The Book of Amascut

Chapter 5

The tumultuous sea of emotion that the afterlife had become buffeted Icthlarin as he made his way back to the gates, but the sea had changed. Gone were the currents and eddies he had learned and new beasts prowled. Where was he and what were these dark souls? What hell had twisted them so, and more importantly from which hell did they escape? The beasts circled the god, altering the very currents as they did so. Icthlarin prepared to banish the beasts but curious teeth nipped at his arms before he did so.

A tremendous pride filled his chest now that he knew he was the son of such a great and kind and wise father, who was willing to sacrifice so much for his people.

No, this couldn't be hell, this was heaven.

Emboldened teeth bit down on his leg, and his world has naught but white, burning light and the accusing hateful screams of his sister across innumerable ages and uncountable worlds. He cowered at the foot of the volcano where he abandoned her as the searing ashes of a dead star rained down and he prayed a boulder would crush him before the mountain rightfully tore him asunder.

No, this was a hell! No, something new! A trick!

The soul devouring beasts were banished, and Icthlarin surveyed the the damage the beasts had done to the currents. No, it wasn't damage. The currents were never meant to exist, and neither were the eddies that trapped souls within collective interminable hells and heavens. The presence of the beasts had disturbed the eddies into colliding and falling apart, spilling freed souls into new currents that carried them to their ultimate freedom on the other side of the opened Gates of the Underworld. But it wasn't the river that awaited them, it was the Fiery Eye that Saw all that Icthlarin had done, the Ear that Proclaimed his sins to all in the Underworld, and the Mouth that Consumed all the pain he had caused. The Lioness, the true Maned Lioness, stood at the gates and her hateful, accusing screams shook the Afterlife.

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It took Icthlarin and all the Mahjarrat who weren't occupied on the battle lines or routing out spies to subdue the mad goddess and partially enervate her. The Gates to the Underworld were shut again, but the bridge remained. For the first time in ages, the shores of the River Noumenon were lonely, almost empty. When Amascut regained her senses, the river once again let her know as it knew. Surrounding her besides her tearful brother were Azzanadra the pious, Temekel the loyal, Wahisietel the curious, and Sliske the foul, who stole souls from the shores when Icthlarin wasn't looking, among others. On the opposite shore, hunting the devourer beasts, were young Zamorak the Ambitious, Palkeera the Shadow-Warper, and Zemouregal the vain. The river knew little of what happened in the world above, but it did know this: while Amascut, the Judge of the Dead, was away the Mahjarrat had become judges of the people, enforcers of Icthlarin's and Tumeken's will, the Stern Judges of the living. And not only were they mighty warriors and magicians, they were shapeshifters, and many Zarosian spies and poor unfortunates merely suspected of spying were sent to the shore of the River Noumenon after getting caught by these Faceless Ones in a lie. The most unfortunate, however, were snatched back up only to be sent down again multiple times. On the dead and barren world they came from they did not have much opportunity to practice such dark crafts, but here on this world so rich and full of life, the only thing stopping them was Icthlarin himself. Poor distracted Icthlarin, burdened with the guilt of the loss of his sister and unable to earn his father's forgiveness. For Tumeken saw all the Mahjarrat had done yet did nothing for Icthlarin's sake. Icthlarin had brought evil into the Kharid to save it from evil, and for now that is what they did. Icthlarin would learn the consequences of his action, but Tumeken barely perceived the consequences of his inaction. And this the river knew neither, but Tumeken's former Eye witnessed it: a shared parentage between between the dark divine warriors and the Dark Imperator of the north.

Icthlarin and his foul tribe know knew they had a way to subdue the Judge of the Dead, and she feared that one day they might end her completely. She felt acutely, then, the terrible price gods pay for their divinity. There would be no afterlife for her, no shore of the River Noumenon would await her arrival. The River wouldn't carry her past who she was in life and beyond her death, beyond all she experienced and all people knew of her. She wouldn't become what she is in herself. She would just cease. Halt. End.

