Paradox

[Unknown]

OOC Note: This story bridges Scribe Enshadowed and Umbra Posterus (which will be making a comeback). For those who don’t remember, or were not here, the principle character for this part was discovered by the B.A.F. within the Moonglow Rift created by Kronos’ failed blackrock detector. She has been sent from a future in which the Shadowlords have conquered most of Britannia…


Part I: A Missing Piece

“Future’s deed doth past effect, thus paradox be born.
A vessel to corruption freed shall bane the heavens naught.
Can shadows steal a world’s soul, or will day’s first light see war’s end?
Time’s river flows anew, yet a darker course still holds sway…”

-The Watcher

Midsummer, BY 429

“Kestal…”

The light cotton blanket moved slightly, a form beneath stirring.

“Kestal…”

The form stirred more forcibly, causing the blanket to slip partway off the simple wooden cot. “Lemme scleep, Mother…” mumbled from under the threadbare pillow.

“Kestal… Come to me.”

The pillow arced across the darkened room, falling onto a stack of crates with a muffled slap and puff of dust. The sleeper pulled the blanket over her head, believing her mother got the hint.

“Kestal… You must wake.”

“Arrrggh!” She sat up aggravated, silver hair cascading over her bare shoulders. An angry retort died on her lips as she blinked confusedly about the unfamiliar room. A single candle cast its feeble light about the large space. Goosebumps spread over her exposed mocha-toned skin; this was not her bed…not her home. Danger? her sleep-addled mind questioned.

“Kestal, come to me…” a distant female voice called.

The fog of slumber lifted instantly, details of her surroundings leapt into sharp focus. She was in the middle of a large stone room lined with chests and crates. Two obvious exits caught her eye, a wooden door behind which came a dull snoring and a darkened archway she suddenly remembered led to the reliquary. I’m in Bishop Micah’s abbey. He said he knew Mother, would send for her… “Mother?” she called out, “Where are you?”

“Kestal, you must come to me, child,” the voice called out again.

Kestal threw off the blanket and stood, a simple overlarge woven beige shift extended to just above her knees. Slipping on the sandals at the foot of the bed, she edged toward the stone door she knew was camouflaged by vines and hedges on the exterior of the structure. She tapped the three protruding stones which the Bishop had shown her, and the door ground open noisily. Pausing long enough to ensure the snoring continued unabated, she slipped through the portal and up the nearby steps.

“Mother?” she called louder this time, looking around the dark abbey grounds. A full Felucca cast a dull ruddy light, barely by which enough to navigate. A chill breeze blew in off the waters of Lost Hope Bay, a harsh contrast to the warm breezes of her native isle. In the distance she saw the still unbelievable sight of Newcastle, a city whose ruins she had seen not long ago – a future she had been sent to prevent.

Tearing her gaze away from the flickering torchlight in the mammoth castle and towers in the distance, she continued to look for her mother. The abbey chapel looked deserted; the normally beautiful stained glass was dark.

“Kestal... This way,” called the voice.

A subtle blueish-silver glow illuminated the blossoms of the grove of cherry trees surrounding the meditation garden. Mother, she smiled, ever the sorceress! Her pace quickened with the beat of her heart, eager for familial embrace.

Almost running down the stone path, Kestal entered the garden with her arms spread wide…and stopped. The luminescence did not lead to the radiance of her mother’s love, but to the cold stone stare of a statue portraying a beautiful smiling woman.

Disheartened, though curious, she slowly continued her approach to the statue. The blueish-silver light seemed to cascade down the figure’s outstretched arm and over its body, seeming to pool at the statue’s bare feet. Kestal kneeled to brush stray orfleur plants away from a plaque at the base, tiny pebbles bit into her knees as she read.

Mystra
Goddess of Magic
Patron of Newcastle

“Rise, my child, I have been awaiting thee,” said a woman’s soft voice.

Startled, Kestal jumped backwards landing in an unarmed fighting stance, a hard look in her eyes as she scanned the garden. Her gaze froze on the statue; or rather the blond woman in the shimmering green gown which had replaced it.

“Please, be not alarmed.” The woman gracefully stepped off the stone pedestal and toward Kestal. Her diaphanous gown flowed around her body as if it were liquid, while her lustrous blond hair seemed to float in long ringlets about her head.

Kestal’s mouth betrayed her, opening and closing soundlessly at the now smiling woman before her, unable to form words. Her mind reeled at the improbability of what stood in front of her. Eventually, she managed to close her mouth long enough to swallow and find her voice. “M-m-mystra?”

