A look of mild perturbation at the Voidlord shrugging off his spell is replaced by a look of realization as Cassie arrives. Dharmesh spares one almost pitying glance to the Voidlord before returning his awareness to his body and teleporting away.
As he emerges a safe distance away, he faces the city he had entered a war over, forcing himself to watch as it ceases to be in a storm of fire. He had done this, he had condemned this city. He would witness its end.
[Vudrani]"I am sorry for this my brothers, but your deaths will be the terror in their hearts. I will bear the weight of this decision evermore, and for your sakes, I will grow stronger from it. I will win this war, and Bhati will be rebuilt atop their corpses. Our people will be free to grow into their own strength, I will see to that."
As the fire dies, Dharmesh gazes upon the crater that used to be a thriving city. No prayers were uttered to the gods, such was not his way. His apology and oath made, he marvels for a moment at the tears he thought could no longer leak from his eyes before invoking a teleportation.
There was a war to win.

The two people Damien evacuated just stare as their city is consumed by the blast wave. They don't scream, or cry, or speak. Just stare in utter shock. As though what they're seeing isn't even real. The archer's mouth moves as though shaping words, but no sound comes out.

Meanwhile, Dharmesh watches the flames consume the remnants of the city, a genuine firestorm so intense that it leaves behind little but ashes. It doesn't take as long as he would have expected for it to burn. Within ten minutes, all that remains is a handful of charred skeletons of buildings poking up out of the ashes. Nothing is moving within the smoldering field.

Then to Parakh, there to speak to the refugees and begin planning the defense of the city. Within an hour, though, he receives a sending.

Upon arriving in Parakh, the first thing he does is find the refugees from Bhati to tell them what had happened. He leaves nothing out, from the horde of enemies to his own responsibility. he makes no attempt to hide his sadness that this happened, but neither does he ask forgiveness.
After explaining everything and leaving them to grieve, Dharmesh leaves to find the ones in charge, setting about preparing the defenses, personally laying out the cost of magical and mundane protections for Parakh and other cities.
When he receives the Sending, his tiredness melts, leaving only a visage of determination. He explains the communication received to the men and women helping him with the preparations, requests a pair of monks to join him, and teleports to a ruin to await the arrival of an immortal.

Dharmesh and his escorts arrive at Bhati, on the edge of the crater. The rubble is still smoldering, but there's no movement within.

Precisely one hour after the sending, the immortal appears. She stands ten feet tall, and has a slender build, a fencer's build rather than a brawler's. This impression is reinforced by the dark blade at her hip, a rapier rather than a broadsword. It looks sharp enough to cut a silence. Her eyes are emerald and burn with an inner fire.

She is beautiful. It goes without saying that she is beautiful. But it is the beauty of a nightshade blossom in a vase, all smooth agility and lethal grace.

Two shadows stretch out behind her. One is normal, matched to her appearance, while the other is that of a huge, hulking brute, with claws and the head of a tiger.

"Hello, Dharmesh. I am glad you agreed to meet. May we agree to a truce for the duration of this meeting and twenty minutes afterward?" Her voice is a smooth, rich alto, beautiful.

At her words, Dharmesh inclines his head ever so slightly in agreement, though his face remains a mask of grim determination, it could almost have been carved from stone. "Of course we may. Had I intended violence, I would not be standing here right now. Your Sending said that you wished to negotiate for peace, what terms do you propose?"

"The terms are simple enough," the immortal says in a voice smooth and sweet as honeyed silk. "We will cease our war with the monastery cities of Irori. In settlement, you and the leaders of those monasteries will sign a binding peace treaty in which you affirm and avow that you will no longer make war on the rakshasa and oni people. You will not interfere with our kind's reincarnation, prevent new rakshasa and oni from coming into being, or otherwise work to end us. The treaty will be signed and witnessed before Abadar and Asmodeus, with dire consequences for those who default on its terms, in perpetuity."

She smiles, a gorgeous smile with teeth that are very white. "Simply put: we will stop our war with you if you will stop your war with us."

