A Veiled Journey (Part 7)

GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/history: (12)+10: 22

Taken by the grandeur and unimaginable beauty of the vision before him, Seldan stops cold when his mind processes the empty blackness that sits at its center. His eyes rove from thing from thing, and from place to place, ice-blue orbs trying desperately to take it all in, to place it all. Only when the cloaked figure speaks does he snap his head towards her, eyes wide, but not with anger. With shock, and with curiosity. "All the mul'niessa are enslaved by this Menesil? Tell me of him, and of how this came to be so." Quickly, he looks around at the others, from face to face, to see if there is more recognition on their features than on his.

GAME: Malik rolls knowledge/history: (2)+8: 10
GAME: Zeke rolls knowledge/history: (17)+2: 19

Acedia's expression shows only confusion and concern, but she keeps her mouth shut. She, too, glances around at the others. After lengthy silence, she blurts out, "You uhm you all heard that, yes? It's not just me, correct?"

"I mean, it's a riddle, isn't it? My vision but His mind? And having to free all the Mul'niessa?"

Serene shakes her head once at Seldan's glance. "My knowledge of the mul'niessa is... biased at best. Their history was not a priority in my upbringing." If her knowledge of the past of these elves brings her shame, she gives no sign of it.

Malik, for his part, looks blank. The names don't seem to bring anything to the wizard's mind, instead looking between the rest of those gathered, as if searching for clues written on their features.

Zeke seems to think about the name, this whole situation for a moment. A long silent moment. He finally rolls his right shoulder in a half shrug and finally speaks. "Menessil iss... ancient hisstory. He isss the one that doomed hisss people. When the elvesss were in need he turned to dark magicsss to bring life to the Tree of Worldsss. It wasss failing, and in doing thisss, he sssaw the fall of hisss people." He looks at Seldan and the others very firmly. "He can not be truly alive... can he?"

"It is he, but he does not live. Not as you or I live," answers the woman clad in the shadows.

"He lives in every cast shadow of every one bound in Taara's chains. He lives in their self-doubt, their recriminations. He is the heart of their binding between Taara and those people."

"...free him, and you free them all."

Seldan turned to Zeke as he spoke, nodding along with the sith-makar's words. _Oh right._ "Yes, the one who started it all." He stands in thoughtful silence, absorbing the import of the words of the one cloaked in shadow, and frowns deeply, his expression set, although not stone-like. Such a dark figure, and yet - self-recrimination? "Do you mean to say - that his regret, his self-recrimination - is theirs?" he asks uncertainly. "How - does one free such a one?"

The Gobbo's confusion slowly fades away as Zeke fills in missing information. Her head cants to one side as the woman clad in shadow speaks again.

Ace peers at Seldan. "Easiest thing in the world, Seldan. How do you banish a shadow. You bring the light. How do you banish doubt? You bring the truth."

Malik gives a shake of his head, mouth pursed tight. "Not by any magics that I've ever heard of," he says. "Though who knows. The elves are creatures of magic from a time when magic behaved very differently in the world. It practically flows in their blood. If there is some kind of curse laid on them, it might take stranger magics than any alive yet know." A glance to Seldan, thinking something, the thought behind his eyes, even if he doesn't say it aloud.

Zeke looks at the figure in question carefully. He speaks quietly. "When one is lossst to the dark, when one is losst to ssself-doubt and weaknesss, you offer your hand. You offer freedom. You offer friendssship."

Zeke looks at Seldan. "Thisss one knowsss. For thiss one wasss lossst to sssuch onsce." He looks away, almost embarrassed and ducks his head. "Who are you then, to asssk usss to free him?" This to the woman, but looking away so perhaps who he is speaking to is lost.

The cloaked woman doesn't answer Seldan's immediate inquiry. Rather, she simply stares at him with her hood lowered over her face, downcast just enough to leave her marginally obscured. What's frustrating, perhaps, is that looking at her leaves the impression of something ... ill-defined. A face that is at once familiar and not. It's ... uncanny somehow.

"Taara lays claim to the soul of every mul-born. End her claim. Free them -- but to free them, you must free him."