Mystra reached out with a slender hand to brush Kestal’s flushed cheek. “Indeed.” She nodded. “Goddess of Magic, Third Warden of the Porta Arcanum and Keeper of the Zho’zar’een Animus. I have been awaiting thee, Kestal of New Magincia, daughter of…”

“Mother!” the girl rudely blurted. “Where is she?”

The goddess blinked several times, regaining her composure, she was not used to being interrupted. “I would presume on the Isle, asleep. I would presume both thy parents are.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Both?” A small gasp escaped her lips. “You know who my father is? Please tell me!”

Mystra smiled brightly, taking Kestal’s right hand in her left. “He lives not far from here, but sadly, now is not the time. Thy mother sent thee on a mission, no?” She waited for the girl to nod, then extended her right arm and began to weave ephemeral silver runes in the air.

Within moments, the runes formed a sphere of pulsating light which expanded outward to encompass both goddess and girl alike. “Thine destiny awaits thee, child… Only not quite the way thy mother hath envisioned it.”

“I can’t go…” she protested. “What of the Bishop, the Knights… They are expecting me…”

“Destiny’s call is greater, child. Even I can only stay its hand but briefly. We must travel now, ahead and onward, afore I set thee on thy final course.” With a crack of thunder, they were gone; the garden bathed only in Felucca’s dull illumination. The statue stood on its pedestal once again, no trace of an adventure.

[Unknown]

Part II: Shades of Darkness


Midwinter BY 436

The wretched wraith stared down at the scorched remains of her pathetic vessel, torn from her by the talons of an ancient wyrm. So close, she thought bitterly. The Librarian should have been mine!

As she watched unseen from across the cavern, the disgusting Royal Knights of Virtue huddled around the now fallen wyrm. Her prize stood wrapped in the white cloak of the Chancellor. Damn them, she cursed.

Chancellor DaKaren turned a penetrating gaze towards her, a knowing grin spread across his sallow face. “Come, Knights, we should not tarry here. Let us return to Newcastle to tend to Martyna’s wounds and then the victory we shall celebrate!”

A resounding “HUZZAH!” echoed throughout the wyrm’s lair, sickening the ephemeral Shadowlord.

Nosfentor fled from the depths of Destard as the Knights escorted her would-be vessel through a moongate cast by the Chancellor. She knew she should not have ventured into the dungeon; the damage wrought by the cursed knight at Stonegate had left her vessel little more than shreds of flesh and bone – animated solely by her desire for revenge.

Her precious base of power had completely crumbled that day… First the Master takes my personal soldiers, and then the keep is destroyed… She flew across the sea towards the temple on the Isle of Fire. Now I’ve lost the vessel with which I could have been the Supreme Shadowlord…

Howling in anger, Nosfentor’s wraith plunged through the temple and deep into the dark caverns below, startling several daemons come to feebly worship a titan who had abandoned them long ago. She stalked the passageways for several minutes before approaching a void-filled chasm and her fellow Shadowlords.

“Whilst thou wallow in thy failure for eternity, my sister?”

“No, brother,” she replied to Astaroth, ruing the fact he would remain in control.

“Then join us, sister, for we must plan anew,” spoke Faulinei, in his usual hushed voice.

Assuming her native form of a translucent tall cloaked shadow, she floated across the void to join them at a pedestal. Upon this pedestal would soon rest a new Gem of Immortality, binding this shard to their will.

“I think the time has passed for physical vessels, sister,” Astaroth said bluntly. “And for playing the general to private mercenaries.”

Nosfentor maintained a passive stance, a rather easy task for a being with no real face, but on the inside her rage soared to new levels. “Martyna would have given us unsurpassed access to this shard’s secrets! I would have arranged a convenient escape and then torn down the High Council from within in one masterful stroke!”

“Do not take us for fools, sister,” snapped Astaroth, the crimson orbs which served as his eyes glowed brighter. “We know ye sought greater power for thine own ends, ends not within the Master’s design!”

She turned her ‘back’ on them, floating away a bit. “I do not deny I sought power,” she hissed. “Power that should be rightfully…ours…in this world.” She faced them again, her words dripped with irony. “What now then, what gambit have thee to play?”

Faulinei floated toward her, “Casca, my sister. He shall lead them down the road to ruin. These mortals crave Order, crave…” he seemed to shudder. “Virtue. We shall provide it to them through their new King. For what they crave, we control.”

Astaroth chuckled darkly. “Then we must set thy pawn to work, brother. I grow tired of lurking in caves and sending Vanguard against the cities… Let us also make the Crimson prove their worth.”

Nosfentor floated closer to her brothers, her own ideas forming. “Send them all, brothers… The Conclave, the pitiful ophidian…all those who swore fealty to us. Less to deal with when we turn our gaze to their territories…”

The three Shadowlords hovered close to the pedestal, as if drawing power from the object they sought to create. Deep in thought and conversation, they missed another shadowy figure moving subtly in the darkness – her patience extraordinary.

