the shape of justice [Rickter, Kala, Iselya]

[Rickter]

The Shape of Justice

Ash 10, 122nd Year, A.o.S.

Rickter lingered closely among those within the pack around him, keeping himself centered among them as he still held his Bondmate close. When they neared the platform where the sword was located, Iselya posed the question as to where the master of the undead entity was. No answer came. But still, the blade hovered above them, its shimmering edge beckoning as they all reluctantly drew close.

The wolf noted the beautiful craftsmanship of the weapon, and admired it even before he realized that he (or rather they) shared a vision. Of course, he hadn't any idea of it, only that he saw a glimpse of something within the blade. A prophecy maybe? Or perhaps a forewarning of what could come? What he witnessed truly both marveled and terrified him in the end. The thought of him having that much pride, to even command that much power, he thought it far beyond him to ever possess such things.

But when the vision faded away they weren't the only ones in the sanctum of this forgotten ruin. Another mysterious figure stood relatively near, pale as porcelain with ashy tones covering the exposed places of his skin. The wolf lowly growled a moment when he heard the inquiry, perplexed over what he saw and what it could all mean. "What was the point of seeing all of that?" He remarked with a sternness in his voice, clearly a little defensive while he glanced to his other companions.

He began to grow a bit impatient and eager to leave this place, knowing that they now had what they came for in their grasp. But the question remained as to who this master was, and what exactly he wanted out of them before they could leave. "Regardless," Rickter briefly shook his head after letting the entity answer, "you know we've come for that blade. So unless you have anything better to add, I'd like for us to leave so we can return home and rest." The wolf's gaze narrowed firmly on the mysterious figure, his negation rune faintly shimmering when he accessed his aether reserves.

"Iselya?" He then posed in a bit more calmer tone, though, never once looking away from their likely foe; in the event anything was tried when he prompted her to carry out with her quest. They were almost done here now, and one step closer to bringing home the missing piece of their evergrowing puzzle.

"Common" "Synskrit" "Norvaegan"
"Rickter"

"Every side attacks you when you don't pick sides."

[Laveriel]

The creature didn’t answer her. No one did. As the silence stretched, Iselya caught a glimpse of a dark figure on the sword. Before she could react, the image changed into something even more unexpected. It was crystal clear, terrifyingly so. At first, she didn’t recognize the woman, but then she realized it was her sitting atop a white horse leading an army bearing what looked like the sigil of the Dawnmartyrs.

A vision of the future? Of what she secretly longed for? Iselya could not tell. It was so far from what she imagined for herself. It could also be a forbidden fruit, carefully crafted to lure her in. Before she could dwell on the sight for too long, the vision dissipated. A man with armor and white eyes was already standing before them.

“You’re the Master then,” Iselya concluded as she took in the mysterious man. Something about him quickly told her that he was no simple mortal being. Was he the supposed necromancer that stole the sword? If he did, he had slaughtered a group “Are you the one who took the sword from the people guarding it? Why?”

Still on high alert, the siltori finally took the last set of stairs that led her down to the platform. Iratallin was in her hand with Dawnstrife hovering above her head, ready to react at the slightest hint of attack. Iselya finally stopped when she was a mere arms-length away from the sword.

The Unworthy must not touch. The Unworthy must never touch.

Funnily enough, her mind thought about an entirely different sword as she took in the silvery-white glow - the sword that took down Arcas himself, the Dawnslayer. Most members of the Dawnmartyrs would know the story well and what the sword’s properties were. The way it would drive its swordsman to kill Arcas and his followers. How when held by someone it deemed unworthy, it would burn until the wielder released it or burst into flames.

No such stories surrounded Novuril, but she wondered if the sword might reject her in a similar manner. She was a mere captain who left as Ailos crumbled. Over the years, she had failed numerous times to protect those who looked to her for leadership and decided to isolate herself.

Perhaps Rickter would be better suited for this task. She knew he had a strong connection to Arcas, much stronger than hers.

