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Chapter 638: Windows into a Lower World
🕑 Added 2023-07-26 21:16:51 +0000 UTCTwo closed doors.
Two closed doors led from Uldar’s mead hall; their surfaces were completely smooth and lacked keyholes. The first door frame—on the left—was carved with painstaking detail, recreating a garland of delicate branches heavy with leaves and ripened fruit, trailing toward the floor.
The second door frame was also sculpted, but this image was of waves that ran together, each so highly detailed, it seemed they could flow from the doorway and splash across the floor.
“So…” Thundar said. “Which door first?”
“I’ve got a suggestion,” Alex’s voice was flat. “How about we do literally anything but split up?”
There was swift and unanimous agreement.
Emphatically, unanimous agreement.
“Meh, let’s start with the left,” Hart suggested.
Drestra looked at him sharply. “Why left?”
He shrugged. “I’m standing closer to it.”
She gave him a withering look. “Really, that’s your logic?”
Hart simply shrugged.
“Left is…okay with me…” Claygon said, his iron feet thundering across the stone. Alex wondered how much he weighed now. “I will open the door…everyone be ready…in case…something bad is waiting…inside.”
“Watchers, form up behind the golem,” Watcher Hill commanded, her voice curt. The warriors formed a column behind Claygon, staves levelled at the door.
The others gathered behind them, ready to defend with spell, arrow, weapon, fangs, fists and miracles.
“Ready…?” Claygon said. “I’m going…to open it…stay out here…until I say it’s okay…”
He flung the door wide.
A deafening bang came like an explosion as it struck a stone wall; Claygon strode in, war-spear held high. Alex looked past him, spotting clusters of light—in various colours and shades—glowing throughout the chamber.
He swallowed; noting how much they reminded him of the Traveller’s sanctum.
Was this Uldar’s teleportation chamber?
He felt no such magic, but his question would be answered soon enough.
“Everyone…” Claygon said slowly, his voice filled with surprise and awe. “Come inside…you must see this…”
Exchanging nervous glances, the group of interlopers slowly filed through the door, their eyes widening with each step.
Some gasped.
Others swore.
“Holy hells…” Alex muttered.
The chamber was vast, far larger than Uldar’s mead hall. The walls, floor and ceiling were crafted from hundreds of broad windows, each fitted together like bricks on a building, though there was no mortar between them.
And through each window?
A scene in Thameland.
Vast tracts of the realm.
Through every pane of glass, a different part of the realm was revealed. Some windows showed peaceful meadows at nightime, tall grass swaying in the moonlight. In others; rain fell from dark clouds, while in others, the moon shone in a clear sky. A small herd of deer slept peacefully in a meadow, as glowing faeries danced beneath the moonlight in another.
Other windows captured babbling brooks, flowing streams, lazy rivers and roaring waterfalls. Some were of country roads at nightfall, most free of travellers, while lonely wanderers moved stealthily along others in the dark. There were sleeping towns and villages. There were empty fields.
There were even cities.
“Oi!” Cedric pointed at a particularly dreary looking scene.
Through a pane of glass, the scene of a city was displayed from above; buildings of stone and wood, a few towers and massive structures rose above rooftops. Some structures had been patched, though still partly blackened—from fire, magic or both—very few were untouched. The streets were empty with the exception of a few guards marching along dirty cobblestones.
A cathedral rose high in the distance.
“That’s Ussex, ain’t it?” Cedric said. “Looks jus’ like when we went there to get trained by them priests!”
“By the spirits…would you look at that!” Drestra cried, pointing to the familiar scene of a marsh in the summertime. In the distance, sat a magical looking village in the shade of a long dead aeld tree. “That’s my home! That’s the Crymlyn! What is this?”
“Here.” Merzhin looked down at a window beneath his feet. “This is Uldar’s Rise…and it’s exactly as we just left it.” The Saint looked up, gazing at the windows with wonder. “These windows must show Thameland as it is now. And look there.”
He pointed to the centre of the room where a comfortable looking, overstuffed, cowhide chair had been placed. It was the perfect size for Uldar.
“I wonder if this is where Uldar viewed all of Thameland,” Alex said, leaning down to tap a few panes of glass on the floor. They felt as solid as stone. If Claygon could walk across them with his massive bulk and great iron feet and not crash through them, then everyone else should be fine. “I wonder if he came here often?”
