Chamber of the Medium
Some attempt has been made to make this underground chamber comfortable. There are cushions on the bench that runs next to the door, and the stone altar has been dressed to resemble a bed. But beneath the blankets are carved the arcane symbols of Sunala, and despite everything it still feels like a funeral viewing. There are charms hanging on the walls, and the lamps burn low. The srinala lies atop the bed, feet together and hands crossed over her stomach atop the burial shroud she wears, which also covers her ritually shredded wings.

The srinala shows no signs of vitality when Yodhsunala Razaka, the Chief Preventer, enters with Alptraum. The girl's eyes are closed, and her breathing and heartbeat are both shallow.

"I do not like this place," Alptraum remarks, ears flicking and senses focusing on the prone girl upon the altar. "I was born in a place like this, after all."

"Not in this particular room though," Razaka assures. The figure on the altar has almost no aura at all, beyond a dim sense of her life processes. It's a disturbing emptiness that begs to be filled.

"I know it isn't this room. Still, it is the concept and meaning of this place, and knowing what part it played in my existence is unsettling. I'm not quite sure someone else could understand," Alptraum notes as he carefully sets down the basket he was carrying. "It also doesn't help that I can feel her by not feeling her," he explains. "She is a hole in the room to me."

"She is your daughter, as much as she is Sunala's," Razaka says, a bit reverently. "It is the power of the Barsunala that locates the spirits of the dead and reunites them with the living."

"Unfortunately those that will fill her today are hardly worthy of the honor," Alptraum remarks as he crouches down to extract the bottle intended for the former 'High Priestess of all'. "Can you feel her? Or rather, the lack of her existence?" he asks. "I am not sure if you perceive others similar to how I can," he asks.

"I fill her with my own feelings," Razaka says. "I imagine that is common though. I tend to her and keep her alive. And I mourn when the srinala eventually pass. There is no spirit, no real life that is leaving, but I still mourn anyway."

"I would too," Alptraum admits, "I am a sentimental soul. I do not suppose you knew the one that bore me?"

"Before my time as Preventer," Razaka notes. "I remember the secrecy though. And Thath.. he terrified me. The idea of trying to fool him.. I am glad that I was not anyone of importance back then, to make such decisions."

The old priestess faces Alptraum then, and says, "But the baby survived, so it must have been a sign."

"He does not terrify me, but then we have an ... understanding," Alptraum claims as he sets the bottle near the altar and pulls its cork. "I survived," he says, a slight correction to the comment. "Do I scare you?" he asks with no hidden tone of an expected answer. "There are many here that find me ... uneasy."

"You are more frightening now than when you first returned here," Razaka states honestly. "Back then, you were aimless. Now you have purpose and the power to pursue it, along with the support of the Kindly Ones. Such hasn't been the case since the time of the first Sabaoth. It means change. And all old people are wary of such."

"I would rather effect change without having to use fear to do it. Encourage choice instead of force it," Alptraum notes as he stands. "Though, sometimes it is the only thing people understand. I've only ever had to really show my ... capabilities once to a Yodhbarada who was being, well, flippant towards everything and everyone. I'll put up with a lot, bit there's a point where disrespect towards certain people will not be tolerated."

"What will become of the srinalas?" Razaka asks. "When everything changes, will they stop being born? It is said they are fathered by the Barsunala, at least in the farther temples."

"I don't honestly know," Alptraum admits, "What happens is influenced as much by the will of the people as it would be by someone like me." He looks to Razaka and asks, "What would you wish to happen?"

"I don't want there to be more," Razaka replies. "It is.. too sad. Sunala wears the body of a srinala now, after all. They don't have to be empty.. but forcing life upon them seems cruel as well."

"Then you and I share a common wish," Alptraum admits. "What I see when I look at her is lost potential. Too many people die young, and too many children never get a chance. To see this is a constant reminder of someone that could have been. It's ... not fair. And yes, I know that living isn't fair, nor was it ever promised to be. But it doesn't stop me from feeling the regret, none the less." He looks back to the resting woman and sighs softly. "I don't even want to use her for this, but I need to extract the poisoned soul from the Sea before it can cause real damage."

"We have you and we have Sunala now," Razaka says. "Aside from what you do today, we don't need these girls anymore."

