High Priestess Yaska Za'Darmondiel.
1st Daughter of the High Matron's 1st Daughter, High Priestess Nadra Za'Darmondiel.
10th of Quartutus, 1492.
01:39.
***
I admit my reaction was a bit over the top when Ryda came to me chattering about some human monk's weapon. I cared little for monks. I cared not for humans. The weapons they used were no different, even if they were crafted by Elg-Horr.
A sentient weapon, on the other hand, was entirely different. They were exceptionally rare. Often only uncovered as relics from times long forgotten. Yet, Elg-Horr not only created one before evolving. He gave it away; to a human.
Now that he had evolved and ascended, Elg-Horr's divine work could be seen everywhere. Reports came slowly, initially. First, it was houses and estates floating high above the mainland. Next came tales of carriages and wagons that could cross the country in mere hours, followed by colossal machines that could do the work of a hundred slaves while being handled by one.
Then, he was made to walk. Then, he lived true to the title we gave him. Cities fell by his hand. Refugees were left to fend for themselves in the wilds while the dead occupied their former homes, wherein they too delved into the act of creation. More weapons. More machines. More carriages and wagons. More roads, houses, and estates.
More cities, populated by his undead.
Perhaps that was his master plan all along. To give such a display and depart to gather his Troupe, leaving us with nothing but those industrious undead to gaze on as we waited in frustration, anticipating the day he returned so we could come to an understanding about what we heard and saw; only to have our attention stolen by this eccentric troupe.
Therein was an opportunity, however, for if his undead were so industrious, his troupe would be as well.
So much was already determined to be true. Iris, the adopted daughter, went to each city to emplace arcane road posts capable of teleporting individuals around the lands before she infected everything with her blue essence. Blude and her quite impressive organization of rogues relocated to Shujen Bay to reportedly construct a submerged city. Yet, with everything going on above, Nydorden Halls was the most lively place of all.
This… Elven Devil's Troupe was treating the place like their home. Geri was nowhere to be seen. Yet her wolves could be seen scouring every nook and cranny of the Halls. On the contrary, her brute of a brother raised a tent a few ways away from the chambers. After going inside he hasn't been seen since. Yet all sorts of strange sounds could be heard from within. Laughing, fighting, talking; and none of those things in his voice.
The fiends, however, took it to another extreme. The only one to not be found was the elven girl, for she took Nym, Sid, and Shaenya to someplace where any of them would not be missed. But even then, the abilities she showed them became the height of discussion among the House's clergy, for the House would benefit greatly by the forsaken Mala and her children being sacrificed to the… Flesh Kitchen. Likewise, the strange goblin went around collecting bones to bring next to the brute's tent. Wherein he showcased a level of prowess never before seen in a goblin. He made a finely built abode for himself, complete with a fence and balcony.
The young human male, on the other hand, walked on the wall as if he was blessed by the spider to lay down a large carpet. On which he organized tables and alchemical equipment pulled from some type of dimensional storage in his sleeves and tinkered away silently without end.
Despite the range of skill displayed among them, none of those named were the object of my interest. That belonged to the smallest member in stature and the largest member in poise. The Bard. They loved talking. Whether about themselves or something else was up to the individual. But that was an undebatable truth.
For the first few days, I had the 1st and 2nd sons follow her and her sourceless music while she followed Elg-Horr, eating every mushroom and root that met her eyes. It took them a while to learn the sound came from her very body. Assumedly an enchantment, but I knew otherwise. There was more to her than mere enchantments, curses, or even divine blessings, thus a test was required.
The opportunity came soon after when she pitched her tent in front of the chamber containing the sentient weapons. I sent something after her to test her strength. Something her size but formidable. A gray dwarf. Unarmed but dangerous to her kind all the same. Doubly so when it used its innate powers to double in size- humanoid size, yet large for a halfling such as her.
Despite all that, the little halfling knelt to grab a stone larger than her head, effortlessly prying it from the ground to hurl it at the gray dwarf's leg. It whistled through the air and landed with a resounding crack, sending him reeling down to clutch at his knee. Bringing him close enough to be grabbed by the ear and pulled to face Rickley Ravenbrook
With her inhaling, I thought she was to scream. However, a metal funnel seemed to grow between her lips while she paused and when she exhaled, a great blazing fluid poured into the mouth of the gray dwarf, seeming to force its way down his gullet like a burrowing serpent to char his insides.
As he fell, the little halfling bent low to grab the dwarf by the ankle, then easily dragged him back to her little encampment, singing. "I can't wait to hear your secrets."
While much smaller than the bestial man's tent, Rickley's was fenced and lined on the inside with all manner of exotic items. Caskets, coffins, urns, and small obelisks were arranged around a ceremonial bowl standing atop an open chamber- none of which we knew the purpose of until she heaved the charred dwarf into the bowl.
A violet conflagration ignited the moment the dwarf found his rest, abnormally burning his remains into ash and charred bone that crept its way to the bowl's brim. As it went, Rickley's attention turned to the items scattered about until she settled on an urn that she quickly etched, carved, inlaid, and painted with artificer's perks, seemingly spurred along by the delightfully dreadful tune echoing around us.
The music seemed to affect more than just her work speed, however, as the eldritch fires seemed to burn hotter with each note. It screamed when the small bard placed the urn in the chamber beneath the bowl. Screamed and howled with the ferocious futility born from a dying beast before puttering out in a baleful hiss.
When that hiss was spent, an arcane light glowed from the sigils, seeming to beckon the ashes to funnel through a small hole into the urn.
As Rickley went to retrieve it, I heard a voice calling to me, seemingly from all directions. "Well, don't just stand there. Come take a look."
