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The One-Eyed Man (7)

Continued from here: Memories of Vrann

The transcript in front of Hunter made for very interesting reading. Kalgoran’s initial reaction was that Hunter was merely scanning the page with his eyes, but as the warrior read further his eyes returned to the top of the page and began to follow each line to the end, and then drop to the next.

“Why are there no questions?” Hunter asked after re-reading the first paragraph. “I would have thought someone would have been there to ask questions.”

“Brehenna does not exist to be interrogated by her Devotees,” Kalgoran laughed. “That’s not how communion with the Gods works. If she decides that her Devotees need her wisdom, she will impart it on the subject they bring to her. She will give them what they need to know. No more, and no less. What they choose to do with her wisdom is their concern.”

Hunter considered arguing his point, but knew that it would be fruitless. He allowed his eyes to return to the book and continued reading. Occasionally he would skip back up to cover something he had already seen, as though he was clarifying the passage, then he would continue where he left off. When Hunter turned the page and appeared to read intently, Kalgoran took a step back.

“I’ll leave you to it, for a while,” the mage said. “I’ll make sure some food is brought to you.”

Hunter didn’t reply, but simply nodded and grunted his confirmation. Kalgoran allowed himself a smile, and left the man to his studies.

Communion with The Goddess Brehenna on the subject of The Shikanti.

The Shikanti looked across the D’Z’rn with hunger in their eyes, my children. They crossed that void to feast on that which was abundant here… a new Cradle of Sustenance for their dying kind. What they left behind… so unlike all you know, or think you know… they are untouched by Time or Energy, or Light or Thought. Both Order and Chaos have forsaken them. They are beholden only to Death.

“Good,” Hunter muttered. “At least that suggests they can be killed.” He continued to read.

This Cradle of Sustenance became their crucible. Only that which escaped the Great Barrier could fulfil their needs. All that was within… pestilential. And so the Circles of Power came into being, forged from the bones of Rengarth, and the essence of their kind. Through them the Shikanti could feed on that which Rengarth had bled into the D’Z’rn. Because of them, Rengarth bled no more.

Yet, oh my daughters, oh my sons, the silver eyes of the Shikanti were clouded by their hunger. For, in order to feast, they closed the door. Only their Circles remained… windows to their past. And through those windows they watched, and saw their own world burn in a fire of their own making.

Hunter frowned at the paragraphs and read them again. “Damn,” he mumbled, “for a Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom, why is Brehenna so damned cryptic!” As he read the last sentence again he looked up at the flame of one of the candles in the candelabra in front of him. “Their own world burned…” he mused. “Damn! I almost feel sorry for them.”

Alone and afraid, and bound one to one to their Circles of Power, the Shikanti came to the Eye of Rengarth. They drew upon the abundance from all across the world. They filtered it… distilled it… concentrated it… and then forged it into Twelve. Twelve, which they gifted to the Crowns of the world. And, in the sea of resentment that followed, they spun tales of salvation.

Hunter glanced down at his metal arm after reading this. “So it’s true, they made you,” he muttered. “At least they made you from the stuff of Rengarth and not their own alien filth. But since they’re your makers, I’m forced to wonder if you have any power over them.”

Their tales were believed, my children, for, in part, they were true. And more, they pledged deliverance from a future of demons and death. They came as one to the Unliving Caliph, he who had thrice before saved you all. But the Caliph saw them with eyes unclouded. It was the finest of lines he walked, as fine as the thread of the smallest of spiders. And he brought them to the Artifact Great, and observed as they worked upon his creation.

They were saved, my children, but so were you, my sons and daughters and all. And they were changed, my children. No more were the Shikanti the Parasites of old, for the Unliving Caliph is clever… oh so clever and bright. They became the Symbionts of Rengarth… for one to live, the other must survive.

“I’ve heard tales of the Lych-King,” Hunter mused to himself. “Ruthless, but kind, they call him. If anyone could see through the Cloud-Skier shenanigans, it’d be him.”

