A Song of Fools and Magic, Chapter 5 (Patreon)

Stygai, Shadow Lands. 278.AC.

Sickly green flames floating above the river together with the nearly faded crimson comet illuminated the only living things in this forsaken place, making the shadows of their surroundings dance strangely as the pair made their way through the dead city. With the true death of the Lich, her undead minions and abomination lay dead and rotting, having collapsed where they stood at the moment of her death. Queerly enough no scavengers, be they crows or rats, took advantage of the free food before them. Only maggots crawled over and inside the bodies. Thankfully they were just waiting for another to reanimate them, a wish Harry gladly fulfilled by adding to their own protection with those numbers.

“I wonder what caused the river to glow like that?” Hermione pondered, black eyes intently gazing at the conundrum as they walked along the shore to find a boat. She was dressed in a new Unspeakable uniform, – a replacement – hood pulled over her head to conceal her features. All while holding Delphini in her arms. “Maybe some kind of algae?” from there on she muttered and theorised about it, ranging from radiation poisoning to demonic corruption. Though, she refrained from drinking any.

Harry instead looked out for a vehicle capable of getting them out of here, otherwise being forced to walk along the river, or try and somehow construct a boat. “You'll have enough time to test things, after we're done with the protection for Delphini and you.” he said, holding up the huge jar containing a shimmering salve. The wizard was still wearing his Basilisk armour, mended and once more ready for combat. He thought about replacing it with the dragon hide they got now, though that'd need special care to cure and work the hide properly.

Grumbling at being interrupted from her theorising the witch sighed and complied, switching Delphini in her arms for the jar. With shrug she lost the robes, shortly followed by everything else, neatly piling it up on a nearby rock. Harry handed her a vial containing material that she chose to remain vulnerable to; a rather ingenious choice in the form of quicksilver, – which was mined together with the iron nearby to facilitate the process – something that would protect them aptly because the metal was absolutely useless for making weapons.

Hermione simply let the drops of mercury drip into the mass, causing it to emit a simple puff of smoke as if in confirmation. Once done she began smearing her body with the sticky substance, starting with her arms. Trying to do it like sunscreen, but the salve was too much like resin for that, too sticky and viscous. “You can stop staring and help me.” Hermione said with a smirk, bringing him out of his stupor for staring at her body. “That or you can do the same for Delphini.”

Fortunately they had just enough salve left over to treat Delphini with it, too. On account of Delphini being a little girl and not a grown woman, and therefore needing less of it. “I'll help you.” he agreed, not wanting to waste any of the precious salve. Thoroughly applying it to her head, scalp, back and right down to the soles of her feet in the appropriate thickness. As to cover any and all spots, lest there be holes in the defence. “I'd kiss you, if it weren't foolish to do now.” looking at her lovely face now covered in the salve.

The witch giggled, unable to see him with the film coating her eyelids, but a radiant smile full of promises she gave him nonetheless. “Then I count on you to do it afterwards.” Her reborn pink blush hidden by the substance coating her. The same procedure was done more quickly for the still sleeping child, then held in her arms.

Without further ado Hermione waded into the river, walking in more and more until she and Delphini were submerged completely. The suspended animation from the Draught of Living Death thankfully allowing for that to happen with no ill effects, similar to how it was done in the second task of the Triwizard. A brief golden glow could be seen from above, banishing the sickly green one of the water. It lasted a good minute before going out, indicating the successful completion. Afterwards Hermione broke the surface with a gasp.

Once both woman and child were clothed again, Hermione tried to test it out. Swiftly using a sharp rock of obsidian from nearby to cut her palm. It didn't break her skin at all no matter how much she tried, which was a lot considering her enormous strength. Neither did ordinary rock, wood, bone, steel, iron or anything else she tried. “Satisfied now?” she asked, discarding the jagged shard of a twisted shell onto the black sand below.

“Very.” Harry nodded with a smile, giving her the promised kiss and more. “Now we only need a boat to leave. Either that or walk.” the tone of his voice revealed what he preferred, as a boat definitely would be faster.

Thus they resumed their journey, but something was amiss the further upriver they travelled. For there was a strange sound in the air, a kind of resonance. Now intrigued the pair followed the twisting, glowing ribbon that was the river, the sounds growing more noticeable but not exactly louder.

Cresting a last hill, the pair and their undead sentries came upon the source soon enough. There before them was a man-made cave out of which strange alien light poured, illuminating the outside softly. Enormous mind-bending crystalline growths ringed this magnificent edifice, growing away from the entrance down to the river. Even small blades of crystal seemed to imitate grass. They were emitting a low, hypnotic dirge as they pulsed with alluring, prismatic hues. Stranger still was the fact that they seemed to... bleed for a lack of a better term, dripping a black oily substance swirling with the colours of madness and magic into the earth and water.

“Should we enter?” Hermione eyed the weird sight warily, unsure if they should risk it now that they were about to leave. Especially because she had just bathed in those waters, hopefully the short dip didn't have too negative an effect. Though, her immunity to diseases should prevent anything bad from occurring. While the protective resin-like substance and the Draught of Living Death should've done the same for Delphini.

Harry wasn't any more sure than his wife, but his curiosity was successfully battling with his good sense nonetheless. “Hmm, I could use astral projection and possess one of our undead to briefly check inside.” he offered. Like that he was safely outside and could still explore.

“Be careful and abort the moment strange things happen.” she told him, concern fully evident in her voice and face.

