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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(x)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
The champion is here, Núrodur.
He saw nothing, but as the rat turned his head to
one side he caught sight of the first bit of
light that did not seem obscured in the realm. A
column of glittering radiance that seemed no
color and every color at once approached from
their left. It was tall and narrow and moved
without care for the souls of mortals strewn in
its path. The rat pulled the Sondeshike closer as
if guarding it with his blackened flesh.
The figure stopped a dozen paces from them and
Charles could see that the light shimmered from a
hooded cloak he wore. The rat's eyes could not
linger on any one spot of the cloak for more than
a moment; there was no pain in trying, it merely
shimmered with such irregularity that his eyes
naturally skimmed around its surface in vain hope
for an anchor. The features beneath the cloak
were darkened but visible in the shadowed light
of his garment. Angular cheeks, pointed ears,
pale skin, and almond eyes tilted upward at the
outside illumined the face of an elf, cousin race to his master.
The champion's hands gripped a diamond-studded
pommel. The sword was perfect in every way.
Charles felt a menace in its existence more
palpable than the champion himself. He hissed,
crouched and swept out his tail behind him. Only
his master's stilling hand and assuring thoughts silenced his tongue.
You are the Champion of Ba'al, the Åelf said
with disinterest as if the figure were no more
notable than stars on a moonless night. What errand brings you?
The rat beast, the champion replied with an
elegant voice, haughty and cultured. Lord Ba'al
has granted him an audience and bids him come. I
suppose you are also invited. And with that the
champion turned around and started back the way
he came. Charles did not move until he felt the
Åelf's hand gently press on his still-furred back.
They will not harm you, Núrodur. Come.
Charles kept as close to his master as he could
without tripping over his feet. He eyed the
champion warily, his eyes ever drawn to the sword
whose immaculate silver tip seemed, if it were
impossible, incomplete. The rat felt certain that
the sword wanted to be dripping blood. There was
a palpable sense of menace within its luminous perfection.
The champion kept a quick pace that the rat had
difficulty matching. The elf's long legs allowed
him to easily step over the prone souls that were
strewn about the endless wasteland. His master
also showed no difficulty in navigating the
treacherous maze of silhouettes. But Charles,
with his short crook-shanked legs, was forced to
stretch to step over the damned.
Each soul appeared no clearer to him even in the
glimmering radiance of the champion's cloak and
the quicksilver glamor of the diamond-encrusted
sword. The rat could only discern the outlines of
arms, legs, heads, and even tails or wings for
Keeper souls or the souls of other beastly races.
He would not allow himself to look at their
faces, but noted only what he needed in order to
step past them. Not that he had the time to study
their faces or any part of them with the pace the daedra elf set.
Charles avoided more souls than he could count as
they followed the path set by the champion, but
the haste was too much for his short legs. One
particular soul had his elbow thrust upward, and
Charles caught it with the bottom of his paw.
Into his mind, through the barriers placed by his
master, shared that soul's vision. He saw Gibson
counting coins in his webbed hands as his googly
eyes surveyed a row of Glen children shackled
hand and foot and threaded to a long chain.
Swarthy men dragged the children up a plank onto a corsair slick with muck.
The rat drove his Sondeshike downward into the
soul, crushing bones and sinew. He kicked and
clawed with his paws, tearing and gouging the
flesh, as a shriek erupted from within him. For a
moment he felt his black flesh blaze with the
evisceration. More splatters of tar sizzled
through the remnants of his attire to join the rest already coating his flesh.
Do not destroy the crops, the champion said
with the clipped tone of a command. Charles
looked up from his effort and briefly met the
elf's gaze. His master's hand rested on his
shoulder and the rat straightened. Oh, I see.
The elf's thin lips stretched ever so slightly
though not into a smile. He extended the sword
toward the rat, but more to show him the flat of
the blade than to brandish it. You no longer share the sins of the damned.
Even through the all-encompassing barrier within
him where he felt his master's presence, Charles
could sense a change. The pinpricks of vision
that had found a way through were no more. What
the champion had said had come true. Startled,
the rat leaned into the Åelf and sucked in his
breath. Before he could form a thought, the elf
champion lowered the blade and turned around,
casting only a single command over his shoulder.
Do not keep Lord Ba'al waiting, rat beast.