Dharmesh simply closes his eyes at her terms, taking his own time to think over the various weaknesses and benefits of this agreement, before opening his eyes once more and speaking.
"Your terms are a good place to begin, for that you have my congratulations. In addendum to what you propose, I counteroffer thusly; you will cease your war, and indeed all activity within or in relation to the land of Vudra and all Iroran monastery cities elsewhere. In settlement, the leaders of Vudra and I will sign a binding peace treaty in which we affirm and avow that we will no longer make war on the rakshasa and oni people. Additionally, we will not interfere with your kind's reincarnation, prevent new rakshasa and oni from coming into being outside of Vudra or any other Iroran monastery cities, or otherwise work to end your kinds existence in any official capacity. The treaty will be signed and witnessed before Shizuru, Abadar, and Asmodeus, with dire consequences for those who default on its terms, the precise consequences to be agreed upon by all parties in advance of the signing, in perpetuity."

The rakshasa considers, her monstrous shadow flexing its claws. "Your terms are acceptable, though we will not and indeed cannot enforce the restriction against action in Vudra ourselves. We will merely lift our protection from those who break the terms, and leave it to the Irorans to take care of things themselves, within the current bounds of Vudra and the extant monastery-cities." She smiles again. "Does that suffice enough that we can sit down and draft the full treaty based on those terms?"

Dharmesh considers her words, and gazes out across the ruin as he contemplates his next words. It was almost certainly some form of subterfuge, but the alternative was less desirable. His mind made up, he locked gazes with her once more.
"These terms are acceptable as a preliminary basis for a full treaty. I shall gather the appropriate individuals and meet with your own fellows at this place in two and a half days to argue over the finer details and sign the treaty. Pursuant to that, I extend you the offer that the truce extend until the signing of this treaty."

"Done and done, so be it," the immortal says. "We will meet you here in sixty hours." She smiles and takes a step back, fading into the shadows until she is gone.

With the departure of the rakshasa, Dharmesh takes a few moments to gather himself before looking to the two that had come with him and taking them by the hand and envisioning Parakh, allowing himself and his passengers to dissipate into nothingness and reform at the destination. Upon arrival, he looks to the pair of monks, having one last set of instructions for them.
[Vudran] "Before you go, I have one final request of you for the moment. I require you to send for all mages within Parakh capable of teleportation. The leaders of Vudra and the monastery cities must be gathered swiftly if we are to agree on the terms to be signed."

The monks nod. "It will be done," one replies, before they hurry off about their task.

The simulacrum reports in that night...missing an arm, and with horrible burns across its face. It bows and says, "I have completed my research on the Primordial Windweaver. Shall I deliver the report, sir?"

Upon confirmation, it clears its throat. "Windweaver is a Primordial embodying air currents weaving into a coherent whole. Like all Primordials, it is immortal to all known methods of killing it - it can only be disincorporated for varying amounts of time. The entity still exists as long as the abstract concept it is tied to exists, which is functionally invulnerable to death. It is among the older beings in existence, having come into existence as a spark shortly after Asmodeus and Ilhys, and gaining sentience when the Material was created. It was locked away after the war between gods, along with Rovagug, the other Primordials, and certain Outer Gods. In this case, the Primordials were bound by divine oath and mandate not to return to the Material for as long as the gods held sway. They have spent the intervening time manifest on other planes, but they have not returned to this planet since then until now. They have long memories, and still resent mortals for the role they played in their binding." It finishes its lecture, and nods politely before sitting down.

As the simulacrum delivers its report, Dharmesh sits impassively, taking the information in. As it concludes, he gestures over to a desk which holds various writing implements. "You have done well, your next task is to transcribe all of your findings for dissemination to the others. Nine copies will be sufficient. Before that though, tell me what befell you that you should sustain such damage. Spare no detail."

"I was attacked in the library, by what appeared to be an aeon. It burned me most grievously before I drove it away." The simulacrum frowns. "I can describe it in more detail if you would like, sir. It was a cylinder of shadow and fog, some eight feet tall, with three legs and three arms. It burned me with a gout of silver flame. My belief is that it is an agnoia aeon raised to nobility and empowered with greater strength. It did not state its intent, but it appeared to be acting with the consent of the library's management. I left shortly therafter."

