Amdirlain’s PoV - Culerzic

As the Mana hardened the last of the silver filling the runes, Amdirlain took in the chamber's silence. Focusing on it through Resonance provided her with a steady orchestra rather than the rough and off-tune music she’d heard from the previous two attempts. There were some apparent weaknesses in the song’s components—themes that shifted softly beneath others. Yet it was unclear if that was from Amdirlain’s construction being flawed or simply because, with the circle empty, there was nothing for them to do.

“Erwarth, it seems I’ve got a circle for you to check once you have time. Parts of its orchestra seem too quiet, but most of it feels good.”

With the Message sent, Amdirlain jumped from the shaft’s floor to land on the stair’s lowest landing, just out of reach of her extended arm.

“The runes blaze to True Sight, but how does it sound?”

“Good, but some parts feel too soft compared to the majority’s steady thrum,” replied Amdirlain before she sat down on the step below where Torm sat. As she leaned back against his shins, his fingers brushed through her hair, and Amdirlain hummed happily.

After a half hour of waiting, Amdirlain tilted her head to rest her head against his knees. “Munais still feeding information from that Wizard’s household?”

“Yes. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have consistent customers, so we’ve caused no ripples freeing the prisoners she’s marked in transit,” replied Torm. “She’s learnt some of them don’t come through his compound, but she’s not been able to get more information on their transport yet.”

“Demon ownership rules 101: if you aren’t strong enough to keep your possessions, they’re not yours.”

“Potentially. It’s why their rescue hasn’t garnered attention. Caltzan asked again if you’d help with the markets since Munais is working the household for information,” Torm said. “They insisted I ask you directly, not just repeat your previous answer.”

“Persistent, aren’t they? You can tell them no again. I’ll need acting lessons from Erwarth or someone before I take on that role without an immediate need,” mumbled Amdirlain and wrinkled her nose at Torm’s expression. “You don’t have to look smug because I’ve been lying low.”

“I’m simply enjoying your expression,” objected Torm.

“Hair being stroked, need to purr,” complained Amdirlain, and a tortoise-shell kitten sat perched on Torm’s knees.

“I can’t talk to you this way,” Torm grumbled, but his complaint didn’t stop him from running a finger down the wiggling kitten’s spine.

At a shift in the chamber’s lighting, Amdirlain resumed her Anar form, standing on the steps and ready to move.

The Gate that opened amid the circle revealed Roher standing on its threshold. His sapphire blue gaze locked on Amdirlain’s own, and for a breath, she stood before a choir with their eyes blazing a rainbow assortment of hues. Beyond them was only blackness, an empty void, with the sole exception being a pinprick of light that marked their homeworld’s sun. It was the only world those around her knew, but it wasn’t the only one supporting life in her father’s realm. She hoped it would be the last she’d make alone.

Out of the memory’s line of sight, a chorus of Anar voices rose to entwine and reach beyond their protected perch. Amid the mass compressed by the Lómë, a cascade started, and raw power flared into life. At a gesture from her, most voices stopped, and only those Lómë responsible for the barrier continued to sing.

It took a breathless moment before light washed past them, and the assembled choirs listened to the sun’s birth cries. Its brilliant silvery-blue hue was too hot for the planetary system she’d intended, but it matched the eye colour of a few dozen among the Lómë present. Making adjustments to her conductor’s notes, Orhêthurin signalled the transport team to move them to the next point amidst the void.

Amdirlain blinked the memory aside at the sound of Roher’s delighted laugh. With a boyish grin, Roher let a hand-sized crystal tumble from his fingers, and when it bounced off the chamber’s stone, it shot upward. Ten metres overhead, it blazed with light, and the circle Amdirlain had spent nearly seven months trying to perfect chimed. The soft notes countered the crystal’s chime like a punchbag compacting under a blow, only to relax back into shape. From her position outside the circle, Amdirlain could hear no sound escaping from whatever power the crystal had released.

“What was that, Roher?” asked Amdirlain.

