T A C: Session 02 -- Well met in Lowsis — Report

General Summary

    The Nebous took a sip from the glass floating in the air before him. He eyed the Mordial. They had an understanding. The Mordial disliked the Nebous and the Nebous found the Mordial amusing. The Nebous could only smile at the Mordial’s ways. The Mordial’s ways were alien to the Nebous. To think that the Mordial came from the same faraway world also made the Nebous smile. A strange situation to find oneself in. Joined together by a bizarre reality. A new reality. One that still existed and that was the only reason that the Mordial and the Nebous were here. The Ambent had led them to the New Realm. They were bound to the Ambent in at least, gratitude. Gratitude? The Nebous considered this. Was he grateful to be here? Nothing remained of his kind. Nothing of his home of Dweomer other than the Mordial and the Ambent and the once proud Drowse. The last of these were somewhat numerous, a full five thousand Drowse had made it this far in time and space. Unlike the Mordial or the Ambent or himself, the Drowse had awakened without being roused. An impossibility? Not when being roused meant a ritual enacted by a Turnal. The Turnal that remained – essentially the Nebous’s equal – had not only not roused them, he had spurned the Drowse. Cast them into the vat that contained all failed creations of the Loreds. Dweomer’s Lored was Lored Vela. Vela was a pulsing, living star. The Nebous remembered looking up into the skies at Vela, gliding among the shadow mists like a sphere-shaped ship driven on by a fractious wind. The Nebous missed Dweomer, world of the Shadowkind. That world was gone now. Washed away along with its Lored star-mother.     The Nebous had no others of his kind to speak with. He wasn’t sure if it mattered to him. Talk with another Nebous would turn to trial. Trial to challenge. Challenge led only to a consumption of one Nebous by the other. He sighed again. Where he found himself was only how it would have been. Eventually, he’d have been the only Nebous left. This was upsetting to the Nebous. Not because he was alone but because he had not been able to know so many challenges won. The Nebous could never have the pleasure of consuming another Nebous. Should he exist forever, this would be denied him. He wondered about what it would have been like to sacrifice the other Nebous to gain some reward for himself. This is what the Turnal had done with the Drowse. They had been used to promote the Turnal’s own growth. Lored Vela might be pleased… if Lored Vela had survived. The Nebous knew that the rightness of the Turnal’s act could not be judged by himself. Judgement was nothing to the Nebous. An alien’s thought. A Noble Thought for dragons.     The Mordial stared through the Nebous and out through an open-ended shaft of shadowstuff behind the Nebous. Along the shifting ‘stuff’s length there was an effect. Light or even an intrusion of Aire made the gap in the ‘stuff glaringly obvious. Within this too-bright ‘window’ the mortal plane could be observed. The place was just beyond where the Nebous and the Mordial waited. The Ambent was to contact them soon. The Ambent had been near completion of the fourth tower. This was the completion of the agreed terms of the contract the three Factors of Dweomer had made with the Queens of Pandemonia. Profane. Always the Profane. The love of disorder had served the Profane far better than the Mordials’ love for the Veiled. Chaos had bred more and more Profane. Four kingdoms where one or two would have been many. A tenth of the Profanes’ fortunes would have been too much for the Mordials. The Mordial stared into the mortal place. A city. It defied all convention of Shadow. What was there in such a gathering that mattered? The Mordial not only could not begin to understand it, she had asked this question to the Ambent and the Nebous and they had no answer. The Nebous had only sat silent at the question. The Ambent talked a little about the mortals needing to be together. That this seemed to be necessary. The Mordial considered what would make this necessary. Not for the second time, she failed to see anything in it. Gatherings would make the mortals that much easier to destroy. It was a Mordial thing to devastate what needed to be unmade. The Lored Vela throbbed in a precarious rhythm that demanded an ending so that new beginnings could be made. An unbalanced transaction of an erratic Lored that would lead to; first creation gaining the upper-hand and then as the pulsating star increased its rhythm, the created would be overwhelmed by the Lored’s gift and would weaken, fail and disintegrate. The Mordial were Lored Vela’s front of devastation. A ‘storm’ that came into the living things of Dweomer, not like a raging, angry whirlwind but more like a gentle whisper of farewell to existence.     The Mordial spent only a minute looking into the place of the living. These creatures were less than even the races; Hoborcos, Blooodbehrs, Ko’Bolds. What were these creatures to the Mordial? Less than worthy beings. As they were unworthy, the Mordial had near-pleaded with the Ambent to release her to do more important work among the Geli’Qys or even the dreadful Profane. The Ambent had been insistent. The towers not only needed completion. They needed watching for a time. If not, things could go decidedly ‘wrong’. The Mordial did not really understand the ‘wrong’ that could occur. What was one less tower? There were only the three of them, a Mordial, a Nebous and an Ambent, she had argued. One tower for each if need be, should be more than enough. The Mordial even offered up ‘her’ tower so that only three might be needed. The Ambent had raged then. That the Mordial was limited. That the Mordial was fettered… The Mordial cared nothing for the Ambent’s words. She asked the Ambent to release her as her ability to understand was evidently so poor. It would suit the Mordial to be on her own in the New Realm.     The Ambent had apologised. The Mordial saw that this was a rare thing to see in an Ambent. The Mordial could not recall having heard of such an apology. The Ambent were resolute. It was their strength. The Ambent never recanted. The Mordial asked the Ambent why he had denied his strength. The Ambent answered that he had no choice. He had to change to survive. The New Realm and his isolation meant that this was required. The Mordial asked the Ambent the same question again. She had not understood the answer. The Ambent answered the same way, using the same words. The Mordial was about to ask for a third time when the Nebous laid a hand on her arm. This caused small shadows to depart the Mordial’s body and enter the shadowstuff in search of creatures whose lives were forfeit. The Mordial thanked the Nebous for this gift. The Nebous did not really understand what he had given her...
