Hall of Grudges
A raised walkway runs around the perimeter of this audience hall, and on the walls are hung like tapestries long banners listing transgressions and transgressors, forming a "Most Wanted" of the Yodhrephath, suspended from larger-than-life statues of Eeee sentinels, their heads turned toward the fore of the hall, where stands an even larger statue of Rephath in full battle dress, lit from below by angrily burning braziers that flank a stained stone altar where many transgressors have met their end. In one hand of the statue is held the ceremonial dagger-balance, while the other holds a mighty double-bladed axe. The room is biased toward fliers, for the sunken floor has no steps or door leading out.

The Yodhrephath are abuzz with activity. Most are wearing armor and carrying weapons, while acolytes carry scrolls, boxes and sometimes armfuls of swords to and fro, with a few looking uncertain of where they're supposed to be taking them. The Temple probably hasn't been on high alert for some time, seeing as how only the older looking Yodh seem to be organized.

And in Alptraum saunters, slowly. He's dressed in the whine basic tunic, dark gray pants, and with a smouldering ripple of smokey-shadow trailing in his wake. Though he really wants to see if his name is on any of those banners, he doesn't as it wouldn't be proper right now. He says nothing and tries to stay out of the way of the ones rushing here and there.

One acolyte notices him and almost drops her bundle of skedat-shell shields. She squeaks and runs off in a completely different direction. Others also notice him, but are too busy (or anxious) to approach. It's only a minute or so after the first acolyte vanished that Koldesh shows up, fully armed and armored. "Barsunala," she greets, and actually gives a bow. "We've been expecting you."

Alptraum returns that bow in kind. "High Priestess," he says. "I apologize for the delay, I was waylaid by one of the Kindly One's demons. But, it does seem I am not too late for ... this. I take it the prisoner has arrived?"

"We've been keeping it neutralized," Koldesh says, and gestures for Alptraum to follow.. then turns and starts walking without seeing if he is following.

"It. Quite appropriate designation for that abomination," Alptraum remarks, and follows. He knows some of this is simply for show, and that's one thing he's actually decent at. Lazy smoky-tendrils of shadow follow in his wake, leaving translucent echoes of where he was.

Everyone clears out of their path, hugging the walls as they pass by. Koldesh leads Alptraum down, into a part of the Temple he wasn't aware of.. but in hindsight the Temple of Rephath should have dungeons. They don't have lights in the steeply sloped passage. And it is so very, eerily quiet, with most of the sound coming from the movement of Koldesh's armor. It's barely enough to 'see' by, without using active sonar.

"Heh, active wall design to deaden sound. I should have expected that," Alptraum things as he follows, using the armor echoes to follow; mostly by following her. He also tries to use other senses, such as aura and even scents, to add to what the darkness may hide.

The aura sense is the most productive. It tells that aside from Koldesh, there's only one other occupant of this level. Which is also a maze apparently. Koldesh knows the way, but getting in or out otherwise would be an issue for someone without that familiarity. Given how the Yodhrephath approach things, those who need to navigate this place are probably trained by plugging their ears and blindfolding them.

The sickly, overlapping aura of the Doctor definitely gives a destination, if not a route, at least.

"You have a nice maze down here," Alptraum comments, if nothing else to appear not dependant, "And I am glad to see that it only has one occupant these days. Small mercies you do not see of him what I do."

"The Cell of Solitude is the only room here," Koldesh explains. "Only one prisoner can be kept here at a time. It's for holding magic users." A few more random-seeming turns brings them to a door. An iron one.

Alptraum draws into a dead stop. "Iron," he comments, a bit dryly. "Must I go past that?"

"Is it necessary?" Koldesh asks. "I'll tell what is beyond it. A sound-deadened cell. The prisoner is wrapped tightly head to toe in bandages and suspended by chains from the four corners. Horrib venom has been used since initial capture to paralyze him. His ears are filled with wax, so that all he may hear is his own heartbeat, his eyes are blindfolded so that he cannot see, even though the room is pitch black. We didn't need to use a gag, since you took care of that, but his vocal chords are paralyzed anyway."

Alptraum nods slightly at this out of reflex. "Iron is unpleasant for all spirit-beings, including Gods, Goddesses, and myself," Alptraum explains, "Much in the same way as it is a problem for users of magic. Is all of the room iron, or just the door? I cannot fully tell from here."

"Just the door and chains," Koldesh says. "I assume the body is in some form of agony from the venom. It seems especially made for torture. Normally, a day or two in here is enough to break the mind, such that they will do anything the first voice they hear asks of them. But from what I am told, this particular mage has more than one mind?"

"I doubt it will break him. That creature is ... well, consider it can never truly be alone. It doesn't have just a heartbeat to listen to, it has three independent voices and minds. Durable, if disturbing," Alptraum admits, "And if that is all, then I can enter with relative safety. I do trust you will not make it known that I share a common weakness of most supernatural and immortal beings?"

"Getting stabbed with an iron blade works fine on mortals as well," Koldesh notes. "You don't get to be high priestess by revealing the secrets of the Kindly Ones either." She then goes to open the door. It sounds like there's a puzzle lock involved, and the door hinges are very well oiled, as it opens silently. It's more the change in proximity to the iron that Alptraum notices.

"It's not just being stabbed," Alptraum notes, then shrugs a little. "Plus, it means I trust you; I'm wed to you, after all," he jokes a little, "And you have the door open. I can tell. Very complex locks and cells. This cannot have been used much."

"You would be surprised," Koldesh claims. "But it has not been used recently. I'll wait here in the doorway. Is there anything I need to listen for?"

"Well, if I scream, there might be a problem, but otherwise ... no. Also, do you wish to take part in this event a little more directly? The Avenger will be joining me, in spirit, at least, for part of this. He will be able to help unravel some of this creature's mysteries," Alptraum remarks, and even puts a hand upon Koldesh's shoulder. "But, it will also make you vulnerable in this world to do so. But ... this place is also probably the safest place in the city."

"I'm the earthly servant of Rephath," Koldesh says. "My duty is in the physical realm in this case. Besides.. it may seem odd for me to be standing with the Barsunala and the Avenger."

"Not terribly odd, in my view ... but I am not surprised. I had to offer, though, as I do respect you and do not wish you to ever feel cut out," Alptraum says as he draws his hand away. "I will probably be a while in there. But time is a funny thing .... when you step between."

"I had a big breakfast, so I'm sure I will manage," Koldesh says, still in her Yodhrephath-on-Duty voice.

"Just don't think about needing to use the bathroom," Alptraum comments helpfully, then enters the room. Why must he always poke the hornet's nest?

