• If you are citizen of an European Union member nation, you may not use this service unless you are at least 16 years old.

  • You already know Dokkio is an AI-powered assistant to organize & manage your digital files & messages. Very soon, Dokkio will support Outlook as well as One Drive. Check it out today!

View
 

Forkrul Assail

Page history last edited by Eloth 13 years, 8 months ago

"Forkrul Assail (non-human): extinct mythical people (one of the Four Founding Races) (GotM, Glossary)

 

also -Pures, Watered (those with human blood in them) and Shriven

 

Description of Calm, a Bringer of Peace

 

Elongated limbs, extra-jointed, the skin stretched taut and pallid asmoonlight. A mass of blue-black hair spread out from the face-down head, like fine roots, forming a latticework across the stone floor. The demon was naked, and female...

Skin like polished marble, devoid of flaws, a broad brow over enormous midnight eyes that seemed dry and flat, like onyx beneath a layer of dust. High, flaring cheekbones, a wide mouth...She was gaunt, her body a collection of planes and angles. Her breasts were high and far apart, her sternum prominent between them.

She seemed to possess far too many ribs. In height, she was as a Teblor child... , the eyes gleaming now like black pools, the lips full and almost purple in the starlight.(HoC)

 

Forkrul Assail flexibility and strength

 

Like a serpent, Serenity’s right arm writhed around the shaft, binding the weapon. A sudden flex and the Blackwood cracked, then splintered, the red core welling into view down the length of the split. Trull had little time to feel shock, as Serenity’s left hand lashed out.

Two fingertips touched Trull’s temple—

He was already pitching himself to the side, but at the contact he felt his neck wrenched round. Had he remained standing, had he resisted, his neck would now be broken. (MT)

 

The Forkrul Assail plucked it from Fear’s hand, fingers clenching, crushing the iron.(MT)

 And plunged his fingers like spikes into Rhulad’s chest, pushing past the coins, sliding between ribs, and piercing his heart, then snapping back out.(MT) 

 

Forkrul Assail blood and regeneration

 

Pale bluish blood streaming from the two wounds – which seemed to be closing even as Trull watched (MT)

 

An example of Forkrul Assail philosophy

 

‘To leave here is to arrive elsewhere. I cannot retreat from disorder, for it shall surely follow. Peace must be asserted where one finds oneself.

Only when discord is resolved will there be peace.’ (Serenity, MT)

 

Also known as Quitters 

 

 

"Kolanse has been usurped,"  said Tavore.  "not in the name of the Crippled God, but in the name of justice.  Justice of a most terrible kind."

 Quick Ben said,  "Ahkrast Korvalain."

 Sinn jumped as if stung, then huddled down once more.

 "I'm sorry, what?"

"An Elder Warren, Fist Keneb,"  said the Adjunct,  "of the Forkrul Assail.

 

'The Warrens of the Imass are similar to those of the Jaghut and the Forkrul Assail – Elder-, blood- and earthbound –'(GotM, UK Trade, p.204)

 

Pran Chole : 'The Forkrul Assail have vanished, though we never found need to fight them.' (GotM UKTpb, p.261)

 

Silchas Ruin: Physically unique. In some ways more primitive, but as a consequence less . . . specialized, and so less constrained. Profoundly long-lived, more so than any other species. Very difficult to kill...They did fashion the occasional alliance. With the Jaghut, for example. But that was yet another tactic aimed at reasserting balance, and it ultimately failed. As did this entire civilization.'(MT, UK Trade, p.394-5)

 

Silchas Ruin:'There are places, lass, where Forkrul Assail remain. Imprisoned for the most part, but ever restless. Even more disturbing, in many of those places they are worshipped by misguided mortals.’(MT, UK Trade, p.395)

 

Known Forkrul Assail  

'I am named Calm, a Bringer of Peace.' (HoC, UKTpb, p.59)

 

'...a tall figure (Serenity), spectral, its skin white, its hair pallid yellow and hanging in limp strands. It was wearing a leather harness that looked wrinkled and blackened with rot. There was something strange about its limbs....it possessed extra joints in the arms and the legs, and there was some kind of hinge across the creature’s breastbone. Its motion was oddly loose. '(MT, UK Trade, p.589)

 

The Forkrul Assail:  The Lawful Inquisitors

 

Reverence

Serenity

Placid

Diligence

Abide

Aloft

Ease

Calm

Belie

Freedom

Grave

 

Calm : Twelve Pures remained, feeding.  Twelve.

