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From Darkness, Love - part 2

In which an endless battle is fought, a king is spoken to, and a darkness entered...

The 8th Day of Descending Wood, Realm Year 763

Sian doesn't move, waiting for further explanation.

"I am the Hollow King, ruler of Ashok-Tar," the ghost continues, "And you are here as friend or foe? Or neither, perhaps?" Dark eyes examine Sian closely.

Sian meets them evenly. "I am here to find someone, as I said. I shall remain firmly neutral, unless you or your people change things by your actions."

"We wish merely to remain here, untroubled by others." The Hollow King gestures grandly, "This city was built so long ago that none who reside in Creation or even the Underworld can say when the first stone was laid. It is a grand place and we are proud of it."

"Then we will have no problems."

At that moment, an alarm rings from the walls and a loud hollow *clang!* sounds from the gates as they are slammed shut. Soldiers dressed in black mail rush down the streets, and the sounds of combat fill the air. "Our cousins attack once more," the Hollow King pronounces.

He turns and walks back the way he came, leaving Sian alone in the an empty street.

"Cousins?" He looks at the soldiers for a moment.

"You call them hungry ghosts. They attack almost every night," one of them says as he runs past, his skin tinged a definite green colour. "They always have."

"Hrm. Would you like some help?" He turns back to the King.

The King speaks from the far end of the street, his voice somehow resounding from the very walls, "You may help as you choose. Our soldiers are competent warriors, but the assaults of our hun cousins are getting fiercer once more."

Sian considers for a moment, then shrugs to himself, following after the soldiers.

The white walls have sprouted vicious black shards of obsidian from the base, the ghosts tearing themselves apart to climb up the walls, their comrades clambering over the shredded plasm of their fallen allies, and tearing with claws into the blank stone, finding what little purchase they can to get up and over into the city. Sian stays back from the parapet once he's taken a look, trusting the soldiers to do their work but ready to back them up.

The screams of battle rise and fade as it's tides change from moment to moment. Suddenly a scream of surprise is heard over the sound of claws on steel, as a few of the hungry ghosts made it up onto the parapet, scattering their less-animalistic cousins and rushing towards the city itself.

Sian unsheathes a pair of javelin, and takes careful aim!

Sensing something far more potentially satiating than a mere ghost, the attackers sniff at the air and then, as one, rush towards Sian! Clawed hands outstretched, their mouths gaping wide showing vicious fangs!

Sian's first throw goes far astray, while his second sinks deeply into the Essence-laden flesh of a hungry ghost. It wails loudly as the weapon pierces it cleanly, its body splintering as it falls.

Sian backs away from the remaining ghosts, giving him time to draw another weapon, and hopefully enough time to throw.

They surge forwards, howling and screeching as they try to surround the Exalt, while the soldiers of the city get to their feet slowly. Claws scratch at him! Teeth bite at him! He endures it as best he can, trying to turn to present only the armored portions of himself.

His armour absorbs their attacks, with little more than minor scratches on the metal to show for it.

Sian violently shoves off the two trying to gnaw at his arm, sending cold bolts of metal through their throats in place of his flesh. One of the ghosts slides aside at the last second, leaving the javelin to expend its chill on the stone, but the other is not so lucky. It collapses to the parapet wall in a thousand fragments of solid plasm.

Pressing the attack, the hungry ghosts continue to press in on Sian, but by now the citys defenders have gotten back on their feet and lay into them with cold swords and strong arms. The ghosts' attacks continue to make no impression on Sian, and his resistance heartens the other defenders, as they push the hungry ghosts back with shield and spear.

Sian aids as best he can, stabbing and slashing with his javelins and forcing the enemy back.

Back, back against the walls the ghosts are pressed, forced over the edge and down, onto the shard-sprouted walls below. Out into the depth of the Fell are small packs of the verminous ghosts, some attacking, others milling around seemingly aimlessly. While the numbers are huge many of them seem to have no goal or even perception of the city.

Sian stands at the edge of the wall and looks out at them, glad he managed to get inside before they attacked.

"Thank you, sir," one of the soldiers says, "They would have gotten into Ashok-Tar if it weren't for you."

"From what your king says, this happens often, so don't thank me. I probably just attracted more."

"They attack every night. Every damned night," he leans on his spear, apparently tired, "It wears us down, but if we're not here..." he waves at the city.

"Mmm. I can imagine." Sian turns to look at said city, now that he has a better view.

Ashok-Tar is a true metropolis of the First Age. Far larger than Tideholme, and with many buildings taller than the towers of Whitewall. It is laid out with an elegance and simplicity that the architects of the Realm ape as best they can, but the signs of a master at work are everywhere within the walls.

