

His soul ached from the lesson, parts of his spirit raw and pulsating with the earning of it. Even simple spells sent tremors of agony through his soul but such things were nothing compared to the capability he now wielded.

It was simplicity itself— there was quite literally nothing to it. He need only think of it and the Geomantic Web would respond to his thoughts and yet none who had not experienced what Udhi-Tegha had were capable of matching it. For it was a change within him. In his own soul. Likely his elders in the Communion had a less… risky method of imparting the capability, but he could not regret any of it.

Perhaps in time he would come to understand the full breadth of that change, even be able to pass it on to others in Zlatlan but for the time being he was content simply to complete his work.



Simple did not mean easy though.

Connecting the new spawning pools took lunar-months of careful, painstaking manipulation as the spirit of Udhi-Tegha carved through the Geomantic Web and linked together the two competing metaphors of the city-glyph. Three whole seasons passed before the work was done. He delved through metaphysical machinery and rock, bending away golden-bronze plates of earthbound magic and tumbling gears of purest chamon, forging metaphor into meaning and building channels across an impossible distance.

Again and again and again.

Sixteen times.

Echoing cenotes, waterfalls of ghyran and azyr spilling down their sides. Darkened passageways of basaltic rock rumbling with the slow grind of continental gears. Gilt gates, their eyes shimmering with pools of aqshy and hysh.

All leading to that vast plain of dead rock, lit in a halo around each entrance by the glow of the city-glyph itself, beneath a howling void.

Which marked only the beginning of his work, for then came the task of assembling the arcane mechanisms of the pools themselves; weaving together bones of black-basaltic magic into five stepped stalactic spires set around the rim of the bowl cut into the plain. Light spilled from within each as they stretched and contracted in slow undulation, separating briefly to reveal hearts of flickering flames.

Into the curving face of the bowl he hammered the silverine collars of earthbound magic and above them he set the winches and many-armed contraptions.

Slowly, slowly he wove together the disparate fragments of magic that had been assembled over the last several decades. Drawing in the smaller pieces created by hundreds of skink artisan-priests and fitting them together into a greater and greater whole, each slotting neatly against its neighbor until they formed grand mosaic spells. Flowing into one another in fractal patterns, each spell unfurling in beauteous complexity like a hillside of flowers blooming before dawn.

Gradually parts of the greater whole began to come alive. Fragments of the mechanism activating and beginning their operations in isolation as the logic and metaphor of their constituent parts assembled themselves sufficiently. Arms of crystal logic bent and moved, spinning out threads of gossamer magic. Udhi-Tegha watched them work for a time and then from the hanging threads of possibility he conjured tiny spider-like servitors— cousins to the stilt-legged spiders above, they quickly set about gathering the remaining threads and drawing them down into the silverine collars and blazing bronze bands.

Though he gave them form it was the Web itself which animated then, filling the aethyric shells with fragments of broken consciousness and alien self-conceptions.

As the mechanism of the pools finished coalescing together great gouts of steam emerged from the rock, hissing out of cracks and fissures and the bands and collars, rising (falling) and falling (rising) until they shrouded the entire structure in a towering plume. Chilled by howling winds the steam condensed and rose (fell) in gleaming droplets of potential that carved iridescent channels through the steaming mist as they fell upward, scattering in brilliant rainbow sprays when they struck threads of magic or gathering in boiling pools after running down the sides of the enormous bowl. Beneath the black basalt, in winding tunnels lined by wheels and bands of fiery bronze the strands of souls were drawn deep into city-glyph until they too made their way to the kelp forest where finger-eels and stilt-legged spiders dwelt.

Light bloomed from the horizon in silvery ribbons carving their way across the void. Udhi-Tegha drew them towards him, knitting them into the landscape itself.

Geomancy Roll - 82 + 30 (Udhi-Tegha Magic - Disc of Yuxa) + 15 (Geomantic Web Specialist) + 1 (Seals of the Old Ones) = 128



Awanabil'tat paused mid stride, some faint hum pricking his ears and then broke out into a run as he realized what it was. The last of the enchantments had been finished just a week before. Both Xehtzaihl and Awanabil'tat had been expecting Lord Udhi-Tegha to call them to his chambers for some days now, once he woke from his meditations, so that he could inspect their work.

Evidently the mage-lord had chosen to complete his examinations… remotely.

Bursting into the main chamber he saw the rising steam gathering in strange, interlocking shapes amongst the hanging stalactites. Croaking frogs punctured the still air with startled calls of alarm. Something smaller and furry dashed between his legs, scrambling across the hard stone and into the brush on the other side of the path, nearly tripping the architect.

There was a hum in the air, a rising tone.

Regaining his balance Awanabil'tat dashed down the stone path, barely slowing to swerve around a pair of kroxigor stopped in the middle of the path, heads craned high to stare back behind them. Handles of their carts all but forgotten in their hands. Similar scenes repeated themselves as he made his way to the back of the chamber; gardeners stopped mid labor, spades clutched in their hands, and saurus warriors brought to a halt in their patrols, eyes fixed on the far wall of the chamber.

At last he reached the low buildings surrounding the pools and bolted past them. Crowds had gathered at their edges, the gathered skink and saurus and kroxigor lit by an azure glow that washed over them in rippling patterns. Pushing through Awanabil'tat at last came to look upon the spawning pools themselves— standing waves more than half a meter tall criss-crossed the waters in curving arcs, forming glyphs in the ridges and troughs that pulsed magic.

All along the outer edge of the pools the glyphs and runes carved into the stone shone with inner light, magic pouring into the waters and rising with the steam pouring off the surface in great clouds. He marveled at the flow of the aethyr in the chamber. Towering, intricate spells knit themselves through the air itself, anchoring on the tips of false stalagmites and stalactites.

Far overhead and deep beneath his feet he felt the pulsing of the Geomantic Web respond in a slow methodical rhythm.



Some became something similar to the chasms of the city-glyph above, sheer sides of black stone lit by arcing lightning and the vast forms of swimming leviathans. Others, channels of molten magic that carved through the land in the form of enormous, kilometer long glyphs. Or they became glittering bridges of starlight and crystal floating high above (below) the barren terrain, strung together on braided cables of lightning, flocks of night black feathered-skates clinging to their eaves.

Here the connecting tissue of the Geomantic Web stood out against a blank and barren landscape rather than fade into the background. It did not take active mental effort to see how the pieces of arcane machinery connected to one another, it was a self-evident fact, each of the channels, highways, and chasms connected to at least one of the pathways linking the two sides of the city-glyph together. And as the last of them finally reached the spawning pools Udhi-Tegha felt the entire world shudder.

Light flared at the horizon, racing across the darkness in a wave that lit the broken landscapes as it passed, revealing the jagged uneven terrain in thin slices. Strange, regular forms flashed by— what might have been temples and barracks, barrios and workshops, courtyards and towers. Gone as soon as they had come, swallowed up by the darkness once again. Too fast for even the mind of a slann to capture in any detail.

And then the glow reached the spawning pools and the black basalt began to burn red-gold, like cooling lava. But rather than cool and dim it only grew brighter and brighter. Tremors shook the black basalt far above (below) and rattled the weaving arms rattled in their housings,crystal spider servitors were thrown from their perches to tumble through the webbing of unwoven souls.

An interference pattern formed in the steaming plume.

Glyphs etching themselves mid-air, pulsing with power as a rising harmony rang out from every angle. Udhi-Tegha felt the tone reverberate through his spirit and into his bones— his heart raced and his blood sang, a prickle of nerves racing down his spine and limbs until at last the world went blank.

Just for an instant.



He was back in his body. Sunlight streamed in through the small windows set near the top of the chamber, playing in long rhomboids across the stone floor as the dim sounds of industry filtered in from outside. His eyelids drooped as the clarion call for slumber echoed through his thoughts.

Lifting his head felt like trying to shoulder the world itself and his limbs responded only sluggishly. But… Udhi-Tegha felt the hum of the Geomantic Web, just a thought away, and to its harmony was a new brassy tone clear like a bell.

He smiled for a moment before his mind slipped into deep slumber.

Action Completed. Zlatlan gains new Spawning Pools, Udhi-Tegha gains trait Seals of the Old Ones; Allows easier, intrinsic manipulation of the Geomantic Web. +1 when dealing with the Geomantic Web. Will grow with use.

Notes: No vote this time. I wanted to have this out yesterday, but it was fighting me. Might still have the first part of Curious Archmages out Saturday or Sunday. Comments, critique, etc.
 
Curious Archmages: Setting Out
Day 57 Chotec's Season, 11654

Hot breath ghosted across the back of their neck, a long plaintive hiss accompanying it as Atahuinqua stuck the tip of their blade into egret and with a quick motion opened it from neck to cloaca. Hot blood sprayed across the sun-warmed stone as the bird spasmed in its bindings.

Once the animal had stilled again the oracle began to pull out the entrails. Lungs, heart, liver, stomach, intestine. Each placed gingerly upon the stone in order of appearance, sunlight glittering across fat and membranes.

"Hmmmm," hummed Atanuiquna.

Grasping the fading of the soul the skink spoke a single, soundless word that stretched and thinned the veil of the world. Color bled from flesh and light until all was muted and greying. But in the place of vibrant color came shimmering traceries of chance, writ into the deposits of fat and twists of veins were the echoes of fate.

There— a spreading corona in the lungs. Curling tendrils in one lobe of the liver and scattering of embers in the lower intestine.

Atahuinqua chittered excitedly, studying the shifting forms of magic as they spread from organ to organ in dizzying patterns. Once again hot breath washed over top their head and one long, thin quill-whisker tickled the side of their neck as Tenqu'itt pressed her long snout forward to inhale the scent of fresh meat. Her breath was sickly sweet on the air.

Reaching up with one hand the oracle slapped her away, hard.

"Tch, greedy."

Rearing back as if stung the young troglodon gave out a plaintive whine; shaking her head and then burying in beneath one forelimb pitifully as she slunk away. They ignored her antics, focused entirely upon the entrails before them. Slow waves pulsed across the surface of the stomach and certain fractal patterns flickering through the fatty deposits around the upper chamber of the heart.

Continuing to disregard the increasingly noisy scratching coming from behind them Atahuinqua drew out their divining rod and focused on the magic within the meat once again.

Long practice and certain innate instinct let the oracle read meaning from such things, though such divinations were always uncertain. Movement, steady and undisturbed— effort unhurried and unbothered; whatever moved out in the world along the paths of choice ahead of Atahuinqua, it did so for reasons of its own.

No flows between organs, that meant isolated and disconnected events.

Good omens for a long journey, though… some uncertainty lingered. At last the final sparks of magic faded into nothingness and the color quickly began to leech back into the flesh before them.

Slipping their divining rod back into the loops of their belt they scooped up one of the lungs and let out a whistle.

Quick as a viper strike, heavy claws scrambled through dirt and grass and brush as Tenqu'itt bounded back over, quill-whiskers rattling quietly as she came to a halt over the oracle's shoulder. Letting out a curious breath as she sniffed the air eagerly and flicked her long tongue out.

Atahuinqua turned around and tossed the lung into the air, "Catch."

In an instant her jaws had snatched the organ out of the air and gulped it down, even the largest egret would barely be more than a light meal for the troglodon. Not yet fully grown, she had nevertheless begun to tower over the skink in the last few years, only just coming up to her shoulder. It would be another few lunar months before it was entirely safe to actually begin riding, but they'd begun training mock saddles weeks ago.

