Chapter 139

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The Creator, Atlantis, The Kalenic Sea

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The CHI raid group entered the Scorpan Village cautiously, accompanied by guards and a brown-scaled drake-kin who volunteered to act as a translation for the Scorpans. It didn't take long for them to make their way through the broad avenues made to accommodate the large Scorpans in the village. Most of the slowdown came from the large crowd who looked at the guilders like they were loose animals at the zoo.

The Scorpan were, as a group, full of curiosity and caution of the humans in their midst. There was an undercurrent of fear that, at any moment, the humans might snap and kill them all. The Feline Beastborn were both less and more worried. I'd conveyed to them all that they were forbidden from revealing their status as former humans, that they should act as if they were born Children and not converted. Most chose to hide in alleys and their homes so that they didn't have the opportunity to fuck it up.

It was only after they'd reached the market that the humans saw their first Beastborn. A lithe catwoman, modelled after an Abyssinian, her short orange-brown fur was sleek and shiny, with golden eyes. Her tail swayed languidly behind her as she quietly haggled with a young minotaur over a crate full of bottles of cream. No, I wasn't making that up. 

I could tell the guilders were curious from the first second they laid eyes on her. They'd never encountered this species of 'Child' before, though the uncanny valley might be pinging their subconscious about it. It was only after she'd finished bartering that the catwoman turned away from the stall, spotting the group of humans standing in the middle of the road, staring at her.

She eeped in surprise, clutching the crate of cream to her chest. "Uh. Hi. You can't have any of this. It's mine. I paid for it, fair and square!" Her tail was floofed and stuck straight out from her waist in an angry line. Her large ears were poking up through her burnished bronze hair, which curled around her head down to her shoulders.

"Okay?" said someone I wasn't used to hearing anything from that wasn't arguing with Harald. Duncan stepped forward, hands raised. "We're not going to take it. May I ask what you are?"

"Oh!" The catwoman said, taken aback by the question. I had the urge to check what her name was myself but held back. That was an invasion of privacy, and I was trying to be better. "I, um, I'm a Feline Beastborn."

"Is that like a Scaleborn?" Harald asked quietly to the group as a whole. The catwoman's ears flicked towards him as he spoke.

"Kind of?" she answered. Harald started, his eyes jumping to her ears with a flash of understanding. I felt the woman reaching out to me, panic dominating her thoughts. I sent her Calm and fed her an explanation she could use. "The Creator made us the same way he made The Voice and other Scaleborn, but based on different animals."

Perfect.

Having received an answer, Harald nodded, and Duncan stepped forward again. "Thank you for answering our questions...?" He trailed off, and after a second, the catwoman seemed to realise he was asking for her name.

"Ah! I, uh, I'm Melanae," she answered. I felt a certain amount of schadenfreude as I saw some looks shared amongst the group, no doubt noting that she had a relatively normal Phenocian name. Perhaps wondering If I gave it to her in an attempt to humanise them? Gooood, Good. Your misunderstandings fuel me! "It, uh, was nice talking to you, but I gotta go... get these in the icebox. Bye!"

Melanae fast-walked away, her tail swaying wildly behind her as she maintained a perfectly straight back. The tension was broken a little after that, and the market began to move again. Harald elbowed Duncan, waggling his eyebrows. He got a dead arm for his trouble. So the hunter was a furry? Eh, It made about as much sense as anything else.

They mingled in the market, making a few purchases of goods made on the Eleventh and Tenth, mainly food and some luxuries, like the vial of glowing purple ink/dye harvested from giant clams farmed by the Oceanids. Another item was an obsidian statuette of Wave and Taura in flight, crafted by an inspired and rather artistic manabeing who had seen them flying overhead.

The implication that there was a second wyvern wasn't lost on the guilders, who likely vividly remembered Wave fighting during the invasion.

The market started to close as the sun dipped past the edge of the canyon, casting the village into shade. Over the next hour or so, Scorpans made their way back to their homes, and the guilders were left mostly alone but for their guide and guards. There was a minute of silence as the guilders walked through the emptying streets, the sunlight crawling up the canyon wall.

"There is an Inn that is set aside for travellers between floors," the brown-scale drake-kin offered, waving at one of the taller buildings in town. "It's only a few talons a night for a room and food. You're here to challenge the Scorpan King? You'll probably need all your energy; why not rest for the night?"

"Why?" Isid asked, and I didn't begrudge her the suspicion in her voice. "We're guilders attempting to delve into the dungeon. Why would you house and feed us?"

"You're people," the drake-kin shrugged. "The Creator's teachings never say anything about humans or Children being better or more righteous than the other. Besides, you're not here to hurt The Creator; you just want to explore His creation and grow in strength, right? That's what I thought guilders were all about, anyway."

"You're not wrong..." Isid answered, glancing at the other guilders and gauging their opinions. Most simply nodded, though a few seemed uneasy. Isid nodded to herself and turned to their escort.

"Stick, we'd appreciate having a place to rest for the night. Thank you for your consideration," Isid said, nodding her head at those last words. 

The drake-kin, Stick, guided them to the Inn, and they settled in for the night.

