Closing Lamentations

[Lyra]

Closing Lamentations

67th of Glade, 123rd Year, A.o.S.

Location: Lyra's Dark Demesne in the crater

Exhaustion was an all consuming sensation as Lyra floated over the pedestal, her eyes half closed as her fingers trailed idly in the mists that had gathered around her. Her body still ached, and her mind was worn and weary from the events of the last three seasons. Yet through the fog she felt a warmth of satisfaction, and Lyra smiled. It was done. The child was safe, and all of her preparations were complete.

"Time seems to pass more quickly now." Lyra whispered. She raised a hand to block her view of the dark hole above, flexing her fingers and drawing the the chaotic mists around her like a curtain, "Perhaps this is what the children feel..."

Often of late Lyra found herself musing on the short lives of the mortals of the world. She had always felt indifference toward them and their futility, but in only three years, not even a breath in the span of her total life, something had begun to change. First it was the pup and the golden haired woman, then meeting with the foolish Prince... Naila, Franky, Brenner... She remembered their names now, and when she thought of them there was not a vague sense of recognition, but rather memories which blossomed into colorful and vibrant images of their times together. Without realizing it Lyra had begun to consider them as something more than pebbles in the river of time, and this realization was both thrilling and troubling to the old sorceress.

Thoughts of what she had done had begun to creep into her mind of late. She did not regret her actions, but without the fire that drove her before her dealings with Franky, she felt a disconnect between her actions and the end result. She knew why she had done all she had done these passed years, but something was missing. Like the fog over her soul had lifted and she could finally see what she was and what she was doing with perfect clarity. A painful sensation filled her heart, but it was pressed down as Lyra closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she was wrong... but she had done what she thought best at the time.

Maybe now things could be different. With this clarity, perhaps Lyra could do what Lyrielle never could. Maybe it was even time that part of her quietly slipped away like a whisper in the dark.

"The whispers fade."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Though the preparations for what was intended had been long in coming, half a year and more, the warning came suddenly. The scouts that had been set to watch for any changes in the aetheric area of the place sent word, traveling as fast as airships could fly and without very far to go before the message was delivered directly to the office of Stefan Dornkirk. It was accepted by his most trusted servant, who also served as his secretary and in many other capacities, but this was the only hand it touched before his own.

He knew what it was when it arrived, a specific system of both delivery and wording had been designed so that there would be no delay. There was no telling how long the most hated witch, the most hated being, in Zaichaer might stay where she could be reached. There were two teams that Stefan, as well as Eitan (who would wear the mechanical armor suits and work the soul-net), had trained with so that, no matter when the call came, there would be one rested and ready.

As he tore into the small, sealed missive and read the simple code phrase a part of him was relieved. Eitan would be away for the better part of a month soon, and if this had come while he was away it would have had to have been attempted without him, a prospect which Stefan did not look on with ease of mind.

Another part, a wiser one, perhaps, turned cold in apprehension. Deinerin was standing by the door, a look on his face that clearly stated he was ready to move, to send orders on the instant, but also somehow did not appear either impatient nor anxious. The steady man's face said that he would be as comfortable standing and waiting the rest of the day as he would be calling for the evacuation of the whole country. It was a comfort, and in some small way, helped everything click into place in Stefan.

"Alert the team, and Eitan. We go now."

With a quick, single nod Deinerin was gone, and a moment later, Stefan was following him out of the office.

Down the sets of stairs he went, into the room where the suits were kept, where they could be quickly donned and deployed. The team would board an airship and meet them, but Eitan and Stefan would be arriving under their own power. As he stepped into the over-sized metal chassis and activated the shards that powered it he slowed his breathing. Some adrenaline was useful when you went into danger, into battle, but too much only made one jittery, made thinking difficult, and if ever Stefan had needed a clear head and a steady hand, it was today.