[Unknown]

OOC Note: This chapter takes place within the Prime Ultima cannon at the end of Ultima Underworld II: Labyrinth of Worlds. A brief synopsis of the game is available at http://ultima.wikia.com/wiki/Ultima_Underworld_II, including links to further relevant information.


Part III: Primary Failure

Killorn Keep above the world of Atarka, local date unknown


A weary Absu Maal trudged down a poorly-lit corridor cursing his misfortune. It had been several days since he had been transported through the blackrock obelisk at Nosfentor’s command. Not to do her bidding, but that of her master...

Harry Plotter followed sullenly behind him, decidedly, and visibly, displeased with the turn of events. “Guards, Maal, we’re nothing but guards!”

Absu stopped and pulled Plotter into a small alcove. “Quiet, fool!” he commanded in a hushed voice, as one of the Trilkhai padded slowly past. Once the feline was out of sight he continued, “If one of the bitch’s spies hear you, we’re both dead!”

“I didn’t come here to play toady to this Guardian’s lapdog!” Harry said with a sneer. “I came to lay siege to Britannia Prime in the name of the Mistress!"

Feeling his own resentment at their being sent to the world of Atarka, Absu bit back the urge to take out his frustration on his fellow ex-Triad. “Remember your place, Plotter. The Mistress works for the Guardian. He is the one with true power. Serving him IS serving the Mistress!”

Harry feigned acceptance, not that it fooled Absu. “As you command, Lord Maal,” he replied sarcastically, twisting an imaginary knife deeper – reveling in the anger that flashed in the eyes of his former Lord.

Fuming, Absu turned away from Plotter and continued his trudge to the barracks where they had been ordered to muster. He sighed inwardly as they reached a vast room lined with billets where four men dressed in the silver chainmail and hideous yellow tunics favored by the Killorn Keep troops stood lazily about.

As the pair neared their fellow guards they noticed fresh blood smeared across the splinted door leading to the private quarters of ‘the bitch.’ Absu had heard there was an intruder in the keep earlier; a fight broke out in which several former Triad had perished. So much for the Glory of the Guardian… he thought bitterly.

“At attention!” bellowed a hoarse female voice.

The six men hurriedly fell into a regimented line as the woman confidently strode toward them. She was dressed much as they were, though her armor had the faint bluish sheen of enchantments and her cervelliere was embossed with the blunted face of the Guardian. She walked down the line inspecting each individual, stopping when she came to Maal and Plotter.

“You two, you’re not Atarkan! What right do ye have to serve with the mighty Mors Gotha?” she challenged.

Plotter visibly gulped, casting a nervous sideward glance at his previous commander as if to say ‘You speak…’

“M’Lady…er… Commander Gotha… ma’am. You are correct, we are in fact Sosarian…” Absu tried to look contrite. “We were sent here by our Mistress, Nosfentor, to work for the greater glory of the Guardian.”

“Indeed. I hath heard of thy Nosfentor and her failures.” Narrowing her eyes, she stepped closer to the men. “We make ready to invade thy world, to crush its people beneath our boot, to yolk them to the Guardian’s will.

“I will brook no discord from either of ye! Ye must be Obedient to the will of the Guardian. Cast off allegiance to thy world, for I shall see it burn…”

“Then burn it shall, ma’am,” Absu said confidently, bringing his right fist to his chest in salute.

Gotha stepped backwards, looking back down the line of men. “The seven of us will strike at their entrapped castle. First we capture the damned Avatar and make him watch as we slay his beloved companions and the Britannian monarch…” she sneered cruelly. “The Guardian has special plans for him.”

“Make for the Great Hall, from there we shall use the blackrock portal to enter the Sosarian plane,” she ordered, pointing down the dim hallway.

Absu and Plotter brought up the rear of the formation as they all marched toward the dimensional portal. The guards they passed pressed themselves against the stone walls, saluting the would-be conquerors. Several reverently shouted “In His name!” as encouragement.

Mors Gotha brought them to a halt before Lord Thibris, liege of the Keep. The elder man stood before the portal with an expectant look on his face, a faded blue banner in his hands. “Commander Gotha, I bid thee success in His name.”

“In His name,” she replied as if by rote.

“This was recently returned,” he stared down at the banner wistfully, remembering better days. “I bid thee take it into battle as a symbol of Killorn’s past triumphs,” he held out the banner for her to take. “So the world ye conquer will learn to fear the Guardian’s might through Atarkan warriors.”