Day 59 Chotec's Season, 11654

Tenqu'itt flinched as the large male carnosaur lounging at the other end of the courtyard let out a low, contented growl as the attendants scrubbed hsi scales with a heavy brush of dried branches. One of her foreclaws scraped against the ground as she ducked close to the ground. Atahuinqua tugged on one of her whiskers and thought calming, reassuring thoughts.

"Relax," they said aloud.

She knew the scent of carnosaurs but had not yet been so close to one.

Outside of preparations for war the beasts rarely spent time in the temple-city and their territory was wide ranging. In the wild even an adult troglodon would be wary of taking on an adult carnosaur head on, a juvenile would avoid them entirely.

With a whistle Atahuinqua drew Tenqu'itt's attention, turning to head down an alley between two barracks buildings. She relaxed again as they briefly passed into the shaded confines and the scent of the carnosaur faded to a more distant thing, pressing ahead of them as they left behind the buildings again and came to one of the training yards of the southern barracks complex. Dozens of skinks gathered in the beaten dirt yard.

Several made quick signs as they noticed the Oracle and their mount before returning to their sparring.

Continuing past the training yard they came to another field. Though rather than beaten dirt and targets, this one was made of narrow earthen paths between tall rock formations scattered with shelves and wide flat tops.

As they approached Tenqu'itt's nostrils flared and she perked up excitedly, her split tail flicking back and forth as she pulled further ahead of Atahuinqua. Cold Ones dozed contentedly in the sun as their riders and handlers watched from the edges of the yard in quiet conversation. Tenqu'itt let out a quiet, quizzical hiss as her back limbs clawed at the dirt.

"Go."

In silence she sprang forward, powerful limbs carrying her across the gap in moments and then launching her high into the air.

Despite their apparent ease the Cold Ones laying on the rock she had chosen scattered before she even landed letting out squawks of alarm as they leapt down. Tenqu'itt wasted no time in chasing after them, scrambling down the side of the rock in silent excitement.

She had more experience with the Cold One packs of Zlatlan, having been introduced to several of them over the last decade and a half. It had been remarkably easy for them to accept her. And only a little longer for her to grow used to the smaller beasts and only light corrections to stop trying to see how much of them she could fit into her mouth.

Troglodon were solitary creatures by nature, save for when they were quite young or when they were mated; but the bond evidently gave them some measure of tolerance for and even desirous of company. Once introduced to them Tenqu'itt was always excited to see Cold Ones. Eager to play. Or simply to socialize.

And for their part the Cold Ones seemed to eventually conclude she was simply a larger Cold One. Whether that perception would survive her full growth remained to be seen.

By the time Atahuinqua had reached the cluster of handlers and riders, Tenqu'itt was playfully nipping at the tails of several Cold Ones— juveniles too small to receive their own riders yet, as they wove in and out beneath her.

"Oracle," said Ixtlec eldest of the riders that would be coming on the expedition.

"How come your preparations?"

"Under discussion."

"We were discussing where to focus our scouting for this first leg, Oracle," said another of the saurus.

Navigation Roll - 89 + 20 (Atahuinqua Divination) = 109

Atahuinqua nodded, that was expected. Beside the temple-guard assigned to Lord Ecu'otta, most of the expedition was composed of light troops; half of a squadron of Cold Ones, a mixed cohort and a half of skinks, one pair of carnosaur, and a flight of terradon. They would be less than three hundred in total.

Though the mage-lord held ultimate command, he had left most decisions to Atahuinqua thus far. Who had in turn decided, as there were no serious dangers expected before reaching the southern plains, it was better to leave most details to the individual commands. As an oracle Atahuinqua had little experience in command, having spent more time out in the wilderness on their own.

Most details.

Two nights ago a dream of blood and rising waters had unsettled them. After much meditation they had interpreted the omen and connected it to previous divinations, casting signs to determine how best to warn of the matter. Now, for a third time— first to the leader of the terradon and then to the chief charged with commanding the infantry, they spoke the words.

"On the morn of the forty-third day of Caxuatn's Season seek a black pillar, coiling amongst heaven's waters… seek you the flood to stem its rise."

Day 71 Chotec's Season, 11654

Weeks out of Zlatlan and the expedition had made perhaps three-quarters the speed it should have. Not for terrain or weather. What summer rains had blown in had been brief affairs and the highway running south of the temple-city ran all the way to the bank of the Yuatek.

No, what delayed the progress of the expedition was the warmbloods.

Every afternoon and morning they insisted on taking various readings of the 'local saturation of Winds' for at least an hour and Lord Ecu'otta had commanded they be indulged. According to Tyrecmion they hope to build a 'more thorough model of aethyric patterns so close to the polar gates.' Atahuinqua knew the patterns of magic well enough from centuries spent out in the wilds around Zlatlan, such talk of 'models' was the providence of priests like Zille'mi and Gif'a-gahb.



"... not as sharp as that found at similar northern latitudes," said Achmage Tyrecmion, motioning to a small scroll in hand as the other two packed up their equipment.

"Mmm."

"Which supports our theory that the lack of physical barrier plays at least some part in the lower levels of overall magic."

Ecu'otta hummed again, his half-lidded eyes following the warmblood as he animatedly expounded. They were rather clever creatures, he had to admit, having grasped at least part of the continent's relative quietude in just a few scant years— he was beginning to understand why Wik'keer'mal had invited them to Zlatlan.

"Yes, mmm, your- mm, theories strike me as sound, though I wonder how you- mm," this Eltharin was cumbersome as a language, so filled with double layered meanings (an interesting puzzle, but inefficient as a means of communication),"Plan to account for the, hmm, ah- flooding of magic."

"Flooding?" Tyrecmion blinked, "Oh, you mean the tides of magic— harytha aethyr, not sarytha."

"Mmm, yes I suppose I do."

"Well, we've been taking readings frequently from Zlatlan. Combined with previous data from similar latitudes a reasonable model should be possible, at least until we can arrange a more thorough study of… "

II, 1073, 1, 86

Sometimes, during his worst moments, Isobar found himself contemplating turning back. Now they were beyond the roads of the Zlatlani— impressive works all told, it was much harder going.

Every evening he had enough new aches to soothe out that he had cause to regret insisting on an overland journey. Carrying so much of their own gear, despite the spells to lighten its weight, and supplies through such rough terrain was near torture. Enchanted robes and ointments kept him on his feet all day.

They did not make climbing hill after hill through dense brush any easier.

Which was not to say the journey had been without its joys. One of his chief joys had always been the bounty of nature. During his apprenticeship Ghyran had called to him strongly enough that he'd made it his first Mastery and been considering a position in Avelorn before falling in with Amnil and Tyrecmion. Isobar doubted he would have done very well in the court of the Everqueen in the end.

Far too traditionalist for him.

But he had not failed to nurture that talent and joy, and so to be traversing an unexplored land was a grand gift. Each day offered fresh discoveries; new species of flower and tree and bird and reptile. Sketches filled his personal notes, with details hastily scribbled in the margins.

When time allowed he would return to catalogue them in more detail. And he'd already noted at least three species that could be cousins to those of Elthin Arvan… if they bore out it would certainly offer greater evidentiary support for Archmage Eldan's theories on heritability and migration patterns of certain bird species.

Any return though would be predicated on hiring on some hands, or pushing Amnil to accelerate his plans. He was not going to traipse around the jungle dragging his own luggage and samples again, it would take ten times as long, and he was not about to wait around for the Zlatlani to agree to another expedition. That would take even longer.

Ecu'otta and that Gar'ata'xamundi fellow were both bright and insightful, despite their grotesque forms, but the rest of the Zlatlani were nearly as incurious as Princes were. For all their gifts with magic even Zille'mi and Atahuinqua had little head for theory. If only Lord Wik'keer'mal wasn't so occupied with the running of the city, now he had been truly keen— but it was just like with Prince Thyriol, the politics of rulership took precedence over discovery.

Isobar was glad to be a fourth-cousin, House Laughingbrook's holdings were small even by Sapherian standards but he did not envy his uncle or his cousins. It would take true disaster before he would inherit.

Day 43 Caxuatn's Season, 11654

Smoke had been sighted the day before by one of the terradon riders, a black column coiling into the clear blue sky a little ways off their path, but when the first scouts had reported back what they'd found Lord Ecu'otta had allowed the diversion of most of the expedition.

Four hundred some uax. Half a season away from Zlatlan.

Far from a Waaagh, but too dangerous a sign all the same, the small large encampment showed clear signs of the beginnings of organization; at least what passed for organization amongst the greenskins. Control seemed to be divided between three separate groups; one dominated by orcs, their limbs and faces studded with bone piercings, another almost entirely made up of goblins, all marked with a cross of charcoal across their eyes, and the last roughly evenly mixed between the two.

Peaceful by the standards of uax, there were only a dozen or so fights a day in the large central fighting pit dug into the center of the low hill the settlement was situated on.

Though their forces were outnumbered significantly, Atahuinqua was unconcerned. Uax notions of security were laughable at the best of times and these greenskins hardly seemed worried about attack. 'Patrols' were limited entirely to the scattershot hunting parties that left the encampment to sate their own hunger.

Sprawling down the sides of the hill, the 'settlement' had no fortifications to speak of as it spilled across the jungle like a scar.

Half of the Cold Ones were sent in a large loop around the perimeter of the encampment in each direction while Atahuinqua and a full cohort of skinks approached from the west. Lord Ecu'otta and his temple-guard lagged somewhat behind them, along with the three warmblood Archmages. Overhead the flight of terradon watched and reported on the movements within the encampment.

Just before noon the Cold Ones swept through the outer limits of the settlement, trampling fires and scattering tents as they cut down all they encountered before fading back into the jungle. Actual casualties were light, a few dozen in total, but it succeeded in drawing the attention of the encampment. From the edge of the jungle Atahuinqua watched as much of the populace rushed towards the commotion, abandoning what 'work' they had for the promise of ensuing violence.

Tenqu'itt crouched in the shadows beside them, her whiskers twitching in anticipation.

After a few minutes the oracle raised their hand and dropped it, signalling the cohort forward.

As one, one-hundred and twenty-one skinks and one troglodon began to rush across the field— spears and clubs clutched in hand, quchi shield strapped across their backs. Long, tense minutes passed as in near complete silence; only the sound of breathing and clawed feet pounding bare earth disrupting the sound of wind and distant bird calls. No alarms were raised, no shouts of 'waaagh' met them.

Finally they were amongst the outer edges of the encampment and the cohort slowed to a steady, organized march. Shields and spears forward they crept up the hill, through the dense press of tents and huts.

The first resistance they faced was a group of grumbling orcs, too distracted by their internal complaints to notice either Atahuinqua and Tenqu'itt or the cohort of skinks they had wandered into the middle of before it was too late, none managed to do more than jostle their foes. But they were only the first. Quickly orcs and goblins began to filter back into the encampment in three and fours and fives.

Still nearly a hundred meters from the fighting pit at the center of the camp, Atahuinqua nevertheless made the choice to abandon stealth.

"Forward!"

Amidst the chaos of a disorganized greenskin tumult the sound of over a hundred skinks charging recklessly up hill was all but lost.

There was no true Waaagh to guide the orcs and goblins with preternatural instincts. Only the sense and intelligence of individual uax. And so the realization that they were being invaded came far too late to prevent the skinks from taking the fighting pit.

No other palace within the camp had anything resembling fortifications; two rows of crude timber and packed earth in a rough circle around a shallow, sunken depression. Even so, it was an untenable position. It only 'resembled' fortifications. Without proper reinforcement a few dozen greenskins could push them over with a few hours of dedicated effort and Atahuinqua did not have the supplies, muscle power, or time to shore them up.

Which the oracle had known from the beginning.

