Rise of a Monster

"Are you sure you do not wish for more?" The Oracle of Embers asked as they reached the flag signaling the Altar of the Lost's location outside of the city. "We owe you much for your assistance, noble Geladin."

"Ordinarily I would say yes, but you gave us a magic wagon filled with food," Gel said, his tone still one of awe as crimson whips waved in excitement at the haul the Oracle had given them. "I don't know which one I want to eat first! If slimes could cry, I would be bawling right now."

The blind bearkin chuckled as Saren busied himself inspecting the pair of chained-together, floating wagons one final time. Sean, for his part, was content. More than content, really. The paladins had returned their gear, his beloved pot, and set them up with everything they could possibly need to travel back out in the desert. They had even helped to repair the damage done to Cultivar's Curiosities, which Sean had appreciated.

It had been three days since the battle at the gold spire compound. He and Gel had spent the vast majority of it getting the store set back up and preparing for their trip back to Auntie Ta. Between their new dishes and the creation of MOB 2.0, he felt they had done well. Even with the paladins, customers, and even the city guard, stopping in from time to time.

With those fennekian furballs running the shop for us, we'll probably have more coin than we know what to do with when we get back. Sean mused, recalling how uncharacteristically intense the small creatures had been when they had negotiated that particular deal. Free employees in exchange for room, board, and adding it to the fennekian's network of hideouts had been an easy trade to make. They didn't even take too much off the top.

"I didn't even know kitchens could be mobile!" Gel cried in exuberance, for at least the fourth time since they had left Dervash. "It's so beautiful—wait, how are we going to keep sand out of the food?!"

The slime sounded suddenly panicked, and the Oracle rumbled with laughter this time.

"I am aware of your kind's aversion to salt. You will find it does not stick to the equipment we have provided."

"That… is awesome." Gel replied, before changing the topic. "But you could have had Feathers tell us all this. So, no offense I appreciate the send-off, but why are you here?"

This was a question Sean and Gel had discussed on the way out. They had only met the Oracle once before, right after the battle with the Spire's now-former commander. All of the assistance they had received since had been through either Saren or errand-boys. So, when the owlen had said the Oracle seeing their departure journey off to its first leg, the pair had been understandably suspicious.

Sean reached over and casually scratched the Cadeijo's fur as Gel asked the question. The now-recovered nightmarish beast leaned into his touch just as a normal dog might, happily whipping its chains back and forth across the sand. This guy is going to love the giants.

Across the wagon, the Oracle was silent for a moment. When the bearkin eventually spoke, he seemed almost… hesitant.

"You have rendered us great assistance, Gel. Not only in returning one of our own, but in helping to deliver the rest of our order here from a path that sped us towards our own destruction. Had you not arrived, I would have been forced to return to the main branch and order a cleansing."

A few feet away, Saren choked on nothing. His head slowly turned to stare at the Oracle.

"We do not often have cause to repay great debts to one of your kind. When we do, tradition, and our own honor, demands we repay the service with something of equal value. What we have provided here," The Oracle gestured at the wagons. "Is insufficient. By a great deal."

"You also promised to help us fight Bancroft, later." Gel pointed out, echoing Sean's words. "A necromancer for a commander feels like a fair deal."

The bearkin shook his great head, wisps of smoke rising from the smoldering sockets of his eyes.

"That is a shared enemy. Facing him with you is merely a matter of convenience, as we would have done so regardless. To call doing so an equal service may as well be deceit. No," The bearkin reached into a pocket, retrieving a sphere comprised of hundreds of blackened steel rings. A small flame flickered from within its center, the light barely visible in the desert sun. "In keeping with your own dual nature, what I have for you – should you decide to take it – is equal parts gift and danger."

"What is it?"

"By itself? A question. A quest, and maybe, an answer."

Sean stared at the Oracle, his deadpan expression clear even on his normally expressionless skull.

"It is a reminder of times long forgotten." The bearkin continued, a small smirk stretching the corners of his face. "The late commander had hoped it would guide him to unparalleled glory, even if it ultimately proved his downfall, as such pursuits often do. Some say--"

"Are you going to tell us what this is?" Gel interrupted. "Because the more you avoid the question, the more I start wonder whether you actually know."