 

The Watered: the tiers of lesser Assail

 

Replete

Sanguine

 

Kalyth : "The Adjudicators had risen to power first in Kolanse," 

 

The Adjudication of Kolanse and the Elan by the Forkrul Assail

 

"When we first heard of them, in our camps, the stories came from caravan guards and traders.  They spoke nervously, with fear in their eyes.  'Not human,'  they said.  They were priests.  Their cult was founded on The Spire, which is an island in the bay of Kolanse, and it was there that they first settled, building a temple and then a fortress."

"So they were foreigners?"  Gesler asked.

"Yes.  From somewhere called The Wretched Coast.  All I have heard of this is second-hand.  They arrived in ships of bone.  The Spire was unoccupied – who would choose to live on a cursed island?  And to begin with there was but one ship, crewed by slaves, and twelve or thirteen priests and priestesses.  Hardly an invasion, as far as the King of Kolanse was concerned.  And when they sent an emissary to his court, he welcomed her.  The native priesthoods were not as pleased and they warned their king, but he overruled them.  The audience was granted.  The Adjudicator was arrogant.  She spoke of justice as if her people alone were its iron hand.  Indeed, that emissary pointed a finger upon the king himself and pronounced his fall."

"I bet he wasn't so pleased anymore,"  Stormy said with a grunt.  "He lopped the fool's head off, I hope."

"He tried,"  Kalyth replied.  "Soldiers and then sorcery – the throne room became a slaughterhouse, and when the battle was over she alone strode out from the palace.  And in the harbour were a hundred more ships of bone.  This is how the horror began."

Gesler twisted in his saddle and seemed to study the two children for a moment, before facing forward again.  "Destriant, how long ago was this?"

She shrugged.  "Fifty, sixty years ago.  The Adjudicators scoured out all the other priesthoods.  More and more of their own followers arrived, season after season.  The Watered, they were called.  Those with human blood in them.  Those first twelve or so, they were the Pures.  From Estobanse Province – the richest land of Kolanse – they spread their power outward, enforcing their will.  They were not interested in waging war upon the common people, and by voice alone they could make entire armies kneel.  From Kolanse they began toppling one dynasty after another – in all the south kingdoms, those girdling the Pelasiar Sea, until all the lands were under their control."  She shuddered.  "They were cruel masters.  There was drought.  Starvation.  They called it the Age of Justice, and left the people to die.  Those who objected they executed, those who sought to rise against them, they annihilated.

"Before long, they reached the lands of my people.  They crushed us like fleas."

"Ges,"  said Stormy after a time,  "if not human, then what?"

"Kalyth, are these Adjudicators tusked?"

"Tusked?  No."

"Describe them."

"They are tall, gaunt.  Their skin is white as alabaster, and their limbs do not move as do those of humans.  From their elbows, they can bend their lower arms in all directions.  It is said their bodies are hinged, as if they had two sets of hips, one stacked atop the other.  And they can stand like us, or with legs like those of a horse.  No weapon can touch them, and a single touch from their long fingers can shatter all the bones in a warrior's body.  Sorcerous attacks drain down from them like water."

"Is it the same for the Watered?"  Gesler wanted to know,  "or just the Pures?"

"I don't know."