“Who knows,” Drestra said, eyeing the window showing the Crymlyn swamp. “It makes my skin crawl thinking he was watching my home, even though he was probably dead by the time I was born. I wonder if he…Alex, do you feel any teleportation magic in here? I’m wondering if these windows might be portals.”
The young wizard closed his eyes, ‘feeling’ out the energies around him. “No, I don’t feel any.”
“I feel no divinity that would allow one to travel across great distances either,” Merzhin said. “Certain churches have a viewing chamber where one can gaze across parts of the landscape in Thameland and contemplate Uldar’s majesty. This room reminds me of that: a viewing chamber.”
“Or an observatory,” Khalik said.
“Yes, I have heard of those.” Merzhin’s shoulders sagged. “But…to think Uldar was watching Thameland as one would a garden through a window, and yet none of our prayers were ever answered for centuries! He could see us, why did he not help us?”
“Maybe he was too dead,” Grimloch suggested. “That kinda gets in the way of the helping bit…well, Carey was pretty helpful—”
“Grimloch!” Theresa chided him.
“What? Well, she was.”
“Uh.” Drestra cleared her throat. “Look at that. Look familiar?”
Cedric and Merzhin followed her gaze.
“Oh shite,” the Chosen swore.
“Why is the window looking at that?” Merzhin asked.
“Huh,” Hart grunted. “Well, don’t that just complicate things.”
Through the window, a forest abruptly ended, like it was severed with mathematical precision. Well tended flowers of a dozen colours bloomed where the woods ended, stretching out over a field. From that field a mound taller than the rest of the landscape rose, and on it, a small stone cottage that one might find anywhere in the Thameish countryside, sat.
But, the longer Alex looked at it, the more it seemed anything but ordinary.
Its thatched roof was woven together with what looked like threads of spun gold. Stained glass windows seemed to shift colour every time he blinked. Smoke puffing from the top of the stone chimney billowed skyward in neat, singular clouds that formed animal shapes, rising and swelling, joining a mass of clouds high above the cottage.
“Where is that place?” Theresa asked.
“And is there something wrong?” Isolde was looking at the Heroes. “You look as though you just met a devil.”
“That.” Cedric jabbed his finger toward the window. “Is the bloody cottage where we used to meet Aenflynn when we went ta talk’ to ‘im. The shark-toothed bastard—no offence—”
“You didn’t say nothing offensive. You just complimented whoever this Aenflynn is, so, none taken,” Grimloch said, looking puzzled.
“—but, yeah, the bastard spewed prophecies at us like ‘e was some kinda seer or somethin’,” Cedric scowled. “I’m startin’ t’wonder if ‘e jus’ bloody knew Uldar was dead all along.”
“How much did he know…” Merzhin mused. “That extra place set in the mead hall…you don’t think…”
“I think he’s been playing us,” Drestra growled, orange light blooming behind her veil. “We should ask him.”
She cracked her knuckles.
“Yeah, he’s someone we’re going to have to look at more closely,” Alex said. “But I don’t know about confronting him.”
“Why not?” Drestra frowned.
Alex called on the Mark, focusing on remembering the prophecy:
The path you walk now is unlike any other, and it is not one you walk alone. Like any path that departs from the known trail through the woods, you now step into peril. Fell things watch you. Allies quake. Whispers slip through the dark. Your post is abandoned and you are wanting. Every step you walk now will bring forth doom again, and we will meet again when you see the black ichor on the chair. In your desperate hour. Farewell, Heroes of the Prophet God, walk your path toward completion. Walk your path toward doom.”
“Fell things watch you…allies quake…whispers slip through the dark…your post is abandoned…and we will meet again,” he muttered. “I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t like it one bit.”
“Why, what are you thinking?” Theresa asked.
“We will meet again,” “Is what he said. Sounds to me like he wants us to confront him: or at least the Heroes. Look, whether he can see the future—somehow—or if he just knew Uldar was dead, he basically said that you would go back and confront him once you found out. You will meet again. Did you part on good terms?”
“Drestra had tricked him, kinda,” Hart said. “She used her brain and outsmarted a fae lord, which made him kind of pissy.”
“That’s the Drestra I know,” Thundar said admiringly.
The Sage looked at the minotaur for a long moment—something shifting beneath her veil—before turning back to Alex. “You could be right…he could be counting on us coming back to him when we’re desperate.”
