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This is the latest installment in the Nalifan stories. For your convienance, links to the stories, in order are provided below.

Since When Does Trouble Knock?

Look at What I Found Under a Rock

With Justice For None

Somehow I read "last" and wanted to go cry in my bed .

I hope Ydrek has more to him than meets the eye otherwise I guess it's gonna be very short. Unless Nalifan wants to geas him into chasing the Flying Spaghetti Monster. That or Nalifan will feel the power of headology. My bets on Nalifan feeling remorse for what he did to Ydrek's sister, ranting about how it's sooooo not drow-like, then killing the mother just in case another bunch of soul-stealing bastards come around, and killing his daughter just in case she plots to kill him (being half-drow is one half too much), and finally a big fireworks with our favorite archmage slinging Empowered Enlarged Hightened Maximized Quickened Silenced Stilled Widened Fireballs left and right.

Oh and Trizkel is out to see his dentist for a saliva pH testing, what with the frequent use of acidic breath. No kidding with your oral hygiene.

Arinyaniquis looked down the hill as the column of slavers slowly wove its way up the slope, passing through a gap between two stands of trees. It was high summer and as always the slavers were coming to take even more people into bondage in the south. There was never enough to slake the psilords' appetite.

A cool breeze stirred his hair. He was invisible, of course, but to an observer capable of percieving him he appeared to be a tall elf with fine white hair and pale skin wearing grey and dark green travelling clothes. His eyes were blue and as hard and cold as the eternal ice of Avernus. He waited. They were almost where he wanted them.

There was about a score of them, wearing leather and mail and armed with cold steel. Many of them bore scars from their grim business or from the bloody work they had pursued before joining up to peddle flesh. Their horses carried their tools of the trade, nets and clubs to subdue their merchandise for the trek back south. They were in position. Arinyaniquis hesitated for moment. He hated to do this to the horses.

The trees on either side of the gap flash froze with devestating results. They exploded, sending shards and splinters of frozen wood knifing through the slaver column. Mail protected the wearers from the larger chunks, but some of the slender slivers were able to knife through and no one was covered in armour. Blood geysered from severed arteries and spilled out of ruined flesh as the wounded and dying writhed on the summer grass.

The elf was a blur of motion as a spell propelled him from the hillside to the top of the incline. He extended a hand a spoke several initiators. A blast of deadly frost washed over men and beast, mercifully dispatching the survivors in an instant.

It was done. Another batch of dead slavers, to be replaced by more in the next year. There was more he could do, if only they would let him. He would obey, as he always had, and their reasons were good but still . . . .

Thunder cracked in a cloudless sky and a shudder ran through the fabric of the world's magic. Arinyaniquis looked at the sky in awe struck wonder. This was the moment that everything changed.

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The blonde man dangled the crystal figurine in his fingers. It was an abstract piece that represented the Arch-Mage, a potent role in a world almost forgotten. He returned it to the board of crimson and black floating above the table. There were nine boards in all, each representing a world connected to two others and a single piece of the unified whole.

His opponent smirked. She was woman, almost as tall as he was and he was well over six feet. Her head was shaved bald, even her eyebrows gone, and tattooed with the abstract glyphs of the Marks of Discipline. Like him she wears clothes of the finest silks. "Are you going to move Vargo?"

Vargo looked at the woman with hooded eyes. She was young, about thirty, but Vargo's smooth and ageless appearance housed a mind that had seen more than two centuries. "What is your hurry Lenida? Returning to the monestary soon?"

Anger flashed in her eyes and died there. A chill briefly swept the room. "What was that?" she asked in alarm. "It felt as if the fabric of the world tore."

Vargo noted that in her case, the vaunted monastic sensitivities equaled their reputation. He would have to watch this one. "It didn't. The Great Ward was breached." Her eyes went even wider.

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Xyzasha licked her teeth with her long, pink tongue. The blood of her lover was sweet, which made up for his lackluster endurance. She bent down to bite out another chunk of his flesh with her fangs. The girl on the other side of the bed whimpered. Xyzasha lashed out with her talons in annoyance and opened the girl's throat.

The Demon Queen suddenly bolted upright in her great bed. She was terrible and beautiful, human traits expressed in fiendish flesh. The room shook, bones of her previous lovers rattling over the stones of her throne room floor. Gory red light poured in from the window, staining her blue skin purple.

The tendrils she had in the place of hair writhed, expressing her delight. The Great Ward had been breached after all these years. She smiled. The world would be hers at last.

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A mountain stands alone in the middle of a cultivated plain. It is a rough column of rock and earth nearly five miles high and at its crown sits a great, ramshackle castle constructed over a millenia. The hands of a dozen master architects have shaped and touched its construction, resulting in several competing and somehow harmonious additions and embeleshments. Somehow, it is just right.

In a room at the base of one the central towers, thirteen men and women meditate in a circle. They wear white robes and their heads are shaved and tattooed with glyphs. As one their heads are raised and their eyes snap open. "It has begun," says one of the men and there is no more need for words.

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Sparks dance between two decayed stone pillars, covered with moss. The rest of the ruin is almost entirely lost, a few pieces of stone not yet entirely claimed by the woods. In this place, sunlight reaches through the tree branches as only feeble shafts. Something lingers here, something most animals avoid.

The sparks multiply and begin to spin, forming the outline of a disc in the air. More and more sparks spinning faster and faster. A man steps through the disc, a dark skinned drow with a plate of ruby studdied mithril bonded to his skull and covering an eye socket.

A tall and silent Dalesland ranger follows Trizkel through and then woman wearing a harness of mithril and adamantine plate. Behind Sylvetria comes another dark elf wearing a coat of soft black leather over his silks. "We appear to have arrived," said Nalifan. "I wonder if the locals are friendly."

When something breaches some "Great Ward" around a world like a bullet through a wet paper bag, the people in that world should probably worry.

As i told ImpOL himself in AIM... only Nalifan would breech a Major Seal upon a world, just to go on vacation.

[quote=Oh and Trizkel is out to see his dentist for a saliva pH testing, what with the frequent use of acidic breath. No kidding with your oral hygiene.

[/quote]

Thats why I carry apples and mint leaves in my bag of holding, I would never think to engage in oral activity without a proper cleaning first

It is easy for humans to call elvenkind arrogant, especially the sun elves. There is more than some truth to this charge, but man should remember that the old lore and power of the elves still live on while human nations of even greater hubris lie in the dust, their legacy scattered over the face of the world. Perhaps the elves have a right to be proud.