"I see. You have done well, you may begin your transcription. Once you have completed that task, remain here to await repair. Should there be any intruders, secure them non-lethally if possible."
Leaving the simulacrum to its work, Dharmesh exited the room and prepared to receive the various leaders who were no doubt inbound. The matter of the aeon could be handled later, when there were fewer immediate problems to be handled.

"Yes, sir," the simulacrum says, bowing slightly. "I will transcribe the document as requested."

The other leaders arrive shortly, and what follows is a chaotic mess of shouting, verbal abuse, and feuding. In the end, though, after two days of argument and conflict, everyone grudgingly agrees that the treaty is much, much better than further warring, and by the appointed time, everyone is ready to teleport out.

Upon arriving at the crater, most of the delegation blanch, mutter prayers, or make warding gestures - and not only because of the crater itself. There are a full four Immortals standing by the edge of the crater, and an oni Daimyo - Dharmesh recognizes each of them by reputation. In addition to Aghosh of the Twin Shadows and Prihasta, the General Between Heaven and Hell, it seems that Rusanaka the Grey-Fanged, Erikali the New Moon's Child, and the enigmatic daimyo called Black Blood Sings Eternal Beneath the Waters in the Endless Deep of the Great Abyss That Lies Below All Things (or more simply Black Blood) have all chosen to be present.

Aghosh looks the same as before. Prihasta stands fifteen feet tall with a long, heavy broadsword at her hip. Rusanaka is a woman with the head of a wolf, a mere eight feet tall and with long fangs the color of charcoal visible in her smile. Erikali has jet black skin, three heads with different features, and four arms; he smiles from one face, while the second is neutral, and the third is snarling. Black Blood resembles nothing so simple as a person, but merely a thick, viscous black fluid flowing through abstract patterns in the air.

It is Aghosh, though, who steps forward, and unrolls a scroll that looks to be gold rendered somehow into vellum. She takes a pen, a gleaming phoenix's quill, and dips it into the ink. "Let us begin," she says simply. "Would you like to make any alterations to the preliminary terms, or do we simply need to lay it out more precisely?"

Dharmesh strides forward, taking the lead among the various individuals along with him. He ignores the other Immortals and the Daimyo focusing his gaze fully towards Aghosh.
"The preliminary terms remain sufficient, all that remains is to agree upon the finer details. In particular, the exact nature of the consequences for defaulting on this treaty need to be agreed upon before any of us are to sign," Dharmesh gestures back towards the others behind him as he speaks.
"My proposal for the consequences are thus; any who default on any of the terms of the treaty, through direct or indirect means, shall be transported before the gods Asmodeus, Abadar, and Shizuru and stripped of all ability supernatural, magical, extraordinary, and martial. In addition, any who default on any of the terms, through direct or indirect means, shall be transported to the celestial realms and imprisoned via an Imprisonment spell in a location decided and agreed upon by the gods Asmodeus, Abadar, and Shizuru, with the added stipulation that any attempt to free and or restore the individual to power through direct or indirect means shall itself count as defaulting on the treaty. What say you?"

"A reasonable starting place. Now, to consider the method of transportation, as well as the details of the definitions..." Aghosh says. She seems entirely in her element.

Perhaps unsurprisingly for beings that are near to devils, hammering out the definitions of terms is a long and laborious process. It is far from simple. But in the end, Dharmesh is satisfied that the definitions are clear and understood by both parties. The punishment clause is agreed to with the stipulations that transportation to the Outer Planes to be judged is the responsibility of the wounded party; only illicit or secretive measures to free the imprisoned are to be treated as violations, and not attempting to argue the legal case or providing weregild; and that if transportation is impossible or the deities in question refuse to provide judgment, the wounded party can freely attempt to defend themselves.