Gotha took the proffered banner, then hastily handed it to the man in the middle of the formation. “The Avatar returned this, you old fool.” She spat on the floor before Thibris. “He’s taunting us by braving Loth’s tomb, dishonoring thy own victory on Rhiannon!” She looked back at the banner, a smirk suddenly forming. “Hmm… There is a certain symmetry in carrying it whist conquering my counterpart’s world.”

Thibris smiled weakly, as he stepped aside and saluted the invasion force. “In His name…”

Absu watched as the Commander led the way through the wall, disappearing into its solid-looking surface as if it didn’t exist. He prepared himself for the peculiar falling sensation and stepped through.

His sense of smell was immediately assaulted by the damp smell of decay, the darkness surrounding him concealing the source.

“Vas In Lor!” intoned Gotha. A nimbus of light leapt from the rune stones in her right hand, sputtering several times before blazing brightly above them.

They found themselves arrayed around the edge of a muddy island surrounded by murky water. A large black crystal dominated the center of the isle, the blackrock portal through which they had just arrived. Leathery wings flapped high overhead as bats fled from the light shed by the Daylight spell.

“Ma’am! O’er here!” called the Atarkan holding the banner. “The scouts, ma’am!”

They crossed a narrow stretch of mud which linked the island to the sandy bank at the edge of the cavern they were in. There, four bodies dressed in Killorn style laid haphazardly. The scorched tunics and rents in their chainmail attested to their having been slain by a warrior mage.

“The Avatar,” cursed Gotha. “Let us show him how Atarkan steel can bite back!”

“In His name!” the men shouted back angrily, Absu and Plotter following along.

The soldiers started to march off following a trail of muddy footprints into a constructed stone passageway. A sewer, Absu thought. He took mild pleasure when he noticed a slime-covered tentacle reached out of the filthy water to drag in one of the bodies. His glory…

After an interminable slog through the sewer tunnels under Britannia Prime’s Castle British, they emerged from a spiral staircase into the great structure itself. They kept to the shadows observing the movements of the castle guards as they took orders from a gold robed woman. Eventually, they watched as a woman Absu recognized as the long-dead Minocian tinker Julia came to report that the Avatar had returned. She perished a decade before I turned my back on the cursed Virtues. Things are definitely different here…

“Charge!” screamed Mors Gotha at her soldiers. “Slay these heretics in the Guardian’s name!”

The look of stunned fear on both women’s faces was palpable as the seven invaders rushed towards them. The gold robed woman hastily chanted “Ort Jux!” and released her spells blindly as she attempted to flee. Gotha ordered the soldiers after Julia as she ran down a darkened hall screaming for the Avatar.

The castle guards managed to engage four of the invaders in fierce combat when they neared the throne room. Absu and Plotter followed Gotha after slaying a lone guard which Julia had ordered to his death so she may reach the Avatar.

The sounds of battle echoed down the hallway as they reached a heavy wooden door that had been shut to bar their way. The three brutally hacked it to pieces then rushed headlong into a plush bedroom to face their quarry.

Before them stood a tall blond haired man in gleaming platemail and a white tunic emblazoned with a golden ankh. He held a large black spellbook with both hands as if protecting a newborn. The Avatar, Absu realized. And that would be Gotha’s lost spellbook. Behind him stood Julia alongside a robed mage who he recognized as Nystul, another corpse in the alternate Britannia to which Absu and Plotter were native.

“We meet again, Avatar, for the last time as equals. Gotha gloated, swishing her sword around to accentuate her superiority.

The Avatar raised an eyebrow at her comment, clearly not impressed, before handing Nystul the spellbook. “Go, make ready the counter spell.” Nystul and Julia quickly slipped through another heavy door from which a loud ‘click’ indicated had been locked.

Three on one, mused Absu. This should be easy.

“Thy castle falls, Avatar,” Gotha sneered, advancing. “Submit to the Guardian and he shall spare you!”

“Nay.”

“Fool. Whilst thou bumbled about the planes, His army marched on thy cities. This world shall be His!”

The Avatar shook his head resolutely. “Lord Draxinusom would never allow that. Even now Britannia rallies.”


“He’s mine!” Gotha hissed as she lunged at the Avatar, who nimbly parried her blade. “Gargoyle scum! Ye associate with such base creatures, Avatar! I shall savor cleansing this world of their filth!”


Parrying another blow, the Avatar stepped to the side and swiftly landed a blow to Gotha’s left thigh. “Britannia is stronger through diversity,” he replied humbly. “Humans, gargoyles, elves, dwarves…” he parried again. “ Even emps. All will rise against the Guardian, as will the worlds I freed of his influence.”