It only takes a little shift of perspective for Alptraum to see the 'hole' of the srinala as a 'door' that has the Sea of Souls on the other side. As if the srinala really was partly there and here at once.

"Do you want to know what really changed things? For me especially?" Alptraum inquires as he draws a breath, focusing on that hole and preparing to reach through it to take hold of Saraizadze, the estwhile High Princess to being her to the Srinala, and then to the bottle.

"I fell in love and found a reason to live, not just exist," Alptraum answers, just before he pushes his hand out. To Razaka it may look like he's just reaching out into nothing, but to him; he's reaching through a hole, down to the sea.

It's like reaching into a mass of squirming worms - something familiar from Nicora, at least. Finding the right one though.. is tricky. There's just the partial spiritual resonance of the bottle to go by, since Alptraum never met the High Princess himself.

"Yes," Alptraum agrees. There his voice fades as he has to concentrate on finding Saraizadze, a woman he never met, but yet had an affect on his life. So, it's the feel of the bottle he must use and trace it through the mass; a scent buried amongst scents.

A scent that also impacted many. The first link that Alptraum comes across.. is a child. A Korv, at that. The link is that he was ritually murdered to help fuel the Princess's grand Dream Ritual. But that link goes to the mages that did it - and were then executed by Caroban when the plot unraveled. Each little link gets Alptraum closer.

It's hard for Alptraum to not feel more and more morose as he follows the trail through the memories. All actions can touch and influence others, he had once said. It was always his wish for those to be good things; but this is a stark reminder that more often than not, the influence can be dark an cruel. How can so many lives not care about the pain they visit on others?

The final link takes Alptraum to a scene remembered in dream: crystal platforms floating in air, while the dim audience comprised of all of Babel watches from further out. Most figures are shades, indistinct and transparent. Next to a bed not unlike that which the srinala lies upon is a hunched over figure, bleeding profusely from a chest wound - the only figure that still seems solid, but surrounded by phantoms - including a tall one that could only have been Thath, standing near but apart.

"Come with me, Alptraum says; his voice sounding ... off, hollow; an echo that should not be in the room that he stands with the Yodhsunala. He reaches out to this wounded figure, to lay his hand upon its shoulder.

Saraizadze looks up in confusion. "I was going to be a god," she claims, sounding clear despite the blood that bubbles from her lips. "I was promised.. But they all betrayed me. Thath was only too eager to wield the sacrificial blade.."

"Why would you want to be a god?" Alptraum asks, "You do not understand what that means. You could not. He did you a favor."

"To become more than the Sabaoth ever was," the High Princess and former High Priestess of Sunala says. "They wanted a goddess to unite them.."

"Then you would have been controlled by the will of the people; that is what it means to be a god. The city does not need another god to lead them; it needs a person that understands them and can guide them," Alptraum says, "And the lives to threw away in your quest showed clearly that you were not the one for that role."

"The one everyone meets," Alptraum answers. "I have been called many things. The walker of the in between. The chronicler of the last moments. The guide to rest. But most call me the Barsunala."

Alptraum pulls the woman up. "It is your time to walk with me," he says. "And tell me; did the Mistress of Undeath whisper to you? Was it her that convinced you to try to become a god?"

"Boghaz wasn't strong enough," Saraizadze claims. "The old nobles were too dominant, but he wouldn't move against them. He couldn't see it. I just.. knew.. what had to be done."

"What did you know? How did you know? How could you kill your husband?" Alptraum asks. The idea of killing someone you married is completely alien to him; he would die for Rosalind, after all.

"Did I?" Saraizadze asks in confusion. "So much.. Thath.. he was never happy with Boghaz. He wanted to be. You don't want to disappoint him. He hated the nobles too. So.. he supported me. Encouraged.. did I? Did I poison my prince?"

"That I do not know. I have not asked Boghaz," Alptraum admits as he guides this lost soul back through the mass of memory.

There's a pull. Once Saraizadze is separated from the Sea, it seems that she is drawn to the srinala.

The girl on the bed gasps and trembles. The muscles are too weak to do much more, but the srinala isn't empty now.

And Alptraum's focus is back to the room. "Please, I need to know if the shadows whispered to you," he says to the trembling woman on the altar. "Whispers in the dark, guiding and encouraging."

