Chapter 2: The Last Wish of A God

"And though those tears stain our world, we soldier on. Through our fury we awoke what we didn't understand. From shattered skies, our Sleeping King struck the ground at our squabbles. Furious with a wrath eldritch to us, the earth rose in a sea of grave waves. The Spires and Mountains roared to life that our home was to become. 

Mountains green, before the stones had names. From wells that existed untouched by our lips, arose the lakes to encompass our sacred rites. The shores to form as waves crashed against the surf of foreign lands. We were banished from our home, cast away by the Sleeping King. Cursed to wander lands unknown, we praised our gods. An enemy eternal left to rule our hearths, the Zelthic Clan prideful in their cruelty."

The sound of Gjorn's steel shod boots thumping against the wet sand garnered himself the full attention of the Company before they even saw him. Each Dwarf saluted their King as he passed, though he paid them no mind, he was searching for the Wise Man of the Clan. The Wise Man known to the Dwarves was called Stjerkaler in their tongue, he was the one to see if any had questions about the arcane or unexplainable. 

As of late, the Stjerkaler had been assisting the medics and herbalist with concocting a laudanum to help the men sleep peacefully while they secured the fortress. So far he had heard there had become a problem with supplies while they set up the supply line back to Mhzuchet. Beyond that, in the last few days the decoction had mixed results, many sleeping, but not well. That supply line had become an increasingly tenuous venture with the issue of fatigue, they needed to secure the route sooner rather than later.

Most would wake up with a skull splitting headache as if they had woken in a back alley drinking contest wondering where their money went. The Laudanum he had to approve the use of opium and a heavy dosage of hallucinogenic herbs for the mix to work properly. Gjorn had ordered the Herbalist to only hand it out to those who had not been able to sleep in the last three days at all, anyone else would not receive it. “Don't need an addiction problem in the camp.” He thought to himself. 

“What on the gods green earth was that shadow? Why did it giggle the same as when in my dream? Was that the same thing as in my dream? Who was that woman with the wings being eaten? Why the fuck was Azu, of all gods there?“ The thoughts raced through his head as he walked to the medics tent, in the process of being dismantled to be moved into the fortress out of the elements. The Isle of Mhuzelt's coastlines being prone to frequent storms, Gjorn needed to secure the safety of his men.

Pushing aside the tent flap, he was met with a flurry of activity as the medics worked to move the alchemical laboratory set up in the temporary station. When they saw him, they stopped to salute him. "Majestet". The white gloved medics said to him, their still clean white surgical coats billowed out as they spun to greet him. 

"Where is Hjalti?" Gjorn asked, not seeing the Wise Man in the tent. 

The head surgeon walked up to him, handed him a pile of field notes and supply requests. "He had left just a short time ago. Said something about another shadow appearing on the shoreline, he had wanted to take a look at it instead of going off the reports from the men." 

"Very well, thank you." He said as handed the stack of paper to a passing messenger, his loose clothing fit only for soaking up sweat and mobility. Not a lick of armor on the man to speak of, his badge of courier prominent on his chest. Gjorn grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, handed the messenger the paper. "Get this to the command center, better yet. Hand it off to the Quartermaster."

"Yes, Majestet."

Gjorn had wandered off toward the shoreline, making his way down the terraced beds of sand. Only now did this start to look familiar, the waterfalls of blood from his nightmare still fresh in his mind. He remembered the trees that stuck out at odd angles, he unconsciously looked down to see if the sand was still stained inky black. Only being greeted by the soft tan and yellow, not a trace of blood to be found. “It was... I just know it was real.”

The Dwarven King's coat splayed out around him as it caught the wind. Salty spray from the ocean graced his face, the smell of the sea thick in his nose. Descending the final terrace he stopped, transfixed. The sky had grown dark, feeling the sloshing resistance against his boots as if he was walking through knee deep water. The crimson sea reflected back to him, his face grew pale. 

Needing to shake his head, the vision vanished. He stood on the soft sandy beach of the Southern Rise of the Isle, not a cloud in the noon day skies. The sun beat down against the dark grey stones of the terrace walls, seagulls riding the thermals off the fortress itself. He had to be hallucinating, either that, or that nightmare had done more damage to his mind than he originally thought. 

A small crowd had formed around something on the edge of the water. The eerie blue glow of the Stjerkaler's magic came from the middle of the crowd. He could hear the murmurs from even this distance, discordant noises. He ran the rest of the way to the crowd, many jumping as they spotted him. 

"Disband Company! Disperse, return to your duties and leave this place, I wish to speak with the Stjerkaler." Gjorn barked, his soldiers responded instantly. A small amount of chaos as the fifty some odd soldiers wandered their way back to their stations. Side eyeing many of them as they stared back at him. While he was the newest King of the Dwarven States, he was still in the process of proving himself to the veteran soldiers who had followed his Father before him. 

The wet sand clung to his boots as he neared the runic circle that contained the Wise Man. He whispered softly as he watched the runes slowly made their way around the halo around them. "What are you? Can you speak yet? Are you alright?"

