Faith in Monsters

(12:00 AM)

"They have abandoned us," muttered Pryus, pacing the edge of the cavern in a circle. "Hardly unexpected, what with the number of incompetent setbacks thus far. I would have cleansed myself of the matter as well, were my lair further away from this site."

The fallen celestial turned his harsh glare upon the red-armoured man. "One must have faith to claim victory, Pryus. That wisdom may completely escape you, but the words are not so hopelessly lost on Lenthyrr and Sintag. My followers are loyal, for they possess what you and your followers lack: a righteous cause."

Grunting in response, Pryus stopped to examine one of the dozen burning candles that were set up around the perimeter of the cave. The room had ample illumination, though it was mostly for the sake of their human associates; unlike the others, Sintag and that yellow-haired guild thief could not see well in the darkness.

The irony of their involvement didn't escape Pryus' notice; with all the complaints aired by Cyrael and Lenthyrr, it was difficult to believe that they would accept two humans among their ranks. It seemed odd enough when Verskul was brought among their number several years ago, and they all knew how badly that arrangement turned out.

An intense itch ran across Pryus' palm, and he placed his hand directly into the candle flame to ease the irritation. "Save your preaching, I've no interest in your pseudo-religious babble. I was embarking on grander schemes since before you were a cherub swaddled in cloths. If anything, this all makes for an interesting diversion, and little else." Pryus had no doubt that, despite the airs the celestial put on, Cyrael was still nothing more than another would-be conqueror. The red-armoured man had seen those types rise and fall countless times over the centuries, and truly doubted that this one would end up any different.

Still, their plans in Baldur's Gate had already led to a success for the red warrior. With the Church and Shadow Thieves at each other's throats, he was now free to gain a stronger foothold for his operations in the southern city. Cordas and his gang were small-time crooks, and far too unruly to be depended on for too long. It was for the best that they spent the past day destroying themselves, leaving fresh ground to sow upon; it saved Pryus the trouble of weeding them out himself.

"Your greatest fault," replied the celestial, "is that you treat this entire quest as if it was a business. Both you and the doppelganger act only to strengthen yourselves, rather than the world at large. Some day, that will be your undoing." Cyrael turned away from the red warrior and returned to his praying before the large shrine at the centre of the room. The statue that stood atop the altar was in the form of a robed woman, with a pair of flaming wings sprouting from her back. Her stone hands were pressed together as if in prayer, quite similar to Cyrael's current pose. "You're unable to see beyond the next pile of coin or the next politician in your pocket… you're just as bad as humanity for embracing their excesses in life."

"Bah, they're cattle, nothing more. Good for brief amusement between the decades…and again, I might even say the same of our little conspiracy here. It was well enough for an entertaining distraction these past few years, but I won't hold high expectations. But I do expect you and your underlings to be punctual and competent, at the very least."

As soon as he finished, a black-cloaked being stepped around him and into his line of sight. Impressive that she could so without alerting his ears.

"Ah, so you've finally returned," Pryus said to Lenthyrr. No doubt she was skulking about, waiting for a dramatic moment before entering.

Without even the decency to offer Pryus a response, the woman glided past and took her place before Cyrael, just beside the statue of the flame-winged angel. Cyrael maintained his pose and kept his eyes closed. "Have you yet recovered the Behemoth's Heart?"

Reaching into the folds of her sleeves, Lenthyrr drew a chunk of dark crystal, the colour of dried blood. "It was no challenge to procure; the Elsina estate was rather simple to penetrate. The loss of their precious secret project will leave a few nobles quite upset, I foresee, but they'll not come after us any time soon. They would likely be imprisoned for life, should the Lords of Waterdeep learn of what they were attempting to create."

Cyrael took the crystal artifact from Lenthyrr, and Pryus noticed a faint glint of light reflecting off the stone from the nearest candle. In the right light, the crystal almost looked like a jagged ruby.

"Almost poetic justice, would you not say," Lenthyrr said, casting a glazed stare at Pryus, "that we should unleash humanity's diabolical magic against their own kind?"

