The acrid stink of candles filled the small underground room, so potent that they left an acerbic taste on the tongue with every breath of air. Several of them were arranged in the room, equidistant from the next in a twenty-sided ritual formation. Lines of pure solidified essence traced between them, sparkling with power and shifting in color tones between all of the classical elements, and a few of the esoteric ones. The sole living thing in the room, a seated man with a shimmering gold set of plate armor, watched and felt the essences evoke themselves from their confines. Wisps of wind, crackles of fire, hisses of water, and the grinding of earth rotated one after the other through the air. Sweat trickled down his brow, but the man didn’t notice through the grimace of concentration he bore.

Yet, that was at an end today.

“Forgive me,” he croaked, his concentration finally failing after many days and nights of holding the ritual secure. His control of the ritual collapsed, and within moments the great casting was undone. It unraveled at the edges, the outermost circle of gemstones and essence flaring to life to contain the energies within, funneling the rampaging cascade into the crystals around. Each was a beautiful cut, and alone they were worth more than most adventurers would make in a year. Now, filled with the primordial energies that the proclaimed-gods readily borrowed from the world, they were nigh on priceless.

It gave him no comfort, in spite of the potential that each gem held. This ritual was but a pale imitation granted to him by The Primordial, and as one who followed the old ways in secret, it agonized him to think he might have disappointed his one and only true god.

Clenching fists and an empty gaze rested on the sight as the lights of essence sparked more and more, surging into a beautiful spectacle even as it drained steadily into the gems. If it were any other ritualist, he was certain that the failure of the spell would have terminated spectacularly. Given that it was spatial, transdimensional even, he doubted anything but a gaping hole in reality would have been left. To say the summoner would have perished would be an understatement.

Still, he was unbothered by the prospect of how close to death he may have been. It would have been worth it, and considering the state of the world, he had to hope The Primordial could figure out another location to send its newest, and purportedly most dangerous apostle.

Steadily he stood, limbs creaking and body protesting from having remained in position for so long. He knew it had to be days, though perhaps longer still. He turned, light sparkling off of a symbol of a mailed gauntlet bearing the weighted scales of justice in a tight fist, one side bearing the laurels of peace, and the other a sword and spear crossed atop of them. The iconography of Advarica, the Goddess of Justice and War, almost seemed muted in the glow, as though it was suppressed in the face of the forces at work before him.

Within a few minutes he’d stripped off his armor and moved to a small bathroom adjacent. Complete with rune-worked facilities, and a spare bucket, a large quantity of purified water sat beside him contained within six rune-marked waterskins. Each would refill with cool water slowly, fed by ambient essence. He hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath, doing his best to loosen up his muscles. This next part was something he’d really hoped to avoid, and should the ritual have ended quickly, it wouldn’t have been necessary to perform.

Unfortunately, the alchemical concoction he’d imbibed had done its job wonderfully. Having nearly suspended his body's needs for far longer than it should have been capable of. No food, no water, no passing of wastes, and a greatly reduced need even for oxygen. It was a wonder drug, but it did also slow the body dramatically, and as he worked to carefully bring his movements back up to something resembling normal - at least, if he’d just been beaten within an inch of his life - he knew that this next part was going to be… unpleasant.

The ‘cure’ for the drug was simple; drink lots and lots of water. The problem was what happened afterwards.

Pushing aside any other thoughts and with nearly a reflexive whisper for support from his true god, he began to drink.

Within a minute his body began to reactivate, and with it, violently began to expel the alchemical solution in every way it could. Hence the fact that this facility came fully equipped.

In spite of having survived wounds that any lesser being would have perished from, the man found himself almost wishing to be smashed into a nigh-paste by a giant's strike again. Perhaps half eaten by a basilisk again. Maybe even fall into a pit of spiked fiends once more, if it meant not suffering from the Suspension Potion again.

After what felt like an eon of suffering, the potion finally left his system, the cleaning runes constantly flaring to address the filth that had been present. It still didn’t make him feel clean, and as he climbed into the shower, still imbibing water to replenish his reserves, he couldn’t help but mildly hate whoever made the potion and didn’t care to make an accompanying one to help with the after effects.

He didn’t understand the people who used it periodically as a cleansing agent. He didn’t understand them at all.

When finally he emerged from the bathing facilities, Dynus Verde felt markedly better than before. Idly he fished around his pack to pull out some jerky, and in spite of his ravenous hunger he took only small bites of the meat, carefully ignoring the sweet elven breads and nutritious dwarven rations that were beside them. Honestly, he preferred simpler tastes, but the proper host part of him had wanted to show off some hospitality, at least in some measure, to the acolyte of the Primordial. The individual in question would undoubtedly be confused, weak, and utterly out of place. He’d heard of the accounts before given his access to secrets, people from other worlds of entirely different rules, even lacking essence in its wider forms, and couldn’t hold it against anyone for being… unstable, after having been transported from everything they once knew.

That brought him back to sit in front of the ritual, the energies now settling into the gemstones fully. Primordial energy was potent, and better, was able to be used repeatedly and would recharge. However, only the first infusion of primordial energy mattered, it would never exceed that maximum charge again. In a sense, it established the ‘size’ of the essence container in one go. Primordial energy couldn’t be refined in larger amounts reasonably, and thus they were almost universally inferior to even lesser chromatic gems.

But the amount contained in these was greater than most even high-tier gems, considering the sheer forces at work. The Primordial had spared no expense.

And yet, it failed. The thought once more hit Dynus in the face, wounding his pride. ‘Did I make a mistake?’