The King walked around to see what the Old Man was talking to, his blood went cold. Lying on its side was a corpse, with flaming wings. Its flesh having been clearly gnawed away, torn off. Skin hanging off it in a gory mess, Hjalti was attempting to heal it. Though even to Gjorn's untrained eyes, he watched the magic rebound away from the corpse with each attempt. A complete rejection, reflecting back into the scorched earth around it. 

"What are you doing, Stjerkaler?" Gjorn asked, finding his voice again. This thing, this was the woman in his dream that was eaten alive. As he spoke it opened its eyes, staring right at him. Faint streams of Divine fire leaked from its dead sunken eyes, not far off from tears.

The feeling of scales being weighed crossed his mind, the soul of a man who made the actions of his men become real. This thing was judging him somehow, though its eyes didn't burn like it had in the nightmare, her eyes were the same color as the sun. Untouched as opposed to the rest of its body, it slowly blinked at him and vanished. The hair on his arms standing on end, his hackles raised even though the corpse was gone.

Hjalti stood up with his knees popping, the Stjerkaler cracked his back while attempting to support himself with his staff. "Why did it know you?" He asked. 

"I suppose that is why I came to see you." Gjorn commented, motioned for the old man to follow him. "What is the nature of dreams, Hjalti?"

"A wonderfully convoluted topic to start a conversation with. Do me a favor Gjorn, how about some context." He didn't even care that the Old man didn't call him any honorific, he had known Hjalti since he was a child. "How about you tell me what that shadow was seeing as it reacted only when it finally heard your voice."

"When that shade tried to slit my throat last night, as it had to our Gnomish captives, I was having the most vivid nightmare I had ever had in my entire life. That ghost on the shore just now. was in my dream. She was being eaten alive by Azu in some disgusting ritual, frankly Hjalti, I don't want to talk about it. Just mentioning it is nauseating." Gjorn responded as they ascended toward the Fortress. 

"Ah, well. Then we will begin with this, since that supposed 'she' was clearly a half eaten corpse. I remember many years ago having a conversation with one of the God's Eye's of the Wayfarers. Odd feller, name Netzet. He spoke of how dreams were a halfway transience between the Branches of the Tree. The plane of existence we live on, so they call it." Gjorn had to help the old man up the last flight of stairs, held the staff in his off hand while he put his shoulder on his arm. 

"Thank you, Son. My I'm getting old, these old bones just don't do it anymore." He sat down for a brief spell on the low rock wall while he continued. "Dreams being a form of farsight, or a look into alternate realities. To put it in simpler terms anyway."

"What do you mean by a halfway transience? Alternate realities?" Gjorn asked, crossing his arms.

"Well, the God's Eye's Branch-walk between Branches with their portals. They step from one reality to the next with fluidity. Their portals connecting the fabric of the tree together in a way that doesn't conflict with that reality. So, meaning that they have to match realities before just closing the distance between points in our own world. Just because something is in front of you, doesn't mean it's part of the reality we know. The Great Tree had many branches, and all flow together to create the world in which we live." The old man rose this feet again feeling slightly rested now. 

Gjorn interjected his question. "So what you are saying is that our reality, the one we can see and interact with, is made up of many realities simultaneously. That the Wayfarers have to make sure before they open a portal, that the realities don't cross connect somehow."

"In a way, yes." The stone archway marked their entrance into the fortress proper. Hjalti lit the tip of his staff with a soft blue light. Threw it into all the corners where shadows lie, they had learned after only a few hours of the shades and shadows coming to life in the last few days, that this was necessary. 

"So what does this have to do with dreams?" Gjorn pushed open the door that led to the lower levels. Suppressed a shudder, trying to convince himself that Azu wasn't chasing after him this time.

"Well, whereas a portal transports you in totality. Dreams are thought, at least by the Wayfarers, to transfer only your soul to another branch. While your body and mind stay here, your soul takes that journey to the other reality. So one can think of dreams of any kind as journeying to another place. Not every dream someone has is having this outer body experience, but. Particularly vivid or detailed dreams are thought to be something else entirely.” 

"Then Hjalti, I must have been to hell and back then." Gjorn told him his entire dream while they walked toward the dead end passage, himself grabbing a torch from the wall, felt along the rough worn stone.

"I..." The Stjerkaler started, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I don't know what to say. I never heard of the goddess in such a barbaric and grotesque way before. How did you escape her?"

Gjorn closed his eyes, having felt the crack in the wall where he hoped it wouldn't be. Though it was much smaller, much thinner. No possible way that he could have fit in it the first time, suddenly his shortness of breath made a bit more sense to him. Though bringing the torch closer to the wall, he could see the seams of a truly ancient repair to the stonework, time having weathered it to be nearly imperceptible unless you were looking for it. 

"By a voice telling me to hide here." He responded, taking his hammer off his belt and slammed it hard against the stone. The wall crumbled under the enchantment etched into its surface. Opened a crack in the bedrock just large enough for someone to pass through if they sucked in their gut and prayed. 

"By the Sleeping King's molten beard..." Hjalti said as Gjorn sighed heavily. 

"You know, I was really hoping this wouldn't be here. I was really hoping that it was just that, a dream. To know at one point this place was just full to our knees in blood, to know that Azu committed some profane act here, is disconcerting at best."

