"It is!" she says happily. "I wonder if it's based on the alignment-linked magic used to create the Stone itself? Aligned mortals change their alignments, but outsiders as a rule don't, and I would naively expect a magical effect to be more similar to the latter. Hmm... can an intelligent magic item change its alignment? What if it has an aligned enchantment?"

"Outsiders can change their alignment," he corrects, immediately, "it's just much harder for them, like - instead of being in a still pond and able to freely choose where they go, they have to actively swim upstream. Or maybe more closely like momentum, it's much easier to just keep going the same way they've always done it, unless something... changes." He frowns. "Or they get worn down over time."

"... Intelligent magical items usually get made from souls, not... the item itself gaining intelligence on its own over time. It's ever happened, but usually it's someone getting stuffed into something," he says out loud. 'If you could fix it, you wouldn't want it at the cost,' Minagho had said.

It doesn't really make sense, that they'd come up with such a complete magical defense against demons so quickly, does it. This sort of thing is difficult, and they'd probably been under some kind of rush, what with the demonic invasion and all. The obvious way to repel a demon invasion is to weigh in the opposite direction, with angels and archons and whatnot. Angelic invasion. But that would turn this into an even worse battleground, and more innocent mortals would die in the horrors on the battlefield, so...

... what if there was a way to have those forces just hold the demons back, while they looked for a better solution. One that involves less large scale destruction and death.

He has a sinking suspicion about why Minagho would think he wouldn't be willing to pay the cost to fix it.

"... If it were stuffed full of like minded, Good-aligned outsiders, would that explain what you're seeing?"

She squints a bit more.

"Well, they're not like-minded anymore. But yes!"

"Right. Because they've been in there for a very long time, and. This shit still isn't solved. Anybody'd start to have second thoughts after a century. Even outsiders."

Okay, great. He understands what's wrong with the Wardstone. And he also understands that it's a horror, and once-willingly trapped, selfless people now just. Want to stop. Be free of this suffering, being stuck in a rock and forgotten about because you were thoughtful enough to want to keep the body count down.

If they stop, then lots of people will die.

If they don't, they will continue to suffer. And it might not even ultimately change things, with how this mess has been a stalemate for so long. Their suffering could be made entirely meaningless, because then the thing they'd sacrificed so much to stop could just. Happen anyway.

In summary: everything sucks and he hates it, actually.

"... Right, okay. Well. Then I'm going to try to talk to them," he sighs, because apparently he hasn't done enough stupid things today.

She swivels around to an angle that will allow her to stare at the Wardstone and Veron simultaneously.

Then she gives him a thumbs-up.

Wizards.

He huffs a laugh despite himself, though, because. Yeah. Fair enough. Wizards do be like that.

Then he steps towards the Wardstone, reaches out, and. Touches it.

(This is gonna suck.)

It's not the kind of battle that he's used to. There's no clashing of arms, no battlecries.

It's not even one of the kinds of battle that he never got used to - the Underdark wars of shadows meeting in the night, the fiendish wars of two forces devouring each other whole.

It is a battle of angels, and it is thus:

There are angels on one side.

There are angels on the other side.

They are shouting, some of them. They are pleading, some of them. They are crying, or holding each other tight, or engaging in tired philosophical debates that have been going on for half a century.

Some of them are not really angels anymore; they have been so terribly hurt that something has changed within them, and they have lost sight of Good and turned to pure Law, or Chaos, or sometimes Evil.

There is no way to tell the difference between the sides.

Following the fallen angels reveals that some, by their turning to Law, have only been strengthened in their conviction that order must be kept; others have realized that there is no justice in this perversion of the laws of reality. Chaos says that the demons should roam free, Chaos says that the people of this world must be free to live. Even Evil is not an overwhelming factor. Some of the fiends want the Wardstones destroyed, but just as many have sunken into feverish, solipsistic hatred for the armies of the Pit, and would do anything to hurt them.

