"Between the motion and the act falls the shadow."
-T. S. Eliot
"NELIKOR..."
To call it a voice was to call the tallest peak in all the multiverse a simple pebble. It nearly crushed him against the inside of his own skull; it filled him with....rapture. He sank to his knees.
He had been here before. This was not the first time that the Necromancer had come to the Citadel of Indifference. Outside, the world was twisted and bizarre. It was not the world of his birth.
He had been taken from Rhy'Din as a babe, and brought to this place. Above, roiling gray clouds hid the sky, an inverted sea of sluggish ashen waves crashing around the Citadel's hidden spires. Below, odd lights flashed across the barren valley, washed-out blues and reds that failed to dispel the dusky murk that surrounded their source. Lightning streaked up at the clouds, and a slow thunder rolled across the sky. Across the valley, steam and smoke rose from scattered vents, some holes as small as a man's hand and some large enough to swallow ten men. He had often wondered what befell those who were cast " or worse, those who fell in, by accident or stupid clumsiness " into the largest of the pits. They could still be falling, all these hours and days and weeks and years later. Things did not work here like they worked elsewhere in the multiverse. And, he had read, there were things in other planes and other worlds that made the Citadel of Indifference seem normal. The world outside the barren valley was little better. It was a blasted plain of tumbled rocks, jagged pinnacles, and sinister gorges devoid of natural life. It was always dry as any desert he had crossed in his life, but the whole of the world was smothered in winter, complete with freezing winds to lash at his eyes and skin.
The Citadel of Indifference was not really a castle at all, however. A single tower of black iron gridwork that pierced the roiling heavens above, it could be seen from anywhere he had ever traveled upon this world. Humanoids of every variety were woven into the metal itself, as if used as a ghastly mortar. Most of the forms were truly dead, yes, but many more were undead which constantly wailed and clawed at the air.
Feathery mist marked his breath, barely visible before the dry air of the antechamber drank it in. The corridor he walked down to reach this room had suddenly opened onto a wide ledge overlooking a lake of molten stone, red mottled with black, where man-high flames danced, died, and rose again. There was no roof here, only a great hole rising through the mountain to a sky that was not the sky outside. Here, when viewed up through the hole, one could see wildly striated clouds streaking by as though driven b the greatest winds the world had ever seen. The Necromancer had spent a great deal of time studying the layout of the Citadel of Indifference from the outside. Near as he could tell, there could not have been any possible way to have both the enormous lake of molten stone, nor the open roof of the Great Lord's chamber.
He had to remind himself, though. There were other planes, other worlds, that made this one seem normal.
"ARE YOU LOYAL, NELIKOR?"
The frail skeleton of a man gripped his head between gloved fingers, and wanted to howl. The Great Lord ruled the Citadel of Indifference with an iron-fisted grip, with reminders to all of his servants that there could always be made more mortar for the tower's wall. Occasionally, the Great Lord himself took physical form, but never when there were servitors such as he about. Still, he had heard many of the Infernal inhabitants " minions of the Great Lord far superior to himself " The Great Lord did not even reveal his name to worms such as he.
"As you command, Great Lord, so shall I obey." There was pain. The voice crashing into his skull was rapturous, but ecstasy and euphoria that came too strong, that rushed too swiftly, turned quickly to agony. His muscles twitched with a dull, aching burn.
"SO YOU SHALL."
A bid of sweat traveled down the man's face. Though the muscles of his body were jerking, his voice was steady as a rock. The Necromancer's knees began to blister from the hot stone he knelt upon, but it might as well have been someone else's flesh. He could focus only upon the voice that boomed inside of his head. "I wish only to serve you, Great Lord, however I may."
"THEN LISTEN WELL, AND SERVE..."
The Necromancer screamed as the voice crashed against him again and again, echoing and bouncing around his head with every sound, every syllable. He was weeping tears of joy, so glorious the sensation of the Great Lord being near him. Speaking to him. To one such as he. And when it was done" When his instructions had been given?
"YOU WILL GO FORTH, NELIKOR."
A gibbering mess, his face wet with sweat and slobber, the Necromancer crawled out of the antechamber and sucked air in through her nostrils, trying to regain his dignity before rising to his feet. The Great Lord had made his instructions clear to him. His voice could not be mistaken for anything else, and one did not merely pay attention. Anything the Great Lord said directly to you was imprinted indelibly upon the mind as sure as a stonemason carves into rock.