“Iselya?”

Oddly enough, the sound of the name she had used in hiding helped her center herself. It was a reminder that this was a journey she had chosen to take, to prove that she was worthy of claiming her old name. The sword was her duty, the task that had been given to her. Whatever the risk, she would be the one to take it. Whether it was a trap or that it might renounce her.

She released Iratallin from her grip, letting the sword float beside her. To replace it, she summoned a small dagger, an unnamed thing that housed her curses. While she was ready to take the risk, the siltori couldn’t help herself from preparing at least a contingency plan. The simplest use was of course using the blade to deliver curses of whatever might attack them. Then there was her second thought: should something terrible happen to her physically, she hoped to have enough time to draw whatever it was into an affliction and store it into the morbus domicillius to lessen its effect. Hopefully, it didn’t come down to that.

Iselya looked at the sword and then back at the mysterious figure. She still didn’t know what to make of him. He didn’t stop them from approaching but also did not offer the sword to them or much explanation at all. “If we proved ourselves worthy, will you allow us to take this sword?”

As she steeled herself, the dawnmartyr slowly reached out for the sword.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

His head turned toward Rickter. At that moment, as those milky white eyes settled upon the wolf, a sense of peering deep into the man’s heart would assert itself. The feeling of a presence stripping bare the deepest layers of the man’s soul drifted to the forefront of his mind.

“To show you who you are…or who you could perhaps become.” He canted his head slightly as his head turned, eyes settling upon Kala. There was a weighted silence as he regarded her before he turned his attention to Iselya. He did not respond as to whether or not he was the Master. He did, however, answer her question.

“Delivering it into the hands of the unworthy is more like it.” When Iselya stepped forward he reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword. Runic markings along the blade illuminated, flaring to life with a golden light. A silver-white fire ignited around the hilt and wrapped around the Master’s hand. He brought the sword up, brushing the fingers of his free hand over the fire burning over the one grasping the sword. His flesh did not crack nor burn. The flames followed his hand forming a small sphere of white fire that soon became limned with an edge of darkness.

“If you prove yourselves worthy, the blade is yours.” He flourished the sword, stark white eyes staring steadily at Iselya. “Let us see what lies within you.”

He clenched his free hand into a fist, sending a pulse of power rippling outward from his body. As the wave of energy radiated outward there was a sense of dizziness, a feeling of weightlessness, as though their very souls were suddenly being disjoined from their bodies.

And then…blackness.

► Show Spoiler

Kala

The world froze. All movement stopped. Kaus, Ceran, Indric, any perception of their thoughts suddenly went still as though they were between thoughts, suspended in the middle of a single moment. Nothing moved…except for the Master. Faster than she could breathe or blink, the Master was no longer on the platform but in front of her. Up close, he was taller and broader but was of a comparatively human size, if on the larger side. He leaned in close, his stark white eyes scraping past the outermost layers of her being until they found what was inside of her, what was connected to her and what potential there lay within her. He brought the sword up and tilted it so that her reflection was visible within the blade. He held it there for a moment before nodding. Planting the tip of the sword upon the ground before her, he knelt, touching his brow to the pommel of the blade.

“Maiden of Chaos. Lady of the Occult. Mother of Unity. Blessed be thy name. Hear this soul and accept unto thee this humble offering. Spread thy wings, guide us true.” With that prayer he rose to his feet before her and plunged the sword into her chest. There was no pain. The sharpness of the blade was such that it cut through all defenses as easily as a hot knife through butter. Immediately the runic markings upon the sword flared to life, tendrils of silver-white fire coiling around the blade before funneling into Kala’s body. He kept the blade in place, the fire pouring into her. As it did, a familiar awakening began to build inside of her. The opening of a door. The advent of a new horizon that had led her to standing in a field of flowers in the presence of her chosen goddess.

He withdrew the blade as a final tongue of flame entered her body. The wound sealed itself with nary a scar.

