Cotillion's Story

Senses afire with flavors of what pursued, Cotillion slid through veils like a serpent. To keep the entity's attention solely on his back, he began to slip into realms not his own, the play of light and darkness making the opportunities available to the Shadow he called home nigh limitless. And some gates, he drew portions of them in his wake, shaping his powers around them like capsules.

A pocket of pure, radiant light, a portion of miasmic chaos. Pocket after pocket of deadly, etheric energies, contained and shrouded in the merely, lightest sheath of woven shadow, simple contact suffice to shred the cocoon and unleash the contained power within to cataclysmic eruptions. Threads woven around unsuspecting powers lurking within their domains, bound like a fly in the web of the god who fled with increasing haste ahead. Anything he noted in passing that could slow at all the behemoth surging on his heels, that would mark the strike and thus refocus whatever intelligence it had on nothing but vengeance.

And the finish line of this manic rush coming up with enough speed to offer the most welcome relief, something the patron of assassins refused to allow to slow his flight, to ease the pressure of his hammering heart.

Great crimson globes of light the size of small stars mass toward a gargantuan open maw of void and yellow spires closest to Cotillion. It was not these alone, but the breaking apart of the nearest globes, and the protoplasmic flesh that flowed blackly outward to join together and form that hideous eldritch horror’s outer shell, that spawn of the blankness of primal time, that tentacle amorphous monster which is the lurker at the threshold, whose mask was as a congeries of iridescent globes, the noxious unnamed old god, who froths as primal slime in nuclear chaos beyond the nethermost outposts of space and time. It came on and lashed out to grasp the god, rending stars and worlds in its passing to be cut and rent time and time again by the flash of a blade at Cotillion’s flank.

It is a terrible thing, an All-in-One, and One-in-All of limitless being and self—not merely a thing of one space-time continuum, but allied to the ultimate animating essence of existence's whole unbounded sweep—the last, utter sweep which has no confines and which outreaches fancy and mathematics alike. It is perhaps that which certain secret cults of Terra and places more distant have whispered, and which has been a deity under many different names.

It is all knowing and all seeing and yet was not so for the High Wardens and those in their care. They were unknowable and refused to be bound to the terror’s whim or discounted like mortals in the face of a cosmic horror and driven to insanity and madness. This is how they contend and hold the door. The immovable objectified as their will was steadfast against the unstoppable and malefic force of a creature that existed beyond the restraints of reality, space and time. Their purpose fulfilled for eons uncounted and at this time, in the presence of a peer they are found to be in need of assistance for they were weary despite all their efforts and preparations.

Still the cusp of a great prison loomed ever closer as Cotillion cast obstacles to slow the great evil that pursued him. Not enough damage could be done to destroy the horror. The line was crossed and the great evil far larger than any star would find that it could not escape drawn ever closer and at greater speed until the frames of time distorted and great portions of the creature were plastered on the outer shell of oblivion and a horizon of observation that could not be bridged and which nothing can escape, save perhaps the entity itself if allowed respite.

Chains were drawn and fell across the mass of writhing flesh in furious motion before being pulled taunt. Still the thing resisted and started to tear free of its prison despite the powers arrayed against it and the tug of infinite gravity. The rope was yanked and Cotillion was hoisted away if the movement was not resisted but below the links start to crack as the prisoner wedges its body in the door of its cell.

"Shi-"

All the tricks, gambits, sleights, and deceits in the world below failed in the face of particular overwhelming strength. He was tugged, but the glint of a knife, and his life-line parted.

Cotillion's actions were half-guided by frantic, racing thoughts, half by pure instinct. Reaching with one hand into a pouch at his belt, the god drew forth a bizarrely mundane item, but a simple iron dagger. The other hand slipped through the veil of space, grasping at a power that refused to be grasped, before hurling himself out of the way of the particular gate his fingers caught the end and tore open.

Starvald Demelain.

In his own portion of this fractured nexus of realms, galaxies, and worlds, dragons sat at the top of a pyramid of power. Alone, their threat was high, but they were just as mortal as the next. But Cotillion did not tear the veil to a single dragon, but the warren of dragons. "Tiam says fuck you."

An incandescent burst of power that shook the god as would a rag doll streamed from the ragged wound, its flavors a chaotic blend of rampant energies that streamed for this elder monstrosity, the rough equivalent of one of the human nations starship cannon, compared to the lance of his own magic of his warren. Of all the gods, Cotillion most routinely played the games of gamble and chance, and still the sight of his own chilled his blood.

And so he hurled the knife, such a mundane, seemingly useless item. Yet.

He had never understood why enchanted bound spells into valuable baubles and trinkets. A mage he had once known bound his most important spells in acorns, for just that reason. For the knife was a Mhybe, a vessel, prepared in the manner of a Finnest, and the last portions had been set. With fortune on his side, and the god struck into his prison, the knife would be but one more lock on the door, as it captured a portion of its essence...

And created an Azath.

The knife seared space and ceased to remain a knife in its flight. A bolt joined with it lensing distant star light as it went and spiraled the Azath like a great screw. The King of the Blackguards had thrown his weapon and it crashed and drilled down into the heart of the cosmic terror as another projectile followed. The chains clenched up as if they were caught in a fan spinning in the opposite direction. Behind Cotillion was Arden and his left hand outstretched held a bow called Cláirseach. He had fired from the bow a weapon named Caladcholg. The projectile cut space and drug it with great weight and rotation, a smaller version of the great prison below them cast to collide.

