Legend of Ransera

Before them loomed a great, towering mountain hewn of black and dark grey stone alone on a sea of black dunes. The only overt indication that any great battle took place at this sight in a bygone era was the front half of a colossal Draconic skeleton that protruded from the base of the mount.

When last Arcas arrived at Kaladon, it was a simple, lonely mountain in an otherwise empty stretch of desert. In and of itself the site bore no strategic advantage. It was simply where the marshalled forces of Arcas and Raxen reached the Solunarian crusaders as they advanced toward more populated parts of Ailizane.

When last Arcas left Kaladon, the peak of the mountain crumbled inward as the new forged volcano rose from the site at which Varvara and Aværys fell. The sands were scarlet and heaped with corpses. Today the sands were a shimmering black.

To their rear, the party would find a newly constructed temple built of transparent crystal. The architecture was a unique marriage of Aurisian and Solunarian designs. The pyramid was imposing, and it was populated. Faintly, they might even hear the chanting of the congregants within, led by the Princeps Pontifex.

“Ultima Cumæi venit iam carminis ætas;
Magnus ab integro sæclorum nascitur ordo.” Droned the voices of the elves and Vastian humans within the structure.

“Deus Vult!” Vrædyn called.

“Eos alit!” Replied a chorus of congregants.

“Sicut Domina imperat!”

“Eos alit!”

The phrases repeated and the chanting persisted. Perhaps Dæmon’s Sembling eyes would notice that Vrædyn was changed since they’d last parted, and that Phocion Princeps, also altered, was amongst those gathered before the Pontiff. Both were graced with gifts unknown to the world for millennia. Vrædyn’s voice surged with novel Majesty, and the chains of Supremacy clung taut to Phocion’s soul. The congregants watched the visitors, but they seemed content to chant and made no moves to engage with those outside the temple.

Though the majority of the party was winged, drawing closer to the mountain would reveal a footpath began at the Draconic skeleton and wound the mountain leading up to the maw at its peak. It was well trod by pilgrims who’d been making the climb for millennia. Something else would become apparent when their attention was cast toward the mountaintop.

Perched on the edges of the volcano’s mouth were all five of Zalkyrion’s brood. The largest of the dynasty was the colossal Crownwyrm, Zalkyriax, whose scales favoured golden overtones though his proportions were more consistent with the silver side of his ancient heritage. He was flanked by two slightly smaller dragons whose scales glinted more on the silver side of the spectrum and another pair of golden-scaled Zalkyrians bookended them. They perched there still and silent- imposing sentinels or perhaps witnesses to the paradigm shift promised by whatever transpired this portentous day.

Down the slopes of the mountain came a gust of wind. It sent up a cloud of black sand as it rolled over the dunes toward the party, and as it passed over them it carried a lot hissing whisper.

“Hie thee hither.” It urged, and all the would know innately that their destination lay at the summit of Mount Kaladon.

The approach by land or sky would be uneventful. All those present, human, elven or draconic; remained passive onlookers to the divine delegation as they made their way to the mouth of the volcano. Drawing closer, they would see the orange glow being cast up from the magma churning below onto the dark black and grey ridges of the mount. When the smoke was thin enough to get a good view of the draconic delegation, they would see it glinting off of their metallic scales, as well. And it seemed to match the fiery roiling of the dragons' eyes that stared somehow icily, even as they seemed to roil with lava all their own behind the black vertical slits of their pupils.

When they rose above the volcano's summit, they would see a natural platform had formed in obsidian on the side to which the footpath wound. The five dragons perched opposite the platform on the thinner ridges that lay across the pit that descended into a lake of magma. They might have looked like grim, draconic magistrates in some epically supreme court. The natural shelf was empty. No altars, monuments or other ornamentation had been erected by the Solunarian devout who'd visited over the years. There was not even an altar. Perhaps the Kaladon itself was seen as such.

