Echoes of Power, Part VI: The Curator
Early in the days of Lleian, as Lord Sorrelion Sammonward’s famed barge began to prepare for its departure, a crowd of adventurers gathered upon its decks for a momentous occasion.
Drawn together with the promise of the past’s riches, individuals from Sapience’s four city-states lined up to watch as the incorrigible Grookish wastrel pried open a venantium remembrance pod buried during the Year 500 celebrations predating the Creator’s Monomachy. Lord Sorrelion swiftly set about rummaging in the pod. He produced several items, including a rotten Dendaric acorn, icons of dead or dying gods, a delicious preserved fruit from the Great Oak, a worn falconry glove that apparently didn’t include a falcon as part of a package deal, and a gem-studded dhurive that he appropriated for his collection in short order. The gathered ascendants laughed as the lovable Grook put on a tremendous show, though rumours circulated before the proceedings that the Lord of the Barge had arranged for an unprecedented amount of opulence in hopes of covering up the bad press that plagued him and his employees over the last few weeks in the wake of Morvaethe’s departure from his curio shop.
As the opening proceeded and Lord Sorrelion did his best to entertain the large gathering, a lone man ascended the gangway to the party barge.
“Never in all my weeks upon this vessel did it contain such exuberance and excitement! The height of its many years afloat, here before my eyes… ’tis perfect!” the new arrival declared from somewhere else on the barge, revealing his identity as the same curio merchant that had garnered the Barge Lord so much trouble in the last few weeks. In an instant, an arresting wave of sorcery swept along the vessel’s gathered occupants, wreathing them in azure energy that tightened like a constricting noose. Sound quailed and died as a wordless buzz dominated their hearing, and their thoughts began to circulate through those gathered as if the enchantment had combined their wills into a single amalgam. Onlookers across the realm only noted that grand magic flickered from the ship’s deck, leaving those few adventurers beyond its borders to carry on without a care for the terrors unfolding upon the Pachacacha until the Curator raised his voice to the realm once more as he collected his prize:
“Long have I waited for this moment, Sapience! For too long have you suffered the loss of beauty, of joy! For too long have this world’s most incredible sights suffered the ravages of decay! No more!” Morvaethe cried as he used his magic to shrink the frozen ship and take it into his possession, his vast powers soon conveying him away from the crime scene.
Adventurers captured alongside Lord Sorrelion Sammonward’s prized vessel were given only darkness to dwell in and the sense of momentum that bespoke travel. When light dawned upon them again, it was dim and azure like the manic artist’s magic, and their size relative to his made it clear they rested in his palm as if he were a hill giant. He examined them with utmost glee and waxed poetic about their beauty and value, exclaimed as a man vindicated that he knew he could triumph once more when given the opportunity. Eager to begin his work anew, the Curator set down the newly made georama containing the barge and began to use his magic to tamper with its contents. He used rudimentary elemancy to polish and repair the ship’s deck and brush away blemishes from the people held within, eliciting panic, revulsion, and anger from the minds gathered within the georamic prison. Morvaethe spared no detail or corner of his newly stolen trophy and employed crude sciomancy to destroy the Dendaric acorn’s remains after declaring it ugly, as well other minor magics that removed rust and seafaring rot from the outer edges of the barge, his passion writ clear on his face as he motioned to find a new place for it in his collection.
However, as the Curator continued his work, Sapience’s ascendants plotted their defiance. Distracted and busy, Morvaethe paid little heed as Lin the Knife declared a point of order amongst the mental din. She theorised that adventurers acting in unison might be able to influence the Curator’s imprisoning magic or else influence reality itself due to the power locked within each mortal’s complex mind. Pietre Marcelli, quick to catch on to the plan, offered up the word of power that soon became the miniature realm’s rallying cry:
“BREAK!”
Banding together behind the two el’Jazirans, every adventurer present began to shout the word in their mind. Sapience’s efforts began to bear fruit either by coincidence or authentic influence, for the Curator’s hand and eye both quivered as he beheld mistakes and imperfections within the georama. Shrieking in annoyance, he declared that the ascendants trapped on the barge were destabilising the aspect of his magics and reached within to brush them away, scattering them into the darkness from whence they had all come. In a rush of momentum, every captive was displaced onto the banks of the Pachacacha, waterlogged but ultimately unharmed by the terrible stasis that had only so recently held them within its implacable clutches. As Sapience entire screamed their vows of vengeance, a silver lining revealed itself in the day’s darkness: the Indomitable Burt, who had departed the proceedings before Morvaethe’s arrival, turned up on the river’s opposite shore, none the wiser of his employer’s grim imprisonment.
Later that day, many of the realm’s greatest Siderealists joined upon an Ithmian hilltop, desperate to destabilise Morvaethe’s assumed power source. Led by Bhalwyn the Bleak Chanter, a circle consisting of Sekeres, Valtessa, Dellingr, Emhyra, and Haleth attempted to exert celestial forces upon the Tree of Stasis, calling forth crystalline vibrations and even cataclysmic starfalls down upon the forest in defiant but ultimately vain gestures. Edhain and Gyrinno motioned to the Heartwood council their desire to burn the tree down, reasoning that the Curator would not expect the council to do something so drastic. However, attempts to set the Tree ablaze met similar ends as Morvaethe’s enchanted wards swallowed the flames and froze them as crystalline accessories to the landmark’s already arcane appearance. Discouraged but unwilling to admit defeat, the gathered sorcerers dispersed after vowing to seek other ends to interfere with the mana network underneath the hill.
Azurine flickers drew Sapience’s attention to the southeastern corner of the scoured Bloodwood the following week. Carotenuto, first to locate the source of the disturbance, discovered the Curator toiling away – and swiftly sounded the alarm, resulting in a crowd of curious ascendants amassing before the sallow-faced man. Morvaethe brushed off a veritable onslaught of assaults as if they had not even happened, and he wove cobalt strands of powerful magic into the air around him. He tore open a doorway into his sanctum and, after exchanging witty barbs and commentary with those outraged by his actions in the previous week, strode forward to lead the way to his promised wonders.
In his foyer, the Curator explained his creed: utmost dedication to preserving beauty and a discerning taste of curious and rare people and places. He engaged his new guests in philosophical exchanges about city-states’ values, accusing each of hypocrisy and claiming that even the pantheon would rob mortals of all the magnificent sights of the realm. Though several adventurers took great pains to inform him of flaws they saw in his directive, Morvaethe dismissed them all as ‘artless clods’ and ‘small-minded individuals’ incapable of grasping his vision. When met with more force, the ancient sorcerer shrugged it off as if it were nothing and labelled it ‘barbarism’ before summoning a Seyda’s shade to speak in his place and dispersing to naught.
Meanwhile, a famed Ogre wrestler, now unemployed, seeks answers…
~~~~~
Summary: The sallow-faced merchant Morvaethe ambushed a celebration on Lord Sorrelion Sammonward’s party barge and shrank it down to keep as one of his georama, but adventurers managed to break free and return to Sapience. The following week, he opened his sanctum to the public, putting his many exotic exhibits on display.
Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 20th of Lleian, in the year 10 AC.