Breathing heavily, Gotha tried to circle around the Avatar with a feint. “Minor setbacks,” she snapped. She lunged again, her sword connecting as little more than a glancing blow to the plate covering the Avatar’s right calf. “Rebellion will be mercilessly crushed in His name!”

Plotter, seeing an opening, stepped behind the Avatar preparing to thrust his sword into an exposed joint at the back his right knee. The sword never connected, however, for the prey spun on his attacker with preternatural grace and speed. The sword clattered to the floor, followed seconds later by Harry’s severed head and then his body.

Absu stared down at his fallen comrade, ignoring the continued exchange of blows between the two paragons. Am I the last Triad? he wondered. Days into this new reality and we are cut down. This Guardian wants fodder, not soldiers.

His introspection was interrupted by an agonized scream, snapping his attention back to the duel. The Avatar pulled his sword from Gotha’s chest, revealing a mortal wound.

Blood gurgled from the wound as Gotha sunk to the stone floor, her body propped up only by the sword she feebly clung to. “Guardian!” she croaked, blood spilling from her mouth. “Guardian! Save me!”

No moongate appeared to whisk her to safety as had happened in prior defeats, her patron abandoned her. She gasped for breath, sword slipping from her grip, a look of betrayal on her face as her last breath rattled out.

Absu fumbled with the rune bag at his waist, managing to pull out a Vas, a Jux and a Mani rune. Starting the complex gestures he had learned after arriving at the Keep, he prepared to unleash a devastating Smite Foe spell.

The Avatar looked up at him, the grim look on his face changed to pity as the spell being cast at him evaporated in a pathetic puff of smoke. “Blackrock, lad, the castle is encased in it,” he shrugged indifferently, brandishing his bloody sword. “Complex spells won’t work. ‘His’ will, remember?”

Looking down at the bodies of Plotter and Gotha, Absu defensively raised his sword, realizing he was unprepared to meet a similar fate. The clangs and shouts of battle from his fellow invaders no longer registered over the loud thump-thump of his own heart. He backed away from the Avatar, prepared to flee back to the sewers if need be. Suddenly, a bright pain blossomed through his back from the sword which now pierced his torso.

Spinning clumsily, sword still embedded through his body, he turned to face his attacker. The auburn mustachioed face of a dour looking Dupre met his gaze. “To the Abyss with thee, knave!”

Absu fell face first at the knight’s feet, the edges of his vision beginning to feather with shadow. He felt the sword being wrenched from his body, watched as his blood filled the grooves between the floor pavers as it spread. Nosfentor...I’ve failed you. The thought came dimly. Damn… you… Guardian…

His consciousness fading, he heard a thunderous horn blast shake the castle to the core…

He heard the massive blackrock gem shatter as the Guardian’s spell was undone...

He heard the jubilant cheer of a triumphant Britannia...

He heard the howl of the Abyss rushing up to claim another condemned soul…

[Unknown]

Part IV: Change is the Only Constant

Midwinter BY 436


Reality swam before Kestal’s eyes, garish colors swirled wildly, light and dark came and went with reckless abandon. She felt disconnected from her body, as if she’d been without sleep for days – which had not been entirely without precedent during her life. Time travel, she managed to form coherent thoughts, But I’d only just arrived…

As the colors slowed into discernible shapes, the world seemed to reform around her. A forest hung before her like a painting, flat and without depth. With a faint ‘pop’ her perception moved through an imperceptible boundary, sending subtle ripples out from her body.

Kestal stood next to a towering yew tree laden with snow, a pace away Mystra seemed to float inches above the ground giving off a soft warming radiance. Some distance in front of them stood two large marble buildings, while a third grey stone structure lay farther to the right - none of which looked familiar to Kestal. “Where?” she asked simply.

Mystra turned toward her, smiling sweetly. “A place destroyed by treachery and betrayal in thy time.” She made an expansive gesture toward the buildings. “Welcome to Nameless Rune, child, a hamlet dedicated to preserving knowledge and culture.”

Kestal began to step around the tree toward the buildings, but was stopped by Mystra’s hand on her shoulder. “Nay, child, events are about to transpire. We may only watch to ensure a new course is charted. Observe…”

----

A crackle of cerulean energy heralded the moongate's arrival seconds before it arose from beneath the snow that blanketed the forest floor. An indistinct form emerged from the swirling vortex, wavering briefly before settling on a man with a pale complexion dressed in a pure-white robe and a vivid blue kasa. He stopped a pace away from the gate, turned, and extended a long-fingered hand toward the portal.

Moments later, a crimson-haired woman with amethyst skin clad in rags half-stumbled out of the gate, barely managing to clasp the man's hand before nearly pitching forward into the snow. A hollow laugh escaped her cracked lips. Steadying herself, she rewrapped a thick white cloak around her shivering body.

