The Enmity of Scolrys, Part XXVIII: The Fury of the Dawn

A gyre of celestial mist arose from the depths of the Memoryscape, the stirring of the Indelible inciting the veil of time to effervescent agitation. Drawn to solemn memories of the fallen, Lexadhra’s circuitous mists manifested within the Alcove of the Shepherd. The chronal fog whirled together into a frantic spiral that parted as would a stage’s curtain, allowing the Goddess to pass through into the Hammer of Dawn’s reaches.

“It is time,” Lexadhra informed those within earshot. The shining mists that oft clung to Her billowed and unfurled upon one of the plain wooden benches of the alcove, offering a place for their mauve Mistress to perch comfortably. She settled down and planted one slender elbow upon a delicate knee, allowing Her to prop up Her chin in a lazy manner irreverent of Her deific station.

“Time charts a course ever forward, its fierce currents preventing most travel upstream. A moon ago or more now, I had spoken to your Vanguard,” Incarnate Memory began, Her voidblack eyes shifting to regard Inthirath as She mentioned his name. She lifted Her free hand and stirred a single digit through the air as if She were a witch toiling away at a potent brew, thin threads of gossamer essence spooling there around Her finger.

“Even then, warriors of the Light, I had grown bored of this show. The Faceless One’s cult carries on with a rather one note performance,” Lexadhra continued, Her features adopting a dark frown that rendered what beauty She possesses into a darkling reflection of alluring terror. “A sorry state of affairs that necessitates My interference.”

“I am loathe to employ My own essence in its entirety to achieve this, for it would merely draw Me into what looks an eternal conflict. Those seven that battle Lanu Du hold Their own rather well, but to slay the God would be to try and vanquish the plane itself – foolhardy, nigh impossible and potentially catastrophic,” the Goddess explained, Her head shaking slightly as if to deny the very prospect. “No,” She added, Her expression easing slightly as She straightened up. Teclah Neri’s grace shined through as the Goddess fluidly rose from Her place upon the bench, the essence at Her finger unwinding into a shining tapestry that overlayed the alcove’s mural with a thin patina of hazy memory. “The God needs turning away, Its gaze directed to other vistas. To this end did I employ the Heartwood to produce a tool for Me. It is this tool that your Vanguard has agreed to aid Me in empowering.”

The Goddess soon went on to explain that She had need for a vast quantity of energy aspected to spirit, with Her tone hinting that She had a supply in mind. Lexadhra outlined the state of affairs in Sapience then, mentioning that She sensed the defilement of eighteen graveyards – a defilement upheld by powerful enchantments that could be undone. She assured Enorian that Varach’s soldiers would stop at nothing to defend those places – and that the North would surely follow not soon after. Lexadhra predicted that the Court Mage would fortify his own servants to survive conventional magic and assault, before going on to outline the possibility of alternate magics he could not anticipate – a possibility She could loan them for a time.

The alcove’s mural began to shift and waver, the sleeping quicksilver of a dismantled empire rousing from its restful state. Imbued with shreds of memory granted by She Who is Yi, the abstract found surreal harmony as it writhed and wriggled to marshal itself into a new formation.

“Mine is magic that works in tale and song, in myth and legend, in song and deed. The bard is worthless without the knight – and yet the bard is the one who weaves enchantment when it is all over, no? To befuddle and amaze the masses, to stir the hearts of countless denizens of the realm…” She murmured, Her wistful gaze directed then to the quicksilver in motion.

As the mural ceased moving, a new landscape sprawled out within its reflective depths – as if it were a window into somewhere, somewhen. A desolate plain stretches out into a hazy horizon, the geography unfamiliar.

“Once, in the world of Azhoa, there was a city known as Alengarth,” Lexadhra began.

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 23rd of Slyphian, in the year 3 AC.