Legend of Ransera

"Tuus Vastinius est melius..." The voice was a whisper on the wind. Midnight's Mother did not appear to Arcas in pomp and bombast, but like a memory that had been long since buried away. To see her there in her shining, silvery breastplate from which hung ribbons of black that might have been silk or shadow, was to feel that she had been present this entire time- Only now Her silvery nimbus, like a crown of barbed chain, shone and rotated over raven locks that wafted in the same breeze that carried Her inaugural whisper. From out this nimbus, tethers protruded in many directions, but the most prominent to those present were those that descended far down to the scene below, where they were linked to an æthereal collar at Franky's throat, a pair of manacles on either of his wrists and another that tightly encircled his Hobbie. As soon as the erstwhile entrepreneur became aware of the tethers, he would feel them tighten not at his neck but upon his soul- Muzzling not his mouth, but his very mind and forcing him into the state of silent subservience he had consummately engendered of late. All at once he was paralysed… perforce a passive observer to the wages of his recent sins as far above him the old foes reconnected.

"Ave, Arkas Princeps Lucis... Since we did part at Kaladon, hither have I dwelt... drawn to the surge of æther that did stir Our ancient pow'r e'en whiles We did languish in the fell prison into which thou didst cast Us." There was no enmity or accusation in this simple statement of fact known to them both.

"Mickle be the sources of nourishment I did hither find... the sweet nectar of Sacrifice doth abound in profusion in this land of hierarchical Domination that doth forge such taut and terrible Chains. Their initial Sacrifice woke whilom puissance within Me, and in this 'godless' land have I found many who worship at Mine altar some knowingly and others..." She glanced down to Franky and sighed, "...unwittingly."

Suddenly the harsh pull of Her chains would whip the incapacitated archdemon bodlily toward them and within seconds he was suspended by the ætherial manacles binding his wrists. A silent observer in his own mind, Franky would watch as the desert dominatrix turned to cast a faint smile toward her ancient archenemy.

"Ofttimes did this one invoke My name with wanton abandon and seek to empow'r himself by practising Mine art: Sacrifice most sacred." Her gaze fell upon Franky directly now, and she sneered.

"Link by link hast thou thyself forged the Chains that do bind thee unto My dominion. In thine effort to wield might enough to vie against Gods, thou hast nourished and strengthened one of Their number. Perforce do I claim a tithe from every Sacrifice that is made, for I am Sacrifice. But from one such as thee? One who doth o'erreach in seeking to claim what is Mine by right without according Me My due? I shall take no mere tribute... I shall bankrupt thee of every mote of might thou didst dare to gripe in My name." She would inspire a breath as Franky's essence was siphoned through the chains that bound him to Her nimbus.

"Thou wouldst claim the mantle of a king, but what knowest thou of Majesty?" The question was inevitably rhetorical, as She asserted the Dominion Franky had unknowingly granted and repeatedly reinforced with each invocation of Her undisputed domain.

“Fie!” Her gaze, now full of ire, turned to Hobbie as she twisted her wrist to tighten the chains rounding the animated shield until they cracked the creature in twain and drew forth the gem of chaos that brimmed with entropic energies.

“Lightbringer, I bid thee call upon the formidible force of thy fathomless Father to tame that fell artefact that we might employ it to undo the havoc this one sought to wreak. Zaichær is not his to Sacrifice. It hath been claimed by another and this…” She gestured with disgust to the warping breach as it brimmed toward another explosive event, “...this is redundant. We have seen this all before and lot long ago that grim Glade of yesteryear when first this cataclysm did ope the welkin and doom this realm that doth nourish Me so.” She turned to Franky, her chain receding from the inert, shattered shield that had served him in sundry forms, allowing the pieces to fall to the tattered earth below. With that, She reoriented him so that he could watch as they went about their work.

“Thou shalt tarry hither, thou high-sighted knave, and We shall consider thy doom after We have undone thine imperious exploits.” The Imperatrix would hover toward Arcas and the gem, as the demon drained into her through the veins of her chains, slowly feeling his power wane back toward that of the goblin he’d once been.

