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Grand Niskal, Frozen Heart of the Empire

Today’s chronicle, and in particular my choice for it, may spark some questions among readers old and new. Why, of all places, would I need to take a dive into Voska in order to find anything at all? What would they even hide there? The Toskar are perhaps the least secretive (and some would say the least subtle) of all that dwell in the caverns, what would they even hide? Some that are either more savvy, more contrarian or simply more paranoid may keep going from there, and wonder: What indeed. If this empire is one that would spring forth the results of espionage well before all the involved are dead, and even boast that they laid a hand on a skirmish that wasn’t their own and twisted it in a given direction just to prove they could[1], the things they’d rather hide than brag about must be quite interesting, or at the very least embarrassing enough to be amusing.

Indeed, the latter line of thinking is something I had in mind as I boarded the train towards Grand Niskal. I was well outside the Empire, having finished up some business in Ferigoz, so I took up the guise of a mole and went for the wagon closest to the locomotive to stave off the chill (for both credibility’s sake and my own), and readied everything I’d need on the way there. By the time I saw the first flecks of snow in the air, and the stone around me had gathered a thin layer of ice, I’d put together a fairly coherent background, and the documentation (so to speak) to back it up. Nothing too deep, in case I needed to adapt it further on the fly… If this seems a little more improvised than the way I usually start these incursions[2], that’s because, admittedly, it was. My leads were more vague than usual, with fewer pointers to follow and very nebulous objectives and rumors to aim at, so I figured I’d need a more flexible identity in order to reach deep enough to find anything solid. Something more adaptable, so that I could quickly make it work once I found just where the details I look for were hiding. I kept many of my pages empty just for that purpose, in fact, even if I hardly used most of them in the end. And of course, it helped not to go with a Toskar, as they’d be expected to be far more familiar than I would be – and more importantly, they’re not expected to question much of anything, unlike what I’d be doing. As the train crossed the border between both Western Kingdoms, I could see that there was little in the way of actual distinction, beyond a snow-covered fence and a single gate that, at a glance, didn’t look like it had been closed in years. No thick walls, no distant fortifications lit up in the darkness, no hints of any patrols, not even a single scout in the distance, encroached and watching, as one often sees with sharp enough eyes. The snow would’ve made my search easier, even as the thin layer I found it in, and yet I saw nothing of the sort beyond the unlucky few at each side of the gates, that merely nodded towards the train as it passed by. Just another little reminder of their surprising union, when even the nations of the Gyre don’t trust each other this much. Another reason for me to pick a Ferigozi guise, all in all. Now, the deeper the train went, the colder it all got, and the thicker the snow around the rails. Not all of the Empire is this cold, the Eastern side I’d call outright balmy, but the chill blows in from the Northwest, and its Western side as a whole (including the capital, and the path I was taking) is too far from the Red Plateau or any other volcanic activity to keep temperatures up. And so, it wasn’t long before the landscape whited out entirely, leaving nothing but the walls and pillars too steep for snow to cling, and the ever-bigger Nektrals[3] that enjoy such temperatures so. Soon after that, I entirely lost track of the shape of the landscape itself beyond the pillars, as even the roof was fogged out, leaving a near-featureless expanse that, in tandem with the warmth of the wagon itself, lulled me into a long, long nap…

A few hours, a slightly panicked awakening and rapid check of my belongings later, the landscape hadn’t changed much. The Nektrals and the snow alike had thickened, hiding the topography even further, and by now even the natural columns were sparse… but none of it could hide the constructed columns that littered the place, the few that stood tall enough to make it past the snowbanks. Indeed, one of the first signs that you’re closing in on inhabited Voska territory, and especially Grand Niskal, is the assortment of stone ruins littered across the land, with less rhyme and reason than you would expect even if you knew little of archaeology. But as it turns out, even as the styles remain so similar, down to the characteristic columns, not all of these ruins are the same age; some of the crumbled pillars and fallen, sloped roofs are barely older than you[4] or me, simply beaten down by the ice and wind until something had to give. Structures here can deteriorate quite quickly, when unsupervised (and sometimes shoddily made to the point one does wonder if they were built explicitly to be ruins). After sighting the first crumbling pillars, it doesn’t take too long on this approach to spot the merely uninhabited structures, standing proud yet lightless, followed by those with actual dwellers, their chimneys puffing smoke into the cold winds outside. But the former outnumber the latter quite handily, and even here, there’s still a scattering of fractured columns, with and without the roofs they once held up. All in all, one’ll witness some very unusual outskirts for a city, extensively built on yet scarcely lived in. Few of these shelters have an owner nowadays, and plenty of them never did have one to begin with, meant as little more than waystations to shelter in when the chilling gales came by – or worse, when said gales stopped, replaced by a faint, creeping breeze carrying such glacial temperatures it can bite into the very stone of these shelters and embrittle them until they crumble[5]… Of course, it’s very easy to tell where the outskirts end and the actual metropolis of Grand Niskal begins, as the enormous walls lined with gleaming furnaces visible even through the barred windows make the limits very clear. You can see them for miles around, though due to the bluish-white tones of the masonry used it takes a little longer to notice they’ve got no snow piled upon them, and they’ve even formed a tiny moat of refrozen ice right in front of them; of course, if you’re close enough to see said moat, you’re soon to feel the warmth of their heating on your skin, answering the questions you likely had. Indeed, this capital is very keen on keeping the unwanted out, whether it’s invaders or temperatures, and the patrols that staff its walls make sure they stand firm and functional, sheltering the city at all times from both… And, once you’ve made it past the railroad’s gates and into the station (barely) within the walls, you’ll quickly notice that Voska’s capital has been battling both, as you turn to find a set of smaller walls deeper inside, only partially torn down to allow transit. Indeed, when you find yourself a decent vantage point, you can see an almost concentric set of increasingly demolished and recycled walls, smaller and lesser as they approach the city’s center. These inner walls have oft been hollowed out and repurposed when they weren’t torn down, turned into places of heavy industry; after all, the furnaces were already there, so the rest was a matter of simple restructuring and piping. But the further outside they are, the greater the chance some of the floors remain as extra barracks, whether to hold those that don’t have abodes of their own or simply to be ready for the next draft…