Sian wishes he had more time to spend here. So much history to be discovered. But he has more important things to do, as the weight of the Star in his jacket pocket reminds him of.

The battle-horn sounds twice, a signal that, for another night, the ghosts outside the city have retreated back into their pits, deep below the dry dusty soil of the Underworld. The soldier smiles at Sian, "We made it."

Sian nods a bit. "As you will hopefully continue to do. Does your king have a residence where he can be found?"

The soldier points, grinning slightly, towards the large building at the centre of the city. Surrounded by balls of the pale blue flame that provide light in Ashok-Tar the palace soars over the rest of the city, providing a commanding view over Ashok-Tar and its surrounds.

"Thanks." He waves, and works his way down off the wall, and starts off towards the castle.

The road, which soon widens out into an avenue wide enough for an entire Realm legion to march down in standard formation, and leads directly to the palace. As Sian approaches the building only gets larger, until at its foot it seems to stretch almost to the sky, far outsizing even the showy construction of the Iceflower Palace. Sian is rather impressed. He approaches with no small measure of reverence, looking out for a guard of some sort.

The gate, a construction of bronze and gold, stands almost thirty feet tall but opens with nary a whisper as Sian approaches, and within the tall figure of the Hollow King stands waiting, apparently alone in this vast building.

The voice of the Hollow King echoes out of the gateway, "I greet you again, Chosen of the Dragons. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?"

"For the same reason as I entered the gates, my lord. I am looking for someone."

"And you think to find them within my palace?"

"I think to find them within this city. And as you are the lord of this city, it is only logical that I ask you."

"I understand," the Hollow King turns and walks into the palace, "Walk with me, o Prince of the Earth."

Sian does so, moving up alongside him with his hands behind his back.

"Who are you looking for?" the Hollow King makes a brisk pace, along the dead straight corridor, doorless and lit by occasional blue flames.

"A girl. Living. Spirit-blood."

"Ah," he stops suddenly and turns, "More than a friend, I take it?"

"Yes. Much more."

"Of course. Of course," once more the ghost-king heads into the palace, deeper and deeper inside, until Sian cannot see the doors that he came in through behind him. He stops again, "What makes you think that you will find her here?"

"Friends in high places believe she is here. And magical means of my own have confirmed it."

"Ah," the Hollow King leans in, "And if I were to tell you that there is one living being within the walls of my city and I am currently speaking to him, what would you say?"

"Then I would ask your leave to investigate myself. I cannot leave until I am certain she is not here."

"Ashok-Tar is safe, for another night, thanks in part to your efforts. I would be a poor host if I were to deny such a simple request. You may conduct your investigations as you see fit."

"Thank you, my lord."

"I would advise you to hurry, however. When the sun rises into the heavens this great city will again be empty."

Sian nods. "If I don't finish in time, then I will start again tomorrow night."

"I wish you luck in your search."

"Thank you again." He bows, then starts back the way he came in.

The city is as gloomy and grand as ever. Sian doesn't focus on it overmuch, though, retrieving the Star from his pocket and thinking of Aia. The giant ruby, bound in jade, orichalcum and soulsteel, throbs in Sian's hand. Images of Aia drift through his mind, and slowly he feels a presence, a tugging pull in his thoughts. It leads West.

Sian follows the impulse, vaguely hoping that it doesn't lead outside the walls.

The Star pulls Sian into the western quarters of Ashok-Tar, into wide-open parks, and then into a warren of multi-level apartment blocks, some stretching eight or even ten stories into the night sky. Eventually, it leads him to a large house, abutting the walls of the city and here the Star seems of two minds.

It seems to be saying that Aia is here, but at the same time that she is further West still - outside the walls.

Sian blinks at this, and shakes the Star for a moment. Hrm. No change. He looks up at the house.

Four stories, with blank black windows staring down the street and no signs of movement visible from outside. The door sits atop a small flight of stairs, made from onyx and studded with brass, it exudes an air of strength.

Sian shrugs, and pockets the Star, wandering up to the door and inspecting it closer.

The door remains oblivious to Sian's examination - cut from what appears to be a single piece of onyx and with brass studs at the edges, it gleams in the pale ghost-light from the street, but does not reflect Sian's face as he looks into the blackness.

Sian pushes at it carefully, not expecting it to move, before doing the only other thing he can think of; he knocks.

The knocks echo loudly down the street, far more so than would have been expected. A few moments later the door is opened by a ghost wearing a large bronze mask, cut into a unpleasantly grinning crescent-moon shape. "Yes?"

"I was wondering who inhabits this mansion."

"This is the residence of Lord Tenebrous. He is away."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He is my employer, sir."

"Nothing else you can tell me?"