He frowned, ‘Nothing is wrong with the rune circle, nor the materials,’ his thoughts processed everything in front of him quickly, carefully perusing the ritual circle and going step-by-step through everything he’d done. ‘No. If something went wrong, it wasn’t the circle. Was my focus lacking?’

Despite himself, he laughed, a sardonic cackle if he was honest. ‘If my focus wasn’t sufficient now, I doubt this would be possible for humans. No, something else then…’ He contemplated, confident in his more than sufficient capacity for concentration. It was what allowed him to fight off even a Master Confounder’s magnum opus of spells. While it was difficult even with the ritual circle, his concentration should have been more than up to the task. Arguably, The Primordial had done all of the leg work. This was little more than an anchor, a lantern in the dark to guide a wayward soul. The tunnel and magic that worked to bring the chosen here, that was all out of his hands.

“Treachery?” The word dripped from his lips with venom. It was the only reasonable cause, and while Dynus was a strong proponent of circumstance and coincidence, he strongly doubted that something of this magnitude could be derailed by a mere freak accident.

“Was it the Order? A rogue spell-master?” He pondered aloud, “Or one of Them?...” Even here, he did not dare invoke any of the deities' names directly, lest his wards be tested by their awareness.

His eyes caught on the twinkle of gems, the thirteen priceless primordial mana gems enough to live a life of absolute solitude on the weight of their gold worth alone. Even if he didn’t sell them, they were powerful enough to be used in arcane works and rituals that would make fighting him such a daunting prospect that few would ever bother him again. But, he didn’t need that.

He picked them all up, save for three. With a practiced hand he began to conjure forth an essence circle, shaping his will to the work. It was simple compared to what he’d done before, and even as he made it he knew what he was going to do. Previously, he’d used this magic at a leyline of essence deep in the wilds, hidden from view and notice. There, he’d communicated with his god.

Here, he used the three primordial gems, pressing them into the center of the formation and watched with interest and private agony as they rapidly broke down to dust, swirling into the runes to feed them and conceal the connection from even deities. Normally, gems would never decay as such, but this ritual demanded more, and rightfully so.

The Voice of the Primordial echoed between his ears, deep in the recesses of Dynus’ mind as the ritual connected. He couldn’t hear the voice as such, only understand snippets, bits and pieces.

“The Chosen isn’t here, I’ve failed you. I beg your forgiveness and understanding,” he bowed his head, shame radiating from his posture. Whether it was his fault or not was besides the point, he felt like he’d failed, and that was all that mattered.

A warmth, both deep and alien, brushed his mind. He knew then The Primordial forgave, but he could also feel another sensation he didn’t recognize. A certain wariness, a concern that rippled through the connection.

“You… also aren’t sure what happened?” He wagered, voicing his understanding was important, a game of charades between them. Still, any priest of the so-called gods would have been stricken down for sacrilege at the mere possibility that their god was in any way wrong, or prone to such mortal things. The Old Ways, however, cared not at all for such illusions.

Nothing was infallible, and even immortals could - and more often than they admitted - be wrong. He felt the tinge of shame as admission, though quickly he sensed that the voice began to illustrate something else. This was hard to follow, images, flash of feeling, of a tangle of limbs and a sudden, jarring impact filled his mind. It was followed by images of his own life, when he was charging to a destination to save a friend, only to be tackled by a Beorn Wolf from the side, right off a cliff.

“Intercepted? He was knocked off course… ah, and… and he’s hard to find?” He followed the images, now himself, but strangely wrapped in shadow, blocking out any method of seeing him. That hadn’t happened in reality, but the image was being changed slightly to help the narrative. At his words, he could feel the trepidation of The Primordial, and knew that he was correct.

Others might be shocked to know that a deity could feel anything so reminiscent of how a mortal would, but he knew too well that they were just people. People with power, and strange tendencies, perhaps, but they had emotions and dreams just as anyone else. And considering the sheer power invested behind this Chosen, he knew how much of a blow it would be to The Primordial if this individual was lost. He was the only one, as far as he knew, that was collected with the strict intent of creating a warrior, a true Chosen.

“I will find him.” Dynus knew what needed to be done the moment he understood what had happened, “Wherever he is, whatever is in the way, I swear on my name that I will find this Chosen.”

A tide of emotion and gratitude flowed through their connection, and a blessing passed through the veil to him, infusing his body with what remained of the energy in the primordial stones. He smiled brightly, allowing the joy of the occasion to temporarily push aside his foul mood. Along with the power, he felt another sense bloom within him, dull and weak, but paired only with one other. A twin connection to another with the blessing, albeit his was a fragment of a fragment, a shadow cast by dull candle light. It would be enough, and with his newly bolstered strength Dynus would be able to make the journey should he be cautious and steady.

Still, he knew that when he betrayed Advarica this amount wouldn’t be nearly enough to combat them all. But, it was a start. After the ritual faded, he quickly set another one, placing a single primordial gem in the center as he focused on the connection within him, the empty fragment blazing like a star as primordial energy drained from the gem and into him. The gem dulled in color, but did not break, merely needing time to recharge. Dynus could sense the general direction he needed to go, and that was enough.

This venture was, ostensibly, going to be part of his self-imposed ‘pilgrimage’ that the war-bishop took. It was an excuse to get out of the awareness of the order, but sooner or later someone would question his actions. Perhaps he’d have time, perhaps not, there was no way to know for sure.

With that, he packed up his things, erasing any trace of the ritual that had taken place here while carefully setting the formations to once more hide the safehouse. When he rose through the secret door above, surrounded by trees with sigils carved into them and a calming, warm effect, he took a moment to gesture to each of the carvings in order.

The earth swallowed the door once more, gone to any senses that he was aware of, and then Dynus set off on his journey.