As I disembarked in my Ferigozi guise, hauling my belongings under my claw, I could see the train station was rather utilitarian, especially for something meant to be the city’s (and perhaps the Empire’s) first impression. You would expect more decorations, statues perhaps, engravings on the walls depicting the more famous battles of this militant culture – at least until you remember Voska’s thoughts on such commemoration[6]. But there’s nary a bust or carving to be found, save for the (admittedly charming) patterns on the support columns all around you. The walls are smooth and almost blank, little more than extra space to hang up schedules, directions, and a single clock of stone and metal, with admittedly impressive size and exact timing. Beyond that, only strung-up fliers in their allowed places, and some minor vandalism no one had gotten to clean up yet, and that would be it. Even the scratches and scribbles seemed quite recent, as if they took pains to keep things plain to the point of sterility… Thankfully for my eyes, the station’s outer facade, and the rest of the city from street level, were far more interesting. I’ll admit I very much felt the need to turn around as I passed the ever-open doors to see if it was just a giant slab of quarzite and akralite, and found to my pleasant surprise that this second impression was far more pleasant. While it lacked the graceful and seamless curves of Ifchi architecture, and the builders still forewent the expected depictions of any actual concepts, it had an imposing beauty of its own. The pillars on the outside were far bigger, and clearly carved from singular pieces rather than put together seamlessly, whittled down to simple and consistent patterns across each, with the more complex decorations either capping each pillar or rounding their base. The structure itself was simple, yet elegant, capped by a flattened triangular roof with near-unseen hooks at the very edges pointed towards the snow piled above, with abstract, yet tasteful little patterns following the front and surrounding a carved-in depiction of the Empire’s banner. Why Voska would present this face to those who leave it while looking so helpful yet unwelcoming to those who arrive is quite the conundrum to me; even trying to keep arrivals from staying and locals from leaving doesn’t quite make sense, considering the arrivals only see this sterile face of the Empire when they’re already there and see the imposing one when leaving. Perhaps it’s just an architectural quirk, or needs clashing against art as usual, but all I could find when looking offhandedly into the matter was that it’d been like that from the start. With that out of the way, however, I made my way into the city proper. Lacking a clearer objective, I could not simply pick my direction and make way towards it, as is my usual method; rather, I took to more aimless wandering, that of a thoroughly lost and thoroughly fascinated tourist stranding themselves in the middle of a foreign city for the very first time. Which was uncomfortably close to the truth, but all the best guises have a good measure of truth to them. It was far warmer inside the city, even if the cold was still biting fairly deep, so I could afford to bumble my way through the streets, and into something worth following; until then, I’d just need to look properly enthralled and curious, taking in the sights of this imperial metropolis…

And there was plenty to look at, even outside the fragmented ex-walls that once outlined where the city ended and the wilderness began. Utilitarian as it may all be, the abodes and establishments around me were very much made to impress, with simple and elegant designs upon grand architectural canvasses that sought to awe me through their scale. Even the simplest of homes bore roofs so tall and pointed they could almost qualify as spires[7], some of them bearing carvings meant to look like tiles upon their surfaces. It is here that you notice the Toskar make very clear distinctions between a shelter and an actual home, once you compare these places to the structures that litter the snowdrifts outside Niskal’s limits. Walk closer to the city’s center as I did, and if you have an eye for architecture you’ll notice that the styles haven’t changed much at all through the years that the capital’s existed as such. The older roofs are flatter, and the designs carved upon the columns and architraves either simpler or worn away by the cold winds, but you’d scarcely imagine these subtle changes are the only markings of centuries of architectural history. And on the way there, it’s even easier to notice the streets themselves are cramped to the point of oppression, the walls and tall roofs almost bearing down on you as you make your way past the sizable locals. It’s only when you reach one of the great roofed gardens where said locals meet, and find them thoroughly lined with wide-open braziers that Ferigozi[8] could use as beds, that you might realize just why the rest of the city’s so claustrophobic. The elements don’t stop at the city walls, after all, much as the Toskar may boast otherwise. Nevertheless, after these initial wanderings that took me to the heart of the city, I found the seat of power was very much hidden from initial view. The buildings looked older, certainly, with bigger (if flatter) halls surrounding a main plaza with roaring torches keeping the cold winds at bay, but at best they looked piled upon another, as if expanded once upon a time. No real Imperial palace to be seen by the naked eye, with only a great and somewhat haphazard agglomeration of fortified structures much like the walls forming the dead center of the city. Granted, I knew the actual palatial accommodations where the Emperor and all that accompany him dwell lie beneath Grand Niskal[9], so it was merely surprising rather than baffling. But some things you only find out in person, and the fact there is very little to point at where the palace actually is, with even less in the way of visible access, is one such thing. Still, touristic obnoxiousness would win the evening for me, as in my Ferigozi guise I went around politely but constantly asking whatever passer-bys I could find of where I could find its entrance, that I was told there was a palace and where was it? Kingdoms- oh, I’m sorry, empires, they should have palaces, no? Otherwise how is the ruler going to stay safe? An amusing bit of ignorance peppered with the occasional insightful stupidity, one of the joys of playing a clueless mask. Granted, before I had my answers, my bothersome act got me assorted insults here and there, some (attemptedly) polite explanations I kept “accidentally” shooting down, and quite a few remarks that people like “me” were the reason they hid the entrances; in the end, one of the older locals let slip in an almost conspiratorial manner where one of the entrances was known to be. It was, as I should’ve expected (and much to my guise’s disappointment), less than remarkable. The same utilitarian architecture that formed the walls, partial or otherwise, scattered across the city when they weren’t surronding it, forming a single, blocky tower with little in the way of windows, and no visible pillars on the outside. Even the openings one’d expect for bolts and arrows to be fired from were less than abundant. All in all, a clear bit of misdirection, effective if half-hearted in how little detail was invested…