Srinala's eyes open, staring blindly. "Whispers.." she says softly. "Dreams. Always.. dreams.. of what I could accomplish."

"Did this dream have ... spots?" Alptraum inquires, voice in a whisper. "Promises of power and immortality?"

"To become greater than the sabaoth," the girl whispers. "Immortal, yes. Worshipped.. above the Sisters. I just needed to steal the power of a god."

"All that whisper wanted, though, was then to steal it from you. Those whispers lied to you; made you its tool," Alptraum says, sadly. He reaches down again and places his hand over the girl's heart so that he can draw out the spirit. "I can take you to a place where the dreams cannot reach you anymore."

Alptraum has nothing to say to that as his hands pull back, cupped and holding the dying light of a fading spirit. He carries it to the open bottle and holds his hands over it. As they part, his charge flows from them and down into the bottle beneath. Light frost curls and wraps about the outside of the bottle.

There's whiff of vinegar to show that the spirit has saturated the wine. It just needs to be corked.

And Alptraum quickly sticks the cork into the bottle. "One down, one to go," Alptraum says, sounding tired. "It never fails; you go in hating that which you have come for, and find yourself just feeling sad for them afterward. A precious gift squandered," he remarks to Razaka.

"Nobody sees themselves as being in the wrong," Razaka comments. "We are all the heroes of our lives, and what we do is for the best.. unless we feel guilty about it."

"I'm no hero," Alptraum says as he puts one trap away and retrieves the other. "And this one is for the Sabbaoth himself," he says. "I am not looking forward to dealing with the one that once sought to become me."

"Unfortunately," Alptraum agrees. He returns to the altar and uncorks the next trap and sets it beside the 'bed'. After rising, he draws a deep breath and focuses back on the now empty body. The eyes aren't really the gateway to the soul; at least not here. It's reaching back through that hole, back to the sea ... and a new scent to hunt.

Once within the Sea, the spirit-scent blossoms. The Sabaoth has lived many lives, and left a long shadow across the Sea itself. Over time, the currents of history have been shaped by him, but his death was more recent. The Sea is churned, eddies and whirlpools break off of the main path. But every soul Alptraum meets along the way points him further along, until..

It's an old harem chamber. There are shades here.. echoes of the living that are just ghosts to the dead. The Sabaoth is slumped against a pillar, with shards of broken sword sticking from his throat. He knows exactly who Alptraum is, and grins at him.

"Not how you wanted to meet me," Alptraum remarks a bit dryly as he approaches this dead, insane, man. "But then you wanted to be me."

"It's not too late," the man claims. "Babel needs me to keep order. It needs continuity. Without me to pit the various forces against one another, chaos will rule. The wrong kind of chaos."

"It has been too late for you for a long time. The whispers took your mind. Perhaps once you were a good man, but that has long since been lost to time," Alptraum says as he reaches down and yanks out the shards of the sword in his neck. "Your Babel is dying and a new one will be born in its place. It is my duty to shepherd that Babel to its finality."

"So Babel dies with me?" the Sabaoth says, sounding.. proud. "Fitting. It exists to serve me, after all. I am its true god. I was almost your father.. but then you wouldn't have been the Barsunala, would you? Thath abandoned Babel.. so his hands would be clean, I suppose. Ironic for his son to try and make a difference then."

"You are the first person I have not felt pity for," Alptraum says grimly as he pulls the sprirt to its feet. "Thath killed you out of revenge for you taking his wife. It is nothing more than that. You weren't smited for some great crime against the world, though you served it. No, you were felled by love. That's irony for you."

"Thath failed to kill me, boy," the Sabaoth claims, and grips hard on Alptraum's hand. "It was a damned little girl courier that took me down, but I doubt she recovered from the wounds I gave her. Was she his weapon? I doubt it. Maybe if she hadn't succeeded, and Thath found Boghaz.. maybe then he might have had a chance against me."

"No. You still don't get it, do you? Thath had been poisoning you for years. You feel because he made you weak enough to fall," Alptraum says, voice harsh and raspy. "Your own arrogance made you blind and you were whittled down until a child was capable of destroying you."

"Still, a foolish move," the man claims. "I found out, after all. I was being treated for it. I would have recovered in time. Thath may have thought he was getting away with it, but I knew in the end. Why else would he have fled, if not out of fear of my wrath? It was only Rikat that made me keep Thath around at all."