“A little test I devised, it unleashes a temporary purification field at slightly above Erwarth’s strength. I hadn’t planned to use it today, but your circle seemed sound,” replied Roher. “Erwarth is talking to her mother and she’ll be along in a little while, so I thought I’d come and merely listen, but it seemed ready for more.”

Amdirlain jumped down within the circle. The energy contained continued to resound around her, but the circle easily contained it. As the purifying energy washed across Amdirlain’s skin, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. In a moment of pretence, it felt almost like she stood beneath the Outlands’ Sun before she set the whimsy aside.

“Do you mind if I hold on to that crystal?” Amdirlain enquired. Setting aside her desire to complain about his lack of warning, she focused on the crystal’s song. It was a bubbling liquid sound that Amdirlain had yet to hear repeat its melody.

“Feel free, but the effect won’t last long, a few hours at most,” explained Roher. “If you want to learn the Song, Isa can teach you. She mentioned your Multi-voice has been progressing particularly well this last month.”

“I’ve got it handling six different songs now,” acknowledged Amdirlain. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“It depends if you intend it to chastise me,” replied Roher dryly. “Age makes the expressions of youth easy to read.”

“I didn’t see a point in complaining about what you’d already done. You and Isa are like two peas in a pod; you both flow with the moment,” retorted Amdirlain. “I bet you drive your wife crazy some days.”

Roher laughed good-naturedly. “We each sing unique lines in the realm’s melody.”

“Will you tell me a bit about the Anar?” asked Amdirlain. “I might jog memories free without resorting to cycling the Ki; figured that would attract attention here.”

“It depends on the era. This lifetime of mine started well after things had declined,” replied Roher. “While I have some earlier records, those I have are from the Lómë’s perspective.”

“What legends do you have of the start? Erwarth mentioned the echoes of the first singer?” enquired Amdirlain.

“The legends say we woke to her song slowly fading as the sun crested the horizon. We were all laying on thick grass amid an orderly orchard where one only needed to reach out to find food at hand. As the last strains of it faded, the Titan appeared. It's unclear from the tales if he loomed above the trees or touched our minds, but all later recounted they could see him clearly,” recounted Roher.

For a flickering moment, Amdirlain was lying on a gentle slope looking along rows of fruit trees whose names she couldn’t recall. Sitting up, the smile of wonder on Hirindo’s face twisted a sharp pain through Amdirlain’s chest, and the memory snapped away. Roher stopped at her gasp, and Amdirlain turned away to regain her composure.

“I can’t hear your Song but that seemed to touch on an unpleasant memory,” observed Roher gently.

“It wasn’t an unpleasant setting, but there was someone close that made it a painful memory,” admitted Amdirlain. “Not from my perspective, but it seems Orhêthurin has something to say on the matter. I’m concerned now about what I’ll find when I venture into my soulscape again; none of the memories in the maze came through that way. ”

Roher grimaced, and Amdirlain caught the echo of a chiding note before Erwarth appeared. Her form was that of a Lómë, with silver eyes and hair that matched her mother’s hue. They glowed almost radiantly with a Solar’s strength instead of the more subtle Lómë tone.

A moment later, another Solar appeared beside Erwarth and, at first glance, was all glowing white wings and golden armour. Her bright smile and luminous blue eyes were a giveaway when she removed her helm to tuck it under her arm. Amdirlain recognised Sírdhem though her form differed from the Succubus Amdirlain had last met. “Sírdhem! What brings you here?”

Sírdhem gave Amdirlain a bow. “Lady Amdirlain, I won the draw to play teacher next, and I’ve got some delayed birthday presents for you from Sarah.”

“Won the draw indeed,” snorted Erwarth and motioned Sírdhem through the Gate. “Sírdhem wants to handle your combat training. Given I’ve been pushing you for moons now with magical studies, I thought she should have a chance.”

“Plus, I’m better with blades and bows than our magical guru,” teased Sírdhem, giving Amdirlain a wider grin.

