#evil advisor + evil mirror guy dream team

[ddworldwithoutend]

Epilogue: The Old Dark Machine

The shockwave slammed into and through the group, engulfing them in blinding whiteness. It felt like a battle was raging around their bodies, intense burning heat contesting with frigid cold. Zelas tried to cry out, in as much terror as pain, but the breath was knocked from her lungs. If her lungs still existed, that is. In the moment, she wasn’t sure.

And just like that, it was past. Vision returned, and she found herself kneeling on the ground, smoke pouring from her body. So was everybody else. Her friends, but also every soldier as far as she could see, laying sprawled on the ground or, at best, on their knees. Charred husks of the coldfire artillery units sat unmoving on the field, the wicked blue glow from their reactors now extinguished. It was an amazing sight, but the real show was in the air above the two exhausted armies.

Where the two draconic gods and siblings had been, fighting, biting, clawing and ultimately absorbing the bulk of the giant bomb’s explosion, now only a single figure floated. It was hard to look directly at, but seemingly took the form of an enormous dragon, when any form could be made out at all. Additionally, it seemed to be multi-colored, shimmering metallic and rippling with a rainbow of chromatic hues all at once. Instinctively Zelas knew what she was looking at, and could feel that everyone around her knew as well.

This was IO, the great creator god of Arkhosia, from whom Tiamat and Bahamut were simultaneously hewn. Somehow, she could sense that the overwhelming power of the coldfire fused the two gods back into one. She also knew that, while majestic, it was unsustainable. The two gods, even now, were breaking apart again.

The great dragon surveyed the chaos below. She could almost hear the ancient, supernatural and, until now, long dead bones creak as the fiery gaze swept across the ground. She could feel the heat as it passed over her. And then IO’s mouth opened and liquid white flame burst forth, engulfing them all once again. Except it wasn’t quite flame. It was pure life. And then all went white again.

~*~

Lyle woke up a second time, but this time he felt pretty good. More than good, actually. And the world around him looked like he felt. The grass looked green. Which wasn’t, he noted, abnormal in of itself, but moments ago it had been soaked in blood or burned away entirely in huge patches. Now… it looked nice. Groomed. Like it was when he first arrived outside of Riobrandon, all those years ago.

There was also, he noticed, a lack of enemy soldiers anywhere. Or artillery. In fact, it didn’t look like there had been a battle at all. The Dorcadian troops were sitting around looking as perplexed as he was. Hit with a sudden inspiration, Lyle pulled out a small mirror he kept in one of his many bags and looked at it. His hair was still white. And, obviously, his arm was still missing. Well hell. It would have been a nice thought. Thanks for nothing, IO. But still, he wasn’t dead, so that was nice. Not that he’d let that stop him before.

~*~

The streets of Riobrandon were still cluttered with neglect. The Powers-That-Be didn’t see fit to do a little spring cleaning, but they worked in mysterious ways. Often frustratingly neglectful ways too. Gunther marched with hundreds of soliders back to the general barracks. Once there, he continued to the royal palace. There was a lot of cleanup to be done, and, he suspected, Zelas was going to need all the help she could get with more than just that. He hefted his hammer onto a hook on his wall, and went find out how he could best serve his Lady.

~*~

“OKAY, LISTEN UP GUYS” Korven’s rasping voice boomed over the crowd. “Who here knows how to get to the Salted Moons?” He was met with nothing but blank stares. Well, he guessed the eyeless stares of animated-yet-empty skulls would always be blank. “Okay, okay, new plan. We defend the world from evil. Like the A-Team!” More blank stares.

“Like who?” A ghoul up front replied gutterally.

“You know, the mercenaries. ‘If you need help, and you can find them..’ etc etc.” More blank stares.

“Okay, but, boss, we ARE evil, you know? We’re not exactly a noble army of paladins here.”

Korven sighed. It was a start. Now, where did he put his bag of buttons?

~*~

As expected, Kryath’s office was empty, at least of people. It was filled with official looking papers, notes, and letters. Zelas wasn’t sure what she was expecting. This, she guessed. But deep down, maybe not. Maybe she was expecting Kryath to be sitting here staring out of the large window overlooking the city. After everybody had come to their senses, they searched the area of land directly below ground zero. It had looked as pristine with new growth as anywhere else, except for one difference. A blackened corpse lay on the ground, grotesque and deformed. Strideback’s corpse. But not Kryath’s. He was nowhere to be found.

She turned to go when she noticed a folded letter in the middle of his desk. On it, scrawled in his decidedly unregal hand was her name. She plucked it up and began to read.

Zelas,

If you’re reading this, you’re probably not dead. Congratulations!

Let me explain a couple of things for you. I’ve been having dreams about the future. Lots of them. Turns out, there are lots of potential futures. Since you’re (probably) alive, I’m assuming it’s the good one. Writing this, I realize that I’ll be dead in a few hours, but maybe not for long! It turns out prophesies are mostly educated guesswork and good salesmanship, but if you’re a student of the past you can start to recognize when the wheels start to turn back around to us. All of this has happened before. Well, mostly.

Okay, brass tacks. You’ll find some paperwork in the drawer you can read over if you like, but really all it says is that you’re in charge while I’m gone. And I’ll be back, count on that. I just have some… complicated work to do first. Mort already knows all about it. He infuriatingly devious for a holy man but, in the end, he’s a good advisor and a good friend.

Dorcadia needs to be guided through what’s next. I guess you could say this is the beginning of the 5th Age, and those are always unsure times. You’ll find that Dojon will be pretty amicable toward working with you moving forward, but that doesn’t mean the world is any safer than it’s ever been. We’re all part of the old, dark machine. Tread lightly.

~Kryath

PS – Get rid of that stupid tiara. It’s a mental parasite and you’re better than that.

PPS – I’ll try to find Carrot. Tell him you said hi.

Zelas stared at the letter in stunned silence not knowing what to think. Then she looked out the window. The sun was setting, but before it got too dark she saw objects flitting in the air, catching the dying rays and reflecting them around like gold coins. She stood and walked over to the window to get a better view. Canaries. Circling around something unseen and moving away from the palace. Just before they got out of eyesight, she started. All the books and legends said Bahamut had seven exarchs that manifested in the form of golden canaries when he was around, so… no, she counted correctly. She was seeing eight. But..

Kryath? She placed her hand on the glass as if to wave.

Suddenly she heard a snap, and the pane of glass shifted and fell outward. She winced as it smashed into the ground below, shards barely missing a group of Alistair Vaestron’s Moon Guards. They looked up, startled. When they saw it was her, they inexplicably knelt in respect.

Well crap.