He simply nodded, giving new orders to the undead minions. “Guard us!” once they were encircled Harry knelt down and concentrated. He blinked his mismatched eyes closed, exhaled, and when he opened them the world had been bleed dry of all colour. Instinctively he tried to stand, but found himself drifting upwards, propelled just by the thought of movement. He had a moment to look back at his kneeling body, head slack and bowed as if sleeping, and the semi-transparent cord of silvery light that ran from him to it.

Without further ado he possessed the empty vessel of a nearby undead, – choosing the most whole in body – and puppeteering it with his own soul to walk inside. But not before employing Occlumency to protect his mind from intrusion, having a foreboding feeling in his gut as to the sound as he listened to it. A considerable feat, considering his current undead body.

The crystals protruding from the walls and the sharp, grass-like blades on the floor of this dungeon shimmered audibly, the sparkling sound like the soft tinkling of chimes. The effect might have been calming if not for the strange undertones that echoed from the depths of this place in frightening, intermittent bursts and tried to sink into the back of his mind. The strange light emanating all around flickered, wavering and blowing like a candle standing in the wind, but never extinguished. Upon further inspection he saw that the crystals grew fractal shapes, spiralling like shells of animals. Both the shimmering sound and the light were clearly magical in nature, and set this body's rotten teeth on edge.

Small pools – they shimmered like oil on water and were evidently created by the pulsing stalactites growing from the ceiling – splashed as he walked through and fragile shards shattered beneath his undead feet, crunching into splinters and adding to the puddles of liquid corruption as he made his way inside. At the same time those low chimes evolved into a persistent hum, growing slowly in intensity and trying to soothe his mind into compliance.

Harry also noted remnants of pillars and alcoves containing unrecognisable statues, both set in random intervals. Everything worn down by the ages or overgrown with the same glowing crystals that covered everything, as if it was a living, growing organism. Thankfully, soon enough he could make out the unmistakable drip of liquid as the corridor widened into a cavern. There was a massive hole in the ceiling, letting the bleeding comet drip its light inside and creating an eerie effect when combined with the crystals' own pulsing heartbeat-light.

The space sprawled beyond his sight, with walls like a fortress soaring upward hundreds of feet. The darkness would've been absolute were it not for the soft prismatic glow emanating from myriad crystals riddling the floors, wall, and ceiling of the cavernous space. They glimmered, violet, turquoise, gold, and every colour in between, casting their wavering light across the slate oily and slippery black stone. The light intensified further in and the hum evolved into a song, both then oscillating to an alien rhythm.

A glare flickered from further inside, a massive crystalline trapezohedron – wondrous in its size and beauty – dominated the massive room. It towered above the surrounding buildings and was ringed by a quintet of massive silver claws that held it in place, each blade-like and embossed with ray-like patterns. Curiously enough the silver was untouched by the corruption nor tarnished by age. The hedron’s shell was translucent, with a burning source at its centre, reminiscent of a baleful eye. It glittered like a star and, as pink and white fires flared, patterns of shadows washed over its surface.

The hairs on the nape of his neck and arms stood on end – quite an impossibility for an undead body. His non-existent breath stopped as a feeling of panic passed through the wizard's soul like a ghost, leaving him queasy. Nothing he saw changed, but he sensed another wave coming as his dead hairs stood on end again. Sure enough, the feeling came... then went, presumably coming and going with the heartbeat of the lights. Powerful magic was at work here, and something about it was wrong.

Harry saw that his place had clearly been one of worship once, with the exquisitely carved columns and pews, and judging by the many humanoid statues in various positions. Some were kneeling in supplication, the next sat in the pews with their heads bowed in contemplation, others were arranged around a puddle, drinking from it like people dying of thirst. On one side was what could be described as a choir, their arms wide in fearful exultation.

More concerning were the look of the statues. Despite all of them being expertly carved and vivid in detail, the liberty the artist took in anatomical accuracy was concerning. The more tame ones had just more than a few burned patches in various places. A few seemed like the flesh had been in the process of literally melting off their bones, or the opposite in that all bones were gone and they had collapsed into a fleshy pile. Some had weapons in their hands, using them to flay or injure themselves.

'I get the feeling they weren't always statues.' Harry thought warily, his possessed host body trudging along.

Like the soft pattering of falling snow, the voices had began as whispers, lost to the melodious hum in the air as he traversed this strange place. Only growing stronger as he approached further.

“All that you have accomplished, all that you have done.” a soft voice purred proudly, only to suddenly turn sour and spit out. “And still you lick the boots of others!”

Harry whirled around in fright and alarm, but no one but himself was here. “Help me!” screamed another in his ear, echoing in his mind. “Please!” it begged.

“You can aid me to see!” another promised sweetly. “Yes, oh yes! But your flesh is in the way.” it harrumphed in displeasure. “Carve an escape for me!”

Then the voices started to increase in intensity and number, bickering amongst each other. Clawing at the shield around his mind, growing louder and louder like a choir of the wailing damned as he desperately tried to shut out the begging, pleading cacophony trying to burrow inside his skull. Harry grit his teeth and endured the combined mental onslaught, exploring the place as best he could despite it.

As Harry drew nearer towards the massive edifice, he stopped and his hand was held up to shield this body's eyes from its brilliant sear. Nor was he too keen to risk going further in, especially because the voices were nearly deafening now. From the artifact came a consistent trickle of liquid corruption, splashing onto the ground and creating a pool around it, from which more crystals sprung forth in fractal-like shapes. However, Harry also did notice a book lying on the ground in front of the massive thing. Untouched by corruption, as if it had been deposited there just today.