Stepping into the room is odd, at least for an Eeee. It isn't clear what the walls are made of or covered in, but it absorbs sound very well. Without the open door to orient on, and the subtle sounds of Koldesh's armor, it would be easy to become disoriented. The Doctor also has a heartbeat to focus on though.. luckily just one.

Alptraum also has the iron chains and the door to orient on, the feeling of hot hard to really miss. "Well, now it seems you and I need to have a little talk. Or rather, three of you," he says as he circles the figure, minding the chains and keeping a distance from the held Eeee. Once furthest from the iron door, Alptraum sits down and slows his breathing, trying to relax and prepare himself for a 'dive' of a sort.

Edge of Eternity
What does eternity look like? Would it be absolute nothingness? A world of no sight, sound, touch, or movement? Would it be a world of gardens and happiness? A place where old friends long gone reunite and everything that was lost is found again? Or is eternity different for each person; a place crafted to give them what they need most? Hard to say; just as this place is hard to behold. A floating fragment of an island where some unseen sun bathes it in light. Grasses and flowers grow out of fertile soil. Butterflies flit about here and there; landing on the occasional dew-tipped petal. Even a waterfall falls down from some unknown place above, feeding into the pool of water that itself feeds into the stream that cuts through the island. At the edge, though there is nothing. A vast expanse of darkness reaching out forever.

And it is here in this vast nothing that Alptraum sits, upon a throne made of Eeee bones, complete with skulls for the arm rests and flared wing-bones like some sort of perverse high-back chair. A place in-between living, and hell, perhaps. And it is in this place that Alptraum first tries to draw Cyprian. That is, if the mage has lowered his guards enough.

There aren't any shadows here, not really. But the Avenger still seems to emerge from one. "Is this the interrogation, or did I do something really bad?" he asks.

"Well, given Snowcora isn't here with a paddle, you can assume you didn't do anything bad. I just wanted to pick some place with an appropriate oddness, before journeying into some hell," Alptraum remarks and waves a hand. "I'll try to pull in the woman first, unless you have another preference?"

Cyprian goes to stand next to the throne. "Am I supposed to be the less-mean interrogator, or the meanest one?" he asks. "And do you know her Sphere of Magic?"

"I'm not sure which of us is more intimidating," Alptraum admits. "I can be the crueler one, if you wish; I am a direct child of one of the Kindly Ones after all."

"I suppose being nice would be upsetting as well, but since you're the one that can actually mete out punishment, I will go with that option," Cyprian notes.

"I don't know what sphere she uses, if any specific," Alptraum admits as he taps a claw upon the armrest. "But, we shall soon find out, I suppose." Then he has to go silent to concentrate and focus. He knows Cyprian's feel, and nice butt ... ack, focus. He knows Cyprian better than the mage he is now trying to call. So, this requires a lot more effort. First he has to find the odd tri-voice in the darkness. Then he has to try and sort them by gender, which can be tricky with Eeee sometimes. And if he manages all that ... he has to pluck the threads of her 'life' and weave them into this place. On a stake, surrounded by a pyre ready to be lit. Burn the witch, as it were, even though that's probably the mildest threat he can use in this place.

The stake and pyre work out fine. The creature bound to them already looks like she's been through something worse. She's missing chunks.. and not in a logical way. There are gaps between parts that still act like they're connected, like a missing thigh but still with a shin below where it should be. Parts are just bone, or guts. The woman's face is mostly intact however, but patches of skull peek through in spots. "Where?" she rasps, but doesn't struggle.

"Nowhere. You are out of time. A little place I occasionally use while I decide what is to be done with a soul such as yours," Alptraum remarks, his voice taking on an eerie hollow tone; as if somehow both distant and impossibly close at the same time. "Now, I could tear open your mind and extract what I want, but my associate here would not like that very much. So, why don't you tell me who you are? It's rare for someone to cheat Sunala of her claim."

"Former Dean of Life at the Babel branch of the College Esoterica," Cyprian recounts. "From a generation back."

"And former mage to the Sabbaoth, correct?" Alptraum inquires, "Is your current condition your own doing, then? Are you the one that violated the living's eternal contract with Sunala? Are you the one to be sent to a hell beyond any hope of salvation? Or, are you just a pawn of another, hmm?"

"Pawn?" the woman rasps, and seems to straighten up some. "No pawn, I am.. was.." she starts, then seems to run down into confusion. "Great. I was a great mage, Great enough to study the secrets of the ancients and serve the Sabaoth himself. I.. I.. what happened to me? Who.. did this? Those two. They've cannibalized me!"

Alptraum leans a bit to the side, looking bored. "Are you trying to play a game of being innocent. Tsk, that will just not do. Perhaps I should light the pyre now as a bit of ... motivation. And remember, this is nowhere in time, where even a second will feel as if it were an eternity. Who are these 'two' you so claim cannibalized you? Perhaps it might move my heart enough to spare you pain for now."

"Hamron and Eibon," the woman growls. "They used parts of me! My body was fine, I shouldn't have bothered saving.. did I save them? I.. can't tell, things are.. fogged."

"They could have used the same thing on her that they did on the Cervani boy," Cyprian notes to Alptraum. "Possibly on themselves as well."

"Do those names mean anything to you?" Alptraum asks of Cyprian, "To me these are just Eeee, and traitors." He rolls his jaw slowly, then lifts his right hand and shadow boils and licks from it. "Do you know who I am?" he asks of the woman.

"The Avenger is here at my courtesy, not the other way around," Alptraum comments, eyes narrowing at being called a trick. "Will you tell me what you do remember? Or do I have to show you what awaits those who cheat Sunala Herself, then lie to her son?"

"Am I dead then?" the Life Mage asks. "I remember those bastards.. tricking me. I was to be given a new body, I prepared everything, they even had the Artifacts. They either botched it.. no, they definitely botched it! My preparations were perfect. And they.. they crammed in with me. That's.. someone else had to have done that. Only I knew the forbidden magic.."

"A new body? What artifacts were they using to violate the most sacred law?" Alptraum asks. "What of the demon of Aztepa did you use?"

"The Vessel, and.. Aeztepa?" Galtorra asks, derailed by the reference. "We are not undead.."

"From where I sit, you very much are," Alptraum points out, darkly. "The Vessel and What?" he pushes.

"The Vessel and.." The former mage's brow furrows in concentration, which actually peels more away from the bare spots in the flesh. "Was it the Vessel? Of course it was. The Vessel... the Soul Jar. One and the same. And.. something else. The operating table.. Altar of.. something."

