The Binding of Txzvu

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Gurns
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Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2001 5:01 am

The Binding of Txzvu

Postby Gurns » Fri May 07, 2004 3:04 am

The kobold, Tzxvu. A master smith, able to work metals of any sort, and more exotic materials as well. Able to imbue magic into his crafted creations. Bound to his smithy. Bound to life. His spirit not in his body, but somehow trapped in the host.

An enigma. Why was he bound? He cannot or will not say. But since he was the builder of the host, one can assume that it was so that he would complete that task. Why is he still bound? Again, he cannot or will not say. Here, the answer is not so obvious. Perhaps those that bound him have another task for him? Perhaps they wish to keep him ready, in case his original work was insufficient? Perhaps it is simply that there is no way to unbind him?

He greatly wishes to be free, so the current binding is not of his own will. Some would try to free him, but so little is known.

I spent a few weeks with the kobold, questioning him about the binding, and how it came about. Well, perhaps it only felt like weeks: As he will speak but two words at a time - three, if he's excited - it was a long and tedious process.

But he was bound with a ceremony, and I think the following well captures what he remembers of it. I may have added a few details, a little color, but this is how I envision it, based on what was told to me.

*****
Part the First

The strange Black Robes had found him, "guided by their god", or so they claimed. He had growled at them, at first. They looked just like the cursed elves, with their flat faces, tiny noses, almost no fur. But elves dressed in many different colors, and these humans all dressed in the same shiny black robes. And they didn't smell like elves.

They had examined his work, the shovels and hoes, the swords and daggers, and praised it. And offered him a job, with a promise of great rewards.

By magical means, they brought him to the outskirts of this small human village. They told him to keep hidden. And when they went out, they always wore something other than their robes.

His first tasks had been simple. Mostly putting rims on wagon wheels, along with making and repairing other wagon fittings and harness buckles. The Black Robes had been wearing them out at a great rate.

As he worked, he had listened to the Black Robes. He couldn't avoid it, they jabbered constantly, hundreds of words every hour. Mostly they spoke of their god, Bane. How He would reward them when He returned. How He would punish their enemies, which seemed to include everybody, but especially the Cyrites, and anyone who claimed their god was dead. And most especially any Banites other than themselves.

Then the work changed. A strange Black Robe had arrived. Evidently the leader of this pack, for the others had all deferred to him. And this human smelled of strange magics, and oddly, of metals.

The leader had the others bring in rocks, many rocks. Not ore-bearing rocks, but granite and quartz and slate. Some handfuls of rough-cut gemstones.

"First, your pay," declared the leader. He handed Tzxvu a bag. Tzxvu looked inside, and grinned.

"Now," said the leader, pointing at the rocks. "You will craft these."

Tzxvu stared at him. He was a smith, not a mason or stonecutter. He could get ore from rocks, and metal from the ore, but what did this Black Robe mean? Craft rocks?

"I will teach you," declared the leader. "But this is knowledge from our God, so you must be ritually prepared and cleansed. Only then may I teach you the sacred knowledge. Only then may you receive the sacred powers necessary to craft these stones."

Tzxvu nodded. This was familiar. The leader smelled like a mage, but talked like the shaman back home.

Another Black Robe brought a rug, and spread it on the floor. Tzxvu looked at it, then looked away. It was a strange, abstract design, in black and green and brown and purple and red and silver and gold. It made him dizzy to look at it.

"Kneel on the rug, Tzxvu," the leader ordered. He did.

The Black Robes began to chant. They marched in a circle, widdershins, about him.

Tzxvu was careful not to yawn. The shaman at home had always gotten most annoyed when someone yawned during a ceremony.

After minutes of this, the chant stopped. The leader looked solemn. "That was the first ceremony, but it was the beginning of the beginning. We will continue tomorrow."

Tzxvu got up and returned to his metalwork. A Black Robe carefully rolled up the rug, and stored it safely on a shelf.

The next day, the ritual began the same way. This time, before the chanting stopped, the leader knelt on the rug in front of him, and held up a piece of meat. It smelled delicious, the aroma making Tzxvu's mouth water.

"Open your mouth," the leader said. When Tzxvu did so, the mage placed the meat on his tongue. Tzxvu swallowed, and licked his lips happily. The mage stood, the chanting stopped, and again the rug was carefully rolled up and stored.

The next day was the same, although after the meat, the mage had him eat some strange green leaves. The day after, he was fed meat, then leaves, then mushrooms. The last left Tzxvu feeling strange and dizzy.