'Get the book outside!' he commanded the Inferius, slipping out of the corpse by metaphorically tugging on the sliver cord connecting Harry's soul to his own body. He felt a pull behind his navel and was promptly yanked out of the undead and back into his body proper. He heard the voices scream in outrage and despair, echoing in his mind before slowly growing fainter and fading entirely.

With a gasp he woke up, his body jerking as if startled awake from a nightmare, which wasn't far from the truth.

“What happened?!” Hermione's concerned voice came out immediately, one hand on his shoulder to steady him. Already checking the cave entrance for possible threats. None came, for now.

The wizard took deep breaths to calm himself, shaking his head to try and clear it of whatever happened inside. “I don't know what exactly is inside there, but its nothing bloody good.” he said, standing up now and explaining the queer things he had experienced inside. From the strangely beautiful crystals that made music out of nothing, the weirdly lifelike statues and up to the screaming voices begging, enticing or accusing. “Then I decided to pull the ripcord, so to speak.”

Frowning at what he described, Hermione was torn with trying to solve a mystery, erasing a clearly dangerous thing from the world and simply ignore it and get to safety. “What should we do?” she eyed the pulsing crystals distrustfully. “I'm not really comfortable with staying any longer,” she gave Delphini a concerned look “but how would we know the ramifications of simply leaving or destroying it?”

“If it can be destroyed at all.” Harry added grimly, dearly hoping someone had tried in the past.

“Indeed.” she agreed softly in equal suspicion.

With that said the pair waited for their minion to return with the only spoils from inside. It took longer than expected and the undead had the book clasped in its hands, but something was off.

The animated body moved like a puppet, – but not really like an undead puppet, if that made sense – yanked to and fro by a fishing line as if not knowing how to walk. Simply throwing itself toward anything in a stupor, torso bending forward, head nearly touching the ground like some demented toy. 'Or if something is fighting against the commands I gave.' he thought. Worse, Harry noticed an air of subtle discord surrounding the figure, as if reality itself was somehow repelled by its presence. A crystalline sheen had also solidified on some of the dead flesh, confirming Harry's own suspicions and making him glad they didn't go in personally.

“Incendio!” Without pause or ceremony Harry let a massive stream of coruscating prismatic flames spew forth from his outstretched right hand. The slowly fading comet in the sky still enhancing pyromancy greatly. The flames were easily engulfing the undead creature unfortunate enough to fall under his harsh gaze. The prismatic fire glowed with the light of a twisting nebula in frightening intensity, as meat was charred by the heat, followed by bones cracking and splintering. Once Harry deemed it enough he clenched his fist, causing the fire to condense into a rope that entangled the scorched undead remnants and growing more taught by the second. With a swift and brutal tug he caused it to bite and rip through dead flesh and armour, eviscerating his foe that soon after turned to ash.

Only leaving the limbs completely encased in crystal and the strange book behind, which was picked up by Harry.

The workmanship was exquisite, as if the book's spine, front and back were crafted from a single large obsidian, carved to resemble scales. Etched on its covers were runic symbols, and divine figures performing miraculous acts. Serpentine gold tracing crawled along the cover hinges, the outer edges, and in fine filigree at the corners. The tongue of one such serpent formed a gold clip that held the book closed. For all its hardness, it opened silently and with soft compliance. It was immediately apparent that the pages within were thinner sheets of gold, pressed flat.

To be on the safe side, he also incinerated the remaining undead around him, lest his control over them be usurped somehow.

“Let's get out of here.” he would fight a dragons, demons and a Lich, but this was a new unknown altogether. Additionally they had Delphini to think about and no time to look for answers while possibly being exposed to magic-knows-what.

“Wait,” Hermione said, “Accio!” before summoning three samples of glowing crystal the size of a sword with telekinetic force. She levitated the shards in front of her, unwilling to touch them. Hermione then stored the things inside a box filled with silver – remembering his words that silver seemed to repel the corruption – and put it back in the empty compartment of their trunk. “Now we can go.” upon his concerned look, she huffed. “What? We gotta find out what's going on here, if we're to solve this.”

“True enough.” he acquiesced with a sigh and a shrug, resuming their search for a passable boat.

Valley of Shadow, Shadowlands, 278.AC.

On the glowing river Ash a dingy boat travelled leisurely, accompanied by the shining silvery apparition of Harry's phoenix Patronus that flew alongside it. Their passage was an unprecedented occurrence in living memory, due to no one living being willing to brave the rumoured dangers near Stygai. Even more so because the boat came from said accursed city without first travelling towards it, throwing up troubling implications. The vessel itself was steered by seemingly nobody, expertly navigating the river by itself as it howled through the narrow cleft in the Mountains of the Morn, between towering cliffs so steep and close that the river was perpetually in shadow.

Inside the glowing waters deformed and stupid and blind fish swam, if they weren't such the fish wouldn't be present here at all. For only the stupid and blind didn't shun these waters. No other animal, be they insect, bird or even rat could be made out, before or now.

There was plenty of cover on either side of the riverbed that ran along the floor of this narrow cleft of a valley. A few shrubs and scrub brushes that grew taller than a man were packed along the sides of the vale among grasses pale as milk-glass. The rocky walls on either side were incredibly steep, so much so that no light entered except at noon, as they had found out during the journey.

On top of that an obscuring, otherworldly mist shrouded the shadowed valley, swallowing their boat up on all sides. The river below cast its weak phosphorescent light upon the boat, but doing little to penetrate the all-present fog. Thankfully his Patronus was enough to illuminate caves huddle here and there in the sheer cliff walls. They were little more than isolated things out of which many twin pinpoints of light glared at them with hatred, snarling at the light of his spectral guardian.