 

 

Description of a Forkrul Assail corpse in the Azath House in the city of Letheras

 

Leathery strips of skin here and there were all that held the carcass together, and Grub could see the oddity of the thing's limbs, the extra joints at knee, elbow, wrist and ankle. The very sternum seemed horizontally hinged midway down, as were the prominent, birdlike breastbones...The face was frontally flattened, sharpening the angle where the cheekbones swept back, almost all the way to the ear-holes. Every bone he could see seemed designed to fold or collapse – not just the cheeks but the mandibles and brow-ridges as well. It was a face that in life, Grub suspected, could manage a bizarre array of expressions – far beyond what a human face could achieve. The skin was bleached white, hairless

 

Silchas Ruin on Forkrul Assail philosophy and civilization:

 

'To achieve peace, destruction is delivered. To give the gift of freedom, one promises eternal imprisonment. Adjudication obviates the need for justice. This is a studied, deliberate embrace of diametric opposition. It is a belief in balance, a belief asserted with the conviction of religion. But in this case, the proof of a god’s power lies not in the cause but in the effect. Accordingly, in this world and in all others, proof is achieved by action, and therefore all action – including the act of choosing inaction – is inherently moral. No deed stands outside the moral context. At the same time, the most morally perfect act is the one taken in opposition to what has occurred before...In this civilization...its citizens were bound to acts of utmost savagery. Vast cities were constructed beneath the world’s surface. Each chamber, every building, assembled as the physical expression of the quality of absence. Solid rock matched by empty space. From these places, where they did not dwell, but simply gathered, they set out to achieve balance.’(MT, UK Trade, p.394)

 

Quitters

They are Quitters.  They claim power in their voice (DoD)

 

Swirls of power – she saw mouths open –

"YIELD!"

The command rushed through Badalle, hammered children to the ground behind her.  Voices crying out, helpless with dread.  (DoD)

 

The sun made the world white, bitter with purity.  This was the perfection so cherished by the Quitters. (DoD) 

 

The 'Holy Voice' of the Forkrul Assail

 

could unleash my Holy Voice for the first time ever and so force my kin to come to my aid (DoD) 

 

An encounter with a Forkrul Assail

 

"This land is consecrated for adjudication,"  the Forkrul Assail said.  "I am named Repose.  Give me your name, seeker, that I may know you –"

"Before delivering judgement upon me?"

 The tall, ungainly creature, naked and weaponless, cocked his head.  "You are not alone.  You and your followers have brought discord to this land.  Do not delay me – you cannot evade what hides within you.  I shall be your truth."

 "I am Yedan Derryg."

The Forkrul Assail frowned.  "This yields me no ingress – why is that?  How is it you block me, mortal?"

"I will give you that answer,"  Yedan replied, slipping down from the horse.  He drew his sword.

Repose stared at him.  "Your defiance is useless."

Yedan advanced on him.  "Is it?  But, how can you know for certain.  My name yields you no purchase upon my soul.  Why is that?"

"Explain this, mortal."

"My name is meaningless.  It is my title that holds my truth.  My title, and my blood."

The Forkrul Assail shifted his stance, lifting his hands.  "One way or another, I will know you, mortal." (DoD)

 

Adjudicators and Inquisitors

 

Inquisitor Sever stood looking down on the body of Brother Beleague, seeing as if for the first time the emaciated travesty of the young man she had once known and loved.  On her left was Brother Adroit, breathing fast and shallow, hunched and wracked with tremours.  The bones of his spine and shoulders were bowed like an old man's, legacy of this journey's terrible deficiencies.  His nose was rotting from his face, a raw wound glistening and crawling with flies.

                To her right was Sister Rail, her gaunt face thin as a hatchet, her eyes rimmed in dull, dry red.  She has little hair left – that lustrous mane was long gone, and with it the last vestiges of beauty she had once possessed.

                Sister Scorn had collected Beleague's staff and now leant upon it as would a cripple.  The joints of her elbows, high-wrists and wrists were inflamed and swollen with fluids, but Sever knew that strength remained within her.  Scorn was the last Adjudicator among them.

