An Unwelcome Guest at the Funeral: 5 accounts compared

In The Doom that Came to Amber

Alaric:

The funeral itself climaxed with the sealing of the Archmage’s mausoleum with a lightning bolt cast by the bony hand and will of his daughter.

Finally, I was pushed too far. Having outlined her ten-point plan she informed me that there was nothing that I could do. But, there was. I could do something so terrible as to destroy her before her plans could fall into place.

I knew that the word I was about to say was bad. But in my badness and my madness I simply no longer cared.

I said the name. The one I’d said in front of my Mother. The one she’d bade me never to say again but I’m beginning to feel so close to them – those things that have stalked me since Lyon Abbey – that I felt no pain or guilt for myself. I just wanted to destroy her – she who’d worsened my wounds, publicly ridiculed me and rejoiced in my inadequacies as a son of Fiona.

I said the name – and it started to appear!

The screams and panic in the street started almost immediately. Mother screamed and fell to the floor in a fit – Aylwin went to her aid but I stood next to Grandmother, staring at her and at what I had summoned. This had been my moment of fey madness. It was coming.

From the panic around me I gathered that Trumps were not working. I directed Aylwin to get our Mother to safety and I took my half sister to my side and we stood next to our Grandmother as she fought to expel it from Amethyst.

It simply, though loudly, demanded “Who calls me?”

I had. I have that power though little other. Rinaldo, with smile absent, stood behind Clarissa and sourced his own power from a ring worn on his finger.

I watched as It approached and became more powerful in its Majesty.

Again it demanded the name of its summoner. Again I remained silent. Slowly and painfully Grandmother gained the better of the entity and forced it to retreat back to whence it had come.

Asmark:

At the mausoleum the front of the royal cordon was open to provide a clear view of the entombing ceremony. By this stage it was raining quite heavily but neither Clarissa nor Fiona were getting wet. When the metal doors had closed on the coffin, a bolt of lightning from the storm above struck directly down between the doors, welding them instantly into a single piece of metal.

Clarissa then turned to us and said “I shall be Queen again. My nearest and dearest will help me or else!” Most of us had the good sense to hold our tongues. However Alaric chose to remonstrate. I don’t remember precisely how it started but Clarissa claimed she was capable of making lightning strike in Amber city. She suggested that Alaric’s ‘picture house’ might be a suitable demonstration target. Alaric objected with a good deal more passion than sense.

The exchange ended with Alaric stamping his foot and shrieking “Nyarlathotep”!

(Both Khitan and Alaric have mentioned this creature as having possessed Abbot Bluestone of Lyon abbey.)

On hearing this name Fiona fell in a screaming fit. A horrible face appeared in the storm overhead and was heard to say “Who calls me?”

Aylwin picked up Fiona and started to walk off with her rapidly through shadow. To my untutored eye it seemed that he was hell-riding (or at least hell-running) and I probably could not have followed safely, let alone helped.

Equally I wasn’t going to be of any practical use in the magic battle clearly going on. Clarissa was clearly carrying out some magics. I got out my trump of Garland House and, as inconspicuously as possible, prepared for rapidly transporting myself there should it be necessary. However I felt that it was my diplomatic duty to stay put and observe as long as possible.

The storm now included high winds and the royal cordon was swept away. The crowd of onlookers were now fleeing in panic. The Amethyst magicians seemed to be the most terrified.

Aylwin:

The funeral service is traditional Amber (without the blood sacrifice and apart from the tent). As we leave the Cathedral dark clouds are rolling in, I am suddenly reminded of a Remembrance Day back on Shadow Earth, the red rosettes of mourning like the poppies bright in the gloom. We watch the interment and Clarissa calls lightning to seal the crystal tomb and the thunder strikes a chime from the crystal trees. I was taught magic beneath such trees, the only time in my life that Fiona actually lavished attention on me, strange how that sound brings back echoes of my flute among those trees. I wish I had known the old man better.