Much like the evil souls she ate as a reward for their treachery. She returned to her duty as Judge of the Dead, relieving some of the burden Icthlarin bared. Most of the devourer beasts that crossed the bridge to the river's opposite shore had been banished, but a great majority of those that bounded into the open Gates and into the wildly churning Afterlife remained there, calming the great and tumultuous seas of spirit as they hunted. For a while Icthlarin was thankful for the calming effects of the beasts, yet greatly disturbed by their appetite for the destruction of souls. There were still a great many hells and havens and violent currents about them, so Icthlarin still had necessity to leave the Gates for long periods to guide souls past the gnashing jaws of devour beasts and to the "right" afterlives, as some of the more powerful eddies had become.

The Mahjarrat came to the Underworld regularly to confer with Icthlarin. He dared not bring any past the Gates, though, for he knew how eager they were to learn the mysteries of the dead and what some of them would do with such knowledge. Thus he had no help against Amascut's devourer beasts. Not all Mahjarrat came to confer with Icthlarin; Sliske in particular had a habit of timing his visits while he was away, and always with a large group of his fellow Mahjarrat. They would feign disappointment everytime, and Zemouregal would almost always complain the loudest, yet they would stay for a while pretending to wait for the Shepherd of the Dead. Under the Judge of the Dead's furious gaze, they pilfered souls, yet the Judge did not pass judgement, for they were reminders of her own lack of mortality. This the river knew, as it knew the dark intentions of these mahjarrat. The souls were destined to be Sliske's personal grand army of wights, and he intended to complete the enervation of Amascut and even Icthlarin one day. For on the day Amascut returned, they felt a shadow of a joy and ecstasy they had not felt since leaving their home. This the river knew, yet Icthlarin had neither eyes nor ears to understand.

All Icthlarin heard and saw were a steady decline in souls judged worthy of even the afterlife, and almost none judged worthy of rebirth. Those that did earn rebirth were usually picked from among those huddled around his sister's false image. The population of devourer beasts haunting the afterlife never seemed to shrink either, but perhaps they were multiplying. Would that even be possible? But the Judge of the Dead told the Shepherd of the Dead that a corrupting darkness was seeping into the Kharid, despite the valiant efforts of his Stern Judges to stop the darkness from pouring in from the north. The Reaper of the Dead also had the ear of Icthlarin when he told of the curious, repetitive deaths of individuals that were becoming worryingly common. The old adageYou only die once was for some reason being proven wrong.

The Priesthood of Amascut expanded greatly after their Goddess's return, as did the number of people following the ways of the slayer. Adventurous slayers often passed through the increasingly fortified border between the Kharid and the Zarosian Empire and forged murderous and destructive trails deep into the north and each trip seemed to increase the wisdom of the slayer, somehow. In the Kharid, the Priests and Priestesses taught the mysteries of the body and the causes of death to the people and became great healers, and inoculated the people from many evils. Yet in secret they moved against the hidden actions of the Stern Judges. As the Faceless Ones shape-shifted, so did the priests and priestesses, stalking about like stray cats and pouncing as lions and larupias and kyatts. The reinvigorated Priesthood of the Lioness began having as much success as the Stern Judges at uncovering traitors to the Kharid, but their methods of dealing with the traitors became more violent and destructive with each year. At times it would seem that even Amasccut would appear, swelled with rage, and collapse buildings, even temples dedicated to her family, upon the heads of traitors. That a Faceless One in disguise was at times found dead in the debris was always an unfortunate coincidence and oversight. How could it be the True Lioness, when she remained at her post at the Gates of the Underworld? And so the children of the Kharid began to fear the Priesthood of the Lioness, but still would cautiously chide each-other

Judge not the Deathbringer, lest she judge you

From fear came respect, however, and the priesthood still grew.

