In the umbral corners of my twisted heart
I know only terror of the Crimson Lord

I am humbled.

-Celina d'Murani

Umbral night had descended upon the tainted city, and Syverin, a relatively
young geomancer and Scarlet Priest of the Red Masque, found his steps quickening
as he passed beneath the leering gazes of light wreathed gargoyles, perched high
atop their iron thrones. Punctuality had never been one of his notable
attributes, and improvement in the matter was something the Archmage
continuously reminded him of. It seemed that he would suffer the Archmage's ire
once again. His boots scuffed heavily against the bricks of Sombre lane, muffled
by the mud and soil that seemed determined to cake to his body despite any
efforts to keep them clean. Syverin entered the darkened dome that houses the
Great Megalith, skirting the edges of the room to avoid a group of chattering
nobles. N'Kylbar, most likely, and getting too close would most likely result in
being sucked into whatever political scheme they were conjuring this month.
Arriving at the base of the Geomancer's shadowed tower, Syverin touched his palm
against the ancient, inscribed marble before slipping into the tower's foyer.
The sourness of the tainted earth was always remarkably thick within the Tower
of a Thousand Hungers, and today was no different. Muffled voices climbed up
from the circular stairwell at the center of the room, and Syverin halted
momentarily to collect himself and inspect his being before slipping down the
stone steps. The meeting, as the Archmage had scribed upon the newsboards, was
taking place in the Earthen Library, the favored meeting spot of the Geomagi
since the guildhall lacked any sort of true conference room. Whomever was
speaking seemed quite agitated, their voice reverberating off the marble walls
as Syverin scuffed towards the library. As expected, the young geomancer drew
more than a few displeased glances from the gathered crowd. Most notable was a
particularly dour look from the speaker, Orkish. Orvis? Orcin? Syverin had never
been the best with names, but no matter. He knew she was some young and rather
snobby Viscanti girl who had recently been promoted to Crafter and, either by
naivety or self delusion, had conviced herself her opinion was of some
relevance. The Archmage cleared his throat rather deliberately, a
none-too-subtle hint at his displeasure. Inclining his head politely to the
Archmage, an apologetic gesture rather than a greeting, Syverin slipped into an
empty corner of the chamber.

"The system we have in place," continued the uppity Crafter, "simply can't
handle the current influx of novices from the collegium. I, for one, have been
absolutely bogged down as of late with the sheer volume of pupils."

The Geomancers, as well as the other guilds of the Engine, had indeed been
experiencing an unusual surge of students enrolling in the Collegium of
Necromantic and Tainted research.

"I strongly suggest a complete over-haul of our current system." the Crafter
carried on, her chin tucked a bit too high in the air. "I will be pleased to
take the reigns myself. As you can see, the plan I am proposing will call for
three additional Crafters as well as five..."

It had only been a few short minutes, but Syverin had found his mind wandering
from the conversation already. More interested in reading the attendees than the
over-articulated hot air this girl was venting He turned his gaze slowly across
the room. Geomancers of all ranks and races had gathered for the meeting.
Drinin, a rather large, graying tae'dae took up the bulk of the couch. Though
he'd never been much on the battlefield nor particularly skilled in the
geomantic arts, he had been a member of the Geomancers for as long as anyone
could remember and was often consulted for his blunt logic and insight. Syverin
had always considered him amusingly simply to manipulate. Next to Drinin was a
bland looking human male. Something with a C, or was it an H? An experienced
combatant of average skill, he had been promoted to serve under the Lady Ire
some time ago, his dull brown robes were an excellent compliment to his equally
dull personality. Syverin had always disliked dealing with him, and often found
sport in confusing the simple man.

Dust showered from the ceiling as one of the other Crafters disagreed, rather
vocally, with some claim the uppity girl had made. The disagreeable Viscanti
girl had dramatically slapped her fist against the center table. While not how
he preferred to spend his night, Syverin was certainly amused for the time.

Towards the head of the circle, if there was one, stood an imposing female
Viscanti with fiery hair of brilliant scarlet. While not classically beautiful,
her strong features possessed a certain undeniable allure. Clutched in her right
hand was a staff unlike any others within the room. Poised regally and radiating
an aura of confidence, the Lady Ire Vynira left little question of who was in
charge of this meeting. Seated to her right was an equally powerful Viscanti man
of innumerable years. Imposing in his own right, he possessed an air of
authority and confidence, similar yet entirely different than the Lady Ire's.
The Archmage sat silently, his gaze locked on things unseen, as he nodded almost
habitually to the ongoing conversations. Lord Maliden i'Xiia, Archmage of the
Geomancers for well over three decades, had been the sole object of Syverin's
attention for several months, and as always, he found his eyes unconsciously
locked on the Count. Each angle of his face Syverin had carefully memorized,
every muscle twitch and frown line, for the Archmage was no stranger to glum
moods. The Count seemed as if he was carved from the earth itself, nearly
flawless features that shrugged off over a centuries worth of conflict and
politics. Swathed in luxurious robes of violent Crimson, the Archmage wore
proudly the color of their common Master, Lord Fain of the Red Masque. Around
his neck hung various jewels and beads of obscure importance, but among his
baubles hung the Archmage's personal medallion and a thick chain bearing the
mark of Fain's High Priest. His appearance had always left Syverin feeling a bit
uncomfortable, though he could never quite put his finger on why.