Erwarth primly ignored the dig and didn’t shift her attention from Amdirlain. “Has Torm progressed your axe skills into journeyman ranks?”

“He did,” acknowledged Amdirlain. “We’ve stayed focused on those and Silent Storm, as you recommended.”

“That’s good. The sisterhood doesn’t use them, and I couldn’t find anything about Orhêthurin using axes. The Lómë records showed she favoured slashing weapons, primarily a curved blade called a Kopis,” commented Erwarth. “Given the information you shared about the history of the Greek gods in your world, it didn’t surprise me when Hestia was familiar with it.”

Sírdhem transformed into a moon Elf, pale-skinned with a dusting of powder-blue showing on her exposed skin. The dark blue of Sírdhem’s hair contrasted vividly with her emerald eyes, which grabbed Amdirlain’s attention before she focused past them to take in Sírdhem‘s pixie features and lop-sided smile. Golden armour disappeared and left Sírdhem in a dark-green sleeveless shirt and loose pants tucked into low-heeled boots.

Quick steps brought her across the Gate’s threshold, the circle echoing with her presence. The soft notes reacted in the same fashion as during Roher’s test, reflecting her form's energy inside the circle. With the circle remaining stable, Sírdhem gestured to Roher, and the Gate closed.

“I think if we set you loose among the elven courts, we’d distract even their courtiers,” stated Amdirlain.

“Too much of the boost I gained from reaching Named tier went into Charisma,” Sírdhem ruefully admitted. “I’m not sure why, but it's almost harder to control the energy as a Solar than it was as a Succubus.”

With a laugh, Amdirlain motioned for her to spill. “Come on, what’s your Charisma at?”

“Just over four thousand,” stated Sírdhem.

“Darn need another five thousand then,” joked Amdirlain.

Sírdhem rubbed her fingers across her chin, almost as if she could smug her looks away. “Absolutely not! I have enough trouble.”

“I can see why,” murmured Torm. “Your Charisma is like being in the presence of an elder Celestial.”

“You’re not supposed to talk about a lady’s age, Torm. Not sure if it's my Willpower or a combination of things supporting me, but after I get past the initial focus of your gaze, I can function,” remarked Amdirlain. “Just have you show up, and you’d stop a battlefield.”

With a flourish, Sírdhem dipped a hand into a pouch at her waist and drew out a pair of black sheathed swords, with a belt bundling them together. The shape of the sheaths showed the blades weren’t straight but curved slightly into a bulge towards its tip, making it clear it was a slashing weapon. A single straight piece served as the hilt. Hooked sections curved towards the middle from the start of the hilt and the pommel to protect the grip.

“Something suitable for my lessons, I take it?”

“No, we’ll focus on the sisterhood weapons. These are for your private time,” explained Sírdhem and presented the hilts towards Amdirlain.

The motion drew Amdirlain’s attention to the black adamantine wire wrapping the hilts and the curved guards on the pommels. Set along the pommel’s hook, black rune-carved diamonds blazed with power in True Sight.

[Kopis of Shattering

Melee Attack Power: +2,000

Crafter: Grand Master Pimnal

Details: A quarter of the damage from the blade’s bonus will permanently reduce the protection a foe gains from armour. The weapon’s damage is applied normally to foes possessing natural armour or upon the blade’s destruction of a foe’s armour.]

“You’ll have to thank her for me,” murmured Amdirlain. “I’m surprised Pimnal is still alive; she was already a white beard when I visited Duskstone.”

“Ebusuku spoke to her about these after you spoke to her and Gail. We still had some records to check, but Sarah confirmed the kopis was Orhêthurin’s preferred weapon,” explained Sírdhem. “I don’t believe Pimnal has long left, but she took the time to craft these since we’d helped provide the materials to complete her Golem masterpiece.”

“What did Ebusuku plan to do with these if Orhêthurin’s weapon turned out to be something else?” asked Amdirlain.