“Rise, Great Maiden.”

The world opened up before Kala as the power inside of her surged to life. It tore at her. It compelled her to follow the flow of aethereal pathways. It sang through her blood creating a heavenly chorus that no earthly words could describe.

And once again, Kala was faced with a choice. A path that only She could walk.

What would she choose?

Rickter

The Master came to stand before Rickter. His presence unseen by all, save for Kala, who was capable of seeing beyond the immediate world around her. He released the sword and with both arms he took hold of Aoren’s unconscious form. With great care, he lowered the Avialae’s body to the ground, being mindful not to injure his wings. He lowered Aoren’s head gently then grasped the sword once more.

Lowering himself into a kneel, he adopted a prayerful pose, touching his brow to the pommel of the sword.

“Black Wolf. Warrior of Light and Shadow. King of Winter. Blessed be thy name. Yours is the coming fury, the great warden that protects us. Long has thy throne been vacant.” He rose swiftly to his feet and plunged the sword into Rickter’s chest. It cut through the protections layered upon him with ease, piercing straight to his heart. Immediately the silver-white fire burst into being and began flowing into Rickter’s chest. It was answered by the Emblem of Eminence that rest upon his body. It was further answered by the Rune of Nyx that was recently joined to his soul. Light and Darkness flowed into Rickter, winding its way through his bloodstream. It plunged into the depths of his soul, rooting itself there and entwining with the spark of destiny that lay dormant inside of him.

“Awaken, O’ Lord of Frost. Dark shall be thy wrath just as Light shall be thy savior.”

He withdrew the sword. The wound sealed itself as the tendrils of dark and light flames wove themselves into his being.
Inside of Rickter, a surge of power swelled to life. It was burning. It was overwhelming. It was all-consuming. It was terrifying. It was arousing. It was thrilling. It was horrifying. All at once, the world opened up to him in ways that no mortals could describe.

But his eyes were mortal no longer.

Iselya

The Master came to stand before Iselya, his milky white eyes examining her closely. A softness entered his gaze as he beheld her.

“Long has been thy road, noble warrior.” Bringing up a hand, he brushed aside some of the strands. The weariness in Iselya’s elven face, the burden of her journey, the horrors she had seen and fought, all of it seemed starkly written there upon her skin. Slowly, the Master went into a kneel, planting the tip of the sword upon the ground before her.

“Weary Fighter. Many are the horrors you have witnessed. Fear has ever been thy companion. Question not thy resolve, for the purity of thy soul rests not in the denial of Darkness but in the balance of it.” Rising swiftly to his feet, he did as he had done with the others. He plunged the sword into Iselya’s chest causing the fires of Novuril to ignite once more. They were joined by the darkness of the rune that now rest upon her. Dark and Light wove together as the spark of Iselya’s soul was touched by both powers on a level that she had not previously known. He remained fixed in that pose for a moment, before withdrawing the blade. In the place of where the sword had been…another Mark of Eminence rest upon her chest.

He nodded.

The world came crashing back into motion. For Kala, she had seen it all, even if she could not move to stop or participate in the events. Rickter would be dropped to his knees as a new power blossomed in his soul. The heightened awareness, the rush of new sensations, the shattering and rebuilding of his mind over and over in the blink of an eye, all of it pressing down upon him as he returned from the dizzying blackness that had consumed him. Iselya would find herself utterly exhausted, with barely the strength to stand. Her blades would clatter to the ground. But in that exhaustion, there was a sense of harmony that had been absent before. An inner balance that had not asserted itself in many years. This was followed by a sense that her patron deity, Arcas, was with her. His strength was her strength. Present. Waiting. Only but a hair’s breadth away, within reach and hers if she would ask for it.

The Master knelt before Iselya and with a sweep of the blade, produced a scabbard. He inserted it slowly then extended the sword to her.

“You are worthy.”

Off Topic

Only Kala is consciously aware of what transpired following the freezing of this moment in time.

[Kala Leukos]

.