The next day, after the meat, leaves, and mushrooms, the mage sprinkled a handful of dirt on his tongue. Tzxvu was dizzy enough from the mushrooms that he didn't immediately spit it out, and the mage gave him some ale to wash it down.

The kobold stood up. He felt larger. Stronger. He stretched and filled the room.

The mage stood with him, and placed a hand on each side of his head. "Tzxvu," he said, and stared deep into the kobold's eyes. Tzxvu stared back. The mage's eyes were growing larger, larger, all he could see were those eyes.

The chanting stopped, and the mage, his eyes, the room, Tzxvu were all back to normal.

"Have you the sacred knowledge to craft stone?" asked the mage.

Tzxvu looked at the stones. He could make a golem from them, he realized, and he would do that, and then… What came next?

He looked at the mage. "Some," he said.

The mage looked around at the Black Robes, and frowned disapprovingly. "We will repeat the ritual tomorrow."

The rug, the chanting, the meat, leaves, mushrooms, dirt, ale were the same. This time, the mage gave him more and stranger leaves at the end. The mage's eyes grew, and held Tzxvu. Held him longer, while the chanting grew ever louder.

The chanting stopped. Tzxvu looked away from the mage, at the stones. A golem, do that and this and then that and then… He looked at the mage and shook his head.

The mage scowled at the other Black Robes. "There is but one more thing to try. Tomorrow, I will teach you one of Bane's secret names, a Name of great power. Tonight, examine yourselves and your neighbors. Are all worthy of learning this Name?"

There were fewer Black Robes the next day. The mage went to each, individually, and whispered in their ear. Each whispered in his. Sometimes he nodded, other times he frowned and the Black Robe would repeat the whisper until the mage nodded.

The ceremony proceeded as before, the chant as before. The mage fed Tzxvu the meat, leaves, mushrooms, dirt, ale, and more leaves. Stared into his eyes. And as he did so, he shouted, "Now!"

And the Black Robes responded: "Auzorm'tvorl! Auzorm'tvorl! Auzorm'tvorl!"

Tzxvu's mind went blank. He heard nothing but a dull roar. Saw nothing but the mage's silver eyes. Time seemed to stop.

He came back to his senses. The mage, the Black Robes looked exhausted. Tzxvu looked at the stones. Yes, a golem, that and that and, ah, there was the trick, put magic into it like that.

He looked at the mage. "Can make," he said.

*****
Part the Second

Tzxvu looked around the smithy. Solid stone walls and roof, well built. Solid stone floor, laid into the bare earth. Three forges, each complete, each with a magical furnace that never needed fuel, an anvil, and a rack for tools. A stone workbench, he was especially proud of that, the smooth, flat top had been difficult to construct and difficult to level, heavy as it was. His tools all neatly racked above the workbench. A low stone wall, sealed tight, holding a pool of water big enough to quench any item he could make. A number of large stone bins, carefully lined with raw wool, for storing his finished work. And everywhere, piles of ore, piles of gems, piles of other material, carefully sorted by type and grade. All the materials he might need to construct anything.

"Everything is finally to your satisfaction?"

Tzxvu looked at the Black Robe in the doorway. This one was the leader, the one who smelled of strange magics and metals.

Tzxvu nodded. "Good," he said.

The human smiled wickedly. "Then we can teach you how to build the host."

"Host?" asked Tzxvu. It was a new word for him.

"Yes, the host," answered the mage. "What you are here to build."

Tzxvu nodded. He had no idea what a host was, but if they were going to teach him, he was sure he could build it.

The mage frowned, portentously. "Giving you the knowledge to build the host will require a special ceremony."

Tzxvu nodded again.

The mage glanced out the door, and around the workshop. He stepped closer to the smith, and spoke in a low voice. "The knowledge to build the host is only known by our God. He will give this knowledge to you directly, but a special ceremony is required to bring you into contact with Him."

Tzxvu frowned. More ceremonies. More endless chanting and needless talking. And the last ceremonies had left him feeling strange. Not quite himself.

The mage noticed the frown. "You are being well paid for this, very well paid. Much weight of metals and gems, and this workshop when you are done with the host," he said reprovingly.

Tzxvu was still frowning. The mage added, "And think of the knowledge. Smithcraft directly from a god! What might you learn, what might you be able to construct?"