"And these are?" Alptraum asks of Cyprian. "Is she speaking truth, or is she trying to lie to me? Do I need to show her what real pain is?"

"The Altar of Twilight is not a magical artifact, exactly," Cyprian explains. "It is a.. creature, technically, of the Tower of Babel. Said to be capable of amazing feats of surgery. But.. it was supposed to use something called 'alloplasty' - a lost art that is said to come with odd consequences."

Cyprian rubs his forehead. "It was a long ago that I heard the stories, and I'm not sure what is myth, truth or embellishment. But the Altar could replace failing organs with ones crafted from insects."

"Grafting flesh from one creature to another?" Alptraum asks, to clarify. "That is a skill I thought only know to the Shadow Dragons ... and myself."

"The Tower of Babel holds.. or held.. many wonders," Cyprian notes. "Or horrors, depending on your outlook. From how things turned out for Mage Z'ket and the others, I think something went wrong with the procedure."

"Pursued by who, or what?" Alptraum asks as he sends out tendrils of shadow out towards the bound Eeee. They wrap about her, coiling and oozing about, and perhaps a bit inside.

The woman shudders at the touch. "The Temple.. Executors. Assassins. Yes.. them. We had the Altar and the Vessel, and.. the Shroud? But we were missing.. something."

The shadow tentacles explore rather rudely about her body ... and in this strange place where Alptraum 'rules', starts to rebuild parts of her, piece by piece. "What were you missing? Is that why you wanted to attack Babel now?" he asks.

"Attack.. Babel.." Galtorra mutters. "Attack? What.. what was it? The others, they had a plan. Not us, the big three. Why can't I remember them? They were our leaders. They need something. Our job was to recruit.. for.." Even as she becomes more whole, she seems to get more confused.

"I don't know if her memories are altered," Cyprian notes as he observes the show.

Alptraum is also probing now, looking for the signs he saw in the others back in the caves; the ones that had been modified mentally. He's also looking for the horrib lock on her, too. "Do you know what three she peaks of?" he asks Cyprian.

While there definitely traces of something having been done to her, they aren't like the modifications to the raiders. But it's also familiar, having the same sort of feel as the alien necropolis in the wastes.

"She isn't changed like the others ... she reeks of the necropolis," Alptraum hisses and stands up. "Abomination! Cavorter with the undead monsters," he growls and points right at her. "Give me one reason, one thing, to justify your existence and why I should not cast you directly into an unending hell of torment. Justify your former life."

"The Royal Mages were a hierarchy, with the Sabaoth at the top, then three chiefs under him, and nine below them. The top three were supposed to be arch-mages, but if they were ever Collegia trained there were never any records of them. Also called the Faceless Trio because their identities were so well hidden."

The woman tries to grin at Alptraum. "You serve Death. We served the Sabaoth, and the High Princess after him. We made gods of our own. We brought greatness and fortune to Babel. We will do it again."

"I am change," Alptraum says, as his tendrils collapse in tight around the creature, "And you are done." The world around him cracks and burns. rays of light stream in as this place of nothing falls away, bit by bit ... and it is replaced by unholy mounds of pulsating, rotting bodies, and the stench that could kill a karnor with a single whiff.

Gorphat's Hell; The Way of All Flesh
This huge cavern is piled to the ceiling with corpses - and not just any corpses, but those dead by horrible disease. Bodies that are bloated, deformed or covered in tumors and ulcers. The fermenting bodies sometimes squirm a bit, as if still possessed of some bit of life. The sounds of munching, slurping and cracking come from deeper within the maze created by the mounts of rotting flesh.

Cyprian covers his nose. "I will never think Rostre smells off again," he promises.

"You arrogance and your flagrant violations have earned you a new place. Care to meet the one for whom you will now call Goddess, and beg for her mercy?" Alptraum asks, his voice a hissing rasp, and his body, more gaunt, angular, and just ... not right. His tentrils snap, and the binds holding the Eeee to the stake fall away.

Now that she has her limbs restored, Galtorra uses them to clamber up out of the.. offal. "What.." she says, and looks around. "Where is this? Where is the Sea of Souls?"

Alptraum actually laughs. "You think I would sully the Sea with you? No. No child. This is Magog's Hell. And you will be a meal for Her children, for eternity," he remarks, voice low. "You don't even get the mercy of oblivion."

"Magog? What is Magog?" Galtorra asks, sounding panicky. It probably covers the sounds of the Yodhmagog squelching towards them. When they appear, and Galtorra tries to fly, one shoots out a very long, very sticky tongue that catches and yanks her right back into the corpse pile.

"Not as pleasant as her children. And those are her children," Alptraum explains, sweetly. The sort of 'sweet' the kind a mass-murderer uses, anyway. "I gave you a chance to justify yourself, and what do you do? You parade yourself above everyone else. Made Gods, indeed. Any last words before I leave you here? Any regrets now that you know the fate of your actions?"

"I hope Hamron and Eibon and all the rest end up somewhere worse!" the woman curses as the maggot-women converge on her. "This is all their doing! They deserve this!"

"What about you? What have you done to not deserve this?" Alptraum inquires, as if he's giving her one last chance to show something worth saving.

"I take the knowledge they need with me," the woman says in a vindictive tone. "They can all rot! Only I knew how to use the Vessel. Eibon hated me for it.. for doing what he failed at."

Alptraum looks to Cyprian. "What say you, Avenger? Spare her, or leave her here?" he asks.

"We could always come back for her later, couldn't we?" Cyprian asks. "I am sure the Guild will have questions, once the others have been sorted as well."

"Yes, we can. And she may be more cooperative with some time here," Alptraum concedes. He waves his hand and as if a bad dream, the hell fades away, returning everything, including the smell, back to the place out of time ... minus one former Eeee mage. Alptraum sits heavily in his chair and then leans forward, face in his hands. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he says.

"It was informative," Cyprian notes. "The Vessel sounds familiar, especially the 'Soul Jar' part. Remember that jar you brought us a while back?"

"It was, but I don't like hurting people, even when they deserve it," Alptraum admits. "I'm a lousy Eeee. And yes, the jar does, and it explains why I said she smelled of the Necropolis."

"So it plays a role in their condition.. or is unrelated but used for something else," Cyprian says. "What do you make of her reference to the Shroud? Shroud of what?"

"I ... don't know. I do not recall anything being called a shroud before; but it would be symbolic of Death. So, it would have ties to Sunala somehow, or ... Amena," Alptraum says as he thinks. "Maybe one of the others know. Should I pull this Eibon next? Are you up for another of these?"