Which is when I noticed, as I stared at it up and down, that this was the only building in the entire city that actually touched the cavern’s ceiling. At long last, a datum that had escaped me right until then! And I had just the right guise to start asking, or at least find out just how bad of an idea it would be to ask about it. And so that was exactly what I did! I wandered once more, flagging down just about anyone I could find (that looked like they might know something, be annoyed into blurting things out, or both), and started asking the same question through various different angles. What’s that tower over there, why is it so tall? Why is there just one building scraping the ceiling, I hear there is good support to be found there! Why does that one scrape the ceiling, is there something special about it? What are those overlarge barracks called, is that were the Cobalt Guard is stationed[10]? All the sorts of things an overeager visitor might want to know, overlapping over the grounds I actually wanted to cover… And plowing through the annoyance and occasional ill will, I gathered a few intriguing details about it all, though it took me quite a while and several insults. Everyone I asked knew it was a military structure, that much was obvious, but not everyone seemed to agree they were barracks. Many thought the most elite units in the city, if not the empire, were stationed there to train and protect, but as I pried further it became clear no one actually saw armed forces of any kind coming or going from there – thus the disagreement. It was easy to suspect troops could be moved from the Palace and into the barracks proper, and thus natural to assume other entrances (knowing they exist) could be used for actual transit, but even that was strange. Soldiers have lives in the city as well, and thus said transit would be needed, and fairly constant. Why would there be a need to hide their movements into this place, by slipping them through the Palace itself? The idea of barracks was increasingly ruled out as I went, much as others still believed it, for they had heard enough martial movement inside to qualify them as such. On the matter of the cavern ceiling, I found far less clashing, and far more confusion and doubt. A concerning number of them had not even taken notice of the discrepancy, and most of those that had never paid it any mind and thought it was just a quirk of city planning. Most of them didn’t give it much importance either way, and were prone to thinking it was a mistake, as the ceiling right above the city wasn’t likely to have anything the stone beneath it lacked. Some even joked about leaving verticality to “the birds and the bats”, in somewhat cruder terms, which I suppose is to be expected of the worst climbers in the caverns. Finally, a few cited a law that claimed no structure should stand above the Palace, and it had remained even after said Palace was rebuilt under the cavern; I know no such law and couldn’t find it in any code when I had the time to search for it. There was so little variation on this rumor that I suspect it was either seeded deliberately, or it’s a common on-the-spot deduction to avoid seeming clueless.

And of course, when I asked what was actually up there within the ceiling, a few lied, a few speculated, the rest admitted ignorance, and none of them had any true idea. There was a wide-open void of knowledge in the common populace, and just as intended, I’d “accidentally”[11] walked right into it. Aiming to get the most out of this guise before I had to forge something more appropriate for infiltration, I started prodding and poking around the outside of the structure, almost literally in fact. Round I went to check for vandalism (scratches and some fairly minor stains), windows (almost all of them out of reach, the rest still high enough to be bothersome and pointed at nothing but walls or stairwells) and doors (none present that I could find covertly). Round again I went to look for any indications of what this structure actually was, any directions, numbers, even signs telling me to stay away. I found nothing of the sort, just bare marble, and even brickwork in certain joints, as if they hadn’t even bothered with a full facade. This was not a building they wanted people looking at too long, at most worth a stray scratch or judging glance before paying it no more mind. This did not mean, however, that it was a building they’d ignore if they found someone paying it a little too much attention, as I was. No, it didn’t take too long before I felt the heavy steps of an approaching Vigil behind me, far quieter than I’d expect or like. I tell you now, even as I saw that one coming, that the startled yelp that left my guise’s mouth when she grabbed my shoulder didn’t need any manner of acting. I was turned around and practically dragged away before I’ve heard even one word from her, in fact, and was only informed I was “trespassing” on “private property” when I’d been pulled quite a distance, asking in a confused panic just what exactly I’d done wrong through the whole trip. She said I’d be let off with a warning for being a tourist (with significant vitriol attached to said word), and pretended to walk away, only to take a spot in a different street to watch the structure. Presumably, to make sure I stayed away and perhaps confirm I was up to something if I tried to approach again… But that would’ve only worked if I hadn’t spotted her, I assume she thought my eyesight was a Ferigozi’s. Still, I had to pretend to walk away as well, my mask dejected as could be, taking repeated looks at the building itself to drive it in while I took account of which windows looked the most workable, if not necessarily accessible. After all, I was committed now, even if I wasn’t quite sure what I was committed to just yet, other than trespassing in the Emperor’s very palace at the very minimum. But ideally, their very commitment to keep this spot ignored would be key to slipping in unnoticed… And it was, once I’d realized waiting the Vigil out wasn’t as much of an option as I thought. Why, I kept turning around different corners and streets, going up some unobserved structures to check, but she was always there, somewhere in a shaded corner of her own with her eyes on the tower and its surroundings. Sometimes she even came close to spotting me again, she had some of the sharper eyes I’ve seen around the Western Kingdoms. I never did confirm it, but I was starting to suspect (and in retrospect, I’m very certain) that she was far more than a simple watchwoman, and might’ve been a soldier, an agent, or even one of the Palace Keepers, going undercover. Definitely overqualified for the job, perhaps it was a punishment detail, or perhaps she was just hastily called on it because they couldn’t trust one of the regulars to do it. Or perhaps this was simply a thoroughly overqualified Vigil overdue for a different line of work… If you’re reading this, miss “Vigil”, I’m afraid your chance to ask for such a job has passed, but you did well enough to keep me on my clawtips. You almost caught me, and that’s far more than many I’ve slipped by can claim. I hope they don’t blame you.