Pryus thought she might actually be smiling when she said that, but it was hard to tell with her face almost completely concealed by the collar and hood of her cloak. Again, she was probably waiting for a dramatic time before revealing herself, even though Pryus and the others already knew how she looked. No, she was undoubtedly waiting for him to arrive… It was nauseating how she was so utterly deluded with the theatrics and grandeur of her perception of things. She probably saw herself as the lead character in some heroic epic. The fool.

Lenthyrr ran a pale hand along the edge of the statue's wings. "'Tis almost a tragedy that such a finely crafted work should languish in this place, so far from sun and sight. I wonder how long it would have stood unseen had we not sought it out?"

"If you're so obsessed with art, then go find a gallery and ogle the figures until your eyes bleed out," Pryus muttered, "I am more concerned with the power this carved stone will provide us… if Ryloch's men can actually deliver the Wild Source without some calamity befalling them."

"No faith in our cause," snapped the woman, "Yet you remain at our side and nip at our heels with your complaints. If the outcome is so ill-fated, why persist in dogging us?"

He shrugged at the woman. "A small price to pay when immortality is the prize." Pryus looked toward Cyrael from the corner of his eye. Their leader was still deep in prayer before the flame-winged statue. Celestial or not, Cyrael was the key to everything. And after everything Pryus had contributed to their mission so far, the armoured man believed he was prepared for anyone who sought to disrupt their plan. It would take an army of knights to down him, and soon even that fact would be rendered moot.

Immortality, Pryus thought as he gazed up at the stone angel. Yes, the most valuable opportunities always involved great risk. Another hour of waiting was a small price for existence eternal.

(12:10)

"Well? Aren't you going to share the rest of your story?"

"Nope!" Cerdan chimed, pointing the torch down the sloping cavern passage. The tunnel felt low and uneven, forcing both elves to stoop and keep a hand against the rough wall for support. Balance wasn't too much of an issue for him, but he knew Selena would probably have trouble keeping up if he bounded on ahead. He mixed a hint of mockery in his voice, "Besides, wouldn't want to upset your delicate sensibilities right before the storm, would we? Normally I like a little inquisitiveness in a girl, but even you tend to grate a little."

He heard her scoff behind him. "Fine words coming from you of all people. Do you know what your greatest problem is?"

"No, I prefer to remain ignorant of my self-flaws. I find arrogance to be so much more pleasant and reassuring." Before Selena could cut in again, Cerdan cast a smirk over his shoulder. "But I'm confident I know what yours is."

"Right now, my greatest problem is you."

He let out a single humourless snort. "Funny. With wit like that, you should have joined the carnival instead of the convent."

"Convents are meant to help people with wicked ways." She gave the rogue a piercing look, and Cerdan turned away and focused on the passage ahead.

The rogue went on, "Well, your greatest problem is that you're too stiff and proud, unyielding. Makes you ignorant."

At this, he heard Selena laugh. "You're hardly a font of wisdom yourself. I'm at least more enlightened than someone of your element."

"Oh, I've no doubt that you could cite each of the zillion-odd holy tenets and doctrines of your god, but can you name your favourite painter? Or the last tavern song that made you cry? You told me once that you've never travelled beyond the territory of Baldur's Gate. You're an expert in all things Tyr-related, but admit it; your cloistered life has made you blind to so many other things."

There was a sudden scraping noise from behind. Cerdan paused a moment and looked again to see that Selena had stopped and was glaring. "Let me see if I have this: You're accusing me of being shut off from the world because I haven't spent enough time ogling pretty pictures or taken enough vacations? Ludicrous. If there's a single person who is the least qualified to judge me, it's you. And if you think my devotion to Tyr derives ignorance of all things, then you're truly clueless as to the meaning of faith."

Cerdan shook his head slightly as he continued on. So naive…

"Moreover, at least I'm a true and responsible person," the cleric persisted. "You act like you know so much about me, yet I know almost nothing about you, beyond a long list of disasters and criminal charges." A short tentative pause, and Cerdan could feel the tension in the air as they moved. "You never answered my question from before. Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me who you really are?"

"You never answered mine: why haven't you told me who you are?" Cerdan didn't bother turning to face her this time. She was probably pursing her lips and running a finger over her eyebrow like she always did when frustrated. When it became clear that Selena wasn't going to blurt out her real name, Cerdan filled in the silence. "Just one big cycle of distrust between us, isn't it?"