"Eibon sounds like a Spirit Mage from the way Galtorra talked about the Vessel," Cyprian notes. "I don't have anywhere else to be, but I'm wondering: is the composite body dead or alive right now? How long can you keep their spirits separated?"

"It should still be alive. I have part of you detached after all and you are alive," Alptraum points out.

"A good point," Cyprian asks. "The Guild will want a chance to execute them after all."

Alptraum leans back in his chair, and slightly to the side to rest on one elbow. He rolls his right hand, and a leash, of all things, appears in it, drifting out into the space before him, where it floats. And now he plucks at the strings that echo Eibon ... and for this Eeee, he tries to pull him forth, naked, wearing a collar, and at his feet like some sort of pet. How appropriate for a spirit mage to now be a pet of a spirit.

When Eibon appears, he's much more complete than Galtorra was. And also angrier. "What conjuration is this?" he demands. He's older, technically an elder, but seems hardly infirm in his attitude. "The Yodh do not have any capable Spirit Mages!"

"I'm the Barsunala. This is my domain, pet," Alptraum remarks a bit dryly and tugs the collar for emphasis. "You do not rule here, I do."

"So, you claim dominion over all of spirit do you?" the man sneers, and.. looks constipated for a moment before looking confused. "Why can't I use magic here?" he finally asks.

"Did you miss the part about where I said this is my domain?" Alptraum asks, and yanks the Eeee close, until he's having to stare at the flayed right hand, as well as Alptraum's Silvery eyes. "Or am I forgetting that you are mistaking me for that poor fool, Rikat, who sat in my place in the Tower for so long. I assume you, he is not me."

"He was good enough to fool the Sabaoth," Eibon claims, after wincing at the yank. He clearly can't get up on from this position, at least not while the leash is holding him. "So, Barsunala. What are you, really? We didn't include you in the Grand Ritual."

"Are you still clinging to the foolish belief that the ritual created the Gods?" Alptraum asks as he tightens the leash a bit more. "Or have you not figured out that we allowed it, as an amusing diversion. Then when you got too full of yourselves, we sent in our true followers to end the farce? As for who I am, I am Nightmare, the child born of a Srinala, the child with the incomplete soul, and spirited away by the Yodhsunala from right under your noses. I am the conqueror of the demon-dragon Vorgulremik, and the defeater of the Shadow of Amena, whose power I took to supplement my own." The last bit is punctuated with a flare-out of dark tendrils, wrapping about his arms and legs, and then burrowing into them. "And I am also many more things, far darker than you could imagine ... but that is enough for now."

"Even the Avenger is here at my request. I am sure you recognize Mage Cyprian," Alptraum adds and nods his head towards the other Eeee.

"He's here for the bounty then?" the grumpy old Eeee asks. "What do you want of me, a humble Spirit Mage?"

"He's here because I asked him to be. Whether or not anyone gets a bounty on anything is my choice alone," Alptraum points out. "And do not mock me with this humble mage garbage. I pulled your soul from that monstrosity you now cal a body. I have already spoken with Galtorra, and she is currently 'enjoying' Magog's hospitality. But I think your attitude makes you an even better candidate for being maggot-food. Perhaps I will spare her, and place you there instead. You're old, you'll be nice and chewy, and last. Unless, of course you can prove to me that you're more useful to me not being devoured and tortured for all eternity."

"You shouldn't have wasted your time with Galtorra, the addled.." Eibon starts to say, then seems to reconsider. "What would you find of use, Son of Death?" he asks instead.

"Really? She told me you were too incompetent to even use The Vessel for the tasks required. Nevermind the Shroud," Alptraum notes, sounding bored. "Do you dispute that?"

"My skills in necromancy are without equal!" Eibon claims. "She could not hope to fathom the distillation process!" He seems to be trying to rationalize things to himself more than to Alptraum. "I made sure she stayed in line during the fusion. I controlled her. So in the end, it still counted as my skill that succeeded. And the Shroud was not something she could only use after I had done my work on the subjects."

"Is that so? How pray tell did you make it work for these other subjects, hmm?" Alptraum asks. "From what I heard, you were an incompetent fool, kept around to be amusing to those actually capable. You don't even understand the basics of the jars from the Necropolis, based on what she said."

Eibon hisses. "And could she prime the subjects for resurrection by the Shroud? Could she actually make proper use of the Vessel to accomplish this?" he insists. "No, it was I. I who had true command over life and death. She was just the nurse."

"And why should I believe you?" Alptraum asks, still sounding rather bored. "What procedures and rituals did you use that proves you were the true master of the art, hmm? Instead of just the team clown with an over-inflated sense of self?"

"Spirit is the very key to the process, and only I knew the forbidden secrets of the Vessel," Eibon claims. "It was only through that knowledge could the dead be revived long enough for the mere mechanics of the Shroud to be used to complete the process." He hasn't mentioned anything about the horrib-curse however.

"Really? If you were so good, then why did you need to implant such a crude spell like that horrib you used afterward? That was trivial for me to extract and contain outside of its host," Alptraum notes. "I figured it to be the work of some child. The whole process was crude. Poorly rebuilt bodies, badly repaired wounds, and simple spirit traps? So far, you're all disappointing me. Shall I show you real skill?"

"That curse? Hamron dealt with that, and the artifact," Eibon claims. "That hardly required skill. Compared to those mechanics, I am a true artist. They allowed for the crudeness of the end product. My talents were wasted on it all. What skill is this you wish to show me? Spirit Magic?"

"A lesson in that you create such artificial divisions," Alptraum says as he stands ... and still holds tightly on that leash. "Life and Spirit, you all act like they're such distinct arts, and they are not. One reflects the other and those with the right skill ... can do miracles," Alptraum adds as shadow roils and rolls off of him .... then engulfs the Eeee from the neck down. "Or abominations," he adds as an aside ... while the shadow reworks the Eeee's body into that of ... a large female hog. With an Eeee head. In the span of a few minutes. Granted, it helps a lot that this is a virtual space; things are so much more malleable here than in reality. But it may get the point across. And as the shadow falls away, Alptraum notes, "And there, now you're a proper sow. I wonder what I would get if I bred you. Hmmm. Perhaps with an Eeep. Exploding meals..."

"This is outrageous!" Eibon squeals. "Restore me at once! I am a Royal Mage. The Sabaoth was the head of all the Yodh! I command respect!" This is followed by a hoggish snort.

"You still don't understand, do you? I am not Yodh. I am something quite different. I am bound only by that which I deem right, or just ... and those that I have put my faith in, such as The Avenger here," Alptraum remarks, calmly and coldly. "Saying you're a royal mage is like saying you're a rhugrhat to a grok. That title means little to me, other than you proclaim to be an enemy of all true Eeee and are treated accordingly."