Unfortunately for the Empire, she and the others fell for one of the Voskans’ rumored, yet classic blunders, proven in far too many confrontations with the Consortium: Neglecting to look up. Naturally, my plans would need a very different guise, since Ferigozi aren’t known for crawling on ceilings and the excavation to get into it was beyond my means and patience. Instead, I would have to go for a guise within a guise, a complicated equation even at the best of times, but one that would allow me plenty of flexibility both outside and inside the building itself. I just needed to have a little patience in both finding a way to the ceiling, and moving across it slowly enough that mere camouflage would be enough to avoid lingering eyes. But with a snowy-looking coat upon my form, pinned against the cavern roof and with a little ice on it to make it reflect the fires of the city below, it’d only be a matter of slow, methodical movements once I was up there… As it turned out, I needed to head closer to the edges of the city, towards one of the newer old walls (if you pardon the oxymoron) that had lost use as barracks, but had not been converted to any peaceful uses yet. Just far enough that troop rotations took their time, and had their delays, yet important enough that the so-called leap between the top and the ceiling above it was feasible and brief. And so, I made my approach during a moment of no observation, dug my newfound little claws into the masonry, and made a quick dash to get entirely above eye level before anyone could glance my way. From there, the climb was tense in the moment, yet almost amusing in retrospect, as I saw no one looking for me while I slowly made my way around every opening, avoiding any looks from the inside. I kept looking down as I went, looking for any signs of a search, anyone pointing at me, yet found nothing of the sort even as I reached for the ceiling… And as I went and made the final leap, inverting to latch on to the stones above and feeling the warmth of the city wash as a comforting breeze over my covered back, as I looked down below and found not a single glint of an eye pointed my way… While I’d long suspected it, here I confirmed just why so many the confrontations between Voska and the Vezarym Consortium had gone the way they did[12]. Everything above roof level was just an assumption to most of the population, and the rest were so used to finding nothing that, if they ever glanced up while I wasn’t checking them, their gazes utterly missed me; even when I caught them looking up, their gazes were unfocused, never searching, and most importantly never finding anything worth a second look – namely, me. And the rest, they were looking forward, and often directly downwards, as if searching the ground for safe purchase, and perhaps little traps like cracks and slippery ice. All in all, as much as I’d like to attribute my success to having a good coat for camouflage’s sake, and I don’t deny the effort I put, I cannot in good faith neglect to mention just how little they actually tried. Nevertheless, I’d rather not linger on that when this tale’s only just getting interesting. It was a long, but uneventful trip, temporally speaking, in which I could’ve perhaps afforded some impatience on the way back to the tower itself. Even properly getting into the pseudo-wall through one of the upper embrasures[13] wasn’t especially remarkable, seeing me and my guise were both flexible enough to just slip inside…

Now, within the actual structure, things got significantly more interesting, as well as far more perilous. No one was in the room I’d just entered, but I found plenty of armaments to fire through the entrance I had just used. The crossbows mounted on the wall were quite oversized already for most, including some of the smaller Toskar, and the one already mounted towards the embrasure was practically a ballista all by itself, powerful and ever so slightly crude. The door further in, however, was a heavy one, made from polished iron and locked from the outside – and on closer inspection, the metal itself had some intriguing energies woven into it, likely the work of a Ferigozi smith with a commissioned goal in mind. An improvised but effective alarm is what I surmise, as opening it the wrong way would’ve caused it to rattle and bang about in its frame as its outlet into the rest of the structure was cut off… But it was nothing especially remarkable if you’ve faced the kind of lockwork the Clans come up with, as I have. It needed significantly more than just a wire and a knife, but I very much had the tools to flick it open from the inside without making a fuss. And once past it, I left it unlocked, just in case. As I made my way into the stairwells beyond this door, however, I started to wonder if said alarm would’ve been heard by anyone at all. Granted, I could very well hear the hustle and bustle of the Palace deep below, even from this high up (I presume the noise concentrates into any exit it can find), but the actual passages weren’t in use at all when I first got there. But I could note they weren’t dusty, either, so clearly the place wasn’t abandoned. On I went, carefully and quietly, with my ears peeled for heavy steps or mutters in the dark. All lighting was quickly gone once the tower dug into the cavern ceiling, with neither windows nor torches to provide any, so I slipped through the dark, wondering if this was another downplayed security measure against any unwanted Toskar. It seemed likely, I thought, since so many such unspoken, attention-dodging measures had been taken; perhaps its keepers knew something more blatant would’ve been challenged for its own sake. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long for me to notice that, as I climbed these stairs, the air got colder. I thought it might be the lack of torches, at first, but then it grew colder still, with the stairs beneath my feet growing frostier and more slippery as I climbed; I became aware of a thin but utterly chilling breeze, flowing from the top down and washing over the path like an icy waterfall. Soon enough, once I’d confirmed it was colder inside the structure than out in the city, it became clear that, somehow, the higher I climbed, the lower temperatures got. Less than ideal, when I could already see my own breath out there… but on I went, clinging to my layers as tightly as I could, wondering if this was, somehow, yet another understated security measure, though meant to keep out anyone that wasn’t a Toskar. It’d be clever, in a terribly unwise way. At least I could do it quickly, as my grasp found nothing of note along the stairs and walls, not even sconces for candles. I even found myself outright running up the stairs, if only to keep my body heated, and going through the heating supplies[14] I’d stocked up for an actual stay right then and there…

Yet I quickly had to silence myself as the stairwell came to an apparent end, leading me directly into a room that’d been carved rather than built. Dimly lit by what smelled like distant oil fires (that kept the place very slightly more habitable once I’d stepped off the breezy path to the stairwell itself), it took me some time and prowling to actually piece together what it was. What initially seemed like blocky pillars with uneven patterns in them turned out to be bookshelves of sorts, except instead of bearing actual books, they were full of stone tablets, their words indented in the tiniest of letters. I would not find out why this method was preferred until I tried to open my own notes to transcribe some, only to snap off the corner of a page by accident, and found my handwriting suffering so greatly I needed to outright decipher myself later on. This was a library on the very phenomenon that affected it (more on that later), and so it needed precautions – though why they’d keep the library right in the most affected space instead of anywhere else is beyond me, other than doing so as a contrived safety measure. Or perhaps a way for the Empire to tell themselves they had it under control. Of course, I quickly found out said library was actually staffed, meagerly so, but staffed nonetheless. I was weaving between the shelves, trying to move quickly to keep myself warm (and perhaps to leave sooner, rather than face hypothermia), when I was pushed into hiding between them by the sound of heavy steps. Two Toskar clad in thick furs indoors (complete with hoods over their heads that nearly covered their eyes) each with a stack of tablets in their hands, heading down the next hallway over. They were especially corpulent even for shard-badgers, somewhat taller and significantly wider than usual, which might have been another measure against the cold. In retrospect, it had to be, it would mean all my measures were actually working, and the chill was biting so deeply even those couldn’t keep it quite at bay. It would, of course, mean that I was far closer to actual hypothermia than I’d like, and that without them I would’ve actually succumbed. My preparations only barely paid off, I thought, and I suppose they still did, saving me from actual frostbite rather than simple discomfort. Either way, I was aware enough to keep out of the way of those two. Thankfully, they were so deep into their work they didn’t think to look around, and I suspect they’d internalized the idea no one’d ever try to intrude in here – so much so that they actually chattered to one another with gravely, and generally grave voices. Not only did they cover up any little noise I might make in my number-than-usual prowling, the topic that concerned them brought me up to speed far quicker than I expected; I learned far more through eavesdropping that day than I did by perusing the writings on these frozen shelves. The latter mostly filled holes I had upon the context, and even then left things patchy thanks to how spatially inefficient the method was, not to mention the aches in my eyes[15].