Kala was here and now. She was also outside of space and time. It would take quite a while before she was able to articulate the experience, as well as the experiences of those around her, time passing distinctly between multiple threads of time, experiencing the birth of something superhuman in Rickter, experiencing Aoren laid gently upon the ground, experiencing the explosion of grace in Iselya, the Void and the Light, the Sword and the Sheath.

The sword pierced her flesh without harming, battering down a door she hadn't known was there.

Kala was here and now, alone with the Master. She was also in that field with Mother Naori. Her black flowers burned like stars, Void and Light. Her Divine Mother smiled, laughed.

Where the sword had gone, there was only light, as though her heart were the furnace of creation. And then it was hidden once more.

As time collapsed once more, as her brother and her followers crashed back into her psyche, she was on her knees. Her hands were raised to her chest, her lips parted as she gazed starry-eyed toward the ceiling, the picture of transverberation.

Ş̴̧̨̭̙̳̦͔̙̝̈́̀̋́̎͘t̵̤͗a̵̢̰̤̗̞͔̘͂̉̓͌̍̑͘͜͜r̶̢̜̱͓̫̥͕̲̱͊̀̌́ͅs̸̹̖͍̻͙̺̠͎̒̈͛̃̇̓͑͗͝͝.̴̩̺̙̪̱̠̱͓̳̆͑̀̾̌̀͛͛͝

The wings of the airborn Avialae missed a beat, but none fell from the air. Instead they returned to land among those tested by the Master. They could feel Kala evolving, transforming, even though her diminutive form remained the same. She was already rising as the Master bade her. Unsure whether the secret of her divinity remained that, she would perhaps suss things out whenever they retreated from this place. For now, though, she nodded to the Master, acknowledging what had been said and what, perhaps, had been implied.

Then she knelt beside Aoren, seeing him more keenly than ever before.

Carefully, she placed her hand over his heart, and then she reached out through Marda Ahtivan to the priestess' goddess. She begged the favor of healing the fallen dragon, and if a favor were required in exchange, so be it.

Ȉ̷̗̬̬̻̼́͆̍͑̔̌̀̚̚̕͠o̸̮̤̯͕͈͕̾̊̎̌͆̀̃͑̄̓̌͗̑̅̃͐͆n̸͇̦͉̭̰͈͈̖͕̯̲͆̋̀̆͗͒̇̓̂́͗͗̉͘̕͜͝ỉ̴̡̘͖̜̥̣̜͙͉͉͍̘̠̲̘̑̋̈́̍̎̌͌̔̕͠r̸̙͚̰͕̞͙͂̑̍̆̿͊̀̓̏͘͠ḯ̵̢̛̺̗͙̼̱̘̤̆̾̏̅͐̄̂̔͐,̶͎̩̹̳̘̏͘ ̷̢̡̡̣͍̙̗͎̝̦̲̲̼̠̼̼̊̕ḁ̵̧̛̞͉̣̬̩̹̩̜̹͚̹̘̎͂͂̒̀́̈́͜ͅį̸̫͈̜̯͍̀̅̇̈́d̷̥̭̏̉͌̒̄̆̋͑̿̅͂͛̈́̈́͐͠ͅ ̸̨̬͈̤͎͈̃̈̏͊͗̌̀̋̒̔̀̑̕͘͝ͅͅm̵͔̙̺̹͚̻̝̯̞̖̫͇̮͒̄̒̍̇̽͗̇̾̍͗̚͠e̴̞̦̜͔͇̱̥͂̒̔͑̄̓̈́̐̓͝ͅͅ ̸͚̩̤̠̗̳̃́n̵̢̟̱̩͇̮̬̎̾̑̓͛̊͐̓͆́́͗͂͋̀͝ͅȯ̵̧̝̘̜̫̞̦̮͕̣̂͗̿̉́̈́̈́̾̔̇̆͌̌̕w̷̡͚̣̯̫̻̤̠͘͝.̷̧̢̤̳̤̼̬̫͔̲̄͌̔̇̅

.

