Ignacious Phonimus and his Terrible Fate

Ignacious Phonimus and his Terrible Fate

Affiliations	Abecedarian Phalanx
Place of Birth	Ancient History
Place of Death	Unknown
Species	Human

Ignacious Phonimus and his Terrible Fate is a story of shadow and pain, of pride and its fall, of secret conflicts and awesome powers. Let it be a lesson to the reader to be watchful, and heed the reverberating calls across the universe, for they whisper warnings against acting as Ignacious once did.

Chapter 1: An Anomaly Born Under a Fell Sky

Flashes of lightning illuminate the pained face of a young woman in childbirth. The howl of the winds and pattering of rain on a thatched roof cover her pained moans and the reassurance of her midwife. It was a storm to end all storms battering Isonhound's coastline, and the poor maid struggled in her birthing pains. A prayer, not so much spoken as screamed, rose above the noise of thunder to finish her agonies. Did one of Isonhound's many fey creatures or a tempestuous spirit hear the call? Perhaps, for within minutes the girl heard the cries of her newborn child. Then, a most peculiar moment; before the midwife could say, "It's a boy", the babe's cries quieted, and he made a sound almost in surprise. The new mother asked for her child quickly, to let her hold him close amid the driving storm. But as her hands reached around him, her boy made another sound of surprise and he recoiled in her arms. When she awoke the next morning, Ignacious Phonimus' mother saw her one-day-old had opened his eyes and was looking at her with a strange stare - one of deep understanding.

This was the strange circumstance of Ignacious Phonimus' birth, and its strange side effect. It is not a gift, what he was born with, but a power that defied all knowledge of magic before or since with devastating simplicity. When Ignacious makes contact with another being of any sort whatsoever, he learns the sum total of their memories and experiences, even those that the being itself has forgotten. It does not work on the dead, but that is small potatoes. His mind is a vast catalog of experiences, and it is a wonder the jar does not crack from being filled beyond bursting, but it holds.

It is no wonder that with this "blessing", Ignacious was doomed to be strange. Imagine the strangeness, being but minutes old, having the memories of your own conception and birth implanted in your consciousness. To feel a profound shame as a baby, understanding the pain you have caused your mother, and knowing her most intimate secrets and wishes and dreams and fears on top of it. And your midwife's entire life as well! It was mere months before the boy started talking, and his first words were the name of a secret lover of one of his neighbors, and the location where she would rendezvous with the man in question. It was too late - Ignacious had been held by every woman in the village at that point, and even his mother feared what he might know or say. It was her trepidation that broke him, made him something hollow.

Regardless, Ignacious did not grow up kindly, and it did not take many years to him to become selfish and manipulative, abusing his power. He had no talent for battle, but one hand on the shoulder of a weary fighter gave him knowledge beyond his years. Why try to learn magic when you could trip against a passing wizard, and let your hands touch as you help him gather his components? And in social circles, Ignacious held no equal; all secrets laid bare with but a kiss on a lady's proffered hand. And his power applied to more than just humans: bears, fey creatures, gods forbid dragons could, and did, add to the hoard of knowledge locked between his temples. Quickly drunk on power, Ignacious fashioned himself a Knight-Explorer, and through manipulation secured a title and funds to seek out other lands and races, to learn even more about how the world of Quelmar worked.

He likely would have become a great and terrible lord, had a magical rip in the fabric of time whisked him away to a destiny far away. Quelmar breathed a sigh of relief at his disappearance.

Chapter 2: An Opportunity Waiting Outside Time

One moment, Ignacious was walking down a forest path dappled in sunlight. The next, his foot hit solid stone. The Archmage's knowledge told Ignacious that magic was being performed, the Duelist's knowledge drew his longsword, and the Hunter's knowledge kept his eyes trained for a target. The Bat's knowledge made him click his tongue and measure the space: a hall of some sort, with a high ceiling and solid walls. The air smelled of old dust and forgotten mildew, and the Dragon's knowldge told Ignacious the place was built by magic. A dry chuckle from fifteen away caused him to turn, blade raised.

"Lower your weapon, Phonimus. I wish to converse." The ancient voice rippled across Ignacious' stores of memory; most of them said "RUN". The voice was in a whisper that issues up from a black crevice in the earth. Each syllable separately would make children cry and normal men sweat. Ignacious stood his ground. "Who are you?" he said.