The glare of Zalkyriax was fixed upon Talon as he flew forth. His eyes would be familiar to Arcas, as would the contempt they bore. They turned briefly to Aoren, and his great head canted slightly to one side before the stare returned to the Lightbringer. He remained silent, and the hissing, churning and rumbling of Kaladon underscored the fateful arrival of the envoy. Notably absent from this staging area were any signs of Aværys or His sister-spouse.

As the party approached the edge of Kaladon's maw, the geothermal symphony below began to take on patterns. Steady rhythms and hisses that began to sound like whispered chants that echoed up from below as if carried by the smoke that billowed upward growing thicker and thicker.

"Hail to thee, sojourners." Bellowed a voice from the core of Kaladon, that boomed and resonated through the mountain.

All at once what appeared to be a splash of lava shot forth from below and splashed down over the obsidian edge of the platform. Rather than dissipating or pooling, it held a shape. Another length of lava landed next to it, and the two glowing strips began to resemble pseudopods. They seemed to use the platform for purchase, as they dragged more magma up from below. They were connected and, it seemed, they bore a vaguely amorphous shape. Slowly, deliberately and with ostensible effort, this lava larva forced itself into the basic shape of a humanoid, albeit writ much larger than man or elf. This apparent lava golem strained to draw itself together, tightening its figure and defining its features. By and by it formed into a taut, titanic physique- standing north of twenty feet in height as a striking, smirking elven countenance was hewn from the lava, which dimmed to bronzed flesh yet somehow kept something of its radiant glow.

"It would appear, Lightbringer..." The titan began, "That thee and We withal did fain invite an audience to Our parley." Aværys glanced over His bare shoulder pointedly, toward the stony-faced dragons looming behind him. It was easier to see them now that the smoke seemed to be consolidating itself into a slender pillar of inky black, which whirled to take the form of a titaness. Milky white skin protruded from out of the blackness, as a luminescent female face formed, with silvery eyes that matched the chains of Her barbed link Nimbus. She floated forth to the platform and alighted onto the black stone with pale white bare feet. She looked to be wearing a gown made of smoke, and her raven hair wafted with its plumes even as she assumed an ostensibly solid form. Her attention was fully upon Florian.

"And thou must be the one who doth presume to claim the mantle of rebellion." Varvara observed, pacing slowly forward as Aværys did the same. "And thou art come hither of thine own volition?" She glanced to Talon. "Fascinating."

"Alas, Arcas Lightbringer..." Aværys drew closer to Justice, smiling as he towered above even the Avialæ in the group. "...Thou knowest wherefore we are gathered. Doth the child?" He inquired, casting a faint sneer toward Florian.

As if to punctuate Her brother's sentiment, Varvara extended her hand casually and more lava rose from below, this time forming not a creature but an altar of obsidian.

"It is meet that thou shouldst find thy purposes aligned at last with Ours." She noted, as she drew the altar closer, so it took up the space between Aværys and Herself. "For what is Justice in the absence of Sacrifice?"

"But there will be time enough to prate after the rite hath, at last, been executed." Aværys looked to Arcas, and gestured to the sacrificial altar. "Wouldst thou fain begin?"

The Founders observed the exchange between the Lightbringer and the chaos child wordlessly. Aværys’ expression was supercilious and Varvara’s was cool and unyielding as the marble so often hewn in Her image in distant desert climes.

As they were addressed directly, the titans' eyes turned to the small creature who stood before Them in what diminutive domain They’d held for all these millennia. It wasn’t much, but it was wholly Theirs and Their growing power brought this fishbowl near to bursting. Now or later, the world would have to reckon with Them. Thus neither seemed fazed by the taunts or protestations. The Imperatrix seemed stoic and the Imperator amused. Why should anyone expect aught other than petulance from this fledgling sketch of rebellion?

At Florian's ultimatum a cryptic glance was exchanged between the Twins. After a pregnant pause, Varvara spoke up.

"If thou wouldst, in sooth, fain die before spilling thine own blood, We have no quarrel with this." Aværys shrugged a bronze shoulder cavalierly.

“In point of fact, child, We care not who spilleth thy blood as long as it be executed in sacrifice to Us. This matter hath been addressed with thy steward. Thy consent is inconsequential to Our common cause with Arcas."