Once more a sense of foreboding came over Harry, causing him to sigh. “Again.” instantly the Sword of Gryffindor appeared in his hand, materialising out of a plume stardust. Harry gripped the hilt tightly, prepared to defend himself and his in an instant. Even if the two demons that came before were easily repelled and dispelled by his Patronus.

“Again?!” Hermione's agitated voice came as a reply, a mix of annoyed and concerned. A warranted reaction, considering that she was always the target, for some reason “It's the third time in as many days.” they had always attacked while she slept, but luckily the two of them did sleep in shifts for safety, allowing Harry to repel them. Still, this indicated a change in behaviour, for whatever reason. As a result the boat stopped moving, no longer propelled by her animating the oars.

Harry shrugged helplessly as if to say, “what can you do?” Sadly not every being of this land was smart enough to leave them alone or deterred by his Patronus, it seemed. In the dead light of the river, a ripple of shadow detached itself from the darkness, the glint of a blade lost in the gloom. Prowling through the umbra, its true form remained cloaked in perpetual night while only a faint outline shimmered at the edge of Harry's vision. Likes the two times before, it was a menacing phantom that lurked in their periphery, an unseen threat slowly edging ever closer.

However, while he was focussed on the shadows something else struck first. Both hadn't noticed it in this mist, largely because a part of the vapour itself was inconspicuously and silently moving towards them. The only thing alerting Harry to its presence was a choked gasp that escaped Hermione. Surprised and caught of guard, he whirled around to see that his wife's head was enveloped by living, twisting mist, wrapping around her throat like a snake and strangling her. The witch, in a panic, tried to get a grip on it and obviously failed, only catching smoke.

Instinctively Harry reacted and made his Patronus attack with a mental command. At once the spectral phoenix did so, claws and beak ripping into the thing, eliciting a ghastly hiss from the mass of smoke that loosened its hold a fraction. A serpentine head coalesced from the cloud, and tried to strike the spirit phoenix, while still strangling Hermione.

At the same time Harry noticed the shadow-assassin manifest near Delphini, a sharp blade of shadow poised to strike. Tendrils of mist rose in wisps from its shoulders, legs, and head, and infernal red eyes peered out from what seemed to be the opening of a hood. Quick as a snake, the wizard swung his blade of silver at it, making the air whistle and wail as he blocked the impossible strike. On the counter the wizard cut the surprised things head off, causing it to vanish as if it had never been.

Then he turned to help Hermione, only to see that his wife and Patronus had it well in hand. Before disappearing his ghostly guardian had wrenched the entity away enough for Hermione to get a grip on it – apparently it needed to briefly become corporeal to strangle someone. Using her superior vampiric strength, the witch had wrangled the thing away from her throat. Finally free, she threw the hissing monster onto the deck with a snarl, kicking up a plume of smoke. Whereupon its head was swiftly impaled by the Sword of Gryffindor, easily sinking up to the hilt into the wooden floor. A mother-of-pearl sheen dancing on the blade as the mist dissolved into nothing but candle-smoke.

With that done the sword once more took properties of its kills, strengthening itself. Now small tendrils of ebon smoke exuded from the gently glimmering blade of silver, framing it, caressing it and braiding themselves into the suggestive shape of wailing souls before billowing upwards like ink in water and fading away. Considering that these shadows were able to easily cut through wood and steel, nothing much would be able to stand up to his blade now.

Hermione coughed, getting the smoke out and some air back into her lungs, glaring at nothing in particular. Though, gratefully taking the offered canteen of water by her husband. “They're persistent, if nothing else.” she growled out, massaging her sore throat a bit. “Hopefully we'll find some kind of ward against them soon.” it also was a potent reminder that she wasn't invincible now. Strangulation, suffocation and drowning were all still viable ways to kill her. While sufficient blunt force trauma and fire would probably be able to inflict harm still.

“You wanna look for some right now?” he asked teasingly, a smug knowing smile tugging at his lips. It was typical of her to want to research such a thing, on multiple levels. Harry chuckled good-naturedly when she nodded imperiously, aware that he knew her too well for her to lie about it. He was even already in the process to procure a book for her, which she grabbed out of his hands immediately. Only making him laugh, causing her to huff with a blush on her cheeks.

With the atmosphere a bit lightened the pair resumed their journey.

“Found anything of note?” Hermione asked Harry patiently, keeping an eye on the still sleeping Delphini as he read their newest acquisition. The familiar scenery rolling by had lost its lustre after the first minute, if it could even be called such with all the mist obscuring everything.

Silvery letters of Iokharic script appeared on each page as Harry read on, being replaced once he had finished reading and comprehended the words. “It's a repository for the combined magical knowledge of whatever civilisation belonged to that place.” he explained, still being on the first page. “Well, at least it was intended to be that way. It is empty past the introduction.” he frowned at that, thinking. “That or it has some requirements we don't know to show the rest.”

“Hmm, that is likely, but a shame for now.” She concluded, looking at the relic longingly. Hermione herself was poring over her own tome and apparently compiled by the Lich herself, dealing with the history of the so called Great Empire of the Dawn, which was known to them as Acheron. “I did find the reason why that Valyrian witch was there, though.”

“Oh, the reason being?” according to Tommen, Valyria was far to the west of here, sitting on a now broken peninsula that had been shattered by the Doom, amongst something called the Smoking Sea.