They resumed their walk in the silence of the
vast emptiness. Charles clutched the Sondeshike
close to his chest, trying to corral his
thoughts. He stepped over another five souls
before he could finally express himself to his master's presence.
What are we going to do?
We will follow the champion to his lord and master, Núrodur.
Is that wise? What will he do to us?
He will tempt you, Núrodur. Even I cannot see the
manner in which his temptation shall come. But I
do not believe that he will threaten you.
Tallakath, Revonos, and Agemnos all threatened
you but it availed them nothing. The temptation
of desire and greed has been laid before you but
you turned aside from it already. You conquered
Klepnos's madness. He will know all that has
transpired in its fullness. What he lays before
you will leave all before but pale imitations.
I'm not sure, master.
Trust in my strength, Núrodur. He cannot touch
that. Remember your oath of fidelity to me. I will see you through.
Charles allowed that comforting thought to fill
him as he kept walking. Whether they walked hours
or days he could not tell. Nor could he recall
how many more souls he stepped across, kicked
with his claws, or otherwise scrambled over to
follow after the champion. But eventually he
sensed a change in the world around him. The air
which he did not feel in his breath felt cold
against his still-furred back. A power dwelt
before them, immeasurable and ancient, touching
everything living or dead in the realm.
The ground dipped into a hollow and the gloom, if
possible, deepened. The only light that still
shone was the glimmer of the champion's cloak,
and the corona limning his master. None of these
were sufficient for Charles to even see his own
blackened skin anymore. He feared tripping over
the souls, but the ground was bereft of any
damned, and apart from the uncertain slope Charles had no difficulty walking
Beyond the champion he could sense the power
coalesce. A towering form stretched above them,
darker than pitch even in the moonless gloom, it
nevertheless had a shape he could discern. As
they neared, its height dwindled until it stood
no taller than his master or the champion. The
daedra elf fell to one knee before the figure,
and at last the rat could see its eyes. They
glowed a blue-white light as pure and as vibrant
as an alchemist's flame. Those eyes captured him
in their regard and Charles felt as if he were no
larger than a normal rat. He put his left hand on
his master's middle to steady himself, while the
right lowered the Sondeshike. It would do no good here.
The figure shifted, and what seemed an arm
stretched forth. The voice that came from the
face which seemed only to have eyes was suffused
with a power that trembled in his bones, but was
nevertheless soft and genial. He could do nothing
but listen to that voice. Welcome to my realm,
Sir Charles Matthias. You have undertaken a very
long journey to reach me here. You have faced
many dangers, many threats, and still here you
are, more or less as you once were. I am Ba'al,
Lord of the Daedra. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.
Charles, in his anxiety, tried to press his
tongue against the back of his teeth, but the
slickness of the tar coating each made his tongue
slip from his jaws instead. He gasped, drew it
back, and stammered. I have no business here. I seek to pass Beyond.
That is possible for you, Ba'al admitted; he
seemed to shrug but Charles couldn't be sure.
The way is here. Allow me to be a gracious host
and show you where the door is.
To the rat's surprise everything around them in
the hollow grew a shade brighter. The light
seemed to come from nowhere, and at the lip of
the hollow it simply stopped. The depression
reminded the rat of a dried-up lake bed, with
hard uninteresting dirt beneath their feet and
nothing else. They, along with Ba'al and his
champion, stood on one slope of the hollow. At
the center, behind the figure still dark with
only the brilliant blaze of his azure eyes to
give any light, was a deeper depression whose
bottom he could not see. His gaze elided from its
surface in much the same way he could not see
beyond the sides of each bridge. Was it too an
edge of reality through which they must break? Could it even be done?
It can and it will.
Charles stretched out an arm, and then grimaced
as he stared at the blackness of his own flesh.
The tar was wholly indistinguishable from the
outline of his body, so that he did not appear to
possess any depth; it seemed more akin to the
shadow of his arm than to his actual arm. He
withdrew the limb and pressed it against his
chest. He was very grateful in that moment that
Ba'al had not provided him a mirror.