The Book of Amascut

Chapter 3

Amascut left the Dreamer, who she know knew was Mah, and the world both of them were abandoned on, which she now knew was Freneskae. The way back home was closed, for she no longer had the help of her brother, the cowardly, traitorous cur. Neither did she have the power of the dark divine warriors, who she now knew as the Mahjarrat, as her brother did when he fled with them. Her power was as nothing compared as the Dark Imperator, the Empty Lord, the king of monsters, when he escaped Mah and made his way across the Universe. Mah had stolen so much from Amascut, so much of her life, so much of her time, so much of her fate, so much of her love, so much of her hatred and played with it, tasted it, crushed it, molded it, shaped it. But the Eye Understood and the Mouth Consumed and the Ear Proclaimed until the Dreamer, drained of life and understanding and willingness to fight the cold poison that ate at her heart since time before Time, dreamed again. Amascut had in turn, stolen little from Mah, but it was enough to make her own way across the Universe.

The Universe was wide. It was wider than she remembered, with many more worlds than she recalled. But with new eyes she judged the worlds and their peoples. She saw their potential and what could have been. She saw what should of been, and what was actually passing before her. She saw terror sown across the Universe, a fear of death and a hunger for life that should have never been. She saw marks of a devourer of worlds, and witnessed the incomprehensible mountains of rotting flesh and decaying spirits, and she heard words that consumed entire star systems and reduced civilization to ash. Many worlds reeked of the poison her sibling, who she now knew was Wen, had planted in her heart in the time before Time, and many of those worlds where also touched by the pretender Lord of Light. Many cried out for mercy to the Judge of Souls and mercy she did grant. She saved many from from the terror she saw and the words she heard and the evil she tasted. She saved many from the hells that their afterlives had become. For them, the only mercy was the oblivion found in Her stomach.

And so the Eye Understood and the Mouth Consumed and the Ear Proclaimed and the Judge showed mercy.

Time passed without any reliable count, but Amascut finally returned home to the Kharid. She saw signs on land that showed the military might of Zaros had pushed far south into the Kharid, but her eye looked far to the north and she saw that Zaros and his monstrous Empire were pushed back. She fell prostrate on the banks of the Elid and sobbed. Had she judged wrong? The Mahjarrat had done what Icthlarin had hoped, they had defended the Kharid and brought peace to its people. And though they hadn't eliminated the threat Zaros posed (for how could they? they were created in his shadow…) they had spared the Kharid from the calamitous intents of the Empty Lord and his Dark Empire.

All Kharid, except for the lands of the Mehkmet and the Auspah and the Bedabin.

From where her tears fell, water welled up from the ground. The trees bent their branches and leaves away from her and the clouds parted above her. Elidinis and Tumeken appeared by her and bade her to rise, and each embraced their long lost daughter. Amascut, still red-haired and handsome, the apple of her Father's eye, had changed as the Kharid had changed but it was Tumeken who perceived the greatest difference. Or, rather, didn't perceive. She was no longer His Eye, she was no longer His Ear, she was no longer His Mouth. Elidinis, noting the cold pain of estrangement overtaking Tumeken's heart and Amascut's growing confusion about Tumeken's distance and Icthlarin's absence urged Amascut to go to her brother. Relief and rage warred as Amascut cast her eye to the far north again, and she pried the battle lines. There she saw Kharidian warriors and a generation of her slayers and warrior priests and priestesses that she had never seen and a portion of the divine warriors they had encountered on Freneskae. But Icthlarin was not there. All the cur ever wanted was to please his father and defend his father's people, but how could he please a father so cold, so harsh? Where was the coward? Elidinis urged Amascut again to go to her brother and then looked to the river.

And the Eye Understood. As she turned her fiery gaze on Tumeken, she descended to the underworld, to the shores of the River Noumenon.

The Book of Amascut

Chapter 1

There was a time when the Kharid was a lush land, full of life. Tumeken, the Sun, blessed the land with light and the fire that motivates life from the sky above, and the mighty Elidinis, the river, blessed the land with water, which carries life. And life sprung up from the rich earth, nurtured by the two lords of life.