Tzxvu stopped frowning. That was a good point. He didn't really trust the Black Robes to pay him, once he was done. They had paid him a few times, but he expected they would leave before giving him the last of his wages. One reason he had insisted that the workshop be constructed, complete, ahead of time. And why he had it insisted it be very well stocked. He would be paid by this, whether they paid him more or not.

But this, to learn more of smithcraft. And from a god. That could be priceless. This "host"… if a god wanted it, it must be something special. And afterwards, he would be the only one who knew how to make it. If he couldn't adapt it to mortal use, he was no smith.

Besides. Tzxvu grinned to himself. He had heard enough to know these Black Robes had many enemies. Their god had many enemies. And they were getting ready for a mighty battle. He'd bet his hammer that this host had something to do with the battle. When he learned to build it, and adapt it, his people might have a weapon to fight back against those cursed elves who'd slaughtered them for generations.

Tzxvu nodded. "Me do," he said.

The mage smiled again. Tzxvu stared for a moment. The forge fires had reflected strangely off the mage's eyes, they had almost seemed to glow. "Good," said the mage. "The ceremony will take place tonight. Here."

That night, well after the sun had set, the Black Robes silently filed into his smithy. A dozen of them took station, in each corner, along the walls. The leader, the thirteenth, took position in the doorway.

The Black Robes began a chant. Tzxvu recognized the words "Bane" and "Auzorm'tvorl".

The leader stepped inside, and turned to face outside. An arcane word, a gesture, and the doorway disappeared! A solid, unbroken stone wall ran across that side of the room.

The mage turned back, and again his eyes glowed in the light of the forge fires.

With a last cry of "Auzorm'tvorl!", the Black Robes fell silent.

One stepped forward, a bundle under his arm. He unrolled it in the center of the room, and Tzxvu recognized the rug from previous ceremony.

The mage walked to the first forge fire. Another word, a gesture, and the smoke hole closed. Oddly, the smoke from the fire didn't seem to collect in the room, but began to seep into the walls. He repeated that at the second and third fires. And the smithy was sealed off from the outside world.

The mage reached into his robe and pulled out a handful of herbs. He tossed them on the first fire, and black smoke rose high. And seeped into the walls, the ceiling, turning them black. A second handful of herbs on the second fire created green smoke, and the walls turned green. A third handful on the third fire, and brown smoke poured out, and up.

The walls and ceiling seemed to waver and flow, their surface twisting and ebbing, as if becoming smoke themselves.

Tzxvu found it difficult to breath. Most of the smoke had gone into the walls, but some had gone into his lungs. He felt strange. Distant.

The mage beckoned to him, and he moved forward. The mage handed him a handful of herbs, and gestured to the first fire. Tzxvu threw the herbs on the fire, and watched the smoke rise about him, into him, into the walls, into the ceiling. Again, with the second fire, and with the third.

Tzxvu walked back to the mage, unsteadily. His legs felt wobbly. Not solid. He looked down, to see if they had turned to smoke. They looked the same, but looking down made him dizzy.

The mage pointed the rug. "Tzxvu," he commanded, "kneel."

Slowly, carefully, Tzxvu made his way to the rug and knelt, facing the forge fires. The mage stood in front of him and looked down. Tzxvu looked up, and noticed that the mage's eyes were reflecting the forge light again. Which was odd, because the fires were behind him.

The mage reached into his robe, and pulled out a wine skin. An odd wine skin. Instead of one piece of leather, it was made of many little pieces. All sorts of different skins, not any Tzxvu recognized then. Months later, he would remember human and elf, troll and illithid, halfling and duergar and gnome and minotaur and others.

The mage squirted a dark, thick liquid onto Txzvu's forehead. With a forefinger, he drew strange symbols on Tzxvu's forehead, his cheeks, around his eyes. Tzxvu inhaled, and smelled blood.

The mage said, "Drink," and Tzxvu opened his mouth. The mage squirted some of the blood into his mouth. It was rich and sweet and thick, flavored with odd tastes. He swallowed, suddenly eager, and opened his mouth for more. The mage chuckled, and fed him another squirt.

The Black Robes began chanting again.

The mage circled the room, widdershins. Stopping at every Black Robe, to feed him a squirt of the blood. They, too, drank it eagerly. They chanted more strongly, after he had passed.

The mage turned to face the forges, and squirted blood into each fire. One, two, three. One, two, three. And again, one, two, three. The fires shot up with each squirt. At the end, the flames were roaring, and white hot.