-Nesayash, On Elves

It is easy to remember that a drow can be smiling politely and offering you a choice dish one moment and then slitting your throat with the next. It is harder and just as important to remember that they believe the same of you. In dealing with them, it is important always to remember what impression you are creating in their minds as the drow will strike swiftly if they suspect treachery even if none is intended.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow



Half a million souls reside in the city of Neridian. They go about their lives in much the same way that humans do so on countless worlds buying selling, labouring, sweating, laughing, and crying. To a sufficiently sensitive being, the mind voices form a chorus that exemplafies what it means to be human. To most of the psilords, it was just the babbling of the rabble.

A single tower rose five hundred feet into the air from the city center. It was topped with a spire of shining crystal that formed the walls and roof of a circular room at the top. If one was so inclined one could look down over the whole of Neridian and the surrounding plain. No one carred to. There were twenty chairs arrayed in a circle, their backs to the walls. Half of the chairs were occupied by men and women wearing shimmering silks and priceless jewelry. The other half host avatars of psionic energy being projected from various locations all over the continent.

Vargo's avatar speaks telepathically to his peers. The Greater Ward has been breached.

A dark haired woman in cobalt and gold raises an eyebrow. Like the others she possessesd an ageless appearance. Thank you, oh perceptive one. I hadn't noticed.

Don't be more of a bitch than you have to, Vargo snapped back. Do we know why?

A monstrously fat man wearing layers of gold and crimson silk replies. No. The Great Ward has been failing since its creation. We all know this. Why should we panic?

I'm not panicing you imbecile, Vargo shot back. The Lesser was built from the Greater.

Do you think there is anything alive in there? replied the fat man. Not that it matters. We can dispose of whatever remains. Or have you forgotten that not everything was successfully confined?

Don't be slower than you have to be Nerish, sent Vargo. The Greater didn't just weaken, it has weakened to the point that someone was able to breach it. Breaching it again will be easier. The outside universe can reach in. Something entered our world. What if it is an Illithid scouting party? What if it is the vanguard of an invading army?

You're a weak old man Vargo, Nerish thought back. The breach was brief. No army could have come through.

You complacent fat fool, Vargo blasted, you are so swift to dismiss an enemy you know nothing about!

The woman in blue interjected. Then perhaps we should investigate. Who's demense is nearest the breach?

Eyes turned blonde girl-child with shining eyes. The Mindknight Varyon Drecur. I'll inform him of the will of the overmasters.

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Mikos advanced over the mossy ground. His eyes flickered to the trees and then the fungi growing in clusters around the ruins. "The plants seem the same. So do the squirrels. I thought this was a different world." Eyes flickered towards Nalifan.

The drow was examining what was left of the ruin, which wasn't much. Besides the two broke pillars, nothing else was standing. Earth and moss covered what else was left. The forest had conquered the ruins long ago. "The quick and easy answer is that since ancient times many worlds have been connected and life from one has spread to another. Our home world is a particularily excellent example. Orcs and elves, for example, both originally came from different worlds. There are hypotheses about the creators of the multiverse seeding many worlds with the same form of life or taking a life form from one world and spreading it to the rest of the cosmos"

"And what do you believe?" asked Trizkel.

"Humans didn't end up on a quarter of the multiverse's worlds by accident. As to the mechanism-" he shrugged. "Anyway, there's nothing magical here. Shall we leave?"

Mikos lead the way, finding a game trail that wove through the woods. After over an hour of hiking, they exited the woods and found themselves on a semi-forested plain. Large stands of trees dotted the land and the grass grew long and yellow. "Not that different from home," said Mikos.

"So where now?" said Sylvetria.

"In a hurry to get this over with?" said Nalifan. She narrowed her gaze but said nothing. Trizkel smiled. "What are you smiling about? Those are your future in-laws."

Trizkel shrugged. "If Sylvetria says they need some time to get used to the idea, then we'll give them time. So where is this mighty arcane empire of legend?"

"I don't know," said Nalifan. "They don't seem to like casual visitors. That barrier was an impressive piece of work and not easily overcome. Shall we find ourselves some locals and ask questions?"

The other adventurers nodded in agreement and they set off at a brisk pace, long legged Mikos in the lead Nalifan began humming a murder ballad and Trizkel and Sylvetria matched each other's steps. Life was good.

It is easy to remember that a drow can be smiling politely and offering you a choice dish one moment and then slitting your throat with the next. It is harder and just as important to remember that they believe the same of you. In dealing with them, it is important always to remember what impression you are creating in their minds as the drow will strike swiftly if they suspect treachery even if none is intended.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow

WOW! She writes a Tell-All!

The drow are a cruel and selfish people, but those traits they share with goblins and orcs. It is their arrogance, sense of entitlement, magical might, wealth, and belief in being instruments of divine will that sets them apart. These traits can also be found in an abundance in sun elves, which does not entirely surprise me. It goes without saying that I would never mention to a member of either race.

-Nesayash, On Elves

If only one thing could be said about Nalifan D' Azurentien, then it would be that any dealing with him will inevitably involve your hands being stained with blood. His education was paid for by the expoitation of countless slaves and his path is littered with the corpses of those he has slain. He and death are inseperable. Of course, one could never do justice to such a complex man by saying just one thing about him.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Mikos stopped half way up the hill. "What is it?" Trizkel asked. The adventurers had been walking for several hours now and hadn't found any people or settlements, but they had detected a few clues that indicated the area was not entirely uninhabited. The sun, blazing yellow ball not much different from their own, was setting now. Both of the drow were quite eager.

"More foot prints," said the tall Dalesman, eying the marks on the dirt and the bent grass. "A small man. Smaller than the last set. Only a few days old. Probably a hunter or a forager."

"No hoof prints," said Nadia. "At least from nothing men ride. This isn't bad horse country."

"Horses cost," said Mikos. "And hunting doesn't pay well."

"Yes," said Sylvetria, "that's why the wealthy do it as a sport."

"Maybe they don't have horses," Mikos said, "or maybe they hunt somewhere else. Or a thousand other reasons. But men walked here and walked back and not too long ago. There are people close, people we can ask about these Acheroi-"

"Achenoi," Nalifan corrected. "It was called the Achenoi Empire."