I transcribed as fast as I could, which was a frustratingly sluggish pace, and had to rely on memory for what I missed in the moment, so there is a higher chance than usual that something might’ve escaped me, but that shouldn’t be too far above zero. Their tone was detached, yet quite concerned, as they opened with a grave, but established consensus that the cold flowing through this place, and (in their words) threatening to spill out into the city, had gotten worse. Whatever it was their operations had done had lowered all temperatures involved, and threatened to keep lowering them even without further intervention. The specifics of said operations were known and thus hardly explained, but thanks to their debate on which part might’ve done the trick I could narrow it down some: They were uncertain if merely digging further into “the geode” had opened the floodgates for more of the flesh-cracking cold within to pour out, or if said cold hadn’t been quite so flesh-cracking until said operations upset something inside the geode. Either way, it was understood that said something was responsible for the cold in the first place, but whether it was awake or not remained unknown, with their discussion (quickly turning into an argument) going back and forth on it. What exactly was this geode and its contents, you ask? I had the same question then, and still do now, for the most part, but their chatter did not answer much after this point, so I’d need to resort to something else. What they did talk about, however, was what to do about this growing problem, because Grand Niskal was chilly as it was without a punctured vein of pure freezing cold bleeding into it. They could agree on having the Palace burners, and the oil burners right in the library itself, working double time to counteract it and keep it barred, with the rising heat from below providing a decent barrier; the tower itself, however, might need to be fully sealed from the outside “after all this time” to make sure it never, ever leaked out. One tried to argue the current doors, enchanted as they were, would be enough, but the other was adamant any crack would be an eventual problem, and would ruin the thermodynamics of the issue. This is about where the aforementioned escalation into argument began… But, even as it started to turn personal, and thus less than useful for this record (though still useful to me), they agreed on one thing still, on something so basic to them it was foundational of this operation: No one, not a single soul in the city outside the Palace, could know of what was happening in there. Because the heart of the Empire being threatened in any way was unthinkable, in their words, and should remain so. Because, much like a breastplate, it only takes one dent to let a blade in. Now, I don’t know what it was that alerted them next, mildly as it was. Perhaps they felt a warmth in the cold from my hiding place, or saw a melted and refrozen bootprint in the stonework, which I’ll admit may have been the case. Perhaps they saw an errant glimmer, a reflection against the ice, and again, it’s possible, I had been sloppier than usual in my hiding. At that stage, it’s also possible they just felt my particular opinion at such a Custodial procedure somehow, that my particular disapproval was somehow palpable in spite of my attempts to hide and my masked expression; stranger things can give someone away in such silence. Or, most likely, perhaps in my near-frostbitten state I just clacked together some of the slates I’d been transcribing, and they heard that instead. But the case is, immediately after that, they went silent, and turned around to scan the room for anyone else’s presence. I’d have to make my escape, but I had hardly pilfered enough information to know what was going on, so I’d need to do both at once.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t do both of those and still stay in disguise. Fortunately, though, ridding myself of the latter left me an opportunity to warm up a little more, so that this creeping cold wouldn’t slow me down, also serving as a fairly opportune distraction. I gathered up all of my heating supplies together in one heap, wrapped it up in the cloak I’d been using against the snow, and after a few quick additions of my own that I shouldn’t elaborate on, I whipped the whole assembly around and sent it careening into the ceiling right above the two like a sling’s bullet. And off it went, a little louder and hotter than I’d planned, but more than enough for my purposes; the blinding flash of light and heat and the ensuing flames from the cloak were very much intended, as was the smoke and loud crackling that covered my exact presence, that was intended, but the sudden thawing and cracking of ice that rained upon the Toskar, half-melted and half-solid, not so much. And the two or three bricks that fell out onto the table, even less so. With them being Toskars, they weren’t even remotely concussed, but it did throw them off well enough, and I did hear a scratching slide and floor-shaking thud that let me know one’d stepped onto one such melted piece of ice and paid the price for it. An unkind sound, I’ll admit (if you’re reading this, my apologies), but one that meant my way would be clear for a few more key seconds. Unfortunately, the next steps were less successful than I’d like, as even unburdened from the cold and most of the weight I was carrying, these were still slates, so the density of information I could pilfer in about ten or fifteen seconds was less than stellar. All I could do was remember which ones looked important (that I hadn’t gotten to look at), and rely on intuition to guide me for the rest. I am thankfully enough of a climber without any (significant) guise on that I could easily sweep the upper shelves for some of the minutiae, and leap off to swipe other slates I inferred to be important on the way down, and used the momentum to carry me to the stairs, and back into the tower itself. Yet I must mention, before I continue, that while I was still atop the shelves, surveying the place from this new vantage point, I looked further into this frozen “library”, towards the fires and the bigger halls, and above those slateshelves[16] that didn’t double as pillars. I saw some of the boilers this place had, fit to drive armored trains through the underground, with their chimneys sinking up into the ceiling… and I saw the single passage upwards, where said chimneys emerged and snaked above the stairs, doing their best to radiate heat. I saw them struggling against the frost that formed right in their joints, where the heat should be strongest… And, the stairs, bumpy and ice-covered as they were, they led further up, away from view, but they were lined by huge, though thin stone slabs, carved with simple designs and laid perpendicular to the stairs, their sharp sides up until they acted almost like guardrails… Yet the notches on the top of each slab, far more than I could count, made them look rather like the gravestones that are laid out for every Toskar worth naming, and many that were not. For them, each notch was a year, and the letters a marker for a feat that defined them, something that people remembered them for summarized in but one word, but this one… it was all notches, far as my eye could see, and not a single word to be read.

