Atop a spire in the long forgotten city he sat, his legs crossed and his palms flat against his knees. He came here many times, to think and let his mind wash itself over with the troubles within him. A century ago he was among the first to lay sight on this ancient city, buried deep in the jungles and hidden from humanity and others for ages. He and his friends cleared it sector by sector, slowly removing the evil blights that plagued it and making it safe for humanity to scourge and pick through once again. Many of those friends died in that noble crusade, and the ones who didn't were long gone anyway. Either from old age, or from other tasks. His mind reached out to one of the latter, a small piece of mirrored glass flickering between his fingers. He looked into it, and saw the Eukajae village. Even after all this time, Calypso remained young - but she ruled their...her...people well. Once, a long time ago, they had been their people. Raised among them from a young age, he once sought only to be like them.
Now, though, he thrived in the differences. She wasn't the same girl he knew as a child, and he wasn't the same person she'd once paddled for trying to sneak a sweetcake. Her dark skin starkly contrasted his own red. His demonic heritage showed in his horns and his talon-like fingers. He was not an elf, nor was he a human. He wasn't even a halfling, he was simply himself. Mal'drek fully opened his eyes from atop his spire, and looked down upon the city - sprawling and still in the process of being rebuilt to its former glory. These people flocked here from the surrounding forests and villages, seeking refuge and a place to call home. Savith-Yhi, once a ruined city in the darkest section of the jungle, quickly became a thriving metropolis for the jungle-dwellers.
And yet, even these people who flocked to the city he fought so vehemently to protect, to liberate from the dredges of the evil Chara-kau, looked at him sideways and with a slight bit of disdain. All tieflings felt this, he knew, but he felt it more - because until he left the village he'd never felt it. Until grandmother sent him on this suicide quest to find Calypso and her sister, to return them home if possible, he'd never met anyone who didn't love him as one of their own. Yet, now, it was all he could find most days. The people didn't take the time to know him, to understand him. They simply saw a man different from them, his flaming red skin and his curled, darkened horns that seemed to reach toward the sky. And they hated him for his differences.
Maybe hate was strong, but they certainly didn't love him the way the elves did. At least once. 'Maybe they still would', Mal'drek mused to himself. He shook his head, as if to throw the thought aside. He wasn't going to go back there, at least not for now. Maybe one day, when he finished his mission. The others finished what they sought to do, and they left him behind when they left. He knew his answer was here, though, somewhere. He knew it had to be, buried deep in the ancient knowledge of the Azlanti. He helped them find their goals, accomplish what they wanted - and they left him to fend for himself.
"They weren't really my friends anyway, were they?" He whispered to himself. "Just people hired to do a job, and when that job was completed they left. Nevermind that my job wasn't done, that it wasn't near done. Nevermind that they told me they would help me, and then conveniently left before doing that." His hands balled into fists, shattering the looking glass held in his right hand. Talon-like nails digging into the flesh of his palms. His sharpened teeth grit, a low growl emitting.
'I should let this anger go, it consumes me when I grasp it. They have lives and things to achieve. Besides, the humans of them are long dead now.' Unclenching his fists, Mal'drek pushed himself to stand and look down over the city. Reaching into his pouch and pulling from it a single feather, tossing it into the sky as the magic washed over him and he stepped off the edge of the spire. His body gently lowered to ground level. As his feet touched stone, he pulled his cloak's hood over his head - hiding his face and horns - only the slightest whisper of his long, gray hair visible beneath it.
They readied the ritual room, even as he meditated. Soon, he would find the answers he sought and the world he seeked so long to find. Soon, he would be reunited with his friend, his companion. He lacked the power to fully summon him into this world these days. Magic was beginning to fade, dying with time and people not bothering to continue learning it. With all things, only a few truly held the dedication to it - and with their waning interest it seemed to grow weaker by the day. Once he would have flown down nestled deep in the breast of Rarn'gar, flowing draconic wings propelling them across the city.
Now, it was a hassle for him to even manage to cast feather fall like he had. Once again, he shook the negativity from his mind - perhaps the ritual would work, perhaps it wouldn't. The magic it fed on wasn't of the material world, and Rarn'gar prepared his end - though he couldn't bring him fully into the world anymore, he spoke to him daily - almost constantly, through their mental link.
The scholars here worked tirelessly for him, at least, understanding the great need he sought. They worked day and night on deciphering the ritual, and finally they managed it - sending him word just the night before. Today would be the day. Either the magic worked, or it didn't. Soon, he'd find out.
Noon
"Are you sure about this, Mal'drek? We might muster the magic to get you there, but there's no promise you'll be able to come back. The Dreamlands are dangerous enough on their own, and they're made only more dangerous by our lack of knowledge."
"I know all I need to know, Nedrick. I'll be fine. Is the ritual ready?" Named for his uncle, Nedrick was nothing like the forebearer of his name - though he didn't look much like his father either.
"Yes, Mal'drek. All you need to do is stand in the center, focus your mind on your location - the rest of us will handle what's left."