"Right," said Mikos. "The Achenoi Empire, who a while back were the local equivalent to Netheril."

"More than ten thousand years ago," said Nalifan, "that is, before the barrier was erected."

"And there wasn't any reason for why they did that?" Sylvetria asked.

"I can make some guesses, but they rest on flimsy evidence. For now our skills and a modicrum of caution should suffice." The drow crested the top of the hill. "I think we've found civilization."

The setting sun cast long shadows over the land, but not enough to obscure the important details. A castle sat at the top of distant hill, surrounded by cluster of villages and fields. A river meandered through the lands and pockets of woods seperated tracks of grazing land. "How many do you think?" Nalifan asked.

"Thousand, maybe more," replied Trizkel. Nothing could hide from his matchless gaze which pierced magic veils and darkness with equal ease. "Do we push on or camp?"

"Camp, I think," said Nalifan. "Still more than a few miles away and we'll arrive well after dark."

Trizkel removed the small bundle on his back and unfolded it. From inside he removed four eight foot tall black iron pole topped with braziers fashioned in the form of grotesque goblin heads. The rest of the bundle formed a small tent. He quickly staked it out, disdaining the use of a hammer and instead using his warded hands. He then planted a goblin pole at each corner of the tent. He held open a flap for Sylvetria. She smiled and ducked inside.

The interior was a vast pavilion with a floor covered in lush rugs. Pillows were piled in corners and collapsable stools sat ready for use. The interior space was subdivided by curtains and tapestries, granting a measure of privacy for all of its inhabitants. Lantern balls hanging from the ceiling provided soft illumination. The rest of the adventurers followed the noblewoman inside.

Mikos strode towards the center to the tent and the large iron plate that rested on the floor. He waved his hand over it and a small fire burst into life. "I thought it was your turn to cook?" Sylvetria asked Nalifan as Mikos began removing utensils and supplies from the wooden shelves in the kitchen area.

"He bet me that we wouldn't find civilization before sundown. The sun was still setting when we saw the locals."

"Ahh. He's a better cook than you are anyway."

"Barbarian," he grumbled. "Just because you can't handle spiced cave scorpion legs you decide to blaime the cook. I told you they were hot and you said go ahead."

"Don't look at me," said Trizkel with a grin on his face. "I'm not getting involved in this fight. Too dangerous."

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Varyon Drecur opened his eyes. It was earlier than he usually woke, not much latter than dawn. His wife was still sleeping beside him and she usually woke first. He carefully slid out of bed, trying not to disturb her.

He quickly crossed the bearskin rug and garbed himself in a green tunic and brown breeches without waking her. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the way out of his chamber and halted. Grey. He was still a powerfully build man with a thick mane of hair and beard, but grey had begun to mark him. Time was catching up with him. He opened the door and quietly closed it behind him.

That normally didn't bother him much. His psychic talents were limited, but his mentatic skills were well honed. The power flowed when he willed it, even if not in great quantity. His martial talents had only confirmed his status as a mindknight and eventually his position as Landholder. He had even courted and won a psilord, his Lady Edrene. His duties consisted mostly of keeping the tax money flowing, crushing a few impudent peasants, keeping the bandits down, settling the occassional dispute or crime, and killing the odd monster and his retainers were more than competent in those areas. Life was easy.

Now it was not so easy. The overmasters themselves, meeting in council, had interrupted his dreams to send him orders to investigate . . . . . something. They couldn't or wouldn't be specific other than they were strangers from outside this world and they were nearby, just south of his holdings. So now he and his men had to go hunting.

Edrene would worry if she knew and he would spare her that. Her gifts were strong, but she had never directed them towards violence. As he descended to his main hall he called out to his servants. "Have my armour and weapons readied and wake all of my swordbearers. And Giden as well. Tell them to don harness. And have their steeds readied. Have the stablemaster prepare Fury as well."

Without further guidance from the overmasters, there was no telling what manner of creature the outworlders would be. He would have prayed that they were not illithidi, if there were any live gods to pray to. The Achenoi fell to the illithids and we threw them down. We can do so again. It wasn't very reassuring. The old dread still lingered. He softly cursed the overmasters. This was something they should be doing, not that he curses changed anything. He disdained the breakfast being prepared, as he could never keep food down on the eve of battle. He hoped it would not be his last.

Hubris is far from unknown from the elves, although fortunately it expresses itself more in a desire to assist other races than degrade them. They believe they are culturally, intellectually, morally, and magically superior to most races, including humans. This irritates many humans to no end, although I will admit that I have been awestruck by the wisdom of the elder elves on more than one occasion. The iron is that if you asked humans about why they feel superior to orcs, many of them would give the exact same reasons.

-Nesayash, On Elves

The drow love of luxury is well known and can be misleading. They are quite capable of surviving in the most unforgiving terrain imaginable and endure the most horrific privations. They just prefer not to.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


The room was plain and devoid of decoration or furnishings. Light and air entered through a pair of high windows and a faint breeze stirred the room. Its sole occupant was floating cross legged in mid air.

The door opens and two other people enter the room, one male and the other female. Both wear black robes and have shaved heads marked by glyph tattoos. The woman is slightly taller and leopard strong and leopard lean. The male is is unexceptional until one notices his eyes. Both bow.

The levitating man smiles benignly. He wears the white robes of a perfecti. His face is slightly lined by age and his skull has even more tattoos. His eyes are blank whites, but he is not blind. None of the other perfecti can equal his power. He is capable of crushing hearts, wiping minds, or crumbling castle walls with his directed will. Despite his power, he is not the greatest among them. "Be welcome to my chambers," he says benignly.

The students bow again. "Your skills are great and the Mountain has need of them."

They bow again. "How may we serve?" asks the woman.

"You must depart in secrecy and head both east and south. A great upheaval has shaken the world. You must find the ones who have caused it and report back."

"Does this have to do with the breach?" asked the male.

"Your perceptions are impressive Denian. Yes, the Shield of the World has been breached."

"The Illithidi?" Denian asked again.

"Perhaps. They distance is great and they shield themselves from view."

"What are we to do Sublime One?" asked the woman.

"Yes, maintain your focus Tyla. You and Denian will look and return. The Mountain has not interfered in the affairs of men since its founding. We shall not do so again. If what comes to this world are not men, then the Mountain may choose to act."

"As you wish Sublime One," said Denian.