Now that you can see it, Sir Matthias, I am
going to tell you why you do not wish to take
this door. Ba'al stepped forward, and in an
amorphous arm grasped the sword, claiming it from
the champion's outstretched arms. The daedra lord
seemed to glance at the weapon for a moment, as
if intrigued by the craftsmanship of a device he
had not been familiar with, before he set the
point at his feet. It did not rest on the ground,
but fixed firmly in place an inch above as if
wedged in solid rock. I am going to tell you why
you what you truly wish is to become my disciple.
Even through his anxiety the rat snorted and
shook his head. His left hand tightened its grip
on the Åelf's robes. Your disciple? Never!
Ba'al tilted his head to one side in the manner
of an affable elder amused at the antics of the
young. Sir Matthias, you malign me, but I do not
take offense. It is understandable that you would
refuse. But you have mistaken my offer. I do not
wish you to be as my champion here. I see the
thirst for justice in you. I see the light that
even soul tar cannot wholly hide. You are,
despite much that you have done of late, a good
man. I admire you for that, and would not change it.
Suddenly confused, Charles could only blink and
shrink further against his master. Ba'al's face
and eyes seemed to smile in a familiar way
despite lacking any feature save that unwavering
gaze. Yes, I ask you to be my disciple, but that
does not mean I wish you to be evil. I have my
champion for such. I seek you rather as a knight,
one to do good to balance the evil. We daedra are
the natural balance to the aedra. Good and evil,
not in conflict with each other, but in balance.
Harmony. Light and dark, day and night, hot and
cold, dry and wet, Winter and Summer, Spring and
Autumn, predator and prey, and many, many
others. Briefly that gaze lifted away from
Charles. Creation and entropy, he intoned,
flatly, before his gaze came back to the rat
before him. You know them all, Sir Matthias. You
know them all. Opposites which require each other.
Ba'al spread his free arm wide and his eyes
seemed to sweep across all of reality even though
the wan light only brought the narrow hallow into
relief. If you have no night, then all your
crops will wither and die from the unending heat.
And then all the animals and all the races of the
world will die with them. If you have no day,
then none of your crops will grow and everything
will die again. If you have neither heat nor
cold, neither the dry nor the wet, you suffer a
similar fate. Balance must be maintained or all
of life is threatened. So too must it be with
good and evil. You know this. The Sondeckis and the Kankoran exemplify it.
Charles shook his head at that. No, we'd be better off without them!
Come, Sir Matthias, Sondeckis of the Black. You
know the histories of your clan better than most.
You know the times when your efforts to ensure
justice have served to destroy the very people
you are meant to guard. But think on it. Can you
truly say that there is a difference between this
and any other necessary opposite? You can serve
to help restore the balance amongst the Pantheon
by becoming my disciple. And with balance amongst
the Pantheon, there will be balance amongst all
your kind. When was the last time your world knew
harmony and peace? Do your histories ever record such a time? No, they do not.
Charles tried to raise his right hand to make the
sign of the Yew, but he still held the Sondeshike
there. Ba'al still noticed his effort and offered
a sad shake of his head. Sir Matthias, why do
you waste your time on a god who does not answer
you? The blue eyes flared and his voice took on
an enthusiasm the rat recalled hearing in the
voice of his fellow writers when the muse struck.
Let me present you with a proposition. I propose
that there are no true Patildor in the world.
Every Patildor at his heart still worships the
Pantheon even if they will not admit it. Consider
your home, Metamor Keep. How often do the
Patildor there, when their prayers go unanswered,
seek some other remedy, be it magic or the
intervention of the Pantheon? You yourself have
born the marks of both Velena and Akkala. You too
are already a Lothanasi. You seek the aid of
others when you do not believe your Eli will help
you. He thrust out an arm once more to encompass
the blackness about them. Cast your gaze about!
Where exactly are you, Sir? Through whence have
you passed to stand before me? Not in the Heavens
of the Patildor, and most certainly not their
Hell. Can you dispute this, Sir Matthias?
Try as he might, Charles could not force himself
to reject it. He tried to look away but the lord
of daedra was mesmerizing. Every mote of darkness
seemed to swirl about every other mote in his
shape so that his eyes were ever lost, swirled
this way and that, until finally they returned to
those fiery blue-white coals. Vivid and
resplendent, they pierced through to his soul.
Had he any secrets from this one?
I... It was the only choice! I would have been stone forever!
Master, please help me!
Remember your oath.
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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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