I motioned to my lessors. Sorn took the lead, approaching the strange urn with unbounded curiosity to state the obvious. "It reeks of necromancy."
"Yeah, it's an undead urn." She said proudly, setting the piece down at her feet before infusing power into her voice to incant, "Sing!"
Before my brow could raise, the urn began disintegrating before my eyes. Upon dispersing into a cloud of dust, however, the grains began to shift and reform on the ground. Forming first feet, then legs, and eventually a charred dwarven body with veins of magma spread across his skin.
"How did you speak to us, just now?" I asked.
"How? Because I'm Rickley Ravenbrook." She elegantly bowed. "Soul Celebrity. Undying Fiend. Among other things."
"You spoke to our souls?" I asked, hoping my shock was expertly hidden by my apparent interest in this undead creature. "I take it then this dwarf is now a sentient urn?"
"No. He's an Ashen Urn." Rickley corrected, gesturing to the creature. In turn, he simply closed his eyes and disintegrated once again. This time reforming into an otherwise ordinary urn of black stone. "Ashen. See." She grinned, then bent low to pick it up and show us the scalding ash filling the inside. "His ash was imbued with necromancy while his soul was sealed in the urn's clay. Then I used my song to fuse them. The urn is his spirit and soul. The ash, his mind and body.
"I'm thinking of making him a drummer, I dunno."
"Horns," I told her. "Any dwarf can chant and sing far better than they thrum and drum."
"Thanks for the tip." She smiled at me after setting the jar down. Then suddenly looked toward the chamber behind her and laughed. "I wouldn't be bothering you if you'd hurry up."
"You speak to the sentient weapon." I pointed out.
"I do."
"Have you seen it?"
"No, but I've been talking to him. Ma'Kruael. Agray soul. Amun took one soul he used to rage and merged it with another soul that was used as a mortal shield. Once it was put inside a weapon, it chose that human as its master."
"Rage?" Sorn, being a senior monk, laughed incredulously. "Amun?"
"He is not a man without anger. He just controls it. Unhealthily so." She answered, not looking away from the distant chambers in a way that detracted from her words. But I noticed it. The warning in her tone. The threat that had not been stated.
"I see you trust him entirely. Yet you are unfair to him."
"Who are you-" Ryda started, yet the halfling continued.
"How? I can see what you gain from those who receive your 'mercy.' You return nothing to him. Yet he gives all to you."
The fools, Sorn and Nijal, exchanged incredulous looks with each other. The imbeciles most likely thought her mad despite their knowledge of her ability and the weapon of the one inside the chamber. But I could see clearly, the web she was weaving.
"Hah!" she laughed again a moment later. "He is not ready? If he was not ready he would not be your master. He is on the precipice. Unable to pass because his other half holds him back. That's why you're talking to me. Because he is worthy, and you are not."
A gust of air pulled our attention to the chamber just as it exploded, pulling all nearby crimson eyes to the broken doors behind us. Within was a human with skin like light leather and a long braid of black hair trailing around him as he floated in a meditative position before his coveted weapon. Yet, it was different.
One of the small sticks condensed to form a ball and chain, and then elongated into a chain and sickle before reverting to its regular form. Only to shorten the phantom chain until the two rods connected to form a staff and break a part moments later to return to its usual form.
Reaching out, Rua took the weapon in hand, eliciting a pulse of gray ethereal fire that saw the weapon dissipate and reform as a beaded bracelet.
Upon emerging, Rua turned to Rickley. In turn, she began tapping at the strange box hanging from her neck, causing a creeping crawl of strings to resound to the tune of her taps, rising in tempo until the monk stood before her and halted the dramatic sound.
"You have my thanks. I have never seen him angry before. It was quite amusing."
"Just doing my job. Although I have been wanting to meet him." Rickley waved off his bow. "Never would've thought he would've been such a little prick, though."
The monk let out a boisterous laugh until I ribbed Nijal to probe him into moving things along. Then I moved to his chamber to catch a glimpse of it before it cascaded into his tower.
It was a mundane pond that would suddenly erupt in chaotic bursts, splashing me with unnaturally tepid water every so often. I knew not how that was supposed to represent mercy or how one was supposed to meditate in there, nor did I care. I was beyond ready for this period of waiting and meditation to be over and done with.
Thankfully, as I turned, I saw the other chambers had opened some time ago. And while they had since been assimilated into lair stones, their proctors had documented them well enough.
A short prayer allowed me to scatter along the cavern walls, wherein I jumped out to release myself from the material tether. Now with a fine vantage point, levitating among the stalactites, I could see the cat standing at the center of a dark field. Around him was a domain of glowing motes, shining in all manner of reds, purples, and golds. Impressive, no doubt, but it was the final human who had a far more interesting chamber.
His chamber held totems for each element that were reported to have multiplied and mixed, first becoming dust, mud, and lava before totems for combustion, mist, and steam formed. Earth ki then fused with itself to make a mass of crystal and metal. Likewise, air fused with itself to form a crackling sphere of lighting and what appeared to be fire, yet I could not believe it so, for fire and fire combined into a pinpoint so bright it nearly made every drow present scream in enraged anguish.
None did, however, for the monks were acclimatized to the light, and the rest were shielded by the fusion of water ki with itself.
A pearl of liquid so dark it seemed to be darkness itself.
"Oh! Come on, Durn!"
I turned in time to see Rickley running toward Amun's chamber, her strange dwarven undead wobbling behind her.
'At last.' I and probably everyone else thought. Only to have our mirth immediately stolen once Rickley, the goblin, the young human male, and the elf raced the countless undead monks to seal themselves inside Amun's chamber, leaving the rest sitting before it as if to stand guard.