Hermione turned her own page. “It's because this place was the precursor to the Valyrian civilisation.” the witch explained, giving the book a look of exasperation, Hermione continued. “Even if her descent into madness is also clearly illustrated by the gradual alteration in the style of the script and the weird practice of leaping about from page to page, sometimes even in mid-sentence.” she huffed displeased at the mess it made of the book, resolving to put it to page properly when she got the time. “She writes that Stygai was the spiritual centre of it, while Asshai – the sister city we're currently heading towards – was the formal capital.

She sighed and closed the vexing thing, for now. “It seems likely, considering that the language of Valyria and Asshai share a script. However, we will see if her theory has any merit after confirming some claims in this world ourselves.” after all, they didn't know if it were just ramblings otherwise. “More interesting are the musings that the Great Empire of the Dawn – what we know as Acheron from the ghosts we had summoned to get here – also seems to have had some minor presence in Westeros; Tommen's homeland. More precisely a city called Oldtown, a colony of sorts.” according to the madwoman there was a dragonstone structure there that predated Valyria itself, just like something called the Five Forts here in Essos.

“Just more reason to go there, aside from slavery not being practised there and probably not being infested by demons.” Harry said, finding the mystery equally as compelling as the stance on slavery. “The few books about Westeros I could find also mentioned something called Guest Right. It's basically a societal contract backed by religious authority that prohibits the guest and host from harming each other, – invoked after the guest has eaten from offered food – lest they be cursed by the gods.”

Guest Right could also be refused, of course.

“Oh, so like the Rules of Sacred Hospitality?” she inquired, naming the ancient covenant between vampire covens that governed the settlement of disputes, so that further outrage could be prevented. Vampires were creatures of habit and ritual as much if nor much more so than humans in that regard. Besides, such rules had also been common back home in the past and were used to enforce a societal contract only an utter fool would break.

“Exactly!”

Further musings were interrupted as the pair finally beheld the cliffs caging the river give way, suddenly widening while the mist cleared to reveal a cyclopean city below, barely illuminated in this distance. As preparation and a bit experimentation Harry took a pinch of phoenix ash and mixed it with a drop of unicorn and dragon's blood, creating a solidified black pap veined with silver and crimson. Intending to use it to amplify his Patronus spell.

Like in Stygai the landscape was dismal. Stunted grasses grew, sparse and brown in the dry crumbling dirt. Trees had shrivelled into themselves, leaving husks of brittle bark and bare, gnarled branches – broken monuments to their own former glory. The sky was an unnatural gray, with volcanic clouds drifting in ragged clumps like torn cloth. Even the air felt wrong: stale, still, stagnant. Everything here was dying.

After a good few minutes their boat entered the city proper. No guard or sentry barred their way or collected tolls, but instead the place was full of ghosts and apparitions; be they furious, weeping, curious or entirely apathetic. So much so in fact that the streets were choking with them, easily surpassing the number of living occupants. Most damning however, was that most of them were children, barely 8 years old. However, all noticed them. While the living only stared after them, the dead – be they man, woman or child – received Harry with jubilation, either prostrating themselves or singing for joy at his arrival.

With the ease of long practise he tried to ignore that and approached the nearest pier to disembark. Harry helped Hermione, who was holding Delphini, off the boat. Strangely enough there seemed to be some kind of welcome committee, made up of ominous robed and hooded figures wearing masks.

Harry sighed as he perceived the same kind of shadowy corrupted aura – if quite a bit weaker – he had seen on the Lich around them, readying for a fight while gripping the Sword of Gryffindor tightly in his right. He didn't even have to exchange a look with Hermione, the witch already aware from the bond alone and equally ready.

Asshai, Shadowlands. 278.AC. An hour before.

The ancient, legendary and rumour-shadowed city of Asshai sat at the mouth of the Valley of Shadow and beneath the mountain range called the Shadow, where it sprawled for leagues across the shore of the Saffron Straits. Due to its unique geographic location not much light reached the fabled City of Shadows, according to the Maesters anyway.

'Grey sheep, all of them.' Marwyn thought in derision, looking at the sprawling but sparsely populated city as he walked along the road.

While it was true that during noon the sun's glorious rays were blocked by the gigantic mountain, casting its large shadow over the ancient city – hence the name of the range – the truth was more mystical in nature. For even the light of dawn and twilight that reached Asshai when the sun peeked around the Shadow, did little to illuminate its dim streets. For what little light arrived was barely felt by the Asshai'i due to the greasy black stone the city was built with devouring nearly all of it.

Legend said Asshai could contain Volantis, Qarth, Oldtown and King's Landing combined in its great walls and all who've visited agreed. Said walls, buildings and even the streets were made out of a black stone that showed no sign of erosion or other blemishes. Nor any indication that the stone had been worked by masons of a normal kind. The whole settlement was kept in an architectural style no other city in the world possessed, with flying buttresses, pointed arches and full of decorations. There was no concern for structural possibility, but rather the feeling of the building. Some of them reached far into the sky, as if to try and escape the Shadow's oppressive hold. None succeeded and instead added their own shadows onto Asshai.

After a few minutes of walking, he came upon the massive Ash river that lazily divided Asshai in half as it meandered through to the Jade Sea. The bridge spanning the waters near as massive as the Long Bridge of Volantis. Down below by the waters were some abandoned piers. By day it's waters were black as midnight and at night it would usually glimmer with pale green phosphorescence. It's eerie glow allowing for passer-bys to observe the deformed and blind fish living in it. Only fools or Shadow-binders were willing to eat the flesh of these fish. Presumably, as a result of whatever curse caused that; no plants grew in or around the city, animals perished soon after being brought here and not a single child lived in the City of Shadows.

