Tribulations of Wrath, part II: Countermeasures

A strange foreign ship docked at Esterport’s harbour, its appearance matching the description in Esterport’s naval warrant, which had now only become clear that this ship had mistakenly been attributed to sightings of Tynara pirate ship. Its occupants, four figures of strange and unfamiliar aspect, summoned what remained of Sapience’s coherent population to the docks. Those who answered the call could only perceive the strangers vaguely: a huge, weird Horkval whose carapace seemed somehow wrong; a strangely unfamiliar Ophidian with too many arms; a hunched-over Menedu of inscrutable demeanour; and an odd-looking Rajamalan with four unsettling eyes. The virus-addled minds of the present adventurers could not retain the true nature of these beings, their foreign appearances slipping from active memory as soon as they looked upon them.

The odd foreigners watched with mounting frustration as their gathered audience repeatedly forgot their declarations of intent that marked the purpose of their arrival. Three times they had explained their purpose; three times their words had slipped from minds like a fleeting wind. The odd-looking Rajamala grew particularly incensed, chiding Lin for losing herself in distant stares and demanding to know whether any present could recall what had last been discussed. None did. Yet the strangers revealed themselves to possess knowledge of the virus’s nature, for its creator had been of their homeland before falling under the Shadow Mother’s thrall. As their annoyance at Sapience’s incapacity grew evident, they offered to enact a countercurse, though it was not an offer borne of altruism. They wished their victims to possess the full faculty of their minds when the strangers’ true purpose in these distant shores was revealed.

The ritual demanded much: thirty-six buckets of fresh blood, conduit materials of spirit and shadow elemental energy, herbs for incense, gems by the chestful, and something of significance from each of the four great city-states. As materials poured in from across Sapience, the strangely unfamiliar Ophidian sorted through them with the discerning eye of a merchant examining a disappointing shipment. From the offerings of spirit and shadow, she retained only onyx, qufar, kagamine, a glistening black opal, and an iridescent pearl. The rest she dismissed with haughty flicks of her tail, splashing several buckets of excess blood into the harbour to clear room for her work.

The most crucial component proved also the most grim: the bones of one of Sapience’s strongest were required, for bone and memory were tied together in ways fundamental to curse-work. After some debate about suitable targets, Viceroy Sheryni of Spinesreach volunteered herself, and the six-armed stranger set about the task of carving bone from the Spirean’s corpse with all the dispassion of cleaning the day’s catch of fish. Each bone extracted was scraped clean, submerged in blood, turned thrice and laid in patterns only understood by the foreign Sea Witch. With the bones arranged to her satisfaction, she turned to the remaining buckets of blood, tracing expanding concentric circles outward from the skeletal arrangement, each ring connected by angular script and looping glyphs.

For the tokens of significance, each city contributed what little it could, their failing memories still permitting it to gather bits and pieces. Morraine and Lin of Duiran contributed rare chunks of magewood to the ritual, the latter carefully aligning sinewy material to the leylines as she placed them within the ritual diagram. Pietre of Spinesreach contributed a clipping of alchemical blight, carefully aligning it within the northern quadrant of the prepared ritual space. Akarn of Bloodloch delivered a piece of veined bloodglass to the southern quadrant. Jhura of Enorian positioned a small model of the Ascendril Lighthouse in the remaining spot, lighting a flame to its candlewick.

As the ritual neared completion and the remaining reagents were placed, the odd Horkval stepped forward at the Ophidian’s request, sprinkling salt from his massive fist into a smoking mixture of myrrh, lobelia and hawthorn. She bade all present to breathe deep of the fumes, declaring that they shall starve this virus out.

What followed was ancient sorcery of a calibre rarely witnessed upon Sapient shores. The Ophidian’s voice rose from murmur to chant to something else entirely: a keening, haunting shriek, a vast and deep-dwelling thing pouring from her throat in abyssal tones. The bloodied perimeter of the ritual circle illuminated from within, cold light racing along its geometric patterns as the bones hungrily drank in the gathered power. Darkling light glittered upon mountaintops and across the surfaces of ponds, lakes and rivers as the enchantment seeped throughout the continent’s existential fabric. Shadow and spirit ground together in service of this high magic, and past, present and future entwined as mortal memory unravelled into chaos before respooling into orderly procession. Little by little, memories and logic reasserted themselves, allowing mortals to experience budding clarity once more.

… and then all went black as the countercurse settled in its entirety.

~~~~~

Summary: Odd-looking individuals, not unlike Sapience races viewed through a smudged lens, spoke with many adventurers, having to continually repeat themselves with the addlepated state of their audience. A ritual was conducted to end this curse, heralded by the Ophidian with too many arms, and members of Sapience provided a hoard’s worth of plants, gems, keepsakes, and blood. As the ritual’s effects began to take hold, conscious memory of what was occurring began to slip by.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 9th of Lleian, in the year 15 AC.