Large rocks the size of an orcs head crashed through the gathering crowds of greenskins in a staggered wave, punching a hole in the thickest knot three times in a row in the span of seconds. Dozens of orcs and goblins flinched in unison as six terradon dove out of the sky, bowling over more with the wind from their beating wings.

Chaos swirled as the crowds of gathered greenskins whirled on every passing shadow for minutes. And just as the uax were beginning to recover and organize themselves again, pressing at the four closest entrances to the pit, a chorus of ripping snarls cut through the air from behind them as the Cold Ones swept back in on their rears.

It was already over.

Atahuinqua signalled Tenqu'itt forward and the troglodon surged out of the nearest gap in the pit walls, snatching up an unfortunate goblin in her jaws and taking off his left arm in a viscous whip of her head. Following after her the oracles looked out at the melee and felt something old and deep settle in behind their eyes.

Well done, an excellent start.

Their arm raised and lightning shot forth from the tips of their fingers, spearing through three orcs before splintering off to crawl through two goblins and another orc. Another arc of lightning spit out from their other hand, catching several greenskins trying to surround Tenqu'itt; for a moment their flesh glowed from within before they dropped like empty sacks, eye sockets and mouths and ears smoking.

In but a few hours the encampment of four hundred would be a smoking ruin, for the cost of a few broken bones and torn scales.

With something of a rapport established, Ecu'otta took the remainder of the journey south to speak with the three Archmages. On what topics did he question them?

Choose two:

[] Observations so far on the aethyr
[] Their work for Prince Morethion in the north
[] Education in Saphery
[] Investigations into forest spirits
[] Opinions of Prince Menalur
[] Write-In: Subject to QM approval.

Notes: This fought me a bit too, but I'm pleased with where it ended up. Comments, critique, etc.

2 hour Moratorium
 
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Curious Archmages: Progress South
Investigations into forest spirits and Education in Saphery won.

Day 51 Caxuatn's Season, 11654

"My title? "

Tyrecmion glanced over at Ecu'otta, his face worked up into an uncertain scowl.

"Mmm, yes, I find myself curious what it means to be, ah- mmm an archmage. How one, mmm, becomes one."

Beside him, the warmblood nodded, "Right, yes," then turned back to the path ahead of them; a trail cut into the forest by the temple-guard surrounding them. After a moment, he continued, "Only those who have mastered all eight Winds of Magic and Qhaysh may claim the title, and only Hoeth's Most Devoted grant it."

"Your title is, mmm, religious?"

"No," Tyrecmion shook his head.

At the same time Amnil and Isobar said, "Yes."

Ecu'otta looked between the three of them, the ridge above one eye rising.

Tyrecmion coughed, "Hoeth gifted his priests the first spells to better understand the mysteries of the world, making them the first mages. Amongst some," he glared at his companions, "Every mage and archmage is a priest of Hoeth by dint of those gifts."

"And 'Hoeth's Most Devoted' is an archaic epithet for archmages," laughed Isobar from his position off to the right, "Few use it anymore unless they are trying to make a point."

"My master— Archmage Galihilion was rather traditional," Tyrecmion continued.

"Curious. We know something of your priesthoods and cults from Atahuinqua, but, ah," he leant forward slightly, bringing his palanquin forward and turning it so that he could face all three warmbloods at once, "Mmm, your 'master' this, ah- is the one who educated you in magic?"

"For many years, yes."

Ecu'otta turned to the other two, "All of you?"

"No, no, " Isobar shook his head.

"My first master was Ellorienne of House Coraith, then Elmarfin of Cairn Thel, and then Archmage Astadanion who taught me to weave Qhaysh," said Amnil, "Some of us have had to work."

Tyrecmion opened his mouth with a snap, aqshy flickering behind his eyes, but before her could even utter the first syllable of whatever rejoinder he was interrupted.

"My own apprenticeships were not so… notable. House Laughingbrook is well connected within Saphery— and large," laughed Isobar as if that explained something significant, "Kormendial of House Laughingbrook, an uncle of mine, was my master and Archmage Bel Amendra granted me my title."

Layers of social hierarchy, hints of political complexity, hovered just out of reach. Ecu'otta had been attentive to Wik'keer'mals lessons on warmbloods, so he had thought, but now he was beginning to suspect that confidence only revealed even more of his ignorance. He would need to consult Atahuinqua.

Their time spent amongst the warmbloods would be invaluable. For the time being the only path forward was through.

"How, mmm, do your masters choose you? That is, ah, how does your education in magic begin?"

It was Amnil who answered, "Oh in the usual way, you know," he laughed. Beside him Tyrecmion rolled his eyes.

"I imagine things are rather different for them, Amnil."

"Let us assume it is," said Ecu'otta, gesturing with one hand for one of them to continue. Trully it did not matter which.

"Very well," Amnil sighed, "Well in Saphery, usually… "

For all the supposed lack of modern religious importance to the title of archmage, general magical aptitude was still evidently uncovered by wandering priests of Hoeth— or at least something equivalent who offered their services as tutors and instructors to the populace. Or it was discovered by the devout within one's own family, how was unclear to Ecu'otta at first. After some light probing the three explained that in warmbloods magical sensitivity tended to show itself in small, accidental acts of magic.

Burst of sound and color, toys moving on their own, favorite blankets disappearing and reappearing. Usually around the beginnings of sexual maturity, but sometimes as young as only a few years of age. Horrifyingly these incidents were often brought on by bouts of strong emotions.

With such… volatility it was a wonder the warmbloods had not destroyed themselves during the Great Catastrophe.

But such outbursts were apparently easily managed by competent parents. And if not there were nearly always priests of Hoeth lurking nearby to take charge, at least in Saphery; none of the three archmages knew how other Kingdoms handled things.

Once the aptitude for magic was established it was apparently simply a matter of finding an appropriate mage or priest to begin their tutelage. That at least was sensible. Mages were often in search of students as a matter of prestige or something and though most often only took on one or two at a time, maybe three, all three warmbloods swore vehemently they had heard tales of some who had taken on four, seven, even up to ten. Some time was spent on describing the conditions of such situations in lurid detail before any of the warmbloods could be convinced to move on.

Subjection to endless toil cleaning for meager scraps of knowledge. Starvation. Frequent physical injury in… questionable trials. Insults. Humiliation. Arbitrary and manifestly confusing bouts of interrogation.

Ecu'otta almost pressed them for further details, for surely such derangement was clear evidence of the Enemy at work. He only held back as he began to suspect them of being only tales. And thankfully by the end of the third day Isobar and Tyrecmion and Amnil had moved on.

Most apprenticeships did involve a fair amount of manual labor; moving scrolls and equipment about for one's master, fetching supplies, and cleaning up after experiments. But that was simply the price of their education. Housing and food were provided along with tutelage in magic. And as one developed in mastery over the Winds they even began to participate more meaningfully, taking care of more minor rituals and preparations for more significant spells.

Some mages and archmages resided in isolated estates and towers, but most preferred life amongst the scattered towns and villages of Saphery. Ease of access to luxuries and materials was a powerful draw. And even those that did enjoy more secluded lifestyles could not be entirely self-sufficient and naturally it was their apprentices they sent to secure what was needed. Geographically close apprentices formed their own social groups, with their own internal hierarchies— Ecu'otta did not doubt Wik'keer'mal could have picked apart vast, subtle universes of social dynamics from the same conversations.

He was pleased enough simply to be able to discern a few important differences.

Isobar told tales of celebrations and gatherings with the eye of someone organizing those events. Recalling names and details rapidly, offering insights into the flow of the whole. On the other hand both Amnil and Tyrecmion gave more… isolated accounts, though for very different reasons. Tyrecmion spoke little of the gatherings themselves, his tales focused on midnight debates and whispered trades of esoterica. Meanwhile Amnil recounted each event and celebration as a scout surveying unfamiliar terrain, assessing threats and opportunities.

Ecu'otta found himself with a wealth of information to pick apart in those few weeks of conversation.

Day 53 Caxuatn's Season, 11654

Tenqu'itt tensed besides Atahuinqua as they approached the rocky outcropping.

Just a few days off the path the expedition was taking, their divinations had been circling the spot for nearly a week. With the heaviest of the jungle well behind them and the plains beginning to break up the forest with rivers of grass, the outcropping stood out like a broken tooth amidst the swell of green and yellow.

Rising just high enough above the trees clustered around its base to invite investigation, it remained otherwise unremarkable.

Deep shadows loomed from beneath the boughs and branches. Faint winds whispered through the leaves and pale tufts of grasses growing between gnarled roots, sending a shiver up Atahuinqua's spine as they pressed towards the rising of stone. Nothing else moved within the dense growth of trees.

Eventually oracle and troglodon reached the base of the outcropping and found a narrow, uneven path winding its way up the side of the stone. Vines clung to the side of the rock; greying, wrinkled fingers knotted together into a mat.

It was near noon, but in the shade of the towering stone and the canopy above it seemed almost dusk.

"Stay," Atahuinqua commanded, turning towards their companion.

Tenqu'itt shook her head back and forth, her lips curling back and her tongue flicking out as she took a step forward to join them, but with a silent command and a gesture they forced her to stop. For a brief moment their two wills struggled against one another. Fierce animal intellect and soul deep loyalty crashing against centuries of discipline and loyalty no less deep.

In the end it was Tenqu'itt who relented, stepping forward just far enough to bump the pointing hand with her head before turning away and sulking off into the shadows.

With that Atahuinqua began to climb the steep trail. It was the work of less than an hour to reach the top, or as close to it as the path went, a shelf jutting off the north face of the outcropping. Loose rock from a collapse in the ceiling covered more than a dozen beastman corpses— barely days old judging by the pools of still drying blood. More bodies lay, whole and in pieces, around the pile, their dead eyes staring blankly and their hands still clutching crude weapons.

Some with their throats torn open. Others disemboweled with long diagonal gashes.

One, holding a long gnarled branch covered in cobwebs and scraps of skin, had been torn limb from limb and then stabbed in the heart repeatedly leaving its chest a mess of gore. Strange segmented impressions showed in the pooling blood around the body, each as long as Atahuinqua's forearm.

But there were no maggots in the flesh, no smell of decay in the air. Only the iron tang of blood and the filth that all such warmbloods carried with them.

Reaching for their divining rod, Atahuinqua glimpsed a shape moving out of the corner of their eye and wheeled around raising knife and rod both in a defensive posture. Nothing. Only clear sky and the green of jungle and plains stretching out ahead of them up to the towering shapes of the mountains in the distance. Wind whispered through the opening in the ceiling.

Stalking slowly around the edge of the platform, careful to avoid stepping in any blood, channeling through the jade and obsinite banded stegadon-bone handle of their divining rod the oracle opened themselves to the courses of fate. Voices called from out of the shadows, sharp and guttural, the light of the sun waned and the world was thrown into grayscale.

Faded echoes and impressions of form ghosted across their vision. Figures tall and lithe, limbs like thin branches and eyes as large as moons stood around the chamber, their moth-eaten forms slowly filling in as they drank of the lingering soul-stuff of the dead beastmen. Atahuinqua let go of the aethyr, slowly slipping away their divining rod and blinking the world back to color.

It was not difficult to judge what had occurred. This was a place of some power, that much was clear, steeped in death and the beastmen had come here; seeking to corrupt it or seize it for themselves, but in doing so had disturbed whatever ancient protections of spirits still lingered. For their attempt they had been bloodily slaughtered.

Day 54 Caxuatn's Season to Day 18 Yuxa's Season, 11654

Eventually the light forest gave way in full to the grasslands. Yellowing grass that reached up to a skink's hips spread out in every direction as far as the eye could see, only occasionally interrupted by small copses of trees or a rare hill.

