"...and what, pray tell, has the codex shown you?" Matthew asks in amusement. "Have you considered that your books speak of war and chaos, because history is written by the victors? Do you know the power of the mortal soul, Vark? The Dawn Gods hoarded souls for their own ends, by trapping each and every one of you in the elemental cycle. Of course their followers would describe any attempt to put an end to that status quo as 'chaos'. The Fifth sought only to free trapped souls and grant them eternal life. This posed a threat to the Dawn Gods' power and for that they condemned us all."

“I… I realize that there’s two sides to the story…” he says, brow furrowing deeper as his brain does gymnastics with this ethical quandary. “But, if freeing the ‘trapped’ souls meant attacking their kingdoms, why couldn’t you just let them stay trapped? Why couldn’t all of you and your followers have eternal life in peace? Or… are you saying it was the Cantallumë Alliance that attacked all of you first and not the other way around?”

With the strange melody filling his head, Aiden sits upright in his room at the inn, his eyes moving toward the sword. In the darkness of the room, he could see a faint glow pouring from a gap between the scabbard and the crossguard. Compelled by the melody, he pulls the sword free of its sheath, unveiling the bright moonlight that the blade had shed since that night in Morloth. 

"I don't know where you want me to go," he says quietly, his voice barely a murmur.

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“I… I realize that there’s two sides to the story…” he says, brow furrowing deeper as his brain does gymnastics with this ethical quandary. “But, if freeing the ‘trapped’ souls meant attacking their kingdoms, why couldn’t you just let them stay trapped? Why couldn’t all of you and your followers have eternal life in peace? Or… are you saying it was the Cantallumë Alliance that attacked all of you first and not the other way around?”

 
"What makes you think that I attacked anybody?" Matthew challenges, his expression incredulous. The regal apparition rests its hands behind its back and begins to pace back and forth as Matthew talks. "The true war was never about armies and battles, Vark. It was a struggle for divine power and the fate of the Great Wheel. Some were merely too short-sighted to recognise that. No, I did not attack any kingdom. For our part, we remained unwilling participants in the Dawn Gods' cosmic engine until we seized the tools with which to escape it."

Quote from zheadings6134 >>

With the strange melody filling his head, Aiden sits upright in his room at the inn, his eyes moving toward the sword. In the darkness of the room, he could see a faint glow pouring from a gap between the scabbard and the crossguard. Compelled by the melody, he pulls the sword free of its sheath, unveiling the bright moonlight that the blade had shed since that night in Morloth. 

"I don't know where you want me to go," he says quietly, his voice barely a murmur.

 
Moonlight glistens brilliantly on the blade of Aiden's weapon and in the reflection he can see clear water bubbling up out of the ground between rocks on a mountainside. The water from the spring quickly trickles away downhill as a freshwater stream.

"A mountain spring," Aiden muses, scratching his short beard. "The beginnings of a stream...perhaps a river." He turns the sword, straining to see more in the reflection. But there's nothing. The quiet sounds of the early morning filter in through his open window -- the sounds of the temple construction, the clang of hammer on anvil, the gears and pulleys for the mining lifts, lowering miners down to the banks of the river to begin their day quite early...

The river.

Without another word, Aiden rises and dresses, throwing his tunic, coat, and pants on over his small clothes. He belts the sword around his waist and heads out, making for the banks of the Sheerwater river.

“So… you’re saying that the Dawn Gods have everyone trapped in some… soul wheel machine? And you wanted to break it- you still do… and that would be… good for everybody?” Vark crosses his arms and shakes his head with uncertainty. “I don’t know… What-what would that even look like? What would happen to my friends? And Seid? And Sheercleft? Even if it’s not about armies and battles, would all that… all that chaos still happen if your plans are successful?”

Quote from Sphynxyy >>

“So… you’re saying that the Dawn Gods have everyone trapped in some… soul wheel machine? And you wanted to break it- you still do… and that would be… good for everybody?” Vark crosses his arms and shakes his head with uncertainty. “I don’t know… What-what would that even look like? What would happen to my friends? And Seid? And Sheercleft? Even if it’s not about armies and battles, would all that… all that chaos still happen if your plans are successful?”