After the interment Clarissa continues to insist that we must help her take Amber. On such an occasion I feel I have no choice but to endure the nagging, though I am tempted to resort to a sudden physical attack, but she is twice (and more) the sorcerer I am & my spell would turn such a blow.

Alaric, like a child using a rude word, mentions Nyarlathohotep. Clarissa looks concerned then Fiona starts to scream (a few months with Clarissa and my nerves and self esteem would be in tatters). Then there is a weird silence.

That was not a name to use where the magic runs as freely as it does in Amethyst.

A face, strange, beautiful, appears in the sky and the feeling of threat is palpable. Clarissa starts a spell, lashing out with the lightning. I pick up mother and Alaric shouts ‘Shadow shift!’ I keep the ground, lose the sky, head for the coast, hell walk speed. Shift! I find just a half-world at the join of the shadows, still a graveyard but an unquiet one. Shift! A different world but no substantive change. In both these places the face is still marked out in dull stars against the night. I try to shift into a more wholesome world and the shadow become solid; things are coming for us. The sky speaks its name and approaches like a rushing wind.

Remembering the Black Road I bring up the Pattern and rend the shadow open. The sun, the sky, the sea are right. The huge cliff before me is wrong, so is the rent in reality with an Elder God trying to follow me out of it. I draw in the rift but too slowly. I draw up the Pattern and spin it into the rift, winding in the edges smaller and smaller, a cartwheel, a dinner plate, a saucer. I will not let him take mother.

A saucer sized gap in reality with an eye looking at me through it. His mind is pushing at me, I fight back. A half-crown, shilling, a sixpence, I am pushed back a step and the ground is no longer beneath my feet. Someone is Trumping me. I hurl myself sideways trying to get over or around the rift is but a pinprick in reality but the malice is pouring through like a tide and I AM FALLING!

Bathsheba:

The church service is sombre, Clarence lying in his crystal coffin. The light is fading fast, there are very dark storm clouds gathering. I suddenly feel threatened, remembering that the Jewel can control the weather, and its shadow could do the same….

The wind’s whipping at our clothing as we stand outside – Clarissa gestures at the tomb after the coffin has been placed, and a bolt of lightning welds the door shut. She turns to go back into the tent, looking bad-tempered.

Khitan elbows his way through the crowds and implores me to leave at once – he looks really worried. There is a gasp and all look upward, to the clouds where a huge face forms, female I think but difficult to be sure. Is this Clarissa’s doing? I can’t see any other explanation at the moment.

I grab Khitan and begin to Shift, starting with the sky. Something is wrong, though – we are still in a graveyard (though the stones are bigger) and the stars are in the shape of that face we had hoped to leave behind.

Khitan:

The funeral was very grand and even more so when I concentrated on observing the magical ebb and flow of great channels of power controlling the weather and other pyrotechnics.

This was probably the greatest display of magical power that I had yet witnessed.

Some considerable quantity of this power seemed to be focussed on sealing Clarence’s tomb. Which made me consider that he was either not dead, or in a state where his remains could still exert influence.

The proceedings had passed smoothly for a good twenty minutes or so when I felt a horribly familiar feeling of impending doom. A moment later I sensed a rending of reality near the inner sanctum and I knew that Nyarlathotep was in the process of manifesting. GREAT HORROR!!!

Immediately I indicated to Bathsheba that we should leave. Unfortunately every other wizard had the same idea. I decided to cast my Flight spell but unfortunately it was too slow a spell. Bathsheba grabbed me and we started to move sideways through shadow – being followed by N--. No doubt creating further portals for N--. I was most pleased to find that my spellcasting abilities had improved to the point that I could maintain my spellcasting whilst being carried.

We came to a graveyard outside N--‘s immediate gaze. To my horror, creatures of the most malign intent and skeletal form began to burst forth from the putrescent ripe earth. I realised that I did not have time to finish my spell.