And it was at this time that Elidinis carried all manner of creatures to this land, creatures that would drink from her waters, and wade in her waters, and enjoy the fruits of the land and the hunting on the land, and thus become fruitful and be hunted themselves. And it was at this time that Tumeken brought his chosen people to these lands, and never did they see such wonders as those Tumeken and Elidinis had created here. Tumeken and Elidinis saw it fit to adopt forms like the non-human creatures as well as human-like creatures, so that they could be with their people, both known and unknown. Tumeken adopted the form of the high soaring falcon so like them he could watch over his land and fly to his people with speed. Elidinis chose for her form the river-horse, placid-looking and bountiful, yet rabidly protective and deceptively powerful and deadly.

But as there was life, there was also death, for deathless life is unnatural, selfish, dangerous, and unholy. The gods themselves pay a great price for their immortality, yea, even the lords of life have paid for the sin of undeath. And Tumeken and Elidinis wanted their children to know what they had lost, so their two children became lords of death, guardians of the underworld. There was a son, Icthlarin, ever loyal, eager to please, and constantly seeking approval, so he adopted the form of such a creature: a jackal-like dog. There was also a daughter, also, Amascut, fierce and handsome, with a discerning eye that saw all truth, for it was the fiery Eye of Tumeken. The Eye is Tumeken's justice and judgment upon his people, and so great was the Eye that the Lioness had a spectacular mane, despite being a Daughter of Tumeken and despite being a Lioness. All who gazed on her red hair knew that their god in the sky gazed back.

And so the Kharid was peaceful and prosperous. Outside the Kharid, other gods and other peoples walked, either making eachother prosperous or terrorizing eachother. The Kharid had rich forests, with excellent timber, and traded with foreign lands. The people of the Kharid ventured into the seas and islands of the southeastern seas and made good trade; they traded with the bird-like men of Hallowvale who came in ships over the northeastern seas; they traded with the pointy eared giants and midgets who came in ships from the west; they traded with the occasional strange creature from the Crystal Kingdom who traded with the Mehkmets, including men-like birds from lands they claimed were north of the pointy eared giants. And so trade enriched the Kharid, both by the way of the sea and by overland routes that went through the lands of the increasingly prosperous Mehkmet tribe in the northern Kharid. But all was not well, of course there was disorder in the order and there was evil amongst the good and there was life and death. It was Icthlarin's role to conduct souls to the afterlife, but before he could do so, souls had to pass before the fierce Eye of Tumeken. To those worthy, exceptional souls, Amascut offered them rebirth by weaving a new life from the remains of an old and spent body. To those unworthy of even the afterlife, Amascut destroyed them utterly, devouring both body and soul.

The Mehkmets of the north, though they had become prosperous because of the pass they guarded, were also in the most danger, for most lived north of the pass, the door to the Kharid. Further to the north monsters stirred, so monstrous to become gods themselves. Adventurers, blessed with the fierceness of Amascut and her knowledge of life and death carried the wrath of Tumeken and his fiery Eye to the north. These were the first slayers. And so the safety of the Mehkmets and the safety of the rest of the tribes in the Kharid were won.

But this safety ended shortly after slayers started reporting back that a new monster had been borne into the world. A king of monsters, a Dark Imperator, an Empty Lord, who had sacrificed one of the mightiest god-beasts of the north in order to bring in twelve legions of demons to the land. A sickening aura that demanded loyalty, yea, even devotion, which pacified even the most nefarious of the demon lords and the most chaotic of the demon slaves. Warrior-priests and priestesses of the Eye and the Lioness's Wrath added their strength to the warriors of the Mehkmet and volunteers from the other Kharidian tribes in preparation for the coming storm.

The Kharidian Pantheon weren't alone in preparing. The Lord of the bird-like men of the Hallowlands to the north-east not only fortified his western border with this new Dark Empire; in a move to protect his Holy Island in the South Sea, he invaded the Crystal Kingdom, for he feared it would be a weak buffer. Myriad and beautiful were the towers of the Crystal Kingdom, but they were weak and delicate, as were the inhabitants. The Crystal Kingdom was shattered and only a few creatures made entirely of light survived, but these too disappeared as the Lord of the bird-like men fortified the shattered ruins, declaring himself the Lord of Light who would drive away the Darkness. The Eye saw this, and she passed judgment, but the Wrath of Tumeken, the true Lord of Light, would be stayed against the pretender. For now, perhaps, both Lights would burn together against the growing Dark. Still, trade with Hallowvale started to sour.