A snap of bony fingers, and torches blazed to life. Ignacious' eyes were greeted by a horrifying sight. A near-skeletal figure floated just above the stone floor. It was hairless, and its sallow skin was yellowed with age. No eyes rested in the sockets, but instead cut and polished onyx orbs. It wore a cloak of purple worm skin and a diadem inlaid with a king's ransom in jewels. Ignacious broke out into another layer of sweat, for he knew what he faced. "You're a li-lich." Yes, a lich - one of the great practitioners of magic that haunt evil spaces and hoard secrets beyond mortal comprehension. Impossibly dangerous and equally inscruitable. Each breath he took might be his last. "What have you done with me?"

"Settle yourself, Phonimus, and do not be obvious. I am not seeking your demise," the voice issued from the lich's mouth. "Have a seat." It gestured to a table Ignacious had missed, bedecked with food and wine. Knowing better than to refuse, Ignacious sat and began to dine. The lich continued, "I have watched you your entire life, Phonimus. I have observed the circumstances of your birth and the progression of your life for an untold age. You are a unique being among the planes as far as I understand, and I understand much indeed. I seek to make use of your talents to win a devastating war that has dragged on far too long."

"A war? I wasn't aware of any war going on in Quelmar while I was traveling. And if you want something from me, it would be proper to introduce yourself." It was no memories of Ignacious' that led him to speak brazenly. It was the fact that if this lich wanted him dead, he would be. The lich chuckled once more. "I suppose you are correct. I am Abecedarus, and I have plucked you from the time you were born in. You now sit centuries ahead in your own future, when Quelmar is on the brink of apocalypse. I aim to put an end to the conflict with your assistance as well as others. Their talents align with yours nicely, I promise you. You will be part of my Phalanx, and you will be the spear that pierces the hearts of the gods themselves."

Ignacious' mind was racing. A war? The gods? Abecedarus? He exhausted his stores of gathered memory, and his conclusions were few. It was clear Abecedarus was ancient, possibly older than Quelmar itself. Its control over space and time indicated great skill with Chronomancy, the rarest and most dangerous form of magic. Piercing the hearts of the gods themselves was a ludicrous sentence, but if a being could make such a claim and not be lying, a lich was one who would. He wasn't convinced, though. "What is the point of me obeying you, Abecedarus? Your words are foolhardy, and I will not be part of any suicidal mission for you." His words were braver than me was, and his heart pounded in his chest.

"Silly mortal," Abcedarus replied. The lich drifted away from the table, beckoning Ignacious to follow. "I have laid plans for eons, and all you need do is trust. And if you cannot trust, then I shall provide sufficient reward." The lich turned its head to Ignacious, sounding amused. "What do you think you might learn if you were to touch me?"

Chapter 3: The Grim Vault is Found

The Abecedarian Phalanx is one of the greatest platoons of sages, warriors, and technicians never seen on Quelmar's shores. The lich Abecedarus spent eons practicing chronomancy, gazing through the eras of Quelmar to find the perfect set of twenty-six powerful, pluck them from their respective ages, and convince them to work together towards a great end. The "present" the Phalanx existed in when formed is in the middle of the great War of Many Names, where untold numbers have already perished and the realm is at its lowest point. The members of the Phalanx were instructed in pieces to complete a mission to "strike a blow against the gods themselves". None could be entrusted with the full plan, in case it were to go awry.

This could not stop Ignacious Phonimus, now ninth of the Phalanx. His anomaly pierced through the layers of magic surrounding his compatriots, and he learned much from their collective knowledge. There were great craftsmen, instructed to build great restraints from obsidian and metal mined from the Nine Hells. There was a small group of warriors from the future; their "machine guns" were capable of felling dozens in an instant, and they trained to cope with the powers of the past. There were loremasters and walkers of the planes, hunting for a specific magical signature. Their plans were a mystery to each other, but they worked towards the goal of ending a great war for the good of all.