 
"YES!" Matthew exclaims, his eyes flashing with red fire as he clenches his fist in response to Vark's question about breaking the great wheel. "Your friends, your lover; all of them are in possession of an immortal soul and would live forever in paradise! Before his fall, the Fifth made the mistake of attempting to negotiate with the Dawn Gods and they destroyed him for it. This time, we will risk no war. It was foolish to announce our intentions to those too blind to appreciate true vision. The ignorant will always fear the unknown. However, if we act quickly to release my brethren and retrieve their runestones, then we can free the people of Arden from their toil and suffering and nobody will ever have to know that chaos ever again."

Quote from zheadings6134 >>

"A mountain spring," Aiden muses, scratching his short beard. "The beginnings of a stream...perhaps a river." He turns the sword, straining to see more in the reflection. But there's nothing. The quiet sounds of the early morning filter in through his open window -- the sounds of the temple construction, the clang of hammer on anvil, the gears and pulleys for the mining lifts, lowering miners down to the banks of the river to begin their day quite early...

The river.

Without another word, Aiden rises and dresses, throwing his tunic and pants on over his small clothes. He belts the sword around his waist and heads out, making for the banks of the Sheerwater river.

 
Aiden heads north-west to the edge of the village and up the the rocky slopes that surround the valley in which Sheercleft sits. The mountainside is steep, rocky and unforgiving. However, the further he goes, the shallower the Sheercleft ravine becomes, until he can hear the Sheerwater rushing along the bottom. Eventually, it's pale blue waters come into view, sparkling like crystal beneath jagged, snow-covered cliffs. Most of the possible routes down to the water are slippery and treacherous, but one seems passable, if narrow.

“Okay…. I just… I just wish I could see what that paradise would look like… or find a way to show or explain it to the others. I can try but… I know they’re not gonna listen, and they’re not gonna help me steal that sigil.” He raises his hands, at a loss. “I don’t want to lie to them- I won’t lie to them. Is… is it possible to go by myself? I was already planning on traveling to see Aureaonus alone. Or… do you have anyone else helping you that could do it?”

Carefully, Aiden makes his way down to the banks of the river. His breath frosts as it leaves his lips, his coat only keeping some of the cold away. The blue water rushes past him as he stands for a moment, breathing hard from his walk and descent. The cold mountain air fills his lungs, shocking the cloudy tiredness from his mind.

With a silent prayer to Thor and Freya, he pulls the sword free of its sheath and examines it beneath the gleaming moonlight. Hesitation stops him from plunging it into the water. If this wasn't some great cosmic joke, he held the sword of Artus Breannor, or one of his vassals. A blade wielded by one of those that unified Breanne. But he was not Breannean -- not truly. His people were the Norscans that had raised him. He did not know what had become of his family, but surely the son of Ahtohallean fishermen was not worthy to wield such a weapon.

Curiosity tugs at the edges of his hesitation. Aiden knew himself too well -- he would never sleep again, not knowing the truth of this blade. With another deep breath, he plunges the sword into the cold Sheerwater river.

Quote from Sphynxyy >>

“Okay…. I just… I just wish I could see what that paradise would look like… or find a way to show or explain it to the others. I can try but… I know they’re not gonna listen, and they’re not gonna help me steal that sigil.” He raises his hands, at a loss. “I don’t want to lie to them- I won’t lie to them. Is… is it possible to go by myself? I was already planning on traveling to see Aureaonus alone. Or… do you have anyone else helping you that could do it?”

 
"If I could claim the codex from Kossuth, then I have every confidence that you can find a way to acquire the sigil from Longwang," Matthew tells Vark with a warm smile and just a hint of pride. "Whether that is with or without your companions is for you to decide, Vark. Nevertheless, please understand that should you defy me then, in time, my gifts too will fade from you. Our bargain runs both ways." The devil's tone is amiable, but the consequences of not living up to their pact are clear.

Quote from zheadings6134 >>

Carefully, Aiden makes his way down to the banks of the river. His breath frosts as it leaves his lips, his coat only keeping some of the cold away. The blue water rushes past him as he stands for a moment, breathing hard from his walk and descent. The cold mountain air fills his lungs, shocking the cloudy tiredness from his mind.