It was a significant eyeful, all in all, but an eyeful is all I could have before I needed to descend, lest they sound an alarm or actually pursue me on terrain where they had the home advantage. No, back to the stairs before they could properly see me, and from there just a hurried, terribly unsubtle flight towards the same place I came in. Staying in motion took priority above all, for I needed to be out of there quickly and I needed to stay in motion at all costs for heat’s sake, or so I thought in the moment with the chill nipping at my skin. Even stability was secondary, for with steps as slippery as these I’d still be heading downwards whether I stood or fell, injuries aside. They would’ve been a fine price to pay. I did, however, almost pay a far greater price as I found another Toskar heading up, far burlier and clad for war rather than research in the cold. She did not even stop to see who or what I was, I could tell as much. She simply knew I was an intruder before even seeing me, and her reaction was to nearly take my head off with her axe, in a motion so quick I’m not sure she even looked at me before she swung. I ducked in time, barely so, but the sheer lack of forethought surprised me even in the moment. Most guards need a fraction of a second to recognize there’s someone there intruding, or that they did, in fact, find the intruder they were looking for, but this wasn’t the case here. Almost like if it’d been one of the scholars he would’ve lost his head instead[17]… Nevertheless, momentum and the lack of friction (barely) let me get past this sudden threat with just some lost hairs and a sizable bruise on my back from throwing myself at the opposite wall. With some additional aches from the actual steps, of course, as it took me quite a few meters to actually find anything resembling footing; I’d rather not risk breaking my cargo when escape was so close by. Thankfully, no one had locked the door I’d used to come in, which let me just hurl myself right through it, and into surprisingly warmer airs. I slammed the door behind me, then climbed out the embrasure – and not a moment too close, with my pursuer crashing right through it shoulder-first and bringing it to the ground. But by then, I was gone, with not even the flutter of a cloak (that I’d discarded inside) to give away where I went. From there, nothing left to do but an upside-down rush across the city’s ceiling, no longer caring if they actually looked up this time as I’d be faster either way… And from there, it would be an unremarkable but thoroughly unpleasant trek outside the city, to hide out in one of the bigger ruins I saw on the way in. As shelter went, it was less than ideal, but at least there was enough refuse scattered between the few I checked to start a decent fire, and start reviewing my findings properly. Between what I found there, and later details that came my way, I don’t have as complete a picture as I’d like, but it’s enough for a start, and definitely concerning. Granted, I believe the part I find the most concerning is one I’ve already covered, but still, better to get back to the start on it all. According to the slates – at least those I either transcribed or took – the library I broke into was very much off limits to anyone that wasn’t part of the Palace’s staff, and even then some higher-ups were explicitly barred from entering due to the danger posed to them (not that it stopped one of the Emperor’s sons from trying, hence the memo that stated this so clearly). Thanks to multiple jotted-down staff calls, I also ascertained that said staff was to be kept to a very clear minimum, while being stringent enough about punctuality and presence that any appointed staff member’s absence was a potential emergency; I am not entirely sure how much of said measure is a matter of national security, and how much may be regular security concerns, in case someone quietly succumbed to hypothermia somewhere among the shelves, but it’s fairly clear to me that both played a part.

As to why the place was allowed to be so dangerously cold in the first place, I thought it was a manner of security measure to protect something critical, and I wasn’t completely wrong in this; most spies plan for guards and traps, but very few plan for the elements so thoroughly, as was (almost) the case with me. However, by the amount of maintenance logs for the oil burners, compressed and rudimentary as said logs were, it’d seem this glacial temperature is something they actively struggle to hold up. Any and all breakdowns were seemingly treated like unquestionable emergencies, complete with specialists of some kind; the logs called them “Pyrekeepers”, but I could find no particulars on training or equipment. I hardly had a decent sample size of said emergencies in what I managed to transcribe, so while I saw a slight rise in said incidents, calling it constant would be unwise. I am yet to know if such a hypothetical included the drop the two librarians were discussing, or if that had been an isolated, significantly worse incident. And what was being protected and hidden away? That, I could glean less of, with the only certainty being that it was the source of these lethal temperatures. Some of the older tablets were merely calling it a geode they broke into during “expansion”, presumably of the Palace. Later records call it either a structure or a “containment”, though at least two of the longer records (which I lost some context to due to the time pressures) refer to it as a “sarcophagus” or “coffin”. The common ground between all of these is that the relevant area is a chamber of some kind, initially thought to be natural but later treated as evidently and intentionally constructed. Later tablets even refer to “architecture” within this chamber, though without any diagrams offered I have nothing to describe or compare. However, since it was found by the Toskar, as the documents make clear, and it was right in the middle of their territory, I can only assume this is a structure built well before their Refuge, and possibly older than most of the current nations. I don’t have enough information to put this to a timeline, but at its newest it would precede the Hives; at its oldest, only the Tower would have the faintest idea of its architects. Unfortunately, further details, even important ones, aren’t in my hands, as they were either so obvious or so secretive that they weren’t written down in the records I found. Or perhaps I was misdirected and/or unlucky, hard to say in the circumstances; even unlucky seems like an improper word, looking back at how far I got when none of this had a solid plan behind it. So, from here, all that’s left is speculation from the pieces I have… And said pieces are very concerning indeed. Starting with the obvious and biggest one, which is that whatever lies within that structure – or perhaps the structure’s whole purpose – is to lower temperatures to beyond-lethal extents. By extrapolation, if all heating was working properly and the library a healthy distance away from the epicenter, the inside of the structure would make a statue out of most people in a matter of minutes. This does, of course, bring up the idea that there is an epicenter, and that if this structure is indeed a sort of containment, said epicenter was never meant to see the rest of the caverns. Now, the breaching of the structure is the part that surprises me the least, I can hardly think of any given nation that wouldn’t have considered cracking through, for one reason or another, and the Toskar would’ve thought of it as a challenge. But them not sealing it back up is more concerning to me, as the Empire is no stranger to both the architecture and working of cold energies that would be necessary to at least mitigate the issue.

