Fortress of Crimson Ice
The Fortress of Crimson Ice, The Vale of Dust and Shadows, RR 767.
Repatriator of Souls, a newly exalted chosen of oblivion, owing fealty and oath both to the Neverborn He who holds in Thrall. Due to the chilvarly of death, one supposed, one was to visit one's deathlord and respect the, ahmmm, proprieties. He'd expected to be assigned to The First and Forsaken Lion, perhaps or The Mask of Winters, but unknown to him, he'd be joining both his brothers in the service of The Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears, death of love, poisoner of nations and consciences.
Only one broken in soul, bereft of hope, heartbroken beyond repair, is truly safe from her, not because she feels mercy, but because she feels such has learned 'the first truth', the fundamental law of suffering she is meant to teach Creation. She will focus her attentions on those ignorant of the first truth, until Creation only holds such, then, and only then, will she move on to the 'second truth'. Within her domain, only they were safe from her, or from her favourites, the Lovelorn. The Green Lady, in Report upon the Convention on Deathlords has surmised that the Lovelorn teach 'the first truth' and that to teach another truth, she would create a different, seperate type of undead, quite likely, another, different type of specter.
Repatriator entered the great fortress's entrance, unlike other Deathknights, he wore no armor, and felt naked, in the great stone halls, with winds singing songs of love broken, defeated in every corridor. His Neverborn master whispered in his mind, sounds, images, appeared to him, chasing the here, and now. He saw another time, another place.
There were their parents, hurt, horribly mutilated, their limbs hacked off. The sculptor of pain was on his knees, sobbing. The scenepainter of oblivion, his younger brother, his hand on his older brother's shoulder, spoke words of magic that made no sense, but hurt Rapatriator's ears just to hear, even though he wasn't here.Their lips turned icy blue, a blue so bright it hurt the eyes just to see, as their limbs reattached. They started moving again, their eyes like burning embers, cold like no other. Uttering ancient words in Flametongue, their mouths moved, heat stolen from their surroundings in winds ancient when the Gods were young ideas. Repatriator of Souls, nascent knight of oblivion, his mind awash with shock, with confusion, his limbs moved forward, in search of answers, progressing through the labyrinthine corridors, towards the Lover's chambers at the hexagonal center of the fortress. "Halt!" A pair of Lovelorn, at first identical to the ones in his vision, then suddenly different, stopped him. He extended his hand, and let the sign of Oblivion carved out of his brow with a blunt piece of stone, shine for the first time. In this they recognized his nature as one ordained by the Neverborn, and felt the Neverborn He who holds in Thrall's immense underworld power. They bowed, for he was expected. "Enter." The ghost, if such a powerful being could be called only such, then spoke Repatriator's name, but in the mode of command, of instruction. And it would have cost him his soul to try to resist... "I am here." Repatriator spoke, in Skytongue, which he had not spoken before, and he would not be able to speak to again. "I am come, as ordered." "As you are to teach these worms, these defects... I am to teach you, the futility, the hopelessness of love and friendship. As I am to you, you are to be your lessers. Teach them the pain that is their birthright, the revenge of the Neverborn, who are dying, those that were never meant to be anything but eternal, never meant to do anything but rule reality. You may know these principles as The Old Laws. As my own deathknight, you are beholden to the Chivalry of Death and are my exemplar of it, along with my other deathknights." "Yes, my lady." "I have summoned the others to magical communication, meet your brothers and sisters." "I am The Curate of the Desecrated Sacrament, I serve as the voice of the lady abroad as her ambassador plenipotentiary." "I am The Sorrow-Siren, I salute you, I serve the lady in this castle, I make her redoubt more formidable." "I am the Shadow of the Ash Arrow, greetings brother. I serve the Lady with the Tear Eaters as one of their great dead." "I am Da-Ni-Ko, the Silencer of Consciences. silencer of consciences, welcome brother. I am currently unassigned." "I am Da-Ni-Ka, the troubler of consciences, Da-Ni-Ko is my brother, welcome brother-in-arms, I serve in Nexus, with another agent of hers, who is not a Deathknight." "I am Blue Sigil, I serve the lady in Grieve." "I need no introduction to you brother, do I?" The scenepainter of oblivion spoke, his voice the vibrato of an organ the size of a cathedral, singing a requiem. He was petting Mister Jangles, the family pet, absentmindedly, as the latter sat on his haunches, by his feet. In the window, Kesundang the sword mountain rose. ".,.." The sculptor of pain spoke not, it had not spoken since the death of their parents, but he need not speak, Repatriator knew his elder brother, his brutal frame and angry expression unchanging. He had apparently been interrupted, while dismembering a victim, or 'sculpting' as he tempted to call it. The sword mountain, the Hilt atop it, were in view. "And I am Melkin, the theatre writer in red. I serve the Lady by roaming the River Province, I split my time between the Circus Moribund and The Players of Life's Destiny's Tragedy."
Purpose / Function
A castle defending a Shadowland, and its core and defensive position, but also it's metaphysical seed, upon which the shadowland grew.
Architecture
Bullt upon a maze of six concentric tunnels, its defenses are formidable, its architecture is under the control of the local Lovelorn spectres. They can just connect and disconnect passages and tunnels from one of the doors of any of the six tunnels to any other door of the tunnels.
Type
Fortress
Parent Location
Owning Organization