It was at this time that Icthlarin, ever loyal, eager to please, and constantly seeking approval began to worry, for as strong as Tumeken and Elidinis made them, as blessed they were with the knowledge of Amascut's way of the slayer, would Tumeken's people stand a chance against the demonic legions of the Empty Lord? Would they not be like dry pine needles before the breath of the dragons, guided by the Dark Imperator's new dragonriders? Would they not be like grapes, crushed and juiced to reward vampyres loyal to the king of monsters? It was at this time that Icthlarin began worrying that he and his sister, Amascut, had been banished to the Underworld as a punishment; banished from defending the Kharid with their own divine power. It was at this time that Icthlarin craved his own people, not in order to overshadow his father's people, but to protect his father's people and to regain Tumeken's praise. He knew, from his all-seeing sister, that the Empty Lord had gained his powerful allies on other worlds strung across the Universe, many from worlds that were universes themselves. He entreated his sister to help him to find his people, the Kharid's new protectors, for she was the best judge of souls. Amascut, seeing the wisdom in what he said, agreed, and they both abandoned their duties in the underworld in order to search the Universe for help.

They came across many worlds. Many empty, many in ruins, many, to their great dread, somehow incomplete. For what god is so powerful as to create a world, even an incomplete one? They meet many peoples, many unwilling to fight on a foreign world for the benefit of a foreign people, some seemingly touched by the Empty Lord or the pretender Lord of Light. Those few willing to follow Icthlarin and Amascut into war were either judged too weak and frail, or too evil to bring back. It was at this time that Icthlarin grew wearied of Amascut's judgements, for no-one they met was good enough for her. They were about to reach the end of the Universe when they arrived at one last world, an ash-covered, smog and lava-filled hellscape. Lightning raked the sky and the ground, searching for life to snuff out. Yet, there was life, sentient life. A civilization of hardened warriors yielding both enormous physical and magical strength, and with frightful strategic intelligence. These, finally, were the people Icthlarin sought out, but Amascut could not judge them. When the two gods approached this warrior tribe, she realized why as Icthlarin told them of a war taking place far across the Universe on a world much more green and much less deadly than this one. The warriors had no souls, they were like the gods themselves; instead of having a soul, they had divinity. The divine warriors argued the merits of leaving their home to fight a war that wasn't theirs, and their words quickly became fists flying through the air, and blades tearing through armor, and profane magic spells. The Eye saw, then that these warriors had not given up their souls for divine power, they were created that way. Created after the shadow of the Dark Imperator himself.

In the shadow of the volcano that loomed over all of them.

Amascut warned Icthlarin of this, and of her deep misgivings. But Icthlarin heard no warning, only praise for the dark warriors' power and potential. Amascut looked to the volcano in desperation and in fear, for what would create such fearsome things? Possibly the destroyer of such things, as well. Two of the warriors who had objected to leaving were killed, one in a ritual that restored the living to beyond their former power and health. The warriors had resolved to leave with Icthlarin and Amascut and made preparations to do so, but Amascut walked away from the warriors' village and up the mountain.

And there, on the slopes, she found more creations, more shadows. These were no longer shadows of the Dark Imperator as the dark divine warriors had been, but they were living nightmares. The Warrior Goddess had no trouble with banishing the nightmares with the fiery light of day but as she did, the mountain and the Dreamer in it stirred.

When Amascut banished the last of the Dreamer's nightmares, the Dreamer opened her eyes.

And wailed.

The front door opens out into a room that could use some a lot of love in order to looks nice again. Welcome to the slums of Varrock!

Sarah waves Ibani, Quinlan, and Yrael through. "My sister and the rest of the gang are in the other room. Come on in so we can get started."

A hooded and robed figure stalks along the streets of southern Varrock. It is mildly unusual. But in among the dilapidated buildings of the southern section of the city, unusual can happen. The Guard hardly ever ventures south of the square and the nobility never do, save for hurried trips in protected carriages out of the City through the southern gate. Unusual happens all the time. Money disappears, valuables and antiques disappear, even people disappear.