"I can see a light up ahead." She pointed at a very faint glow that was visible at the far end of the tunnel. "Keep quiet until we know exactly where Cyrael and his conspirators are hiding."

"Hm." Convenient for you, thought Cerdan. Now who's dodging the subject?

(12:21)

"You should let the girl go," said the cripple as they stumbled on through the sewer tunnel. "All you need is the cube, right? She can't possibly know or do anything that could hurt you; she's just extra weight to you."

Ryloch shifted his appearance from the Duke of Baldur's Gate to his natural feral form. Clearly, the human had no idea what he spoke of. "Oh, but she already hurt us. Because of her, many of my brethren lay strewn across the southern shores, bodies mangled and our true faces exposed. Now, only I and my agent back in Baldur's Gate remain to carry on our mission."

"But I didn't kill them!" the young woman protested.

"Then it is simply coincidence that you happen to be the sole survivor of the shipwreck? And in possession of the Wild Source, no less!" The doppelganger bared his teeth and looked over at the minstrel. "Did you already forget what happened?"

"Would that I could," she replied. Nell shifted her shoulders and adjusted the black case that hung on her back. "The mere sight of you… monsters is enough to drive a person half-mad."

"Monsters?" echoed Ryloch, "We're simply products of the world we inhabit."

"You murder people and steal their faces!"

"Just as your kind hunts us down like animals, when we are clearly so much more than you primates. It is not our fault if your kind is so wont to take for granted the nature of identity." Lenthyrr was giving him a harsh glare, but the doppelganger wasn't going to relent. The words kept falling from his mouth. "All of you so content that you are unique among your species, 'special'. But you don't deserve it. So easy to trick and manipulate. The face-dancers will change all that. We know that a face, eyes, mouth and all, is just another mask, a tool to be used by those with the will. All that your society has built will inevitably pass to my kind. Immortality will aid me greatly in that respect…"

"That's enough," said Kretia. "We're not finished yet, and while I have little concern for your personal goals, I don't want you prematurely divulging Lenthyrr's plan."

Ryloch snorted and shifted his form once more, assuming the look of the young woman, Nell. "I wonder how you'd fare in a fight against yourself? No doubt I could play you better than you could." He changed his small pink hand into its natural clawed form. "As much as I'd enjoy testing that theory, we near the site. And only Cyrael can pass judgment on your life."

Smiling widely, the doppelganger enjoyed seeing a shudder run through the minstrel. Being so close to the start of the ritual, Ryloch knew that Cyrael would order these two dead, but Kretia wanted to hear it directly from the celestial's lips. No matter, he was satisfied that these humans would be dealt with soon enough.

(12:30)

"Ugh, not nearly enough light…" Cerdan muttered as he peered through the spyglass with one eye. "Our wayward celestial is standing there at the middle in front of a statue. Some human warrior is pacing the chamber, and there's someone in a cloak down there. Sure. With any good conspiracy these days, you just have to have someone in a mysterious cloak." The elf lowered the spyglass and held it out. "You want to take a peek?"

"No." Cerdan looked back and realized that Selena was standing several metres back, well away from the ledge that overlooked the deep cavern.

"Uh, something bothering you, Selena?" Perhaps the ledge was too high up from the ground for the cleric?

She swallowed and shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it… perhaps we should wait for the backup Derrick promised he'd send."

Resuming his observation through Derrick's telescope, Cerdan said, "Well, I don't think that plan's going to work. Several reasons." He raised a hand and began counting off. "One, I don't think the city guard will be able to find this place. When you told me it was underground, I thought you meant an indoor cellar or basement. Two, this isn't a problem we can overcome with manpower. If Cyrael and his buddies are as empowered as we think, it'll be more effective to use guile over sheer force. And three… I think Cyrael's followers just brought Derrick into the chamber at blade-point."

"What?" Selena inched closer to the edge, and tried to lean forward, but stopped herself before looking too far. "Why would he be here?"

"No clue. But one of the people holding him is Kretia, my ex-guild lieutenant. I also see two identical young women with them… twins? Hard to see."

"So what is our best course right now?"

