B2 Chapter 37: Interlude - Highlord of Dreams

The Highlord of Dreams, Saravagan Dreamer peered out from eyes that were not his own.

Wings of ice sprouted from his back, composed of thousands of crystals of frost. They propelled him forwards in strong wingbeats, cutting through the stale, dead air above Soulhaven.

The Archcity of Death.

The Dreadwalker that he had corrupted was formidable, the very same woman that cut short Valeric Brimstone’s brief assault on the Archcity of Dreams. Even from where he stood in Serenity, he recalled watching in awe at the innumerable orbs of flame that the Brimstone had conjured, winking out from the force of the Dreadwalker’s aura of Fear.

He dipped, cutting through the stale air, taking in the vast landscape below.

The Archcity of Death reminded him of Anhedonia, the Archcity of Fear in its construction. Harsh, pointed towers emerged from the citadel, complete with sweeping buttresses of dark grey stone. The Archcity was less of a city than it was a citadel large enough to be a city onto itself. It was surrounded on either side by towering cliffs of bone taller than even the Verscallian Peaks.

The cliffs housed crypts constructed from bone containing undead curated by the Revenant family. The legacy of countless Fearshapers of death, beginning in their progenitor – the strongest Fearshaper of death to have walked Elucidor.

Rael Revenant.

However, they were not confined to mundane undead. Over the history of Elucidor, the Revenants had curated Fearshapers of death with innumerable dimensions to their Fears. Among them numbered those capable of shaping bone itself, to create horrors incomparable to the mundane skeletons that a Fearshaper of death might rise.

It was a small comfort that Rael Revenant’s grave had not been found. Rael had always wielded his revenants in service to elvenkind. When they rose, to defeat tyrants, the destruction they wrought had forged much of the cliffs of bone, which bordered the Archcity. Forged by his Fearshapers of death, who worked artistry in ivory.

Saravagan keenly watched for any signs of hostility from the enormous citadel. Yet no one emerged from its countless walkways leading into the adjacent cliffs, to greet or threaten him.

Vetrian must be expecting me. It’s only to be expected after his successful ploy.

The Highlord of Death had broken their accord. Manipulated Saravagan into believing that Highlord Berevan Brimstone was planning to undermine the plans that they had sinned and bled for, to bring a temporary peace to Elucidor. Ending the wars of control, and preparing it for the advent of an unprecedented era of prosperity.

A renaissance to Fearshaping, which would propel elves into heights unforeseen, finally free of the wars over the void temples that plagued them.

The cost of Vetrian’s manipulation, had been Berevan’s death. Berevan had been forced to confront his own father, Valeric Brimstone – not that Berevan had much affection for the man. Saravagan’s fight with Berevan, with Valeric in his control, had weakened the man.

Only for Vetrian to kill him, while he was still reeling from the battle.

It confused him.

Even in Berevan’s weakened state, the Highlord of Flames had walked the [Fearpath of the Eternal Phoenix] – having fully realised the very limits of the potential that his guide afforded him. A feat that few Fearshapers could boast. His powers of regeneration and healing made him a terror to fight against. Saravagan had watched as countless Fearshapers had pit themselves against him in the Academy of Anhedonia, thinking they had put an end to the man, only for him to rise again.

Mere exhaustion, following what was closer to a spar to vent a frustration, than a fight that would leave him crippled, would hardly leave Berevan Brimstone exposed, or vulnerable. In his distraction, seeking out Caledon Brimstone in the Archcity of Fear, he had overlooked the nature of Vetrian’s forces. By the time his agents arrived in Brimstone, any trace of the assailants had been burned to ash, as was protocol when dealing with the undead, or Vetrian’s like.

How did he manage to kill Berevan?

As the Dreadwalker alighted on one of the paths leading to the cliffs of bone, the citadel doors opened.

Vetrian Revenant strode forwards, in the flesh.

“What a surprise, Sarav. It’s been too long, old friend.”

Wearing his signature dark cloak which sported epaulates of thick shadow wolf fur that swayed in the cold wind brought forth from his Dreadwalker’s aura. For a moment they were silent, regarding each other. They had been friends once, long ago, with common dreams. Friends still, until his betrayal.

“Tell me, why.”

Vetrian pulled his lips into a smile, his eyes, pinpricks of black void swirling behind wiry dark hair that hung from his forehead. The signature trait, passed down from Rael Revenant himself. While Fearshaping did not endure through generations on a genetic level, the man had reached such depths that he had managed to leave his mark on his descendants.