Asshai as such needed to import freshwater and all of its foodstuff, obviously consisting of only the preserved kind. Those included salted, smoked or dried meats and fish, pickled vegetables and fruits, honey, cheese and of course various alcoholic beverages. Luckily, Asshai did not lack in materials suitable for trade, which made it part of the Traders' Circle and a popular trading destination for ships all over the world. Gems, amber, dragonglass and gold were all common exports, though people said the gold was as unhealthy as the Ash's waters. However, no caravans travelled to Asshai overland. Few were brave or foolish enough to go near Stygai, the Corpse City, that lay north of Asshai.

Neither could the traders count on protection on the road or in the city. For there was not a single ruler or even a council, and therefore no such thing as a city guard existed either. Not that the Asshai'i felt the need for one, seeing such a thing as a detriment to their very craft. After all, everything – no matter how taboo or depraved – was permitted in Asshai.

'Be it slavery, sacrifice, cannibalism or even the summoning of demons.' the Maester thought with a shudder, having witnessed some of these depraved acts himself and even participated in some of the tamer ones. Equally fascinated and repulsed by the sacrificial ones that added power to a sorcerer's working, but Marwyn knew that nothing was free here. With only three paths open to him.

One was to study the half-forgotten tomes and grimoires of a bygone age, piecing things together through trial and error. An expensive, dangerous and not particularly promising path. He should know, having been the one he had walked the most in his life; with little results.

The second one was the most risky, and therefore the most tempting and fastest to succeed. For it was to make a pact with a demon or god, exchanging their souls for knowledge and dedicating their lives to that fell service. This type was easily spotted by the tattoos on their bodies, – a mark of ownership shared by many slaves – each one different and distinct, depending on the demon. It also was one of the reasons why shadow-binders hid their faces and bodies behind masks and thick robes. The other being to conceal their physical corruption brought about by the practise of such dark sorcery, which wrought changes on one's very soul that were reflected physically.

'As above so below.' Marwyn thought grimly.

The last path was only a bit less dangerous than the second, but nothing concerning magic was truly safe. It was to go under the tutelage of a much more experienced mage, which on the surface didn't seem any different from being a page or squire to a knight. However, in truth he'd also put his mind, body and soul utterly in the care of another. No sorcerer of any ability tutored another without certain assurances, after all. So the Maester had to be prudent when choosing his master in the arcane arts.

Luckily, Marwyn spotted a vaguely feminine figure among these dark and empty streets, carried along the Ash's shore on a palanquin of ebony and iron, slightly hidden behind translucent curtains and carried upon the back of slaves. Despite the concealment, in form of a dark hooded robe and red lacquer mask of wood, Marwyn recognised her easily. For not many people lived in the massive city, and while those who dwelt here wore masks or veils, the masks were also highly personalised.

She was Quaithe, and who Marwyn aimed for to be his teacher in the arcane arts. None had quite the same fearsome reputation she had in Asshai, something Marwyn knew to be warranted.

For while he was just a dabbler right now, he had opened his mind's eye with training and Shade of the Evening, allowing him to see the sorcerous nature of people if he concentrated hard enough or looked into their eyes. The vast majority of people were simple embers, barely noticeable and easily extinguished. After came those comparable to Marwyn; the candles, stronger but still weak and blown out near as quick. Followed by people like Quaithe, the much rarer and stronger torches. There were only rumours about people shining like bonfires, figures of legend from the Age of Heroes.

Knowing her to be reclusive and strict, Marwyn decided not to bother her directly for now. Instead he followed her at a distance, curious as to what she was doing. On the way quite many people, for Asshai, came and joined the walk. 'Most likely the acolytes of Quaithe', the Maester thought jealously, but he also saw a few Warlocks of Qarth join up, quickly identified by their blue lips.

Suddenly and without instruction the slaves stopped, setting the palanquin down onto the pavement before stepping respectfully aside. Quaithe rose gracefully, her robe not rustling a single time or making any noise of movement, stepping off onto the midnight street.

Like that an unusually large group for Asshai waited patiently, all looking up the glowing Ash river in anticipation. That was until one of the robed figures suddenly screamed and collapsed onto the ground, twitching feebly and groaning. Without ceremony and no reaction to his condition the acolyte was carried off into a nearby alley by others. They all were shuddering in anticipation, doing things that the Maester didn't want to contemplate. Though, the sounds of a scream that died soon after and flesh tearing was enough of an indication.

Finally unable to contain his curiosity anymore, Marwyn approached the group. “What is going on?” he asked tentatively in Asshai'i and hopefully deferential enough, – something he was never really good at – clearly unsure of etiquette around here.

For a minute Marwyn thought nobody would answer him, but then Quaithe spoke. “We're having visitors from Stygai soon.” her usually controlled voice a mix of emotions now; fear, disbelief and expectation mingling together with satisfaction and awe. “From beyond the Door of Death, if my source can be believed.”

The Maester froze at that, wondering at the cost of that knowledge. There was a reason why no one, not even the shadow-binders, dared to enter Stygai. Even trying to get a glimpse of it by peering at the accursed place with glass candles was a risky endeavour in its own right. Only fools and those consumed by madness tried, for only madness waited for them.

It seems he was to witness history today. A history few would believe, none of them Maesters.