As I refocused on the Twelfth for the evening, I felt an odd pulse of mana flash through the dungeon. It was over in an instant, and from a quick inspection of my dungeon, it hadn't seemed to have done anything. I wrote it off and went back to my work.

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The High Temple of The Gods, The Holy City, Theona

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The High Priest of the God Of Light, Garyson, stumbled back from the table. His body shuddered and twitched, and it was only thanks to Haliet that he hadn't fallen. The guard-captain guided him to a chair where he could sit and recover his strength. The table slowly deactivated, the glowing yellow lines of power that ran along its surface fading from view. Hovering above the yellow gemstone set in its centre was an image, the ultimate destination of their search.

Garyson slumped into the cushioned throne, accepting a vial of blue liquid flecked with gold from an acolyte. With shaking hands, he drank the high-grade mana potion in one swallow. He sighed in relief as mana once more rushed through his body, basking in its warmth and gentle light. I filled his mana circuits, warming his cold bones from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head.

"Of course, they were connected. How could they not be?" Garyson wondered aloud, letting his eyes focus on the image, committing the being within it to memory. "We dismissed it as coincidence, but history often rhymes, if not repeats. That island dungeon, the one on Atlantis, hosts the necromancer. One of its monsters, a lizard, is the necromancer."

The image began to fade, taking the stain-grey scales of the lizard monster with it. While the creature's fel green eyes seemed to stare directly at him, there were three or four sets of eyes lit the darkness around it. Lesser necromancers, students to a teacher? Behind them was the outline of a figure in armour, a glowing point of green next to its head.

"You know what must be done, Guard-Captain Haliet," Garyson said, turning to face the Templar. The man turned from where he'd also been scrutinising the image, his pupils blown wide and burning with zealous purpose. Haliet fell to one knee immediately, one fist across his chest and the other clutching his sword.

"I do, Your Holiness," Haliet answered. Garyson gestured for his sword, and Haliet unsheathed it. The blade gleamed in the light of the sunset as it spilled in through the room's westward window. They'd started the ritual with the sun's first rising, and it was only fitting that it'd lasted the whole ten hours until it set. Haliet presented the sword, handle-first, to Garyson. The high Priest took it and, with an unusually smooth motion, held it unwaveringly above the knight's right pauldron.

"Do you swear to hunt your target without deviation, misgivings, or mercy for those who block your righteous purpose?"

"I do swear, your Holiness." At Haliet's words, Garyson raised the sword and lowered it over the man's left pauldron.

"Do you swear to destroy the fel taint of necromancy and remove it from our world, root and branch?"

"I do swear, your Holiness." Finally, Garyson lifted the sword one final time and gently tapped it on the knight's helmet.

"Then, by the power invested in me by the God of Light and Justice, I name you the First Crusader of the Seventeenth Crusade. Rise, Crusader Cylen Haliet, and know your purpose," Garyson finished his bestowment with a cough and lowered the sword. As he did, Haliet stood taller. Around them, all the guards in the room stood to attention and saluted.

Garyson turned to the wide-eyed acolytes that were still holding trays of mana potions, food and water. Right, he hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day. No wonder he felt so weak. "Acolyte Vert, please call a meeting of the Priesthood. We must make war plans." The chosen acolyte shook with zeal. He placed his burden on a nearby end table and fled the room with all haste.

"A crusade must be called to rain divine judgement upon the taint of necromancy," Garyson declared as he stood, trembling again. He took up his staff and righted his elaborate hat, eyes scanning over the room, sharper than they'd been in years. "Haliet, organise the Holy Guard and contact the other Templar. Do not conceal your movements or purpose; let the knowledge of this crusade spread throughout the world. Let all know of the coming judgement of the gods upon the island of Atlantis. For the Gods!"

"For the gods!" everyone in the room echoed. 

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????, ????, ????

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I told you! I knew from the start that something was going on there!

Yes, yes, you've maintained that it had something to do with that dungeon from the beginning. We know.

There's only so many times you can say it, dear Fire, before we begin to get annoyed.

Alright, fine. Still, I call for the rest of the Three to be checked on.  We know Death is stirring, but what of the others?

As much as it pains me to agree with Fire, I must concur.

Agreed, Water. We might begin even though Time, Space and Creation aren't here. They won't mind. Time and Space are preoccupied with their domains, and Creation has been... Creation. All in favor? ... Motion Passes. Wind, check on Void and Chaos.

Right Away, Order!

...

They're... uh... gone.

What do you mean they're gone?!

I mean, they're gone. Their prisons are empty, and their Planes have gotten so impossibly larger over the aeons that it'll be impossible to find them!

This isn't good, this isn't good at all. They were still there when we last checked...

They're making a play. Death is acting through this necromancer in the dungeon, and Chaos must be championing the dungeon itself.

It's caused so much of it that I don't see any other possibility. What about Void?

Void is doing what they always do: hiding until the decisive moment. We need to act fast to silence the dungeon before Void feels like they can end it all, like last time.

My Priest has already begun to call a Crusade to destroy it. I encourage you to get your Priests to agree that it is the correct course.

If that is all? Then, this meeting is adjourned. I'll bring Space, Time and Creation up to speed. The rest of you, see to your preparations. Beyond the mortal plane, a second Planar War is likely upon us.

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