"Leave immediately. Speak to no one." The bowed and retreated. Perfecti Zyush, who had once been Overmaster of Neridian, did not move as he watched them leave. His colleagues would be furious if they knew he had taken this action and they were sure to find out sooner or latter. That did not matter. That storm would pass. He would weather it as he had all others.

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Trizkel had thrust the goblin lanterns into the tent and began to fold it up when Mikos spotted the riders. "Company, coming our way."

Sylvetria turned and walked over to him. "Riders. Two score," she said. "If they're hostile, no one kill their horses."

"I love a woman who has her priorities straight," Nalifan said.

"Too bad I'm taken," she shot back.

"Well, after Westgate, maybe you should keep your husband on a leash."

"Hey," said Trizkel, "we didn't need horses back then."

"Anyone want to place bets on whether or not the locals are friendly?" said Nalifan.

"Hostile," said Mikos.

"Friendly," said Trizkel. "What the hells. Maybe they got up this early in the morning to make sure they could reach us in time for dinner invitations?"

"Of course," said Nalifan. "I believe that. And the priestesses of Lolth have my best interests at heart." He was grinning like a wolf. "Do you think they will listen to sweet reason or will brutal violence be required."

"Violence," said Trizkel.

"Violence," replied Sylvetria.

"Reason," said Mikos. "I'm an optimist."

"We'll know soon enough," Nalifan said. They riders were nearing the base of the hill and were close enough for the sharp eyed, which meant all of them, to get a good look. Their horses were unbarded and most of them wore full mail and helmets with nasal guards. The all had bows on their saddles and each of them carried at least one long handled axe or long bladed sword. Their hair was hidden, but their skin was pinkish or light brown.

"Peasant beaters," said Trizkel. "Peasants and bandits. No lances, no maces, no barding."

"Not all of them," said Nalifan. Four men were different. One wore no armour, an older man with a grey beard and blue cloak. Two others wore breastplates and greaves of polished steel over leather reinforced with metal plates. The last wore plate armour of blueish crystal. All four of them were haloed in focused and bound energies. "Psionicists."

"I thought this was a empire of magic?" said Mikos.

"It was," said Nalifan. "Things change though. Triz?"

"The guy in the crystal is good. The others are competent."

"Try to take armourless alive," said Nalifan as the riders came up the hill.

"Why him?" Sylvetria asked.

"Because of the four who probably know the most, he's not a warrior and he's not a superior psionicist so he'll be the easiest to manage." Nalifan stepped away from the group and extended his arms. His magics would allow his words to be heard by riders. "We come in peace," he said.

"My lord," said the old man, "his skin is dark, but look at his ears!"

"Elves!" the man in crystal yelled. That word needed no magical translation. Swords and axes leapt into hands. "Ride for ruin!" he yelled.

"RUIN!" the warriors howled as they spurred their horses forward.

Lightning sizzled from Nalifan's finger tips as he said words of his own.

*splat*

Thats the sound of a mob of peasants make when they piss off 1 (One) epic level D&D character, never mind a party of them.

Don't hurt the horses. *snicker*

LadyTevar wrote:Don't hurt the horses. *snicker*

Hey! Given the firepower being chucked around, they are likely to glib the horses when hitting the riders if they arent careful

Xon wrote:

LadyTevar wrote:Don't hurt the horses. *snicker*

Hey! Given the firepower being chucked around, they are likely to glib the horses when hitting the riders if they arent careful

Oh please.. Nal has far better aim than that.

Some have the impression that the elves are a noble, peaceful people existed in harmony with the woods and the universe, spending their time dancing and practicing art. Those who believe such things should cast their eyes to the paramount god of the elves, Corellian Lorethian the exemplar of all that it means to be elven on countless worlds and planes. He is the master of the three greatest elven art forms: swordsmanship, archery, and magic. Then think again what it means to be an elf.

-Nesayash, On Elves

I have never met a drow who did not delight in killing.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


The killing arc tore through the front score of horsemen, boiling blood, exploding eyes, and reducing flesh to char. Varyon Drecur, partially shielded by his armour of charged crystal, received only minor burns. Men were screaming and dying around him, but the elf was close. A few more moments were all he needed. His sword was raised.

An arrow took him in the shoulder, cracking energized crystal and sinking into bone. His arm began to sag. A second arrow took him in the heart. "Edrene," he gasped as blood poured from the wound and he slumped in the saddle, his vision fading.

Trizkel met the charge of the horsemen by spring forward with inhuman speed. He was a barely visible blur, killing with a sword in each hand before they could react. Blood sprayed and bodies fell in his wake.

Sylvetria stood relaxed and unarmed as horsemen neared her. One of them was the grey beard. Pain blossomed inside her skull and the world spun. The warrior-woman staggered. Two swordsmen raised their axes to strike. Arrows flew, magicked shafts flying from an enchanted bow. One fell with with an arrow in the skull and the other slumped with a pierced spine. Mikos serenely drew another shaft. He lacked the Vaasan's ferocity and the drow's bloodlust, instead possessing the hard practicality of men who live near very bad neighbors.

With two thirds of their number dead in moments, the riders are only now beginning to grasp how badly things are going. It is far too late. Sylvetria recovered her balance and a great spiked war hammer appeared in her hands. One soldier separates her from the grey beard. A blow from her hammer shatters the ribs on his left side and drives the spike deep into his chest. She doesn't bother pulling it out of his flesh, instead sending the hammer back to limbo as she rushes the Psi Lord. Another spike of pain drives into her mind, but she weathers it this time. Sylvetria leaps and seizes his tunic in her gauntlets and drags him bodily from the saddle. A reckless move against a rider with a war trained horse, but the grey beard's beast is no such animal.

Trizkel has turned and rushed again, continuing in his double fisted slaughter. Nalifan dodges his foes laughing and lashing out with his sword with its man killing spells worked in the the steel. Mail parts under the edge and flesh sizzles as the blade bites deep. Another rider falls.

The last man tumbles with an arrow in his spine. Sylvetria administers as measured blow to the psionicist's solar plexus, causing him to fold over gasping. Nalifan pauses on his way over to her to kick an axe out of a dying man's reach. "Nicely done."

"Thank you," she replies. The drow joins her a few feet from Giden as the human desperately tried to draw in breath.

"I'll take it from here," said the drow.