From then on it didn't take long, and soon a small unassuming boat was lazily travelling on the Ash towards them from upriver. It headed towards a nearby dock that hadn't seen use in millennia and anchored there. Marwyn saw two people disembark, one man and a feminine figure hidden by robes that held a sleeping child with hair of white gold. Up the steps they went, and Marwyn could see them properly now.

Having removed her hood, Marwyn's gaze was immediately captured by the perfection on display, spellbound.

A pale, striking face floated before him, dominating his vision, framed by wavy ringlets of golden bronze upon which danced sheens of the dawn. Luscious and fine-boned, arch and cold, she could've walked the floor of court or common, enchanting in both posture and stride. So lovely – a visage of unmatched beauty – yet something about her black eyes, heavily lidded with long lashes and abyssal and endless, unnerved him. Only then did the Maester notice that all the little incidental movements of life were missing, she was barely even blinking. Only the strong breath was a sign to the opposite. She reminded him of a doll suddenly. Too symmetrical and too perfect to be real; something not human but trying to imitate it.

'It has to be an illusion!' he thought desperately, knowing that most sorcerers wore a glamour of sorts to hide their true appearance, which was rarely pleasant to look at. The possibility of truth would shatter all he thought to know.

For her aura fittingly was a beautiful nightmare, and to his mind's eye her own were depthless pits like her torn and fanged mouth. So black and terrible and endless he could drown in them. Her skin was criss-crossed by golden lines reminiscent of scars, like a destroyed statue put together with gold as glue. Brown boughs reminiscent of oak erupted out of her shoulders, decorated by leaves of autumnal colours of red, brown and gold created arboreal wings. A crown of thorns bloomed on her brow, blood dripping down her face. Those amber drops formed stars that orbited her body in strange ways, attracted and repelled in random patterns before rejoining. Even creating runes and glyphs that could be recorded vows or oaths spoken, looking like some demented repository of knowledge.

Most unexpectedly, not just his sight was affected but his other senses as well; be they taste, hearing or smell. The coppery tang of blood was on his tongue, while the familiar scent of parchment and blooming flowers invaded his nose. Marwyn even grew hungry, his stomach growling and suddenly ravenous, overcome by a craving for a very rare steak. Though, that was mundane in contrast to the tent he was currently pitching, incredibly aroused despite the situation.

Something that was mirrored by the other sorcerers, judging by their reactions. The weak-minded ones started to brawl and kill each other for a favour that would never come.

So he tore his eyes away, which protested loudly at losing sight of such beauty, as if the idea of looking away was too great a sorrow. Escaping her hold on his sight was easier said than done however, because as he looked down or to the side her reflection followed. She was in every piece of glass, inside the sheen of polished metal masks, in every puddle nearby, watching him with eerie intensity, unblinking. He knew then that she was ravenous hunger personified; consuming knowledge, love, and even his mind and vision.

But where could he run that would purge his mind of her presence? What could he do to forget her beauty? In mounting panic at his mind being subverted, Marwyn turned towards what he assumed to be her husband, which finally cleared his sight up. As if the woman's arcane attention had been captivated so thoroughly by the man that she forgot Marwyn.

The stranger was proportional, well-built, muscled and tall for Essos, but a bit on the smaller side for Westeros. His messy hair was as black as raven feathers, spilling across his scalp like freshly spilled ink. In stark contrast his skin was the colour of alabaster, and protected by... 'Is that dragonhide?!' the Maester asked dumbly in his head, seeing the large green scales on the armour he wore that could be little else. This time Marwyn barely brought himself to look the man in the eyes as he gazed suspiciously at their group, and didn't know if he regretted it or not.

He took it all in reverently. One eye was a deep and soothing emerald green, the colour of leaves in a summer's wood, friendly and warm. The other was utterly inhuman; a snake's eye of pure furious crimson that was devoid of mercy, without pleasure and full of memory. It sat amongst a ruinous river delta of scars radiating down from his brow and out towards his ear, reminiscent of a many-forked lightning-bolt. Both vivid eyes reflected light strangely, glimmering and twinkling like starlight. Marwyn glimpsed eternity therein, seeing the vast gulf separating the man from common rabble such as himself – more distant than life from death – and witnessing his own insignificance.

More beautiful was the man's aura. A perfect and massive circle of pure black surrounded by a bright corona of prismatic light that shone in iridescent splendour surrounded him. As if a divine radiance was hiding behind a most beautiful eclipse that was taking place right in front of him now, to shield him from going mad through mind-bending revelation. An otherworldly sensation surrounded the stranger, an unearthly grandeur that reflected in spirit what the woman showcased in body. On his brow sat a third eye made of cold light or frozen lightning, its harsh glare seeing all.

Then came the most disturbing part, which began as a shimmer of strange light and at first went missing among the eclipse. Only to then slowly coalesce as a diaphanous sheet that billowed in an non-existent wind, just enough to reveal a hint of what lurked beneath. On closer inspection, the contours of the robe suggested a comely and feminine form, like that of a buxom woman. The phantasmal figure hung in the air behind and slightly above the man's shoulders, hazy and terrifying and yet seductive in shape. A suggestion of a pair of arms were slung around his shoulders from behind, while a hand was caressing the man's facial scars as if to soothe them, almost apologetically.

Accompanying that were whispers at the edge of his perception, promising and cursing. Yet, once the entity noticed Marwyn's attention it looked at him and the voices fell quiet. It was not done with any amount of focus, more the kind of glance one gave an insignificant pebble soon to be forgotten. Still, in his terror, Marwyn emptied his bladder anyway, which fortunately was near empty anyway. This time it mercifully only took one blink for it to be dispelled, gone like smoke on the wind.