[Rickter]

The Shape of Justice

Ash 10, 122nd Year, A.o.S.

So the mysterious figure came with answers in the form of a riddle, something that the wolf nearly chuffed at before he glanced back down at his companion. Aoren was still unconscious, even so, Rickter had prepared for anything to the best of his ability. Yet he wasn't in the slightest prepared for what came next. A chance to prove themselves worthy, a test he thought limited mostly to the one shepherded here. However, it seemed Iselya wasn't the only one meant to be tested at this moment in time.

A ripple shook the layers of aether he'd laced earlier, and for a moment, Rickter felt the gravity of his world shift entirely. A different sense of motion surged through his gut when he felt the shift, and before he could process the event with a reaction everything started to fade into darkness. Things clearly happened that he was not aware of, for when consciousness seemed to reign back in, it returned with a great deal of accompaniment between feelings that he'd never felt before.

One blink and his lover laid on the floor, rested in a position of serenity before Kala seemed to move his way. Even before he could move to react, Rickter's expression shifted to one of sheer horror before he fell onto his hands and knees. "What... just...?" It grew too hard to even mutter the question. His breathing escalated as he felt intensifying power roil through him, threatening to overtake him even as he clutched at the stone floor. The heat of Eminence flowed throughout his entire being from his core, along with a darker power he had yet to fully realize until just now.

What the hell was going on?!

► Show Spoiler

Shadows leaped from all around him as gales whipped harshly throughout the mountain peaks, smaller entities that crawled across the surface of snow and ice threatened not just him... but his pack. What Rickter saw the scape of shadows expansively grow, as the horizon beyond the mountains possessed an eerie dark cloud at every turn. The wolf felt fear with a burdening sense of concern for himself, a feeling he never really expressed until now, when the thick of battle consumed his every thought.

And then it appeared.

The rune of Nyx crested upon his right forearm, mirroring the Emblem of Eminence on the left, with an eerie glow that filled him with both comfort and dread. The power that coursed through him at that moment felt immense, far too much for him to control outright, as the shadows the rune beckoned threatened to veil Rickter before his companions.

A glimpse?! His mind felt searing pain and pleasure coursing through it as he nearly raked the stone floor, his groans and hisses met with the painful clenching of his teeth. So much power. Too much. He really felt himself about to burst from it all, the wards placed on him before already failing as they fizzled out. All the protections he'd instilled, all the contingencies prepared in the event he needed to react in a timely manner. It all came undone just as he did, and the wolf felt his mind and soul reeling from the overwhelming rush that surged through him.

► Show Spoiler

"Enrick..." He opened his eyes to see a familiar sight upon him, that of a dear friend whose gaze always seemed somber. Tiberius stood before him within the azure armor he always donned, while his somber stare never once swayed from the massive golden tree before the horizon. The warm waters of the realm venerated a soft luminance to the ancestor, while Tiberius himself remained perplexed at something discussed between them. "Do you really believe in doing this? What you're sacrificing... what Myshala has asked of us..."

"It will all work out," Rickter heard himself speak but it was no longer his voice, "we made a promise after all. A promise on His behalf." And yet that promise came with a steep price, one that Rickter somehow knew but also failed to understand. He felt it ingrained in his very bones, however, that hefty cost that would strip away all of who he was now. He felt terrified but he also felt... hopeful for a change. "If we're to break this cycle, and to save Him, then what other choice do we have than this?"

"So you'll give up everything just to see Him again?" Tiberius' stern eyes moved to him now, and for what it was worth Rickter felt himself gently smiling in return. "Your whole life and being? Even your Divinity? All of that is worth the chance of seeing Him again?"

"...Yes." Rickter agreed wholeheartedly after some thought. "Divinity has never really mattered to me, besides, whatever remains of me will exist through you. You are the key in this, Tiberius, and despite what Myshala has said..." Tiberius' gaze widened in awe. "I'm certain one day the three of us will be together again."