Only Ignacious saw the whole picture, by touching each of them in turn. Only he was aware of Abecedarus' duplicitous nature. The lich had not addressed any other member of the Phalanx in his true form, and his true plan was not to win the War of Many Names. Abecedarus wished to conquer his greatest fear by gaining dominion over Death itself. The lich was once a man who feared his own mortality above all things, and the more knowledge he accumulated, the greater the canyon of his fear yawned wide. His soul rested in a secure location so that Death could not find it and claim Abecedarus for himself. Ignacious pieced all these things together with his limitless stored experience, and saw the true plan:

Death had grown in strength throughout the War of Many Names, feasting on the death energy created through endless battle. Drawn by the fighting, the god had attached its "home", or spritual center, to the underside of the Quelmar plane, feeding like a leech upon the spilled blood of the realm. The Abecedarian Phalanx was seeking this spiritual center, known as the Grim Vault, to find Death, fight it, bind it, and let Abecedarus finally kill Death - or become it.

Ignacious saw this all and yet did not share an iota of information with his fellows. They could not be trusted, after all - this was known through seeing their flawed perspectives. Befriending each one in turn, he became the heart of the Phalanx and the reason it progressed on schedule. His stolen knowledge helped locate the Grim Vault's precise location under the great whirlpool at the center of Quelmar. His smithing and alchemical ideas helped forge the Nerullan Pinions, deathly instruments for the divine. He was well-recieved by his fellows for this; the call of his title, ninth of the Phalanx, did soothe and swell his ego. Yes, Ignacious Phonimus intended not to follow Abecedarus' plan, for his gift led him to believe he alone could use the Phalanx toward his own purpose. He could not abide the lich's goal, but he would touch the lich, gain its knowledge, and then usurp Death - his final place among the gods of the world.

Chapter 4: An Old War, a New Battle

The Grim Vault was breached on the first day of the year PR 1001. The Abecedarian Phalanx moved briskly through the magic portal they had built, staking chains they had built upon the hard stone floor that lay within. Death's personal demiplane was reminiscent of an asylum, a labyrinth of dark stone lit by small blue flames with the smell of decaying flesh hanging in the air. The souls of many dark creatures and some beings of light were imprisoned within, due to a devilish pact, a fervent wish from a living descendant, or Death's curiosity to keep them from passing on. Each soul was given its own cell to exist in, like a museum display, or a zoo of undeath. The Phalanx strode through the hallways confidently, their mission at its apex. They arrived at the throne room, where Death itself waited, a spectral reaper lounged upon its chair of bone, twirling a scythe between its fingers. It did not seem surprised to see the force summoned across time.

"Tell me, warriors," Death spoke in a voice that conjured images of sunless caverns, deep beneath the earth. "Is your cause just and your hearts true?" Such was the power of Death that the Phalanx was frozen in place in sheer fear. None dared answer, for they all felt the god's ability to dispatch them with but a thought. All, that is, but one. Stepping to the front of the group, Ignacious responded, "I am Ignacious Phonimus, Ninth of the Abecedarian Phalanx, and we will see you brought to heel for the good of Quelmar!" His layered lie sparked a roar of approval from the others, while Death simply smirked how a skeleton might. "Where is your master? For you have no chance while he lingers in shadow behind you." At that moment, Abcedarus appeared at Ignacious' side, and simply said "Now." The four high mages opened their scrolls and began to chant. The modern soldiers trained their guns on Death and began to fire. Other warriors closed in and took up the Nerullan Pinions, faced with their intended target, and the rest remained to protect the mages. Death stood and snapped its fingers, and creatures of shadow and fear leaped out to engage the Phalanx. Abcedarus conjured Ignacious a strange blade made of platinum, a scimitar-like shape and a honed point. "Here, Ninth, your blade. It may help to combat Death," Abecedarus said. "How?" responded Ignacious. "It's enhanced with my own skill, and it's the talon of a dead god." That was all the words they had time for - the raid of the Grim Vault had commenced.

The plane of Quelmar had no previous thought to the existence of the Grim Vault, the Phalanx, or Abecedarus himself. They became aware when the high mages of the Phalanx finished their spell of Demiplanar Rupturing, and the Vault itself spilled into Quelmar proper. It was to the luck of most denizens that Tiamat herself was where the rupture was drawn, seeking another divine source of power to key onto. Undead creatures spilled from the gate, fighting with the dragons on malevolent instinct. It was utter chaos, as Tiamat's heads shouted conflicting orders, disrupted from her present activity. Having succeeded in anchoring the Grim Vault to Quelmar, the high mages (Fifth, Fourteenth, Nineteenth and Twenty-Third of the Phalanx) joined the offensive. It was chaos on a scale of gods; Abecedarus' preparations were unfolding as the Phalanx intended. And yet, more and more Phalanx members were felled in battle. Death dealt the killing blow each time, seeking personal retribution for this insult and attempt at its life. Each time the scythe fell, the Phalanx member rose again. In undeath, they turned on their brothers-in-arms, and the battle grew to a stalemate, then turning in favor of Death. In a twist of Fate, however, the actions of the Phalanx and the fight between high undead and Tiamat's draconic forces would inspire others to fell the gods and usurp them - this day would mark the beginning of the War of Apotheosis.