Thus, one is left to pick between “they would rather keep it open” and “they cannot seal it again”, both of which are worrying for different reasons, with neither of them helped by the fact this glacial threat is right above their capital. What kind of hubris, or actual valuables, would it take to make Voska risk such a threat spilling out into the city, or even directly into the Palace? Or worse, what is in there that they’ve tried, and failed, to keep contained now that the ancient structure surrounding it is breached? And worse still, is it because they do not have the means to replicate what they broke, or is the subject of containment just far more active than it was in its time now? I cannot say. But if it has gotten worse, then the last possibility – perhaps the worst possibility – is one I cannot discard. Why would it get worse, one tends to wonder. What is in the presumable epicenter of this structure that would radiate such frigid energies[18] into the air and stone around it, and do so with greater intensity when left alone, or tampered with? All I can do is speculate on the matter. Is it an ancient device, accidentally turned on and now impossible to deactivate without freezing on the spot? Possibly. Could it be an entirely natural phenomenon, a confluence of factors, systems and energies that got destabilized after years? Perhaps. Or is someone in there, whether alive or dead or outside such definitions, and whatever the Toskar did awakened them? I cannot disprove it, to my chagrin. Whatever the truth, I don’t believe I will be able to find it for some time, unless it decides to make itself known. Still, one thread lingers. A thread with little relation to the chilling mystery within this structure, beyond its current location above the Empire’s greatest city… which has remained so, even as this threat hangs above it without their knowledge – until now. Therein the issue, and the thread I mean: Why is it that not a single individual outside the Palace is supposed – or allowed – to know about this place and its frigid issue? And here, I continue to speculate, because the opinion of two individuals of unknown rank within this secret structure is something I cannot take as a fully reliable source. But it’s still a source, one that claims the biggest reason not to give it away is reputational. “It only takes one dent to let a blade in” were their exact words, and that tells me plenty: They are more afraid of what the other nations would do if they knew, than of anything the actual anomaly could do to the city, even if their measures failed. And they believe the others would see it as a mark of weakness to exploit rather than a threat to themselves, or even a threat to aid the Empire with, which is certainly remarkable in its paranoid cynicism. I can somewhat see where they are coming from, it’s not a hard perspective to reach, but as an outsider looking in I personally find the priorities involved to be a little absurd, and definitely rather ghoulish when considering who is at stake. It’s the kind of unempathetic pragmatism that can only come from heads that wear crowns, leading me to believe much of what led to this was either a direct order from an Emperor, or the work of a direct subordinate who was utterly certain they were doing the Emperor’s will. I can only wonder if they would hold to the same idea and the same priorities, if the containment cracked enough for the city to feel the cold as it worsened. I can only imagine the reactions, as the first thing they ever learn of this anomaly is that it’s become a lethal threat right then and there… And in saying I can only imagine, I mean that quite literally, as this volume’s existence will presumably nip that possibility in the bud. I can only rely on the speed of rumors to carry this through Grand Niskal, but it’s never failed me before, as my readers are quite fast in spreading the word; for that, I can only thank you, who hold this volume in your hands, for making sure this vile secret doesn’t remain so.

You might wonder why I decided to blow the lid off of this situation. Why I decided to risk widespread panic, to turn citizens against their own empire, to put the dent they feared in this secrecy. To that I say: Secrecy is not the pillar you want to lean something like this onto. This is neither politics nor governance, and it does not play by the rules of such; a disaster that gives it away and catches the city unprepared is something that works by no one’s schedule, reputation or clout. It hasn’t happened yet, but from the looks of it, it very much wants to happen. And with neither war nor crisis befalling the empire when the time came for me to visit this place, I decided this was the right time to give it away, before it had the chance to. If there is to be a crisis of panic and mistrust, I would rather cause it well before it can be joined by a genuine catastrophe. I refuse to take that chance. And if it’s war that worries them, if it’s cloak-and-dagger concerns that someone may make a target or opportunity of this? Well, you now know they know about it. Prepare for it, if you’re so fearful, now without this veil of secrecy that would’ve caught alight and burned all down the moment you made a mistake. Or you can always hunt me down for it instead, like so many others tried before you. It would be unsurprising, but more disappointing than usual, in that it’d show me exactly where your priorities lie. It’d be quite embarrassing to give away that it was never about safety, but about shame, wouldn’t it? You may call it ending threats or tying loose ends all you like, but I’d know. And since I’d know, so would everyone. With that little tangent over with, all that truly remains is to look towards the future on this particular issue. I suppose the passageway shall be properly fortified rather than relying on a lack of information, and even greater lack of curiosity. There may be more attempts at breaking in, but I’m sure none of them will find even half the success mine did (and I already consider mine lacking in many aspects, even if by the standards of improvised break-ins it was quite fruitful). After that, however, I have some more positive feelings about the matter, in that I’m sure those who have better ideas about what’s inside that structure may lend a much-needed, if somewhat expensive hand. If I were a betting sort, I’d even wager Ishiss started penning some very important letters shortly after the publication of this volume, so I’d advice the Emperor to be on the lookout for that. Who knows, perhaps even the very climate will improve. Though the idea that the lands around the capital are this cold because of such a glacial nucleus right above it are concerning at best. Indeed, thanks to the general uniformity of architectural styles among the Toskar, and the fact temperature fluctuations would weather the stone within the library and force repairs and replacements with some frequency, I have no clue how long this containment has been in place. Perhaps this city wasn’t always so cold. Perhaps, in retrospect, there are more reasons for the abundant ruins than I thought. I will leave you with that idea in mind. In the meantime, I’ll be far from the Empire for a good, long while, I had my fair share of freezing temperatures for the time being. In fact, my faithful readers, it’s unlikely there’ll be any significant publications for a while, as there were some residual injuries related to that, and a fair bit of sickness to finish it off. I’ll recover, but that takes time, and I don’t believe I’m good enough to work an active state of disease into an infiltration yet, I’d rather just rest it off. May as well enjoy the peace while it lasts, sometimes one needs an excuse to rest from things one enjoys doing. And besides, I needed to lay low for some time anyhow. But make no mistake, I will be back. Ideally with something far less improvised. Yours truthfully, The Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh.