"This contract was forged ere thou wast trundled like a babe in arms and deposited hither ‘pon this pitchy rock." Aværys noted through a crooked grin, "And a Divine Covenant is no petty thing. One cannot blithely demand we alter the terms, now that they have been defined. As We say in Solunarium: Alea iacta est."

Varvara gestured to Talon.

"Look thee to the Lightbringer if thou wouldst sue for clemency. Our bargain was struck with him, not thee, and he asked naught of Us but mutual emancipation. He is bound to see thy blood be shed in clear and direct sacrifice to Us. We have already sacrificed centuries to him, and will suffer naught further, save for that which We are due by right of the contract upon which We are already agreed." Silver eyes turned to Talon, as gold remained upon Florian.

Zalkyriax snorted, and with his scoff plumes of smoke wafted lightly from his nostrils. Aværys’ smirk fell away, and he abruptly turned his blonde head to look up at the perched wyrm. The god-emperor’s stance shifted sharply from confidence to caution.

“Pax, amice vetus…” His booming voice waned into something soft and soothing, “Placere patientes estote.”

With a withering look to Aværys, followed by a subtler glance to his siblings on either side, the Crownwyrm grudgingly inclined his head and kept it low to better observe the proceedings on the platform below with narrowed eyes.

The form of the Imperatrix writhed and strained against the shifting forces around Her, as Arcas plied his work to unbind Her from the ancient constraints. As the last of the tethers withdrew, one could see there was little of relief for Her in this partial emancipation. She looked to Aværys forlornly. The two titans turned to one another, and Varvara lifted a hand to cup Aværys’ cheek, which He rested tenderly against Her palm.

“Nae, Arcas…” She spoke to Justice while gazing into the melancholy golden eyes of Hunger. “Thou hast not granted the freedom We all seek.” Judging from Her grim response to Her own release, She was yet constrained. Imprisoned and unfulfilled by the sustained incarceration of Her second self with whom Her soul was deeply entwined… The dilectus immortalis with whom she’d shared a womb, an empire, and so, so much more.

“Carus…” She whispered. “Mox.”

“Quod nunc non refert.” He replied, through clenched teeth. “Tantum opus nostrum incohatum est.”

Her cool fingertips gently fell down His smooth, golden cheek like raindrops. The whilom warmth afforded Her beloved froze over as she turned to the assembled and again Her voice was calm and cool in Her response to Arcas’ assertion about Rebellion's bargain.

“Alas, My quondam foe… They are indeed incompatible aims.”

“Firstly.” Aværys asserted himself, a faint snarl painting His full lips. “Thou didst agree to further terms than thou dost hither relate. The negotiation was not closed ere thou didst agree, albeit reluctantly, to My Sister’s clarification of Our requirements.Thou didst ken Our meaning and offer thine affirmative response ere We agreed to the pact. Thou dissemblest to claim thy corroborative answer to our clarification of terms be not binding. We bade thee ‘State it plain’, and thou didst plainly proclaim: ‘So be it’. That is not ambiguous. Thus doth thy task stand incomplete.” Varvara placed a hand on Aværys’ shoulder, which seemed to halt him from further litigation of the points in play. It seemed the Lightbringer was an oathbreaker. Upon that point they were agreed. This was a willful attempt at deception in Their view. The language of the exchange was not vague and, for the many things that may have been said of the Solunarian Founders, (They may not have been forthcoming and they may have been exacting with the finer points and technicalities of an agreement), but They were not liars. This contract was born of no vague prophesy like the ambiguous imperial mission upon which Arcas had been sent. However, They stood in the presence of no fit magistrate and Varvara was disinclined to pursue such a tiresome path, when They'd waited so long for this opportunity. This matter would be resolved today, whether they were liberated in life or by death.

