Out of the Darkness #2 - The One You Serve

Mooran Devorax stood alone upon the towering parapets ofKat'N'Ahnzar, looking out upon the fortress-city that had been her home forcountless years past. Like an endless, frozen sea, it stretched out below her,its waves forming houses and homesteads, walls and armaments. Everything looked... cold. Plain. Orderly. Even the citizens, tiny speckles that they were toher eyes, appeared to move on preordained paths on the city's - geometricallyaligned? - streets, each intent on doing his part to keep order within thewalls of this refuge from the bubbling seas of chaos and fire outside. Thebuildings themselves, for all their austere grace, loomed into the chaotic skyof Limbo like long-forgotten monuments or headstones on an ancient graveyard.

She shivered and drew her cloak tighter around her. Formonths now, thoughts like these had intruded into her mind, making her feel uncomfortablewith her surroundings. What had once been a source of balance and equilibrium,a monument of the continued existence and strength of her race, had now turnedto a bottomless well of fear and hostility. By Zerthimon's wisdom, it was allshe could do not to cry out and bash the walls which seemed to close in uponher, making her feel beleaguered and imprisoned! The principles that the*people* had built their society upon had somehow lost all appeal to her, andshe did not even realize this had happened until it was too late ...

Having spent week after week trying to fathom what thoseomens meant for her, trying to cleanse her soul with the rituals of meditationthat she had been trained in since the days of her childhood, Moraan stillwasn’t one step closer to peace of mind. Even those of the *people* that sheonce considered to have *known* only made her feel alien as of late. As one whohad always openly claimed in council that the only thing to separate them fromthe traitorous ‘yanki was the discipline and unity the *people* lived daily,and as Zaerith Menyar-Ag-Gith's mosttrusted advisor, this notion was about as appealing to her as walking intoSlaadi territory unarmed and unannounced, shouting challenges. How long untilher predicament became public knowledge, she wondered? How soon would those whocoveted her position make their move and proclaim her unworthy, a traitor to thevery ideals she once stood for?

Banners flew in the breeze, snapping against the flagpoles.Far below her, an armed squad paraded the lowest ring of the battlements, witha commander continuously shouting orders. The troops were disciplined, they*knew* how to follow orders ... but still ...

Inwardly, Moraan shook her head. Did they not *know*, that,for all their aspirances to discipline, for all their attempts to harnesschaos, they still hadn't evolved any since their fateful emigration to theChaos-Soup all those centuries ago? Still, their enemies lived and were legion– the hated *tentacled* ones, the despised githyanki – and they were gainingstrength, expanding. It was only a matter of time until Limbo would become averitable war-zone, the passivity of its inhabitants spelling their doom asthey would be surrounded by enemy after enemy ... Such was always the fate ofthose who did not adapt to their surroundings, who did not constantly strivefor change and betterment. But for a some time now, Moraan had been one to feelthe need for a transformation.

She arched her neck, looking upward, away from the solidshapes that were her home, and onto the explosions and fireworks of colors thaterupted there. For a second, a ball of ice blossomed in the Nothing thatsurrounded Kat'N'Ahnzar, quickly changing into a rolling boulder, rolling on... what exactly? No matter, it was a waterfall now, and the githzeraimarvelled at the display, the change, the variation in color, shape and form.Enchanted, she stretched out her hand, waiting for some drops of water to reachher ... but they were snuffed out by the anarchs’ will before they could eventouch the city’s highest spires.

Moraan clenched her teeth. The *people* had to be made tofeel it, too! They had to embrace the powers of chaos that were evident allaround them, and accept them as they were, a gift to the githzerai after a longtime of testing their endurance – not try and artificially change them intosomething which was not in their nature! The *people* itself were an alienthing in this landscape of eternal variation and change which would always betheir enemy, in spirit as well as in physical form. They needed to harnesstheir home terrain, and focus its powers to supply their offensive efforts. Theirenemies would not stand a chance, once the *people* would accept their destiny,which they were blissfully ignorant of as of yet. This had not been her fault,however ... Such a change could not be forced upon the *people* – instead, ithad to come from within, as only *belief* alone held the power to changereality (or so ancient anarch masters had taught her). But who better toinfluence the minds of the people as a whole than the Immortal One – the Onethey all looked up to for guidance?

Moraan turned from the battlements and inclined her rituallyshaven head, as the winds of Limbo caught her cloak full force and billowed itbehind her. Taking a deep breath, she strode toward the central tower, the twinswords scabbarded at her side rustling only very slightly against the cloth ofher soft-spun velvet cloak. Ordinarily, she would have avoided any noise atall, but today, her thoughts were distant. By the piercing mind of Zerthimon,how she had tried to convince the God-King! But he had only laughed, callingher bold plans foolhardy and detrimental to the *people's* future, once she haddared to reveal them in private conversation. He had asked her to put her mindat ease, and even suggested that the constant strain of counseling him wastaking its toll, treating her like an infirm youngling ... Never before had shefelt so humiliated. For years and years the king must have called *Vilquar’sEye* his own. This, too, was not her fault, but something she intended toremedy nonetheless.

Moraan sighed as she thought of the countless lives that hadbeen wasted for the God-King's paranoid fears, all those mighty mages whose knowledgeand skills had proven too dangerous for their monarch to suffer – and who hadsummarily been destroyed and declared martyrs for the common good. Yet anotherof the king's edicts that she did not approve of – to think of what could havebeen accomplished with all these masters of the arcane arts. The conquests thatwould have been possible, the glory she could have acquired, leading them intoenemy territory - it made her head swim. All the learning that was lost ... andher chance of gaining access to it... or so she had thought. Only herexceptional skills had thus far prevented the detection of her magical ability,and Moraan Devorax had not come this far just to take her chances any longer.There were none who suspected, but in the past few days, her magical abilitiesseemed to have increased at least threefold!

A nagging thought, asking: 'Moraan! Think of your lessons!Where does that power come from? Nothing is for free in the multiverse! Youshould worry!' was quickly ignored. Probably some memory of old, some misguidedteacher lecturing her. It did not matter now.

A sneer crept on her face. Her mind was as clear as ever. Realizingshe had been wrong all those years had just helped her focus, had helped her*know* herself again, and the result had been a gain in personal power. Now,all she had to do was to make the king *see*. The voice within her spurred her,leaving her no time to question her actions. Speed was of the essence. She hadto make him *see*, for his own benefit and that of the *people*. She had tomake *Vilquar’s Eye* vanish.

The king's most trusted advisor moved toward his tower,necessity providing an added spring to her step. Engrossed in the moment, shedid not notice that the shuffling of her feet upon the ground almost seemedlike a malevolent chuckle.