The soul-net was carefully stowed inside his own suit, ready to be deployed at the push of a button. The plan was sound, the Order mages, with wielding negation shields that activated to protect their whole bodies, would head down with them. While Eitan and Stefan worked to deal with whatever heinous powers the creature Lyra employed the mages would construct a bubble of Negation that would slowly close around her, pushing her toward, and then, Progress willing, into the soul-net.

The net was constructed of a latticework of dragonshards that, working in concert, would draw the creature into it. At its heart was a Daemithillium shard that, if the theory was sound, would siphon the soul of whatever sentient being was caught in the net. It had taken considerable resources to locate so pure an example of Daemithillium, but, if it did its job, all would be worth it.

The Minister nodded when Eitan appeared, knowing the man knew the procedure to don and prep the suits as well as Stefan did himself. If one of them fell in this duty, the other knew how to care for the wounded nation. If they both did, Delia and Lucrece had their orders. It would be in service of that nation and there was no greater honor either man could achieve.

[Eitan Angevin]

"Sir."

Dienerin had so seamlessly blended into service to Eitan that it was rare he felt the need to alert him to his presence. The half-elf looked up from the report he was reading, and immediately intuited that one of the important things they had plans for was being enacted. When the man said the code word, Eitan nodded, signed off, and stood. He didn't even have to remind his valet what to do in the event that things went south; he knew where letters were kept for Lucrece and for Delia, for Stefan and for Brenner. A career soldier knew that life wasn't guaranteed. Sacrifice was often the end of a soldier's life.

But he looked calm as you please as he strode from his office in the Windworks to the hangar where Stefan's marvels were being loaded onto an airship. The mechanical armor suits had made him feel like the sense of invincibility from his overstepping weren't entirely wrong. As he had come to terms with that and processed much of what had happened since the cataclysm, he was more realistic about the amazing advantages of the power suits as well as their reasonable shortcomings.

Eitan nodded to Stefan in response, and then let his Dienerin help him doff his uniform and change into the comfortable, moisture-wicking skinsuit that he wore under the armor. For all the time he spent behind a desk, he still did his share of rounds in the armor, helping reclaim Zaichaer in bits and pieces. They were experiencing diminishing returns there, and he knew that soon they would have to pull more of the factions into the fold or else the reclaiming of the city would become the responsibililty of Brenner Angevin and Amalia Dornkirk.

Soon enough, they were in the belly of an airship and climbing into their power suits. His Dienerin retreated to the bridge where Eitan's communications would be routed. As Eitan acclimated himself to the harnesses of his claustrophobic cockpit, he began his routine of checking all the elaborate systems Stefan had built into it. When it came to communications...

"Stef, do you read me?" he asked on the private channel.

There were a million things that needed saying, but this was a thing that needed doing. Brenner's metallic skeleton remained on the Windworks, a mystery to be unraveled at some point. But the woman Stefan blamed for his death was finally in their sights. Those few contacts that remained in Kalzasi had sent their reports to him, not wanting to get involved in whatever politicking and manuevering was going on in Zaichaer, only wanting to remain dutiful and loyal to the Order. He hadn't kept anything from Stefan, but he had filtered the intelligence, knowing how emotional he was about this person of interest.

Eitan was too, of course. Brenner had been like a brother to him.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

"Loud and clear."

It was the call they had set up to mean that all was well, with the communications and the suits, but also that there were no dangers nearby. The set of codes they had made up covered a wide variety of situation in which any one of them could be controlled in various ways or under duress, not to mention, if they were no longer in control of themselves, it was hoped they wouldn't know to use the code phrases.

They checked in with the ship, as well as the Order member who was leading the distraction and containment team. They didn't call them that, but it was what they were. If the net failed there were several plans for evacuation depending on who was left alive. It was perhaps foolishness that both Stefan and Eitan were going down, but no one else was trained in the use of the suits, nor was anyone else educated in all the right things to do field repairs on the net should it manage to capture Lyra but be damaged while doing so.

