PART TWO: THE DESERT
Introduction
The scales of Great Serpent rasp as she coils, her long tongue flicking past her slender lips, around T'sa's feet.
"Hear me, priestessss," she croons, resting her heavy head on the raven woman's shoulder. T'sa takes deep breaths, her dark eyes twinkling behind her veil.
"Registrana, I hear you," the priestess says softly.
"The vault—sssomeone has tressspasssed on your watch!" she hisses violently, her heavy fangs snapping down by T'sa's ear. She flinches slightly but calms as she feels the lapis rush through her bones, steadying her against further shock. It is a steady cold inside her flesh and feathers.
"Infinite mistress, this is not possible," T'sa chirps firmly. "No human would be able to pass the priestess-guards, and even great Nasus"—this she says with a slight draw of breath—"could not penetrate the powers of your wards."
"Truth," Registrana snarls, her coils tightening around T'sa's chest, crushing her, even as the lapis reacts and strengthen her ribs to keep them from breaking, "if the intruder was from thisss world."
"It's not possible," T'sa gasps, choking in horror. "Mistress—"
"Do you doubt me yet, High Priessstesss!" she roars, "Awaken and protect my weapon!"
She jerks forwards as the trance breaks, the incense censors shattering as her lapis-infused talons hook on their chains. Her beak smashes into the goddess's shrine itself, though its sharp edge cannot mar the celestial gold.
"Vulture's rotting wings!" she squawks, blasting the cinders away with a gust of desert wind, and staggers to her feet. A thought summons cold water to splash over her face, instantly clearing her lingering pain and bringing her mind to razor focus.
"The vault," T'sa murmurs, spinning on her claws with a nod at her frightened assistant, kneeling in the back of the prayer room, to clean up the mess. She raises her hand and her veil and armor appear with the slightest hiss over her robes. With a grimace, she yanks a feather from her wrist and watches with satisfaction as it shimmers and turns into solid lapis lazuli, sharp and deadly.
"This won't take long, Initiate," she chirps, brushing past the hyena-form woman and sweeps out of the prayer room.
The room itself is a large rectangular structure with sturdy sandstone walls and golden pillars, the floor composed of smoothly raked sand. A statue of Registrana, coiled around herself with her ruby eyes staring calmly down on supplicants, dominates the back wall. From her open mouth, now-severed chains attached to her golden fangs support a bowl of incense. For the ritual trance, only burning snake scales would do, although mixed in with as many herbs as T'sa could add to dampen the horrible smell. It is open to the rest of the temple, as it is more magic than incense that T'sa needs to reach out to contact Registrana, so if some of the smoke is lost…well, at least she doesn't have to suffer alone. The corridors leading to it are sandstone, sand, and gold again, until the main worship hall, which has mosaics in lapis and emerald tile. The vault is another matter.
T'sa stops at a seemingly random spot on the wall and crouches. She plunges her talons deep into the sand, until they can go no further. Slowly, as she concentrates, she sees white light blazing through the half meter of sand that separates her from her talons.
"Go forth!" she caws, and with a jerk she feels her spirit talons catch on the pull ring hidden deep under the temple. She yanks her arms out of the sand with a grunt, and her spirit talons mimic her actions. The wall in front of her slides open.
In it, a tiny chamber half the size of her private prayer room, there is a male. And a human, no less, though his scent burns her nostrils. He stinks of death and black magic, and wears a twisted armor of tentacles and horns that seems almost organic. A long violet blade extends from one arm, and what flesh she can see is the same blue as the lips of those that have died under the sand.
He is forcing the violet blade into a sphere of blazing gold that pulses so brightly T'sa cannot imagine how his eyes have not been seared from their sockets. Only her veil protects her from the light, and lets her see inside to the slim dagger lying on a pedestal, its hilt a brilliant golden snake with red eyes, the blade a sickly poison green—Registrana's fang.
"Heretic—turn and face me!" she screeches, and throws the feather with all her might as she pours energy back into her claws. It explodes into crystalline shards on his armor, and the figure turns to look at her, still calmly forcing his blade through the shield.
"YOUR MAGIC IS POWERLESS AGAINST ME," the creature intones, and T'sa screams at the sound of its voice. It is everything that is wrong and unnatural—but terribly, strangely sad.