"Yeah," she agreed, "better have someone who knows what she is doing look over the horses." Nalifan's had an adequate eye for horseflesh, but was terrible at managing them or knowing their moods.

Nalifan gave the human a moment to recover further. "This is how it is going to work," Nalifan began, "cooperate and you get to walk away from this alive and in one piece. Give me trouble and I will get the information I want anyway and I will do whatever pleases me to whatever is left of you after I have finished extracting the knowledge I desire. Choose wisely."

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Vargo had retired to his private apartments, away from the prying eyes of his spy-deputy Lenida. An overmaster had every pleasure a Psilord could desire within easy reach. Drugs, alcohol, body riding, conditioned concubines, and puppeteering were available, to name the common ones. Vargo feigned a weakness for certain chemicals, but the books in his hidden study were his real vice.

This whole section of the tower existed in a fold in space, constructed by Vargo himself with a considerable expenditure of effort. None of the other overmasters, even Typhu, could have constructed this. He had not done it with the long abandoned paths of the psychoportive disciplines which dealt with the bending of space but with arcane magic.

He was not alone in this twisted space. The door to the hidden study opened and his mentor-slave Yendranfel entered. He was a withered elf who walked with a stoop and the aid of a cane. His face was craggy with lines and his long white hair was contained with a braid. "My lord," he said to his hated and beloved student.

"Yen," said Vargo, lounging in his chair. A crystal decanter filled with purple wine floated up and poured two glasses. "Sit."

The old elf shuffled forward and slowly sat down in richly upholstered chair opposite the fearsome overmaster. "What do you require of me?"

Vargo chuckled. "Advice, as always."

"I aspire to serve," said the elderly elf with practiced servility. Of all those he had secretly taught the arcane arts to, Vargo was by far the most gifted student. His psionic skills were the weakest of the overmasters, but his secret arcane might made him one of the strongest. Perhaps even equal to Typhu.

"Something opened a momentary breach in the Great Ward. It may have come through. Tell me what the means."

"You don't know?"

"Dimensional science is a neglected discipline as almost all of its applications are made impossible by the Great Ward. I need the old knowledge."

"Very well then. The breach will accelerate the decay. The Lesser will not be directly affected. As to the consequences I cannot speak to them without knowing how much effort it took."

"Suppose it was a mage or psionicist of Typhu's power."

"The breacher will find it easier to break through again. The breach will be wider and longer the next time and so on and so forth. If the mage in question has an army, it can be brought across, although the effort involved would be extreme."

"Anything else?"

"Transdimensional magics and disciplines will become marginally easier to employ. Perhaps from being outright impossible they will become extremely difficult and exhausting."

"So the threat is containable, if we act quickly."

"If those assumptions are correct," lied the elf.

"You may go."

Yendranfel rose and limped out of the room. There was one thing he had not told Vargo. A few gods with an interest in this world remained. To attempt to reach their followers through the Greater Ward would have been a waste of time, expending terrific energies for little gain. But now, as the Greater Ward weakened, it might become worth it. They might choose a champion or two. In those early days, the strongest of the surviving gods would be those who had reservoirs of power unconnected to this world that they could draw upon. The gods of the elves.

Does your campaign setting considers psionics and magic to be equivalent (i.e. psionic powers and spells interact with each other) or separate (i.e. a Mind Blank spell will not block a clairsentience power, or a Psionic Mind Blank power will not block a Scrying spell) or something between the two ?

The Nomad wrote:Does your campaign setting considers psionics and magic to be equivalent (i.e. psionic powers and spells interact with each other) or separate (i.e. a Mind Blank spell will not block a clairsentience power, or a Psionic Mind Blank power will not block a Scrying spell) or something between the two ?

We use the default where they are the equivalent.

Ok. So how would magic advantage Vargo in an all-psionic setting - apart from the advantage of being unconventional ? Last time I checked, magic requires gestures and formulae, while psionics require only focus, and powers can be used without preparation. What could offset this ?

The Nomad wrote:Ok. So how would magic advantage Vargo in an all-psionic setting - apart from the advantage of being unconventional ? Last time I checked, magic requires gestures and formulae, while psionics require only focus, and powers can be used without preparation. What could offset this ?

1) It is most definitely not an all psionic setting.

2) Some magic requires gestures, not all of them. And formulae isn't a weakness in his case, but a strength.

A long lived race, elves are quite capable of incredible patience. This can appear to be maddeningly slow to humans, but once the course of action is decided upon and the right moment appears elves will act with breath taking alacrity and suddenness.

-Nesayash, On Elves

Nalifan D'Azurentien is one of the most self confident and tenacious individuals I have ever met. When he sets his mind to something, he can rarely be dissuaded as long as he thinks it is within his power to accomplish. Even if he believes it beyond his current abilities, that does not mean he considers it beyond his future reach. That trait has result in great deeds being accomplished, but Westgate stands as reminder that some of those deeds are dark.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Xyzasha sat on her bed as her lieutenants and courtiers gathered about her court. The Demon Queen mammoth bed sat at the top of a pedestal where a throne might have once stood. Bone strewn stairs led down twenty feet to the cold flagstones of the throne room where a host of demons awaited the commands of their mistress amid the occassional muldering corpse or well chewed bone.

The most disturbing thing about Xyzasha was how closely she resembled a human. Her build was that of a tall, lush human female in her physical prime. Her beauty was undeniable as was her monstrousness. She possessed vampire fangs and black talons. Her skin was powder blue in colour and only the most potent blade could bite her. Her eyes were gold and slitted like a cat. Her lips were black and in the place of the hair on her head she possessed two foot long black tentacles that swayed when she was calm and writhed when she was aroused.

She wore a brassier of beaten gold and a gold chain around her waist supported a scrap of tattered purple silk, clothing so revealing and pointless it did little other than mock the idea of modesty. "My loyal subjects," she began in a leisurely manner, "how nice of you to attend. I am sure you are aware of the events of the previous day?"

The inhuman monsters made various motions of agreement. Her court was full of demons almost as abominable as she was, although of considerably lesser power. Slaughter Urge, a demon with the torso of an armoured, six armed blonde woman and the lower body of a serpent served as her field commander. The shadowy winged demon known as Deadheart was her chief spy. Her vizier and arch-mage was a winged and gross mixture of gorilla and boar known as Corpse Grinder. Poison Fester, a red skinned demon with a wolf's head and a serpent sprouting from his left shoulder, served as her lictor with his terrible axe. Yerrecht, a winged horror with a gaping maw in its stomach, served in ways that were only whispered about. Finally, there was the terrible winged demon of fire and destruction, Melkredar.