As Vetrian stepped forward, so did his appearance change.

A black skeleton with a simple shortsword of darksilver in its grip walked towards him. Free of his flesh, muscle and sinew, an incarnation of death in its simplest form.

With a flicker, his appearance returned.

Vetrian smiled.

“Don’t treat me like a dunce, Sarav, I knew that you and Solastra intended to use him as a means to control me.”

Saravagan flinched. 

“You hardly trusted me. Seeing me as a weak, overly ambitious Fearshaper that would do anything for power. Of you three noble souls, I was the one with the raw, amoral ambition. The loose cannon and your greatest risk after you achieved the regrettable tragedy that was so dreadfully needed for your utopic vision.”

Vetrian tilted his head, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“It was inconvenient for you that I wasn’t so easily controlled or corrupted. If it was possible, I hardly believe I would be having this conversation with you, seeing how you treated your other allies. Would you care to try again?”

The black skeleton’s grin gleamed, each word digging under Saravagan’s skin, despite his true body situated across the world in the heart of Somnolence, the Archcity of Dreams.

“It is clear, that of the three of us, I am the weakest. Even with the might of Soulhaven behind me. However, if you and Solastra wish to be done with me, now that I have served my purpose, I must remind you-”

Vetrian’s body exploded into a shower of bone shards.

There was no need for Saravagan to call his own Fear.

Ilaria Icewing did it for him.

[Gloamfrost shield]

The dark shield of frost flickered into existence before him. The bone shards bounced ineffectively off its surface. Saravagan knew, that it was not Vetrian’s intention to hurt him, however, just to prove a point.

Just as he suspected, he watched as a second skeleton strode forwards, bearing his own appearance.

“How nostalgic. Reminds me of the frost shield of our old guardian, doesn’t it?”

He paused, with a smile.

“While the two of you far surpass me in power, neither of you are as… how did Solastra put it? Slippery. If you wish to kill me, then kill every single one of my undead. And besides…”

Vetrian glanced at the depths of the cliffs below them. Saravagan followed his gaze into the inky depths, and gritted his teeth.

When he had last visited Soulhaven following the Rampage, he still remembered the eerie sound of that emanated from the depths of the cliffs of ivory. The sound of ivory grinding upon itself, swelling in unison to emerge as the sound of crashing waves against the shore.

Now, deathly silent.

“You’ve deployed your armies.”

“Just a portion of them. As a small form of insurance. If you do attack me, then I’ll send them against the Archcities and towns, now unguarded, their Fearshapers stolen from them… by you. If you do seek to end me, you would likely be successful. But you may not have as much of a civilization left to advance, with your grand vision. Or perhaps… you could sacrifice your dream, and free the corrupted Fearshapers – in which case we would both be doomed by their wrath.”

Vetrian smirked, a familiar expression and an ugly reminder of Saravagan’s familiarity with him.

“While you were distracted with Caledon Brimstone, it was quite easy to mobilise them – in that sense, I am very grateful to the boy.”

Vetrian smiled.

“I wonder if he realises that he was instrumental to his father’s death.”

“You lie. Even after our clash, it was not significant enough to weaken him to the extent that would allow your son, a Fearshaper in Trepidation to fell him, no matter what creatures he mustered against him.”

Vetrian chuckled.

“Triol was certainly talented, wasn’t he. I have no doubt that Solastra has noticed my movements, but thankfully, she hasn’t intervened. Rooted to her Dreadwood, as it was.”

He’s not giving anything away. He’s trying to sow discord between Sol and I.

“What do you want.”

“Oh don’t be so stiff, I don’t want to bring an end to Elucidor or anything that pedestrian. All I want, is the status quo.”

Saravagan stared at Vetrian’s soft smile, his eyes narrowing.

“You will leave me be, and in exchange, you will have the precious time you want to rebuild elven civilization, simple? In the meantime, I will do nothing. For a small price, of course.”

Vetrian smiled.

“Admit my daughter, Dawn, into your academy.”

“You kill our friend, and dare to make demands of me?”

“Will you sacrifice your beautiful dream then? Refusing to accept a single Fearshaper of death in Delirium into your academy? Your old friend’s daughter?”

“What are you planning Vetrian. Don’t play me for a fool.”

The Deathbringer’s laugh echoed between the gaping cliffs of ivory, coloured with raw mirth.

“You certainly aren’t doing yourself any favours, in that regard, Dreamy. Hasn’t your love shared my goals with you? Solastra is fully appraised of them.”