Another rumbling chuckle came from the bearkin as Saren resumed his work fastening down the armoire they had retrieved for Auntie Ta. Despite his feigned inattention however, Sean knew the owlen was listening closely.

"In its simplest terms, this device leads one towards items of great power."

"So, it's a map." Gel said.

"Not quite. It does not show the way, so much as the direction."

"So, it's a compass." Sean said, and Gel echoed the sentiment. "A powerful item-compass. That's pretty cool, actually. Why's he so hesitant about handing it over? And what's this about danger?"

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"The pursuit of great objects inevitably leads one to great risk. Many find their end before the prize. It would be… unfortunate, if our recompense to you led you to the end of your journey."

"Oh, that's fine." Gel said with supreme confidence, grasping the sphere with his crimson whip and tossing it over to Sean. "Our journey will never end."

The Oracle's sightless eyes widened and he was about to say something, but the instant Sean caught the sphere in his midnight hand, a shroud of darkness exploded out of it. The bearkin, Saren, and even the Cadeijo leapt backwards as the geladin's entire body was wrapped in an impenetrably dark cloud.

Inside his mind, Sean heard only three words.

Finally… a successor.

Bancroft swirled deep red wine in a goblet, sipping only occasionally as he stared over his balcony at the preparations being made down below. At the walls, defenses, and barricades being erected by a horde of tireless undead. At the sight of his new seat of power growing.

All of which was exciting, but not nearly so much as the woman standing at his side.

"You will find greater purpose here than you ever did with those fools." Bancroft promised her as he finished off his cup and tossed it absently over the ledge. "Once I have retrieved my errant minion, you will see just how futile resisting my will was in the first place."

The woman half-shrouded in tendrils of shadow, the Darkmaiden he had created, did not respond. Her like could not, and her personality would fade even faster now that the conversion was complete, but he still enjoyed their 'conversations'. Even if she was still resisting him. A fact which still caused sweat to crease his perfect brow from time to time.

Whenever his concentration slipped.

The strain of her nearly matches the hulklord. I will have to keep her here for now. Close to the pit. Otherwise holding them both will be impossible. The necromancer thought, trying not to let his anger at the delay sour the wine or his mood. Once her will is gone, this will all be worth it.

Converting the Brightmaiden to a death aspect had given him two entire levels, so, the effort had not been without its own reward. That thought mollified him as he withdrew into his recently expanded chambers. Towards the sound of old feet rushing up the stairs.

"Enter." Bancroft called, in no mood to wait for a knock. Sabin rushed in immediately, arms full of materials the necromancer had asked for hours ago as well as something white that cawed its displeasure at his handling.

"M'lord, the bonewings you sent to that desert city have returned." Sabin reported, carefully spilling the skeletal bird out onto a nearby table as he maneuvered the rest of the items into their proper place. "I brought it 'ere immediately."

"Speak." Bancroft ordered the bird, not bothering to acknowledge his servant. "What have you found?"

"Bright ones. Headed this way." The bonewing squawked. "Not friendly. Not at all."

That explains the others I lost. Bancroft mused. "How far is this city?"

"Weeks!"

"And the 'bright ones', how far are they?"

"Weeks!"

Bancroft momentarily considered blasting the thing to pieces, but he restrained himself. Now that he had a location, he could send more capable minions to surveil his foes… before the hulklord crushed them.

"How many?"

The bonewing held up its three-taloned claw ten times.

Thirty? Bancroft's sinister grin nearly split his face in half as Sabin, watching off to the side, paled slightly. The fools are finally starting to take me seriously.

"We will catch them at the forest's edge." Bancroft ordered, dismissing the bonewing from his service. Its bones clattered to the table, where he would use them to summon a more capable flyer soon. "Inform the servants. Prepare the horde. Properly, this time. I want enough left to storm the sands after the battle."

"Storm the… sands, m'lord?" Sabin asked, confused.

"Yes, you perpetually doddling old fool." Bancroft's eyes blazed as he snarled his next words. He almost struck the man for daring to question him but thought better of wasting his energy. "Retrieving the Spire's next round of offerings to my power is not the only goal I aim to achieve with this excursion."