Level terrain and the lack of obstacles dramatically increased the pace of the expedition and the lack of cover invigorate both warbeasts and infantry— but it sapped the energy of the warmbloods, despite the cooling enchantments in their attire. If not for Atahuinqua and Ecu'otta it would have also posed significant problems for navigation. And their speed had other, unfortunate effects, namely the presence of the carnosaurs and so many Cold Ones drove the herds and flocks of game to flight.

With a more cautious approach the expedition might have better managed its position to keep their scents from startling the wildlife, but as it was the scouts and Cold Ones were forced to spend extra time and energy heading further afield to hunt for supplies. It was simply enough to secure water, though the quality often left something to be desired. There were few rivers in the region but spring had brought rains aplenty which filled muddy watering holes across the landscape and the onset of summer had yet to finish drying them out. And even some of the forts established to stall the advancing uax more than a century past still stood, at l;east enough to spend a night within, and their wells offered enough clean water to extend the expedition's supplies.

Besides grass and a few hardy tubers little grew on the savanna. Certainly not enough to forage for the entire expedition.

Such difficulties were no surprise though and the expedition was well provisioned to survive the journey, each Cold One carried at least enough salted and dried meat to feed itself and its rider for a season or two. Carefully rationed of course. Hardly an enjoyable experience, but the subtle magics of their gear would at least keep rider and mount capable through it.

Thankfully such measures had not yet proven necessary.

Day 19 Yuxa's Season, 11654

Ecu'otta peered down at the wrinkled, grey skin— criss crossed with scars and dusty from the dried up watering hole it had collapsed in. No signs of decomposition or scavengers. Shyish clung to the skull and drifted from between loose folds of skin like a gentle morning mist.

"Mmm, not even an hour dead."

"Remarkable," came the voice of Amnil from near the head of the beast.

He and Tyrecmion were inspecting the ear of the elephant, holding it up as his fellow archmage bent closer.

"Clearly another environmental adaptation, along with the loss of all three layers of fur and hair— greater surface area and density of blood vessels to aid in temperature regulation. Do you think they travelled all the way down from the north along the mountains?"

"Likely during the retreat of the last glaciers," this from Isobar, rounding about the feet of the beast as he completed a circuit around the corpse.

Ecu'otta doubted that supposition. He knew there were species of elephants north of Zlatlan, near Tlaqua and Nahuantl and Cuexotl, as well as more to the east in the jungles across the sea. Given their spread he doubted they were recent appearances. In fact he suspected that the ancient giants had bred a population of them even before the coming of the Old ones specially for their homelands and they had spread from there.

"And they are docile, these beasts?" Amnil asked.

Turning to the warmblood, the slann shook his head, "Intelligent and, mmm, cautious."

"Heightened aggression is a common enough Wind induced mutation," said Tyrecmion.

What lay before them was an aged bull, as large as a stegadon; clearly suffering from exhaustion and dehydration from the condition of its body. Scouting from the air had spotted it less than an hour ago.

There was still enough meat to feed a goodly portion of the Cold Ones for at least a week. If the flesh proved wholesome. Decay and contamination could be dealt with rather easily, even after death, but disease was trickier to deal with.

Ecu'otta saw no signs of illness though.

Raising one hand the slann called the scouts forward to begin butchering the body, he would need to see the state of the muscle and internal organs to be certain. At the very least though the skin and ivory from the tusks would find use.

"Do you wish to take part in the dissection?" he asked as the skinks paused a few steps away from the body.

Isobar and Tyrecmion looked up, first to ecu'otta and then to each other, before nodding as one.

"Yes," they both said, and Tyrecmion continued, "We were never able to obtain an intact specimen in Elthin Arvan— so the comparison won't be complete, but still; yes."

Stepping away from the body the third warmblood shook his head, wearing a pinched expression, "No- no. I will… organize our notes of this morning's observations."

Nodding sharply to his colleagues and then to Ecu'otta, Amnil turned and began to walk swiftly away.

More and more scouts had begun to gather, standing uncertainly in a loose circle around the body and staring at the two warmbloods still standing beside it. Overhead a pair of vultures had started circling and more were approaching in the distance.

Gesturing to one of the scouts Ecu'otta said, in slow eltharin, "Grant them blades, they will assist."

There was a brief murmur and some shifting in the crowd of scouts. Each skink carried their own tools and weapons for such tasks, Tyrecmion and Isobar's participation meant two of the skinks would not. In the end it came down to who was furthest away.

Once the pair of long, thin blades had been passed forward and given over to the warmbloods the lead skink, a young brave stepped closer and began to speak in halting eltharin.

"Begin with watching. I show way."

And then the gathered scouts descended upon the corpse. Sliding knives into loose folds of skin they swiftly began to carve away the thick hide in large sections, revealing the red glisten of muscle beneath. Zlatlan had never traded in elephant hide, the beasts were too remote from the temple-city; but the Ecu'otta had gone to battle beneath the Stampede Banner of Cuexotl, a minor artifact of the temple-city which had been lost during the Great Catastrophe, and Tlaqua had had a pair of enormous elephant hide shields too large for even kroxigor to lift that now sat within Zlatlan's vaults.

Though the flesh appeared sagging and deflated it was otherwise in good health. Whatever had caused the death of the beast had not affected its muscles beyond dehydration. Strips of meat and fat were peeled away in chunks, and other skinks took them away to be either fed to the warbeasts or stored in packs with salt.

Slicing through the stomach the first of the organs were revealed, covered by a glistening sheet of membrane that clung tightly to the folds and protrusions of the intestines and stomach. Each organ was pulled free, tied off, and cut loose before being laid out on a large sheet. Still no signs of infirmity beyond age. Many organs needed special preparations before they were safe to consume, even healthy.

At last out came the heart and Ecu'otta knew at once what had killed the beast. Calling the two warmbloods from their labor with the scouts, he held the organ aloft in a telekinetic grip.

"Weakness, mmm, of the heart," he pointed to a large tear in the aorta along a bulging section that still sluggishly leaked blood, "Possibly present from birth, ah- mmm, worsened by dehydration and age."

No risk from consumption.

Notes: No vote this time, had a bit of a busy day yesterday so didn't get to work on this as much as I wanted. Next update will likely start with spirit stuff. Comments, critique, etc.
 
Curious Archmages: Arrival
Investigations into forest spirits.

Isobar and Tyrecmion were… able enough assistants to the scouts. Steady hands making clean, precise cuts in the flesh of the beast.

But they were slow. Unused to working in such close proximity to so many others, their grasp of zar'xim hardly enough to follow the rapidfire exchanges of the working skinks. Frequently the lead scout needed to chide them in their slow, broken Eltharin when the two warmbloods became caught up discussing some point of biology between themselves.

"Discuss less. Cut. There, muscle anchor, then this leg done."

"No more staring. Liver goes bad. We need."

"Too much talking, meat spoiling. Cut, cut, cut."

Eventually the work was finished, leaving only a few scraps of meat and cartilage and fat clinging to the skeleton for the circling scavengers to pick over. Without bastiladon or stegadon the rest of the bones were too heavy to take. But ivory was a valuable resource, potent as both a reagent and a base material— protective enchantments and wardings reacted well when modified with crushed ivory, and so a pair of saurus began to hammer away at the roots of the tusks for several minutes. Bone cracked and splintered, spraying a bloody whiff into the air.

As the tusks were carefully pulled out, more or less intact, Ecu'otta drifted over to inspect them. One had a jagged, browning tip from some ancient injury and a few small, shallow cracks along the curving midsection and the other had a slight uneven curve to one side along with some pitting near the base. They were otherwise intact though.

With a flicker of will the last vestige of blood and gore sloughed off the end of the tusks as they lifted themselves and began to float towards the slann. Settling them in besides himself, curving over the high backing of his palanquin Ecu'otta gave a pleased nod and turned away.

Day 19 to Day 51 Yuxa's Season, 11654

Rain came more frequently as the expedition travelled south over the vast savanna stretching across the southern tip of the continent, sweeping across the grasslands in great sheets. Green, bright grass sprang up in its wake and the slowly meandering rivers began to fill.

These were not the great monsoons of the coastal jungle around Zlatlan, that pounded for days with heavy, drowning rains but more transitory affairs. Instead they were bands of dark clouds carving across the sky lightly showering the thirsty ground for minutes to hours before disappearing back into the winds. Grass kept the parched soil from turning muddy beneath the expedition's march.

And with the rain working to mask the scent of the Cold Ones and carnosaurs, hunting became significantly easier.

Though the warmbloods were frustrated in their observations by the influx of ghyran and azyr. One morning as the three were debating how to address the snarl in their efforts under a grey dawn, a chill breeze drifting in from the east and darker gray clouds gathering in the distance Ecu'otta lifted his head from his nightly meditation.

" —flat reduction would still be the most straightforward, adjusted, of course, by a time-rated factor," said Amnil.

To his right Tyrecmion sighed, running a hand through his black hair with an air of agitation as he grit his teeth, "My point is, " a beat, "any adjustment ought to be calculated on analysis of the entire data set."

"We'll be out here the better part of a season," scoffed the other warmblood, "I'm only talking about drawing some preliminary conclusions to guide our next steps."

"Conclu- Nonsense. Are we archmages of Saphery or Morethion's pet Storm Weavers peddling meteorological predictions?"

Amnil's face reddened at that comment, his amber flecked eyes hardening with a flicker of aqshy.

"Lileath preserve," muttered Isobar.

Ecu'otta chose then to interrupt the display, watching the warmbloods work themselves into heights of emotional exchanges was amusing at times, but rarely very productive. It was already near enough time that the expedition should have been on its way and though the scouts had hardly waited.

"We must set out," he said.

All three warmbloods paused as his palanquin drifted down the rise he had been meditating atop, sweeping past them as he gestured to the watching skinks and saurus. Even before his signal the camp had already begun to stir into motion, well attuned to his movements over the season and half they had been travelling.

"You may continue your debates as we travel."

It took another several days and nights of energetic arguing for a resolution to be reached. Ecu'otta had little interest in the particulars of the arrangement reached, though he was glad for the renewed calm that fell over their morning observations.

Particularly as it allowed him to broach another topic that had been of some interest to Wik'keer'mal. Zille'mi had reported that the three warmbloods took particular interest in spirits of nature, such as those that on occasion arose from dense forests and woodlands saturated in magic and which were even brief roadblocks to the founding of Zlatlan, Cuexotl, and the Temple of Skulls. None but the least sorts existed within the bounds of the Geomantic Web and even then only rarely.

Wik'keer'mal was curious what the warmbloods had managed to uncover in their adventures.

"Ishan orthodoxy claims three clades— though I believe they call them 'branches,' " said Tyrecmion when Ecu'otta put the question to them one day, "firstly you have the haroi-mindan, the lesser and younger spirits that come and go depending on seasons, time of day, and cycles of the moon. After them are the eldry-arhdan, intercessors between the deep forest and the test of the world. Lastly are the caell-eterdan; who remember the dream of the woods before the coming of even the Children of Isha.

From observation, we- mages in general, not us in particular, " he gestured between himself and Isobar and Amnil, "believe the first to clades correspond to spites for the first and dryads and tree kin for the second."

"And, mmm, the third clade?"

Ecu'otta did not know what a 'spite' was precisely, but he was reasonably well versed in the history of encounters with spirits and guessed it referred to the smallest order of spirits. Such entities were little more than annoyances, easily scattered with only moderate effort. 'Dryad' more easily translated into zar'xim from Eltharin, though he still had some uncertainty, but 'tree kin' was straightforward enough and correlated with some accounts of animate trees.