Vetrian’s soft laughter filled the cliffs of ivory, his eyes of black void drilling into him. A chill washed over him, even as his consciousness was housed in the body of a Dreadwalker of frost.

For a brief moment, as Saravagan’s confusion heightened, Vetrian’s aura of Fear reached him, and he noticed the blood within his veins slow, before the Dreadwalker he possessed reasserted her presence. Vetrian’s brief hold over her shattered, and Saravagan glimpsed a brief flicker in the Deathbringer’s confident expression.

Vetrian’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he seemed to be far away from their conversation, recalling something of the past.

“Feardamned Fearshapers of ice. If you wish to learn of my intentions, Sarav, why don’t you give Solastra a visit.”

The unchanging grin painted on his black skull continued to mock him.  

“Ask her this. Ask her whether she ever intended for the return of the Dreadwalkers and House Starstrider that she-”

Then, Vetrian paused. The man fell silent, and Saravagan frowned.

“Vetrian, if this is another one of your game-“

He watched, as blood began to seep from the black skull. Pouring from his eyes, and mouth. Saravagan watched as Vetrian Revenant, stumbled backwards, as if having been struck a blow.

Impossible. He has transcended the bounds of flesh.

Even if Saravagan were to regale his Dreadwalker’s powers to reduce Vetrian Revenant’s body to particles of ice on a stale wind, he would return once more, in yet another one of his undead bodies. The fact that he as bleeding, meant that he had been harmed, or injured by something.

Then laughter began to echo from the man’s black skull.

“You see, Sarav. It all hinges on Idriel. The voice that sings to Fearshapers alone.”

“I know of Idriel, and her purpose. Don’t treat me like a child in Anhedonia, Vetrian-“

Vetrian only laughed at his expense. He continued, uncaringly.

“Idriel’s purpose is to guide elves through the realms of their Fears. Providing limited forms of assistance in their descent.”

Saravagan interjected.

“If you’re going to argue that Solastra was wrong to seal the Singer away, you would be mistaken. The Singer’s words are apt to mislead. In the world we will create, one in which information about Fearshaping is readily accessible, the Singer will not be needed. More precise guidance can be circula-”

Vetrian nodded.

“Until recently, I was of the same mind. That was until I realised, that I was wrong. The Singer has another purpose.”

Then, the Deathbringer halted once more, as if struggling to continue. The sound of choking emitted from the black skeleton, and he saw another trail of blood leak from the mans mouth.

Then Vetrian relented, and let out a long sigh.

“Those Feardamned Fearshapers of Mysteries.”

Saravagan frowned in confusion.

“What are you-“

“Ask your beloved this, Sarav. Asked her why, she was so intent to seal the Singer, after the Rampage was executed, and we begun our suppression of Fearshaping and its history. I have done us all the favour of rectifying that mistake, after a decade of silence imposed by your wife.”

“That was why Idriel was restored… you reactivated the Singer. How, Vetrian?”

“I was certain that Solastra had erased all of the pedestals capable of reawakening Idriel. Only to find one beneath our very noses, old friend. In the Academy of Anhedonia, the black mansion we were all so curious about in the Floors of Delirium. Courtesy of the great Dalaria Icewing. Don’t bother trying to shut it back off, I took care to ensure it was destroyed.”

Vetrian strode forwards, and gripped the Dreadwalker’s shoulder, heedless of the ice that began to sink into his bone.

“You may hate me, for what I did to Berevan. But let me tell you this, old friend. If a Renaissance to Fearshaping is your goal, then Solastra Flora is the greatest hypocrite of us all.”

The man took a step back.

“Go. Speak to her, and know, that you will always have a place with me should you wish it.”

Saravagan gritted his teeth, and felt the temperature in the air plummet as his rage imposed itself through the Dreadwalker’s aura of frost.

Saravagan watched as the skin and flesh that coated the skeleton’s surface flickered away, to reveal black ivory beneath.

“It was good to see you, old friend. Next time… feel free to visit me, in the flesh. Wearing our classmate’s skin is… unbecoming of you. I will send Dawn when she strides in her Delirium. Do take good care of her, won’t you?”

As Vetrian absconded from the body, the skeleton’s bones fell in a heap onto the walkway, some of them tumbling into the depths of the cliffs of ivory below.

All that was left in his wake was a skull in the middle of the walkway, pointed in his direction.

Mocking him, with its naked grin.