The figure seated upon the throne, similarly hard to see upon his golden throne of light, remains still.

He is as of yet 'unaware' of you. Can he be aware? Is he 'alive' in any sense? It's hard to know, but then... where are you, anyway?

Again, Seldan pauses, seeming to listen to something that only he can hear. The gaze of ice-blue orbs drops to the ground at their feet, and his brows furrow. "To free someone from the bondage of fear, hate, and self-doubt is but mercy, kin. A kindness - and is not mercy of the Light?" He says those words in a particular cadence that suggests a quote, although from who or what is unclear.

Slowly, his eyes lift, to stare into that blackness. Whether he speaks to Zeke, to Acedia, or to who, is not completely clear. "Would you free such a one of self-recrimination and regret - does one not offer forgiveness?" he asks slowly. "For you both have the right of it. Taara's claim to a soul depends upon deception. Lies. Hate. Self-doubt."

Finally, he turns his eyes to the one cloaked in shadows. "To end the Tempter's claim, I must offer Menesel forgiveness, that he may forgive himself." The words are both a statement and a question that awaits confirmation.

Skielstregar is trembling as they're being talked to, though his attentions is locked on something in the sky. There's some dread in his expression, but that dead silver gaze flicks faintly to something else, and follows it down across the horizon.

And the world dark as a moonless night. "Thisss one thinkss neither," he says quietly as he sees Kard prepare himself. "Warrior, ssstay yourself. No blade you have will harm them. Though thiss one applaudsss your tenacity."

He shudders out, and trembles, feeling like the night was doing nothing for The Dragon lingers within it. A nervous chuckle leaves him. "It'sss a vision," Skiel tells the gobbo, his attention returning back to the horizon. "... though all iss... perhapsss not losst. Stormsss have calm in them..."

"No." Telamon staggers to his feet, even as the light fades. "This isn't your style. You want to -own- the world. And, of course, everyone else." He glares at the dragon, and covers his mouth with his sleeve from a gust of sand and grit. "Who does the Nightmare threaten most of all?"

He looks at Skiel, realizes the makari is staring at something, and reaches out to grab his arm. "What do you see, friend?"

There's a venomous snake in the bag... or, at least that's how Barclaiigh eyes the thing. "(... this is nuttier'n a squirrel turd, Bar,)" mutters the Khazad-aul. Broad shoulders heave in a deep breath and he retrieves the idol to hold it out for all to see. "Is this yer storm, y'big... uh... mister wyrm?"

"So truth, light and friendship.", the Gobbo says softly. "Is anything ever so easy? Easily said, but if it was easily done, well, it'd be done, wouldn't it?"

She rubs at her chin a moment. "So what's the catch? Not that I doubt your abilities, but this does practically scream 'It's a trap!'" Acedia runs a hand through her messy hair. "She's his wife. And possibly the temptress. That's my guess, anyways."

"Nay, Acedia. She is the Veil herself," Seldan nods to the figure cloaked in shadows. "Did I not speak of Her being intelligent? It is even so. Fear not."

Seldan's assurances don't seem very assuring to Malik. Or, at least, not outwardly. The wizard's tight-lipped grimace doesn't relax as Seldan introduces the true nature of the woman. If anything, it gets even tighter. Then again, upon learning that a spell, and one more powerful than any that could be worked today, is alive, sentient, and has an agenda? It might put anyone but the paladin of Eluna off a bit. Especially those that have bad histories with magic gone its own way.

Zeke seems to relax where Malik has grown more tense. He looks at Menesil and steps forward. "No. Not you Ssseldan. You are not a healer. Thisss onesss people... They have been taken and... taken for generationss by the Mul'neissa. By their hate. Their fear. Thisss one will forgive him. Thisss one will offer a hand of friendssship." He moves forward, offering his claw to the figure in the dark. Wrapped about with self-recrimination. "Thisss one wassss onssce like you Menessil. Thisss one will offer you forgivenesss."

The Veil, as that is what it seems to be, doesn't immediately answer. Apparently, it has said as much as it can. Instead, it simply nods along with the conversation, allowing Seldan to explain its presence for a time.