!

Message from: Pharaoh

Note: Upon Arcas’ invocation of Varvara, Franky and Hobbie are instantly and wholly incapacitated. Their bodies are paralysed and their minds fixated helplessly upon the words of the goddess in whose Domains they trespassed and those of her divine comrade, Arcas. No magic: divine, demonic, ætheric or otherwise will be exploitable during this paralysis without being filtered through the Chains of Domination and explicitly approved by Varvara. He can utter no words nor is he mobile beyond simple eye movements and involuntary and semi-involuntary actions such as breathing.

“I agree. Zaichaer has suffered enough. I will not allow it to suffer the same cataclysm that this one had such a prominent role in.” Talon narrowed his eyes slightly as he recalled the role that Franky had played in his own imprisonment, in the lies that had pushed Zaichaer further toward war, and now the blame that he still sought to lay at his own feet.

“He wishes to believe himself blameless in the role he played for his lot in life.” Talon accepted the gemstone that Varvara extracted from the now broken shield. He could feel its power coiling inside the crystalline structure. It was not a thing of Order but of Chaos but he would use its power to augment his own in undoing the devastation that had been unleashed. As he brushed a thumb over the warm surface of the chaos gem, he looked up and met Franky’s eyes. He could see that some sort of silent communication was passing between the demon and Varvara. Whatever the man said, Talon did not know. He could see the wisps of his emotions in his aura but little else. There was defiance. There was anger. There was fear. There was pain. He blinked and spoke softly.

“Few are blameless.” Talon paid no further attention to Franky. As far as he was concerned, the demon was now subject to the judgement of the goddess whom he sought to usurp. He turned his eyes to the crackling rift and beheld a sight that was very familiar to him at this point in his life. He could see the raw purity of the Aetherium. He could see within it the endless possibilities tethered to his domains. His eyes ignited in the silver-white fire that he was known for. His nimbus began to shine brighter until the light was that of the morning dawn itself. From him sprung forth the very concepts of all he served as Lord and Avatar for.

Throughout Zaichaer and extending far beyond it, Hope found its way into the hearts of those seeking it. Cradled in the hands of the Hopebringer, those who turned their faces toward the light of his divinity found their souls stirring and turning away from despair. Those in search of inspiration, found it. Those in need of a blessed and tender memory, remembered it. Those in need of a quiet moment of peace, received it in the quiet reverie of their own contemplations. Hope sprang forth from him and through it, he gently urged all who basked in his light to strive higher for their truest potential. For that was the truest meaning of Hope, to behold devastation, to see the world as wretched, and to dare to dream for something greater.

The bitter chill of what had become a dark winter, abated. The glory of the Morninglord shone like the rising sun of the summer’s day. Hearth fires burned warmer. The bite of this long winter lost its teeth. The painful shadow of nightmares that plagued the traumatized minds of those who had suffered for so long, were banished. The bodies poisoned by the corruption of the dread mists, were purged of that corruption as their forms were bathed in his light. Those who knew not the face of their inner darkness, saw the truth of that darkness in full. For to stand in the Light was not to be without Shadow, but it was to recognize that the two were connected. It was to see that the world was forever tethered to those two primordial forces and see that where there was one, there would always be the other. It was to know that the murderer could show mercy, that the righteous could give in to temptation, that the path to redemption was never beyond reach and that the world was forever swaying between its brighter aspects and its darker truths. Talon’s Light shone.

Talon’s light shone pure. It purified.

Talon’s light shone beautifully. It was beautiful.

Talon’s light shone terrifically. It was terrifying.

“Mother Naori.” Talon’s voice echoed with reverence, with power, with authority. “Mighty are Your lessons. Your children still have so much left to learn. Chaos is our birthright, the beautiful paint that You have given us to fill Your world with vibrancy. This beautiful chaos has been rendered. This lesson has been learned. Your will has been done. This Son of Avaelor begs our glorious Mother, let me do Justice to Your work.”