Finally, the work of establishing terms of peace is finished. Aghosh begins writing on the golden scroll in black ink that somehow stains the metal, creating an indelible impression. Her writing is perfect, calligraphy that would make a scribe weep with joy. When she's finished, the scroll (which unrolled far enough that it can only be magical) bears a full copy of the treaty terms in Vudrani, Infernal, and Celestial.

Dharmesh finds no loopholes or ambiguities in the text, and it appears to conform perfectly to what was agreed upon. Not only that, but the translations are all identical within the limits of the respective languages (Infernal, for instance, has no word for "peace," but endless shades of "ceasefire").

After combing through the treaty in all detail, Dharmesh looks to Aghosh and nods. "This is acceptable. I will take my fellows to Axis and see to the calling of the gods in question. We will await you in the Court of Last Resort for the signing."
Without waiting for further input, Dharmesh returns to the contingent he brought with him, waits for everyone to join hands, and focuses upon his destination, casting them all beyond the material and into Axis.

A short time later, the group is gathered in the Court of Last Resort, a huge chamber made of marble. The judge's bench is high, creating the impression that the gods themselves are looking down on one. In reality, of course, it's merely a high ranking axiomite who serves Abadar as a high priest, which is technically different. The vaulted ceiling is unsupported by any pillars. The walls have no ornament at all.

It's all black and white, not a shade of grey anywhere to be seen. Dharmesh feels right at home.

A few words are spoken to the judge, and it indicates approval. It speaks a word, and suddenly, Dharmesh feels a weight on him, without physical presence but very real all the same. He is being held, examined, scrutinized. The attention of the gods he came to call is a palpable weight.

The rakshasas and their oni ally arrive after a moment, or an eternity, held in that gaze. Three exact copies of the golden scroll are laid out - one to be kept in Vudra, one by the rakshasa immortals, and one for the Court's records.

Aghosh steps forward, bowing deeply to the judge. "Thank you for your time, Your Honor. Let us now sign and seal the treaty, that this war can come to an end."

With all parties gathered and attention from the relevant deities obtained, Dharmesh strides forward and bows as well.
"Yes Your Honor, your time and presence is appreciated. Allow me to be the first to put my name to this treaty and end this conflict."
With that said, Dharmesh picks up an inkpen and briefly scans the various copies of the treaty to see if anything had been altered. If all looks well, he signs three times with a steady hand. His signature placed, he holds the pen out in offer to Aghosh.

The treaty looks unaltered, in all languages and on all copies. Aghosh signs with a smile, then hands the pen to the first of the Vudrani leaders. Soon, everyone present, including Black Blood, has put pen to the golden scrolls. Aghosh rolls one up and hands it to Dharmesh, then takes another and strolls towards the exit, casually. The third vanishes, taken for Court records.

Dharmesh once more bows to the judge after accepting the Vudran copy, then returns to the contingent of Vudran rulers, passing the treaty to the Maharajah Bhagvat-Singh.
[Vudran] "For your records, great king. Now let us return, we all have important matters to tend to."
After waiting for everyone to join hands one final time, Dharmesh again hurls everyone present through the fabric of the planes, settling inside Parakh. After saying the appropriate goodbyes and everyone has returned to where they belong, Dharmesh goes to check on the simulacrum and scour over the information it has been transcribing, perhaps there will be some small detail gleaned about what is to come.

The simulacrum has little more to say, though it has finished the transcription. It does have a partial list of the Primordials linked with Golarion, heavily damaged. After a good deal of work on cross referencing and reconstruction, Dharmesh believes he has a name for the next Primordial that will appear, based on the pattern they've exhibited thus far.

Small Made Large.

After reviewing his findings twice to ensure the pattern was true, Dharmesh sat back with a look of some satisfaction on his face before pulling on his magic to concentrate his thoughts and project them to his fellows.
[Sending]"I have discerned a pattern. The next Primordial is Small Made Large, a crystalline being. I will await your arrival at my home."
The message delivered, Dharmesh departed Parakh to return home and prepare for the arrival of the others. A war was no excuse to be a poor host after all.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
42 on the cooking check to prepare a good meal for the incoming guests. Men would kill for a taste.

---