Cerdan lowered the spyglass. Right now, the enemies gathered below were locked in a heated argument of some sort. He was too far up to hear their words or read any lips, but judging by the way they were pointing back and forth at Derrick and one of the girls, they weren't going to start their ritual immediately.

"I'll scale down the side of the cavern… the walls look rugged enough to provide good handholds." The rogue stood up and moved closer to Selena. "When I'm down, wait until they bring out one of the artifacts they're planning to use. Then I'll need you to create a distraction for me. Just something loud enough to catch their eyes and ears. Try singing, maybe. A voice like yours, and they're liable to pass out from the monotony."

"Cute," Selena said with a bland look, "And what happens when they threaten to kill Derrick unless we surrender? You're forgetting that your friend has limited escape options."

A sudden, dry laugh came from the tunnel behind them. Both elves glanced over to see Dace advancing on them with a smoking torch held in his left hand.

"Oh, so you're still alive," said Cerdan, "And here I assumed they would have cut you up and fed you to the carrion crawlers."

"They tried to kill me. They failed. More fault to them," the mercenary muttered, plainly bitter over whatever ordeals he had experienced. Cerdan noticed that the human's tunic cuffs were severely frayed, and there were splotches of dirt and blood over his face and hands.

Selena folded her arms and gave an indignant sniff. "I'm surprised you haven't thrown your lot in with the rest of them, blackheart."

Raising the stiff, unmoving fingers of his right hand, Dace snarled at the cleric. "Save your sniping for someone who would listen. My hand and wrist require adjustment and healing. Now."

"You're even worse than he is," she replied, waving a finger in Cerdan's direction. "Why would I help someone like you when –"

"Stop wasting time. I know you are honour-bound to provide aid to whomever requests it of you, whether you like them or not." His voice took on a hard edge. "Carry out your duty, priestess!"

Cerdan could tell that even Selena grasped the crass irony of hearing Dace, of all people, lecture her on duty. Still stern-faced, the cleric nonetheless acceded to the mercenary's demand. "I'm out of healing magic, but I can convert one of my other spells to aid you."

"I care little. Make haste."

"Fine." She eyed Cerdan as she moved to aid the mercenary. "We shouldn't be idling here like this. They could set off the Sigils at any moment if we don't think of something."

The elf shrugged, "Eh. I'm willing to sit back and just watch how things play out for now."

"I'm getting sick of your lack of genuine concern for this matter. Would you watch all the people in this city die around you?"

Cerdan cocked his head to the side and looked toward the ceiling. "Well, they're humans. So I'm inevitably going to watch them die whether or not I step in here. There's a good four hundred years left in me, you know. That's, what, twelve human generations? Time yields a lot of dead people, and I don't have enough tears to spare for them all." Before Selena could scold him, Cerdan pointed at Dace and continued. "More to the point, even if you aren't planning to stab us repeatedly in the back, we're hardly a match for our assorted opponents."

He brushed a spot of dirt from the front of his leather jerkin. "Our trio's token human might kill one or two of them if they don't wear any magical protection, but I doubt he's skilled enough to take down the whole lot of them. I can keep myself from getting myself skewered, but little more than that. And you," he said to Selena, "well, you glare and threaten up a good fight, but I think we all know that you're hardly an asset when it comes to clashing steel. Better if you stay back and cast a few spells from up here, if you can work up the nerve."

Her lip furled as she traced a glowing blue pattern in the air and seized Dace's hand. The mercenary winced slightly, but made no sound. "Every time I talk to you, I find that I know less and less about who you really are. And it's the exact opposite for how much you think you know about me."

"Yes, but only because you've never done anything even remotely interesting, or beyond routine. Like I said, a cloistered life you lead. Hidden away in your marble halls and all that. Won't make a very compelling set of memoirs, I tell you." Cerdan shrugged.

Dace's voice cut in, "They call elves an elder race, yet you both babble on like children. This is not a 'story time'. Cease your words."

Cerdan peered down into the cavern and saw that their enemies seemed to be questioning Derrick and the girl. At least they weren't getting violent yet. The elf said to Dace, "Oh, now, you're just saying that because you haven't heard a good story yet. There's no hurry right now. Let me tell you about the time I was beaten up by a gang of skeletons…"

"No one wants to hear that stupid story," Selena hissed.