Chapter 5: Faced with Death

Hours later, Abecedarus and Ignacious Phonimus were the last two left fighting Death. Already defeated, they engaged Death two-on-one, surrounded by the watchful corpses of the Abecedarian Phalanx.

"So naive, Abecedarus, to think you could take my place among the pantheon," Death rumbled. "Your fear and your pride have numbed you to reality. I am inevitable, and I will delight in seeing your spark finally snuffed."

"So long as this form holds shape, I will not stop. I am too close to you. Once the Ninth lands a blow with Enki's Talon, you will fall to my magic - it is also inevitable." Abecedarus flew about like a horsefly stinging a bull ox, with fire and noxious gas to distract the god as Ignacious approached.

Ignacious' weapon carved through many dark creatures that day, yet he could not land a blow on Death - it was too fast and aware of the weapon's potency. His mind was working overtime, calculating possibilities and seeing how he might escape or land the decisive blow. He could do nothing in the end but fend off his former comrades as Abecedarus worked what final magic the lich could. Chanting in a lost tongue, Death and the lich were enclosed in an orb of inky blackness. The air inside the Grim Vault hung in stillness - then a crack, and the orb cracked into pieces. Death stood while the lich's form lay sundered and motionless before Death. Ignacious' heart broke then, knowing he stood no chance, but he did what little he could. He ran to Abecedarus' body and laid a hand on it. The lich's knowledge flooded his mind - countless spells, recipes, facts on every plant and animal that existed in Quelmar, things that such a being would have forgotten. Several libraries worth of information stunned Ignacious, but despite all of this knowledge, he could see no way out. When he snapped back to the present, Death chuckled.

"I see the hearts of men, Phonimus. It is my calling to do so, weigh and measure their worth before deciding their fate beyond death. Yours is a unique hubris, for you seek heights so lofty to even topple me from my throne. But what are you, but a man with knowledge and no way to use it?"

"It is the culmination of my journey!" Ignacious roared defiantly. His breath labored, his mind overwhelmed, he spoke the truth of his heart. "I was born with a gift unlike any in Quelmar, and it was for a reason. I can think my way out of any scenario, even one desperate as this!"

Death laughed, as did the slain Phalanx members, making an unsettling chorus. "Foolish mortal. You are but a grain of sand on an endless beach. When you shrink a life down to the scope of the world, you realize how lucky you are to have lived a life at all. These compatriots of yours already recognize this simple fact, trapped within their own flesh, yearning to be free. But if you insist on becoming special, I will arrange for you a special fate indeed." And Ingacious felt the full divine power of Death come upon him - his weapon dropped, his body numbed, and his mind finally broken.

Conclusion: Ignacious' Terrible Fate

So it was that all members of the Abecedarian Phalanx were punished by Death for their great hubris, and for breaching the bounds of time to do so. Their souls were scattered to the cruelest places in the planes, and they were not released from their torment until the ends of time.

Death's justice was enacted through a twisted symmetry of the lives each Phalanx member lived. For example, Sir G, Seventh of the Phalanx, was a modern warrior, armed with grenades and guns. He was sent to the distant past to be tortured by Asmodeus personally at the beginning of Quelmar. Sir Y, Twenty-Fifth of the Phalanx. was a mid-history Quelmarian. He was left in his own time, to watch his home burn to the ground over and over due to the War, powerless to save any he knew and loved.

For Ignacious, Ninth of the Phalanx, Death did indeed prepare a special fate. Ignacious' soul was imprisoned and sent to the far future to be discovered by a man looking to access information without needing to reference a book. Ignacious' mind, complete with the experiences of beings the realm over, was perfect for this task. He was used as a constant question/answer bank, unable to do anything but provide drips of his near-bottomless well of knowledge until the end of time. And to make use of him, all you had to do was use his given Phalanx title:

"Hey, Sir I!"

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