The Parthenon

I do not understand much about deities. I've met a dozen, and they have little in common. What I do understand, however, is Venthrey. I understand that I cannot understand it. - Heteronimous Jackal (Accounts of the Planar Complex vol. 3).

It had been two sleeps since Evan's last conversation with Rubinin. His skin, for the first time in years, was blistered from the exposure to Venthrey's permanent sun, even under the cover of his pelt blankets.

The dried, salted pork wafted a... scent from the makeshift rack upon which Evan had hung it the day before. The mud in which the ground was soaked with pigs' blood had begun to smell insufferable. Fortunately, Evan did not need to deal with it much longer. In that regard, his possessions, few they were, had been assembled into a pile, the most important of which were kept within Rubinin's dowskin satchel she had not taken with her. Chief among his collection of personal items, excluding his sword and cloak, were the minor divinatory tools left behind by Rubinin, lengths of dried and clean snakeskin, and Evan's tome; the last remnant of his time before Venthrey.

Aside from the rack, his pile, and his threadbare "bed", there was little sign that anything, let alone Evan, had ever inhabited a forest that had existed around him days before. Instead, the trees' leaves had died and fallen, and the trunks had withered away into mulch with unusual speed. The snakes that had become exposed without their lush surroundings had retreated to... somewhere Evan did not know. Now, the Greywitch Forest had returned to the expansive plains from which it was raised. This was not unexpected, but it was a large reason Evan was reluctant to allow the Hags' game to end.

While had spent over a year becoming familiar with some degree of it, Evan was no reminded of just how much he detested the sunburn, caused by the perpetual daylight of the realm. He resisted his urge to pick and peel at the blisters, remembering the harm it had done him in the past, and continued in his preparations. He had had no experience butchering before, let alone two adult pigs, so it had been two days of trial and error to prepare the salted pork he was now assembling. Usually, his short-term hunting was sufficient for his needs, and he had never seen a reason to stockpile food. Some may attribute that to short-sightedness, whereas Evan would attribute it to a lack of certainty and dependency in this gods' forsaken realm. A Spitfire could wander into his camp and take it, hunting beasts brought by a deity could be attracted to the smell. 

Deities. Evan suddenly thought to himself. Now that he looked back upon the last couple of days, an interesting thought stuck out at him. There had been no deities, no new games or structures. Particularly now that the Greywitch Forest had disappeared, these plains, already popular as they were, should have had new challengers by now. He had not explored as he usually did these last couple of days due to his preparation, but the sound of the realm was quiet, almost eerily so.

Most times, Evan would never think to complain about this. It meant he had slept without interruptions, and prepared in peace. However, this did not bode well for him. Maybe the timing was too convenient, maybe he was growing paranoid without Rubinin's company, he couldn't tell. All he knew, is that he wanted out of this damned realm.

Out. He thought to himself for what must have been the hundredth time in the last few days. To where? He wondered. Rubinin had not been clear where he would go, just that he would leave. Death? He theorised, dismissing the thought, Rubinin's augury would have clarified death. In fact, she had used danger to ward him from the place.

Maybe the elemental ring, or the second ring. Evan suggested to himself. As bad as the rings were, they were at the very least not Venthrey. They had vegetation and inhabitants, people to talk to and outposts of the Planescholars' Society were dotted all throughout.

The Planescholars' Society. The famous society of mages and planesailors who explored the Planar Complex and all its realms. Even though Venthrey itself existed within the second ring of the Planar Complex, the Society was loathe to attempt to explore it. At least, it had been loathe to. Regardless, Evan had spent months exploring and searching the realm for any sign of an outpost, or structure of the society in general. He had been unsuccessful. In fact, these plains he had discovered were almost a week's trek from where he had arrived initially.