The world around Rickter blurred and lessened to a realm of darkness then, as the figure of Tiberius still remained before he shifted to face him. And then, a manifestation of silver light radiated near the both of them, as the sensations of a familiar drift resonated throughout Rickter. "Hello, old friend." Arcas greeted with a smile both proud and sad, as the azure knight chimed in when his turn came.

"You said we'd meet again," Rickter felt the voice echoing through him again once more, and a realization dawned on him when he remembered this event, "but when we did, we might not recognize one another."

Through pained tears his eyes widened from realization, as Rickter clutched a hand over his sternum tightly. He hadn't any idea what took place within him, only that these memories were echoing through him from different points in time. Memories that weren't yet his, and now memories that didn't originally belong to him. Yet... he felt his connection strengthen just now, the chains that bound him to his ancestors resonated deep within his being different than before.

The moment Rickter recognized that reunion between him and Arcas, that initial meeting brought all three souls into a space shared between them. And now the wolf felt the embers of that meeting kindle in his heart, giving birth to a flame long dormant since before his mortal lifetime. That wasn't all. Light and shadow no longer warred with one another, instead, they danced in harmony as every fiber in his being felt changed. Altered. For Rickter this wasn't just an awakening of powers within, no, he felt himself more evolving into something more than he once was.

The plethora of feelings was all so very difficult to sift through, let alone process, yet Rickter's pained jaw finally started to lessen when he felt the aftershock of this immensity pass through him. The very air around him felt differently now, accompanied with a chill not unlike what he carried before. Only this time he could hear sounds he'd never heard before, and smell different traces of aether from within the very room they were in. Confusion bred suspicion as he finally looked up from where he'd fallen, his eyes now noticeable a brighter icy blue compared to the deep steel hues they were before.

"I don't..." He didn't understand. He hardly ever did when it came to these things, whether fate or destiny was what brought him to these moments. Either way, he gazed upon his companions with uncertainty, clearly exhausted from the turbulence of power and emotion that welled up deep within him.

"Common" "Synskrit" "Norvaegan"
"Rickter"

"Every side attacks you when you don't pick sides."

[Laveriel]

“Let us see what lies within you.”

The world suddenly spun and before she could react, everything went black. Iselya did not feel the time that had passed or the sword that had plunged into her chest. All she knew was that she felt the wind getting knocked out of her and all the strength from her being was drained out of her. All her weapons dropped on the floor, even the dagger slipped from her grip. Her body swayed as the world struggled to come into focus.

“Iselya!” Valron bolted towards her, catching her before she fell. His touch steadied her and helped her center herself. The dizziness was slowly fading away and she slowly looked around.

Somehow Kala was already tending to Aoren who was laid on the ground. Rickter was kneeling down and his eyes glowed an otherworldly blue. Those were the only hints to her that something had happened. Still, everyone was alive. “Is everyone alright?”

“I’m fine,” the siltori assured as her companion kept scanning her for injuries. Her hand drifted to her chest as she noticed the faint warmth. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. She had felt it more than a century ago, when Arcas first marked her. Something had changed inside her. It felt like she was finally settling back into her own skin.

After sheathing the blade, the mysterious man offered it to her. “You are worthy.”

This time she didn’t hesitate. Iselya grabbed the sword and felt the weight of it in her hand, the reality slowly sinking in. Her heart was pounding and blood rushed through her veins. In her hand was Novuril, the blade of Arcas. A long time ago, she was a mere captain tasked to deliver it safely, to hide it, afforded only a brief glimpse of the sword. Now, here she was holding it and once again entrusted to bring it to the Lord of Light himself. “Thank you,” she replied to the Master, her voice breathless.

Her questions had gone unanswered before, but seeing him hold the sword with ease just now… It was impossible not to want to know. Iselya asked softly, “Who are you?”