“Can we help you?” the man asked expectantly in an old dialect of Asshai'i barely spoken anymore today, echoing slightly down the empty street. His voice that of a lord who had spoken many death sentences. No one noticed what he held in his hand, rolling it between his fingers in preparation.

It happened in a heartbeat. All at once everyone left clamoured for them, with awe in their eyes and avarice in their hearts. Be it to sacrifice them to please their demonic masters, devour their hearts and brains for magical power or other more ghastly intentions. A dozen spells were prepared to be let loose at them in a frenzy, to capture, injure or even kill. Shadows moved to strike, fire roared and quickly summoned imps cackled in delight.

However the dawn-crowned witch was faster, hooking both index-fingers and beginning a chant that hurt mortal ears in the Old Tongue. As she intoned these guttural syllables – expertly pronouncing words that hadn't passed human lips beneath the Neck in millennia – her magical might lashed around her, cutting the spells entering the area around the pair into ribbons of mist.

Meanwhile her husband prepared a spell of his own, gripping an object tightly and clasping his hands in prayer. He began speaking – no, it was a song – in a tongue of wonder that resonated in Marwyn's very being, echoing down to his soul. His words somehow complimenting his wife's chant perfectly, and slowly a bright pearlescent light shone out between his ribs, from his heart.

Everything moved in concert. Ambient sounds harmonised together, and voices took on a lyrical quality. The movement of clothes against the bodies resulted in chimes, while an inhaled breath produced a pleasing whistle. Everyone nearby became aware of their own fragility, of how their lives hung on each heartbeat and of how delicate the balance of their existence truly was. It was as if a strong breath could blow the world away. The mage was the conductor of the symphony of the world, if only for a few moments. The listeners not entirely corrupted began to kneel and weep at the pulchritude of this music, making them feel the aching beauty of something just beyond their grasp. While the others flinched or were struck mute and impotent.

All seemed to be preordained, divinely chosen! Those nearby felt that they could do nothing against this, as if every action they could take had already been played out on some gigantic stage and found wanting.

To the Maester the spell was a vision of beauty! Of absolute wonder! It grew so bright that it burned his mortal eyes as well as his immaterial one! It was a sun that shone like mother-of-pearl lit by a thousand stars, scouring him with absolute brilliance and yet filling him with indescribable elation. How tempting it was to reach out for it, to try to grasp it and weave it the same way.

All onlookers felt breath on their necks and heard whispers of exultation from darkened corners. Footsteps sounded from above and below the caster’s current position, despite that he was outdoors. The song took on a slightly higher pitch and a faint echo now, speaking of vengeance and justice and retribution. Blurry and vague figures blinked in and out of existence, multiplying until an army was singing and howling and floating in wild abandon towards the centre while merging with the miniature sun contained in the stranger's chest, which grew in intensity and pounded alongside each heartbeat.

The demi-god – for he and his wife could be nothing else – became self-luminous now, seeming to glow from within while the air was charged with tremendous energy, accompanied by the smell of heat and unseen smoke.

Marwyn wasn't the last but he also was forced to bow from the intense and blinding sight and pressure. His teary eyes now looked down with the rest, beholding another wonder. The stranger's shadow had grown raven wings from his back, where there were none on his person. Every other shadow but the one of his wife – even Marwyn's own – turned to face the mage's and abased itself before him, begging for forgiveness that wouldn't come, cowering like whipped dogs.

The power gathered and condensed, almost as if summoned from the surface of the sun itself, growing brighter and denser with each passing heartbeat. Pearlescent and blinding and more beautiful than anything anyone had ever seen.

“Expecto Patronum!” Two words of proud authority and rich in cheerful exultation travelled up and out of his mouth and echoed out of every shadow and soul, inescapable. He threw his arms wide, his being ablaze with holy prismatic light, and erupted with blinding radiance as he became a beacon of pure illumination, banishing every and all shadows around him, making them recoil and flee before the dawn that was he. With it, a wave of radiant light surged outward for a small radius around the speaker – as if in righteous affirmation of his inner light, a testament to his soul's power – before rapidly expanding in a dome of pearlescent fire washing over the city.

Marwyn felt a benevolent presence build within him, filling each and every tissue with righteous vigour. The Maester felt his soul and spirits lift and hope be restored as panic was banished from his being. For a moment he felt hollow, weightless even. As if everything that had ever made him the Mage or the Maester, was being stripped away layer by layer. Leaving nothing but a man named Marwyn, who had spent decades of his life chasing something he could never catch before and which was now falling into his lap.

For the others – those corrupted beyond measure – the heat was pressing down on them, like judgement. Like condemnation and the weight of every terrible choice finally coming due.

Howls of agony were let loose by corrupted sorcerers as purity, hope and happiness scorched their malign forms, smoke wafting from their twisted forms. The wretched men's flesh sizzled and burned when the nacre light struck them, sobbing and begging. A few veiled ones even ignited and burned to cinders. A few of the Bloodless Men present also turned to ash in an instant. On the other hand the woven shadows and weaker demons hiding within them had their abominable selves shrivelling into oblivion. Cast back with a brief outraged screech to the cursed gloaming realm which spawned them, blown away like smoke on the wind, insignificant.

As far as the Archmaester could see the grease was purged from every inch of Asshai in holy, pearlescent flames.

And in the sunless realm of the shadowlands a blazing sun rose at last. An argent dawn born inside Asshai, illuminating it completely for the first time since the Dawn Age.

The world sighed in relief, a wound soothed but not healed.

And Marwyn had found his masters.