"Ah yes, Rikat. The one you both thought was me. That poor child was damaged," Alptraum remarks dryly. "I was far beyond your reach."

Now the Sabaoth's confident veneer cracks slightly. "What do you mean?" he demands.

"You still don't know, do you? I was never in the tower. Rikat was ... an orphan. Taken and changed through magic to look like me. A poor soul sacrificed to protect me," Alptraum says, simply. "I was continents away, growing stronger and into my own. I may be a child of Babel, by I am not a child raised by Babel."

"Thath did this?" the Sabaoth hisses. "Was that his plan; to let me take a merely mortal body. To deny me what was mine?"

This makes Alptraum laugh. "Yours? I was never yours," he says. "You reached too far and suffered the consequences."

"Sunala's treachery then," the man growls. "Take me to Her! I would demand an apology."

"You aren't worthy to see Sunala. We have another place for you," Alptraum says as he drags the Sabbaoth back to thee 'living'.

The srinala snarls and struggles weakly. "No! This is beneath me, I demand a proper body.." she says in a forced-deep voice.

Alptraum's feel noticeably shifts. His presence becomes ... heavy as the draconic aura comes to the fore, making shadows feel deeper and the room impossibly small. "That body is too good for you. You aren't worthy to be within it," he says, voice gravelly and deep. "But it is the gateway I can use, so use it I must." The Eeee then reaches down to the chest of the woman and curls his fingers as if gripping something. He then yanks upward.

The srinala arches upward at the yank, then falls back to the bed. She doesn't show any signs of pain or distress though - just back to being an empty doll. The spirit in Alptraum's hand still struggles though - whether in fear or defiance is uncertain. The process that kept him 'immortal' must have also strengthened the Sabaoth's spirit as well over the ages.

And Alptraum's taloned hand holds tight, muscles twitching and straining. He takes that 'spirit' over to the trap and holds his hand over it ... then shoves downward until his palm is pressed hard against the rim.

The bottle shakes, and the smell is particularly foul as the spirit is caught within the wine.

Alptraum grabs the cork and shoves it into the opening. "I have finally met one I do not feel sorry for," he says to Razaka. It's only then he also realizes that he's radiating oppression into the room and he quickly tries to dissipate that feeling. "I am sorry you had to see and feel that," he says in a near whisper.

The Yodhsunala releases the breath she was holding. "It was not directed at me, at least," she replies, and nods her head at the apology.

"No. If it were you would have probably been on your knees," Alptraum admits. "I ... do not like having to do that. The ability to force my will does not mean that I should."

"You are not a father yet," Razaka guesses. "Sometimes it is needed to get a point across."

Gesturing to the two bottles, the Yodhsunala next asks, "Where will you take those?"

"And I hazard to guess you are not a mother. It is not like any of us tend to have normal children," Alptraum counters as he carries the bottles to the basket and places them within.

"I have several options. I may ask a friend at the Mage's guild to see if she can trace any links to Amenlichli from them," Alptraum explains. "Or would you prefer I kept them on the mountain?"

"Mt. Sunala is for the dead, dying and those who tend to them," Razaka says. "It is not a prison. I do not think the Yodhsunala should hold charge over these spirits."

"Then they will come with me and I will deal with them as needed. I do have the job of courier of the spirits, after all," Alptraum says. "Is there anything wished of me while I am here? I feel I should tend to requests when I visit."

"There was one of the younger Yodh who claimed interest in speaking to you," Razaka says. "Yodhsunala Gemma. If she saw you arrive, she will probably be waiting for you outside."

"I must admit, you do not seem to mind my visit," Alptraum also notes as he lifts the basket. "So, thank you for treating me as if I were ... normal."

"A normal person would not have been allowed here," Razaka notes. "Plus.. perhaps I needed to see you work."

"And see if I am a monster, or if I care?" Alptraum inquires, curious. "If you wanted to see what I deal with, all you ever had to do was ask."

"Ask?" Razaka replies, wide eyed. "Are you a trained chibix, to perform for me? I wanted to see the real you in action, not a performance."

"Not what I meant. I try to not keep many secrets from those who genuinely want to know me," Alptraum says, brow arched.