I shall speak no more of the Shikanti, save to say this: When the One-Eyed Man comes, seeking that which was taken from him, let him read my words. Let him feast on the wisdom I impart, and let him also be assured by this: That which he gained in exchange for that which he lost was forged in haste, and with no regard for the Tenet of the Goblins of Darkholm.

So ends the Communion.

Hunter frowned at the last passage. There was no doubt in his mind that it referred to him directly. The warrior was distracted by the sound of the door of the chamber being opened. He turned to see Kalgoran re-enter, followed by both Finn and Malik. Kalgoran carried in his hands a large platter of cooked meat, bread and cheeses, while Malik carried a tray on which sat several large cups, and a glass jug of amber liquid. The two mages set their burdens down on the table, and Malik filled the cups from the jug and passed them around. Finn started to pick at the tray of food while Kalgoran resumed his place at the head of the table.

“Have you learned anything?” he asked Hunter.

“I’ve learned that Brehenna likes to be cryptic,” Hunter jibed. Kalgoran laughed.

“In this case, yes,” he nodded. “Her communions are usually much more straightforward but, as I told you, the Shikanti are somewhat resistant to our magic. And Brehenna only reveals what we need to know.”

“Sure,” Hunter nodded. “I can guess at most of the meaning here, except this part…” he pointed at the final paragraph. “That which he gained in exchange for that which he lost was forged in haste, and with no regard for the Tenet of the Goblins of Darkholm.”

“It is extremely difficult for a mage to forge magic into an object,” Kalgoran explained, “at least in a way that will last. Malik here could enchant your swords to burn with fire upon command, but the magic would work only once, maybe twice, before it would need to be recast. Me? I could do the same and have it work for longer, but even my High Magic would dwindle after a time. No, the forging of an enchantment into the very essence of an object is the province of the Gods, the Shikanti… and the goblins.”

“And what of the Goblins’ ‘Tenet’?” Hunter asked.

“That’s easy,” Malik smiled. “I once heard a goblin speak it himself. ‘Did you really think we would construct anything that could be used against us?’ he said. It makes sense to me.”

Hunter looked down at his metal arm again, but this time he smiled. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it makes a whole lot of sense to me, too.”

To be continued...

Description
The One-Eyed Man (7)

Continued from here: Memories of Vrann

The transcript in front of Hunter made for very interesting reading. Kalgoran’s initial reaction was that Hunter was merely scanning the page with his eyes, but as the warrior read further his eyes returned to the top of the page and began to follow each line to the end, and then drop to the next.

“Why are there no questions?” Hunter asked after re-reading the first paragraph. “I would have thought someone would have been there to ask questions.”

“Brehenna does not exist to be interrogated by her Devotees,” Kalgoran laughed. “That’s not how communion with the Gods works. If she decides that her Devotees need her wisdom, she will impart it on the subject they bring to her. She will give them what they need to know. No more, and no less. What they choose to do with her wisdom is their concern.”

Hunter considered arguing his point, but knew that it would be fruitless. He allowed his eyes to return to the book and continued reading. Occasionally he would skip back up to cover something he had already seen, as though he was clarifying the passage, then he would continue where he left off. When Hunter turned the page and appeared to read intently, Kalgoran took a step back.

“I’ll leave you to it, for a while,” the mage said. “I’ll make sure some food is brought to you.”

Hunter didn’t reply, but simply nodded and grunted his confirmation. Kalgoran allowed himself a smile, and left the man to his studies.

Communion with The Goddess Brehenna on the subject of The Shikanti.

The Shikanti looked across the D’Z’rn with hunger in their eyes, my children. They crossed that void to feast on that which was abundant here… a new Cradle of Sustenance for their dying kind. What they left behind… so unlike all you know, or think you know… they are untouched by Time or Energy, or Light or Thought. Both Order and Chaos have forsaken them. They are beholden only to Death.

“Good,” Hunter muttered. “At least that suggests they can be killed.” He continued to read.

This Cradle of Sustenance became their crucible. Only that which escaped the Great Barrier could fulfil their needs. All that was within… pestilential. And so the Circles of Power came into being, forged from the bones of Rengarth, and the essence of their kind. Through them the Shikanti could feed on that which Rengarth had bled into the D’Z’rn. Because of them, Rengarth bled no more.