"Nothing positively identified as caell-eterdan has ever been observed outside of some fragmented accounts from the Incursion. Some suspect that in fact it refers to an aethyric pocket centered on the forests— "

"People are too quick to dismiss Cyandrille Dreamsinger's accounts," said Isobar, "Simply because of her later difficulties."

"Madness," said Amnil.

"She saw terrible things during the Incursion and was not the only one to… go to Ereth Khial. No one questions the details of her other accounts, why should we doubt her 'walking forest giants.' "

"Honest madness is still madness and killing yourself in an act dedicated to the Pale Queen is most definitely what I call madness."

"In any case," interrupted Tyrecmion, "Conducting in depth studies of such spirits runs into some difficulty on Ulthuan. Not least of which being, sneaking into Avelorn itself."

"Ha!" laughed Amnil, "By which he means you start sprouting thorned arrows and stumbling backwards into mysterious blades."

Tyrecmion eyed his companion for a moment before turning back to Ecu'otta, "Difficulties. Loss of patronage, misfortunes, distractions. No one jumps immediately to murder. Still, those interested in the subject have long been forced to make do with stray observation in place of close study."

"But, Elthin Arvan is far from Avelorn. Far from the Isha's sight and the spirits of its woods are perhaps not so sacred to Her as those of Ulthuan," said Isobar.

"Your studies in the north allowed you opportunity."

"Just so."

"Though, less success than might have been hoped," added Tyrecmion.

Over the following weeks the three warmbloods then traded off describing their experiences. Telling of the woods of Elthin Arvan where ancient boughs creaked and shook. Where even at noon it could appear as dark a moonless night and the shadows crept in as if alive, where the snows fell so deep they swallowed all noise except the pounding of one's own heart.

They told of sleep disturbed by strange calls in the night just loud enough to drive away sleep. Haunting wails and echoing cries. Of scattered gear come morning and tools misplaced right under their noses. Food that tasted fine but set the stomach ill-at ease for hours. Trails and tracks that led on and on until they bent towards the beginning.

Figures glimpsed in the corner of the eye— walking mushrooms, rodents with insectoid wings, flowers that scampered away when spotted, and more. No larger than a closed fist, fearless and flitting things. Spites. Those of Avelorn usually took the form of bright lights or small winged warmblood figures no taller than ankle height, but those of Elthin Arvan were evidently more wild in nature.

Capturing them took nothing more than a bit of patience, without the natural fear and caution of wild beasts the spites would simply walk themselves into a trap if it were baited properly. Anything shiny or unfamiliar drew their attention easily. Their senses, or perhaps intellect, were poor enough that they could be fooled simply by meditating. Keeping hold of them was another struggle all its own, as a rule physical form was a matter of choice for spirits, as malleable and moldable to them as clay was to the hands of the potter.

Most true for minor spirits such as spites, less so for greater and more powerful varieties.

Spites were rarely alone either. Not truly. Catch one and soon enough a swarm was descending, all clawing and biting and raising a cacophony in the middle of the forest.

Hardly a surprise then how quickly their observations became… more direct.

Though dissecting a spirit required considerable delicacy. Physical damage might not injure a spirit as it would a beast of flesh and blood, but it still had an effect; the magic that made them up could be scattered easily enough that an individual spite would lose coherence. Though that did not spell death necessarily. Just as the servants of the Enemy could survive destruction, so could spites.

In order to study a spirit closely one had to hold it captive, peeling apart the layers of its form without overly disrupting it. That was a delicate balance to strike.

But one the archmages eventually did. Centered on a core of ghur and ghyran, spites were made up of some of the most simple and straightforward magical 'elements' imaginable; curiosity, rage, joy, hunger, and so on. They acted as they did because those were the primal emotions of the forest itself— the hunger of starving beasts, the curiosity of keen-eyed ravens, the joy of tumbling squirrels, and the rage of a parent protecting its nest.



Life had crept back into the terrain surrounding the monolith, where once it had been beaten and dried earth spreading for kilometers around the collection of ramshackle huts and camps there were now fields of grass and scattered stands of trees. During the approach to the site they had encountered a few small, scattered tribes of greenskins but all had fled before them and none had approached to within more than a day of the monolith itself. Standing nearly eighty meters tall, it was a towering spar of black stone— it had a similar sheen to obsinite, though Ecu'otta could not be certain without closer examination. Etched into its sides were glyphs and geometric patterns similar to some found within Zlatlan itself.

Out to three hundreds meters from the base of the monolith there was a ring of smaller, two meters high stone spikes. And at the top of each was the lifeless skull of an orc or goblin still with scraps of loose, desiccated flesh clinging to them. As the expedition drew close the wind rose and the jaws of each skull opened silently as if to let out a voiceless scream.

Ecu'otta watched the warmbloods stare in wonder at the towering structure, their magical senses perceiving how it bent the Winds in a complex, interwoven knot that sheathed the entire monolith and reached down into the ground. With their destination in sight, the slann now considered the debate that had been held so many seasons ago in Zlatlan when the expedition had been first discussed. How much of their knowledge to reveal to these warmbloods.

While each of the slann had their own thoughts on the matter, as the one of their small communion chosen to serve as guide it was ultimately up to Ecu'otta.

What do you tell Isobar, Amnil, and Tyrecmion that you know about the monolith?

[] Truth: Tell them that the slann served the Old Ones directly and many of their masters secrets were given to them.
[] Partial Truth: Slann had been in the world since before it thawed and have learned much of the deeper mysteries of the world.
[] Partial Lie: Their divinations revealed the danger that would occur if the monolith fell to the greenskins and they then studied it in the aftermath.
[] Lie: Only what their senses and what their studies of the Winds tell them; that power moves through the monolith.

Notes: Comments, critique, etc.

2 hour Moratorium
 
Curious Archmages: Observation New
Truth won.

Day 51 Yuxa's Season, 11654

Nearer to the base of the towering monolith of black stone the air grew humid and damp— dozens of tiny streams scattering across the land, feeding ponds and puddles. Hidden by the press of young, thin trunked trees growing so dense their canopy appeared like a carpet of moss from a distance the watery terrain was a riot of flourish life. Fat, muddy frogs snatched plump insects from the air and brilliant hummingbirds fluttered from flower to flower. Small darting lizards lounged in scattered spots of sun and lapped from the puddles and streams.

Ghyran and ghur were thick in the air; mixing with ulgu in the shadows as the hungry churn of new life finding its feet, and with the hysh and aqshy in the light of the sun to become the fierce struggle for survival. Breezes carried in azyr and flushed out lingering motes of shyish.

Ecu'otta observed the Winds as they went, feeling them press against the edges of his body and soul with every step they took towards the monolith. Atahuinqua and their young troglodon led the way ahead, slipping back and forth through the small jungle with ease, a troop of saurus cutting down trees at the oracle's command to clear a path forward.

Behind him the three warmbloods chattered excitedly.

"Astonishing," whispered Tyrecmion for the seventh time.

Just a few steps away Isobar stooped to examine a line of reddish-black ants climbing up the trunk of a tree. He glanced over at Ecu'otta.

"You said this was the site of an orcish encampment?"

"Indeed. One of their, mmm, ah, shamans was… studying the site," he laughed at the thought, the flesh of his stomach shaking as the sound emerged like a roll of stones down a mountainside.

"And this is part of Zlatlan's cleansing effort, I see. Rather clever to ground the magic in something like this; though I might suggest a few modifications, nothing too drastic, what you have here is all very cleanly done— but, well greenskins magic can be… sticky."

"Mmm? No. Everything was burnt to the ground. This, ah, mmm, is a curious development."

Unforeseen. Macuiltotec had led the expedition which had cleared the uax from the site of the monolith and this did not bear the mark of his hand. Some of his subordinates had stabilised the blackened earth and ash with spells to swiftly grow grass.

But that could hardly have led to this.

Isobar blinked in surprise, turning away from the line of ants and standing up straight.

"This is not your doing?"

Ecu'otta shook his head, "Given the previous reductions in, mmm, uax population such efforts were not judged necessary. Mmm, too great an outlay of time and effort."

He began to suspect something of the manner of the situation though. Old One monoliths were rare, there were only two that he himself knew the locations of; the one here and the other at the southern peninsula of Chuqitzan'xlamund'botl. And the latter had been destroyed in the Great Catastrophe.

Shattered by the dying curse of a pox-sorcerer even as Xuaxumal led the forces of Xlanzec to shatter the host of the selfsame sorcerer. From reports prior to the sinking of Chupayotl the monolith seemed at times to act on its own to aid the defense, though the accounts were confused and uncertain.

"Some manner of aethyric resonance," suggested Tyrecmion, "Burnt you said? Large enough latent heat, combined with an inflow of cool wet air from offshore could have created the micro-climate we see. Under the right conditions a stable system could form."

Amnil frowned from beside him, "Quite unlikely."

In response Tyrecmion merely gestured to the jungle around them.

Before the other warmblood could respond, Ecu'otta said, "We shall learn more from the monolith itself."



Wrapping around the bottom of the monolith was a narrow strip of clear, shallow water criss-crossed by a loose weave of trunks or roots, or perhaps enormous vines, that rose to a scattered, patchwork canopy. Colored greyish-green, some vines were nearly a meter and a half wide and the entire network grew to eight or nine meters in some places. Here and there the interlaced wood grew thick enough to support the firing platform of a greatbow, and dense beds of moss and clusters of orchids clung to every available surface.

Beyond the waters and vines the monolith stretched high into the sky, eighty meters of black stone etched with geometric patterns and glyphs that glowed with an inner light. No gold or gemstones decorated its surface. Just plain polished stone, black as the night sky. Some of the glyphs carved into its surface were four or five meters tall, others no larger than a handspan.

And all around it, invisible to those without aethyric sense but still perceptible by the way the sheer concentration acted upon the world itself was a whirling gyre of the Winds. Meeting at a point some ten meters above the ground where a single large groove worked its way around all four sides of the monolith, forming a small ledge, the Winds were pulled into complex orbits around one another before they sank into the stone itself and effectively disappeared. Ecu'otta could only dimly perceive the magic as a faint vibration and pressure as it flowed down through the monolith towards a point somewhere below.

"We will establish an inner camp here," he said to Atahuinqua.

Most of the expedition had been left behind at the ring of spiked skulls. Though they would need to approach closer to establish a proper perimeter they would be safer remaining away from the monolith itself.

Temple-guard were well-acclimated to magically dense environments and Atahuinqua knew better than to act without precise directions— he would need to keep a close eye on the warmbloods to begin with. Until he knew better what had happened Ecu'otta would simply bear with the complaints from his temple-guard, he did not want the distraction of so many variables.

Day 51 to Day 54 Yuxa's Season, 11654

Isobar, Tyrecmion, and Amnil spent much of those first days furiously making observations of the flows of the Winds around the monolith; noting how they shifted and changed over the hours and from day to day. By the first day they had made as many notes as they had over nearly the rest of the journey down. It was quickly apparent that, despite the artifice of their scrolls condensing what they wrote, at that pace they would soon run out of scroll to write on.

Thankfully after the first two days they settled into a more sedate rhythm.

Largely because they had taken all the notes they needed to on the general behavior of the flows themselves around the monolith and once again turned their focus on the flows of the Winds on a border scale. Which they had long ago learned to condense into key observations. Direction, composition, relative speed, and so on.

But while Amnil and Tyrecmion focused on Winds around the monolith, Isobar turned his attention to the object itself.

55 Yuxa's Season, 11654

Lord Ecu'otta had been deep in meditation for the past several days, his temple-guards standing guard over his still form at the edge of the water. It would be at least another day before he returned.

