Cronoan: The Herald
THIRD RITUAL CONDITION: No player may impede the Herald.
Decad may be defeated, or its cause simply set back; the Company doesn't know, but it feels a grim satisfaction in having, at last, struck back at the Avatarchs. The foray was successful, and so it is with more hope that the Company decides to continue to follow the dracsadha vision, and go to where Pip believes Sardonicus dwells, in Cronoan.
"Is this really it?" Earle asks, when they arrive. Surely, it is a strange place for a Metal God to have chosen.
Cronoan is a small fishing village nestled on rocky cliffs overlooking the cold northern ocean. Everything is painted in gray and black: the northern waters, the rocky beach, the jagged cliffs, the squat stone huts with their flint roofs. Small fishing boats rock in the waves, and colorless nets have been hung out to dry.
The heroes look around silently, oppressed by the scene's starkness. The village is all but empty. Only one man can be seen, sitting on the edge of a stone well, playing a pipe. The thin notes sound like the whistling wind and shrieking gulls.
Hailed, he looks up, long black hair whipped back by the sea breeze. A black domino mask covers the upper half of his face. A shiver goes down the Company members' backs as they recognize another scene from the dracsadha vision.
"The Herald," Caprice whispers at once. The Company shifts curiously, thoughts flying over Pip's mindlink. Dake Half-Masked, the herald and friend of Darion Sun-Blazoned -- whom, many say, is now reborn in Malachi.
Dake Half-Masked who, a few of the Company have speculated wildly, may have been -- may be -- the Elder God Jagganath himself.
He doesn't look very godlike, lowering the flute from his lips. Frankly, The Onieromancer looked more impressive.
"What have you come to tell us?" Elianora asks, stepping forward.
The Herald straightens and points. It takes a moment for the heroes' eyes to adjust, but then they see that a castle has been carved into the cliffside, much like the castle of Saldon. Windows and balconies open up in the rock, overlooking the sea.
"Look, if you must," the Herald says in a pleasant but otherwise unremarkable tenor. "But it is against Mock that you must strike next."
"Why?" Pip demands.
"Rid the board of the weakest pieces; the strong will then be divided, fighting against each other and against you."
"So it's all a game," Halkem intones with resignation. "I knew it."
"A game to them. Survival to us."
"Yes, what about you?" Valere asks challengingly. "What part do you have in all of this?"
The Herald falls silent a moment, dark eyes thoughtful.
"If this is the Avatarchs' game, it is a game much like chess; and chess is easily won if the moves are calculated far enough in advance. To prevent such an easy victory, I believe they have made me the loose piece on their board."
"'Made you'? Then they're more powerful than you? You can't stop them?" Caprice asks, probingly.
"The Avatarchs are primal forces, created long before the eldest gods themselves. But because they are all-powerful, they are familiar with boredom, and that is why they amuse themselves with restrictions and champions. They will allow themselves to be defeated, if we play their game well; but nobody is powerful enough to simply overturn their board and refuse to play."
"You're being very helpful all of the sudden," Minimin says suspiciously. "Why? What do you get out of all of this? And why didn't you show up a year or two ago?"
Caprice kicks him and the paladins shoot him a dirty look, but Pip and Halkem look interested in the answer. Over the link, Minimin protests that he's just rephrasing Valere's question. The mental fuss dies down as the Herald answers.
"What do I get? Peace." The Herald looks away and gazes at the ocean. "This world is my responsibility. Even had I not made promises to Darion, I would have had to return to resist the Avatarchs. I cannot abandon what I have created.
"Why didn't I show up earlier? I was asleep. I have been asleep for a very long time."
"Can't you do something more useful NOW, then?" Minimin asks irreverently. "Maybe come along with us and kick Mock's boil-covered a--" The last word is cut off by a series of kicks, glares, and mental warnings.
"I've declared Champions and given them artefacts, visions, and guidance. I've set you on the board and done my best to reveal to you the rules as quickly as I learn them." The Herald looks at each of the Company in turn. "But my battle is on another level than this; you have felt its repercussions already, and you will feel many more ere the war is over. You are fighting for the material world. We are fighting for the spiritual. But I promise you that I will be there to sound the charge at the Final Confrontation, and I will carry our standard into battle against the remaining Avatarchs. All of the gods who manage to survive the skirmishes will be there."
Elianora takes charge and politely thanks the Herald, leading the rest of the Company to make similarly polite murmurs. There are so many questions each one wants to ask -- but each knows that this isn't the time.
"Go with my blessing," the Herald says in farewell, and dissolves in a flock of crows that fly in a hundred different directions.
"Check that one off the list," Minimin mutters.
Earle teleports the Company to one of the stone balconies, and they group looks in expectantly. Seeing the dry husk of a skin blown by the chill sea breeze is almost a disappointment. Valere probes at it with his sword and lifts it on the point. The skin still holds some shape and color, like a snake's, and it is an abomination to behold. Feeling ill, the paladin shakes it off his sword and the Company, heeding the Herald's advice, teleports away to the Djerjain Jungle.