"Enemy of all true Eeee? We were champions of the Eeee. Why else would the invaders try to kill us?" Eibon counters. "What are a few dozen sacrifices in the name of Babelite superiority?"

Alptraum actually laughs. "Did you never figure out who was truly behind you? Who created those jars? The artifacts. I'll give you a hint; she has a lot of spots, and is called the demon of Aztepa. All you were doing was preparing a new army of undead for her to wield," he says. "And you were so blind, and so ... wishing to believe the lies she told through others that you actually fell for all of it."

"That is impossible, the ancient texts.." Eibon argues, then pauses. "Of course we knew. The Sabaoth.. how could he not have known?"

"Dronnell? That was his name once, you know," Alptraum remarks rather dryly. "Given enough time, she twisted him around too. All fear dying, so when his time came, a soft whisper, a nudge of where to find a way to live again, to take on a new body ... how many could honestly resist that. That was why you were keeping Rikat for him, was it not? The plan was if he was placed within me, he'd never need another body again. So, he just had to send people out to the old Necropolis and ... collect a few artifacts. Never mind that while there, the head of Amenlichli's old lieutenant was still there, in a jar. He talks a lot for an old sorta dead head, but I guess that's beside the point."

"Mind Magic could have helped you to overlook certain clues," Cyprian says, with a note of sympathy.

"It's easier to sleep at night and justify all you did when you keep telling yourself that, isn't it?" Alptraum inquires. To Cyprian, he asks, "Do you have anything to ask of this pig? I think I'll hand him over to the breeding pits in Magog's realm; they need a good brooder."

"Those bastards, including Hamron!" Eibon rants. "He was supposed to shield us from the Faceless. Why else.. why else would risk ourself for.. what? What was the plan?" He barely seems to register Alptraum's threat, lost in his own twisted thoughts.

"I don't recognize him," Cyprian says. "I'll need to search the records to get any background. Or pay the Yodhbarada. Rostre keeps up on the weirder Spirit doings. Magog has hog pens? It will make him easier to find later, I suppose."

"Wait here, then. I'll go ... deposit him," Alptraum claims as he 'unzips' reality so that he can step over to Magog's realm. He doesn't really mention that no, she doesn't have hog pens ... but she does have a place where maggots are bred from the victims there, after all."

"Come along, little oinker," Alptraum remarks a bit dryly as off he drags Eibon.

Amazingly, the hog pens of the Yodhmagog exist. Less amazingly, they are steep-sided pits where limbless beasts cannibalize one another until a corpse (or bits of one) fall in on them. But it has posts, chains and ankle-shackles around it, should a swine or anything else need to be left there for awhile.

Eibon is suitably terrified of the location, at least, even making piggy squeals of alarm.

And of course Alptraum drags him along anyway. He also takes on a goofy-sounding mock-Sylvanian accent and lisps (not unlike an Igor). "Yeth, yeth, cometh pitthy, be good for mothhher Magogth," he says, specifically, as he drags him towards the chain-up place.

There white forms truffling about nearby. Maybe they're looking for a pig with an educated nose to help them find the best tidbits. "I'm not supposed to be dead. None of this is supposed to be," Eibon squeals. "The Sabaoth promised us. The high princess promised us! We made them gods.."

"And yeth, here we are! Youth, and me, the Barthsunalalala," Alptraum drolls on, then tries the leash around one of the posts so he can affix the ankle chains without Mr. Piggy running off. He flicks Eibon's nose in a pause while working, too. "You try and elevate the unworthy, and ye fall into ze cesspit," he remarks. "The ones best deserving of power are the ones who don't want it."

"That makes no sense!" the pig-bat argues. "The ones trained in the use of power since birth are surely better off with it."

"Not so. They do not appreciate it, as they did not earn it. Also, being on both sides gives you a far better perspective on using it effectively. I don't any of your so-called allies would have ever thought of turning a traitor of an Eeee into a sow so that she can be humped by, and breed, maggots," Alptraum says as he snaps the last ankle-cuff closed. "It takes someone who has seen the worst of the world to come up with truly creative ... punishments for those who richly deserve it."

"I am a Babelite! I will.. endure!" Eibon claims, but is still shaking quite a bit.

"You don't even know the meaning of that word. If you only know how soft Babelites really are, you'd have understood long ago that al the posturing and grabbing for more 'power' was your own insecurities and fears in action. It made you easily manipulated," Alptraum points out. "Now, as fun as it would be to watch you get humped by the next monster that comes along, I have your comrade to see to ... and decide what I will do with him. Maybe Blakat would like a new practice dummy; one that screams," he muses as he stands to leave.

The sounds of maggoty hogs (hoggots?) trying to climb up out of the pit to get to the sow are pretty loud, but fade by the time Alptraum returns to Cyprian. The man has his wings wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak, and is doing a good job of ignoring the Eeee-form Yodhmagog that is clearly trying to entice him with her display of pale, slightly slimy bare skin.

"If you want to take a break, I think one of them would like to entertain you," Alptraum remarks to Cyprian. "You'd get used to the slime. I ... think."

"I'd rather not dally with such creatures, even if this is.. well, not quite a dream," Cyprian replies. "And it isn't fair to lead a Yodh on."

"It's not like they'd be expecting anything more than a little bump and squirt," Alptraum remarks as he looks at the Yodh. "But, we do have one more of these creeps to deal with. I'd like to get done with this too. So .... back to Nowhere."

"This place would be rather tranquil if not for the existential dread from the view," Cyprian notes.

"That is the entire point of this place," Alptraum remarks as he returns to his 'throne' and plots down into it, "For what are you, if you are in a place that doesn't exist and has no meaning? Anyway, one last one to grab ... Hamron, I believe it was. Let me see if I can pull him in. Should probably keep him on a leash too ..."

Hamron Lusk, Archmage of School of Mind, does not look as old as he should. He seems barely older than Cyprian, and still has a rigid, haughty posture despite the leash. "I wasn't expecting to see an old student," he says in a deep voice.

Cyprian replies with, "I don't recognize you as a former instructor. Your name is one out of history."

"What can I say? I seem to collect mages," Alptraum remarks a bit dryly from where he holds the leash. "And you're the latest one to add to my collection. Your allies, Eibon and Galtorra are right now 'entertaining' some pets. Can't say they're too happy about it. Now the question is what I do with you, hmm? Can you offer anything of remote value that might sway me from sending you to join them?"