"But this way, I did not have to ask and cast doubt upon my faith," Razaka says. "I've no wish for you to feel that you have anything to prove or that I might doubt or judge you. We are not equals, Barsunala. I am a servant of your mother, and by extension of you as well."

"I would rather have you at my side than kneeling at my feet," Alptraum points out. "You may, by extension, serve me, but I do not wish you to fear me. If I wanted that, you would fear me. Anyway, I don't expect you to beg, grovel, or plead of me, nor would I want you to. I prefer simple, honest requests. Too much of Babel was built on fear, begging, and under the table deals, I want the new Babel built on trust and hope."

"I didn't say I would grovel for you," Razaka notes. "Yodhsunala do not do that. Nor would I throw myself from the mountain if you asked me to. I like my place in the order of things, is all."

"We should let this poor child rest in peace," Alptraum comments and looks to the altar.

"There are cleansing rituals I must perform," Razaka says. "Do you need a guide to find your way out?"

"No. I can feel everyone on the mountain if I wish; I can find the way out," Alptraum claims as he heads for the exit, basket in arms. "Razaka," he says, pausing at the door, "Thank you."

"You are welcome, Barsunala," Razaka says, bowing her head.. and she even smiles.. before turning her attention on the srinala, whose shroud and pose have been disturbed and must be put back in order.

Out he goes, following the feeling of people to find the exit. He hasn't a clue what the way is otherwise.

He doesn't have to wander too much, before finding the exit. The sounds of a work crew are a big clue, as the chamber that was collapsed by an alien tree is still being cleared out for repair. Past that is the exit, and past that.. a robed figure that is trying to not appear to be loitering.

Alptraum resists the urge to say he's not going to buy any Death Scout Cookies. Instead he says, "Good day, Yodhsunala Gemma."

The figure squeaks and turns to face Alptraum, lowering her cowl. She seems confused.. but that's probably because she's looking at the basket of wine bottles. Her aura is.. mottled. She's not a mage, but has probably been exposed to powerful magic before, which has 'bruised' her mental and physical auras. She has gray hair and black fur and pale blue eyes, along with familiar features. Part of that magic must have been to change her fur color. "I.. uh.. you were expecting me?" she asks nervously.

"You were waiting for me. Your thoughts are loud," Alptraum claims, and keeps a straight face until the Yodh looks horrified. "Or someone told me you were hoping to speak to me," he says to hopefully stop a panic attack.

"Ah! Of course.." Gemma replies with a nervous laugh. "It's just... you've been to the Temple of Rephath, I hear? You are free to come and go there as you are here?"

"I am. Most are scared of me. The High Priestess is annoyed with me, but remains polite," Alptraum says. "Why do you ask?"

"Could you.. deliver a letter?" the girl asks in a hushed tone, ears scanning for eavesdroppers.

"Just.. just a letter is enough, thank you," Gemma says. She pulls a sealed packet from her robes, and fiddles with it nervously. "I need it delivered to Yodhrephath.. uh.." here she stop mid breath, a look of horror on her face. "I don't know what name she uses now.." she finally admits.

"I will deliver it to Wynona," Alptraum agrees and holds out his hand. "She is a friend of mine."

"I trust her, and she me. At least I think she trusts me. I have been honest with her," Alptraum notes as he accepts the letter. "I have even helped her with a problem or two."

"She's lucky," Gemma says. Then blinks and laughs for a moment. "Lucky.. lucky in that way, at least. I been a problem for her myself."

"I doubt your sister ever thinks of you as a problem," Alptraum says gently. "And she has become a strong woman."

"You.. you haven't told anyone that we're sisters, have you?" Gemma whispers nervously. "The Yodhrephath can never know.."

"No, of course not," Alptraum says, "And besides, you're under my protection, as is she."

"Well, because you need someone to look out for you. It isn't because of taking care of the child," Alptraum says. "I look after you because you need someone to; you've been through a lot and deserve it."

"No one deserved that. Well, almost no one. I could name a few," Alptraum admits.

"I was a pirate," Gemma whispers. "Death by Horrib is.. was.. the punishment. I should have taken it and spared Wynona the uncertainty."

