Mutu’s Communion with Sarenrae

Mutu knelt on the cold, polished floor of the temple in Lepidstadt, the soft flicker of candlelight casting a warm glow in the small chamber reserved for the goddess’s supplicants. He had come seeking answers, driven by the dark unease that had taken root in his mind after he destroyed the symbols of Kath’uhlzha, worn by the Chained Tyrant’s minions. These were not the first signs of the Great Old Ones—beings who should not be called much less worshipped—that he had encountered in recent days. His thoughts drifted to the shrine dedicated to the King in Yellow within Gregor’s mansion and the harrowing journey he had undertaken into Gregor’s dreamscape, beyond the first Gate of Slumber, where he had battled and subdued both the minions and memories of that accursed being. There, too, he had crossed paths with Xonthar, the Herald of Ossoyo, the Dream Leviathan eater of dreams and nightmares. Most would live their entire lives without ever encountering one of these Entities, those whom some dare to call the Outer Gods, yet in the span of a single month, Mutu had become entangled with not just one but three. Closing his eyes, he steadied his breath, quieted his thoughts, and reached out with his mind and soul toward the divine presence of Sarenrae, seeking the light and guidance of the Dawnflower.
 
A gentle warmth blossomed within Mutu’s core, gradually enveloping him as if he were being cradled in a soothing embrace. The soft glow around him grew brighter, transforming the small, plain chamber where he meditated into a vast expanse of radiant golden light. His senses tingled as his consciousness slipped into a calm, otherworldly state. Before him, a figure emerged, radiant and ethereal, her wings like burning embers spread wide. It was Sarenrae, the Dawnflower, her presence a blend of overwhelming majesty and serene comfort.
 
Her gaze held the brilliance of countless suns, yet within it lay a boundless compassion that words could never capture. Her voice did not speak aloud but rather echoed within his very being, each word a soft caress against the fabric of his soul.

Sarenrae’s Vision and Message

The vision unfurled before Mutu like a grotesque, writhing tapestry woven from the threads of nightmare and madness. He saw himself upon a colossal, twisting pathway—The Path of Giants—its stones shimmering with an eerie, eldritch light that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. But as he took a step, the path beneath him fractured with a sickening crack, splintering into jagged shards and disintegrating into an abyss of roiling darkness.

The scene shifted violently, and he found himself in the shadow-drenched depths of the Witchwoods, the gnarled trees looming like twisted, skeletal hands reaching from the void. His body convulsed and warped, metal grafting to flesh, the transformation into his current automaton form seizing him with a visceral, agonizing force. Reality itself seemed to tear asunder, rips in the very fabric of existence opening like yawning maws, gaping with the promise of oblivion. With the dread of something unspeakably ancient and monstrous pursuing him, he hurled himself through one of the rents, the eldritch horror nipping at the edges of his fading sanity as he plunged into the unknown, losing himself and his memory in the cold, indifferent maw of the void.

“The Path of Giants, my faithful champion,” Sarenrae’s voice murmured within his thoughts, “is a journey for which you were not yet destined. The weight of standing against the Courts of Bedlam and the chaos they sow—those shadows creeping ever closer to unravel the Skein of Order—is immense, and their influence reaches far beyond the limits of their own chaotic domain.”

The vision morphed once more, revealing an infinite, ever-shifting expanse—a realm where dreams and nightmares entwined like serpentine vines, ever twisting and writhing. In this place, everything was mutable, shaped by the desires and fears of dreamers. From the shadows of this strange landscape, a dark substance oozed—black as ink, yet faintly aglow with a strange, unearthly radiance. It rippled and spread throughout this dreamscape, finding its way through tiny rips in the Veil of Slumber, pushing past the barriers that separated the dream world from the waking. With every drop that seeped through, the fabric of reality began to fray and unravel, spilling into chaos.

“The chaotic essence that forms the very foundation of dreams and nightmares,” Sarenrae spoke, her voice heavy with sorrow, “has begun to spill beyond its proper bounds, leaking into the realm of the waking. This black sand is both a harbinger and an agent, unraveling the threads of reality, eroding the barriers that keep our worlds distinct. It causes order to dissolve into madness, turning structure to chaos.”

“Mortals, with their fleeting lives and narrow perspectives, are often blind to the grand and epic currents that carry them along. They are ensnared in the moment, unable to perceive the greater forces at play that shape their destinies. Their limited vision makes it seem as though these vast events are irrelevant, since they are beyond the grasp of most. Yet, in their ignorance, they meddle with forces beyond comprehension, unknowingly wielding the tools of their own destruction and opening gateways for those who exist outside the bounds of all things.”

The vision dimmed, shadows creeping in like encroaching nightfall, sending a shiver through Mutu’s core. The scene morphed once more, revealing an endless void—a swirling maelstrom of entropy and decay. From within its fathomless depths, a monstrous entity began to take shape, its form too abhorrent and incomprehensible to fully grasp, sending a wave of terror that made Mutu’s soul recoil. Its gaze fixed upon the distant City of Nod, a ravenous hunger radiating from it, a desire that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of time and space.

“The symbols you encountered and wisely obliterated belong to one of these entities, ones that exist beyond the established order of the planes,” Sarenrae’s voice softened, yet an undercurrent of urgency wound through her words.

“This being seeks to exploit the careless experiments of mortals with what has slipped through the tears in the Veil of Slumber, rent by Ossoyo. It aims to seize this chance to reshape the fabric of reality to its own design, dragging existence back into the abyss of entropy should it prevail. Kath’uhlzha stirs restlessly, seeking to wield the City of Nod as a portal to impose its will upon the world once again as it tried and failed to do with the Tyrant who is Chained.”

As the last echoes of Sarenrae’s voice faded, the vision dissolved, and Mutu found himself once again in the temple, surrounded by the soft glow of flickering candles. The weight of what he had seen and heard lingered, pressing down on his metallic shoulders like an unseen force. Though the path ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty, Mutu understood that the forces of chaos and entropy were gathering, and his choices would carry immense consequences. Yet, with the guidance of Sarenrae illuminating his way, he resolved to confront whatever lay ahead with unwavering courage and steadfast conviction.