These were calculated risks, and Stefan was good with mathematics, but still, he probably would not have risked so much if it was only revenge motivating him, not anymore. Lyra was an ongoing danger, one that meant he could not assure the safety of anyone in the country, let alone the city they were trying so desperately to retake. There was no telling when she might emerge, or even what she was currently doing. She could be feeding on the rift to destroy whatever was left of Zaichaer, or even the continent. Choices were limited and the chance they'd all worked out together was they best they had.

A lot of their lives were like that not, using what they had to do the best they could in the face of overwhelming odds. At least, he supposed in a moment of wry humor, they had experience.

As they neared the entrance to the Warrens he felt the urge to go back over the plans, reaffirm with each person their part, but he did not. They knew what they were to do, and he knew they did. Asking for additional confirmation now would read as a lack of belief in his men. So he held his silence, breathing calmly, and waiting till they reached the drop point.

When they did, and the cargo hatch that would release he and Eitan was opened he spared a glance for his metal-encased brother-in-law, then turned and leapt into open air. The dragonshard propulsion system that Brenner had first tested kicked in a moment later, leveling out his fall and giving him control over his descent.

Twenty minutes later they had landed beside the two scouts on duty, they did not speak, using military hand signals to confirm that their target was still in her lair and seemed, for the moment, unaware that she had been noticed. The scouting location was as far as possible from the liar and still allow them to watch with enhanced telescoping equipment. This was the last check, the last moment in which they could easily abort, but there was no reason to. While Eitan sent the signal to the team of Order mages to make their way down Stefan observed their quarry. She appeared to be... resting? But that couldn't be true. Meditating on some foul spell, no doubt.

They waited in terse silence until the team joined them. Stefan called checks to each individual and they all gave the same answer. Finally he turned to Eitan and repeated the call,

"Are we a go?"

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan dropped too. Stefan always hated how long he waited to engage the suit's systems, but he savored those moments of free fall. There was no fear, only a strange juxtaposition of exhilaration and peace. His sense of invulnerability wasn't wrong in this case; he would survive, and he could exist in a heightened state.

'cause ain't shit free but falling out
that shit's easy, let me show you how, it's like
you could let it all go
you could let it all go
it's called freefall
it's called freefall

But he could almost feel Stefan's response. Before he spoke, before the suit's altimeter sounded, Eitan opened his eyes and engaged the system to control his yaw and roll, the velocity of his descent. He landed just as softly as Stefan, not sending a thrum through the ground to alert their target.

The Seeker coordinated his Watchers, and then monitored. When Stefan asked for his confirmation, he gave it. Lessnau had confirmed that her so-called symphony was sleeping, dreaming, and that would be the safest time to execute their mission.

"Standby for the Minister's orders, Watchers," he said on one channel, and then to Stefan and the operations team aboard the airship, "We are a go, Minister."

The Captain-Seeker felt a thrill then. The witch Lyra was big game, indeed. But while an ordinary hunter might go to Ecith for gargantuan prey, he only needed the power-mad mages, the mistborn mutants, and the eldritch godlings who threatened his home and his people. Neutralizing them had often meant a bullet to the brain, but this was entirely new - a new capture strategy, a new containment system, and a new foe to Zaichaer.

He was the Warder of Zaichaer, the warden of Zaichaer, and this bitch was going down. Practiced fingers deftly maneuvered the suit controls to engage all systems in readiness.

[Lyra]

There was a stirring in the air that drew Lyra's eyes open once again. She stared upward at the hole far above, curious as to what had awoken her. It was faint, barely a ripple in the fabric of the veil, but she sensed it then. Far away, on the outskirts of her demesne, there were souls which lingered. Golden eyes that glowed with sanguine light turned in their direction, but she did not rise from her hovering position.