If I'm lucky, maybe the nucleus. He started to fantasise about returning to the Prime Plane, maybe the fey aura, or even the higher planes. Or the lower planes. He halted as the thought crept into his mind. As bad as Venthrey was, he could not imagine the horrors, the true horror of the lower planes. As versed as he was in the planes of the Planar Complex, he only knew two simple facts about the lower planes:

1. Time moved faster in the lower planes than almost anywhere else in the Planar Complex.

2. No mortal should ever go there.

Devils and their ilk were the least to worry about according to the legends he had heard. That was all he had beyond the facts, the legends. And if only a fraction of them were to be believed, he would be far worse off in the lower planes than Venthrey.

This prompted an even worse thought to cross his mind. The Abyssal Ring. The third, outer ring of the Planar Complex. Whereas Evan himself was ignorant of the lower planes, mortalkind was largely ignorant of the Abyssal Ring. The home of demons, numbering the billions, filled with uncounted planes within the debris of dead planes. He knew of the twelve demon lords, everyone did, but nothing beyond that. If he ended up within the Abyssal Ring, he couldn't even imagine, or speculate what would await him. He could end up on a completely barren plane and starve, and that was the best-case scenario.

His hands began to shake as he felt his resolve waver. These were possibilities that had not even crossed his mind in the last few days. And now that he was close to departing, the fear was setting in. He had no idea what awaited him, be it worse or better than the realm he was in now.

No. He thought. No, even dying is better. He recalled the pain, the horrible existence that was life in Venthrey these past 10 years. The worst possibilities would not dissuade Evan, the chance of freedom, of escaping this realm was worth the risk. Even if it was a realm that would kill him, it would be worth it just to step foot in a plane that was not the battle realm.

The salted pork had been wrapped and kept within the dowskin satchel along with his personal possessions, few in number they were, including some divinatory tools Rubinin had left within the satchel, and Evan's tome, his reminder of life before Venthrey. Rather than keeping it sheathed, Evan had his sword at the ready.

The journey back to the Parthenon was longer this time, Evan was sure. Maybe his steps were slightly slower, maybe his path was slightly longer, he couldn't be certain. One thing was certain though, the journey was far too quiet. As he entered into the Amber Woods, the birdsong was nonexistent, his detour to the aquifer spring left him unaccosted. There were none of the low growls of the spitfires, nor any trace of their sulphurous smell. The life of the lifeless realm were silent, gone.

Whatever the reason the beasts had disappeared, he at least knew it was not in his interests. Evan began to sprint through the Amber Woods. It was a strange sensation, to run for your life when you're not even certain you're in danger. 

Within no time at all, Evan had become breathless, his heart beating so heavily he could hear it pounding in his ears. Snap. He halted, his head on a swivel as he searched for anything within his surroundings that was... unnatural. Was that real? He asked himself, uncertain if he even could have distinguished such a subtle sound beyond the pounding of his heart. Snap. It sounded again, the breaking of petty debris, and Evan snapped his head toward its origin. Nothing. There was nothing that Evan could see, and the woods retained its eery silence. Cra-ack. This time the sound was louder, and more violent. It sounded like the branch of a tree, maybe its trunk, being ripped by something larger, and stronger, than anything Evan knew existed in these woods. His raised sword pointed down as he fell to his back foot, pivoted quickly, and continued his mad sprint through the woods. He held the image of the Parthenon in his mind, and the distance between them that was rapidly closing.

Enter. The pull of the green flames of the Parthenon's hall gained a whispering voice as he pictured them in his mind. As they called to him, his body became lighter, his feet quicker and his heart quieter. Enter. The voice ceased to feel like a suggestion, it beared the weight of authority, it was an order. To carry him forward, Evan had surrendered to its call. 

What is it? The question he had held in the back of his mind dissipated as the allure of its sanctuary grew. Do I need it? Evan couldn't afford a half-moment to dedicate to the question before its significance drained from the threat upon him. Is it safe? The question didn't even sound in his mind over the sound of his pounding heartbeat. By now, his vision had become blurry and he was propelled by nothing more than the supernatural call of the green flames.