With a flash, the shield flickers and dies and the priestess shoots her sacred talons at him. They rake across his armor, tearing lines of desert fire into his exposed flesh, and T'sa stamps her foot, changing the stone of the vault beneath him into quagmire of sand. The man chuckles grimly even as the weight of his armor pulls him down to his kneecaps into the sand.
"Sink into the sand's embrace!" she cries, then clutches her throat as he points at her and a ball of searing, violet magic slams into her veil. The fabric protects her eyes and her feathers cast the magic back at him, making him hiss in surprise as the energy splatters against his skin, but she feels a searing pain in the flesh of her neck, and even when she opens her beak, no noise comes out.
She reaches for the cleansing water of the oasis, pleading for Registrana's help, but her connection to her magic has been cleanly severed. It is quickly recovering, and she can almost hear the goddess' furious hisses, but for the moment, she can do nothing but brandish her talons.
The sand smashes back into solidity around the man's legs, and there is a horrible crunch of shattering bone and splitting muscle. He falters for a moment as he is reaching for the dagger, and T'sa expects him to topple. But instead he floats upwards from the floor, spitting, crackling violet energy streaming from his torso and reforming into his ragged skirt, under which she can see no sign of human feet.
"YOU ARE NULL AND VOID," he says flatly, and scoops the dagger up from its resting place. T'sa leaps for him, her talons reaching for his throat, and just as they touch flesh he vanishes with the boom of inrushing air.
"No!" she shrieks as she falls against the pedestal, the heavy stone slamming into her breastplate. Liquid tears, precious water, stain the feathers under her eyes.
The last of the three artifacts—the legendary weapons of the Curator, the Library Gatekeeper, and the High Priestess of Registrana—is gone.
The raven woman bows her head and sinks to her knees before the pedestal. Without another word, she begins to pray.
"I HAVE IT," the man announces as he appears in a darkened room, high in a palace above a black city. "WHERE IS SHE?" He clutches his side, where the claw marks remain. He must rest soon, but for his daughter, he will hold out a little longer.
"You are certain that it will work as a portal key?" the woman demands, tossing a dagger idly as she slumps deeper into the armchair. The old man, leaning heavily on his staff, smiles.
"Now, the Voidwalker would not get us a substandard artifact," he murmurs. "After all, he knows what is at stake."
"YOUR CURSED CHARMS ARE ENOUGH TO KEEP ME FROM TAKING HER FROM YOU, SO I HAVE DONE AS YOU ASKED. GIVE HER TO ME!"
"You mean your daughter?" the old man asks, snapping his fingers. A little girl, with wide eyes and hair the color of sand, creeps out of the darkness and looks up fearfully at the huge Voidwalker.
"SWEET ONE," the man murmurs, dropping the dagger to clatter on the floor as he sinks to his knees. "WHAT BARGAINS YOU MADE WITH THE VOID TO RESCUE HER, I DO NOT CARE TO KNOW."
"My pleasure," the woman says, smirking. The man tilts his horned head, puzzled. The girl pokes her head out around the old man's cane and he forgets everything. He reaches out a gauntleted hand to the little girl, his heart swelling with feelings he thought cauterized.
"Go to him," the old man says softly, and with a squeal, she runs to the man, who opens up his arms to catch her—
"Surprised to see me?"
Katarina reaches down and picks up the dagger, examining the heft. It molds instantly to fit her hand—it's a little too long and heavy for her, but shrinks and lightens within seconds.
"Excellent," she says briskly.
"I'll send word to our contact," Swain says, sighing heavily. "The Demacians aren't stupid enough to say anything about who they are using to create the portal or how they will do it in the Institute, and more's the pity. This is all Talon's been able to find out—a weapon of those beast-men's people is required to open the portal."
"It's one thing we have that they don't, and all their knowledge is useless without the key," Katarina snaps. "Don't be so pessimistic."
"Don't let me catching you use that on the Fields," he says sternly, and Katarina laughs and winks at him.
"Don't you worry about me, Tactician," she says sweetly.
"Hmph. Someone, get that thing out of here," he calls as he walks to the door, leaning heavily on his cane, "and sent it to Zaun. Singed should be able to take care of any lingering…ill feelings."
Katarina smiles, and slips Registana's Fang into her boot.