The great evil was shredded by an attack that held all the power and essence of the assassin god. Its roars and great anger could be heard by the three even in the vacuum and despite the sink hole that loomed below them and drew them ever closer. Caladcholg came on and twisted Slabhraí, the chains. The links dug deep, gouged deep, and splintered to sunder the creature's flesh in chasms as wide as Zeus's namesake. Space twisted and Eluv called out to Cotillion a warning. "Come away! Least you be pulled into the prison!" She reached for him as light warped around their perceptions, with force strong enough to bend even their senses. The maw of destruction devoured Caladcholg and shot forth a spike brighter than the whole of the galaxy to bifurcate the great elder god that clawed at the infinite abyss. Despite the gamma ray burst it would and could not die but its strength did wane and it fell. The precipice loomed ever closer for the three as they struggled to escape.



The great elder god had fallen into the abyss. They had succeeded in delaying the inevitable but at what cost was a victory that no one would remember? Would they escape or would they be chained with the great evil and corrupted?

Slinging his arm toward the woman, Cotillion could see it was useless even as the grasp drew him deeper. Yet Cotillion was a wily god, and wily gods did not live to the lengths of time he had without foresight. And though his actions had been intended for no more than binding the gate shut, directly before him lay the key to slipping the jaws of death once again.

Turning and moving with the draw, Cotillion layered shadows over shadows, weaving with a speed born of desperation, a skill born of practice in such. Twisting spectral armor about himself, he plunged into the bloom, a ragged breath of relief born as on the surface of the prison, defying logic and laws of the realms, lay a bewildering sight. A house, as though brick and mortar had been lain over the surface of the singularity, twisted roots delving deep into the black Abyss. Relief turned into suspicion, suspicion into pain announced with a bellowed curse and he was snatched in the grip and slammed against the doors themselves.

Struggling to move, to breath, the god could merely roll a fist against the door, the most muted of knocks he'd ever given.

Nothing happened.

As he felt shadows tearing, life being crushed, however, they snapped open, spilling him on flagstones within, pressure taken away as suddenly as heat vanishes within a sheltered home. Giving the walls a glare fit to kill, Cotillion unceremoniously stood, straightened his attire, and walked deeper within.

Moments later, space tore and twisted for but an instant, a seething wound that spat loose the god well away from the hellish trap, snapping behind him with formal suddenness. With a sigh, the god let tension drain from his weary form. "I hate playing rabbit.

As the doors to the Azath slammed shut once more na slabhraí na Maor, the Chains of the Warden constricted it and bound the doors closed. Arden and Eluv would shimmer into view at Cotillion's left side, Arden's bow still in his left hand. "I thought you were lost." Arden paused long and Eluv spoke. "I can contrive of no stronger prison in existence. It will have to hold until a solution presents itself."

The prison, the cage had three barriers, three levels that supported each other in a triforce of crushing power anchored into a natural prison, the singularity. The first of these impassible barriers was the Azath House. This was Cotillion's part and how he had escaped for it was connected to anything within the reach of what it was rooted and was fueled by tapping into ancient motes and channels of raw power arcane, divine, and even the churning of the neigh infinite force in which it was rooted. These houses arose where unchained power threatened life and in great need by the desperate. They are the ultimate prisons in which ascendants or great and terrible mages are kept alive.

Eluv's part was na slabhraí na Maor, the Chains of the Warden were the chains used to originally bar the doors to this entity and others like it. The endless ages and eons had eroded their power greatly and they could no longer contend against a force such as the one which they were now employed. They yet had a power similar to the Azath House and could bind ascendants and the gods of the pantheon should the need arise.

The Caladcholg, the Hard Blade or the Hard Cleft was a spiral sword in the shape of a unicorn's horn. It ground down on the roof of the Azath House, twisting space in the opposite direction to form a second smaller singularity that sandwiched the house and constricted the chains.

So it was that the abomination and enemy of existence was bound within the singularity, caged in an unbreakable prison powered by the churning gravity of the infinite density. This prison was wrapped in indestructible chains twisted and tightened with indescribable force and sandwiched again between another point of infinite density and gravity. Yet this would not be enough to hold it for all eternity. If it had been one of these three it would have been more than enough but it was something much stronger.

Of the three Cotillion would be the first to know should the prison's power waiver for the Azath was the first barrier the elder old god would have to overcome and the assassin god was in some small part, connected to it. For now they were safe.

"How long?", asked Eluv. Arden just stared down at the glowing accretion disc. A star was getting torn apart. "I do not know. We will need more help when it happens." They all looked winded but the two wardens turned to Cotillion and offered him a shallow bow. "Thank you.", they said in unison.

"I've got a fix." The Tactical officer reported, and a large icon flickered to life on the holographic display in front of Admiral Hanley.

She affixed her gaze to the soft cyan hues of the representation of space, with the occasional lighter icon depicting space debris. She watched the flickering yellow outline of the Obsidian Eagle.

"Hail them." Admiral Hanley instructed.

"Obsidian Eagle, this is the Esteem broadcasting on a priority one channel, please respond."

The message would repeat until they responded, as the hulking form of the Reverence II rounded an errant asteroid.

Hanley Grimaced, as the full projection of the Obsidian Eagle flickered in front of her, the dull hum of the Reverence's CIC's systems filled her ear, offering a distracting ambiance from the gravity of the situation.

She turned towards EVE, and began to nod. "Transmit all relevant data on the Asylian attacks on the Empire, and their known intention." The Admiral instructed, and EVE quickly complied, before she opened the comms channel.

"We need your help, an entity that calls themselves the Kingdom of Asylia have declared war, they have invaded the Imperial core systems, and have been carrying out hit and run attacks. They are adept in the use of magics, and psionics, and they are technologically advanced than us." These were strange words coming from an Aschen officer, whom usually regarded their training and equipment as the best.

"They hit Molecay, and the colony world of Cryo, and we've suffered heavy losses from their attacks." The Admiral explained.