It was still far too quiet, there was no more cracking, no horrible sounds of large feet thudding as they chased after him. There was no birdsong, no familiar threatening bark of spitfires. It was Evan's feet along the floor of the woods, the pounding of his heart, and the voice that called to him.

Enter. It called again. It was clearer this time, crisp even. Enter. It was soothing now, cool. No, Evan thought, not soothing. Even in his exhausted state, the truth, propelled by his instincts, began to creep into his mind. Enter. The words were not clearer, nor louder, the ambient noise was fading. The ambient noise? He thought to himself. He realised, thankfully, that he was referring to his heart. It was quietening. Not dying, or failing, its pumping was growing slower, more at ease. But how? Evan grabbed ahold of what senses would bend to his will. 

First, his touch. His wrist was shaking. No, not shaking, vibrating. It was holding something that was shaking. The sword, Evan realised, it's dragging along the ground. Then, his taste. Metallic? He moved the substance across his mouth and tongue. No, blood. While he wasn't favourable to tasting blood in his mouth, it was at least another sense he had regained. The others slowly began to return, his body had begun to emerge from the depths at which it had hidden to protect him.

Finally, his vision became clear. He could not say that he had realised it was blurry, it had been like he had no vision at all. With all the context once again before him, Evan realised the true state of himself. His skin told him that he was shaking violently, and his muscles that his legs were weak beneath him. There was no actual blood in his mouth, merely the taste of exertion beyond his limits. He was shambling, snot dripping from his nose. With active thought once again, Evan let his body surrender.

He dropped down, but not onto grass as he had expected. A roar of pain came to his mouth an instant before he could process why. It was hard beneath him, and cold. It was marble. His shoulder and side ached as they had collided against a step leading up into the hall of the Parthenon.

Tears began to stain the marble beneath him, and his breathing became shallow. His eyes would not pull away from the treeline of the woods in the distance. He did not know how long it had been since he had pulled free from the Amber Woods, but his eyes were affixed to it. He wept, loudly and tirelessly, for hours.

Evan awoke to a searing pain in the left side of his body. Of course. He realised, his arm and side were still bruised from their collision with the stairs. When did I fall asleep? He could recall sobbing and waking up, but there seemed to be no logical time between the two. He was not well-rested, not overtly so, at least. Not too much time had passed. 

His sword lay strewn a few feet from him, and his dowskin satchel lay on the stair beside his head. Everything was accounted for, at the very least. It took little time for Evan to regain enough strength to raise himself to his feet. An unexpected weight laid on his shoulders, causing him to fight to remain standing. Whatever the sensation, it passed within a few minutes.

In those few minutes, Evan collected his gear once more, this time choosing to sheath his sword. He descended the steps and took a few more from the Parthenon, gazing up into the entrance, the hallway with the sickly green light.

He was now certain that, if there had been something stalking him in the woods, it would not accost him in the vicinity of the Parthenon. At least, he hoped.

Enter. The whisper within Evan's mind called. It sounded like a voice used to being heeded. To be fair, he had listened to it before. Why? He responded in his mind's eye, for what purpose? There was no response. Instead, the green light maintained its ethereal pull.

Enter. It repeated, more firmly this time, almost angrily. Evan thought he saw scuff marks in the grass just behind his feet, as though the pull were dragging him through space. He intended to step back even further, but his legs would not move. Enter. It repeated again. Enchantment, he swore. This entity had been toeing the line between benevolent and malicious since Evan first encountered it, and now he felt strongly it did not have his interests in mind.

Enter. The voice was no longer a whisper, it was a yell, shrieking and painful to bear solely in his mind. He tried to force movement into himself, and physically push his legs along the grass. No luck. The reality of this effect, this forced decision, began to set in.

Even death is better, he reminded himself. He could not change his mind just because he no longer had a choice, he had already made.

With far more ease than he was comfortable with, he ascended the stairs. The great maw of the Parthenon welcomed him as he took his first step past the threshold, and embraced the warmth of the sickly green light.