Take the incident a little over a decade ago. Delphe frowned at the memory. It had happened before her service. Stardeep had been staffed by different Sild?yuiren elves, each a Keeper of the Cerulean Sign, just like she and Telarian who served in their place. The Traitor had made a particularly ingenious bid for escape, and partially bypassed the barrier layer! The imprints of the Traitor's hands on the lower portion of the smooth cylinder yet remained. Only early detection of the bid, hard planning by those earliest Keepers, and the ultimate sacrifice of one of them maintained the integrity of the Well.
In this age, Stardeep was optimally staffed with at least two Keepers, plus a contingent of Empyrean Knights who guarded Stardeep's Outer Bastion. But the life of a Keeper, or a Knight for that matter, was a life of lonely compromise. Especially in isolated Stardeep, separated from the greater Sild?yuiren realm by miles of perilous tunnels, and even from the daylight world of Faer?n by a mystical Causeway that opened only at irregular intervals. And then, only if Cynosure wasn't commanded to close it altogether.
She sighed.
"Do you require something?"
"No, Cynosure, thank you." As she spoke, she fingered the amulet on her chest, on which was emblazoned the Sign itself—a white, drooping, leafless tree on a background of sky blue. It was a potent symbol against the elder aberrations the Traitor served. The Sign's very lines, in their geometric perfection that extended beyond the mere physical, was anathema to aberrations. Or so the traditions of her order decreed.
The lore of the Keepers was nearly extinct in the outer world, and even in Sild?yuir, a realm hidden from other races, most star elves would be hard pressed to describe the hidden order's charter. And that only if they knew of the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign at all.
How many even in Sild?yuir recalled their own history, the rise of the Traitor, and the delving of Stardeep? How many understood that killing the Traitor for his attempted crime, or allowing him to kill himself, was tantamount to letting him complete his mad ritual of summoning? Few indeed. And those elf lore-keepers who bothered to study the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign often dismissed the group as an outdated and tired organization, its day long over, its relevance to the destinies of Sild?yuir and Faer?n concluded.
Delphe did not hold that view. She was one of a small group drawn to the promise and duty of the Cerulean Sign.
She was a member of the order and had achieved its highest rank: Keeper. She was one of only a handful.
Delphe wished it were otherwise. Merely because safety had been preserved for generations didn't mean the cause was any less important, or that the need for competent members trained to vigilance was any less critical. Thus, one of the secondary functions of membership in the order was the dissemination of knowledge. She and her followers were charged to preserve the knowledge of the Cerulean Sign and keep it alive.
And beyond that, she and Telarian were chosen for a specific mission in defense of the Sign. Delphe and Telarian resided within and held command over the dungeon complex of Stardeep.
Delphe's responsibility was the Inner Bastion, which included the Well itself. The Empyrean Knights answered to her fellow Keeper, Telarian, who oversaw the defenses of the Outer Bastion and lesser subterranean dungeon tunnels, where criminals of ancient days potentially lingered. Between them and accepted as one of them was Cynosure, whose awareness bridged the Inner and Outer Bastions of Stardeep. Cynosure commanded a fantastic library of knowledge, could provide communication between far-reaching parts of the dungeon stronghold, and was able to personally animate various homunculi staged around the complex in expedient locations, should physical aid be required.
Delphe cupped her amulet of the Sign and raised it before her face. With her opposite hand she traced the simple yet potent outlines of the symbol. Only a few amulets like this remained. They were strong talismans, and their diminishing numbers were a blow to the order. Over the years they'd been lost, scattered across Sild?yuir and who knew where else. Unfortunate. She couldn't help but see each amulet's loss as a dereliction of duty on the part of some previous era's Keeper. They had tried tracing the symbol anew to form new Signs. They'd attempted to stamp the symbol directly from extant talismans in an attempt to transfer potency. Research in far-flung libraries continued to the very day. All to no end. The secret of making them was lost to antiquity. The exact nature of the influence each individual Sign exerted against aberrations remained a mystery. As did the secret of the Traitor's fascination with the ancient horrors.
Thank the stars she yet retained the amulet given her when she'd assumed her duties. It was solid and familiar in her hand. It shone blue and dependable, a bane to creatures born to atrocity. That the last known Amulet of the Sign was given to her and not Telarian caused some friction between the two Keepers a few years back. Thankfully, Stardeep's mortal wardens eventually mended their relationship.
Speaking of her fellow Keeper .. .
"Any word from Telarian?"
A pause, then, "No, Delphe. Telarian has not yet returned from across the Causeway. Shall I inform you when he returns?"
"No, no, it's just that I haven't talked to . . ." she stuttered, realizing what she was saying. "Actually, yes, please let me know." She'd just about told the construct she was lonely for not talking to anybody—anybody living, that is. She talked to Cynosure all the time.
"Of course," replied Cynosure, the very voice of civility.
"It just seems," continued Delphe, trying to hide her false step by talking past it, "he should have returned by now, by my estimation. How long does it take to procure reagents?"
"Telarian indicated the city of Laothkund was his destination, on the coast of Aglarond. A trip of several days each way. I calculate he is not yet overdue."
"Aglarond? Why didn't he fetch his ingredients in Sild?yuir?" At the shifting of every season, Delphe herself traveled down the Causeway into the sunlit Yuirwood, and from there to a nearby road into the star elf realm. Seeing the glittering stars and great glass citadels of her people calmed her and recharged her sense of purpose.