                When they had set out to deliver peace upon the last of the south-dwellers – these children – they had numbered twelve.  Among them, three of the original five women still lived, and but one of the seven men.  Inquisitor Sever accepted responsibility for this tragic error in judgement.  Of course, who could have imagined that thousands of helpless children could march league upon league through this tortured land, bereft of shelter, their hands empty?  Outlasting the wild dogs, the cannibal raiders among the last of the surviving adults, and the wretched parasites swarming the ground and in the skies above – no, not one Inquisitor could have anticipated this terrible will to survive.

                Surrender was the easy choice, the simplest decision of all.  They should have given up long ago.

                And we would now be home.  And my mate could stand before his daughter and feel such pride at her courage and purity – that she chose to walk with the human children, that she chose to guide her kin to the delivery of peace.

                And I would not now be standing above the body of my dead son.

                It was understood – it had always been understood – that no human was an equal to the Forkrul Assail.  Proof was delivered a thousand times a day – and towards the end, ten thousand, as the pacification of the south kingdoms reached its blessed conclusion.  Not once had the Shriven decried their submission; not once had a single pathetic human straightened in challenge.  The hierarchy was unassailable.

                But these children did not accept that righteous truth.  In ignorance they found strength.  In foolishness they found defiance.

                "The city,"  said Scorn, her voice a broken thing.  "We cannot permit it."

                Sever nodded.  "The investment is absolute, yes.  We cannot hope to storm it."

                Adroit said,  "Its own beauty, yes.  To challenge would be suicide."

                The women turned at that and he flinched back a step.  "Deny me?  The clarity of my vision?"

                Sever sighed, gaze dropping once more to her dead son.  "We cannot.  It is absolute.  It shines."

                "And now the boy with the baby leads them to it,"  said Sister Rail.  "Unacceptable."

                "Agreed,"  said Sever.  "We may fail to return, but we shall not fail in what we set out to do.  Adjudicator, will you lead us into peace?"

                "I am ready,"  Scorn replied, straightening and holding out the staff.  "Wield this, Inquisitor, my need for it has ended."

 She longed to turn away, to reject Scorn's offer.  My son's weapon.  Fashioned by my own hands and then surrendered to him.  I should never have touched it again. 

 "Honour him,"  Scorn said.

 "I shall."  She took the iron-shod staff, and then faced the others.  "Gather up the last of your strength.  I judge four thousand remain – a long day of slaughter awaits us."

 "They are unarmed,"  said Rail.  "Weak."

 "Yes.  In the delivering of peace, we will remind them of that truth."

 Scorn set out.  Sever and the others fell in behind the Adjudicator.  When they drew closer, they would fan out, to make room for the violence they would unleash.

 Not one Shriven would ever reach the city.  And the boy with the baby would die last.  By my husband's daughter's hand.  Because she lives, she still lives. (DoD)

 

The Power of Words 

 

Emerging from the heat shimmer, four figures, fast closing.  Like wind-rocked puppets, every limb snapped back until broken, wheeling loose and death surrounded them in whirlwinds.  Monstrous, clambering out of her memories.  Swirls of power – she saw mouths open - 

"YIELD!"

The command rushed through Badalle, hammered children to the ground behind her.  Voices crying out, helpless with dread.  She felt it rage against her will, weakening her knees.  She felt a snap, as if a tether had broken, and all at once she lifted free – she saw the ribby snake, the sinuous length stretched out as if in yearning.  But, segment by segment, it writhed in pain.

 As that command thundered from bone to bone, Badalle found her voice.  Power in the word, but I can answer it.

  "—to the assault of wonder

 Humility takes you in hand –"

 

 She spun back down to lock herself behind her own eyes.  She saw energies whirl away, ignite in flashes.

  "HALT!" 

 Cracking like a fist.  Lips split, blood threading down.  Badalle spat, pushed forward.  One step, only one.

  "—in softest silence

  Enfold the creeping doubt –"

 She saw her words strike them.  Stagger them.  Almost close enough, at last, to see their ravaged faces, the disbelief, the bafflement and growing distress.  The indignation.  And yes, that she understood.  Games of meaning in evasion.  Deceit of intent in sleight of hand.