The meeting dragged on what the better part of two hours, during which time
Syverin found himself glancing back at the Archmage repeatedly. He had been
unusually distant and silent for the length of the gathering, and it was fairly
obvious to anyone who had bothered to look at him for a few moments that though
his body was within the room, his mind certainly wasn't in attendance. The
Archmage's head snapped up suddenly as the Lady Vynira tapped her staff against
the marble floor, signaling that the meeting had drawn to a close. The grumbling
from the disgruntled and worn members of the gathering were instantly silenced
as the Archmage rose to speak.

"It seems we have much work ahead of us, my earthen friends," he spoke clearly.
"I will leave such administrative matters in the hands of the administrators,"
he continued, nodding towards the still fuming girl "and I trust that you will
all give them your full cooperation."

Syverin was too busy staring at the Archmage to notice the various grumbles and
nods from the other attendees. Despite his eloquent speaking, he seemed entirely
detached from the words coming from his lips. The others would have probably
noticed if they hadn't been so wrapped up in their own nonsense. "Typical
Magnagorans," Syverin thought to himself.

The Archmage shook his head as if to shake the cobwebs from his mind. "Ah, well
then. There is one more thing that I wished to speak on, geomagi, an
announcement. I will be resigning from my seat as Archmage."

Gasps of astonishment circled around the chamber accompanied by shocked faces
and wide eyes. Syverin, on the other hand, could only smirk. In a rather
unexpected turn of events, the seeds he had planted within the guild had
suddenly come to fruition.

"As many of you know, I have served as Archmage for more years than a I care to
count," he spoke, louder this time to be heard over the whispers that had
spawned from the announcement. They were quickly silenced by a frowning Earthen
Ire. "I do, however, have greater aims, both for myself, and the citizens of the
Engine. I will be resigning so that I may contest the Sieris as Warlord of
Magnagora."

This quickly wiped the smirk off Syverin's face. It seemed the Archmage, and
soon to be Warlord was full of surprises, and always managed to remain one step
ahead of the Scarlet Priest. It was no secret that Sieris's rule had faltered
under the constant pressure of the united forests. Magnagora was under seige
from all sides, and though the Midnight Legion had been holding their own quite
admirably, such prolonged conflict was threatening the integrity of the Engine
and all its cogs. Syverin wasn't among the inner circles of the Engine, but he
had heard rumors. Some members of the Iron Council had approached Maliden to
contest, but he had dismissed the suggestion every time. Sieris may have lost
support of many citizens and even members of the Council, but he was the Warlord
and a first generation d'Murani, and it would be difficult for anyone to gain
enough votes and overcome such influence. Why had Maliden chosen now to contest?
Who would he support as the next Archmage? Many questions were unanswered but at
least Syverin knew why the Archmage had been so distant.

Speaking once more, the Archmage said, "I will be formally contesting tomorrow,
the first of the month. I do hope I will have your support, and I am sure I will
leave this guild in capable hands." He took a moment to consider each that had
gathered, meeting each gaze, whether it be worried, astonished, amused, or some
combination of the three with a gaze of his own. Warm, understanding, and
hopeful. The faintest hints of a smile on his lips. He certainly was a
politician. "I believe that draws this meeting to a close. I thank you all for
your attendance," Maliden finished before bowing slightly at the waist and
offering a nod to the Lady Ire as she began to usher everyone from the library.
Each offering a nod to the Archmage as they filed out of the Library, whispering
madly in pairs or small groups about what they had just heard. When it was
Syverin's turn, he offered a nod of his own but found a hand grasped tightly
about his arm as the Archmage leaned in. "I would like to see you in my office
in an hour, Scarlet Priest."

Syverin offered a small nod and a stiff bow of respect before the Archmage
released his grip, allowing Syverin to leave the room. The High Priest had
referred to him by his Order title.

Perhaps he was just going to patronize him for his tardiness.

Syverin smirked again. Unlikely.