“Would have come in useful to someone eventually,” Sírdhem stated, pushing them towards Amdirlain. “Take them, and store them. You can try them out later. For now, we’ll start with dagger work. Silent Storm might let you use them, but you’ll need to know the sisterhood style.”

Though tempted to decline, Amdirlain grasped the belt and drew the bundle into Inventory.

“What now?”

“Well, unless Torm wants to see us both buck arse naked, we need some alone time,” teased Sírdhem. Her melody was full of sharply focused notes, and Amdirlain carefully eased her perception away from it.

“I’ll be in the library,” Torm coughed and waved goodbye before he promptly vanished.

“Should I have mentioned we’ll be in the sisterhood form for every session?” enquired Sírdhem.

Drawing the bracelet into Inventory, Amdirlain concentrated for a moment and tried replicating Naz’rilca’s form. Though she hadn’t seen her naked, the tight leathers the sisters wore let her closely approximate her body. Circling Amdirlain, Sírdhem clinically offered corrections in contours and posture before getting her to walk about the chamber. It was almost an hour of little tweaks before Sírdhem finally approved the form, and Amdirlain held back a laugh as she recorded the shape.

[Protean Quick Slot One Set: Sisterhood Bitch]

“Now you must learn how to walk, talk and fight like a sister. Aren’t we both going to have fun?” sighed Sírdhem and changed form to match Amdirlain. Pulling a set of leathers from the same pouch she’d extracted the swords, she tossed them to Amdirlain.

“Leftover equipment?”

“Indeed, genuine sisterhood leathers. Not a good idea to be seen wearing them on Culerzic,” said Sírdhem.

With a nod, Amdirlain stored them away. “I heard. Actually thought we’d start with weapon skills first.”

“Not so fast. You’ll need them today. Since you want to learn to fake being a sister, getting used to their form and the limitations armour puts on you is part of that process. We’ll have challenges since, physically, you can crush a lot of them. Older sisters have grown used to controlling their motions as they’ve progressed over centuries.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Not pretending to be one of them at all,” declared Sírdhem. “Before you say no, will you listen to a request? It should prove beyond a doubt what a bad idea it is to consider infiltration, even as a contingency plan.”

“I’ll listen.”

Sírdhem sighed and closed her eyes as if she didn’t want to look at Amdirlain. “My request is simple. Fuck me.”

“What?” growled Amdirlain, only for a raised finger to halt her before she could demand an explanation. The tone of Sírdhem’s song twisted with self-loathing, and Amdirlain shied away from learning more from its melody.

“There you go, exactly the reaction I was expecting. Do you know the only use for bedrooms in a stronghold? Three guesses and the first two don’t count,” muttered Sírdhem.

Amdirlain thought back to the perpetually heated state she’d frequently had to force herself to think past. “Sex.”

“You went straight to the worst case. I was sure you needed the first two missed guesses. Nice work, and exactly right,” stated Sírdhem, before opening her eyes to regard Amdirlain. The sorrow and disgust in Sírdhem’s expression made Amdirlain glad she hadn’t listened deeply with Resonance.

“I thought it would be something I need to dodge, but how badly did I underestimate it?” asked Amdirlain.

“An off-duty sister is doing one of two things: scheming to gain rank or fucking the nearest sister. Sometimes the two activities mingle well with each other,” explained Sírdhem. “Bedrooms make it easier to get comfortable while screwing each other's brains out, and they’re determined by rank. Giving your supervisor a screaming orgasm is a good way to get a plum assignment with a chance for promotion. Continually refusing offers of sex, you’d stand out like a chastity belt at an orgy; even Dominator types wouldn’t be refusing alone time with someone.”

Even with Resonance focused away from Sírdhem, Amdirlain still caught hints of echoing memories that rippled within Sírdhem. Moments burning with carnal longings and ecstatic releases rang loudly and raked their claws across her mind. Revulsion salted the memories of pleasure that had kept Sírdhem from complete despair.