[1]Arguably, most of the time said boast is but a thin layer on an ulterior motive that’s still fairly clear after a couple questions or a minute of thinking, but I can outline several cases where said boast was about turning a skirmish in favor of something or someone detrimental to any ulterior motives they could have; at times, it feels like either an attempt to soften certain parts of the Empire for cleansing from above, or perhaps the corresponding Emperor getting bored of bloodless statecraft and requesting a measure of chaos. [2]And I say “start” because I have no right to compare this to the juggling act they usually become once I’ve made any significant progress. My only defense on that account is to remind people that infiltration isn’t a tidy thing, especially when you’re digging for something no one else has (publicly) reached for yet. [3]I will take a moment to clarify that these mirrorsome fungi do not, in fact, consume the heat around them to leave only cold, a process that would take actual Spark to carry out. Rather, they simply gather the ambient energies around them, with great affinity for the (rather oxymoronic) chilling sorts, and use them both to maintain ideal temperatures for their unique decaying processes (which I believe generate dangerous heat if left unchecked), and as a sort of defense mechanism, as anyone that’s touched their azure caps could tell you. [4]It bears mentioning that this still applies if you’re one of the more long-lived sorts, as there is a good amount that’s a scant few centuries old (and if you happen to be older than these, I do hope we can be in touch soon enough if you don’t mind a few questions). [5]A phenomenon the Toskar call Nekryfal, or Phantom Frost, for the way it simply creeps up on others with little warning, and for the perfectly clear sheen of frost it leaves upon all it covers, including those unfortunates caught outside too far from a source of warmth, and too exposed to last. It also causes stone with any amount of water within, particularly those brought from the East, to crack and even shatter under its bite, which is where the shoddy construction I mentioned comes in for those that skip the steps to take care of this issue…[6]“Stone yields to the pick no matter who swings it” is a common Toskar saying, but while it’s oft used in more positive and encouraging contexts, these forget what originally came after it: “But history alone chooses who it yields to”. There’s a belief ingrained in Voska’s culture that such things as statues, engravings and sometimes even books make it far too easy to manufacture history, rather than keeping things straight, and so their historical record-keeping is mostly oral tradition spread as widely as possible so that all may settle on what it truly was. I won’t lie, I personally consider this terribly irritating, much as I understand where it’s coming from, but at least written records still exist so I don’t need to interview every last person in the city just to compile something that won’t nag at me once I’ve penned it. [7]It bears mentioning that, in terms of architectural history, tall and pointed triangular roofs were meant as a measure to keep snow from accumulating on them to dangerous extents, be it to the actual structure or to whoever laid by its side once the furnaces were lit and the slabs of snow slid right off. However, as can be expected, such a purpose is often ignored and even forgotten in favor of aesthetics, and often the simple desire to show off (usually a boast of architectural prowess rather than wealth, but it’s not unheard of).

[8]I am aware of the joke about Ferigozi being fireproof as a critique on the heated regions they prefer, with cities like Carestil even living off local magma flows, but it bears mentioning this is not always a mere joke. I have met moles that could grab burning coals from their stoves like you’d grab pebbles off the ground, and seen them do so and more. Usually the more leather-skinned sorts that have worked forges or other such places for years, but not always; sometimes it’s simply a matter of local energies, and even heritage. [9]Back before Grand Niskal became the capital, there was a proper Imperial palace in what is now the periphery of Natriskal, but it was fairly unique in that it hardly lasted more than four dynasties, two of which hardly used it due to its cumbersome location in comparison to the actual seats of power. Said palace was shattered along with most of Natriskal itself during the fourth Gilded Raid, and much like most of said city, it was never rebuilt, a merely remarkable ruin to add to the grand pile of them. After that, a new palace was dug out rather than constructed in its current location; security and defensive concerns played a part, but much of it was a direct mandate from Empress Malesku I, who believed the very land itself was Voska’s domain, and thus should be their bulwark and seat of power alike. A way to “conquer” the very earth, one surmises. [10]Contrary to what many outside the Empire think, they aren’t. Cobalt Guard is a misconception bordering on mistranslation, as the only thing they seem to guard is the reputation and more intrusive interests of Voska, a name given mainly because people are used to elite warriors being guards of some kind or another. No, they are stationed in less remarkable but thoroughly hardened strongholds far closer to the inner borders of the Empire, where they can be out and about quickly and easily. This doesn’t mean there is no elite unit in charge of actual guarding, of course, but the Palace Keepers are far less spoken about precisely because they have far fewer chances to show any prowess. [11]I am aware these quotation marks are doing a lot of heavy lifting, so please don’t bother pointing that out. I believe there is enough deliberation in my aimlessness for them to be there, but I can understand disagreements on that point. [12]There are surprisingly few such confrontations, as the Consortium and the Empire share little in the way of useful borderland, and find a surprising amount of common ground when it comes to international relations. But none of the Gilded Raids where Voska was targeted in any way went well for them, especially the fourth; the Empire’s own forays into Consortium territory have usually gone even more poorly, with particular emphasis on Emperor Tarasaluk’s expansionist ambitions going down in flames before they even started when they marched on the edges of the Stygian Maw. This is not universal by any means, however, as the counter-raids that followed proved once his successor stepped in. [13]Why they’d add open embrasures to such a place is a little beyond me; the only targets one could reach taking potshots from such a place would be within city limits, so either this is a place from which to perform assassinations or the Toskar truly thought they may lose the city, but not the Palace, and took preventive measures. Clearly they expected to be able to deal with anyone that climbed inside, be it Vezarym or someone from the Hives; I believe, in retrospect, it’s easy to consider that overconfidence.

[14]There were some common purchases, of course, mainly iron trinkets infused with warmth by the more commercial-minded Ferigozi smiths and handed out for visitors like me (or rather, the mask I started with), meant to be plucked from an insulated container and held in hand (I put it in my front pockets instead). But there was also a half-leaked Bellbound trick I know to store heat in a similar manner, using certain written glyphs in the right order, and precisely shaped, as said storage would immediately leak its heat as soon as the glyphs were altered. Somewhat similar to the method used by Ishiss to make flame cannon “ammunition”, but vastly scaled down and with key differences. I planned these for the nights to follow, but opportunity would say otherwise. They were well spent, at least. [15]While I doubt my humors or tears were actively freezing in any significant manner, they very much felt the part, and an unfortunate fact of my anatomy is that eyes like mine were not meant to be so exposed to such extreme temperatures. Unlike wind, glasses cannot do much for this one, and I had to forego goggles for the sake of disguising. At least the blur went away quickly. [16]I must admit I coined this word on the spot for the sake of accuracy then immediately regretted it. [17]Though with height differences taken into account I believe that would’ve been a lost arm and some sundered ribs instead. [18]The idea that this isn’t necessarily an emission of energies came to me later after drafting this document. It is quite possible that this is a manner of drainage instead, and that heat is being sucked in, somehow converted to matter or even outright eliminated, which would need either a powerful Spark or some other unnatural phenomenon I cannot conceive with my current knowledge or mindset. I decided to leave it as radiating cold energies instead within the document, mainly because it would be far easier to achieve through a Spark and because cold energies do exist; they are elemental energies like any other, working in paradoxical tandem with the concept of cold as an absence of heat. How that works in turn is far beyond the scope of this document, and unfortunately doesn’t rid us of the aforementioned possibilities.

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