And at irregular intervals, a jarring rush of pain flows through their cage, pausing the shouting and pleading and debate while it lasts. Usually, a throbbing ache. Sometimes, a deep branding burn. At its worst, a flaying storm of razor wind lasting minutes, or hours, or days.

This is not Hell. Hell, he knows, and found wanting.

Is this worse than Hell?

It’s debatable, really. Hell had suffering, and despair, and monsters destroying each other, and the endless cold, and souls crushed underfoot for no other reason than to let devils be tyrants of something. It was awful, and cruel, and unfair, and had this horrible mockery of law, like if you had the right sort of contract drawn up, that made it okay to suffer. Like that made it inevitable to suffer forever. It was suffocating, all encompassing, like being trapped in the smallest cage in the deepest prison with no hope to ever see daylight again.

But this hurts his heart more. This… is seeing something that had once been beautiful, people that had once been whole and strong and brave and Good and… seeing what’s left of them after so long neglected. Like a wretched undead golem stitched out of the corpses of heroes, while they all scream inside, each and every one. That’s what this is like. To call it a horror would be to call Cania a bit chilly, words don’t do it justice. These poor, brave souls. Tears prick at his eyes and begin silently tracing little trails down his cheeks.

First things first - can he identify the source of the pain? Is it just a part of the Wardstone’s original design, or is it a flaw that was introduced later? He’d be in a better position to address the angels if he had literally anything to offer them.

When the angels were united, the wall was strong. When the wall was strong, it didn't hurt. They could feel when the barrier activated, but it wasn't even really jarring, just an impact, like a leather ball against a shield.

The wall is weak, splintered and crazed with faultlines. Each time a demon so much as tests the barrier, it strikes like a gong against the scattered angels, pushes them away from each other and towards each other, away from themselves and into themselves, warping them like unfired clay dolls. When there's a full assault, the barrier has to draw on their reserves of strength - which would be tiring if they were together, but now it feels like a gutting, wrenching violation.

Ah. Yep. Okay.

So he cannot solve any problems before he starts talking.

Hey, he sends, in a way he doesn’t quite know how to put to words. Deep breaths, everyone. I’m here, and I’m going to help.

It’s rather like when he addressed Mephistopheles, that final time after he’d clawed his way out of Cania. Not as hostile, obviously, but the same sort of working beyond being just a guy that’s really good at sneaking and stabbing things. He is announcing himself, and who he is, and what that means, in that way beyond mortals that it’s impossible to really lie about. Veron Chandler, professional lost person, rogue and shadowdancer of Good. Just Good, because to him, Law and Chaos are just tools to be leveraged for that ultimate purpose. He is a Lord of Shadow and the Light of Cania and, yes, that’s an oxymoron, welcome to his life, it’s been a lot of epic level bullshit lately.

He is not here to fight them, or make them do anything in particular. He is here to help. They all already know the stakes, better than he does. The way they’ve all collectively been pushed is now meeting none of their goals. So: he is going to provide some space to breathe, to redistribute themselves, to reorganize. How’s he doing that? Well, he’ll hold the wall for them. Not forever, he’s not strong enough, but. Just for a little while. Sometimes a break from the pain is all you really need, to have some space to think. Not to decide to do anything in particular, not yet, but just. Breathe.

The angels flurry and warble in shock. There are 786 angels (including those who are no longer angels) in the Wardstone, and when Veron makes himself known he receives twice that many questions.

Then he lifts the weight of the barrier away from them, and all of that stops being relevant, because -

in some ways it's easier for him than it is for them. He won't be hurt by the forces pushing him apart, because he has one singular purpose; there's nothing opposing him within his own heart. (The last dregs of Abyssal influence are squeezed out of him in less than a second. There's no room for that here.)

The problem is that he is holding up the weight meant to be shared between 786 powerful angels, and for all that he might as well be a demigod, he's not a hundred demigods. He wasn't built for this.

He's used up his this is going to suck allotment for this sequence of events. Which is a pity, because this is going to suck.

Ow ow ow ow ow he is the biggest dumbass in all of the multiverse, but also he regrets nothing.