Syverin ran his hand across the smooth cloth of his formal robes. He had
changed out of his sturdier chitinous robes into his robes of carmine silk.
Unenchanted, yet still twice as expensive, they were of the finest silk one
could purchase, trimmed with gold and bearing the mark of his rank within the
Order. He'd been summoned to the High Priest's chambers in the past, but the
gravity of the situation this time, and the Archmage's foul mood, had prompted
Syverin's new attire. He always disliked the formalities and nuances of the
Magnagoran elite, but such was a necessity if one wish to get far within the
Engine and the Masquerade.

Syverin headed out of the North Gates, down Ackleberry Highway towards the
temple of the Red Masque. It was a short trip, and he'd taken the usual
precautions, but he felt exposed and unprotected in such a flimsy cloth. As he
passed the Blighted Lands, he quickly pushed the thoughts out of his head, now
was a time to focus and collect his thoughts before his meeting. Syverin lifted
his head to check the stars. He would be early, it seemed, which probably please
the Archmage if he weren't so wrapped up in his own politicking. Syverin pushed
that too out of his mind.

Crickets interrupted the silence with a chittering chorus as Syverin rounded
the bend in the highway and approached the Greater Shallach River. Stepping
lightly onto the surface, the current instantly began to tug at the bottoms of
his feet. A pathetic attempt from the fragile element, he thought to himself as
he splashed his way across the flowing waters before descending the hidden
stairs that marked the pathway to the Lord's outer temple. After reciting the
appropriate series of passphrases that had been engraved into his mind, Syverin
found himself within the inner sanctum. He approached the High Priest's private
chambers and just as he lifted his hand to knock, he noticed the door had been
left slightly cracked. The High Priest was rarely so careless. Against his
better judgment, Syverin leaned forward, the light from the room filtering
through the crack to highlight his prying eye. The High Priest stood before his
mirror, obscenely large and opulent as he was never one to skimp on vanity,
hands pressed against the edge of his desk as he leaned in to inspect his
reflection. Syverin bit his lower lip as he noticed a ripple travel across the
High Priest's visage, a common quality complex illusions often demonstrated
before they were dispelled.

Syverin struggled to maintain his composure as the taste of blood filled his
mouth. Before the mirror stood Maliden, High Priest of Fain and soon to be
Warlord of Magnagora. The exact image he had always known, but different. The
skin was more fare, the features somewhat softer, the ears...the ears of an
elfen. "No, no...this isn't real," Syverin stuttered softly behind is teeth as
his as he staggered back, away from the door. An illusion. A simple illusion of
changeself most magi learned within the Collegium. Syverin had always known the
Archmage possessed powers far beyond the majority of the Geomancers, but this
was just as impressive as it was unbelievable. He had maintained this illusion
for decades. He had deceived everyone. An elfen would soon rise to the highest
rank a citizen could obtain. Someone must have known, he couldn't have deceived
everyone. Surely not Fain-the name of the Crimson Lord froze in his mind and his
throat involuntarily seized up. Waves of malevolence washed over his as his
vision swam, the hallway around him turning into little more than intangible
shapes and blurs. He would have collapsed to the floor if whatever had seized
his body had allowed him.

A cold, compassionless voice knifed through his consciousness. Familiar as it
was, it was never comforting.

"Indeed, I have always known."

The world around him had frozen in place as the presence of the Red Masque
flooded the area.

"Long has this cretin walked the streets of My Magnagora, and allow it I did,
for the dreary lives of mortals are of little consequence to Me."

"This miserable being, however, has surpassed the weaknesses of his race, and
so I watched with muted disinterest as he climbed the rungs of authority and
privilege. One by one, the hierarchy of My Magnagora were defeated by
this...elfen, and so I cast them from Me."

A frigid laughter pounded through Syverin's skull as he struggled to maintain
consciousness.

"I gifted this elfen with a seat upon My Crimson Council, and so I have watched
him carry out My will with more skill and subtelty than most within My Engine."

Syverin's vision blurred once more as a seering pain grasped his heart.

"His pride, his arrogance annoys me, and I have tolerated it for the time. I
have allowed this maggot to climb so that his fall may never be forgotten."

"He is to be made an example of, my loyal servant. A reminder for all the elfen
and merian who have forgotten the truth of their meaningless existence. An
example for those of My Magnagora that believe their aims are greater than
Mine."

A faint sizzling could be heard from the mark being burned onto the palm of
Syverin's hand, a pain both frigid and boiling, but unbearable all the same.

"I mark you as the vessel of My will on this matter, Syverin of My Priesthood.
The fall of Maliden i'Xiia is to echo across the My basin."

To be continued....