Alptraum places a single finger on Gemma's nose. "Stop right there," he says, gently. "What is done is done. You have a gift, a chance to make amends and mend family. Don't dwell on old guilt, look to the future."

Gemma freezes, then nods. "At least.. at least they didn't place me with the Yodhinala," she says, smiling a bit.

"Even some of them can be .. tolerable. Though most need to have their egos adjusted," Alptraum admits and shrugs as he lowers his hand. "You could have become Yodhgorphat too. They breed horribs now, you know..."

"Oh.. no," Gemma says, waving her hands in a warding gesture. "No horribs.. I.. I still have nightmares. I still can't believe the mages did what they did for me.. I even stabbed a person.. I think. They told me it was because the Royal Mages were clearly up to something, that I was an important witness.."

"Are you sure? Their High Priestess has had at least two broodings of horribs personally," Alptraum teases, then holds up his hands placatingly. "And yes, yes, I'm teasing. I imagine they did it because they saw someone worth saving, same as me."

"I think they saw someone who might be useful, just the Royal Mages did," Gemma claims. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. Especially not my sister. So.. most of that letter is an apology as much as an explanation."

"Such things should be said in person," Alptraum notes, "But I understand the difficulty in that. Granted, I could make you look like Yodhrephath, but ... that might damage you."

"No more hiding more than I have to, please," Gemma says. "Someday, when things are calmer and it's alright for the Yodh to.. mingle.."

"You are far too gentle for a former pirate," Alptraum notes. "I will deliver the message either today or tomorrow, do not worry."

"Well, my real name isn't Gemma.. it's Cryona," Gemma says. "But.. Barsunala isn't really a name, is it? Don't you have a normal one?"

"Well, yes. The literal translation of my name is Nightmare," Alptraum says, "But it's pronounced as Alptraum."

"Alptraum," Gemma repeats. "Sounds Nordikan. Who would name their son Nightmare though? Or am I better off not knowing?"

"What.. even as a baby?" Gemma asks, wide eyed again. "I mean.. Terror.. that's appropriate for a baby.."

"To many places, yes, we are," Alptruam says. "Plus anyone that ghosts tend to flock to make people uneasy."

"Oh! You should have said that part first," Gemma points out. "That makes more sense."

"Sorry, but you just don't look scary," Gemma claims. "You're.. religious royalty? That's intimidating. But I saw you here before too. So maybe that's the you I mostly remember. You looked pretty good, especially compared to the sorts I used to associate with.."

"I can be scary, I'm just not right now. I don't like to be," Alptraum claims and shrugs slightly. "And that reminds me, were you still considering becoming like the child so you could better understand him?"

"Well, I want to understand him," Gemma says. "Err.. what do you mean by becoming more like him to do that though? Does it.. is that what the wine and cheese are for?"

"No. I could change you into his species for a time," Alptraum explains. "It might be disconcerting, though."

"Might be disconcerting?" Gemma squeaks. "You can do that? Couldn't you just make him into a normal Eeee then?"

"Yes, I can do that," Alptraum explains, "And yes, I suppose I could. But I would want permission and that is hard to ask someone like that."

"She's got a gift for it. It's scent and other cues," Alptraum says. "That's about all I can say to explain it."

"Well.. you'll be back, right? If my sister wants to reply to my letter?" Gemma asks.

"Me more than most. I'm a threat to her and I stole her best weapon," Alptraum says and shrugs.

"Well, that's.. a relief?" Gemma says, and pats Alptraum on the shoulder. "All the same, probably best if you avoided being killed."

"That's generally good advice for anyone," Alptraum agrees dryly. "And I had best get going. I don't want to linger with the spirits of the High Princess and the Sabbaoth."

"You've got ghosts with you right now?" Gemma asks, finally looking a bit frightened. "Yes.. I shouldn't keep you. People might notice."

"Yes, I do. They're a bit whiny," Alptraum says, amused. "Take care of yourself. If you ever need me, just ask. I'll hear about it."

"Good luck," Gemma says, putting her cowl back up. "Keep being a Nightmare to your enemies."

"Keep helping others," Alptraum offers in kind and slips away, wings slightly folded about himself. Time to leave the Mountain, after all; he cannot risk either Sunala or Pouncer with exposure to the spirits he carries. Safest place for now would be the Guild, so that's where he'll take them.