Someone had come to disturb her, and from the ripples she felt in their souls Lyrielle knew their intentions were not friendly. Her lips drew back in a smile as Lyrielle placed Lyra in a box in her mind and set her aside. There was time enough for philosophical musings. For now, she needed to prepare to meet her guests.

With a thought her soul fractured and her body dispersed into black smoke which mixed with the grey mists of chaotic energy. Then all at once the woods of her domain fell silent. All movements halted, and every beast stood still as if in anticipation. Then, the whispers began.

[Mirage]

The group of Zaichaeri elites stood just at the edge of their foes domain. There was a clear demarcation between the elemental planes of the second deep and the forest of black, twisted trees beyond. The cold that came from that place was not a physical cold, but rather a spiritual one that ignored the clothing and seeped deep into the bones. The chill was unease, a thousand eyes watching, a thousand ears listening, and a thousand fingers just a breath away from the skin. When they crossed the line the hairs would stand on end, and they would sense they had entered a place they were not welcome.

As they prepared to enter there was a sudden change in the world around them. Silence fell that was so deep their hearts beats echoed in their ears and they could hear the very blood in their veins. With the quiet came an unnatural stillness in the trees beyond, but then softly there came a sound. A sound like faint voices whispering in their ears, pleading they come closer, calling for help, begging for their life, and demanding their death.

.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The movement, or dissipation, that became of the form that Lyra had been in was not necessary to see to know that their presence had been noted. The ripple of cold that ran through what seemed like the entire forest did the job, and, a moment later, the whispers began.

Though deeply disconcerting, the addition of the disembodies voices felt right to Stefan. The unearthly quiet of the place had always unnerved him, made the back of his neck tense as though he were being watched and might be attacked at any moment. The voices, whether aloud or spoken into his mind, were unquestionably an attack, and of the subtle variety he would expect of the creature they hunted. Yes, this was how it was supposed to be.

He took comfort in that, even as he shuddered in an attempt to close out the voices, probably the least capable of doing so. Members of the Order were trained in many things, some depending on their specialties, but all were trained in resisting the pleas and lies of witches, magical and otherwise. While training would keep everyone else on track, he hoped, Stefan kept firmly in the forefront of his mind the reason they were doing this. There were many abstract reasons, safeguarding Zaichaer and ensuring an end to the corrupting influence, but nothing so complex could serve as a lighthouse as the fog rose around him.

Brenner was what he held in his mind's eye, not as he had been, full or life and vitality, but as he had lain when Stefan had found him. Charred, stripped of even flesh, metal skull and empty eye sockets still somehow looking so angry. So, too was now his living brother. This was vengeance, and vengeance was simple, he could hold on to vengeance.

Hands wrapped in thick metal gave the signals for the party to advance. The Order team activated their strongest full-body negation shields and spread out, following the pattern they had devised to compel, activating the runes that Stefan did not understand and did not wish to as they moved into their positions. Each was wary, knowing that even with all the months of study there was no real knowing what might come at them. When they had reached their spots, some beginning to show signs of mental fatigue from the psychic attack, they began to hum.

It had seemed odd, at first, to Stefan, when it was explained to him. But having watched them practice the formation he'd come to understand. The sound passing between them created a sort of connection that both centered and tuned them to each other. There was a timing to what they were doing, using Mesmer and Negation and logic only knew what else to draw the poison that was Lyra's physical form back into being.

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan hissed at the icy grip of the witch's power. This was eldritch in the extreme, but also a unique signature. He had spent hours with a sembler to better fine tune his wards for this purpose, but while the rest of the unit blocked her out entirely, Eitan brought up a more permeable ward, one that allowed him to be aware of those voices, those impressions of cold and such, without being overwhelmed by them. Let the rest of them be safe; Eitan would be neither blinded nor deafened, the better to understand the enemy of the State.

"Verify efficacy of wards," he ordered. He had to know that they were all safe before they could proceed. There would always be variables unaccounted for, but they would nail down as many of them as they could. Zaichaeri lives had been precious before; now they were even more so given there were fewer of them, fewer patriotic hearts beating to drive back the darkness.