Corpse Grinder spoke telepathically, addressing the room. "The breach does hasten the fall of the Greater, but the Lesser remains in full force. We have gained little."

Xyzasha smiled indolently. "That might be the case, if that were the only change in the world."

"Dread queen," said Poison Fester, "enlighten us."

"Yes," said Yerrecht's upper maw, "what else do you have in play?"

"All in do time, my faithful servants. For now, know to make yourselves ready for the upheavals that we shall use to our own advantage. Also remember that it is by my will and cunning that this opportunity for freedom exists. Serve me well and we shall have a whole world lying at our feet and that shall only be the beginning of the exquisite torments that we shall scar the multiverse with."

------------------------------------------------------------

Giden trembled before the drow. "Now," said Nalifan with a smile on his lips, "will you be a good human?" The drow seized the psilord's head with his right hand, positioning his thumb over Giden's left eye. "Or do I start by gauging out your eye?"

"P-please," Giden begged.

"That's not what I want to hear. I'll attribute that down to your feeble human brain having trouble dealing with the shock and sudden reversal of fortune. This time. I will not be so indulgent the next. Now. Will you cooperate?"

"Y-yes," Giden stammered. "Whatever you want. Anything."

"Much better," said Nalifan. "We'll start with some easy questions first. Where are the Achenoi?"

"H-here. We are all Achenoi."

"Interesting. Records indicate that you once had a powerful empire based around arcane magic. Is that true?"

"Y-yes. That was the time of the mage lords."

"I take it you psionicists are their inheritors. Why did you try to kill us?"

"Elves are our ancient enemies. Please lord, have mercy."

"I'm not interested in your worthless blubbering," Nalifan said crossly. "What do you know of elves?"

"They are immortal, cunning, and introduced the dart arts of arcane magic to man. The mage lords were their puppets." He was trembling.

"Let me guess, magic is evil psionics is good."

"Y-yes."

"Human stupidity is a well without a bottom," the drow muttered. "Give me a brief summary of the fall of the mage lords and the rise of the Psi Lords. Keep the self righteous moralizing to a minimum. Take a moment to collect your thoughts."

Giden licked his lips in fear. Oh ancestors. He was in the grip of an elf who was probably going to cripple him anyway. Another stood nearby as did both their battle-thralls. His heart was beating like a rabbits. Past masters, please aid me.

"Begin," Nalifan proded.

"The mage lords, in their arrogance, brought many evils to the world as slaves. One of them proved beyond them. They were the Illithidi, monstrous beings of terrible psionic might. They brought more of their kind through as well as terrible battle-thralls and threw down the mage lords."

"This was many thousands of years ago?" Nalifan asked intently.

"Yes, although the dates are disputed. It was an age of chaos."

"Continue."

"The first psilords and mindknights secretly organized themselves and then attacked the Illithids. They had long practiced the psionic arts and knew the ways of the Illithid and the nature of their powers. They were able to overcome and drive out the monstrous creatures, although at great cost. The erected the Greater Ward around the world, to keep them from returning. They built the Lesser to confine all the monsters that the mage lords unleashed on the world and made war upon the elves until their-, they were driven from the land." He licked his lips.

"And what was your little expedition about?" asked Nalifan.

"The overmasters sensed a breach in the Greater Ward and sent My Lord Drecur to investigate."

"The overmasters are your rulers?"

"Yes."

"And Drecur is the corpse in crystal. Some kind of local lord?"

"Landholder. Yes."

"Nal," said Mikos, "I've found a map."

"Did you?" Nalifan replied. "Bring it here." Mikos did. Nalifan showed it to his captive. "These a cities?"

"Yes."

"And this?" he said, tapping an icon on the eastern part of the map.

"The Mountain. The monks are above worldly affairs." With one notable exception. He hoped the elf didn't notice the lie.

"Large land holders?"

"Yes," he said with some surprise.

"Figures. Here?"

"Neridian. The capital."

"Here?" he pointed to an area towards the north.

"The Lesser Ward."

"And above it?"

"Wilderness."

"And our location?" The human tapped a place to the south. "Excellent. You may live."

Giden blinked. "Your life is nothing," said Nalifan. "My word is worth more than that. Know this: Your history is lies. No psionicist made the Greater Ward."

"Your life is nothing," said Nalifan. "My word is worth more than that

And that is why Kaeryn is half-in-love with the arrogant drow.

Gods are no more than the tyrants of the present. The works of Elder Evils predate them and will survive them, the Blood War turns their blood to ice and they quiver and fear. All of that pales in comparison to what the Once and Future Empire has wrought and the nightmare they will unleash. We mortals stand alone and doomed in a hostile universe with supernatural parasites sucking the last bit of our lives while whispering promises of protection that they cannot possible keep. Hope is a lie and despair awaits. Even as I write this I look at the knife beside me with longing.

-Asker Akesh, Going into Night Darkly

I once spoke with Nalifan about the mad mystic Asker Akesh, in a conversation that went well into the night and was lubricated with no small amount of brandy. It chilled my blood as Nalifan was quite able to confirm the existence or probable existence of the many terrible entities that Akesh refers to directly and indirectly, but it ended oddly. I maintain that Akesh's mind had been broken over the course of his delvings into forbidden lore while Nalifan believed that Akesh had correctly interpreted the information he had uncovered, but had come to the wrong conclusions. His faith, as always, resided in himself, or in this case, himself and mortals like him. His egotism aside, somewhere inside of him there is an acknowledgement that greatness can only be his if he champions a cause greater than his own selfish desires. Almost I wrote "serve" instead of "champion", but that would not be Nalifan.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


A white feathered hawk soared over the vast expanse of glacier. Miles and miles of unforgiving ice were spread out beneath his wings. Terrible creatures stalked the wintery wasteland, beasts ranging from polar worms to frost salamanders to creatures even more exotic and deadly. They did not trouble the hawk, who was coming to the end of a long journey.

A crevace in the ice beckoned to it. The hawk dived into it and its seemingly endless black depths. A hundred feet down the hawk slowed its descent and swooped into a cave in the side of the crevace wall. It flew a mile down the ice cave before passing through a warded cave mouth and into the light.