With a silent prayer to Thor and Freya, he pulls the sword free of its sheath and examines it beneath the gleaming moonlight. Hesitation stops him from plunging it into the water. If this wasn't some great cosmic joke, he held the sword of Artus Breannor, or one of his vassals. A blade wielded by one of those that unified Breanne. But he was not Breannean -- not truly. His people were the Norscans that had raised him. He did not know what had become of his family, but surely the son of Ahtohallean fishermen was not worthy to wield such a weapon.

Curiosity tugs at the edges of his hesitation. Aiden knew himself too well -- he would never sleep again, not knowing the truth of this blade. With another deep breath, he plunges the sword into the cold Sheerwater river.

 
Water erupts from the still surface of the river as the blade passes it, bathing the brightly glowing steel beneath silver moonlight. Louder than ever, Aiden hears the ethereal voice sing out, this time with a second, longer refrain following the first. Once more he sees the spring that it is calling for in his mind. Six armoured knights stand over it, holding the tips of their blades together. Each of their breastplates is emblazoned with a different set of Breannian heraldry. When Aiden looks back down at the weapon in his hand, runes glow white along its length.

“I know…” the warlock replies. Vark looks as if he is trying to swallow gravel. “H-how long do I have? I need to check on Aury first, and then I need to help defend Sheercleft from some Breannian baron. Also uhm… can you promise that if Arawn is released that he won’t uhm… well that he won’t go on a rampage?” His small tusks poke out as he grimaces at his own request.

"You have time," Matthew assures Vark calmly, "as long as you act in good faith. As for Arawn, he is his own master. I do not control him. However, he is no fool and, as I explained, it would not be in his interest to 'rampage'. Instead he must act quickly and decisively to seize the amethyst runestone."

Vark relinquishes a sigh. “Okay… Is there anything else I should know about Longwang or the sigil?”

Aiden pulls the blade from the water, watching the liquid roll off the gleaming steel, his mind rushing through the images he had seen. The spring. Artus Breannor and his five companions...at least, that's who Aiden assumed they were. 

"Incredible," Aiden says, his eyes tracing the runes on the blade. Doubt pulled at the edges of his mind. He was no swordsman. The basics of using the weapon had come easily to him, but he knew he used the weapon more like a hammer or axe. He extends the blade out, working through a few quick slashes. He was no swordsman. But he could become one. If he was to be worthy of this weapon, he would. 

Somewhat reluctantly, he sheathes the blade and starts the walk back toward Sheercleft. 

I wonder if Seid's library has a book on sword forms. He needed to learn. It was a compulsion, whether from the sword or his own mind, it did not matter. 

Quote from Sphynxyy >>

Vark relinquishes a sigh. “Okay… Is there anything else I should know about Longwang or the sigil?”

 
"The sigil will be as hot to the touch as the adamantine sigil that you took from the Mabinogi was heavy," Matthew notes, "and Longwang prefers to mingle with mortals in humanoid form. You could be talking to him and never know it."

“Hmm, okay, that is good to know…” There is a long pause as Vark tries to think of anything else that might be pertinent, but the question that comes to mind is anything but. “Oh! Uhm, one more question… it’s not really on topic but… how exactly did you become a devil? Or, rather, the devil, Asmodeus?”

Matthew laughs aloud and for a split second his visage flickers and Vark sees the red skin and black hair of his Asmodean form.

"All of the Fifth's chosen were granted a spark of divinity and ascended," he explains.

Vark scrunches up his face in confusion “So… you ascended and became a god, whatever that even means, and… you chose to… become the king of the hells? Or did the Fifth choose that for you? OR were there no hells until you ascended, and all your followers became devils?”

"The Fifth's gifts manifested differently for each of us," Matthew tells Vark with a wry grin, "but what you know as the 'lower' planes were his domain and so they became our own."

This information draws blatant suspicion from the warlock. “Wait a minute, you’re saying that the lower planes belonged to the Fifth? Like the lower planes where there are demons and monsters and bad things right? Those things are evil, aren’t they? Why would the Fifth be associated with those things and those places if he wasn’t also evil?”