Journal #34 - The Filter of Souls

Shortly after slaying the tortured soul of Lord Brevon, a gravity pulse went off. It shot from mountaintop to mountaintop; ocean water spiraled into typhoons. The gravitational pull of the island floating in the air made debris move in strange patterns in the air, difficult to dodge. We had to march through these conditions for several hours. Lug tried to fly as a hawk, but could not dodge the projectiles of rock. I too took some hits, using myself as a shield, or in another case getting my feet stuck in the mud. After much effort, we arrived at the giant oak tree that was our destination.
 
As we entered the clearing, it was quiet. Then we heard steps approaching. We took cover. It ended up being a giant Tortle, apparently the one Lug had met before. He came with two eggs joined together with fungus and vines, and presented it to Lug. They spoke for some time, I could barely hear them. Mentioned a final task, using the last of his power to split the tree open, within is “her realm, her garden, and within you will face the most daunting of tasks, to pluck the rose from the thorns.” He motioned Lug to follow him, and began walking towards the tree at a glacial pace.
 
The Tortle gave a lesson on the Worldra trees, and of the Elindil race. The Sparrow-Oak was apparently one of these trees. Its purpose was to pump the life-blood of the ELindi through the veins of Volaudryn. But, unlike the Aymhelin, Kurama became sick early in its infancy, visited by an interloper… someone who had this knowledge, someone born of the Elindi. It was Malice, we would find.
 
Lug and the elder Tortle had to combine their power to remove the malice that blighted the Sparrow Oak. Not much longer after he’d said this, forest-Drev emerged from the very trees, and began to encircle us. We took on the task of escorting the slow creature the long distance across the field, and defending against another upsprouting grasper. It was a tough fight, but we endured.
 
As the tortles arrived at the base of the Worldra tree, they began electrifying the roots. They concentrated on the ritual as we defended them, and ultimately the tree split open into a portal into another realm… then the elder Tortle wildshaped into a gigantic spider hybrid, guarding the entrance and ushering us inside. Merrys fell guarding them, and I had to carry her across the threshold before healing her.
 
As I walked through, I was overwhelmed. A bright realm, shooting stars in the hundreds of thousands, each blindingly bright. It seems we are being transported, or being torn apart. Our soul would be ripped asunder, it is being anchored by the light of a lantern which the elder tortle, Kurama himself, had given to Lug; a piece of Kurama, a giant lightning bug inside the glass.
 
I had never heard of any mortal crossing planes before; obviously the Fey had done so. I wondered what was happening. Were we someone going to the Fey world? Or to somewhere else? As close to the Echo as possible, I felt the footsteps of my forefathers, my people. I heard the cries of the Thralled within this realm, and thought to myself perhaps this entire place was the Filter of Souls? That would explain the cryptic explanations of being a time and not a place, and when to locate it.
 
Lug opened the lantern, and released the firefly. We followed it through the moving lights, and after a time found an ancient dwarven gateway. A statue guarded it, and its eyes glowed amber. It welcomed us, and put our wounds at ease. The air grew crisp and pleasant, the voice that spoke was familiar somehow… we were lifted up, cradled in invisible arms, the wind kissed me, and we were brought back down fully healed and rested, as if a great nights sleep in the blink of an eye. The door in front of us cracked open like glass, the gaze of Malice came down upon us, the realm folded, and the smell of corruption and the Thralling Pits of Ru’Steppes surrounded me, but ten times worse.
 
I looked out and saw a monstrous visage. A pile of corpses, untold thousands of bodies, fifty feet high. Phantoms spiraled in the sky, it could only be the Filter of Souls.
 
It felt like we were once more upon the mortal plane, and yet it felt strange. On top of the corpse pile stood Malice; she took hold of our minds and we witnessed a view of the world through her eyes. The mirror side of the Sparrowed Long-Oak, the tree grew out from the underside of the ground, beneath the bodies. Down was up, and up was down. Perhaps this was no pile, but a mass grave?
 