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

There was an answer across the light bond that Kala maintained with the venerable priestess. Through her, the demigoddess of healing lent what strength she could through the fledgling bond and by that extension, the gift of health was granted. Aoren drew in a breath, color returning to his form. He breathed steadily. As her presence receded, the goddess imparted a small note of reassurance to Kala. What could be done through that link had been. After a moment, the warrior groaned and opened his eyes. Elemental fires burned in his irises and it was a moment before full wakefulness came rushing back to him. He jolted up, eyes wide as he regarded where they were, the state of all of them.

“Wha--where? Is everyone---?” He looked at each of them, his eyes settling upon Kala. “Are you--?”

Something resembling understanding and realization dawned in his eyes. Then his attention snapped to Rickter before he grimaced and pressed a hand to his chest. Aoren squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. He reached out and gave Kala a thankful squeeze on her shoulder before shuffling over to Rickter. Grunting in pain he extended himself to Rickter across the Bond that they shared as he recognized in full what was transpiring there.

“B-breathe, my wolf. Breathe. Do not try to restrain yourself. Let it---ah!” He shivered and knelt next to Rickter as the Rathari struggled internally with what was happening to him. He recognized what was occurring, having been Bonded fully with Talon after his partner had gone through his ascensions.

“That’s it.” He brought a hand up and took one of Rickter’s hands into his own. “Feel this. Be grounded by this. Do not be afraid.”

When the worst of it began to fade, he slumped against Rickter and pressed his forehead to the Rathari’s shoulder. He gave a grateful nod to Kala and the others. After a moment, he let out a long sigh.

“Fuck…”

---

There was a tingling pulse as Iselya’s hand touched the sword. It was as though something were inspecting her, examining her. The sensation that something was peering into her very soul was heavy for a moment before it passed. This was followed by a warmth.

Novuril. The Sword of Dawn. It was hers. It was in her grasp.

Milky white eyes regarded her quietly. The Master rose to his feet, unconcerned with the presence of any others. He turned on his heel and began walking toward the opposite side of the platform. He did not answer her as he walked away. The edges of his cloak began to sway slightly in an unseen wind as his form became more and more translucent.

“We will meet again, Laveriel of Blades.” The Master continued walking until his form faded completely out of sight. Inspection with even aethereal senses showed that he was nowhere to be found.

The hall stood empty. All that remained was for its occupants to gather themselves and return from whence they came.

But as was so common when venturing down in the Warrens, none of them would be leaving as who or what they first entered as. In the end however, it would be up to them to determine what that ultimately meant.

Off Topic

R E W A R D S

Name: Rickter
XP: +15 XP, can be used for magic.
Requested Lore: +10 Lores

Name: Kala
XP: +15 XP, can be used for magic.
Requested Lore: +10 Lores

Name: Iselya
XP: +15 XP, can be used for magic.
Requested Lore: +10 Lores

Note(s):

Rickter has achieved Demigodhood. He is now an Ascendant Demigod as described in the wiki page. At a time of your choosing, you may introduce an Emblem to the Support Forum. From this date onward, Rickter now has dominion over the Divine Portfolio of Winter and all that entails. He may exert godly influence over that portfolio and express it in a manner of his choosing. Additionally, Rickter has been marked with the Rune of Nyx as of this date. This is earlier than what transpires in the rest of the world. A strange occurrence but...stranger things have happened.

Kala has achieved her next step in divine evolution and has access to all that is described for an Arisen Demigod. At a time of your choosing, you may submit an Emblem to the Support Forum. From this date onward, Kala now has dominion over the Divine Portfolio of Stars and all that entails. She may exert godly influence over that portfolio and express it in a manner of her choosing.

Iselya is now the wielder of Novuril, the Sword of Dawn. Exactly what that means and entails is a journey she will have to discover for herself. She has received a 2nd Mark of Eminence and has also been imparted the Rune of Nyx as of this thread. An odd happenstance in the conflux of events across the season but odder things have happened in the Warrens. What is time?