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Inspectre

2012-08-04, 10:44 PM

Rules

Here be a few simple ground rules that will hopefully answer any lingering questions about how this thread will be run.

1) Post Format

I don’t particularly care how you format your posts, provided they are legible. However, I would strongly encourage you to use the standard set up on these boards: normal text being actions, italics being thoughts, “quotations and color being used for speech”, etc. Obviously with so many players it will be difficult for each character to have their own unique color, so I will leave you to sort that out amongst yourselves in the OOC thread. However, I personally would not mind if two characters had the same/similar color text for speech, nor would I mind if you don’t use a color at all – just be sure to use quotation marks in that case so I know you’re talking instead of doing something.

2) God-Modding

This is a common freeform issue, so I thought I should briefly address the matter. While I want to encourage creativity as much as possible, obviously I need to set limits on what is possible. My only real limits on what your characters can do is this: be reasonable.

We have a wide range of character types and abilities, and as such what might be a reasonable action for one might not be for another. As an example, a commoner with no prior training and shackled at the feet being able to run along the wall for several feet before jumping down onto a guard and snapping his neck is probably not reasonable. However, a ninja that is not encumbered by shackles probably would be able to run along the wall and land on the guard.

I understand that this makes for a fairly grey area, so I will try to nudge everyone along in the right direction towards my ideal as necessary. Sometimes this nudging will take the form of outright failure (with usually an explanation as to why your idea failed), sometimes success but with a price (like being injured), and sometimes you’ll just get away with it because your idea is so darn cool and original. :smallgrin:

If anyone still has any concerns about this, please feel free to PM me with additional questions or post in the OOC thread.

3) The DM is Final Adjudicator

This should go without saying, but for completeness I’ll list it here. I, as DM, have the final say regarding the outcome and consequences of your characters’ actions. If you feel that I’m being unfair towards your character, feel free to send me a PM so we can discuss it – I would rather that the OOC thread is not clogged up with disputes. That being said, I don’t think there should be many disputes if everyone is reasonable with their actions, and there should be no player vs. player incidents so any “yeah, he did that, but I did this” arguments should not occur.

4) Post Regularly, But Don’t Worry About It

I am going to try to DM this thing roughly twice a week. When I DM I will write up outcomes for everyone who posted since my last DM – I will not wait for everyone to post (unless of course someone sends me a PM saying, “hey, I’m just about done with my post could you please wait?”). Other than the fact that you missed the DMing there are no penalties for posting late or not posting at all.

However, if you suddenly fall off the face of the earth and stop regularly posting in Ironheart without telling me ahead of time, I am going to assume that you have quit the thread. About a week or two after not posting anything, I will remove any characters that have quit the thread in a permanent and probably gruesome fashion unless they’re somehow important to the plot in which case I’ll NPC them until the plot reaches I point where I can kill said character in a permanent and probably gruesome fashion. Obviously, telling me you’re about to go on vacation or something is different and I’ll NPC/temporally-displace your character as needed.

Note that because some players might wind up on teams together, I will DM those players on a team as one unit. Only one player on a team needs to post for a fresh DM to be made, but obviously those other people on said team who didn’t post will end up NPC’d and do relatively nothing unless absolutely required. Of course, repeated incidents of this in a row with the same character will cause me to assume said character has quit the thread, and thus vulnerable to dying in a permanent and gruesome fashion.

5) No Player vs. Player

In the previous thread, I had a strict no-no on Player vs. Player. Now that you are all out of the prison, it makes more sense that you would be willing to fight each other should it prove necessary. Adjudicating who wins in a fight between players is extremely obnoxious however, especially in freeform. So I’m not going to do it (). Feel free to argue, hate each other, avoid each other, refuse to cooperate, and/or go your separate ways once you’re free, but actually coming to blows is still going to be frowned upon. That being said, some of you people are currently on different sides, or just don’t plain like each other. Screwing the other guy over in a more indirect way, depending on the situation may be acceptable (particularly if it gets an evil laugh from me ).

6) What You *Can* Do

Like my definition of god-modding, I suspect that this concept might take a bit of work for everyone to get used to and enjoy. As the DM, my job is to determine the final outcome and consequences of player actions. However, I am going to divide those player actions into two categories: combat and non-combat situations.

In non-combat situations, the players are trying to solve some sort of problem that generally does not involve something trying to directly kill them. This could be solving some sort of puzzle, escaping from their restraints, or even choosing which hallway at an intersection to go down. Here, because the player obviously doesn’t know what I’m intending the solution to be, I would prefer if the player just posts whatever their character is doing to solve the problem. I’ll then come in and post the outcome, whether the player’s actions succeed or fail, the consequences of this, and what is going to happen next. In combat situations, the players have a bit more leeway if they so choose.

Example: John Doe has just been DM’d saying that he’s come to a locked door.