Talon reached into the wellspring of chaos that blossomed in the thrumming crystal in his grasp. He raised it high, invoking his final domain and began channeling his power through it, sending a beam of prismatic power toward the rift.

“My Father.” Talon’s voice echoed with reverence, with love…and with hurt. “Long have these mortals lovingly embraced the tyranny of Your order. Tightly have they clung to the auspices of Law. Zealously have they flung themselves into the halls unyielding hierarchy…”

He paused. His jaw flexed and he cast his gaze downward.

“I know that you are angry with them.” In the brief glimpse of Eikaen’s face that he had seen there in the halls of the Pantheon, he had seen grief, remorse, love and an unbridled fury that had made him quail at the sight of it. The leaders of Zaichaer had poisoned him, they had engineered the very mechanism that had been necessary to subdue him and ensure his imprisonment and torture.

“They have been punished. Let me serve Justice. Let us move forward and heal.”

Talon’s nimbus shone brighter. He spoke and his voice carried over the city.

“Justice has come for Zaichaer.” The pure symbol of Justice burned hotly as Talon invoked every last ounce of his power, channeling the highest reaches of his divinity, channeling the power of the chaos gem and calling upon the Dragon King and Masked Queen, he cast judgement upon the City of Brass.

Zaichaer had suffered enough. Let the great rift be closed.

As the Morninglord descended to tend to the immediate concern of the blooming chaos storm, Midnight’s Mother and Franky remained suspended high above the city. She levitated before him, not circling like a predator, but rather still and scrutinising.The chains that bound the draining demon seemed to protrude out of some shadowy, indistinct points above. The only one that seemed to end in this plane was the one that bound him directly to Her silvery nimbus that continued to drain his essence. It was through that conduit that She would answer his highsighted gripes and desperate invocations.

“Thou, who wouldst fain contend against the very Pantheon, dost now seek solace in th’embrace of a god? How quickly the imperiled heart doth shirk its quondam causes. Næ, corydon septentrionis, I am not so incautious as thee to tread unwitting and roughshod upon the Domains of others…” She regarded Arcas below and recalled the fate that had befallen Her when She had in sooth done as Franky now indicted and overreached into the realms of other gods. Her attention returned to the aspirant King of Goblins.

“The Princeps Doloris hath forsaken thee as thou hast forsaken Him…”

In Franky’s mind he would see his own hand, penning the words: “Zaichaer has suffered enough, and I will be ending it, myself.” Even as he heard his own voice rhapsodising: “…along comes Malgar, wanting me to tempt you, seduce you, convince you to drink his precious Wine of Suffering. Fuck that stupid cup of his.” As those sounds and images faded from his mind's eye and ear, Franky's body shifted to a diagonal position from which to view the undoing of his work. The ebbing demon would find himself bearing witness to the gleaming glory of Arcas below, as resplendent light from above bathed and fueled him- an approving embrace of his absent Father. She of the Scourge levitated beside Franky to observe the toil of Arcas: this passing strange bedfellow who had, after so many years, become a cautious ally.

“Power gifted in response to failure is no conditionless endowment, but a probationary yoke of servitude and one thou didst shirk. If ignorance be bliss, then allow me to serve the Master who hath cast thee aside by imparting the Suffering that is knowledge:

“Thine own anguish hath grown sweeter in His sight than the waning woes thou dost engender of others. As thou’rt my creature by thine own avowal: Hither, before the eye of Justice, shall I confer thy sentence.” There was nothing in her tone nor Her expression that indicated She took any joy in this position.

“Lest thou concern thyself further with fears that I o’erstep, I shall exposit who my actions serve: For cruel Malgar perforce shalt thou suffer. For salient Arcas shall I deliver thee unto Justice and for majestic Aværys, shall I do so with poetical pageantry. For vengeful Shæoth shall I see thy fate hewn to the aggrieved. And, finally, for His Peerless Majesty and Her Enigmatic Eminence on high shall thy doom resume Order where thou didst profane Chaos by uplifting its natural nemesis: Redundancy."

