View source for Milai - Gem of Truth

'''Milai’s Object Readings – The Gem of Truth'''

It is dark, cold and damp.  Oh how lonely she has been; she is incomplete, broken, full of questions: Why did he do that?  What petty insult could he not endure?  What did the Gods do to him to upset him so?  Now what?  What has become of the rest?  Her mind, restless, constantly turns over the options, waiting for someone or something to happen.  A light…The noise; what is all that clambering?  Agh, who is this?  Milai sees a round, bearded face peering at her through a small hole which lets in light from a lantern and the voices of many dwarves.  The dwarf picks Milai up and studies her.  Under his breath the dwarf mutters, “What have we here?  This is not a chance find…  What fait has brought you to me, my treasure?”

“Yes, I would say that it is part of the [[Sarnim Stone]].” A deep man’s voice brings Milai out of her sleep.

“I knew it, thank you [[Bavarik]].”  A voice replies in Dwarf, almost a whisper.

“Wait [[Frastor]], that is not a trinket for your darling [[Eminik]] to wear on her finger.”  The man’s voice is firm.

“I know but it could not have come at a more welcome time.”

“You were not thinking of using it, were you?”

“Why not?  It could save us from this cursed siege.” The Dwarf demands.

”Listen to me, Frastor.  If you use that Gem, you will bring down on us such evil that we will be completely overrun.  Put it away until we know more of it.”

“Time will tell, Bavarik, it has not brought doom to us yet.  There must have been a reason that Lastar returned his treasures.”

“There was a reason, Frastor, but not one that would suit you.  Things on the Prime are of little significance to those in the heavens.  That is a mere trinket to the Gods but don’t be fooled by their disinterest.  It is very dangerous and our places are not always guaranteed in Valhalla.”

“You have changed Bavarik; if I may say, the loss of Lastar has dulled your lust for life.  You never were a doomsayer.”  The Paladin stands, hurt and shocked with anger flashing across his face.  He swallows hard and simply walks away without uttering another word.


'''“In truth we put our trust.  Through truth we gain trust. And in truth we find ourselves.”'''

The release is ecstasy.  Oh how she has waited for this time but how she wished she could share it with the others.  Where are they now?  That was good…Wait, what was that? An echo? A call?  Oh no, how did he hear.  Why does he come..?   I must not go to him again…Not now!


Milai wakes to see a beautiful woman staring at her.  Her olive shaped eyes are deepest wells of darkness, her black flowing hair tumbles in ringlets and pools on her strong shoulders and lean long neck.  On her head is a crown of platinum which has 4 points, each shaped like a spear held aloft by a feminine arm, the blade of each is a fine ruby.  Her lips are blood red, full and are pulled into a broad smile showing bright white, sharp teeth.  

“No…this is not meant to be…she does not understand.  Oh no, she mustn’t.  Fuck!  This foul creature from the depths of the Abyss deserves not to be near me!  She will die for this!  What a loathsome, evil, chaotic bitch.  She has no understanding of the Truth.  She does not understand and for her ignorance she will pay!”


Suspended from a platinum chain and bouncing around the humanoid hips of the Demon, Milai sees the large, overweight priest dressed from head to foot in plate armour.  The Cleric swings his large war hammer, narrowly missing Milai, his shield, embossed with the eye of Odin, radiates light.  The priest’s keen, bright blue eyes seek out Milai – to be with him, Milai feels, would lead to salvation, harmony and the right way.  The priest continues to chant his prayer to Odin whilst Milai says her own prayers to be free of the evil witch that has been her captor for years.  Fire engulfs the Cleric, missiles strike him, the bitch’s weapons smash into his armour but nothing brings him down.  Having truth on his side, he will not be beaten.  To Milai’s right is a young man, dressed in little more than a sack, tied at the waist with string, and wearing sandals.  He is of the most righteous way.  Oh, how I would love to be with him.  I could help his cause so much.  

More fire is swiftly followed by ice and meteors, shattering stone and sucking air from the atmosphere.  Through the swirling flames looms an enormous sword, skilfully blocked by the foul beast before it strikes Milai.  At the blunt end is a huge fighter, dressed in plate armour but seemingly unencumbered by it.  The shouts and cries of warnings and encouragement, sustain the Demon’s enemies.  The last of the quartet is a Mage, able to wield magic powerful enough to rival that of the Witch from the lower planes.   There!  I know he has one of my brothers…No, no…it is the father!  Oh, he will not bear that lightly; his nature would render any soul.  The father is the most wayward; even I will not placate him.   

Luckily, the four overcome the Demon.  The young Mage bends and pulls Milai from the Demon’s belt.  The joyous sense of freedom is offset by the fear of the unknown. 


Why did you bring them here?

Why do you ask such inane questions?

You know that they are not ready.

They have belief; they are the new White Council after all.

That is what they call themselves – even Ythanos was not ready for the Serpent.

He knows his own mind, they want Rantor’s hoard.

Not so!  They are looking for the rest of our kind.

Then it is time to move on.  It is hard enough existing with you niggling me, let alone the rest.


“Turn back Semaj, you are not strong enough to defeat the Dragon.” Milai continues to plead with the Mage.

“Do not listen to the doomsayers, my friend.  You are the new White Council, powerful enough to defeat the Demon, Marilliath, and strong enough to destroy an old serpent.” The argument goes on.

“Leave me alone, your constant arguing is destroying my mind!”

The Serpent’s ferocity takes them all by surprise.  Mixing its innate attacks with powerful, well timed and expertly directed dweomer, Rantor swiftly gets the upper hand.  

“Flee Semaj, save yourself!”  Milai screams as she witnesses the death of the warrior Tarthor  – cooked and eaten whole.  “Let me concentrate, no I cannot use the Gem…It must be a spell – ice storm!” comes the mumbled reply.

“That’s right my friend, stand your ground.” Father sneers.

“Samej, do something…Concentrate – use the Gem!” screams the Cleric.

“Run!” Milai calls.

“…Tagaran, we need to go.  This is futile.” The Mage’s voice is sounding increasingly desperate as he realises his mistake.  Too late thinks Milai.

The Cleric dies next, burnt and crushed; then the Dragon focuses on the remaining two.  The monk is desperately defending the wizard who, in turn, is desperately trying to flee.  Reaching over the monk, the great serpent’s neck extends like a cobra striking at the Mage.  With incredible speed and power the Dragon plucks the wizard’s head from his shoulders leaving the decapitated torso to fall in flames.  Milai is plunged into darkness… 


Milai hears the Dragon snoring – he often slept after having set alight to the ships moored around the bay of Ashor.  What’s that?  A footfall – someone or something else is here.  
Yes, I hear it too.  This is our chance to move on…give some other mortal the benefit of my counsel.
I hope the next one listens to me and ignores you.
Hahaha, you are so naïve; all these mortals want is power and money – they are so easy!
The serpent grunts and blows out a belch of noxious gasses and smoke.  
Milai can see a light as if she is looking at the distant end of a long tunnel.  She focuses on it.  Fleetingly, she sees an oriental man dressed in a dark blue kimono with a white obi stride forward.  His right arm is stretched out behind him, in his hand is a katana; wrist angled, the blade arches forward over his head.  His left arm is stretched out in front of him, his hand oriented vertically.