Perhaps it is a visiting Zamorakian priest. It is someone from outside of the neighborhood in any case, and for certain people morality depends on geography. Or sometimes, such morality gets replaced with a calculation of the likelyhood of accidentally planting the seeds of the strangling vine of vendetta in one's own home. Zamorakians will fight back, most times viciously, so it is best to end fights with them quickly.

Out of the shadows a second figure pounces on the first.

"Your money or your life!" barks the second at the first. The second embraces the first from behind, holding a dagger just below the first's jaw.

"What prompt customer service!" exclaims a deep resonant voice from inside the robes. The jaw presses back on the dagger's edge several times, daring it to make a cut. "Can you help me find your employers? I am afraid the time I gave them to fulfill a contract is up."

The dagger quivers, unnerved by the bravado of the jaw. This was supposed to be quick. Is the priest mad? He has spoken as if the dagger wasn't there and hadn't made a move to regain his freedom. It can still be quick. The dagger takes the jaw's dare and stabs into the first's neck.

The first tenses up with pain as the dagger retreats from the wound in the neck and prepares to make another wound in the chest. But the dagger falters and falls from the hand of the second, as the second stumbles away from the first and crumples to the ground.

The dagger gets picked up by the first with a calmness that refuses to recognize the potential fatality of the situation. Then the first walks over to the second and crouches next to him. Surprisingly the first can speak.

"Ah, blood magics, so convenient. I was hoping not to have to recoup my losses. You alone will not be able to repay me," the first says to the second, sternly. "I think you might actually be too stupid to understand what I have been saying, so let me simplify for you. Where is Straven Enroy?"

In secret places underneath the Kharidian Desert, in alcoves in hundreds of isolation cells of the tunnels that snake this way and that, hidden by the shifting sands, a prayer echoes, repeated without cease.





The Devourer knows that Gordon intends on bringing the wrath contained in the urn of dead stars to bear should his mission fail, but she also knows that divine wrath can't hurt.

Maera was in ruins.

Patrols of the werewolf lands were usually peaceful. These people did not dare rebel against Lord Drakan. They loved their Lord, they would die for him. They would not trouble their Lord with petty squabbles.

But there was Maera, destroyed. In the middle of the most peaceful part of Morytania, Meara was reduced to ash and rubble.

The Vyrewatch patrolmen could scarcely believe it. In the swamps to the south they had been called down by some lost pups who babbled on and on about the girl in the red hood. The girl in the red hood was real. The girl in the red hood was in their village, but not accompanied by men and their axes. She brought monsters with her, monsters that had skin that was hard, yellow, and went clik-clak-clik-clak. The girl in the red hood was cruel, she was a deceitful monster.

The vyrewatch would have dismissed the account as the fanciful and wild imaginings of children if it wasn't for the consistent mental impression present on all four of the werewolf pups. The girl in the red hood was an old wives's tale meant to keep the pups from associating with humans. What the pups saw was not the girl in the red hood; it was a woman, red haired and red eyed.

The vyrewatch flew there, carrying the trembling children in their arms. From above they could not see or feel anything unusual, save for the absence of the village and of the mental activity of those who once lived there. There where whisperings spreading that The Slayer herself was in Morytania, frustrated by the lack of progress the fresh influx of her disciples have made. The children's sighting of her was unnerving. The vyrewatch circled in the air many times before deciding it was safe to land.

Upon landing, the children wriggled out of the patrolmen's arms and ran over to the headless and slightly burnt corpse of a large wolf-like creature. As soon as they reached it, the corpse lost its shape, releasing a foul stench. The children began to howl, mourning what was their mother, according to the thoughts intercepted by the vyrewatch.

One of the vyrewatch poked at another corpse, and it too collapsed. There were no bones to hold it up.

On an invisible signal from the others, that same vyrewatch took off into the sky and headed toward Canifis. Lord Klause was there. He would know what to do.