Malice spoke eloquently of destiny, of luck, of bloodlines and birthrights. She was of the Elindi, born into an age of greatness and denied the chance to ascend to the height of her potential. She spoke of the sacrifice of her ancestors, the Dark Lord tainting her perfect world, the shattering of the star of Timirand, the death of her birthright. The loss of the Sunbrace which existed in Magulban, the transformation of its lucious terrain into its current wasteland. Surindo the White stopping their ritual to save their people at the foot of its Sunbrace where the first phoenix was hatched within Maldus, bringing with it a fire that killed her people. Surindo the White, leader of the Prismatic Alliance, took her destiny and proclaimed her acts evil. She thought that a blasphemy, that she could not be evil with her good intentions.
 
For a time I felt pity for her, but her rambling went on and on, rooted in anger and hatred, and she bragged of committing atrocities to my people a hundred times worse than anything she had ever experienced. I pointed out her evil that she denied could be. Because she could was enough to justify her actions. She said my people may yet be useful, as slaves only. There I could see the tortured souls of my people, and those of many peoples of times untold. I knew in my heart, I could kill Malice, and I could set them free. So I did. So we did.
 
Before I could attempt to slay her, she fled like a coward. Instead, sprouting on the top of the pile of corpses, was what could only be described as a Corpse Flower. The poisoned heart of Kurama. The entire room was the corpse of Kurama, embedded within it the light of the Chrysanthemum Cross. A whirlwind encircled the mound, and viper vines sprouted at its base. It seemed all such growths shared the same vitality, and when sufficiently damaged its buds would bloom and heal it. I took it upon myself to cut off the growths preemptively, and before long it was sheared. It nearly killed me, strangling me with vines, but my determination to free my people saw me through. We chopped it to bits, and ultimately it surrendered, bloomed, and the Cross descended.
 
Amber reached for it, and a hole opened beneath her atop the pile. Gravity pulled, and we gave in. I hoped we were emerging into the mirror-world, the right side up. Another part of me thought I was going to hell. The others followed us in, and the pile of corpses floated around in the surging wild gravity, bludgeoning us.
 
Falling through the astral violet light, the plane of undeath was shrinking as we fell. Slowly, gravity flipped, up became down and down became up. The corpses levitated and stood still in the night sky as we continued to fall. What we thought was the atmosphere was the horizon of Hy’dera, visible from the stratosphere. We see the Sparrowed Long Oak, the Fey-side of it, and as we land, standing before the tree was Malice’s true form, embedded into the tree.
 
The tree had untold leaves, each glowing, each the trapped, enslaved soul of a thrall. As she spoke of the purity of her blood, I noticed the Cross embedded in her chest. We attacked, and despite wave after wave of magic missiles we brought her to the brink of death. I am sure her hubris stung as she was bested by those she had so recently mocked. Distracted by Ghiravont’s radiant blows, she flung him across the battlefield, and I took the opportunity to strike in her moment of weakness. Struck from behind, she was slain, and the Cross flickered out. Her skin flaked away like the spores from a fungus. Yet still she clung… petrifying, turning to stone, she gave into the Cross. It broke through the stone and she willingly sent her soul through it, thralling herself as a Drev. Her eyes were violet as she turned undead.
 
Each time we struck after that, souls from the tree lashed out, attacking in unison, and dying. They had clung to life through torment for ages unknown, and here within reach of escape, they sacrificed themselves forever to help strike her down and free the others. Time and again, more gave themselves. She tried to drag my very soul to undeath, and I resisted her.
 
Nearing death, Malice caved into her utterly evil nature. She knew she was dying, so she tried to kill as many beings as she cut. She set the tree alight, burning the souls there forever. They screamed in a banshee’s wail, overcoming the will of some of our party, who began to prepare to commit suicide. Malice was utterly evil, even taking control of our bodies and having us strike each other. Heals were counterspelled, poison was inflicted. Near death herself she finally used her full attention for defense, allowing me to heal our friends. Blows landed, and she neared death once more… and the cycle continued. Allies falling, wills tested. As Malice was focused on making us fight each other, and surviving blow after blow, Roric quietly stepped into range, sinking the Vaporidian blade he bore deep into her heart and unleashing a thunderous smite. She died with the souls she had been murdering, burned to a husk. Her soul was drawn into the blade, and Roric withstood it through his attunement.
 
A pillar of light glowed from Kurama, warbled, and flickered out. It could be seen from Almstead Castle, and as it touched the atmosphere and bounced back to Kurama, a seismic wave erupted, crashing down upon the land with the force of a hundred meteorites. The waves of the ocean plummeted into the shore, emergency bells rang in the distance, and life faded to black.