"Oh, I'm certain to have things of remote value," Hamron notes. "But what is your counteroffer?"

"I don't have to offer you anything, you know. I could deconstruct you right here, while Cyprian pulls your brain apart for me," Alptraum notes, sounding bored with this one. "Do you even know who I am?"

"From the throne, I'd guess either the Barsunala or someone acting like they think the Barsunala would," Hamron notes. "The previous avatar was much younger. I believe he killed himself after only a few years of assuming the mantle."

"Oh? Do tell me about this previous one?" Alptraum inquires, slightly curious. "As for who, you are correct. I am also the one who conquered Amenlichli's little weapon, and now wield it myself. Care for further demonstration? Or was the demonstration I helped do on your current body back in the cell enough? Enjoying not having hands, feet, or a voice?"

"He caused quite a scandal," Hamron notes. "The pressure of having to live up to his divine nature was too much. So he took the one way out that would not violate the Lore or embarrass Sunala. There was nothing to say that the Barsunala could not take his own life, after all. I don't need a demonstration, but I'm curious as to its nature."

"And when was this?" Alptraum asks and rolls his hand slowly, and the shadow itself boils and ripples cross it, making his hand look like it's made of oil. Three sharp spears of the shadow shoot out and stab the Eeee in his shoulders, and then one in his gut. "Oh, but a demonstration is so much more effective," he notes, darkly. "You should ask Eibon; if he's not squealing like the sow he currently is while behind mounted."

Hamron lets out a surprised grunt of pain, as if not expecting it to feel real. "Amorphous.. manipulates flesh.." he groans, unable to fall due to the spikes. "Shadow Dragon?"

"Former," Alptraum remarks as he wiggles his fingers slowly and tendrils of that shadow start spreading out within Hamron's body. "See, my nature as the Barsunala put me in just the position to claim and assimilate into myself such a creature. So ... you may mock or think me some fake or pretender, but I don't think even you and all your education have ever heard of, or seen a creature such as me." The shadow squirms about within the other Eeee's body, feeling like snakes beneath the skin. Alptraum leans forward, his voice deepening and sounding more hollow, "I assure you, I am the real thing. And for all your crimes, I have little sympathy for one such as you. I would enjoy putting you in a place where you were never allowed the peace of oblivion. So, you asked what I can offer you. I can offer you a chance to avoid eternal misery and torment. Your 'friend' Galtorra didn't believe me, you know ... but you should have heard her scream when I took her to a place far removed from the Sea." He twists his hand again, and disconnects the nerves in the Eeee's arms, legs, and they go limp. Sure, there is still pain, but zero mobility. "So, by all means, continue to be defiant. I would love nothing more than to see you tortured for eternity."

"And-d-d.. what c-crimes am I accused-d of?" the pain-wracked man asks in a stuttering hiss. "Condemned-d for without.. a trial.."

"I know you took people prisoner, and those close to death revived them, erased their memories and implanted false ones to make them serve you. And oh, a horrib guard in case anyone tinkered. I removed that easily, by the by. You violated the basic tenants of life and death, but taking the life of another and lending it to one who's time had ended; that is enough to earn Sunala's wrath. Now, add on the betrayal of Babel itself, and your alliance with Amenlichli ... now that not only angers me, but the entire living world," Alptraum remarks as he uses the shadow now to move the man as if he were a dancing puppet on a string. "Care to deny it? To one who has reached into their very beings to remove what you helped place here? How do you think you got here? I plucked you from that mish-mash of flesh you called a body."

"It was a rush.. rushed job," Hamron claims. "No time to subsume the other t-two personalities. F-flesh is so impermanent. This isn't.. the only instance of me. Still hurts.. What is the prize for c-cooperating with you?"

"Oooooh, so there are more of you are there?" Alptraum asks as his lips draw back into a gleaming white smile of teeth. "Do you know that I could reach out now and find /all of them/ now that I have hold of you? Distance doesn't matter that much. I can drag every little fragment of you to this place with some effort," Alptraum says darkly. "As for the prize ... /not/ being tortured for eternity and granted the chance of peace in death I think is quite a prize, don't you?" Another hand roll, and he /reconnects/ all those nerves, sending the muscles into buzzing/tingling confusion as he lets up on inducing pain.

"Oh.. not me personally, but someone I collected probably," Hamron claims. "Mind transfer.. is an important part of maintaining a Sabaoth. Copying requires some assistance.. Eibon was useful for that."

"By the way, I have to say ... your skills in transfer and flesh manipulation was incredibly crude," Alptraum notes. "And since we're on this discussion; what do you know of my friend here?" he asks and gestures towards Cyprian.

"I remember.. I have memories of him as a novice, learning spells by rote," Hamron says. "Guisarme.. I think I was. He knew some useful things, so I mostly kept that part, but the rest bobs to surface occasionally, given the proper prompt."

"Master Guisarme was one of my instructors," Cyprian admits. "He was lost in the Boomer."

"Not all of him," Hamron claims. "He was old. The old fear losing a lifetime of knowledge that cannot be properly passed on."

"So, you raped the minds of others to get their knowledge," Alptraum remarks dryly. He looks to Cyprian and asks, "Should I just send this creature to Magog? He has violated people who were close to you, so you should have say in this."

"Ha.. ha.. it doesn't work that way," Hamron claims. "Only Mind Mages can manage it, and it takes two. The Sabaoth never grasped the process. It took so much effort with him. Bits of brain, Spirit Magic.."

"It's forbidden, but he isn't lying," Cyprian says. "In the old days, Mind Mage spies could pass on their memories."

"Not so old," Hamron claims. "The fat nobles of Rephidim would have it done, be given the memories of others to relive as if their own." The Eeee spits, before saying, "A degenerate of something that could pass on knowledge without the filter of a medium. Memories as heirlooms." He then looks to Alptraum. "They do that in Sylvania, don't they? With wine?"

"You also never answered what I should do with this one," Alptraum points out to Cyprian. "He's obviously going to sit here and laugh and put on a show of defying me, so I really don't feel like continuing this discussion with him. It's a waste of time."

The Alptraum turns his attention back to Hamron. "In a sense, yes. Wine grapes grown in a graveyard can share some bits of memory; impressions of a time or a moment. Echoes and shadows. Mephisto wine, it is called," he notes.

"The Sabaoth was vain, wanted to maintain his ego instead of passing on his knowledge," Hamron says. "Foolish. What is the point of passing on your flaws and stubborness. It was his undoing. So.. how do I appease the Barsunala? That is the question now, isn't it?"