Perhaps as many as three. Such a concentration of magic made reality thin and muddied the course of the future, it had slowed down all their work. Atahuinqua might have the north face of the monolith done by the time Lord Ecu'otta awoke, might.

Wading through the ankle deep waters the oracle caught sight of movement through the weave of enormous vines and stilled, hand falling to the bronze knife at their side. Behind them Tenqu'itt tensed and sank to her haunches, a tendril of anticipation shivering across the bond, ready for the hunt.

From behind a knot of vines and moss emerged the form of one of the elves, Isobar, staff in hand and robes shimmering with magic as the water at his feet bulged out in a bowl, forming a circle of semi-dry ground half a meter around his feet.

He should not be here.

Pulling on the strands of fate swimming through the air Atahuinqua cloaked themself (and Tenqu'itt) in the uncertainty of unknown futures— color bled from the world and the water at their feet grew ice cold. Whispering sighs echoed on the wind.

Stalking forward the water parted before their steps, silent as silk, without a splash.

Isobar was only a head taller than themself, quite short for an elf, with a loose mane of auburn hair and blue eyes. His blue on white robes stood out amongst the green of the jungle behind him, making for an easy target once spotted.

Once positioned directly in his path Atahuinqua waited until Tenqu'itt had pulled alongside them to drop the pall of fortune they had wrapped themselves in.

Immediately the archmage stopped, a frown appearing on his face as he blinked at the sight of skink and troglodon suddenly appearing in his path.

"Where do you go?"

"To the monolith," he said, pointing over Atahuinqua's shoulder.

"Your companions are back that way."

He blinked blankly, staring at the skink for a long moment, "Watching the Winds around the monolith. I wish to examine the thing itself… that is what we came to do after all. Do you object?"

Atahuinqua felt something clench in their stomach. They did object, very much so. Even the most minor works of the Old Ones were sacred, not for the hands of lesser beings— it was the greatest of privileges to be allowed to interact with them, and this was not a minor work.

There was power here, buried beneath dirt and stone and time. Deep.

But, the warmblood was right; it was why they had come here. Lord Wik'keer'mal himself had approved of the expedition and Lord Ecu'otta had not forbidden them from approaching the monolith. What right then did Atahuinqua have to bar him? None.

More than that, if it was the will of the slann that the warmbloods be allowed to examine the monolith did not Atahuinqua have a duty to be certain they did so safely? Works such as this required secret signs and keys, the uax shaman had spent decades fruitlessly butting heads with it and managed to steal only the smallest fraction of its power. And done, who knew how much damage in the process. How much more damage could an archmage of Saphery do?

Much more, certainly. Though not quickly.

Better if Atahuinqua ensured it was none, "No," they said at last, "Follow. Touch nothing, work no spells."

Isobar raised an eyebrow but said nothing. With a nod the oracle turned and began stomping their way across the waters towards the monolith.



For the next two days the pair gradually worked their way around the northern face of the monolith. Seemingly cut from a single block of stone, each of the four sides measured roughly ten meters and rose at a very slight incline, barely perceptible from ground level. At roughly hip height a pair of angle grooves were carved into the stone, no marking or glyph or pattern existed below that height, with clusters of etchings spaced approximately a quarter of a meter apart at chest height and one meter at shoulder height.

Most groupings were composed of a central glyph surrounded by three to five smaller glyphs with one or two distinct geometric designs connecting them together. There were resemblances to the glyphs and geometric designs of Zlatlan, but only that. Visual inspection was insufficient to assess damage.

Divining rod in hand Atahuinqua pulled on the strands of fate coursing through the monolith, watching to see if any caught on particular glyphs or clusters of markings. Hardly an exact method.

Isobar, it turned out was quite helpful.

"Do that again," he said late in the afternoon of the second day.

Atahuinqua had just finished examining a cluster of two-thirds of the way down the length of the face at shoulder height—- a large circle, radiating seven spikes, surrounded by smaller glyphs; something like a pair of crossed claws, another circle with a crescent cutout, several thin triangles arrayed in two curving rows pointed tip to tip, and something like a forked tongue or perhaps a water droplets with its end split. Nothing had happened after several repeated tests, the quavering lines of fate had settled back into place each time; echoes of dead-tongues fading into silence and dust.

Glancing over at Isobar the oracle caught a glimpse of shifting shadow and light before they flinched and released the magic. Color flooded back into the world, light simultaneously flaring and fading away. It was always disconcerting to observe warmbloods from up close and leave Atahuinqua feeling vaguely sick. Souls should not be so… smudged.

"Whatever you just did, do it again. There was… a flutter?"

They made a motion with their hand, holding it flat for a moment and then shaking it back and forth.

Pressure and heat had built up behind their eyelids, too much time spent pulling on fate. But another few moments would not be too dangerous.

Turning back to the black stone, Atahuinqua once again raised their divining rod and let magic flow through them. Shadows deepened and stretched as the world was leeched of color. From behind the faded mask of the world emerged the taut grey-white strings of fate.

With a tug they pulled on the same strand and just as before it flexed and then slowly returned to its former position, oscillating gently over several seconds before finally coming to a rest.

"Yes. There it is, an instability in… "

Notes: No vote this time, didn't quite get to where I wanted to, the characters got a bit in the way here. Comments, critique, etc.
 
Curious Archmages: Truths New
Darkness stretched away in every direction, a swallowing shadow that ate away all sense of scale and distance. Only the most faint impressions of form gave texture to the darkness around Ecu'otta, mountain ranges and cliff faces and plateaus etched as scratches into the wall of impassive night.

This was not the Geomantic Web of Zlatlan itself, busy and loud with the heady mix of metaphor and meaning, nor even the quieter rushing torrent of the connections between sites of power beyond the walls of the temple-city. It was a buried thing. Layered over by stratums of ancient magic. And at their center something like a tower, or a spire… or a needle; glowing silver and gold, its eye threaded by a vast string of grey-white that extended out into the shadow and darkness, rapidly fading away into nothingness.

As he approached the needle loomed every taller until it pierced through the darkness and into a bright, roiling sea of shifting colors. Hues and tones impossible to describe by mortal eyes.

Gradually the impassive darkness gave way to a plateau of bleached stone. Lesser structures lay scattered around the needle— pyramid-towers of the same gold-silver glow, from which crawled great many-limbed behemoths of silver who carved slow paths through the bleached stone. Each resembled something like one of the mountain apes found near Cuexotl shorn of fur, decapitated, skin rendered smooth as polished bronze, and granted half a dozen more limbs. They made no sound as they passed besides the slow grinding of their thick-fingered arms through rock.

Ecu'otta felt a pressure against his soul as he neared the outermost paths, a weight against his very being that urged him to turn back. He did not.

It was not quite insistent and had the feeling of instinct more than deliberate action; an automatic measure rather than any sort of active security. He had not yet trespassed beyond where the Old Ones allowed.

One of the behemoths neared as he did and he saw that its form was made up of a sort of swirling smoke or cloudy liquid that stirred as it moved. Little eyelets sometimes opening to absorb small tendrils of the Winds freed from the stone.

He recognized dim similarities between the function of these things and some portions of the city-glyph of Zlatlan— only wrought on a much smaller scale and rendered with immaculate efficiency. Masterful works that outshone even the efforts of the First Spawning. Engines once used to take the vast reservoirs of earthbound magic in the deep mantle of the world and turn them into other, more pliable forms of aethyr— here this great needle, in Zlatlan the temple-glyphs, now turned to the opposite end.

But where in Zlatlan the process was accidental, an adaptation born of catastrophe and apocalypse, that of the monolith appears… purposeful. Intentional. Deliberate. All the marks and signs are correct; slann know the hallmarks of the Old Ones as well as they know their own souls.

Magic moves through the aethyric structure of this place with an ease and efficiency. Without wasted movements.

Though it operates at a fraction of the scale of Zlatlan or even one of the abandoned temple-cities it is an appreciable fraction.

In the wake of the many-limbed silver smoke-ape Ecu'otta sees the bottoms of the gouges carved by its passing fill with new stone, sun-bleached white and flowing like the rising waters of a flood. These are the outer edges. Minor processes dealing with the slow saturation of the Winds into the ambient earthbound magic. Deeper within, towards the eye of the needle, there will be greater processes that refine the great torrents of the Winds he has already observed being drawn into the monolith.

They are hidden from his view though by the flow of earthbound magic coming out which bends away into a direction without name.

He crossed meter after meter of bleached stone, watching the process repeat again and again. Each path charted by an individual smoke-ape was unique, a particular set of arcane geometries which proceeded from pyramid-tower to pyramid-tower. Slipping in one side through portals that opened in the gold-silver surface as they approached only to emerge long moments late from another face. Four or five or six paths combining together to form a single vast sigil that resonated powerfully.

Closer to the needle the pressure upon his soul grew. A constant, growing suggestion that he should turn away, that this was not a place for him. Danger lurks here, whispered his own thoughts, I will suffer if I continue.

Ecu'otta shook off the thought, his manifold mind wrapping the invasive psychic splinter in a cocoon of reflexive thought as he forged ahead.

Still it grew, that whisper, with every pyramid-tower he passed. Until eventually it grew to a fever pitch as he approached the inner ring of pyramid-towers and then—

Cut off.

Before him the needle rose like a mountain high into the sky until it passed behind the black sky and the bleached stone began to slope down towards the eye of the needle, losing structure the nearer it approached. First from flat, unbroken stone to enormous boulders. Then to an avalanche of tumbling rocks and gravel, to a bank of shining white sand before it finally dissolved into a foaming ring of liquid dust at the base of the eye of the needle. Between foaming stone and the haft of the needle the eye stood line a great circle wider than a temple, the vast strands of earthbound magic flowing through it so large that greatest vessels of Zlatlan's fleet could have been lost within it.

It bent upwards into the sky, arcing overhead to form a colorless rainbow against the near featureless sky. Eventually it disappeared, taking a twist that bent it out of the small pocket of the Geomantic Web and into the greater Web where it eventually moved towards Zlatlan.

He had only a moment to take it in, for as quickly as the pressure had left, something else took its place.

"QUERY. IDENTITY, AFFIRM."

Not so much a voice anymore as it was a demand— of the space itself. Ecu'otta found himself… not quite rooted in place, but reluctant to move and answering without conscious decision.

"Ecu'otta of the Fifth Spawning," he felt multi-layered undertones of meaning threading themselves through the thought as it left him.

There was a pause as the whole pocket of the Geomantic Web seemed to consider his response.

"LOCAL-AGENT-QUINARY-ECU'OTTA, IDENTIFIED. PRIVILEGE INSUFFICIENT."

All at once the gradual slope of bleached stone before him began to rise like a lifted gate, great blocks of stone rotating upwards into a loose wall and above them the smaller rocks and gravels and sands flowing until they formed an inverted waterfall of rocks. Soon it rose ten, twenty, a hundred meters above his head and the eye of the needle was completely hidden from view, and the flow of earthbound magic with it.

"Wait, I— "

He felt the attention of the monolith turning away, the cold disinterest of a mechanical process completed.

"LOCAL-AGENT-QUINARY-ECU'OTTA. RECIPROCAL QUERY, AFFIRM."

It knew he had questions for it, how… of course, it too was a creation of the Old Ones. Aside from other slann he was too used to the slow, low bandwidth methods of communication used by lesser species of the world.

Though the form of its thoughts was unfamiliar to him it was not without logic. If anything it was more regimented and strict than his own, Ecu'otta thought a moment of how to approach the entity before continuing.

"Query. Identity, affirm."

"LOCAL-ISOLATE-SERVITOR-PATTERN-SPINWARD-SOUTH-GATE-BRIDGE, AFFIRM."