“Firstly, I refuse the boon of thy Sacrifice. Feed thy whilom master and Suffer in the knowledge that those thou didst slay died truly and consummately in vain. Their blood soaketh the ground in tribute to naught but thine own spurious vainglory. The meaningless murders thou didst execute delivereth their souls not unto peace but unto æternal torture at the behest of the Princeps Doloris. May this knowledge torment thee and nourish him the more. And now…”

As the last vestiges of demonhood were bled from him, Franky would see the clouds shifting in the air before him.

“I do hereby sentence thee to Lex Agni: The Law of the Lamb. Thou art as a lamb to the slaughter or the mercy of them thine exploits might have doomed.” As Her final judgement reverberated through the air, the form of the goddess seemed to fade with the echo of Her commandment.

By and by, the clouds parted to reveal a strange vista. It was like some hazy valley where the mist was clearing to reveal a portal to some city on another plane. But no… as it drew closer, it would prove to be no portal to a distant, extra-dimensional city. Rather it was a city on this plane, or at least a portion of one, that had risen to mount the firmament. As the sentries manning the watchtowers of the Zaichaeri Sky Islands took note of a strange phenomenon of a lone, goblinoid figure suspended from the open air in their direct path, the levitating berg would slow to a halt to assess. A whisper would pass on the wind that swept over the Sky Islands, subtle and seductive:

“Unto thee do We deliver one of the architects of thy misery, e’en as We do assuage it. Know the splendour of salvation, know the respite of revenge, and know that the resurrection of Zaichær shall not betide unaided.”

!

Message from: Pharaoh

Note: Franky is, once more, a humble goblin bereft of demonic power. The chains of domination (invisible to all but Franky and other servants of Varvara) have drained him of nothing further than this, but he will remain bound in midair in his inert state until he is collected by agents of Zaichaer, at which point he will regain control of his voice and a severely weakened body. As Rune is the principal author of the setting Franky attempted to destroy, I will leave the fate of Franky in his hands and, if Rune wills it, into the hands of the other active PCs occupying the imperiled setting. Rune, please note there was a request for “Power” for Franky’s birthday reward. Feel free to interpret that as you see fit.

TALON

Experience Points: 12 (May be used for magic)

Injuries/Ailments: Æther depletion, exhaustion.

Loot: Upon returning home, Talon found a box wrapped in symmetrically patterned paper. It was unmarked with no card attached to indicate from whom it came. Semblance would find no traps or deceptions, but would detect that the item within had been delivered directly from Pantheon and had crossed the hands of Avatar. Within the box, Talon would find a beautiful, clear transparent gem that sparkled in the light. He would know, at a glance, that this was the counterpart to the gem he'd exploited to close the Breach of Zaichaer, before it shattered in his grasp. This unmarked gift was a Gem of Order.

FRANKY

Experience Points: 12 (Non-magical)

Injuries/Ailments: Demotion from demonhood, the despair of dooming the immortal souls of his loved ones and death.

Loot: N/A

Notes: Requiesce in pace, Franky! And what a road it was, but in death there is opportunity. Depending what path you take, you may be offered a boon:

Option 1: If you choose to retire the character of Franky and accept a true death, in addition to whatever resources you transfer to your next character, I will also allow you to have one additional fully-mastered mundane skill. This is not an additional 100xp to be split up. All 100 of these bonus points must be assigned to a single skill, at which the character will innately excel.

Option 2: Perhaps the abject dejection of dooming dear souls to eternal suffering was so great as to cause Franky's soul to cleave to the mortal plane. If so, you may choose to pursue a ghostly existence for Franky, as laid out in the Undead rules. If Option 2 is selected, I will offer the opportunity of a curated quest via which Ghost Franky may find peace and/or other rewards by locating and releasing his sacrificed loved ones from thralldom to Malgar. Under this option, Franky would begin as a first-level ghost and need to build up his spectral skills and/or seek the aid of the living to achieve his mission.

Option 3: If neither of these options appeals to you, you're welcome to pitch me on something else. No additional rewards are promised for Option 3.