"Ever has Taara held the souls of the Mul'niessa a step in her bondage, a claim to them from the moment they are born. It is abomination."

The veil's eyes turn towards Malik. Studying him. His tension, but it seems to choose to say nothing else at the moment.

"Whatever remains of Menesil will need to want this forgiveness. One trapped such as he is, he may very well not wish it." Serene pauses, then adds, "He may not feel he deserves it."

Acedia blinks a few times at Seldan's words. "Oh. I suppose that explains her shadowy appearance. And her willingness to help us." She peers at Zeke and shrugs. "You do have solid points."

The Gobbo rubs at her face. "But let me go with you.", she says quietly, following along in Zeke's wake.

"Once you engage with him, there will be no return, not until you have succeeded ... or he casts you out. I can not say for certain what the latter will look like -- but can you not feel it? His pain? It is all around us. It suffuses the realm ... and Lathtali itself is made from it. The Whispers are his."

The veiled figure lowers her head, eyes downcast, such as they are.

"I can not help you anymore than I already am. I will obscure you behind a comforting veil for him, but you must pierce his facade with your own wits from there."

"As you will," Seldan turns his head to the Veil, then back to the others. "We stay together, those of us who would go." He turns his eyes to Malik, questioningly, and then back to the darkened figure before them. "I go with you." He, too, steps forward, seemingly entirely confident in whatever it is the Veil is doing.

Serene steps forward as well. She made it clear from the beginning that she was in this until the end. "If this is the path forward, then so be it," she says, as if the bridges behind haven't already been burned.

Malik turns and gives Seldan a look in return, one full of wariness. But he also gives the paladin a nod, not questioning the decision to follow, or fighting against it. It seems that he's coming along too -- even if that tension doesn't quite leave him. Something bothers the wizard still.

Zeke's eyes never leave Menesil. "You can not dessserve to be forgiven. You may not wisssh to accept it, you may not want it, but it comesss to you when it will." Zeke reaches out and touches the figure. His claw gentle. "Thisss one isss ready."

The Gobbo follows silently in Zeke's wake, taking up a position to his right when he stops to converse with the figure. She reaches up to grasp at the blue-scale's cloak lightly, a reminder that she is close at hand. For whatever comfort that may provide.

Stjepan nods slowly from his place of silence in the back. "We all go. Who knows what one of us may offer." He follows, face somber, still, gaze turned inwards, considering, perhaps, his ability to forgive at this scale.

Bathed in light.

That is the best description of the figure upon the throne. So much light that every shadow is banished, every surface shines. Approaching him is like approaching the sun itself, as if the very dawn itself had been called into being -- as if *he* is the dawn itself.

And yet, there's something beneath all that. Something sad. There is an emptiness that becomes more evident with every footfall towards him, as if the ground itself might crack apart like so much fragile eggshell beneath you.

First, you feel the weight of majesty. The saying 'heavy is the head that wears the crown' is all too true, isn't it? But as you approach, you feel yourself pushing through a sort of invisible barrier of that majesty, piercing a first illusion to reveal the slender, elven man upon the throne. Oh, majestic to be sure. Every image of the glory of the earliest years of the elves made into a singular vision before you. Myth made reality to your eyes.

As that illusion is pierced, first, he finally deigns to notice you. His eyes lock upon your approaching forms, and the world around you seems to continue shifting. You, yourselves, seem veiled. Visibly, you find yourselves incorporating not your own selves, but elves instead. Glorious elves, warriors each and every one. Diamond-steel weapons at your sides, gleaming armor made of a sort of mithral the world has never truly known. He can not see you in any other way.

Zeke's words seem to confuse him, as he approaches him, touches him.

"Sister," he says, "what need do I have of your forgiveness when I am king?" He is not king. You know this. Dawncaller was King. He is the empty promise of leadership.

"I have all that I require before me and your service. How goes the war, then? Have the last of them been pushed out? Has The Frostwraith been defeated?"

He slowly rises to his feet, seeming immediately big as legend. No other words can describe this Menesil Dawncaller.

-TBC