Interlude 4

The Great Pyramid

Day???:

Vorigan, the Vampyr Death Knight stepped through the portal and found himself in a place very similar to the Labyrinth entry, where he’d marked his name in the sand, and accepted the Rules. His Tasks, his rooms were solved; the Labyrinth finished. He stood by an identical doorway, with walls extending into the distance, like the corner of an infinitely-large room. Unlike the first time, this stone platform was only as big as the ones out in the desert, where he entered the Labyrinth. Beyond its small, square boundary was an endless sea of sand stretching out of sight, between the two diverging walls. The Topaz Dragon, Kyet’sol was already present; her sleek, predatory head hovering menacingly above him. Except for part of her neck, the rest of her body was buried beneath the dunes.

“Challenger, you have succeeded in your Tasks.” The dragon said, sounding eager to Blackwater’s Knight Commander. “And normally would now be eligible for me to offer you rewards. But first, we must discuss what would be the final reward: a gift of my power, or its protection.”

A tingling creeped down his limbs, but he ignored it to respond.

Vorigan bowed respectfully. “Great Topaz Dragon, Master of the Great Pyramid and Giver of Restoration and Healing, I greet you in solemn humility. Your words are concerning. I do not understand what you mean, nor what this is, that you put to me.”

The dragon’s head bobbed. “You do not, for you are the first to achieve the Call, in this world. You now face a choice, which must be decided before your rewards can proceed. Your decision must also be witnessed, by a person still living who has successfully completed my Challenge. If you cannot, or will not name such a person who is satisfactory to you, I will do so.”

Thousands of needles pricked him, all over. What is this?

He staggered, but held himself upright through force of will as the sensation grew. “I ... only know of one, or perhaps two people who might have completed the Challenge. Either of my companions, John the Nord with a Fey Ear, or Master Dulgan Ironhand Fireshaper would be acceptable.”

Kyet’sol’s head bobbed again. “John the Nord, as you call him is acceptable to myself as well. He shall be shown your choice, but restricted from discussing it without being in the presence of my mother, myself, or one of my sisters. You may not converse with him, so I shall keep his view hidden from your sight.”

For every moment that passed, his pain doubled. Whatever this Call did, reached beyond his natural defenses.

Vorigan braced both feet shoulder’s width apart. “I understand, Great Kyet’sol. What am I to choose?”

“I consulted with my sisters, Typhon and Amayru regarding you when the Call rang out.” Kyet’sol explained. “You first gained Necromantic power eight hundred and thirty-seven years ago, then Evolved your form five hundred and fifty-three years ago. You are now an Aristocratic-class Vampyr Death Knight; a warrior of the highest order whose form is at the pinnacle of its possible Evolution. Is this not so?”

Impatient irritation took hold. Long years spent disciplining himself were all that prevented him from retorting condescendingly. “You speak truly, Great One.”

“Then your choice is this,” Kyet’sol continued, “your nature as a Vampyr gives you the ability to heal yourself, at others’ expense only. Also, your mastery over Necromancy is now total, infusing your form with its Necromantic power and using others’ deaths to fuel your indefinitely long martial life. Were I to gift you with either aspect of my normal healing ability as your reward, it would corrupt and almost assuredly destroy you. If it did not, it would undoubtedly permanently weaken you severely. However, I can offer you an alternative to this: accept service with me, to serve as my Boon’s Death-Drinker, and I will transform your Death Knight form into a Banneret of Balance, one capable of holding both Necromantic and Mystic powers together.”

Vorigan sank slowly to a knee; no matter how forcefully he bent his will, his body refused to obey. The dragon offered him a bargain: she would give him power and respite from whatever afflicted him in exchange for his service. It was an intriguing one; a Vampyr serving the Topaz Dragon. He’d never heard of such a thing. But her words inspired no confidence in him. She did not know how powerfully this ‘Redemption’s Call’ gripped him.

He slow-motioned collapsed, forcing the words out. “I ... am intrigued ... by your offer ... to serve. But ... I fear that your ... promise to put ... the Call off ... will only leave me ... torn between ... both. I’m sorry ... Great Drag-on ... but I must ... accept my blood’s ... legacy.”

“You have spoken; so shall it be.” Kyet’sol thundered formally. “Redemption’s Call has been Heard and Answered.”

The dragon rose up, her entire body sliding out of the sand until she floated freely in the air. Her serpentine length undulated slowly, levitating with only her massive head and the spiked tip of her tail remaining stationary. That tail moved to her mouth, and a razor-sharp tooth tore a tiny hole in the very end. A single bead of milky-white fluid welled up from the wound, off-gassing a dark vapor into the warm, still air.