"Welcome home, my dear," the man said warmly. "Good as new. Better, in fact, if I know my daughter..." He gestured towards the three-story marble structure which rose in front of them.

From their sunken sockets, red-rimmed eyes took in the sight of the building as mixture of pain and relief washed over her features. Home...

----

“Who are they?” Kestal inquired. The man didn’t look familiar at all, but the woman she’d seen somewhere before.

Mystra sighed, as if not wanting to answer the question. “The man is Chancellor DaKaren,” she started hesitantly. “Thy father…”

Kestal stared dumbfounded at the goddess before turning back to the two near the building. “Father,” she spoke the word reverently, feeling Mystra’s grip on her shoulder tighten. “And the other?”

Mystra’s smile vanished, her jaw set as a stern look settled on her features. “She… She is someone freed from the darkness that would consume this world, Kestal. She is Martyna Z’muir…”

Kestal’s blood froze, the color drained from her face as the name sank in. Without conscious thought, she withdrew an obsidian dagger from a hidden sheath on her left inner thigh. The world formed a tunnel as all her senses focused on the elvin woman, the woman she must kill.

“Nay, child, I forbid it.” Mystra’s grip became vice-like.

Kestal’s face turned toward the goddess, her features twisted with grief and rage. “That is Nosfentor!” she hissed angrily. “I will end her before her reign of terror can begin! My mother sent me back to stop the war, that woman must die!”

The goddess shook her head slowly, not releasing her grip on the angry girl. “Nay, child. Thy mother sent thee back to aid in her rescue, not to murder her. We came here to watch the change, and to ensure your existence.” Nodding back to the buildings, her smile returned.

----

"MARTYNA!" shouted an exuberant voice from the second floor terrace of the marble building next door. A blond man dressed in a red robe leapt from the building’s edge with practiced ease, somehow managing to descend slowly to the ground a few feet from the newly arrived pair. He rushed toward the woman and lifted her into the air, a feat of strength which belied his tall, yet gaunt frame.

Smiling, he wrapped her into an embrace. "By the Virtues, Chancellor, thank you for rescuing her! I scarcely believed Dot’s words were true.."

"Save your thanks for the B.A.F., my friend,” the albino man said in a friendly voice as the other man continued to envelop Martyna in the bear hug. A strangled squeak of fright emanated from the folds of the white cloak.

"Killian, calm, she has been through quite the ordeal..." alarm evident in Chancellor Dakaren’s voice. He helped to extricate the exhausted librarian from her assistant’s embrace.

Eyes streaming with tears of joy, Martyna took a step back from Killian and put up a quivering hand to allay the concerned looks of her friends. “I… I’m fine,” she managed to stammer, wiping her eyes with the scrap of cloth which was once her left shirt sleeve. “I’m just so happy to be home and to see you all.”

Still looking concerned, Killian asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“Oh!” the librarian exclaimed. “No, it was not I that squeaked, but a friend who was instrumental in alerting my rescuers to my escape…” Martyna reached into a pocket hidden within the folds of the borrowed cloak she wore and removed a squirming, furry mass.

A tail whipped in a circle as the creature struggled to find balance in Martyna’s gentle grasp before it was snuggled in a fold of the cloak. Tiny beady black eyes blinked at the man in red, as a whiskered nose twitched franticly. “Meet Lotha-abbil, she shall be staying with me in the Library.”

A woman with vibrant pink hair finished descending the flight of stairs from the terrace of the Nameless Rune Library and strode to the odd quartet. “Welcome back Martyna,” she said with a smile, reaching out to hand the rat a morsel of bread. “I think this calls for a party…”

----

Kestal found herself strangely transfixed by the pink-haired woman, nearly failing to notice that the bark of the great yew beside her had begun to waver faintly. An image of a bearded man appeared at the heart of the ripples, seeming to grow larger as if moving toward her through a tunnel. A faint ‘pop’ heralded his arrival as the temporal disturbance faded behind him.

The man’s flowing white beard came down to his waist, almost matching his hooded robe in color. He bowed gracefully. “M’Ladies.”

“Blessed be, Watcher, ‘tis agreeable to see thee,” Mystra said, nodding her head respectfully.

The Watcher stepped toward the women, eying Kestal curiously. “I sensed change in the course, Sister, one that alters everything. Has father been meddling?”

A mirthful laugh escaped Mystra’s lips, her smile broadened. “Nay, Brother, he hath not been to this world since the failure in Moonglow. I believe he fears the Shadowlord’s influence, or that of their master, might trap him in the Void once more.” She pointed a graceful hand at the scene playing out by the buildings. “There is the change, Nosfentor’s vessel uncorrupted.”