"I already told you. If you are not willing to listen, then I really have no use for you, or need concern myself with any sort of mercy," Alptraum says in a tone dripping with acid. He then laughs to himself, adding, "Right now, I actually wish I could give you to Vorgulremik ... but he's also my prisoner and cannot consume you and your knowledge."

"You haven't asked me any questions yet," Hamron offers. "I doubt you want my memories directly.. unless that is why Cyprian is here?"

"I'm not one to pass judgment on him without knowing what information he has," Cyprian notes. "What do we need to know?"

"I asked him to be here to be my conscience," Alptraum remarks. "And since he's not objected to me doing something horrible to you, well. Anyway, fine, what exactly was it your little group was hoping to achieve with the raids and information gathering? What exactly are they wanting to reclaim from Babel? And for that matter, just how many Royal mages actually escaped and are working in this little plot?"

"So many. The Doctor was tasked with creating expendable soldiers to throw against the Yodh. The Yodhrephath, specifically. Overwhelm them, draw them out in force. This would leave a gap in the city's defense, one that the others could exploit. There is something held by the Coalition. They hold many of our artifacts. I don't have the specifics of the exact item, only that it involves killing Thath to get it. I know of six other survivors. At least one of them, or more, are of the Faceless Trio. Our leaders."

"Why would it be necessary to kill Thath?" Alptraum has to ask, "I know him, and he's an old man. By himself, he is not that dangerous; his danger comes from the power he wields over others. Is this artifact somehow inside him?"

"What are the names of the other survivors? The ones you know, at least?" Alptraum also asks.

"Our handler was known as Zeitgeist," Hamron explains. "Not her real name, but we all had our nicknames. Spirit and Light are her specialties. She mentioned how many others had escaped and reconnected. But not what state they were in. Our combined state required powerful artifacts to manage. They would not have been available to the others."

"And Amenlichli?" Alptraum inquires next. "Was this Zeitgeist her direct agent?"

"You've mentioned the dark goddess before, but what makes you think I.. we.. the Doctor.. has a connection?" Hamron asks. "We barely acknowledged the Kindly Ones, and were not prone to devil worship. You have information that I do not."

"You chose to simply ignore the connections. "Those jars that you use, for example. They come from a Necropolis outside of Babel off in the wastes. "That was one of her cities, and one of her lieutenants dwelled there still. The arts on transferring memory, and extending life and all that. Where do you think they originated? Who made the suggestions? Who whispered in Dronnel's ear? Ah, pardon, I should use the Sabbaoth; few know that was his name once."

"Aside from the Altar of Twilight, the rest were divine artifacts," Hamron declares. "The Soul Jar was of Exile origin. The Altar was of the Tower of Babel. The Shroud.. hmm. The Shroud was supposedly the burial shroud of Diphath."

"The Soul Jar was just one of many jars, actually. Someone looted it from that old city that Amenlichli claimed centuries back," Alptraum notes, then shrugs a little. "But the other information is ... interesting. That would also place the Shroud in Amenlichli's domain too; as she was the backer of Diphath."

"We assumed it was simply attributed to Diphath due to its function," Hamron claims.

"That's rather convenient for you, if you don't want to admit to 'devil worship' as you put it," Alptraum points out. "Just how did its function link it to Diphath?"

"Vampirism," Hamron states. "The transfer of life and spirit energy from one body to another."

"And you still don't see the connection to Amenlichli with that?" Alptraum has to ask, then remarks to Cyprian, "Blind, or willfully ignorant, I suppose."

"Amenlichli is a goddess.. demoness.. of the undead," Hamron notes. "And Diphath was a vampire goddess. I'm not Gallisian, so I do not see how the two equate. The Yodhbarada did not offer such insight when providing us with information on the artifacts."

"And when did they provide you with this information?" Alptraum asks, "And that does answer it; willfully blind. Ignorant of the world at large and the interconnections of myth and history."

"We served the Sabaoth and Babel," Hamron says. "We were not mired in superstition. And the artifacts are older than the Sabaoth. I don't know when the Royal Mages were given them or the information we have about them."

"It was not recent, then. Still I shall have to have words with a Yodhbarada I know about keeping this information from me," Alptraum comments. "And of course they're older than the Sabbaoth. The weapon I wield now, the Shadow of Amena, is older than the Sabbaoth too, and has similar origins. You have also been surprisingly helpful. One more question; how and why did you end up in the state you are now?"

"Our airship crashed," Hamron says. "Shot down by Rephidim forces. We had the artifacts, and the means to use them to save ourselves. There was some reticence but.. in the end, survival matters. And as for being willfully blind, do you really believe the Kindly Ones are real, and not just spirits conjured by belief or constructed by magic? Before the great ritual to elevate the High Princess, they were remarkably silent after all."

"They are constructs of belief, I am not arguing that. But they also tie back to history and other aspects. Nala, for example, can be seen in fragments of Sunala, Rinala, Inala, Gorphat and Gephesia. All myths have some truth in history, and Nala was a real person long ago. I've met her, and I've been in the presence of her weapon, the Light," Alptraum notes. "Ultimately all spirits are creations of belief, wither through the skilled work of a mage, or the mass raw power of a people. Your ritual just gave them more immediate presence. Anyway, they exist now, and I am trying to use them to guide Babel back to a better course. I am using what I am, and what the people believe of me, to try and save my people from becoming puppets of a far darker power."

"Darker than the Sabaoth?" Hamron asks. "Or Thath? Babel has always been full of puppets, just not very well controlled ones. The Sabaoth simply had to keep enough of the strings tangled up so that they kept fighting each other instead of him."

"Darker than the Sabbaoth. He was once a good man, who become a puppet. A tragic story in an endless supply of them," Alptraum says. "For example, I was born to a corpse; a Srinala. I lived my life in exile to 'protect' me. I have been surrounded by death and destruction for much of it; I have known poverty beyond anything you could imagine. I have seen echoes of horrors and tragedies I'm not sure you could comprehend. I have seen the birth of forbidden zones, and the fall of great civilizations. I am the Barsunala because the people willed it of me; and that belief is what kept me alive given I was incomplete in the normal sense. And with all of that, I have chosen to walk my own path, and use my abilities, to try to change the course Babel is on. I embraced the role that was desired of me, to help people that in spite of everything I still love. I've seen beauty and kindness in places you would have never expected to find it. And if I can nurture that, then I will. I'm a foolish idealist, and it has caused me considerable pain. Even if it means the end of me, I'm going to try to change things for the better. And no, that doesn't mean I want to, or intend to rule Babel. I have no desire for it. So, if your questions about Goddesses, or people, or infighting, or whatnot is to demoralize me ... don't bother. It's not something I haven't heard before, or seen acted out in other countries, or other times."