The necromancer's eyes flicked over the ingredients Sabin had brought with him, nodding to himself when he saw all he needed for his next ritual was present. As his servant sensed the dismissal and scurried from the room to carry out his orders, Bancroft began to draw a new circle in the floor.

He did not dare attempt to summon the geladin back once more. If the creature had resisted him before its evolution, its will – wherever it was – would only be more fortified now. Even if it were not, he could not risk a lapse in concentration releasing the Darkmaiden nor the Hulklord from their bindings. Thankfully, that was not his only option.

Shadows crawled across the floor and swirled into a spinning circle as he worked. The bones of his dismissed bonewing crackling and snapping as Bancroft tossed them inside the growing sphere. Dark amusement welled up within him as, with the Darkmaiden silently enhancing his already formidable magic, the necromancer finally felt like all the errant pieces on the board were being coming together to feed his glorious design.

"When I find you," the necromancer promised the air as he finished preparations for the binding that would lead his new summon inexorably to the geladin's location no matter how far it had fled. "Your sacrifice will serve a grand purpose…"

There was little point threatening the undead. Torture did not work on them as it did the living, but there were still ways to inflict harm. To torment those who could yet feel even in unlife – and Bancroft knew them. As his new creature coalesced, the necromancer finished his oath.

"And you will pay for crossing me."

Penciel dropped his report on Shepiel's desk, then sank into the chair opposite his supervisor.

"This is it?" She asked, eyed the hefty stack of immaculately organized paper. "Everything? Including your little viewing party?"

"It is." He affirmed, rubbing his face with his hands. When had he slept last? He should probably sleep. "Markiel and Erasiel's observations. Papyriel's apoplexy and recommendations. My…'ramblings', I think you might call them at this point."

"And? What's the verdict?" Shepiel didn't bother starting in on the report. As usual, she wanted to hear it from him first. "Is the case closed?"

"… No. Pages 485, 957, and 2,056." Penciel recited casually, sitting up as he drew breath. "The anomaly almost triggered another cascade, subverted – without actually breaking – about two dozen rules on the use of cursed items, indirectly led to the creation of another anomaly, and as of about fifteen minutes ago, was handed a Sphere of Discovery."

Shepiel stared at him.

"And you're not recommending removal because…?"

"Because he didn't technically break any rules." Penciel shrugged. "And the big guy found it hilarious. Wants to see how it all plays out."

Shepiel's eyes widened around the edges, then darted up to the ceiling. After a moment, she looked back at his report, then nodded to herself in the way one does right before accepting the weight of more work than they have time for.

"Fair enough… How did Papyriel take it?"

"Couldn't tell you. He hasn't stopped swearing at me yet."

The pair shared a chuckle over that, before silence fell on the room once more. Both angels could feel the weight of this report like a widening gulf between them. If this were their only troubling case, it wouldn't be an issue. But it wasn't. Shepiel's time was being monopolized by another one that had passed his own desk recently. Before she had taken it on personally, a fact for which he was grateful.

Between these two and those goblins, we're going to need some new staff.

"Alright, then." Shepiel said, apparently ready to be done with this particular headache. Or to pass it back to him. The latter was more likely. "What is your recommendation?

Penciel took a long, hard stare at the report before meeting her eyes. He shrugged.

"Instruction… observation… and more observation. Like I said, the big guy wants to see how it all plays out."

"When was the last time one of our cases found a Sphere of Discovery?" Shepiel asked, abruptly changing the conversation and staring over at the library wall of completed case files decorating one side of her office as if it had personally wronged her. "Was that before your time?"

"Must have been. Far as I'm aware, it's never happened."

"Hmm." Shepiel waved a hand, and the wall of case files opened up on itself, revealing yet more deeper within in a nearly endless expanse. A library of a size that rivaled mortal catacombs, Penciel knew. "You should probably read up on the last one."

"That bad?"

"If I recall correctly – and it's been a while, so I might not…" Shepiel said, calling forth an entire section of wall that folded its way towards the front. She indicated it with a finger, releasing the myriad seals keeping it in place and giving him permission to take the file.

The file whose paperwork took up the entire wall.

"That's the case that got our office started in the first place."