Kyet’sol extended it to Vorigan. “Taste my blood, Life-Drinker and face your Legacy.”

He raised a trembling finger to dip it in the liquid, but the dragon’s tail dodged aside.

“Taste. Not take.” She warned.

Vorigan braced both hands on his knee, and raised his head. His long, forked tongue punctured the droplet’s surface, spilling its contents down his throat in a rush. Dark vapor drifted from his nostrils as his body greedily absorbed the essence contained within. His platform shook as the entire world rang like the deepest bell ever constructed. Agony tore through him, an uncontrollable rush of alien, yet familiar power that burned away the dark feelings clouding his thoughts. He flopped to the ground like a fish out of water, and dark vapor began pouring from his gaping mouth, nose and ears.

“The agreement is fulfilled.” Kyet’sol boomed. “Open the Door to the Place not of this world, and the Time when the Bargain was struck.”

A fully-armored, winged warrior strode out from the portal. The new being calling himself ‘Sammeal the Seraphim’ addressed a dragon named Zhulang and referenced an ancient bargain between them. This new dragon’s voice responded, though it did not appear. The scene of their compact replayed, ending with Sammeal transformed into a blue-tined spirit.

Sammeal regarded Vorigan without emotion. “Fallen One, you have fulfilled our ancient agreement with the Great Dragon. As your blood carries the same power my own once did, I offer you a chance to redeem us all. Will you hear what is required of you, or do you reject my legacy?”

What is he talking about? What does this mean?

Sammeal’s voice turned frosty. “Leech, refusal to answer will be treated as a rejection.”

“I do not understand.” Vorigan pointed at the Seraphim. “You claim that you,” he turned his finger on himself, “are the same race that I am? How can this be?”

“Our history is lost, then?” Sammeal asked.

Vorigan professed his ignorance, and received an incredible story of these Seraphim being tricked and trapped in a place that sounded exactly like the Underworld that the Eldest Vampyr described. It ended with an implication that the Fallen members of Sammeal’s Race were the very first Vampyri. It was information unknown to the Vampyri of this world, but would explain some of their oldest legends. Still, his conversation with the ancient Seraphim, and the accusation that the Vampyri were “Fallen” descendants of that once-powerful race completely shattered Vorigan’s world-view.

Sammeal ended with how all this pertained to Vorigan himself, “We elected to form the dragon’s Compact. She goes by many names, but to us she was Zhulang, the Light in Darkness, penultimate Authority over the Network of Countless Worlds. She agreed to Test you, and if you pass the Test, she will accept you as our race’s sacrifice. She assured us that somehow doing so will open the way for our redemption.”

The way his blood still burned in his veins, and the pain when he resisted Redemption’s Call at first were evidence that this was no trick. No stratagem to cheat him out of a justly-earned reward. That, he could’ve handled. As one of the most dangerous, and heavily dragon-rewarded Vampyri, Vorigan knew more than most about the powerful beings who’d carved the world into pieces for each of them. For instance, he knew that they were bound by rules, just as surely as was each Challenger. For one of them to offer a bargain, with terms that included restraining an old, otherworldly accord was utterly unheard of. Vorigan’s mind was spinning; he didn’t know what to think.

“Sacrifice?” He asked. “What does that mean? The vision I saw said ‘servant’ not ‘sacrifice’.”

Sammeal shook his head. “Her words were: ‘they will belong wholly to me, to do with as I see fit’. She accepted our death as a surety and anchor for me to talk with you now, but I do not believe she craves any more of it. How you will offer to redeem us isn’t clear. That information you must find out.”

An incandescent column of white light flashed down, engulfing Vorigan. Then came the voice of Zhulang herself. The one Sammeal called the Light in Darkness, and Master of the Place Between Uncountable Worlds. Vorigan assumed Zhulang was this being’s name for Ky’ur, the Mother of Dragons. Her words struck to the very core of his being. For the first time in his bloody, long life the Knight Commander of Blackwater Necropolis felt true terror. Vampyri avoid doing many Challenges (if any), and though the Death Knight had faced three, nothing in his experience prepared him for the awe-inspiring power that radiated down upon him now.

“Commander Vorigan of Blackwater, Aristocratic Vampyr and Death Knight, you have Heard and Accepted Redemption’s Call.” Zhulang’s voice rang out. “Your Test begins here and now: do you agree to my Terms and Conditions, without knowing them, nor the Consequences for refusal in advance? Or do you reject my Test, and accept your punishment for refusal?”