A great city was entombed beneath the ice. A dome of ice, enscribed with gold runes, reached half a mile up and twice that wide. Stands of trees and peaceful groves dotted the warm earthen floor. Delicate looking spires of white and long halls of lovingly treated wood were interspersed among the tree. This way Elenthenian, the last home of the elves on this world.

Arinyaniquis circled a grove in the center of the city and descended, shifting from hawk back to elf as he touched the ground. A dozen pale skinned, mostly pale haired, elves sat around a table shaped from a large tree stump. A white haired woman with eyes likes stairs and a voice like a waterfall spoke. "Thank you for returning so swiftly Arinyaniquis."

The younger elf inclined his head. "I recognized the urgency of the situation."

"You were near the Lesser Ward when the breach occured?" asked a dark haired male in a gown of spun gold.

"Yes," said Arinyaniquis. "It was most definitely a breach in the Greater and it lasted long enough for a small party to enter this world. Beyond that I cannot say."

Another elf spoke, a woman with golden hair wearing a white tunic and cloak and green breeches. "It is a momentous event. We have decided to send someone into the world."

"And you have decided it will be me. I'm honoured, and I understand your reasons, but there are good reasons not to choose me."

"You are the best choice because of your qualities. We approve of the guidance you have been giving the free tribes and the instruction in magic you have been providing. Your mingling with them, and the runaways they shelter, have given you the skills to blend in when you head south."

"I will admint to being the most knowledgable, as well as the only elf who speaks modern Achenoi, but my temperment . . . ."

"Has not been forgotten," the blonde finished. "We will trust in your restraint in these matters. The overmasters would crush us in all out war, as much as we wish otherwise. Find the travellers, keep your head down, and then report back. You'll have to keep the killing of slavers down to a minimum."

"The knowledge that the information I gather may hurt the psilords more than killing a few scores of slavers will have to comfort me. The west?"

"No," said the star eyed woman. "Absolutely not. It tears our hearts as well, but we cannot do it. The west is forbidden unless the trail leads there."

"I understand," said Arinyaniquis with a heavy heart. The reasons were sound. It was the wise decision. Corellion, if this new breach allows you to hear me, shift the balance of power. Give me the freedom to act without dooming my people.

"There is one more thing," the blonde said. "In case of capture, we need to remove your memories of Elenthenian. All of them."

"Wise," said Arinyaniquis. "Begin when ready."

"You will not remember this," said the star eyed woman, "but know that we all share your hopes."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four riders and their remounts crossed the fields. A dark haired woman and archer rode with a pair of blonde men, one wearing a heavy cloak and the other crystalline armour. An exceptionally perceptive man might penetrate Nalifan's spells of concealment, but the ones he used to deflect scrying were virtually impenetratable.

"No horses," said Mikos as he watched the oxen driven plows turn the soil and peasant women hunt for berries and manage livestock.

"What?" said Nalifan.

"Its good land. Good climate. Some of the farmers should have horses to work the plows, not just oxen. But horses are more expensive."

"Aren't oxen stronger?" asked Nalifan.

"Horses are better. It has to do with the harnassing."

Sylvetria nodded. "They're being squeezed. Pretty hard."

"So their unpleasant qualities are not confined to hating elves," said Nalifan. "Interesting."

"What is the plan you have cooked up?" Sylvetria asked.

"Cities tend to be built on the bones of cities," said Nalifan. "We continue on in disguise, using what we optimistically refer to as the map, and through the judicious use of Trizkel's head jewelry and necromancy we locate the old sites and see if there is anything interesting to learn from the dead."

"That's it?" asked Sylvetria skeptically.

"The 'gut the psionicists like a trout if the opportunity presents itself' part does not need to be said," answered Mikos. "It is understood. One of the old rules. You mess with one of us, the rest bury you."

LadyTevar wrote:

"Your life is nothing," said Nalifan. "My word is worth more than that

And that is why Kaeryn is half-in-love with the arrogant drow.

And that's part of why Gaheris hasn't tried to gut him since their first meeting. The other part is an earnest desire to keep his skin intact.

Monastic and psionicist practices are rare, although not unknown, among elves. Such disciplines are inwardly focused, in contrast to the elven arts. The target is separate from the archer, the swordsman interacts with his opponent, and the wizard studies the laws of the multiverse themselves. The elven appreciation of nature, and even the drow desire to rape the earth of her wealth, are all outwardly focused. The psionic-monastic focus, on the other hand, is in the development of personal skill and inner focus, with training often conducted in locals isolated from the outside world.

-Nesayash, On Elves


Nalifan once said that the drow noble houses were better than human aristocrats because the drow are honest enough to admit they are taking your money just to enrich themselves and not bother with the pretence that they in some way served their people. He was half joking at the time, but sometimes I find my self agreeing with him.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Tyla and Denian descend from the mountain via pulley operated basket system. "Long fall," said Denian, looking over the fields and irrigation systems below.

"Not so bad," Tyla replied. "One will achieve maximum falling speed well before you hit ground from this height. Soft earth. With the right techniques and discipline, quite survivable."

"I think I'll trust in my powers to prevent me hitting the ground instead."

"As you see fit," she said.

"How long since you've seen the world?"

"Ten years," she replied.

"Eight for me. Monster hunting."

"Such things happen?"

"Not often. Overseers take care of it mostly, but sometimes there is something they can't handle. So they journey up the Mountain and ask for help."

Tyla didn't reply.

"Interested?" he asked.

"Speak if you wish. It is nothing to me."

"Nice," he said. "So proper and disciplined. Let me guess, peasant family."

"I have no family."

"Sure. Psilord myself. Old blood, back to one of Terfik's captains."

"Blood doesn't matter."

"Horse shit. Look at them." He waved his hand over the plain. "Peasants. The Mountain cares about its tribute and that's it. As long as the overseers don't squeeze too much extra out of them, and boy do those overseers squeeze, the Mountain doesn't care. We just sit up there, eating the food other people grew and wearing the clothes other people wove, honing our skills and keeping neutral. And beating to lumpy paste anyone who presumes to interfere with the order of things."

"If you have so little respect, why are you here?"

"Heh, well there was this girl. She said no and I wouldn't take that for an answer. Her mother's family were retainers to an overmaster and well, things got messy. So I found myself with a very strong urge to go to the Mountain."

"Push, lock, or burn?"