"How do you know?"

She finished her spell and released Dace's hand. "Because I don't want to hear it again. Gods, you keep telling that as if it's the only thing that's ever happened to you."

"It's the most interesting."

"Like children," Dace repeated under his breath. He raised his voice a bit louder, "Assisted or not, I intend to face Cyrael." He began to make his way to where the outcropping met the cave wall.

"Okay, okay, hold on a moment," Cerdan said, waving the mercenary and Selena toward him. "You're right, for once we ought to form some faint idea of a strategy before we barrel into our undoubtedly gruesome deaths. Besides, from what I can tell, Cyrael isn't starting immediately. Maybe some key piece is missing from his ritual down there."

(12:37)

"If we have everything we need already, what are we waiting for?" demanded the dark-haired man with crimson armour. Nell could feel the tip of Kretia's sword poking into her back as the motley group of villains discussed their situation.

Right now, all eyes were turned upward slightly to the luminescent winged man whose presence stole the attention of all else in the dank cavern. From what Nell could discern through their argument so far, they were entirely prepared to use the Wild Source and some other damned artifacts for whatever insanity they were planning down here. The only contention was the involvement of two unexpected guests.

"The problem," said the winged man, "is that we have more than we need. These two are unpredictable factors in our mission." In the celestial's hand was a chunk of crystal, which he set down at the feet of the room's central statue before stepping over to the old man, Derrick.

"You have an air of familiarity about you," said the celestial. "One Mr. Curaten, the unsung 'saviour' of Baldur's Gate? We took your measure a year ago as we planned for today. Truly, you pose little threat now; it is a wonder how far you've fallen, if you were somehow able to best Verskul."

"I didn't do it alone, even though it feels that way at times," said Derrick, "Nor am I alone now. Cyrael, I presume?"

Nell felt as if she was at a reunion of some kind, to which she didn't belong.

"Presume all you like, interloper," said the doppelganger, shifting his appearance to that of an elderly, clean-shaven man garbed in a wizard's apparel of voluminous red robes. "Verskul failed because he learned of our true plans, and broke rank to use the Sigils for his own ends. If anything, you saved us the trouble of having to slay him ourselves. Ha, if not for your 'bravery' against the errant mage, our present victory would never have come about."

Derrick glowered at the shapechanger, apparently recognizing the creature's new form. "Verskul and his cronies were awfully quick to cry their success, just as you are."

Cyrael's voice cut through the room. "Verskul attempted to lay claim to much more than he was capable of holding. His reasons were of avarice and mere spite, and it should be clear where such motivations lead a person…" The winged man paused and turned his eyes toward Ryloch and the red warrior. "Human flaws that have diffused to other races of Faerun, both high and low. A true tragedy. In any case, I've not doubt that the Bloodletter will find his way down here, eventually." He stepped toward the statue, but halted as he looked down at the figure's stone base. "What happened to the Behemoth's Heart?"

There was a moment of confused silence, then Kretia suddenly shouted, "He's here! Seal the chamber!"

Derrick suddenly turned and struck Kretia in the throat with a backhanded fist, at the same time seizing her sword arm by the wrist. Nell's first instinct was to flee, but that option was crushed when the red warrior quickly moved to block the passage out of the cavern. While he was unarmed, the warrior wore a particularly fearsome looking suit of armour, giving him a bulky appearance, like that of a scaled hide. The man's eyes darted around the chamber, hands slightly out to the side, as if anticipating an attack. He wasn't looking at her in particular, but it was clear that Nell couldn't get past without drawing his gaze.

As Derrick and Kretia grappled against each other for the sword, Nell quickly and quietly backed up toward the cave wall. Swinging the black case off her shoulder, she crouched low on the ground and hid behind a thick stalagmite.

Perishing so far beneath the earth was a thought too horrible to imagine. Was she standing in the room that would soon be her own grave? All she could do now was take cover and hope for the best.

(12:42)

Cerdan had his back pressed up against the rough, uneven stone wall of the cave as he moved ever so slowly around the edge of the chamber toward Derrick on the opposite side of the room. The elf saw his friend smack Kretia across the face with an elbow, making her drop the sword in her hand. Not bad for a man his age, though Cerdan figured the ex-thief's heart was liable to give out amidst all this excitement.