“Indeed,” Watcher said, nodding. “A veritable family reunion, if only Grandmother were there…”

“She should be along shortly, Brother. Certain things cannot be changed.”

The Watcher looked at the ground a moment, then his eyes rose to Kestal. “I’m afraid what my Grandfather did may be beyond our ken, something fundamental has changed. I don’t believe Grandmother will be coming…”

“Wait,” Kestal said, confused. “You have family there?” she pointed at the libraries.

Mystra turned back to her, a slight gleam under her eyes. “Aye, child, we do. It is… complicated.” She turned back to the scene before them.

----

“I have a supply of Moonglow’s finest cider, perhaps a delicious marinated veal or venison?” Dot asked, relishing the thought of exquisite food.

“That sounds delicious, Dot. At this point, any well-prepared food would get my attention!” Martyna, tried not to let her stomach growl too loudly at the thought. “Perhaps a warm bath beforehand and some clean clothes…”

“You should go inside where it is warmer, Martyna. Dot can show you the repairs to the Library, I shall see if any of the B.A.F. are still feeling festive,” said DaKaren.

Killian began to lead Martyna towards the staircase up to her office and apartment. “This way m’lady, watch your step!” the red-robbed assistant cautioned good-naturedly.

“Just wait till you see the new vault, Martyna, the damned Triad would have to be crazy to try again,” Dot said proudly of the Library’s reconstruction as she followed up the stairs.

Martyna let them lead her partway up the stairs, “Wait,” she exclaimed, “I almost forgot!” Turning back down the stairs she rushed back to DaKaren. “I have something for you!” Reaching her fingers between her bosom, which elicited curious looks from her friends, and withdrew a golden disk.

“I believe this was intended for you, DaKaren.” She pressed the disk into his palm. “The man armored who sent Justicar Call through a silver moongate gave it to me.” She smiled wryly before turning to head back up the stairs and disappearing into the Library.

DaKaren watched her go with a raised eyebrow, before looking at the item. The disk itself was about seven and a half centimeters across and was emblazoned with a very familiar symbol. A raised silver ankh lay at the center of a stylized star. “Fascinating.”

The Chancellor stood there for several minutes as if waiting for someone. He glanced around in confusion for a moment before returning his attention to the disk. Gently twisting the edges of the disk in opposite directions caused a golden beam to emanate from the ankh and flash over his body. “Identity confirmed. Initiating message,” said a disembodied female voice.

Another flash of golden light flew from the disk to a point about two meters in front of him where it quickly resolved into a life-sized image of the Chancellor. His long white hair had been tied back into a ponytail and he wore an iridescent black uniform of obvious military design. A metallic ankh and star medallion was placed high on his sternum, while a silver circlet etched with ancient symbols wrapped around his head.


“DaKaren,” began the image with a knowing smile, “I know this breaks our personal feelings regarding continuity, however, I believe the fate of this world is more important…”

The image took on a stern visage, “The Shadowlords must not be allowed to ravage Sosaria, for they will spread from this shattered realm as a plague upon the multiverse. Their Master will settle for nothing less than total domination.

“Martyna was the key, for my future anyway…” he shrugged. “Should she be the one to give you this message, all may be restored. Should it come only from the Iron Knight, then may the Virtues be with you – I am sorry.

“I must warn you; even a better future will be fraught with peril. Watch your new Liege carefully, for he is under Their aegis.

“The light of Dralath shines brightly on the Nascent,” it said in a conspiratorial tone, nodding deliberately.

“Ethereal Star, out.” The ankh and sun symbol appeared in the air briefly before the image winked out.

The Chancellor stood in silence a moment, contemplating the message from his future self. “Fascinating. I believe this bestows new meaning to ‘talking to yourself,’” he said quietly.

Starting for the stairway up to Martyna’s home, he stopped on the second step and turned to look at the forest behind him. His gaze settled on the massive yew tree a hundred feet away. A quirked eyebrow and a wry smile were quickly hidden as he turned and ascended the stairs, a new future awaited…

----

Kestal watched her father disappear into the library, she longed to run to him and learn of his life… Maybe slip a knife into the heart of the librarian, just to be sure…

“I think he saw us, Watcher,” Mystra said, guiding the trio around the tree.

“Aye, hard to fool a Dral with a mere glamour, Sister.” The bearded man shrugged. “It matters not, he knows we mean well. I am more concerned that grandmother did not appear, that should not be possible.” He looked Kestal in the eyes. “For you to be possible, she had to appear…”

“Brother,” Mystra cautioned. “Thou must not speak of that...”