"This is no longer consistent with our maps of the Second Deep," he informed the unit. "Whether she corrupted a section of it or whether this border is a passage to a different deep remains unclear. No change in plans."

Once he had everyone's 'aye, sir' and corroboration of their wards' integrity, he motioned for them to continue. He wondered whether they would be able to neutralize the subject once she was captured and contained. Minds like the Minders would want to study her, but to his mind, there were creatures too dangerous to be allowed to live, and this Lyra seemed like one of them.

While he didn't share Stefan's fervor - he didn't know that the witch was responsible for the death of Brenner in particular - they were of one mind when it came to the importance of this goal. If Zaichaer had been built over an entrance to the Warrens to keep it contained, then this was a threat that needed to be eliminated lest everything they knew of the Warrens be turned upside down and them left unable to defend the good people of Zaichaer.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Locked inside a compartment of the mental construct he wore as armor was a dragonshard, larger and more powerful than any Stefan had had cause to work with before. It had been obtained at great cost but it was worth significantly more now, both from the Scrivening and Negation that had been worked into it and due to its intended purpose. Containing a being of otherworldly reality and perhaps near to godlike power was not something easily done, nor cheaply, and the cost did not come only in the form of gold changing hands.

The major shard was only the heart of the contraption that his mind, along with the minds of several of the best minds the Order had remaining to it had striven to design and then craft over the months that had passed since they had discovered this cursed sanctuary. Thankfully, after all the preparation, the application of the device was fairly simple. Once the strike team had used their arts to draw the creature back into their plane, or back into a physical form (Stefan didn't really understand where she might have gone or what she might have become) all he need do was trigger the aetheric mechanism and it would suck Lyra's power, perhaps all of her, into itself and hold her there.

That was the theory anyway. His own calculation and those of the Order had been precise but... one just never knew when dealing with unknown entities. There was a chance she would simply overpower the device, shatter it and take vengeance on those who had attempted to capture her. If that was the case, Zaichaer would have to try again; likely without Stefan, or Eitan, or any of the mages present. Perhaps this was a foolish risk to be taking when there was no evidence that what Lyra was doing was intended to do any further harm to Zaichaer. There was no evidence that she didn't mean to do harm, and beyond that, Stefan would never be able to feel that what remained of his family was safe so long as she was free.

Despite the lack of any physical barriers the voices seemed to press in on him as he made his way closer to the center of the circular area that Lyra had claimed as hers. The going became more difficult, and more painful, with each step, as though the voices were trying to press him back, trying to claw their way into his skull, or out of it. His stomach roiled and he felt something wet trickling down from his nose. Perhaps his body was reacting by trying to expel what it was feeling by leaking. Perhaps it was blood. He had no way to check and it didn't matter either way, this wasn't a mission he could afford to abort.

When he reached the prescribed area he went to one metal knee so that he could begin setting the device up. If it was more falling to one knee than going there gracefully, who was to notice? Pressing the panel that held the precious equipment he removed the odd mess of dragonshards and aether netting as carefully as the large metal hands of his suit would allow. The armor had not been created with manual dexterity in mind but he had practiced laying out the device so many times that, even now, as his eyes sight began to blur around the edges, he was able. It took several long minutes, but he got it done, double and triple checking that every line and shard was in place before beginning to back away.

Once he was outside of the ring of humming, now chanting, mages, he let himself feel his body enough to realize, not a moment too soon, that his stomach was on the verge of purging itself. He wasn't quick enough to get to the latch on his helmet before the inside was spattered in the little he'd managed to swallow as his breakfast, but at least most of the mess slid out once he had. The realization that he had opened his helmet in a potentially dangerous situation without even considering that it would lower his protections hit him at the same time that the intensification of whatever magic Lyra was using as an attack did.