"Did I hear disapproval in you voice? Push, I liked her. I didn't want a meat puppet, just for her to be. . . . . a bit more amenable to my desires."

"I don't know why the perfecti chose you for this."

"Because he wants observers and not being blind about how the world works helps with that. Don't be so high and mighty senior student. He was an overmaster until he retired here and it wasn't because he found a sudden urge to abandon the corrupt materialistic world outside, it was because his other option was having Typhu pull his guts out through his nose. He's done much, much worse than I've ever thought of and he's a perfecti. You're just a much a parasite as I am. I'm just honest about it."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Giden was not a young man and the battle had left him with more than a few bruises that made walking for long distances painful. It took him nearly two days to return to the castle, arriving in the late afternoon. The walls scurried with activity as the news of his return spread. Two armsmen ran out to help support him. The Lady Edrene appeared at the top of the gatehouse. "My husband," she asked stiffly, already knowing the answer.

"He fell, my lady. They all fell."

Tears began to fall. "And yet you live."

"They wanted information," Giden replied. "They disdained to kill me when they were finished. My lady, your husband was very valiant."

"That will be fitting for his tombstone. You must report your failure to the overmasters."

Giden nodded wearily and let the armsmen carry him inside and up the stairs. They took him to a room near the top of the keep. Inside there was a chair in front of a small table with a wrought brass stand. Inside the stand was a glowing shard of crystal twenty inches long. Giden slumped into the chair and took a moment to gather his strength. Then he focused his thoughts on the crystal.

I am Giden, psilord in service to Landholder Drecur.

Report, a strand of thought replied. His sending had reached the overmasters.

We went with two score men, three of them mindknights. We found the intruders. Two elves, one a mage and the other a mindknight. Two human battle-thralls. They defeated us with ease, as if we were nothing. They played with us before finishing us off. They let me live to mock me.

Elves.

Yes. Powerful elves. The mindknight seemed invincible. I have never seen his equal. They were heading north last I saw.

We will deal with this, was the reply, no longer one but many mind voices speaking as one. The overmasters had spoken.

The Once and Future Empire has already been born. The multiverse staggers on as its spawn nest in black womb, preparing to close the circle and bind us forever in a cycle of unending horror. Our existence is not a dream, but the space between nightmares. Some will struggle against them, but to know avail. Their works will be thrown down and forgotten as they always have and always will be. Men fret about their future, but the destiny of the multiverse is already set and none shall escape and none can prevail.

-Asker Akesh, Going into Night Darkly


Most drow believe that they possess a great destiny, that they have been marked for greatness by the gods and fate. Nalifan is an interesting exception to the rule, perhaps because he does not need to cling to the illusion of unattained future glories when he has real victories to brag about. To Nalifan, so much comes down to power and the will to persevere whatever the obstacles and wield that power to maximum effect. I have wondered what a conversation between Nalifan and Asker Akesh would be like and have come to the conclusion that it would either end violently or with both men shaking their heads at the foolishness of the other.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow.


From a balcony near the top of the central spire, Lenida watched the wyvern riders depart. "Did we really need to send them?" she asked.

"It is the will of the overmasters," said Vargo from inside. "The elves will be south and east so the riders go south and east."

"Every other living elf is located here in Wulvic. Did they even consider the idea that they might decide to come here?'

"Yes," said Vargo. "They still think they'll show up in the south first."

"What do you think of them?"

"Who? The overmasters?"

"No, the intruders." She turned to face him. Vargo was reclining in mound of pillows.

"They defeated several mindknights and two score cattle armsmen. A powerful enough psilord could do that alone without the aid of a mindknight and battle thralls. I've yet to see anything from them that suggests that they are the match for even one overmaster, let alone me. Or you for that matter."

"So you're not worried."

"Not at all. All this excitement has had an additional benefit."

"Oh?"

"Typhu has stopped taking children. Apparently this little crisis holds enough of his interest that he doesn't have to amuse himself by taking vessels off the street. So the overmasters won't have to crush an insurrection in the streets of the capital for a little while longer."

"Why does he do it?" she asked.

"Because he's borwd and not even the threat of death provides a thrill anymore."

"I'll never be like that."

"Maybe," said Vargo. "Maybe in three hundred years you'll change your mind about that."

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The many spires of Citadel of the Claws tower over a barren plain. Demons roost on great petrified trees, watching as an army of slaves construct another castle. As with all the fortresses in Xyzasha's domain it was far larger below the surface than above. Mines, dungeons, and laboratories were dug out of the earth and bent to the will of their demonic creators. Nutritious algae was grown in titanic vats to feed the legions of slaves. Valuable ore was used to construct sinister arcane devices designed by the most cunning and cruel of the demons.

The dungeons beneath the Citadel of Claws dwarfed the rest. The master of this place was a monstrous demon with violet glowing eyes and midnight blue hide. Its head resembled that of a wolf and it had two great pincher tipped arms as well as two small human like limbs protruding from its chest. Its name was Cinderheart and even by the standards of its kind, the Glaberzu, it was a demon of great cunning and cruelty. Cinderheart bowed low as before its visitors.

Xyzasha swept forward, with the Nalfeshee demon Corpse Grinder and the the four armed killing machine that was Yerrecht coming in behind her. Ropes of saliva leaked the jaws of Yerrecht's wolf head and the gaping maw in its belly. Its belly pinchers twitched impatiently. Yerrecht was eager to kill and not even a Balor was safe from his might. "My mistress," said Cinderheart.

"Take me to the Apparatus."

"As you command my mistress." Cinderheart lead the other demons through a great cavern of algae vats, through a secured hall were swollen and bloated human females, altered by demonic sorcery, were secured to the wall and fed through tubes as they awaited the birthing new litters of slaves, and through a pair of great bronze doors guarded by a pair of lizard-toad demons. Inside was single room with a ceiling nearly one hundred feet high. A pillar of polished brass and gleaming steel dominated the room, inset with softly glowing crystalline orbs. Barbed spikes protruded from the pillar and impaled on each one was a withered human being or a desiccated corpse.

"The Apparatus functions as intended, my mistress. It is gathering power."

"How long?"

"An interesting question, my mistress. The recent arrival helped, in a small way. If there is additional activity that weakens the Greater, it could be very soon."

"I am pleased," said Xyzasha. "Continue to feed it." Her long black tongue circles her lips. Freedom. She could almost taste it. She could almost hear the screams of a thousand worlds.