“Damn,” whispered Amdirlain, as she recognised that while she had rejected her sexual side completely, Sírdhem had used it as a mechanism to stay sane. The points that Munais had raised had been a fragmenting life raft for Sírdhem.

“I eventually strangled my demonic host the way you said Moloch has done, but it took me thousands of years to do so. By then, I’d had sex with so many things and the heat was still present, even after I was free of its whispers and demands,” explained Sírdhem, her lips twisting in disgust at the memories that sour her mood. “I was so lost, and the horrific became just another day after so long. Sex was the only thing in which I could find even a glimmer of pleasure. Even when it left me hollow with self-loathing, I was an addict after a fix to numb the hours.”

“But still you were ready to teach me,” noted Amdirlain.

“You can hear my music. While I could have sent you a message, how much clearer is my argument listening to my song? I’ll still teach you to be a fake sister if you insist, and I hope you never use it for infiltration. But do you know what I’d suggest?”

“I’ll listen to suggestions as long as fucking someone doesn’t feature in them,” grumbled Amdirlain.

The laughter that burst out of Sírdhem erupted forth with sheer relief. As Sírdhem’s laughter turned hysterical, Amdirlain pulled the leathers into Inventory and shed the Succubus form before she rested a hand gently on her shoulder.

Eventually, the laughter subsided, and Sírdhem patted her arm. “Sorry, I was so worried you’d stay the course despite my argument against it. Please use the form only to provide sightings that will stir trouble as you did in Set’s fortress. We can help you plan operations that will have dozens of demon lords clamouring for her head. If Isa or you can get her concealment song working on us, we can help you execute them.”

“Would your help leave more than smoking ruins for someone to puzzle over?” teased Amdirlain.

“Maybe not, but all of us together won’t be enough to take on Balnérith. So even if we leave a pit a kilometre deep where a fort had been, I wouldn’t get too impressed and think we can,” warned Sírdhem.

“Alright, no infiltration, just sowing of confusion,” agreed Amdirlain and caught the tones of Sírdhem’s tension fully evaporate. “What do we do first?”

“Take it one step at a time,” stated Sírdhem. “Get those leathers back on, and then we’ll review each weapon. You will spend eight hours a day repeating drills until you are sick of every one of them. First on the ground, then airborne, and you’ll need to learn to use your flight with the wings, not just willing yourself about like you do.”

“If I’m just doing this to sow confusion, why go into such details?”

“Because that way, if a sister sees you, it will point at internal troubles,” replied Sírdhem. “There are factions inside the sisterhood, let's have you ready to stir up trouble inside and out.”

“Would you still have instructed me if I hadn’t listened to your argument?”

Pain flickered across Sírdhem’s expression as she gave Amdirlain a nod. “In the end, it's your choice, and I would have respected it. I would have helped you to work out tactics and responses to delay standing out as long as possible. I’d suggest that you give yourself some time out of the Abyss once you're no longer locked,” requested Sírdhem. “We've got thousands to help find you a restful place.”

“I was going to get to Ijmti and find out if the redemption path applies to me.”

“Afterwards, regardless of good or bad news, please take some time outside the Abyss, and I can continue teaching you.”

“I’ll have a century to learn here,” protested Amdirlain.

Sírdhem snorted, unsurprised but equally unimpressed by Amdirlain’s argument. “You’ve got a century to learn weapon skills, magical knowledge, and True Song against succubi that have been growing powers and skills for millennia. You’re more focused and learn faster, so taking extra time will let you close the gap.”

The concern from Sírdhem stilled the protest on Amdirlain’s lips, and she gave Sírdhem a crooked smile. “A place with some sunshine would be nice.”

“Colour preference? Maybe I can find you a baby world without civilisations or pantheons to block you visiting,” suggested Sírdhem. “Though, worst case, you’d have the Outlands.”

“A nice warm golden hue, like Vehtë’s sun. It’s almost identical to my home,” replied Amdirlain. “A world to explore for a time sounds like fun.”