He was caught now; there was no escaping the wave about to sweep over him. Even if it was one of his own making. Vampyri lead cold, cruel, and lonely lives. Lives reviled by most other sentient creatures in the world. Lives whose only purpose amounted to: don’t die. Destroy any who threaten you, but no more than that. Don’t draw the ire of other Races; stay in the shadows, and avoid becoming entangled in their short-lived squabbles. Vampyri shared no glory, no meaning, no sentiment beyond utter selfishness.

Now he knew why so few of his Race lived beyond a thousand years. It was tiresome to struggle so mightily, only to live another, identical day. Or year. Or decade. Time filled with hedonism, a distraction from the emptiness of their existence. Or pursuing ever greater power. No amount was ever enough to satisfy. Like the bloody life-force Vampyri consumed endlessly, the thirst for always more consumed anyone who followed it long enough.

It was time to see if something innately fulfilling existed. Vorigan was more than ready to embrace whatever commitment Zhulang demanded, if it meant possible success in that endeavor.

Vorigan spoke loudly. “I do accept them, Great One. I accede to whatever you require.”

“I am pleased by your ready answer.” Zhulang replied. “Remove all of your items, armor and clothing. You will enter your new life as my Paladin without encumbrance, for you are to be the first reborn Cherubim in this world.”

The light surrounding him flared so bright it seemed to shine right through him. Instinctively, his body wanted to curl up and seek a deep, dark place to hide. It took every bit of his millennium’s discipline to remain upright.

Valley of Hidden Matters

When it faded out, he found himself standing in a grassy meadow, under an enormous tree. One unlike any other he’d ever seen in his abnormally-long life. The plant’s branches extended above his head, shading the former Death Knight and a coffin-sized, perfectly rectangular stone altar. The tree’s trunk had grown into a pattern resembling the face of a dragon; the eyes of which were now glowing with a golden light. Sammeal’s ghost stood silently on the other side of the stone edifice, almost swallowed by the heavy fog shrouding anything beyond a few steps away.

Vorigan blinked at Sammeal’s expectant eye-brow raise. The Vampyr had to review Zhulang’s final pronouncement before he realized what was next. Moving quickly, he removed all his clothing, armor, weapons and equipment.

“Place them on the altar.” The tree said.

Vorigan looked over quickly enough to see the mouth move. After the previous interactions, he understood it to be Zhulang continuing to give him instructions. Once he’d obeyed, and stepped back the tree-dragon spoke again.

“Modsognir, please join us.” Zhulang boomed. “And bring the three items I asked for.”

There was a long, pregnant pause before a distant boom answered it. A few more minutes passed, until Vorigan could hear the sound of cursing and mumbling grow louder in that same direction. Eventually, a squat, muscular Dwarf stomped into view.

A female Dwarf.

As the Southern Dwarven Clandom bordered the Dead Swamp where Blackwater Necropolis sat beneath the earth, Vorigan was extremely familiar with Dwarfs. Dwarf culture, racial sub-types, clan names and histories, Dwarf politics, all were unavoidable if you were a known local figure.

Which the Knight Commander of Blackwater definitely qualified as. So, Vorigan knew all about why all Dwarves were male, and how the Race reproduced. He’d even met a few Dwarves during their ‘change’.

This female Dwarf shared none of the typical physical characteristics from any of the three sub-types, nor from any ‘change’ Vorigan ever saw. Her ears were pointed, like a Fey, but a long, single-braided, blonde beard hung between her breasts. Breasts that, like everything else about her looked squared off. As though she was a roughly-fashioned child’s toy. Milky white, structure-less eyes surveyed the scene but landed on Vorigan’s belongings.

“Black Knight’s Cuirass.” She nodded to herself, disdaining any greeting. “The Last Scream; terrible, cruel weapon. Made you powerful against your enemies, did it?”

It took Vorigan a moment to realize that she expected an answer.

“It served me well.” He acknowledged.

She glanced up at the tree. “Time for something new, yeah?”

“Yes.” The tree-dragon answered. “A Paladin Cherubim’s chest armor, sword and shield are appropriate. You have something ‘adequate’?”

She smirked. “Maybe.” Vorigan got a side-eye. “Is it my choice, what he gets?”

“Do not test me, Master Creator.” The tree-dragon warned. “You know our Terms.”

She bared her teeth. “You know I do. Does he qualify for a set-bonus?”

“The sword and shield only.” The tree-dragon answered.

Now it was a Cheshire grin. “I have exactly the thing, then.”

She scraped every bit of his things into a sack which appeared in her hand. One that was far too small for the size. She winked at Vorigan and stomped back out of sight, the way she came.

“Lie down, my new Paladin.” The tree-dragon instructed. “On the altar. You need no clothing for this part.”