That was a start, though translating a more coherent meaning from the psychic spill of its answer was somewhat cumbersome even for him. Strange, alien meanings washed over his mind and Ecu'otta was only able to grapes three-fourths of them before the rest slipped away. 'Eastern Guardian of the South-Gate Bridge' was what he settled on.

"Local-Isolate-Servitor-Pattern-Spinward-South-Gate-Bridge, Identified. Query, status… structure/self. Condition change, local-temporal-recent."

Another pause, longer this time. So long in fact that he actually became concerned that the Guardian had decided his question unworthy of any answer at all.

But at last it did, "STATUS CONFIRM, NOMINAL/DEVIANT; UPDATED OPERATIONAL PARAMETERS RECIEV— ERROR ARCHIVE-MEMORY-CORRUPTION."

There was another brief pause.

"STRUCTURE/SELF WITHIN OPERATIONAL PARAMETERS. LOCAL-CONDITION-CHANGE, BRIEF, LOCAL-AGENT AETHYRIC ACTIVITY DETECTED, SECONDARY-CORRUPTION ELIMINATED. MAINTENANCE PROTOCOLS ACTIVATED, EXPECTED TIME UNTIL STABILIZATION; 134.118 SOLAR REVOLUTIONS."

It had detected the battle against Dorzug? And then… activated some manner of process by which to continue the process of cleansing the nearby terrain of the stain of the uax. Which would complete it a little over one-hundred and thirty-four years.

Were those protocols responsible for the sudden appearance of jungle in the midst of the savannah that dominated the southern peninsula of the continent?

"Query, confirm," he paused, uncertain how to frame his question, this was very much unlike the multi-layered sharing of thoughts between slann.

"Maintenance protocols altering, local-climate. Response to uax infestation?"

Now came the longest pause. Though now Ecu'otta had the confidence not to find himself overly concerned with the wait, it had acknowledged him as deserving of response if nothing else.

"UNKNOWN REFERENT, UAX (FLOOD, SEA LEVEL). DEFINITION, QUERY."

Quite honestly, he did not know how to define the uax succinctly. Purely physical descriptions would be insufficient, the Guardian had no eyes or ears or nose to which to relate those descriptions. Its senses were aethyric.

So instead he simply showed it— his memories; of their magics, of fighting them, rose to the surface of his thoughts like a flood and he poured them out to the Guardian. It was not so much really, he had fought them few enough times, but he had contended with a particularly stubborn tribe infesting the passes east of Cuexotl during its founding.

It took several moments to complete the process.

"CONFIRM PRESENCE, LOCAL-REFERENT-UAX. AFFIRM GOAL, STABILIZATION OF LOCAL-CLIMATE TOWARDS PREFERENCES OF LOCAL-AGENT/LOCAL-AGENT-AUXILIARY."

That confirmed his suspicions then, the monolith was using the flow of Winds to generate a jungle environment in the terrain around its base and had done so in direct response to the battle with the uax shaman decades ago. Likely it would never reach much past the line of skulls on spikes three hundred meters out from the monolith, if even that. There simply wasn't an efficient way to achieved the needed aethyric saturation beyond that, not without other nearby Geomantic infrastructure.

Of the sort that it would take Zlatlan centuries (at least over a millenia, frankly) to construct with the resources it currently possessed.

58 Yuxa's Season, 11654

He woke to the longer fingers of dusk stretching across the ground, his palanquin casting its own long shadow across the bare dirt of the clearing. One of his temple-guard stirred beside him as he shifted, it was only a slight twitch of the head but for a temple-guard that might as well have been a lengthy speech.

At least they hadn't gone forward with erecting the wooden fort they'd been threatening him with. Really.

From the edge of the clearing a familiar figure emerged from between the trees, Isobar; his hair gathered in a bun atop his head and his robes stripped down to their inner layers. Striding swiftly across he had clearly been waiting for Ecu'otta to wake from his meditations.

Curious, he thought as he watched through lidded eyes as his temple-guard brought the warmblood to a halt two meters from his palanquin with a pair of crossed halberds. More overcaution. All three of the warmbloods had been closer to him over the journey down than this one was now.

He snorted.

Then again perhaps it was good to remind this particular one that the time of a slann was not to be presumed upon, clever they might be (for warmbloods) but Ecu'otta sometimes misliked the tone they sometimes took in discussions.

"Isobar," he said before waving away his temple-guard.

Whatever discussion the warmblood wanted to have would only be more cumbersome with crossed blades in front of him.

"Ecu'otta," Isobar said after a moment, "How was your… rest?"

He laughed, "Mmm, ah, quite revealing. I was examining the monolith."

Lifting an arm he gestured to the black shape emerging from the trees. Isobar blinked, glancing at the object in question for a moment before looking back towards the slann.

"Oh. Hmm, that is… fortunate, I wanted to speak to you about that."

He said nothing to that, though he was hardly surprised.

For a long moment Isobar stared at him, waiting perhaps for Ecu'otta to say something in response. He saw little reason to say anything to that though. Whatever the warmblood wished to say Ecu'otta had little desire to engage in ritualistic warmblood nonsense of meaningless verbal exchanges to delay the conversation in question further.

"Atahuinqua has allowed me to join his own examinations of the monoliths these last few days, quite a fascinating process on its own, I should say. I can't say that I've ever encountered his form of magic before."

That was surprising enough on its own, oracles were typically solitary by inclination. Perhaps they had developed an affinity for the warmblood during their stay in Ulthuan.

Wik'keer'mal would likely be pleased by that development.

He was less surprised by the unfamiliarity of oracular magic to Isobar, though, for all its superficial resemblance to certain primitive divinatory practices and some forms of divine magic (at least by Atahuinqua's own reports). There were few enough battlefield applications. And unless you knew a great deal about souls the greater part of the lore was of extremely limited utility.

"I should not, mmm, expect you would have."

Now it was Isobar's turn to laugh, though what in particular was amusing about his words Ecu'otta did not know, "Truly though, my interest has been much more drawn to the symbols carved into the sides of the monolith."

He gave Ecu'otta a long, significant look then, waiting a long beat.

"Remarkably… familiar to others I have seen in your temples."

Leaning back against the stone backing of his palanquin he studied the archmage with renewed focus. Chamon coiled behind his eyes and ulgu danced like a whirlwind around the crown of his head as a faint patina of fading hysh clung to the edges of his eyes. Ghur and azyr raced across the muscle fibers of his limbs and heart in anxious anticipation.

He had figured something out— some connection between Zlatlan and the monolith.

But he danced around the question itself. Why? And why was he alone? Were not he and the other two in common cause? Spoke in allusion.

"You come alone. Tell me why."

Isobar held his silence for a moment, "We are guests… guests do not put questions to their hosts. It would be unseemly," he said, then he grimaced, "And I- we know how… tempers can flare in delicate situations."

Ulgu wrapped itself around his tongue in a thick shroud.

Ecu'otta recalled Zille'mi's reports from Ulthuan during the business with the Phoenix King; warmblood politics and emotions had resulted in some manner of strife between themselves and one of the itz'xa'khanx Princes, their (Non-) Mage-Lords. Did he worry that Ecu'otta would become upset? Warmbloods and their emotions.

"Ask your question. No harm will come to your or your companions because of it," he would kill them if they had interfered with the monolith or become corrupted by the Enemy.

Atahuinqua would never have allowed the former and the latter he would already have detected.

Still Isobar said nothing for several seconds as chamon and ulgu raced through his thoughts, the fading light of hysh briefly brightening around his eyes, before finally he nodded.

"What do you really know about this monolith? About its builders?"

Ecu'otta nodded, that was a question with many answers; some more complete than others. He already knew what answer he was prepared to give to the warmbloods, Ecu'otta had little taste for lies and if they proved untrustworthy he would simply kill them. But, he had little desire to repeat himself.

"Gather your companions, tomorrow we will discuss the matter."

59 Yuxa's Season, 11654

Atahuinqua crouched by the side of their mount by the edge of the water encircling the monolith, brushing the soft scales of her underside with a stiff bristled brush to dislodge parasites and debris. Several temple-guard formed a loose circle around Ecu'otta and the skink oracle, as well the three archmages, while swept through the surrounding jungle and waters. It was still early morn and the weak dawn light fell only lightly on the land.

Spots of dew clung to the edge leaves and grasses. Distant birds called out to one another in a chorus of meters, some of them older than the continents themselves.

"Last, mmm, evening your companion," he gestured to Isobar and the other two glanced at him for a moment before turning again to Ecu'otta, "And asked me what I knew of the monolith, of its creators."

"Many answers could I, ah, have given him- you; lies, truths, mixtures of the two. It is truth I tell you now, mmm, whether you are ready to hear it— we shall see."

He raised his hand and in the air appeared a small sphere of blue and white, banded around the middle by a thin ring of spotty dark green. Another smaller sphere appeared and began to circle around it, a quarter the size of the first and white-grey but pockmarked with patches of darker grey.

"Long ago, this world was icy and cold. From, mmm, the void beyond came the Old Ones," silver vessels appeared over the spheres, this was no great revelation, even the warmbloods knew of the Old Ones.

"And they saw great potential in the world, but to, ah, fulfill it it could not be as it was and so the first slann were made, they were the First… mmm," there was no word in eltharin for a Spawning, not that fully captured the meaning.

Finally he decided on, "The First Generation," he gestured to himself, "I am of the Fifth Generation. We are their servants in all things."

"Mmm, the First were to be their hands. But such a work as theirs needed more and so came we later Generations— the Second, to shift the orbit of the world and make it ready for the work,"
the image of the sphere changed, the white retreated and revealed the continents.
In their current configuration. He did not think it necessary to review the entirety of the history of the world.

"Third to found the temple-cities. Fourth, to maintain the, mmm, infrastructure needed for the work. And we Fifth to act as generals and agents, mmm, ah- ensuring the work was done correctly."

Vast oversimplifications, there had been tremendous crossover in terms of duties between the Spawnings; there were never enough slann to address every issue and matter that arose, even before the Great Catastrophe. And the Second Spawning had done much of the heavy lifting, Geomantically speaking, with the founding of the temple-cities while the Third focused on matters of organization and the uplifting of the warmbloods.

And that Ecu'otta did not think the archmages were prepared yet to hear.

"We shared in their secrets, the, mmm, ah- same secrets used in the construction of the monolith," he gestured behind himself, "That is why you see simi— "

"You, you studied under the Old Ones yourself?" Tyrtecmion asked.

"No. Mmm, only those of the First were capable of bearing their direct presence. But through them we learned their lessons well."

Amnil stared at him for a long moment, his thick arms crossed over his chest, "Very neat story. Why should we believe it?" he turned to his companions, "How do we even know their Old Ones are the same as the ones we know?"

"Silvery ships," Tyrecmion scoffed. Amnil frowned at him.

"Proves nothing. 'Silvery' just meant 'powerful' in those days."

"Ullian the Gold can barely read Filuan, much less speak on the customs and norms of the Reign of the Single Throne— "

"Friends, " interrupted Isobar, "Why don't we let Ecu'otta finish."

All three archmages turned to face him again. This too he and his brother slann had considered, how to prove the truth of their words to the warmbloods.

[] Show them the Geomantic Web.
[] Write-in: Subject to QM approval.
[] Refuse.

Notes: Comments, critique, etc.
2 hour Moratorium
 
Curious Archmages: Proof New
Show them the Geomantic Web won.

Ecu'otta could refuse.

What need did he- did Zlatlan have to convince these warmbloods? None. Wik'keer'mal may be enamored of them from his days teaching them the lessons required by the Old Ones but the Great Plan did not require their understanding. Only their adherence to it.