First, he was to be sent back to Rhy'Din.
"NELIKOR..."
To call it a voice was to call the tallest peak in all the multiverse a simple pebble. It nearly crushed him against the inside of his own skull; it filled him with....rapture. He sank to his knees.
He had been here before. This was not the first time that the Necromancer had come to the Citadel of Indifference. Outside, the world was twisted and bizarre. It was not the world of his birth.
He had been taken from Rhy'Din as a babe, and brought to this place. Above, roiling gray clouds hid the sky, an inverted sea of sluggish ashen waves crashing around the Citadel's hidden spires. Below, odd lights flashed across the barren valley, washed-out blues and reds that failed to dispel the dusky murk that surrounded their source. Lightning streaked up at the clouds, and a slow thunder rolled across the sky. Across the valley, steam and smoke rose from scattered vents, some holes as small as a man's hand and some large enough to swallow ten men. He had often wondered what befell those who were cast " or worse, those who fell in, by accident or stupid clumsiness " into the largest of the pits. They could still be falling, all these hours and days and weeks and years later. Things did not work here like they worked elsewhere in the multiverse. And, he had read, there were things in other planes and other worlds that made the Citadel of Indifference seem normal. The world outside the barren valley was little better. It was a blasted plain of tumbled rocks, jagged pinnacles, and sinister gorges devoid of natural life. It was always dry as any desert he had crossed in his life, but the whole of the world was smothered in winter, complete with freezing winds to lash at his eyes and skin.
The Citadel of Indifference was not really a castle at all, however. A single tower of black iron gridwork that pierced the roiling heavens above, it could be seen from anywhere he had ever traveled upon this world. Humanoids of every variety were woven into the metal itself, as if used as a ghastly mortar. Most of the forms were truly dead, yes, but many more were undead which constantly wailed and clawed at the air.
Feathery mist marked his breath, barely visible before the dry air of the antechamber drank it in. The corridor he walked down to reach this room had suddenly opened onto a wide ledge overlooking a lake of molten stone, red mottled with black, where man-high flames danced, died, and rose again. There was no roof here, only a great hole rising through the mountain to a sky that was not the sky outside. Here, when viewed up through the hole, one could see wildly striated clouds streaking by as though driven b the greatest winds the world had ever seen. The Necromancer had spent a great deal of time studying the layout of the Citadel of Indifference from the outside. Near as he could tell, there could not have been any possible way to have both the enormous lake of molten stone, nor the open roof of the Great Lord's chamber.
He had to remind himself, though. There were other planes, other worlds, that made this one seem normal.
"ARE YOU LOYAL, NELIKOR?"
The frail skeleton of a man gripped his head between gloved fingers, and wanted to howl. The Great Lord ruled the Citadel of Indifference with an iron-fisted grip, with reminders to all of his servants that there could always be made more mortar for the tower's wall. Occasionally, the Great Lord himself took physical form, but never when there were servitors such as he about. Still, he had heard many of the Infernal inhabitants " minions of the Great Lord far superior to himself " The Great Lord did not even reveal his name to worms such as he.
"As you command, Great Lord, so shall I obey." There was pain. The voice crashing into his skull was rapturous, but ecstasy and euphoria that came too strong, that rushed too swiftly, turned quickly to agony. His muscles twitched with a dull, aching burn.
"SO YOU SHALL."
A bid of sweat traveled down the man's face. Though the muscles of his body were jerking, his voice was steady as a rock. The Necromancer's knees began to blister from the hot stone he knelt upon, but it might as well have been someone else's flesh. He could focus only upon the voice that boomed inside of his head. "I wish only to serve you, Great Lord, however I may."
"THEN LISTEN WELL, AND SERVE..."
The Necromancer screamed as the voice crashed against him again and again, echoing and bouncing around his head with every sound, every syllable. He was weeping tears of joy, so glorious the sensation of the Great Lord being near him. Speaking to him. To one such as he. And when it was done" When his instructions had been given?
"YOU WILL GO FORTH, NELIKOR."
A gibbering mess, his face wet with sweat and slobber, the Necromancer crawled out of the antechamber and sucked air in through her nostrils, trying to regain his dignity before rising to his feet. The Great Lord had made his instructions clear to him. His voice could not be mistaken for anything else, and one did not merely pay attention. Anything the Great Lord said directly to you was imprinted indelibly upon the mind as sure as a stonemason carves into rock.
First, he was to be sent back to Rhy'Din.