Whatever transpired, Arcas was not like to quit Kaladon on amicable terms with Solunarium or its Founders. Old grudges would be not only upheld but appended for this new slight. That disappointment was not most troubling aspect for Varvara. The bit that concerned Her most was that this created an impasse… A conundrum in which She was released from Arcas’ prison, but still unable to fulfill Her end of their broken bargain. A barter was not a
sacrifice. The blood of Rebellion was not what The Mistress of Chains required to sunder Talon’s tethers. It was the act of sacrifice that was needed.

Her eyes looked regretful as they turned to the chaos child and she heard his petulant words. Had she ever been so young? She and Aværys had been rebels once and, under Her guidance, the fledgling might have served a pivotal role in the world to come. His hallmark defiance, however, in addition to Talon’s breach, meant that the Imperial Twins were limited in Their options. It was clear They would need to act quickly and decisively lest Rebellion’s resistance be narrowed to preclude further options or more moving of goal posts created a scenario that forced Varvara to break a vow. Such was anathema to Her as a contract was a sort of Tether. If Arcas would not see to his assigned task, She would rely upon another to pick up his slack. Fortunately, the young demigod had left enough rope to hang himself with the phrasing of his sacrament. It was a brazen attempt and not altogether inept. It might have even impressed Her, but bereft of Her mentorship, the child had made one mortal flaw for Them to exploit in his act.

As Rebellion spoke of tyrants and tyranny, She nodded over Her shoulder solemnly, and an eager Zalkyriax swept down apace from his lofty perch to alight upon the obsidian platform with a clangour that seemed to shake the very firmament as he stomped toward Florian. The orange glow burgeoning behind his lance-like fangs presaged the method of his impending sacrifice. Because of Rebellion’s invocation, No blood would be spilt. The heat of dragonfire would turn his body fluids to vapour ere it could fall, thus exempting the dragon from the fledgling's curse. Florian had no frame of reference for this, but Varvara was not the goddess of blood sacrifice alone. The Crownwyrm was poised to sacrifice the life and flesh of the little creature. The blood was immaterial.

But Rebellion spoke on…
“Pausa!” Cried the Imperatrix, as Rebellion spilt blood from his hand and intention from his tongue. The dragon turned sharply to regard Varvara from whom a brilliant white light shot like a harpoon connecting Her celestial tethers to Florian’s wound.

Aværys grinned proudly as He watched His partner ascend from the obsidian floor to levitate as subjugation and defiance intertwined in Her nimbus and a column of otherworldly light shot forth into the sky. The beam seemed to extend beyond the very stars and past the vision of the naked eye.

Afield of Kaladon, at the crystal pyramid that stood upon the black sands beyond the mount the congregants fell to their knees in unison. Their chanting halted as glassy eyes regarded the reason for their prayers' cessation: They had been answered. Even from this distance they could see their titanic Holy Mother hovering above the holy mountain.

Further afield of Kaladon, other forces took note of the celestial light…

Meanwhile back at the volcano's maw, the fire churning in the breast of the Crownwyrm dimmed and settled back, as the dragon turned to bow his head to the goddess reborn, the other Zalkyrians still perched above mimicking the response.

“Imperatrix Æterna.” Her brother offered softly, and even He of the Sceptre bowed His head in reverence to the resurrection of His immortal beloved.

“Redeo in gloria.” Her voice resonated throughout the volcano and for miles beyond. Slowly she lowered from levitation and the beam of light dimmed, though a slender tether still bound Her to Florian. He would feel a shift within his veins. A heavy bond linking him to Her. It tasted of ambrosia… like the fulfillment of a hunger he never knew he brooked. With his domain entwined with Hers, the Imperatrix was able to augment his burgeoning power with Her more seasoned Craft, and thus did the Mother of Chains assume the power to break them. An ability which She planned to exploit to see that She and Hers would never again be contained.

“Stand before Us, Arcas Oathbreaker, that We may uphold our end of the pact thou didst abjure.” As dark clouds moved to overcast the moons, Aværys spoke up:

“Be Thou expeditious, Soror! Something wicked this way comes…” And as he said so, shadowy wraiths began to emerge from the darkness drawn to the light cast by this rare gathering of so many gods.