“Flux,” Watcher sighed, leaning against the massive tree. “We have set this point in flux… Grandfather always hated time travel, now I see why. I fear we must use it once more, Sister, for all our sakes.” He pointed at Kestal.

“What? Not again!” Kestal blurted, outraged. Still brandishing the dagger, she stepped towards The Watcher.

Mystra waved her hand at the weapon and it dissolved into a fine powder, lost to the wind and the snow. “He is right, child, you must leave this place. I understand now what we must do for you to survive; you have a destiny to fulfill after all.”

The Watcher stepped closer to his sister so he might whisper in her ear. “She must not remember this. Must not remember the future, meeting us, seeing…her,” he gestured at the library with his last word.

Mystra’s eyes widened slightly, emitting a soft azure glow. “Brother dear, don’t you see? This loop was meant to be, the universe is self correcting…” Mystra replied quietly, starting to stroke her left hand through Kestal’s dark tresses, beginning to change their color. “Her thread will endure.”

Watcher nodded sharply, watching the girl’s hair continue lighten. “A temporally recursive loop could potentially fracture causality across multiple dimensional folds… But, I agree. She must persist, if only for selfish reasons.”

Kestal’s blue eyes had unfocused and her went jaw slack.

“Father would be proud, Brother. Thee inherited his penchant for technobabble... and self preservation,” Mystra said with a smirk. “Please prepare the time gate.”

The Watcher stepped away from the tree and began to trace a complex series of silver runes in the air. He paused a moment, turning to look back as his sister completed her transformation of Kestal. “June of the year 300, I believe it was…” He traced several more runes before stepping away from his spell.

A chill wind whipped through the snow covered branches of the great yew, scattering the few remaining leaves before spiraling down to the glowing runes. Fine filaments of energy arced between each rune creating a pulsing silver glow which eventually grew into the form of a silver moongate.

Mystra and The Watcher led a confused looking toddler toward the gate, her long pink hair reflecting its light as it flowed over bare mocha skin. They stopped just short of entering, the Watcher bent down to look the completely transformed Kestal in the eyes.

“’Tis alright, little one.” he said quietly, brushing a tear of confusion from her cheek. “Thou art going to a better place, a better time.” He smiled, attempting to quell his own bout of tears. “Ye will finally meet thy father, my Grandfather.”

Kissing her on her forehead, he turned her toward the time gate. “Don’t worry, Mother, don’t worry…” A gentle push was all it took to ensure the paradox of her existence would continue…

---

Mid-June BY 300

A young-looking mage strode at a brisk pace through the maze-like canyons in the Serpent’s Spine Mountains. His purple cloak fluttered with the breeze of his travel, muffling the slight creaking of his bone armor.

He had decided to walk the distance from the tower of San Faelor to the Wind pentagram on a whim, choosing to eschew the rune which would have transported him directly there. It had been a long trek from the Order’s tower north of Vesper; however, the perfect weather had made the journey a delight.

He neared the final fork leading to the entrance hall. He was lost in thoughts concerning the impending trade negotiations between the Oder and the independent city when a small wail reached his ears.

Preparing an energy bolt to fend off a potential attack, he crept cautiously up to an intersection of pathways through the canyons. He raised a brow at the sight before him. It wasn’t the expected orc marauder or undead horror, but a naked pink-haired little girl. She stood next to a murky puddle looking up at him with frightened eyes, a sprig of nightshade drooped out of the right side of her mouth, wiggling as she chewed.

“Greetings,” the mage said in his friendliest voice. “Is your mommy or daddy around?” He glanced around the empty canyons.

“Daddy!” the girl burbled excitedly, her chubby legs bring her unsteadily towards him. She grabbed at his black robes. “Daddy!”

Taking off his cloak, he knelt down and wrapped it around her before scooping her into his arms. He stood and looked for her wayward parents once again. Still seeing nothing, he lowered his gaze to the child. “My name is DaKaren, what’s yours?”

The girl’s big blue eyes took on a new look of confusion. She reached up and grabbed a handful of the mage’s pale blue hair. “Doty Wan-nah,” she said hesitantly and then burst into giggles.

DaKaren smiled at the girl’s peculiar mirth, raising a hand to tussle her bright pink hair. “Alright, Dot is it? Let’s go find your parents…”

They strode through the last canyon and entered the marble hallway which led to Wind. Stepping onto the brazier-flanked pentagram they disappeared in a burst of swirling sparkles and into their shared destiny.



“Umbra Posterus averted, its chasm yawns no more.
Though future’s strife must persist for Paradox becomes anchor in the storm,
As shadows rage and plot, their minions infect our core.

Protect the ones you Love, for through Courage the Truth shall set thee free.”

-The Watcher

Umbra Posterus will return.