    The Nebous heard a noise. A movement of words caused the shadowstuff to scatter before them. This could only be the Ambent. The Nebous stood. The Mordial seemed startled by the Nebous’s movement. The Nebous had no idea why the Mordial could be so distracted that she hadn’t noticed the Ambent’s words. The Ambent was not pleased. The Nebous knew that the Ambent was able to control his nature only through a contrived, mental ability. Unlike the Nebous, the Ambent had to put his true self under self-imposed exile. An Ambent who revealed his interior spirit could destroy a great deal. It was something that had been controlled for all of the First Realm. In the Second Realm the Ambent revealed their inner strength during the War of the Pantheoniks. Whole worlds and their believers and the believers' Gods had been obliterated. The Ambent had not survived but their acts gave the remaining Gods pause. A chance to consider their enmity. The Nebous could only try to understand the Ambent way. The Nebous did not have a need to control its manner.     The Ambent came through the tower’s intervening shadow-mist and sat with the Mordial and the Nebous. The Nebous reluctantly sat again.     Ambent spoke: “The Turnal has formed.”     Nebous: “This is expected.”     Ambent: “He is heedless.”     Nebous: “He does not judge well?”     Ambent: “He does not care to judge.”     Nebous: “Like me then.”     Ambent: “You cannot. The Turnal chooses not to exercise this ability. A different thing.”     Nebous: “If you say so. I cannot judge so I cannot say if you have decided this rightly or wrongly.”     Ambent: “No – no you cannot. I tell you this so that you need not… The Turnal is determined. He will have his way satisfied. It is as I said it would be. The Turnal will not cooperate. He is satisfied to be isolated.”     Mordial: “I am also –“.     Ambent: “-- You are not satisfied to be isolated. You are a Mordial. You are made to be isolated. The Turnal were not. They needed one another. They could… They had society.”     Mordial: “Society? Like these Ko’Bolds and Gargoyles?”     Ambent: “Maybe better than these outside the tower.”     Mordial: “Better? How so?”     Ambent: “Am I a God? Do I care about these mortals? Do not ask me again for an answer, Mordial. I will not have one for you.”     Nebous: “Grant me a question.”     Ambent: “If you must.”     Nebous: “The towers are complete?”     Ambent: “Only just and now one is lost. I am not sure what to do or think.”     Nebous: “The Turnal has a tower? The one in this… ‘Shrouds’?”     Ambent: “That one, yes. The Turnal has this tower. He is abetted by another user of Shadow.”     Nebous: “That cannot be. There is only one Factor of each of the four remaining. Our Lored revealed it to we three.”     Ambent: “Did I say this other was a Factor? Nay, he is a mortal of some Godly plane. A mind most blank to mine. I asked him to think and he could not hear me. If he had heard and seen the tower I know is his, he would have answered. If he had a tower he might have forsworn ours. The tower is gone because the Turnal and this Godly one refused to be deterred.”     Mordial: “What of it? Is that not the very reason that four towers were raised by us at your insistence? “     Ambent : “It was the reason for my precautions. It was not meant to be rapidly needed!”     Mordial: “Typhon moves like a Dragon.”     Nebous: “Avela.”     Ambent: “… … Avela.”     Mordial: “You hesitate to thank our Lored.”     Ambent: “I have not heard this oath in so long… I had all but forgotten it.”     Mordial: “I sense your sadness.”     Ambent: “The Ambent lost much. The Mordial would not know how much, practiced as your kind was at your devastations.”     Nebous: “We all have our ways. The Ambents’ were to move among others in a way that my kind did not. The Mordials’ ways were by definition, unwelcome in the places of the living. The Turnals hated my kind, despised yours Ambent and feared yours, Mordial… Does this turnal want to deny us?”     Ambent: “He brought his power against me with total disregard.”     Nebous: “This is the Turnal way.”     Ambent: “He might have changed. He has changed greatly but not toward us. Still pride rules the Turnal.”     Mordial: “I would offer my ways but his kind are no more. What to destroy when all is gone?”     Ambent: “He places a value only on himself. He has some motivation, however.”     Nebous: “What does this word mean?”     Ambent: “An individual need. Different from our ways. Not a thing of our past. More a thing of the future. In the Turnal’s case, a personal future.”     Mordial: “I must ask you to explain this again. I do not understand. I do not want to increase your anger, Ambent.”     Ambent: “Ask.”     Mordial: “Motivation?”     Ambent: “The Turnal must be after something. He must have a desire. I know the Turnal had desire. Desire for each other. They procreated. Under the baleful eyes of the star-mother, the Turnal would join with each other. Lored Vela would strip the Turnal of their skin and make them cavort with one another. Vela would bathe the Turnal in harsh, throbbing energies. The Turnal would have…offspring. This last Turnal? He has desire. Something will demand him to hear it. Creature, relic, race or craft, as yet I do not know whichever. Once we have watched him more, we will see what it is he desires. Then, we will know how to deal with him.”     Mordial: “Thank you for not becoming wrathful.”     Nebous: “Mordial? You understood this?”     Morduial: “No but still I am thankful.”