“Exactly.” Alex looked at the door. “And I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m tired of being someone’s puppet. Let’s get out of here and see what that last door has behind it. We know Uldar was watching Thameland. Let’s see what else we can learn about him.”
He led the group from the viewing chamber, glancing over his shoulder one last time.
His eyes scanned the windows for a single image.
That of a black orb.
But he saw no sign of the Ravener through any of the glass panes.
“Damn,” he swore. “If only it was that easy.”
The next door—framed by white stone carved like waves—led to Uldar’s sleeping chamber. A long white robe lay on a lounge chair.
“I thought gods didn’t need sleep,” Thundar said quietly as the group entered the room.
“It seems this one did. Or at least chose to,” Khalik nodded to the centre of the room. “It seems that a normal bed wasn’t to this fallen god’s liking.”
The middle of the chamber was dominated by a large stone pool sunken into the floor, roughly the size of an enormous bed that could easily sleep four. Stone columns stood at each corner of the pool, hung with curtains woven of silver thread.
Through spaces between the fabric panels, water could be seen gently rippling in the pool.
An odd scent wafted into the air from the ripples, one that made Alex’s nose wrinkle.
“The water smells like different medicines,” Isolde peered beyond the curtains before looking at the walls. “And it seems these are what he chose to look at when he was in his most private bower.”
Attached to the walls were several pieces of art. They were of varying styles, shapes and ages, and done in different mediums; some were ancient, etched into stone slabs from a dark cave wall with images of spear-wielding hunters challenging gigantic marine animals carved into them.
Another was a painting done in oil paints on a large canvas, it displayed a bearded man, flexing bulging muscles as he wrestled a leviathan.
Another showed a smiling young woman wearing ancient clothing: little more than furs and undyed linens hanging loosely on her sturdy frame.
Others were various images of Thameland: some showed weddings celebrated in ancient glens, others of fae capering in the woodlands. One was of Uldar himself—young, but still white bearded—helping a horde of barbaric Thameish labourers raise megalithic stones on a small hill.
While most of the barbarians used ropes and teams of straining labourers to raise the rocks, Uldar was pushing one into place unaided. His muscles bulged from great strain and effort, and his face…
…was different.
Every depiction of Uldar throughout the sanctum had always shown the god in his full glory, paternal and majestic.
In this painting, his face was red and straining, similar to other labourers shown. He did not look at all majestic, he simply looked…
…mortal
If it weren’t for the fact that he stood two heads taller than the next largest man in the painting, one might mistake him for a simple human.
“Hey,” Tyris said, her eyes drifting from painting to painting. “So far, the entire valley’s been full of representations of Uldar…but he’s hardly in the paintings in this room. Look around, there’s portraits of all kinds of people, but none of him.”
“And when he is in a painting, he is shown as flawed and as human as anyone else,” Prince Khalik said quietly. “If the rest of the sanctum is a tribute to Uldar the god…then in his bedroom, he chose to see himself as Uldar the man.”
“In his most private bower, he looks to forget his divinity?” Merzhin went to an easel standing near the wall crafted of white stone. On it was an unfinished canvas, waiting to be completed.
In truth, it was less ‘unfinished’ and more, ‘barely started’.
It was the beginning of a painting of a raven with nothing else on the canvas.
“I wonder why a raven?” Merzhin said.
“Ravens mean death in some cultures,” Tyris said.
“Hey, over here,” Watcher Hill called, having moved to the other side of the sleeping pool. “That medicine smell wasn’t coming from the water, it was coming from over here. Look, at this table, it’s full of empty medicine bottles, and there’s also a bunch of white towels on the floor…all of them are covered with black stains like the stuff that leaked out of Uldar’s side.”
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Author's Note
Hello twenty-four cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!
And we're back on CRIBS! Uldar edition! More building and more hints being given here.
Also, I'm a big fan of gods sleeping in unnatural ways.
My friend once had his astral deva character in a campaign I ran in uni become an archdevil (long story) and thus developed immunity to fire.
So what'd he do?
Fill his entire bedchamber in lava.
Try to scry and die him? Congrats, you teleported into lava.
Haha, he's great.
Cya tomorrow!
Comments
George R
Thanks for the chapter
Allastin
Kinda really left field, but how did Uldar ascend again? If it wasn’t specified, what if the fae had a hand in his ascension and his death? Perhaps a bargain was struck and he tried to play smart and it backfired?