                Badalle took another step.

                "Yield all these destinations

                Unbidden jostle to your bones

                Halt in the shadow thrown

                Beneath the yoke of dismay –"

                She felt fire in her limbs, saw blinding incandescence erupt from her hands.  Truth was such a rare weapon, and all the more deadly for it.

                "Do not give me your words!

                They are dead with the squalor

                Of your empty virtues

                YIELD to your own lies!

                HALT in the breathless moment

                Your lungs scream

                And silence answers

                Your heart drums

                Brittle surfaces

                BLEED!"

                They staggered back as if blinded.  Blue fluids spurted from ruptured joints, gushed down from gaping mouths.  Agony twisted their angled faces.  One fell, thrashing, kicking on the ground.  Another, a woman closer to Badalle than the others, dropped down on to her knees, and their impact with the crystalline ground was marked by two bursts of bluish blood – the Quitter shrieked.  The remaining two, a man and a woman, reeling as if buffeted by invisible fists, had begun retreating – stumbling, half-running.

                The fires within Badalle flared, and then died.

                The Quitters deserved worse – but she did not have it in her to deliver such hard punishment.  They had given her but two words.  Not enough.  Two words.  Obedience to the privilege of dying.  Accept your fate.  But … we will not.  We refuse.  We have been refusing things for a long time, now.  We are believers in refusal.

                They will not come close now.  Not for a long time.  Maybe, for these ones, never again.  I have hurt them.  I took their words and made them my own.  I made the power turn in their hands and cut them.  It will have to do.(DoD)

 

 

Forkrul Assail Architecture and Miscellaneous Commentary from Silchas Ruin

 

they descended an inverted stepped pyramid – at least that was what he called it. Four sides to the vast, funnelled pit, and at the base there was a small square of darkness...Into the darkness, three rungs to a landing, then a spiral staircase of black stone...A short while later they came to the end, the stairs opening out onto a sprawling, high-ceilinged chamber.... Three doorways, each one elaborately arched and framed with reverse impressions of columns. Between them, the walls displayed deeply carved images. ‘As you can see,’ he said, ‘there is a reversal of perspective. That which is closest is carved deepest. There is significance to all this.’

 .......  It seemed he would not lead her through any of the doorways, so she fixed her attention instead on the images. ‘There are no faces.’

‘The opposite of identity, yes, Kettle.’

 

 

‘Physically unique. In some ways more primitive, but as a consequence less . . . specialized, and so less constrained. Profoundly long-lived, more so than any other species. Very difficult to kill, and, it must be said, they needed to be killed. Or so was the conclusion reached after any initial encounter with them. Most of the time. They did fashion the occasional alliance. With the Jaghut, for example. But that was yet another tactic aimed at reasserting balance, and it

ultimately failed. As did this entire civilization.’

Kettle swung round to study that distant heap of . . . something.

‘Those are bodies, aren’t they?’

‘Bones. Scraps of clothing, the harnesses they wore.’

‘Who killed them?’

‘You had to understand, Kettle. The one within you must understand. My refutation of the Forkrul Assail belief in balance is absolute. It is not that I am blind to the way in which force is ever countered, the way in which the natural world strains towards balance. But in that striving I see no proof of a god’s power; I see no guiding hand behind such forces. And, even if one such existed, I see no obvious connection with the actions of a self-chosen people for whom chaos is the only rational response to order. Chaos needs no allies, for it dwells like a poison in every one of us. The only relevant struggle for balance I acknowledge is that within ourselves. Externalizing it presumes inner perfection, that the internal struggle is over, victory achieved.’

‘You killed them.’

‘These ones here, yes. As for the rest, no. I was too late arriving and my freedom too brief for that. In any case, but a few enclaves were left by that time. My draconic kin took care of that task, since no other entity possessed the necessary power. As I said, they were damned hard to kill.’

 

Back to Non-Human Sentients