An unsatisfying conclusion.

Too much of the Great Plan remained obscured from them— none amongst the slann of City of Focus had never heard of Qrua or Kra'kro nor knew of facilities upon the Eye of Tlazcotl. Certainly no Old One had ever borne the title 'Adversary-Collaborator.'

Righting the course of the world would require time… time that they would not have it seemed. But that might be bought, if the warmbloods could be made to act in accordance with the needs of Zlatlan.

He briefly considered simply sending them to the archives, to let history itself prove his claims. If they would even believe them. No. It would take too much time.

Ah, well, in the end there was only one proof that would even convince warmbloods. Power.

"You feel the monolith; its power, its potential?"

Tyrecmion frowned, "Yes?"

He reached out to the guardian and it roused like a distant tremble in the earth, sending aethyric ripples out as it turned its attention onto him.

Query. Local-Agent-Quinary-Ecu'otta, Privileges.

LOCAL-AGENT-QUINARY-ECU'OTTA, ACCESS RESTRICTED: SECONDARY FUNCTIONS. ONE AUXILIARY-DEPENDENT REGISTERED; LOCAL-AGENT-AUXILIARY-ATAHUINQUA, ACCESSED RESTRICTED: SURFACE FUNCTIONS.


Ecu'otta winced as the psychic impact of its attention outside of the Geomantic Web washed over his mind. Curious… he had not mentioned Atahuinqua to the guardian and yet it knew the oracle was his subordinate.

Ah- he saw it now. Nothing direct, no. Instead a thin tendril extending from their individual connections to Zlatlan.

Query. Local-Agent-Warmblood, Privileges.

There was a brief moment of silence. Of consideration.

LOCAL-PROTOTYPE/AUXILIARY, ACCESS RESTRICTED: NO ACCESS.

Query. Response to attempted access.


Another pause then, USE OF AMBIENT RESOURCES PERMITTED. SURFACE AND TERTIARY FUNCTIONS, NON-LETHAL/MODERATE. SECONDARY FUNCTIONS, NON-LETHAL/EXTREME. PRIMARY FUNCTIONS, LETHAL.

"Reach for it," seconds had passed as he conversed with the guardian.

Tyrecmion and Amnil turned away from Ecu'otta and both looked to Isobar, who frowned slightly for a moment before he said, "It has been… resistant to my attempts— nothing worse than some pain and frustration."

Amnil nodded and turned towards the monolith, he gripped his staff; a tall, heavy thing of white wood capped at one end by a gold spike at least two centimeters long and at the other by a single jewel orb the size of a fist clasped by alternating prongs of silver and gold. Runes in gold filigree ran up and down its length, pulsing with magical power. His eyes slipped closed as Tyrecmion settled in beside him; his own staff a thing of cobalt black nearly black as night, decorated at the head by a hand cast in bronze, three fingers holding a silver crescent, while the other end held a nearly ten centimeters long spike.

Their spirits reached out, first Amnil then Tyrecmion, like frightened prey. With hesitant steps they brushed against the vague edges of the guardian, testing its boundaries for long moments.

Warmbloods relied so much upon their eyes and ears, lacking so many of the chemo-receptors for more complex olfactory sensation— their minds were simply not made to absorb more complicated sensorial environment like the aethyr. Not even the itz'xa'khanx, whose souls had been made to channel magic, could match the awareness of a slann. Ecu'otta wondered what it was like to fumble about so blindly in the world as he watched them move with what was to him, agonizingly slowness.

For long minutes neither archmage dared more than brush against the enormous collection of magic centered on the monolith. Their wills skating along its outer surface in touches so featherlight the guardian did not even rise to respond.

But at last they did press deeper, though the response was different than Ecu'otta had expected as Tyrecmion attempted to slip his will into the magical structure of the guardian.

QUERY, LOCAL-PROTOTYPE/AUXILIARY ATTEMPTING ACCESS. CHANGE DESIGNATION?

Again, unexpected. Was it simply recognizing his proximity or did it understand that he was in communication with the warmbloods? Something to puzzle out at a later time.

No.

In an instant the guardian reacted, sending out a psychic pulse across the aethyric-axis of Amnil and Tyrecmion's approach that cast them out like darts. Expression tight and pain Amnil recoiled, clutching at his head as beside him his companion hissed and sucked in his breath while his knuckles whitened on his staff.

Looking sharply towards Ecu'otta, Isobar raised an eyebrow.

"No lasting harm will come to them," he said, but his attention was elsewhere.

Even as the two warmbloods were ejected by the guardian, smaller sub-components began to swarm like a hive of angry bees and its outer shell thickened into a layer of interlocking plates. Automatic defensive response and advanced too, but then how had Dorzug managed to study the monolith for so— a thought for another time he decided.

Tyrecmion blinked tears from his eyes a moment later as beside him Amnil pressed a hand to his forehead and breathed slowly.

"That," said Amnil through gritted teeth, "Was thoroughly unpleasant."

"Can we try again yet?" asked Tyrecmion.

"Again? Why would we— "

"Because he's going to change something."

"Right, right. Thoughts still a little… muddy," Amnil said, taking a long deep breath, "Well, have you done it yet?"

Ecu'otta raised his eyebrow again.

Query. Change designation Local-Prototype/Auxiliary.

AFFIRM, STATUS CHANGE. LOCAL-PROTOTYPE/AUXILIARY TO LOCAL-AGENT-AUXILIAR-[ ]. REFERENT OR BASAL-SOUL ACCESS REQUI—


He cut off that potential request, he doubted the warmbloods would react well to a sudden invasion of their own souls.

Isobar. Amnil. Tyrecmion.

REGISTRY UPDATE: AUXILIARY/DEPENDENTS LOCAL-AGENT-AUXILIARY-ISOBAR, LOCAL-AGENT-AUXILIARY-AMNIL, LOCAL-AGENT-AUXILIARY-TYRECMION. ACCESS RESTRICTED: SURFACE FUNCTIONS. QUERY, AFFIRM.

Yes.


Then to the archmages, "You may try again. Do not push deeply."



Within the Geomantic Web the monolith was a series of seeds nested within seeds; the outer layers where the Geomantic Web interfaced with the ambient Winds blowing north from the pole or in from across the oceans, then the inner layers where Winds were transformed into earthbound magic and other deeper geomantic processes regulated the flows of energies through the Web, and finally the central core where not even Ecu'otta knew what went on. Only the outermost layers opened themselves to the warmbloods, those responsible for drawing in the Winds.

He allowed them some moments to explore what they could. Even for slann such enormous systems could be… challenging to grasp as a whole without preparation. With a shove he sent them back to their own bodies.

Have they been more aware, less taken by the enormity of what they witnessed they might have been able to resist him— they were capable enough mages to do so unless he truly exerted himself. Thankfully they did not have such awareness. Otherwise he might have risked injuring them.

With a gasp Tyrecmion's eyes shot open, " —onance states. Did you catch how many?"

"I- what? No," Amnil blinked, "I was… focused on the- the transition forms- seven- no, nine. There were at least nine separate transitional forms of aethyr like nothing I've ever seen."

"Well that's pretty strong evidence for the Savanic model over the Mandalic."

"Maybe. But unless we can reproduce them who's going to belie— "

"I believe," cut in Isobar before the other two could descend into pure theory and debate, "That you have quite thoroughly convinced us that your Old Ones and ours are one and the same."

Convincing Roll - 12 + 10 (Ecu'otta Magic) + 5 (Geomantic Web) + ?? (Eastern Guardian of the South-Gate Bridge) - ?? (Archmages) = 37

"And yet, mmm, of the rest of, ah- my claims?"

Isobar nodded, "Power and skill you have, of that we have no doubt. But claims as you have made, about beings which to us belong more to myth than fact, are not so easily believed."

Unfortunately there was little more Ecu'otta was willing to reveal to them— the deeper secrets of the Geomantic Web were not for them, not yet. Perhaps he could send them to speak to Prince Thyriol or the Everqueen… but that did not sit well with him and the time taken would be significant.

He had only power to fall back on. But power would not be enough.

Nor skill. Not even together

And yet, they were all he had.

"Mmm, very well. No more proof can I offer, ah- save a demonstration."

Query, request. Local-Condition-Change; render control of aethyric intake to Local-Agent-Quinary-Ecu'otta, affirm.

LOCAL-AGENT CONTROL OF AETHYRIC-FLOW POTENTIAL THREAT TO LOCAL-CLIMATE STABILIZATION, AFFIRM.

Yes.

AFFIRM. LOCAL-AGENT-QUINARY-ECU'OTTA ASSUMES CONTROL OF AETHYRIC FLOW.


High overhead the flows of the Winds shuddered and wavered, threatening to spill out chaotically, as the guardian released control. Laying a direct hand upon the arcane mechanisms of the monolith was a heady experience; one that few slann in Zlatlan had needed to undertake since the Great Catastrophe. Roaring across his mind they demanded his attention.

Magic flowed by his will, swirling and twisting through the air at his command in volumes that even a slann would struggle to control. Magic surged, crackling through the air as the steady flow of magic was disrupted. Frost bloomed in the air and vaporized into dewy heat as the temperature fluctuated, tree branches twisted and the ground beneath him shivered and trembled.

With a groan the earth split, dirt and stone falling away as a column rose beneath his palanquin and bore it aloft until it stood fifteen meters high. Lightning arced from the tip of the monolith to his outstretched limbs to play across the pale-yellow of his slick flesh as the air around his form began to glow in a rainbow of magic. Swirling around him the magic bent and danced as he wove it into a great spell.

Minutes turned to hours turned to days as he wove and wove and wove.

Aqshy. Ulgu. Ghur. Shyish. Hysh. Chamon. Azyr. Ghyran.

Sending great cords of finely balanced Winds dancing down into the earth before lifting them back into the sky once again in a great sphere which circumscribed a sphere fifty meters in diameter, centered on the base of the monolith. Knitted chains of spells stretched around the space in a lattice of Qhaysh as he drew in more and more magic.

Hysh and azyr and chamon unbound pieces of the earth and drew them into the air, trees and beasts still clinging to them.

Ghyran and ulgu lifted hazy curtains of sparkling water from the circular pool and set it raining down on the floating islands in light showers.

Shyish and aqshy formed great wards against the Enemy of heavenly fire that filled the air without burning.

And between them all flowed ghur, an animating will imparting motion and energy as it moved from one portion to another, visiting each but never staying in any for long. Slowly the floating islands and curtains of rainbow water began to move, the former sometimes setting down and other pieces lifting free from the ground while the latter occasionally gathered in shimmering spheres of water as large as a kroxigor that spun through the air for hours or days.

While motion and life sank into the spell Ecu'otta had worked, the chains of spells tying into the arcane systems of the monolith itself, the slann himself found his will and energy flagging. This was a larger work than he had attempted in centuries.

In time his enchantment would ensure naught but the greatest servants of the Enemy could despoil this place again, growing as the magically induced jungle grew around the monolith; though at a much slower rate. One-hundred and thirty-four years it would take for the jungle to stabilize… perhaps a millenia more would it take for his warding to catch up. But catch up it would. With that thought Ecu'otta slipped into deep slumber, not to be aroused until well after the expedition had returned to Zlatlan.

Convincing Round 2 Roll - 44 + 10 (Ecu'otta Magic) + 5 (Geomantic Web) + ?? (Eastern Guardian of the South-Gate Bridge) - ?? (Archmages) - ?? (Theory) = 84

Notes: Ending fought me a bit here, but I'm mostly happy with it. Comments, critique, etc. No vote this time, new turns next week!
 
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