The ghost draws himself up, full of bluster as he says, "I am Lord Tenebrous' faithful servant!" But Sian's keen eyes and social sense reveal to him that the ghost is afraid, to a level beyond mere mortal terror, of this Lord Tenebrous - however he might be. Furthermore, the ghost recognised Sian the moment he opened the door, although he covered himself well.

Sian meets his gaze evenly, leaning the ghost standing all puffed-up and ineffective. "If you are so faithful, then what is the fear I sense?"

"I- I- I don't know what you're t-talking about!" the servant backs away from Sian's gaze.

Then why the stammer? Why are you backing away?" He follows up, stepping inside.

"Y- Y- You're dangerous! I should c-call the guard, Nerivus!"

Sian smiles, slightly bitter. "As I thought. How do you know me?"

"I heard your n-name. Street gossip."

"I've been in the town for a grand total of two hours. Gossip doesn't spread that fast."

"I h-heard your n-name from some new arrivals, new g-ghosts."

"I'm sure." He continues advancing, the smile fading, until he has the ghost backed up into a wall. "Last chance, or I will get angry. Who is this Lord Tenebrous?"

"I- I- I don't know!" the ghost wails, "He bought this house a year ago, hired me to look after it and say he was away." He holds his mask in his hands.

Sian stops, his expression softening, but only slightly. "Then where is he? Do you know?"

"I've met him twice," the ghost looks up, "He scares me. Tall, in armour and heavy black robes, he tells me when he wants me to be away from the house. That's all I know!"

Sian frowns for a moment. "Did he ever have someone with him?"

"Last time... I got curious, I watched from across the street. He had ten ghosts with him, they were carrying something - some kind of artefact, I think." The servant looks up, "It looked like a tube or coffin."

Sian hrms, not liking that. "I'm going to look around. You have no problems with this, do you?" It's not a question.

"No. No. Of course not."

"Good. Stay here... I won't be long." He starts off down the hall, again using the Star as a guide. It pulls at Sian as he walks along corridors, down stairs and into the cellar. On the bare earth floor sit a large number of barrels, and behind them is a door, forged from brass and sealed with sigils that seem to suck the very light from around them, creating a tangible darkness.

Sian hmphs. He's beaten more impressive doors than this. But he takes a moment to lift the lid on a barrel, peering inside. Inside, he sees a red liquid, reminiscent of a fine wine - at least until an eyeball pops up to the surface, anyway.

Sian grimaces, and shuts the lid quickly. Lovely. He turns to the door, using a practiced gaze to find the weaknesses in the occult barrier. The sigils on the door are not designed to hold the door shut (although they perform that task adequately) so much as to wreak a terrible vengeance on anyone foolish enough to break the seal on the door. Sian is unable to discern the exact effect, but there is a great deal of power trapped inside the sigils.

With the urgings of the Star at the forefront of his mind he carefully approaches the sigils. Sian closes his eyes and, with a deep breath, stretches his arms forwards until his fingers are a hairsbreadth away from the door. Feeling the flows and whorls of Essence by the prickling of his fingers, he slowly traces out complex patterns in front of the door, guided by nothing more than intuition and the need to pass the portal that blocks his entry.

There is a *click!* followed by a heartstopping silence, and then the door swings open, accompanied by a foul wind from the tunnel behind it, and a low moan that sounds like a drawn-out death-rattle. Checking the Star to make sure that this is the way that he should go, he walks through the open door.

The tunnel angles down sharply after a short distance, steep steps cut into the black rock of the Underworld. A chill, wet wind blows up from below, carrying with it strange and unsettling sounds. Sian shivers, and grips the Star a bit tighter. Horrible place.

After what seems like forever climbing down the stairs, Sian notices a greenish light from below. Hurrying down he emerges into a large cave, the light coming from hundreds of braziers of pyreflame, surrounding a large building of ominous aspect. He looks around, trying to get his bearings in the strange and unhealthy light, before deciding to head towards the building.

Constructed, or carved, from the same rock as that that forms the cave, the building is tall and broad, forming a squat pyramid shape. From the narrow windows near the upper floors sickly red and green lights can be seen, and shifting shadows suggest movement within. Sian approaches carefully, but his footsteps are still far too loud to his ears.

The pyramid looms overhead, the strange ways that light and sound behave in the depths of the Underworld making it seem to Sian as if the building was a living thing, breathing and watching him approach. Its mouth yawns... no, the gate stands tall, forged from black iron and bound with tarnished brass, as he passes through the line of braziers. He feels small as he walks through. Very small indeed.

