A Step Toward Divinity

The records of Alton Elenaur's experiences during his attunement to the Lachla Shard recovered from the Elysian Institute of Arcana. Intended to be updated on a daily basis by the Drow's unseen servant during his time within the Demiplane, the mental strain of the process limited Alton's periods of downtime and so only a select few extracts exist.

Day One
The trials of yesterday had already borne fruit, Alton mused as he gazed intently into shard of beautiful turquoise and amethyst hues that hovered before him. It hummed gently with latent psionic power so powerful that he could already feel it tugging at the corners of his mind. After all that he had read, all that he had witnessed, all that he had suffered, he was still surprised that one had found its way into his possession. The Alton of before might have been content to simply study it from afar and detail a paper or two to his findings before shipping it off to Varal, but that was no longer his path.

He would shape his own destiny from now on.

"Are you sure about this, Alton?"

The words of Merric Ashwhisper intruded on his musings, drawing his gaze from the crystal to meet those of his arcanist. Merric was near a foot taller than the diminutive Nightlord, but his head was bowed low in respect.

"Is that compassion I sense in you, old friend? It suits you ill."

A curt response, but an idle jest that drew a smile to the faces of both Drow. Alton exhaled deeply, before turning back to face the Lachla Shard and placing his hand upon its surface.

"I have never been more sure of anything. We cannot hope to stop the demon and the aberrant without harnessing our greatest weapons, so I will do what I must."

"Very well. I shall return on the morrow. Weavemaker guide you."

Merric stepped back through the doorway and sealed it shut behind him, leaving Alton and the crystal alone on the Demiplane save for his equipment. Taking a moment to sit down in what had once been Estelar's chair, all that truly remained of the Elysian Institute, he made one last proclamation even though none were there to hear him.

"There is no Weavemaker here, only Arcadia."

Day Two
The doorway opened before him, blinding white light flashed into his eyes and that dragged Alton from his stupor. To his surprise, he found his body to be unresponsive. He could not bring himself to move, and Estelar's chair towered over him ominously. Reaching out with his senses, a swarm of questions rushed into his mind.

"Alton?"

How had he ended up on the floor? What was that burning smell? Why could he could taste blood.

"Alton! Wake up damn you. Don't you dare die on me!"

He knew that voice. But the figure was little more than a darkened shadow as he loomed over his broken form. A hand wiped away at his face before reaching up to wipe away at their own forehead, and then - with a sudden lurch - he was being carried.

His gaze focused in for a brief moment of clarity as the shadows faded to reveal Merric's bloodstained features, and then the Nightlord slipped from consciousness once more.

Day Nine
"You were unconscious for seven days. If I hadn't pulled you out when I did then you might never have awoken. YET YOU WANT TO TRY AGAIN?!"

Alton had not heard Merric raise his voice in anger in all the years he had known him, it was not something that any Drow did lightly given their inclination to the hushed whispers of Undercommon, and yet he did not flinch as the words rolled over him. The arcanist prowled at the edge of his bed, in which Alton still lay prone, but by his footfalls alone it was easy to gauge his frustration.

"You sound surprised, but when have you known me to accept defeat? I will be better prepared this time, my mind already acclimatised..."

"You don't know that. It could turn your brain to paste, reduce your body to dust, or worse still it could summon those very entities that you want it to ward against."

"Then I will simple change that timeline before it happens."

"We both know that is not as simple as you imply. I have studied those same texts as you, even Varal could not fully comprehend the infinite and he is a thousand times the wizard you are."

"And where did that get him?"

At that, Alton pushed himself off his back and propped himself upon his elbows. Eyes of silver and gold pierced into those that stared down upon him, a fiery tenacity burning away behind them.

"Prepare the Demiplane again, and have the Beacon brought in this time. One more tool to be used."

"I won't help you commit suicide."

"You will be ready for tomorrow, Arcanist. As will I."

With one last outburst, Ashwhisper turned to leave. His expression twisted into a grimace. Through gritted teeth, he acquiesced to the request and vanished into the night.

"Fine. One more attempt."

Day Ten
Entering the Demiplane for the second time, there was a palpable tension in the air as Alton once more gazed upon the Lachla Shard. A small part of him had wondered if Merric would actually follow through on his threat and the room might be empty, but it was in much a similar condition to how he had left it.

He ran a hand along the back of Estelar’s chair, trying to avoid looking at the spots that were still stained with his blood from a week before, and began to weave a subtle incantation. From his fingertips, wisps of arcane energy began to cover the patches stained with blackened ichor and slowly the blood began to disappear.

“So, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot last time.”

He reached out with his mind, probing the psionic defences of the Crystal once more, and let the attunement process begin anew.