"He claimed the requirements of his latest divinations were straining the capacity of Sild?yuir. He believed the wider world could supply him with the crucial components."
"His projects have kept him very busy lately."
"He is a Keeper."
Delphe shrugged. As if that was a guarantee of anything. In fact, Telarian's overpowering belief in the Cerulean Sign's charter sometimes pushed him along personally dangerous paths. His recent obsession with expanding his divinatory skills, already exceptional, into the deep future, was a symptom of his fierce dedication. But if he pressed himself too hard, Delphe feared Telarian would burn out his mind. Despite her own specialty in the art of abjuration, she couldn't stop her friend from overreaching.
Her gaze swept the deepest chamber of the Inner Bastion, officially called the Chamber of Surveillance, though Delphe and Telarian always called it the Throat. And what would a Throat be without a Well? Her gaze dropped to the room's nadir.
The Well was a circular shaft, wide enough to swallow two of Cynosure's largest homunculi without difficulty. The Well's reflective sides were impeccably smooth, but dozens of glass slabs protruded from the concave wall, spiraling down from the top, forming a precarious stair. The slabs were enchanted to extend or withdraw into inset sleeves at her or Cynosure's command. Her observation seat was forged of similarly ensorcelled glass so it, too, could extend over the lip of the Well or pull back for a less precarious view, as it suited her.
Sheets of polished iron tiled the chamber's periphery, so smooth they acted as mirrors. Delphe saw herself reflected many times, slightly distorted in a different way in each image. No obvious doorway allowed entrance or egress. Access was controlled by Cynosure, who could open direct paths for Keepers anywhere within Stardeep. Traversing these paths always made Delphe vaguely nauseated, so she called on Cynosure's aid for getting around Stardeep only when absolutely necessary. She preferred taking the long way whenever possible. Unfortunately, no "long way" existed in or out of the Throat. That was one more measure meant to keep the Traitor secure.
She was halfway through her observation shift. Delphe leaned forward once again. The prominences below continued their unfamiliar cycle, strobing through the gelatinous barrier like thrusting, bloody spikes. If anything, they were brighter, though their hue had graduated from merely orange to a hideous tangerine-tinted scarlet.
She waited for the construct's voice to comment on the activity and act on its observation.
Cynosure uttered no sound and initiated no activity.
Worrisome. The idol should autonomously dampen irregular cycles that threatened to break into chaotic, unmodulated activity. The Well was displaying a classic pattern of stochastic feedback in the boundary layer.
She glanced at her amulet. Its emblazoned blue symbol was deepening, becoming dark as a starless night.
"Cynosure! Barrier layer modulation!"
Delphe leaned forward. She couldn't risk waiting for the disconcertingly silent construct. She shouted syllables of sealing and calming. More than merely audible, her words poured forth like a stream of blue smoke. Energy crystallized from her enunciation and strictures. The secret of the Keeper's wizardry relied on a lingua arcana older than contemporary wizardry, a language whose roots lay beyond the creation of the world itself. Her benediction became a sheen of silver-blue light that fell down the hollow Well. It fell upon the barrier layer like rain upon water, dotting the shining margin with hundreds of expanding circular ripples.
The bubbling, sunlike frenzy beneath the ectoplasmic film sizzled and spit in the silver mist, spiking in sudden frenzy as if in realization that if it didn't succeed now, its chance was spent.
The fury at the interface was inexorably smothered in Delphe's chant of silver-blue assuagement.
A few moments later, the prominences were completely gone.
The abjurer blew out a breath of relief.
"Cynosure—"
"Delphe!" the construct's voice suddenly blared out. "Instability detected at the boundary . . . hold . . . hold . . ."
Pain tweaked her jaw. She had involuntarily clenched it at the sudden re-emergence of the construct's voice. She consciously relaxed her muscles. Was something wrong with the idol?
"I've managed the surge, Cynosure," she said. Was the construct seeing something new, or was its attention somehow delayed? Had it just now noticed the breach attempt she'd had to damp out? She glanced down. Yes, the instability was absent. The boundary layer was again as placid as she had ever seen it.
"But what about you, Cynosure? Why didn't you respond when I called? More importantly, why didn't you notice the disequilibrium before it grew into a problem?"
If the warden construct upon which all of Stardeep relied was becoming erratic . . . she didn't want to imagine it. The construct was too intimately wound through the structure, the fail-safes, and the Well itself. She waited, hoping for an answer she could believe.
After a pause, it replied. "Delphe, please accept my most heartfelt apologies. You were correct. The prominences you observed earlier were not merely an unusual mixture of incompatible protective wards. The light heralded an escape attempt. The Traitor does not sleep."
Dread blossomed in her stomach. What evil must live in the Traitor's heart, what power, that even a thousand years after his internment he still plotted novel escape tactics? Tactics so devious they were able to surprise captors well-schooled in the art of safekeeping?
If only he could be killed instead of kept. But with all his other options and original grandiose plans closed to him, death was exactly what the Traitor most desired. His personal martyrdom, he believed, would propel his spirit into the depths of Faer?n. His essence would become a necromantic signal burrowing through the rock of ages until it discovered an ancient cyst—a cyst where aboleths of the most ancient lineage slept away the eras in a city sealed outside time. They waited only for the proper signal to once more attempt to establish a realm of madness across all Faer?n as they had tried in the dawn era.