As Cerdan continued his slow circuit, avoiding the patches of candlelight that dotted the room, he noticed Cyrael holding his ground in front of the statue in the middle. The elf felt the slight prick in his breast pocket from the oddly familiar sharp-edged gemstone he swiped from the base of the statue earlier, when all eyes were still on Derrick and that girl.

Cyrael rotated, speaking at all corners of the room. "Step into the light, Bloodletter. By now, this chamber has been sealed from the outside. There is no purpose to be served by drawing out this conflict." He suddenly thrust a warning hand to the hooded woman beside him. "No spells yet. You know what would happen."

From around celestial's neck, beneath his heavy white coat, Cyrael removed a large black amulet and then placed it atop the shoulders of the flame-winged angel statue.

One of the Sigils, Cerdan thought. If Cyrael was planning to set off a magical-fuelled explosion, everyone in the chamber was as good as dead. Even if someone managed to survive the initial blast from the amulet's divine energy, the sheer amount of force could bringing the cavern's ceiling together with the floor, pasting all else in-between.

But if that was Cyrael's intention, then what was the point of everything else? The 'Wild Source' Ryloch mentioned, and the crystal? On the other side of the room, Derrick slammed his forehead against Kretia's, sending her sprawling on her back. The older human snatched her sword from the ground nearby and swept his gaze about the cavern, looking for another opponent.

Awfully spry for a cripple, the elf said to himself. Derrick's eyes fell on the patch of darkness where Cerdan was hiding, and the elf saw his friend squint slightly. Unfortunately, someone else noticed this as well. The hooded woman beside Cyrael whipped her head around, facing Cerdan's general direction.

It was too dark to make out the woman's face, but Cerdan was certain that he'd been made. She immediately stepped closer, and the elf drew his rapier, prepared to solve this by force. The elf glanced to his right; on the far end of the room, Derrick was faced with his own problem as the doppelganger advanced on him.

Wait for it, Cerdan said to himself as he gingerly took a few steps back, Any time now…

A roar that sounded like thunder echoed through the cavern and everyone, save Cyrael who stood in silent prayer before the statue, took pause and looked toward the ceiling of the chamber. Selena stood near the edge of the outcropping that overlooked the cave, and her eyes were squeezed shut as she focused on her casting. The cleric pointed a finger to the cavern below and blindly executed her spell.

A column of blazing orange fire seemed to blast its way both up from the floor and down from the ceiling, coming hazardously close to the statue in the middle. Cyrael was ever unmoving, eyes closed as if nothing was happening around him.

While she failed to hit anything relevant with her spell, Selena's part was only meant to distract their enemies. And did it ever.

Ryloch froze, and Cerdan noticed the glowing green cube in the monster's hand. The colour immediately changed to an angry red, and the doppelganger hurled it away across the cave floor.

"Wild surge! Wild surge! Take cover!" The doppelganger suddenly shifted his form to that of a stone golem, for a thicker body, perhaps, and dived for the floor, covering his head.

The light of the red cube pulsed as if it was alive, and then began billowing several large puffs of white smoke that quickly spread out across the cavern floor. Through the mist, Cerdan could just barely see the cube shift back to its original green colour.

A wall of fog? Not so bad as far as wild surges go, thought Cerdan. Without waiting a moment longer, he pushed off the cavern wall and made a dash toward Cyrael. He punched the cloaked woman squarely in the back of the head with the cross-guard of his rapier as he passed, knocking her out of the way.

As the fog continued to flood the chamber from the ground up, Cerdan caught a glimpse of a black-cloaked figure on the other side of the room. As the doppelganger rose up from the floor, Dace leaped on the creature's back, blade in hand.

A clammy hand suddenly seized Cerdan by the collar of his tunic and jerked him backward with an unexpected amount of strength. Much to his surprise, it was the hooded woman that held him tightly, as if he was no more than a pet. That blow to the head should have been enough to knock her out cold.

"Your priorities are in disarray," whispered the woman. She seized his sword arm by the wrist and pointed his blade away from her, even as he tried to struggle against her. "Now turn your eyes unto the winged one… the ascension nears."