"So what new darkness is waiting to consume Babel?" Hamron asks, a bit deferentially. "Another Boomer? War? Revenge for capturing a true god to power our Dream Ritual? There are many external things I can think of. Or is it something from within? Without the Sabaoth, are the great families about to fight over which should be the one to forge the next dynasty?"

"The darkness isn't new. Amenlichli is coming; she had an agent in the General, but I am not sure if that alliance remains. Her bloodline still exists as well. She's trying to find a new link to re-establish her control here, nothing more. The great families are falling, I've been removing many of the worst of the actors from society, and I have supported the formation of new rules and laws, and an attempt at democracy instead of oligarchy, be it religious or financial. And most of this I've done in the shadows; I don't want people to expect me to lead them as some sort of new King. I don't want the cycle to repeat; it's as simple as that. I will break it, even if it means breaking myself. Unlike you; I'm prepared to die to save Babel, because that is what it may take to shatter this loop of time."

"The General still lives?" Hamron asks. "The Tower was.. outside of our jurisdiction. Even antagonistic to us, because of our possession of the Altar. Only the High Princess and Thath together were able to get us access to the base levels for the Ritual, but we were closely watched and escorted. But why would Amenlichli want Babel? Our culture venerates the sanctity of our dead. We would never be swayed to necromancy!"

"It also means we have some of the largest graveyards there are in the world, and they go back centuries. Quite an army, wouldn't you say? How many generations of remains lay buried in the catacombs? All ready and waiting to become unstoppable soldiers," Alptraum points out. "And the General .... exists. She is not alive in the sense of having a beating heart. She is undead, as she accepted a pact with the Demon."

"And you claim Amenlichli is behind our activities?" Hamron asks. "Or somehow behind the ambitions of the Sabaoth himself?"

"When you don't die, or age, you can play the long con," Alptraum says and shrugs. "I'm certain she is. I've seen far too much evidence of it. Plus the fact she contacted me to try and get me to back down makes me think I've made her at least a little nervous."

"Why would she even do that.. but I am not that familiar with her Lore," Hamron admits. "For me.. Aeztepa was a navigational hazard, far removed from Babel."

"Something else you should know. Many of the forbidden zones on this world were created by her clashes with Nala, the outcome of the Light and the Shadow imploding. The Necromancer wars of Sylvania ... were her doing as well. You may have avoided her island home ... but she doesn't avoid our homes," Alptraum explains. "Remember how you told me about sharing of memories? The echo of a mage from one of those battles allowed me to see what happened in one of the many wars she was behind in our world's history."

"So, she wanted the power of the Tower of Babel all along?" Hamron asks. "The Plaguebringers are dead though."

"There are levels in the Tower no one has been in, in centuries," Alptraum adds.

"But Amenlichli knows what is hidden within them?" Hamron asks, and his face twitches. "Are you saying the Sabaoth's Babel.. has been one long conspiracy to shape us into what she wanted?"

"Seems that way, I'm afraid," Alptraum points out. "All the evidence I've seen points in that direction."

"But.. what happened? You say the General was her creature, but the General was driven out!" Hamron says. "When did Amenlichli's influence break?"

"The general became her creature when her ship fled to the Necropolis. The remains are still there. She made a deal with Amenlichli to 'survive' that ... and also, ironically, also betrayed her by rigging the agreement in such a way as Amenlichli couldn't control her as she usually did through things called black hearts. And now the General hides in the Forbidden zone because the chaos of it hides her from Amenlichli too. But, to make matters more 'fun', the General is staging an attack; I've already confounded her plans a few times, the latest being exploding corpse bombs of mental chaos," Alptraum explains.

"Then what is it the General wants?" Hamron asks, his pain apparently forgotten. "Revenge? Something to protect her from Amenlichli?"

"No idea on that front," Alptraum admits. Though he has one theory that he doesn't say; to kill Daughter of Shadows, the last living descendant of her.

"I don't know what Thath may have that Amenlichtli would want, if she is behind our current endeavors," Hamron claims. "But I may have known it at some point - I cannot prove otherwise."

Alptraum looks at Cyprian. "I think I won't send him to Magog. What is your opinion?" he asks.

"I wouldn't trust him, or his memories if he has so many that are not his own," Cyprian says. "But within those 'heirloom' memories there could be useful information. And unlike the other two, he hasn't tried to blame others. What are our options here?"

"I can simply let him rest in peace until needed again. If he had a family, I could have possibly placed him with their echoes," Alptraum says, "But if you do not trust him, does that mean you would prefer I sent him to Magog's hell?"

"He needs to be kept inactive," Cyprian explains. "Mind Mages are fairly resistant to mental disturbances, but I don't know what conditions he's under now. Can you put him to sleep?"

"I can put him into sort of a limbo stasis," Alptraum notes, "That's relatively easy to do with the shadow. Will that suffice to satisfy you?"

"Yes. There are things I need to research before accessing him again," Cyprian says.

"All right, that I can do," Alptraum says, then looks back to Hamron. "You ... have been helpful. Your reward is being able to rest without torment. I return you to whence you came," he intones, then tries to mentally push him out of this dream echo and back into the restrained body.

The body of Hamron dissolves away on the breeze, leaving Cyprian and Alptraum alone on the tiny island.

"Well, that wasn't pleasant in any way," Alptraum admits as he slumps down into his chair. "I feel like a monster."

"You did well as a demigod I think," Cyprian notes. "I would imagine they'd have a combination of the indifference of the gods and the ego of the mortals."

"Your performance was quite subdued in comparison," Cyprian notes. "More believable."

"Oh no," Cyprian assures. "The Kindly Ones.. tend to not like how they are portrayed in such things. Especially Sunala."

"Probably for the best. Thank you for being here," Alptraum says. "Are you ready to return to yourself, so to speak?"

"Yes, I think I have some information I can act on now," Cyprian says. "Will you be taking this information to the Prime Minister?"

"That his life is at risk? Yes. I don't know if he'll tell me what they might be after, though," Alptraum admits.

Alptraum gets up from his chair and stretches upward. The dark Eeee then turns to Cyprian, and in a moment of impishness, he takes hold of the Eeee, dips him back and snogs him then and there. And only after a few seconds into the kiss, does he actively try to push Cyprian back to himself. "That'll make him wonder," he thinks.

This makes Alptraum laugh as he flops right back into his chair and stretches his legs out. He feels tired now, being nasty is always draining. So, he's content to just sit in silence for a bit in this quiet place.