"Thank you."
Mal'drek stood on the sigil, presumably it spelled Leng, but who knew what it really meant. Vors' son seemed to think he did, but wizards always thought they knew everything. And he was surrounded by them. Probably the last of their kind, really, given the rumors of the great wars sweeping the outside world.
"Somnus", Nedrick said as his hands lifted a woolen cloth, covering a single feather in his hand. Mal'drek felt the power surge in the room around him, as the others followed suit and spoke the word of power that activated the ritual. The ground rumbled for a moment as the sigils around the outer ring lit up, the braziers surrounding the room whooshing out as only a dark, green light lit up the room emanating from the central sigil. The power this took clearly hurt them, he could see the anguish in their faces as his eyes grew heavy.
"Goodbye, my friends. Thank you, for everything you've done." With that, Mal'drek closed his eyes and his mind drifted off to a deep sleep - as his body propelled itself across the planes. He focused his subconscious on a singular spot, on the beaches of Leng, at the bottom of the plateu. The meeting place.
Brined water washed over his flesh, ice-cold and touched with just the faintest feel of slime and grease. The water lapped at him like an animal of the wild. It seemed to come in droves, as wave after wave crashed upon him. His eyes slowly opened to the inky, star-blotted darkness above him. His mind adjusted slowly, his eyes even slower. The ground around him looked like glass, broken-shards of it forming the finest sand that bit at his flesh like a thousand tiny insects. He gingerly pushed himself up, wiping the water from his face before looking around him.
Before him stood the highest wall he'd ever seen, and through it a narrow path presumably leading to the top. From everything he'd read, this must have been the place. The Dreamlands, a section of the Astral Plane accessed presumably only through dreams. Yet, things lived here - and those things were dangerous - not just to him but to his friend.
His friend!
Mal'drek reached out with his power, feeling it stronger than he'd done in years. He pulled through the rift in his soul, grasping through and pulling with all of his might. The power surged through him, and then in that moment it surrounded him, a warm embrace of a lost brother. It molded itself to him, and he felt their minds fully meld for the first time in decades.
'Rarn'gar, my old friend. How I've missed you.'
The warmth grew. Mal'drek knew without opening his own eyes that he stood, once again, within the meld of their bodies. Around him a force of pure rage and power, the Eidolon Rarn'gar. A nearly translucent, four armed monstrosity with horns that put his own to shame - and the body of a giant. The power of that strength flowed into him once again. After years of being helpless, powerless to do anything but exist and search for this place.
He'd found it. Before him lay Leng, and on the other side of it Kadath. His ultimate goal. Nyarlathotep would die by his hand, and his blackened heart would sustain the magic of his kind for a hundred centuries to come. All they had to do now was cross Leng.
"Let's go, Rarn'gar."
With those words, Mal'drek began the ascent into the Dreamlands nightmarish hellscape.
Now, though, he thrived in the differences. She wasn't the same girl he knew as a child, and he wasn't the same person she'd once paddled for trying to sneak a sweetcake. Her dark skin starkly contrasted his own red. His demonic heritage showed in his horns and his talon-like fingers. He was not an elf, nor was he a human. He wasn't even a halfling, he was simply himself. Mal'drek fully opened his eyes from atop his spire, and looked down upon the city - sprawling and still in the process of being rebuilt to its former glory. These people flocked here from the surrounding forests and villages, seeking refuge and a place to call home. Savith-Yhi, once a ruined city in the darkest section of the jungle, quickly became a thriving metropolis for the jungle-dwellers.
And yet, even these people who flocked to the city he fought so vehemently to protect, to liberate from the dredges of the evil Chara-kau, looked at him sideways and with a slight bit of disdain. All tieflings felt this, he knew, but he felt it more - because until he left the village he'd never felt it. Until grandmother sent him on this suicide quest to find Calypso and her sister, to return them home if possible, he'd never met anyone who didn't love him as one of their own. Yet, now, it was all he could find most days. The people didn't take the time to know him, to understand him. They simply saw a man different from them, his flaming red skin and his curled, darkened horns that seemed to reach toward the sky. And they hated him for his differences.
Maybe hate was strong, but they certainly didn't love him the way the elves did. At least once. 'Maybe they still would', Mal'drek mused to himself. He shook his head, as if to throw the thought aside. He wasn't going to go back there, at least not for now. Maybe one day, when he finished his mission. The others finished what they sought to do, and they left him behind when they left. He knew his answer was here, though, somewhere. He knew it had to be, buried deep in the ancient knowledge of the Azlanti. He helped them find their goals, accomplish what they wanted - and they left him to fend for himself.
"They weren't really my friends anyway, were they?" He whispered to himself. "Just people hired to do a job, and when that job was completed they left. Nevermind that my job wasn't done, that it wasn't near done. Nevermind that they told me they would help me, and then conveniently left before doing that." His hands balled into fists, shattering the looking glass held in his right hand. Talon-like nails digging into the flesh of his palms. His sharpened teeth grit, a low growl emitting.
