Shalom

Hazarmaveth stood in the center of his realm, a warm cityscape draped in warm twilight before. This was the land he had created, Shalom. It is a place of comfort and solitude, it was neither too hot or too cold, but was as much as it needed to be. It changed, it grew, and evolved for every occupant that took residence here, like it were a dream. It was a paradise he gave anyone that had at least more desire of kindness than hatred of others. It is like a piece of art, the height of his creativity. Of course, much of it was shaped by the dreams of the residing mortals, a concept he has never quite experienced himself. He wasn't even certain that he could dream, for that matter.

He had gotten news from Renwick that a man from the past has returned, somehow saved by being spirited away into the space of the Great Essences. Memories of that age were still vivid within his mind, and this information brought to mind an anomaly briefly felt upon the point where his brother brought down his wrath. Why now, he wondered. Told to him also was that beasts of before fall were being called back from the dead by Bashemath... has she already grown powerful enough to return even dry old bones?

As he mulled over his thoughts he hears something, music. He floated across the street and leans towards a building gripping his cane and leaning against a lamp lit with a serene blue flame. Festivities were taking place in a rather cozy looking household. A collective of souls have gathered for a party, no doubt. He dared not intervene, it was enough to just... listen a little. It was things this little that made it worthwhile. For that moment his worries and regrets melt away, and in a trance he sits down against the wall of the household feeling what is an unfamiliar sensation of drowsiness, and so his eyes close for the moment.

Sleep, if I could just steal but a few hours of it, he thinks. A being as he needed neither sleep nor food, and yet the former sounds that much more enthralling lately, especially well over a century without it. With this, all becomes a blur as he drifts off.

ching, ching
ching, ching

The light sound of bells softly rings through the air some time later, though the relevance of time here is a moot concept at best. Hazarmaveth stirs and stands up, glancing back to hear the music had ended and souls had went to rest.

ching, ching
ching, ching

With this he is fully alert once more, coming to the realization that these are his bells. They are alerting him that someone has entered his realm.

ching, ching
ching, ching

It had been a while since something had been able to detect Tir'Ish's presence. The bells, clearly noting his arrival, nearly startled the mist-form god. Ages past, they had the same effect - being very unexpected. Not harsh, not invasive, but unexpected.

This champion seemed to have been able to retain a shadow of his powers even after his death. They were unknown to Tir'Ish, and he was unwilling to divulge his many secrets. Finally, after much futile persuasion, Tir'Ish allowed him his rest and departed. But now, with the Ichor, he might get somewhere. Or, rather, she might get somewhere. Tir'Ish had learned that he had a series of lovers during his life, but never did find someone who reciprocated those feelings. So, being in the form of a warrior maiden was what put this mighty soldier at ease more than anything else.

Descending and alighting onto the world, her mist-form assembled to mimic the appearance of the departed. She matched the hair style, clothing, and body language of that era, then proceeded to walk through the realm. It was best, she found, when the champion found her as opposed to the other way around.

Tir'Ish Na-Ahn
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It wasn't too long before the champion noticed the form of the warrior maiden. This resting place wasn't too much of a resting place when the same figure came to haunt you once every age or so. Tir'Ish had long since abandoned the name of this great warrior, and had resorted to simply calling him "champion".

"Champion! I must speak with you."

"Can you not leave me at peace? I have already said, these are called secrets for a reason. I know why you have come."

She expected this. There are going to be resistance, and the knowledge this warrior held was something few, if any, had.

"The world you saved is in danger. Tell me, have you heard of the Black Ichor?

There was no room for pleasantries between them. The champion furrowed his brow.

"No...I have not. But it doesn't ma--"

"It is a result of the catastrophe that took your life," Tir'Ish said while cutting him off. "It threatens the people. There are undoubtedly dangers that avatars and elementals are not prepared for. Please, for the sake of your world, reveal the power you used!"

The champion paused, but only for a moment.

"I don't know who you are, but I know you are no mere mortal. You are deity, and as such this type of magic is not for your hands. My answer remains."

Tir'Ish noted, without surprise, that this was going to take a while.

"How peculiar to have a visitor still in their first life," the voice of Hazarmaveth is heard as his ethreal body solidifies nearby from what appear as shreds carried in the wind, his flame igniting, giving off a soft blue light. "Actually... that has never happened before, but that is likely thanks in no small part to your pure form. Still, it would have been polite to let the keeper of the realm know of your arrival.."

He steps forward softly, raising his staff pointing to the champion then at Tir'Ish, his otherworldly eyes narrowing, his flame twirling as if caught by a breeze.