"Down right terrifying at worst. Though it would explain what is going on. He said as he blazed the path through the crevice.

"What do you mean?" Gjorn grunted, getting stuck between the rocks. Having to edge his way back out and take his armor off.

Though his voice was muffled, he was still audible to Gjorn. "To spill so much blood here, we may have awakened something. A memory, or something darker. Maybe a look at what’s closer to the mark as to what our dear goddess of beauty and love is."

“Now that's a revolting thought. Azu... one of our chief deities is actually a monster.” Gjorn thought as he made his way through the crevice again. Without the armor he slipped past the jut in the rock much easier. The soft blue glow of the Wise Man's staff reached his eyes again as he finally entered the chamber with the strange runes. 

They looked around, there were a few things different from in the dream. The runes on the floor didn't glow anymore, except for the Scales rune. That being the only one casting an almost nonexistent light in the chamber. Hjalti's staff illuminated a few bookshelves that were covered in warding runes. Dust thick and moldering sat heavy on every surface that wasn’t warded.

"A much older language than the modern runes are written in. Though I can see the roots of our language here, curious." Hjalti commented as he tried to touch one of the bookshelves, an arc of electricity zapping the old man's hand. "Damnit!" He growled, looking at the scorched flesh, the acrid smell quickly overtook the damn scent of the dust.. 

"Do you need to head back to the medics for that?" Gjorn asked, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burnt skin. 

"No, just need a moment to heal it. I'm far more annoyed at the complexity of these runes. Subtle intonations, flowing internal rhymes, it's almost as if this were meant to be a song to be played. Runes meant to defend and protect, preserve. These books would be useful if they weren't obviously the things being protected." Hjalti's hand glowed in the same blue light as his staff as he healed himself. His skin smoothed back out as the charred skin fell away onto the floor. 

"What about the runes in the center of the room? Can you tell what they say?" Gjorn said, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket. Ripped a piece of the torch off, he charred it making himself a crude charcoal pencil. He drew the circle of runes in the middle of the chamber. 

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing except four names that I don't recognize. It doesn't have any particular meaning to me beyond symbolizing some sort of unification. The one on top that looks like a moon and star, Vil-something. I don't understand the rest of it. The Flame is Syn, whoever that is. The wavy one at the bottom, hmm." He palmed his chin while he sounded out the structure more. "Kyth, no klyuth. That's not it... Kyln. That seems more like it, the subtlety of the outside borders is supposed to be influencing it. Kyln, I think, is pronounced the same way as Kiln."

"Who are the scales then?" Gjorn asked, sketching furiously. 

"I have no clue, it's a title. Not a name, one I don't recognize or at least we have no equivalent in our language. Something about Fae." Hjalti sat down, looked more closely at the runes surrounding it, he ran his aged fingers over the smooth stone surface. Gjorn wandered over to sketch the runes on the bookshelves, taking care to not get too close to them. 

"Well you said this might be a song, they don't call me the Songbird for no reason. Maybe this place just needs a little music and it will react." Gjorn commented, laying out a music sheet on the notebook, adding the runes somewhat randomly on the scales, though trying to keep them in order.

"It's worth a shot, I vaguely remember hearing about music being very important to the magic of the southern continent. Though that Bard did far more parlor tricks than any real magic, then again. A Domain of Air would synergize well with sound... Problem, that Domain is just so damn rare having anyone have it and be a skilled bard would be difficult to crosscheck."  He said as he began drawing his own runes on the floor, trying to fill it out more. "Gjorn."

"Hmm?"

"What did that woman say when you watched that 'act' being committed?" Hjalti asked, pausing his scribbles to pay full attention. 

"Then dear sister, shatter it. Run. Take them and leave. I'll burn away the rest, but you must run." "What is there left to take, we've trapped you here. Take my body then, I will be the last woman you ever love in your life." Gjorn rattled off, somewhat surprised at the memory. 

"Sister, shatter...huh. I think this symbol on the ground was supposed to be them. Burn away the rest. I wonder if this Flame symbol wasn't supposed to be that corpse. Syn." Hjalti said.

"You think something is connected here? What are you thinking?" He asked, turning back to the old man.

"I think you witnessed something ancient, I think you stepped backward in time to see something. I think you watched this Syn be consumed by Azu, you said her eyes only burned with the Divine Fire after she had done so?" He waited for Gjorn to answer.

"Yeah, only after the fact." He said slowly.

There was a long moment before he answered, scratching at his chin, thinking deeply. "I wonder if Azu is legitimately a god. I think this Syn woman was a god and had her body consumed. That would bring into question the rest of the gods too, you said Azu said something about Bhal killing someone else too. Perhaps it's related, perhaps it's coincidence. Something doesn't seem right, something isn't lining up."

"What do you mean?"

"Well if Syn was consumed then Azu gained the Divine Fire, that would imply the rest of these symbols are gods as well. It would fit with the whole unity implication of the rune. My my my, Gjorn. We need to figure out how to break that ward on those bookcases. I have a feeling that they are going to answer a lot of our questions."