The elf noticed that the eyes of the flame-winged statue were now glowing, alit with yellow embers that looked eerily similar to Cyrael's own eyes. Holding the large black Sigil that hung from the statue's neck, the celestial remained as perfectly still as the stone sculpture before him, seemingly oblivious to everything else around him.

There was a low rumbling noise, like the grinding of rock against rock. At the same time, the Sigil became limned with white light. Struggling uselessly against his captor, Cerdan felt as helpless as a child in a parent's grasp.

On his way into this whole mess, the elf believed it would take a significant amount of casting time for the Sigil's magic to be unleashed. Three years ago, Verskul apparently had to cast his ritual for almost an hour before executing his spell. Cyrael seemed to be doing the same thing in mere minutes. And no red clouds this time.

The sounds of battle echoed from elsewhere in the foggy chamber; evidently no one else was close enough to see what Cyrael was doing now.

Small cracks appeared in the face of the statue, allowing rivulets of yellow light to pour through, creating a bright centre in the misty dark. Something inside the statue exploded, sending large broken splinters of stone flying out in all directions.

The hooded woman that restrained Cerdan immediately twisted around, so that her back would take the brunt of the jagged projectiles. She grunted slightly as the pieces struck, but didn't show any sign of pain, nor did her hold on the rogue weaken in the slightest. Since they weren't dead, Cerdan let out his breath and stopped struggling for now. After the barrage ended, Cerdan craned his head around and saw Cyrael standing directly beside the base where the statue had been.

In the sculpture's place was a young woman with long blonde hair, garbed in a scorched grey toga. Cyrael gently caught the woman as she fainted backward, and the celestial carefully brought her down and laid her against the stone, keeping her head cradled in his arm. As the celestial tilted the woman's body, Cerdan spotted a pair of skeletal protrusions between her shoulder blades, and a particularly harsh burn running down the back of the blonde woman's spine. What were in all likelihood a set of lush feathered wings at one time were now reduced to two blackened frames of charred bone.

Was this the scheme all along? It seemed rather trivial to Cerdan, that so much effort would be wasted just so Cyrael could pull a girlfriend or something out of a stone dungeon. By the amount of pain the female celestial looked to be enduring, it might have been more merciful to just leave her as a statue, unfeeling and unmoving.

Some crackling noises sounded from through the fog from where Ryloch and Dace had been. Another wild surge, perhaps, caused by Cyrael's ritual. Even with the multitude of sounds surrounding him, Cerdan could make out what the celestials were saying if he focused his ears and watched their lips.

"Your way failed," Cyrael said to her, lightly touching his hand against the soot in her hair. "As I warned it would."

She whispered back, clearly using her last bit of strength to speak. Her voice carried an odd reverberation, much like Cyrael's. "D-don't abandon all hope yet… their kind may yet… be the turning point, in the coming war."

"Yes, but in whose favour? We can no longer afford to take that risk. I stood aside as you tried your methods, as we agreed. Now the duty of our mission falls unto me. Be at rest, now. My way shall yet prove victorious, with your power at my disposal. It was ever our destiny."

With that, Cyrael made a fist and his flaming sword burst into existence, plunging straight through the woman's chest. Her eyes widened momentarily, then dimmed and fell dark as Cyrael dismissed the weapon. He laid her down upon the stone base, his blade having left a smoking blackened hole in the body.

As he took to his feet, Cyrael twitched his hand as the last traces of the flame dissipated. He lowered his head and took a moment of silence.

"What in the piking hells was that?!" Cerdan exclaimed at the top of his lungs, breaking what probably should have been an introspective moment for the celestial.

Cyrael took a breath and turned to Cerdan, acknowledging the elf's presence at last. "You will learn soon enough. Verskul's actions no doubt led you to believe the sole purpose of the Sigils was a destructive one. In truth, it is the exact opposite. We have accomplished here what was ordained by destiny. Now we turn our sights to the greater challenge." He lowered his head to the hooded woman that stood beside Cerdan. "Open the gateway while I conclude with our remaining allies."