Flickering pyreflame casts everything in shades of green, emerald and chartreuse, and even the black stone of the pyramid takes on a slight shade of green as Sian approaches to within arms-reach. The gate, a large heavy construction of metal and pain, remains steadfastly closed. After a few experimental pushes at said door, he shrugs, and starts to look for another way up. Conveniently, the wall nearby looks rather easy to climb. So, he starts!

The dry stone, while slightly crumbly, makes for easy climbing and Sian soon makes it up onto the parapet of the outer wall of the building. Previously unseen (the construction designed to make it appear as a whole), this wall surrounds the inner building from which the unusual lights and movements can be seen. Also, now that he is closer, Sian can hear soft whimpers and muffled screams.

Sian frowns deeply, and pulls the Sheath into a slightly more accessible position, before starting to make his way back down the other side as fast as he dares.

The downward trip is easier, since it involves a barely controlled slide down the sloped interior face of the wall. Within the eerily quiet stronghold now, Sian sees his first sign of actual movement, groups of walking dead in the grounds, and in the large arch that makes up the base of the central keep-like building.

Sian tries to keep out of sight as best he can (which is not very well, given his own abilities and the available cover). Gradually working his way towards the central building, and hopefully Aia.

Careful movement and the application of luck soon get him into the large arch beneath the central building and, a minute later, he darts through an unsealed door and into the building proper, climbing stairs to find himself within what he realises is a Manse of some kind. Darkly aspected, the flows of Essence throughout are nonetheless unmistakable.

The decor within tends towards the macabre, with skeletal pillars against the walls and a general sepulchral feel to the place. This feeling is shattered by a sudden, loud and agonised scream that comes from somewhere nearby, a scream that dissolves into a sickening gurgle.

Sian hurries up the stairs as fast as he dares, praying to the Dragons (something he rarely does) that that scream didn't belong to who he thinks.

The stairs lead into a large chamber above, filled with strange apparatus and alchemical equipment scattered over a number of tables, and a large number of circular "coffins" very similar to those found near Broken Back against the walls. Unfortunately for Sian, there are also a number of... 'people' here, none of which seem particular perturbed by the pain-wracked sounds, but are surprised by the sounds of Sian's footsteps.

The 'people' are, or were at one time, probably relatively normal ghosts - but something has warped them, changing their bodies (and perhaps their minds) into horrible forms seemingly intended to evoke the worst of nightmares. Working at the equipment that fills the room, one of them carefully holds a large glass jar filled with a dark and horribly viscous fluid that drips from a long series of tubes.

Sian already has the sheath in hand, and an intent expression on his face. Very little can stop him now, and a bunch of mutant ghosts is not included. He doesn't even draw the javelins properly in his haste, simply yanking them out of the front of the sheath and flinging them, all in the same motion. A trio of ice-coated javelin fan out from him, trailing wispy blue clouds of icy fog as they go.

The ghosts turn suddenly, only for a triplet of them to be caught by hard-thrown javelins, their icy tips tearing through corpus and shattering plasm. Fragments of the ghosts splinter and crack across the floor as two remain, one of them still carrying the large glass jar, while the other (perhaps suicidally) rushes to the attack. Its claws strike, but the majority of the force is deflected by Sian's armour, and it raises little more than scratches across his chest.

Sian shoves the offender back, much as he did it's more feral brethren. But, rather than throwing another javelin, he just flicks the sheath at the ghost as hard as he can, the force of the swing sending every remaining javelin into it's plasmic flesh in a bright burst of ice. The ghost dissolves beneath the assault, exploding into sparkling dust and joining its frozen brethren on the floor.

Sian advances on the final ghost, pausing only to scoop up a single javelin, a determined expression on his face.

The ghost backs away, as much as the room will let it, still holding the jar in its hands and clearly unwilling to let it go.

Sian pauses slightly, noting that. "Put it down. Carefully."

The ghost, shivering beneath Sian's gaze, complies - slowly.

"Leave. Don't come back." His glare doesn't lessen. The ghost, it's horrible visage made worse by the expression of fear it now wears, slides around Sian and leaves the way that he came in.

Sian waits only for a moment, to be sure it's gone, before gathering up his javelins and continuing on.

Climbing up the stairs at the other end of the room Sian enters the nightmare realm of a necromantic laboratory. Three things immediately stand out to his perception; firstly the gore-spattered figure standing over the unfortunate remains of something that might once have been human on a table; secondly that the thing on the table appears to be, from its movements, not only still alive, but fully aware of the damage inflicted upon it, the gurgling sounds from where its jaw has been removed show why the screams stopped; and thirdly, the figure of Aia, held within a glass tube filled with an unpleasantly familiar green liquid, eyes closed and unmoving.

[[[IceAndWave/FromDarknessLove2/FromDarknessLove3]]|Read part 3 here...]]