He is definitely not going to be able to hold this forever, but that's not really the point. He just needs to hold it up for long enough for them to, er...

Sort themselves out?

On second thought, that is maybe a bit naive, even for him.

"You realize it's significantly easier for the rest of us if you give us a heads up before you start to do something phenomenally well meaning but indescribably stupid," sighs a shadow, who is nonetheless going to begin helping.

Not by directly taking the weight of the wall, actually, because he has more good sense than good intentions, but in all of the everything else. Ksxksskrth is accustomed to attempting to organize the barely controlled chaos that are known to the world as 'adventurers.' And the much less controlled chaos of a full estate on the Plane of Shadow that keeps picking up very confused strays, for some reason or another, ahem. This is not quite like that, but also, it's very much like that.

Okay, angels, once-angels, and those of you now violently opposed to being called angels! Those of you who would like to LEAVE the WARDSTONE, organize yourselves to the left! Those of you who would like to stay, to the right! Organize yourselves into LIKE MINDED GROUPS, we are on a TIME CRUNCH and you've had long enough stuck with each other, so you should all know yourselves and your fellows by now! Please note that leaving the Wardstone can also mean 'Directly come out of the Wardstone to go kill demons in person,' which is admittedly not ideal but they probably have a LOT of pent up aggression! If you have an EVIL ALIGNMENT and wish to LEAVE THE WARDSTONE, you will not be forced to stay, obviously, but you will be released instead onto the PLANE OF SHADOW to PREVENT IN-FIGHTING.

After a century of confinement, the angels do not remember what it was, for something to have urgency. They are expected to make a decision now? In seconds? This is not a scenario that the debates covered!!! Give them months! Give them a year! Let them learn how they feel!

Those of you who DO NOT HAVE COMPLICATED FEELINGS get to be SORTED OUT FIRST. The rest of you have UNTIL THAT GUY (read: Veron) FALLS OVER to sort yourselves out. If you do not know what urgency is then you'd best LEARN QUICKLY, or help him out to buy more time for everyone else to figure out what you're doing.

He is aware that this probably means everyone is going to flee the Wardstone immediately, and therefore the Wardstone is likely to just collapse. However, Ksxksskrth is not equipped to move the hearts of men or angels, and definitely not things that were once angels. He is, in his (cold, because shadow) heart of hearts a logistician, and so if organizing the angels and enacting their reorganization according to his lord's will means the Wardstone will break, then, well. Darn. Maybe now Veron will wait like five minutes for buffs and backup before he does his next very stupid thing. That sure would be nice.

Fortunately, some people care about such ephemeral things as 'dreams' and 'vibes.'

They have been aware that there was something wrong with the Wardstone for a while. It's just all of those Lawful types didn't like their 'ambiguous evidence' and 'unconventional reasoning.' The enemy they've all been fighting loves ambiguous evidence and unconventional reasoning; they're often the weapons leveraged to cause destruction. It's easy to forget the value of such things when you expect every instance to contain a trap. Therefore, the Wardstone is to be kept safe from such dangerous influences.

While it's very reasonable to want to keep the crux of your city's defenses safe, there is a difference between keeping something safe and keeping it in a cage. Often the line can be too fine to discern until it's too late. Especially when one forgets that the crux of your city's defenses is based around living things, and treats it as instead a great big object to be worked around.

Living things do not much like being treated that way.

The (peaceful!) withdrawal of the demons from the Gray Garrison was very noticeable. Most haven't had the time to respond to such an unexpected turn of events; the city's defenders are generally all busy reorganizing themselves and driving the demons out of less fortified locations. But some people were forewarned of the Wardstone's significance, and they were nearby enough to both notice and now intervene. There are neither demons nor inquisitors to ward anyone off, not anymore.

Ramien, the high priest of Desna in Kenabres, does not quite understand what is going on. But he understands that there are lost and hopeless people in front of him, contained within this great glowing stone. That's enough for him.

He opens his mouth to sing to them. It's not a song of words and notes, exactly, like True Names are not really made of syllables. It is a song of sincere truth, of essence of what the singer wishes to convey, of pure emotion and power. It is the most powerful divine working he has ever done, and Ramien has never in his life been idle.