Placing hands upon the shards, a wave of energy floated through every vessel within Alton's being, as if whispers slipped through veins and cells, calling up the mind to adapt and refine the very core his beings, calling his material form to adapt and evolve by call and command. Whispers that shivered and ate away at mind and body, indiscernible at first, a conglomeration of whispers and words that hissed and hummed almost melodically, a near tribal chant that called upon a greater power. An overwhelming sense of energy and power that caused an untenable degree of stress upon mind and body, causing convulsions and shortage of breath as the mind faltered in its attempt to attempt and understand the gravity of power being imbued into a humanoid form.

Alone in the darkness of the Demiplane, a Drow screamed into the void.

Day Eleven
It was just as overwhelming as the first connection.

Alton could feel his mind being battered by wave after wave of energy, his body straining against imperceptible bonds, and yet he did not relent. For every jolt that sent pain coursing through his nervous system, he gritted his teeth and pushed back with every fibre of his being. This was not a union that a mortal should ever have attempted, for his form was not meant to comprehend this, and yet he willed it so. A single echo drifted as clear as the muttering whispers, penetrating his defences and infiltrating his mind.

This is wrong.

And yet, the attunement continued, unwavering and unfaltering. Whispers soon turned to voices.

Who are you?

Clarity. Understanding. A language that should not be understood or deciphered.

What are you doing?

The convulsions grow stronger, as though the body and mind struggle to accept the power of the shard, or the shard rejecting the host.

This is not its purpose.

An awakening. The convulsions stop. Everything, in a single moment, feels slow, light, malleable.

Bring us home.

Day Twelve
There was a voice at the heart of it all. An entity within the maelstrom. An echo against the choir of infinite entropy. He had heard it, and so it was now taking all of his energy to summon up a reply.

I am Astelaryn Elenaur.

He let his mind speak for him, casting out the words into the connection between them like a fisherman might a net.

For the sake of my world, and a thousand others, I must harness your power.

There was no immediate answer from the crystal, nothing beyond the faintest hint of longing. It wanted something, it wanted it so badly that it could not suppress itself, and yet Alton could still only barely notice it.

Day Seventeen
Silence. Days of unending silence. There had been no response from the crystal to any of his answers or questions.

Yet, despite the lack of communication, he could feel the difference in his harnessed mind. Connections that should not have been made were now joined, unnatural powers that he had no right to possess were now his own.

It had given him power and knowledge both, and yet it was not enough.

Then the same words came again.

Those that he had heard before, in the same tone and lacking in response. Like a message trapped in an eternal loop. Like an echo reverberating infinitely within a contained space.

Day ???
How long had this battle of endurance lasted? Minutes? Days? Years? He had no comprehension of time in this space, nor did he have the luxury of rest as the assault upon his psyche was unending. He remembered what it felt like to not hear as he heard, to not see as he saw, but they were the distant memories of a younger man.

The same echo still continued, as it had done for longer than he could recall. Each time the voices grew clearer, and yet more alien. He swore that the echo now also spoke his answers before he said them.

Or was the crystal echoing his own response?

Or was he now one with the crystal and the voice someone else's?

Day Forty
He had done it.

What had he done?

From that moment, after near thirty days of constant agony, everything felt clear. As though the laws of actuality and probability were mere calculations to be wiped away and re-written. And a vision, not of the past or future, but of the connection now born from this gift. What seemed to uncertain was now certain, what was hidden behind veils was now as clear as day. A sudden surge of knowledge and comprehension that was buried deep within the mind, now unlocked and awakened. The gun at his hip, no longer a weapon. His body, no longer flesh. But the culmination of energy, cells and matter to be manipulated with a new found power.

Turning to his left within the Demiplane, a faint emerald light shone almost ethereally. To his right, a bright sapphire glow was a clear as day. Looking out, far in the distance, a red light shone dimly. Further still, almost incomprehensible, a violet shines but just barely.

He stared into the core of the Lachla Shard, holding it now in his hands as the crystal had shrunk to the size of a large gem, yet a dour frown was all that crossed his features. Had the members of Arcadia been foolhardy enough to do what he had done? Had they even tried? It mattered little, truly, because he had succeeded.

The doorway to the Demiplane opened once more, as Merric arrived to tend to him again, but this time the Nightlord was stood waiting for him. His voice echoed triumph, belaying the concern of mere moments before behind a mask of arrogance.

"I have attuned to the Lachla Shard. The tide has turned."

"It's finished then? We have a weapon against the Demons and the Mindflayers?"

"This is not the end. A weapon cannot be forged too hastily. Come, there is much to be done. I have not seen the light of the moon in weeks, nor even seen beyond these four walls, and I have a craving for proper food and company."

Striding for the doorway, Astelaryn looked back at the small box that had been his prison and his sanctuary one last time and a wistful smile danced across his lips. He remembered who had entered, but they were not the same as who had left. The boy had been too weak, so came the man.

Four pieces of the puzzle were out there, he could see them as clear as ever. One was not enough. It had never been enough.

To save the world, all the worlds, five would need to be one.