Ignoring the pair, Cyrael turned in a slow circle and extended his arms out, palms facing up. A shiver ran down Cerdan's neck as he felt a cold breeze picking up within the chamber. The winds quickly began to grow much fiercer, until it felt like the cavern held its very own maelstrom. If not for the hooded woman restraining him, Cerdan might have been toppled over by the encircling airs.

The winds blew strong enough to carry the fog high up and away from the cave floor. As the mists lifted, Cerdan saw that all others, friend and enemy alike, were backed against the cavern walls, each holding onto a rocky outcropping or one of the sconces that stuck out from the stone. Oddly enough, all the candles lining the room remained alit, despite the strength of the summoned winds.

With the fog largely cleared, Cyrael abruptly ceased what he was doing and casually retrieved the glowing cube from the ground nearby, about halfway between the celestial and Ryloch.

"What is the meaning of this?!" cried Ryloch, who was still in the form of a stone golem. "Who is that dead woman? What of our immortality?"

"Too many questions," the celestial intoned, "and so few answers to go around."

Before the last word even left Cyrael's lips, Dace's hand went out, and Cerdan saw a metallic blur streak through the air and strike the celestial in the torso, near the heart. Cyrael fell back a single step, then seemed to recover his stance as he straightened and tore the dagger out of his chest. Much to Cerdan's surprise and dismay, there wasn't a single drop of blood staining the blade or the celestial's white garments. Instead, a golden sliver of light shone from the open gash. Cyrael closed his eyes and furrowed his brow for a moment, and the wound then sealed itself, leaving him unmarked save for a tear in his tunic.

"Thanks to you all," he intoned in his echoed voice, "I have risen to the echelon of immortal beings. As I said, it is a path paved for me by destiny."

"Planes take your blasted destiny, what of the power we were promised?" demanded Pryus. Interestingly enough, the warrior didn't appear to be having any difficulty standing against the swirling winds, as if he was somehow better grounded than the others.

"I swear, bird-man," added Ryloch, "if this is a double-cross, you'll sorely regret it!"

"Disappointment abounds, then." Cyrael began to pace backward, moving closer to Cerdan and the shrouded woman. "Many deceits I wove, as necessary. I needed your resources and manpower for a higher purpose. If anything, you are merely victims of your own avarice and ambition."

Both Ryloch and Pryus started forward, each man sporting a solid scowl on his face. Cyrael hurled Dace's knife upon the winds, letting the weapon spin through the air until it planted itself in Pryus' chest. The blow was enough for the warrior to lose his footing and topple over onto his side.

Cyrael took a final step back and pressed a hand against the hooded woman's shoulder. The woman whispered, "Word of recall, Cyrael. Now!"

The doppelganger broke into a run, changing his form mid-stride into that of a muscled panther. Claws outstretched, it pounced through the air at the trio on its final bound. Cyrael casually swiped his arm sideways, and a trail of flame appeared in the air, catching the panther in its path. The face-dancer's body reverted back to its natural monstrous form before it even struck the ground. A grey head landed an instant later and rolled across the floor, smoking slightly from the neck.

As Cyrael began muttering the beginnings of another spell, Cerdan tried stomping on the woman's foot to disrupt her hold, but she only intensified her grip on the rogue's arm and wrist. Her fingers dug so hard into his flesh that he could feel blood starting to seep.

"What… are you doing?" The elf wheezed. "What was the point of all this?"

Ceasing his casting, Cyrael ended with a single unintelligible syllable, and Cerdan could feel a tingling along his skin from the air surrounding them. The cube in Cyrael's pocket began to emit a red glow once more, and Cerdan felt the room grow colder. But before he could see the effects of the wild magic surge, the celestial's spell began to take hold and he could feel every part of himself being pulled away in all directions.

"The point," whispered the woman as the room began dissolving to black, "is to carry on the struggle that began so many yesterdays ago. The world has forgotten the massacre. The faithmongers have forgotten their crimes. Even you have forgotten the fight. But I have not." Just before the last of the lights vanished, Cerdan saw her pull back her hood, revealing the unusually pale face of a dark-haired elven woman. "You have lost sight of your priorities, but I will guide you back to the path. Now, more than ever, you must remember Caden's Hill."

(1:00 AM)