Yet, oh my daughters, oh my sons, the silver eyes of the Shikanti were clouded by their hunger. For, in order to feast, they closed the door. Only their Circles remained… windows to their past. And through those windows they watched, and saw their own world burn in a fire of their own making.

Hunter frowned at the paragraphs and read them again. “Damn,” he mumbled, “for a Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom, why is Brehenna so damned cryptic!” As he read the last sentence again he looked up at the flame of one of the candles in the candelabra in front of him. “Their own world burned…” he mused. “Damn! I almost feel sorry for them.”

Alone and afraid, and bound one to one to their Circles of Power, the Shikanti came to the Eye of Rengarth. They drew upon the abundance from all across the world. They filtered it… distilled it… concentrated it… and then forged it into Twelve. Twelve, which they gifted to the Crowns of the world. And, in the sea of resentment that followed, they spun tales of salvation.

Hunter glanced down at his metal arm after reading this. “So it’s true, they made you,” he muttered. “At least they made you from the stuff of Rengarth and not their own alien filth. But since they’re your makers, I’m forced to wonder if you have any power over them.”

Their tales were believed, my children, for, in part, they were true. And more, they pledged deliverance from a future of demons and death. They came as one to the Unliving Caliph, he who had thrice before saved you all. But the Caliph saw them with eyes unclouded. It was the finest of lines he walked, as fine as the thread of the smallest of spiders. And he brought them to the Artifact Great, and observed as they worked upon his creation.

They were saved, my children, but so were you, my sons and daughters and all. And they were changed, my children. No more were the Shikanti the Parasites of old, for the Unliving Caliph is clever… oh so clever and bright. They became the Symbionts of Rengarth… for one to live, the other must survive.

“I’ve heard tales of the Lych-King,” Hunter mused to himself. “Ruthless, but kind, they call him. If anyone could see through the Cloud-Skier shenanigans, it’d be him.”

I shall speak no more of the Shikanti, save to say this: When the One-Eyed Man comes, seeking that which was taken from him, let him read my words. Let him feast on the wisdom I impart, and let him also be assured by this: That which he gained in exchange for that which he lost was forged in haste, and with no regard for the Tenet of the Goblins of Darkholm.

So ends the Communion.

Hunter frowned at the last passage. There was no doubt in his mind that it referred to him directly. The warrior was distracted by the sound of the door of the chamber being opened. He turned to see Kalgoran re-enter, followed by both Finn and Malik. Kalgoran carried in his hands a large platter of cooked meat, bread and cheeses, while Malik carried a tray on which sat several large cups, and a glass jug of amber liquid. The two mages set their burdens down on the table, and Malik filled the cups from the jug and passed them around. Finn started to pick at the tray of food while Kalgoran resumed his place at the head of the table.

“Have you learned anything?” he asked Hunter.

“I’ve learned that Brehenna likes to be cryptic,” Hunter jibed. Kalgoran laughed.

“In this case, yes,” he nodded. “Her communions are usually much more straightforward but, as I told you, the Shikanti are somewhat resistant to our magic. And Brehenna only reveals what we need to know.”

“Sure,” Hunter nodded. “I can guess at most of the meaning here, except this part…” he pointed at the final paragraph. “That which he gained in exchange for that which he lost was forged in haste, and with no regard for the Tenet of the Goblins of Darkholm.”

“It is extremely difficult for a mage to forge magic into an object,” Kalgoran explained, “at least in a way that will last. Malik here could enchant your swords to burn with fire upon command, but the magic would work only once, maybe twice, before it would need to be recast. Me? I could do the same and have it work for longer, but even my High Magic would dwindle after a time. No, the forging of an enchantment into the very essence of an object is the province of the Gods, the Shikanti… and the goblins.”

“And what of the Goblins’ ‘Tenet’?” Hunter asked.

“That’s easy,” Malik smiled. “I once heard a goblin speak it himself. ‘Did you really think we would construct anything that could be used against us?’ he said. It makes sense to me.”

Hunter looked down at his metal arm again, but this time he smiled. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it makes a whole lot of sense to me, too.”

To be continued...