"Normally we leave the residents to their new lives without worries of their prior one, I apologize for this," he says softly, his last comment directed to the champion. He stops to plant his staff onto the ground, looking downcast upon his black hands. "But I now know why you are here. Perhaps I was negligent to be as forthcoming as I should have been. That is to say, I am more related to this than I stated back in Raelenea, much more than I like to admit..."

"Weapon," Hazarmaveth responds in confusing, glaring over at his cane. "Quell... I hardly consider that a weapon. Even with the adamant threads, the lethality is dubious, let alone I'm regrettably less skilled of a combatant than most mortals."

He chuckles somewhat, shrugging his shoulders, he then looks back downwards. His mood fell back into grim depths.

"As for my connection," he says, returning to his previous statement. "It was consequence, yes, but it is hard not to recognize one's own blood... or what passes for such for one as I. The Black Ichor... a sickness of the earth, between the crevice of life and death, flesh and aether... our legacy. I have felt it for a while but I wished not to accept it, cowardly as usual, but it was in fact conceived somehow from Abaranne and I."

Tir'Ish
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Tir'Ish slowly sheathed her ghost of a weapon - though for the god of energy, even a ghost weapon can do quite a bit.

"Explain," she said, after a short pause. "I understood that this was a mistake. That's why one of my elementals is on a mission to test it - to either create new life or to identify a possible weapon. Why - no, how are you involved with it?"

This was bad, actually. If this was a creation of the gods, then it was much more dangerous than previously supposed. Tir'Ish had a sudden dread for what might be happening back with the group of adventurers.

"Why - no, how are you involved with it?"

Tir'Ish' words had barely fallen when she felt an abrupt tug inside her chest. The part of her that was the energy given to Kana had just exploded. The timing literally could not have been worse. Putting aside the normal sense of reservation, she looked dead in Hazermavth's eyes.

"Speak fast, as it is time for me to go. My devotee, an elemental, has successfully accomplished the quest I gave her. If there is any sentience in this Black Ichor, if this is a creation of the gods, then we may have something a bit more dangerous on our hands. A portion of me, a collection of pure energy, has just collided with the Ichor. If you feel like that could be bad, talk fast.

As she finished, her legs began to turn back into mist form. It was time to find either the new weapon or new life that was created. Regardless if Tir'Ish now had a new child or a potential way to die, the faster it found out the better. Even while reverting into mist form, the pseudo warrior maiden maintained her gaze with Hazarmaveth. Noting that the champion she came to speak with had long since fled, this was her last chance for answers before returning to Kana.

"You... why, it was only a... no... pure energy created her, this would only," he mumbles, pacing around with his head held low, his energy flowing off him like drips. He was panicked, he had never expected this, why would he? It was only a scouting party, not an assault, or testing ground for some experiment. He could feel it even here, like a surge of electricity through his body. "It was never supposed to spread, or think, only my desire to bring Abaranne back... the only thing I had on my mind at the time, it was barely even animal, but something changed... the Black Ichor identified itself, obtained a name, a Rishonic name, no less, and with it an individual resolve I could no longer monitor... and now something has changed again... and... a change throughout Aettean itself."

Within moments, Hazarmaveth holds out a long hand and a series of strange glowing symbols form in the air, our from his palm, in a pattern around what immediately opens as a gateway. He looks through into it, then back at Tir'Ish.

"I never lied, it is or was despair, born from mine, merged with her's, and then held its own," he continues, solidifying that the Black Ichor was only a consequence of his emotional state at the time, rather than an intended creation. "I never should have abandoned it there, I never thought it would yearn for anything... whatever she is now, the world itself now recognizes her as a part of its natural order... and I can no longer track her."

With this he hangs his head and walks through the gate, right amidst the group in Erste'gart.

ching, ching
ching, ching

The bells rang once more just as Tir'Ish was about to leave and shortly after Hazarmaveth had already departed. Xyr had come to Shalom, having sensed yet another visit to it from Tir'Ish. He knew about this from the feelings of the champion, almost anxiety driven into fear of the next visit from an unwelcome guest. Not nightmare worthy, not yet. But Xyr would see to what this champion needed. Just that little extra push required. Even if Tir'Ish stays in Shalom it would not deter Xyr from his goal. He settles near the champion, and another book the same as the one he had left in Ertse'gart manifested next to his lap. The two were connected, whereas one would be written in and the other would show the same writing. A way of communication, and perhaps the release of pent up emotions. A penpal, if one were to take it that way. Xyr only whispered into his mind, with feelings instead of words. "Dreams are meant to be shared...." And with that Xyr was away, the only incentive needed now given. He had his own copy of the book and would be watching as things unfolded in time.....