'I should let this anger go, it consumes me when I grasp it. They have lives and things to achieve. Besides, the humans of them are long dead now.' Unclenching his fists, Mal'drek pushed himself to stand and look down over the city. Reaching into his pouch and pulling from it a single feather, tossing it into the sky as the magic washed over him and he stepped off the edge of the spire. His body gently lowered to ground level. As his feet touched stone, he pulled his cloak's hood over his head - hiding his face and horns - only the slightest whisper of his long, gray hair visible beneath it.
They readied the ritual room, even as he meditated. Soon, he would find the answers he sought and the world he seeked so long to find. Soon, he would be reunited with his friend, his companion. He lacked the power to fully summon him into this world these days. Magic was beginning to fade, dying with time and people not bothering to continue learning it. With all things, only a few truly held the dedication to it - and with their waning interest it seemed to grow weaker by the day. Once he would have flown down nestled deep in the breast of Rarn'gar, flowing draconic wings propelling them across the city.
Now, it was a hassle for him to even manage to cast feather fall like he had. Once again, he shook the negativity from his mind - perhaps the ritual would work, perhaps it wouldn't. The magic it fed on wasn't of the material world, and Rarn'gar prepared his end - though he couldn't bring him fully into the world anymore, he spoke to him daily - almost constantly, through their mental link.
The scholars here worked tirelessly for him, at least, understanding the great need he sought. They worked day and night on deciphering the ritual, and finally they managed it - sending him word just the night before. Today would be the day. Either the magic worked, or it didn't. Soon, he'd find out.
Noon
"Are you sure about this, Mal'drek? We might muster the magic to get you there, but there's no promise you'll be able to come back. The Dreamlands are dangerous enough on their own, and they're made only more dangerous by our lack of knowledge."
"I know all I need to know, Nedrick. I'll be fine. Is the ritual ready?" Named for his uncle, Nedrick was nothing like the forebearer of his name - though he didn't look much like his father either.
"Yes, Mal'drek. All you need to do is stand in the center, focus your mind on your location - the rest of us will handle what's left."
"Thank you."
Mal'drek stood on the sigil, presumably it spelled Leng, but who knew what it really meant. Vors' son seemed to think he did, but wizards always thought they knew everything. And he was surrounded by them. Probably the last of their kind, really, given the rumors of the great wars sweeping the outside world.
"Somnus", Nedrick said as his hands lifted a woolen cloth, covering a single feather in his hand. Mal'drek felt the power surge in the room around him, as the others followed suit and spoke the word of power that activated the ritual. The ground rumbled for a moment as the sigils around the outer ring lit up, the braziers surrounding the room whooshing out as only a dark, green light lit up the room emanating from the central sigil. The power this took clearly hurt them, he could see the anguish in their faces as his eyes grew heavy.
"Goodbye, my friends. Thank you, for everything you've done." With that, Mal'drek closed his eyes and his mind drifted off to a deep sleep - as his body propelled itself across the planes. He focused his subconscious on a singular spot, on the beaches of Leng, at the bottom of the plateu. The meeting place.
-------------------------------------------
Brined water washed over his flesh, ice-cold and touched with just the faintest feel of slime and grease. The water lapped at him like an animal of the wild. It seemed to come in droves, as wave after wave crashed upon him. His eyes slowly opened to the inky, star-blotted darkness above him. His mind adjusted slowly, his eyes even slower. The ground around him looked like glass, broken-shards of it forming the finest sand that bit at his flesh like a thousand tiny insects. He gingerly pushed himself up, wiping the water from his face before looking around him.
Before him stood the highest wall he'd ever seen, and through it a narrow path presumably leading to the top. From everything he'd read, this must have been the place. The Dreamlands, a section of the Astral Plane accessed presumably only through dreams. Yet, things lived here - and those things were dangerous - not just to him but to his friend.
His friend!
Mal'drek reached out with his power, feeling it stronger than he'd done in years. He pulled through the rift in his soul, grasping through and pulling with all of his might. The power surged through him, and then in that moment it surrounded him, a warm embrace of a lost brother. It molded itself to him, and he felt their minds fully meld for the first time in decades.
'Rarn'gar, my old friend. How I've missed you.'
The warmth grew. Mal'drek knew without opening his own eyes that he stood, once again, within the meld of their bodies. Around him a force of pure rage and power, the Eidolon Rarn'gar. A nearly translucent, four armed monstrosity with horns that put his own to shame - and the body of a giant. The power of that strength flowed into him once again. After years of being helpless, powerless to do anything but exist and search for this place.
He'd found it. Before him lay Leng, and on the other side of it Kadath. His ultimate goal. Nyarlathotep would die by his hand, and his blackened heart would sustain the magic of his kind for a hundred centuries to come. All they had to do now was cross Leng.
"Let's go, Rarn'gar."
With those words, Mal'drek began the ascent into the Dreamlands nightmarish hellscape.