The mage reached into his robes, and pulled out handfuls of herbs. Again, he tossed them into the fires. One for black smoke, two for green smoke, three for brown smoke. This time, the smoke didn't rise, didn't seep into the walls, the ceiling. Instead, it floated out into the room, in front of Tzxvu, and collected. Black, green, brown, a roiling mass, turning and twisting in front of him. A sphere, the height of a man, floating a foot off the ground.

The mage stepped to the cloud, and into the cloud. Raising his arms, he poured the last of the blood onto the top of it. Tzxvu expected to see it falling to the floor, beneath the cloud, but nothing came out.

The mage stood, and waited. The cloud continued to roil and twist, but nothing else happened. The mage frowned.

"Your God needs more," he rasped harshly. The Black Robes stopped chanting, and stepped forward as one, until each was touching the cloud. Pulled knives from beneath their robes. Slashed a palm wide open. And held their palms to drip onto the cloud.

No one moved, while the cloud twisted and roiled.

Then the cloud swelled, engulfing the Black Robes, the mage. And Tzxvu. Tzxvu breathed in, and choked, as the cloud swept into his lungs. He stopped breathing, but the cloud continued to fill him. His chest, stomach, arms, legs, head, all felt hot, burning! Then cold, like ice. His eyes watered, and he couldn't see.

And then he could. The cloud receded, sweeping out of him, back to its original size. Maybe just a tiny bit bigger. Tzxvu felt odd. Not quite himself. Hollow, somehow.

The mage threw back his head, and laughed hysterically. Then he looked at the Black Robes, hands dripping blood, blood that was falling onto the floor. He grabbed one, pushed the hand in front of Tzxvu, and ordered, "Lick that." Tzxvu did so immediately, even as he wondered why he did so.

The mage pushed the Black Robe, stumbling toward the wall. The Black Robe pressed his bleeding hand against the wall several times, and returned. Stuck his hand into the cloud. And screamed in agony. Seconds passed, and more seconds, and still the Black Robe screamed. Then the cloud pulled itself back, away from the hand. Tzxvu saw that the wound was closed, but with a red, livid, pulsing scar.

The mage grabbed the next Black Robe. Again, Txzvu licked the hand, the wall was marked with blood, the Black Robe screamed, and the wound was closed.

Again, and again. Eleven Black Robes. The twelth had fainted from loss of blood. The mage grabbed the wrist, dragged the hand to Tzxvu, and then to the wall, the body scraping along on the floor behind him. The mage didn't notice or didn't care when the head bumped into a leg of the workbench, cutting a gash. A few marks with the palm, and the mage dragged the body back to Tzxvu.

"Stand and step off the rug," he ordered. Tzxvu did. "Now place this on the rug," he said, poking the body with his toe. Tzxvu did.

The cloud settled onto it. No screams from the unconscious Black Robe, of course. The cloud twisted and roiled. And rose, to reveal a skeleton. Even as Tzxvu watched, the skeleton crumbled into dust.

The Black Robes and the mage started chanting again. Slowly, the mage rolled up the rug, careful that none of the bone dust spilled on the floor. Slowly, the mage walked to the center forge, and threw the rug on the fire. It burst into flames, and was immediately consumed. A cloud of smoke, black and green and brown and purple and red and silver and gold poured out. And was absorbed into the roiling, twisting cloud of smoke still floating in the center of the room.

All the Black Robes shouted, once: "Auzorm'tvorl!" And were silent.

The cloud expanded, stretching out. It touched the mage, the Black Robes, and Tzxvu. A little smoke seemed to penetrate each, and each of them glowed, a dull red. The cloud touched the piles of ore, of stone, of gemstones, of other materials, and penetrated, and each pile glowed a dull red. The cloud reached the walls, and penetrated. The bloody handprints glowed, scattered over every wall of the smithy.

And the last of the cloud disappeared. The glow vanished, the handprints vanished. The forge fires died down to normal.

Tzxvu stood, and looked around uncertainly. The doorway had returned. It was still night, but the stars showed it was getting close to dawn.

The Black Robes filed out of the room, as silently as they had first entered.

The mage looked at Tzxvu, appraisingly. "You can build the host," he stated.

Tzxvu started to say, "Host?", but as he did, images, measurements, directions, came into his mind. Layer upon layer upon layer. Each with its own materials, its own construction, its own way to put magic into the layer.

He looked about the workshop. He gestured at the piles of materials. "Might need more," he said.

The mage showed his teeth in an evil grin. "Whatever you want will be brought to you. Let any Black Robe know, and anything you need will be provided."

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