While he does not know the pain they have been through, or what they will choose to do, he is with them. He will support them however he can. Wherever they go, whatever path they choose to take, he will wish them well on it. If it leads them to the very Abyss itself, he trusts them to find their way, wherever that path leads. They deserve happiness, and peace, and whimsy, and joy, like everyone, everywhere, deserves it. His song is not a call to do anything in particular, not really, except by perhaps example. It is of hope and acceptance and being free to choose, and in his case, choosing to help. The world is wide and beautiful and utterly mad, and all of them are just little pieces of a much larger whole that none of them ever really understands. There will never be perfect certainty. There is never a definitive correct path to take.

There are only people, who want to do their best.

Sometimes, that's enough.

...that simplifies matters considerably. Knowing what one wants is like a muscle that can fall into disuse - but like a muscle, it can be enhanced by sufficient magic.

Angels group themselves to return home, wherever home is, or exit directly to the battlefield. Many choose to stay, aligning themselves behind Veron so they can settle into well-ordered formation once he returns their burden.

Some of the Evil angels take the immediate out; they can regroup on the Plane of Shadow for what comes next. Some hesitate.

thE IslE Of thE pEnItEnt, one croaks hopefully.

heaven??? one tries. they can find use of me broken that i am wretch that i am

I would join you, one of them says thoughtfully, with unusual coherence. The one who came after the hero. You may be... worthy, where others were not.

Isle of the Penitent and Heaven are both acceptable options that they can make happen. The interim is going to still be the Plane of Shadow for logistical reasons, but from there they can work out how to get them to the appropriate location. Outsiders that desire to return home specifically have a mechanism that can more easily get them back; it's when they want somewhere else that it starts to get tricky. But the Plane of Shadow is a crossroads for many other planes of existence, so it makes a good interim location for travel to other places.

Ksxksskrth will accept the outsider's application on the spot for being able to have its shit at all together in this cacophony. That one will also be going to the Plane of Shadow, but gets to help with the organizing of the various others that want to disperse from there. Since there's kind of going to be a lot to organize. This is a very Plane of Shadow based operation, the outsider might have noticed. Welcome to the team, hope you won't miss sunlight, because there is none and will never be any.

That particular ex-angel takes to herding its fellows with a certain amount of satisfaction. It has been a long time since anything mattered; it's a heady feeling, to do something.

Within a scant few minutes, the angels are duly arrayed. The only angels staying behind are the ones who, after a century, still feel that they can carry this burden, and get it right this time.

Oh. Good. Good, then. He can put this down now.

…

…

Except, holding it up now sort of feels like it’s the only thing holding him together anymore.

There’s that hollowness inside him, that he’s had since he walked, half-delirious, out of what was probably the Abyss itself. The magic of an ancient silver dragon helped to heal it, a little, but…

… but it was like filling an empty cup, not repairing the hole. A temporary solution, not a final fix. And now the energy is flowing out of him again, like water through his shaking fingers. It feels as wrong and clumsy as the metaphor implies. He should be able to hold this power, leverage it, like he can cup his hands to catch water. He has held this power, in the past. He looked an Archdevil in the eye and told him to stop and he obeyed.

Now there’s something wrong. Now it feels like the only thing holding him together anymore is the need for him to stay strong. To be this thing that the world needs of him. He doesn’t… there isn’t anything else he can do. He can’t put it down. He’s afraid of what will be left if he does.

He’s afraid of what will be left if he doesn’t.

Ksxksskrth is the first to know something is deeply, deeply wrong.

”My lord,” he hisses, in the tongue of shadows, ”it is done. You can let go now.”

”Put it down,” he insists in the same tongue.

To the same response. Nothing.

“… Ssssstop hhhhhim!” he croaks in the common tongue, his hissing voice listing strangely like a whistling wind.

Then the summoning anchor made by his master cracks under the pressure he’s under, and the speaking shadow is returned to his home plane.