“Gives me something to investigate when I’m not training you then,” said Sírdhem and held out a pair of dagger sheaths to Amdirlain. “Strap these to the inside of your forearms, hilt towards wrists. They’re just practise weapons—nothing magical to assist your attacks for now.”

A weapon at a time, Sírdhem helped Amdirlain get each settled until her arsenal matched those sisters she’d seen on guard duty. Seven daggers, four garrotes, a host of spikes that could carry various poisons, a long blade, and an unstrung recurve short bow.

Sírdhem turned her around for the last time before she pointed at the dagger sheathed at Amdirlain’s hip. “Start with that one. I’ll show you how to draw and sheath them.”

“Only drawing and sheathing?”

“Yep, a thousand times each will be a good start. Repeat my demonstrations exactly until it doesn’t require thought,” ordered Sírdhem, promptly showing the draw.

“Do you know much about infernal succubi? Or Hell in general?”

The tightening of Sírdhem’s mouth made Amdirlain sure she’d decline to answer, but she nodded a moment later. “None of us went there, but we still know details about Balnérith’s foes. Is this for your disguise idea that freaked Isa out?”

“Yes. Torm thinks it a safer option than someone believing I’m an Alu-Demon—weak prey and all that,” offered Amdirlain.

“I can see his point,” said Sírdhem. “Alright, once you get proficient enough in each drill, I’ll share what I know. You'll do a thousand more drills if you make mistakes or can’t answer questions about what I share. Refusing someone’s advances is far more in keeping with their character. They’re ‌manipulative seducers, always with a plan in mind.”

When Torm appeared hours later, Amdirlain was still at it, the recurve bow flowing into her hands and rapidly strung. Easing the string’s tension, Amdirlain reversed the process and replaced the bow in the holder angled between her wings.

“Sírdhem said she was done with you for the day,” ventured Torm, after watching another dozen repeats.

“Draw and sheathe, it's all she’s let me do,” laughed Amdirlain. “She wants my handling of them all to be second nature. Tomorrow she’s going to teach me how to stab someone, in the approved sisterhood fashion.”

With the bow secured again, all the sheathed weapons vanished into Inventory, and Amdirlain motioned primly for Torm to turn around. “I’ll need a moment unless you want me to flash you. I can’t change out of these leathers and into the shadow vines' clothing instantly.”

Despite her teasing tone, Torm spun about and focused on the wall ahead so intently that Amdirlain started giggling. “Sírdhem’s tone seemed happier in the Message. Did you two have a good catch-up?”

“We did, and we worked through a few things, including scrapping my plan about infiltration,” admitted Amdirlain. “I’ll only use her training to create issues for the sisterhood and sow confusion in their ranks.”

A twitch of motion showed how close Torm came to spinning about, but he kept control and focused on the wall. Inventory absorbed the entire outfit, and Amdirlain restored the bracelet of shadow vines to her wrist. When her robes were in place, Amdirlain resumed her Anar form and slipped closer to Torm.

Her clothing’s sounds must have given her movement away as curiosity sang amongst his now relaxing music. Hovering slightly, Amdirlain stretched her arms around his torso and nestled close with her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Your music sounds relieved, but you didn’t say a word,” noted Amdirlain.

“You said it was an option you wanted available,” explained Torm, tilting his head slightly to press his cheek against hers. “While I hoped it was one you never used, I didn’t want to hamper your plans if you saw the need.”

“She started teaching me about infernal succubi, and their known dealings and behaviours in the Abyss,” advised Amdirlain.

“Another option I hope you never need, but potentially safer,” Torm replied and teleported them to the training room. “Time to sing for your supper, Bard.”

“So cruel, woe is me,” whimpered Amdirlain playfully. Moving to the bench, Amdirlain began to sing, and the motes of lights that had once slowly compressed quickly spun into place. Three copies of the dual songs of wood and steel had a trio of axes rapidly assembling. While Torm listened to the music's beauty, the Abyss's miasma remained at bay.