John Doe: “I pound loudly on the door, shouting at anyone inside to open up, while disguising my voice to sound like a gruff guard.”

Me: “Sure enough, after a minute the door opens, and two guards are standing in the small room beyond the door. Unfortunately, though you may sound like a guard, you certainly don’t look like it, and they draw their weapons upon seeing you.

In combat situations, the players are fighting against or directly opposing one or more NPC denizens of Ironheart. Because the solution to direct combat against an NPC should be obvious (kill the duder, or run away if he’s too powerful), I will allow players to post a bit more. Instead of just post their actions, players can also post the desired outcomes of their actions as well. Of course, I will still have the final say whether players are ultimately successful, but this addition will hopefully allow players a wider range of creativity in combat and speed such things up. Note that some opponents will require more effort/more than one post to kill.

Also note that regeneration from wounds, either through healing magic or outright regeneration, is dependant on the source of the injury. Wounds that I give are permanent until I say so, but feel free to add to your list of actions that you’re drinking a healing potion, attempting to regenerate, whatever it is your character can do to recover from an injury. I will post whether such attempts are successful or not. For wounds that are self-inflicted, like the player posting as part of their combat outcome that they take a scratch along one arm, they can post recovering from said wound without having to wait for my approval, assuming of course that they have some reasonable method for recovery.

Example: John Doe has just encountered two guards in the room beyond a previously locked door.

John Doe: “As the guards draw their weapons, I draw my own: a crossbow that I had taken from a previously defeated guard. Raising the weapon to my shoulder, I take careful aim and fire at the guard nearest to me. The bolt flies true, striking the guard in the chest and sending him crashing to the floor, dead. As the second guard steps toward me I suddenly leap at him, bringing the butt of the crossbow up into his chin. The guard staggers back and drops to the floor, dazed. Before he can recover I step in close and deliver a hard kick to his jaw, knocking him out cold.”

Me: “Your surprise attack with the crossbow works, as the bolt hits the guard square in the chest and he falls to the ground, dead. The second guard is a bit more skillful a combatant, however, and he rolls with the blow as the butt of the crossbow impacts against his chin. He staggers back a step, then leaps forward, slashing at you with his sword. Luckily, the blow actually strikes the shaft of your appropriated crossbow, shattering it and ruining the weapon but otherwise leaving you unharmed.”

I hope that everyone can see what my intention with this is. If not, feel free to send me questions via PM or in the OOC thread. Go nuts, have fun with this, and don’t worry: if you get too crazy I’ll reel you back in.

7) Life Sucks, Then You Die

It is possible that various player characters will die. If this is for some bizarre plot situation or the character has been backed into an inescapable corner due to reasons not entirely self-inflicted, I will contact the player of that character and we will work something out (a new character, visitations from beyond the grave, resurrection later by an outside force, whatever).

If, however, the character dies from a severe lack of regular posting or because their most recent course of action was just plain stupid (such as charging into a room full of elite guards armed only with a rusty spoon), chances are good that the character is going to stay dead. If that character’s player is still interested in playing, then they are free to make a brand new character with which to escape with. Hopefully, this new character will have a better sense of judgment and/or more regular posting. :smallgrin: Players whose characters die for plot reasons also have this option if desired.

I think that about covers it.

Inspectre

2012-08-04, 10:53 PM

Meanwhile . . .

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LhrMggjXiiE)

Since Her return to the Heavens, Miriam had isolated Herself from the rest of the Heavens. This as it turned out was a good thing, for no one should have to see one of the gods like this.

“This is unacceptable!!”

Miriam raged while pacing back and forth in front of the two thrones of the Heavens. As always, Athelion merely sat on His throne, patiently watching.

“I am the Valkyrie, Queen of the Heavens and Lady of the Angels! And yet even with all this power, I can do NOTHING! The world slides deeper into Chaos, my daughters suffer unavenged, and the humans turn further away! My efforts have only made things WORSE!”

Miriam pauses in the middle of the throne room, struggling to fight back the tears that are starting to form in Her eyes.

“I cannot make amends to those who have suffered loss. I cannot save those who were damned in My defense! I cannot even reward one brave girl for her sacrifice, and now she is as lost to Me as all the others! What good is a goddess with the power to change none of these things!?”

Finally, Athelion chooses this moment to speak.

“You were warned of the consequences long ago. If you had not wanted this outcome, then you should have never associated with the humans. But it is too late now to undo what has passed. The Chains have been forged, and upon its funeral pyre the world shall burn until the Certain King comes forth. Nothing can be averted.”

“DAMN YOU!”

Miriam cried, whirling towards the other half of the Divine Couple. With a single leap, She crossed the distance from the floor up to the thrones. As She pulled back a fist, Athelion quietly melted away, leaving Miriam’s blow to hit nothing but the throne. The ornate adamantine and orichulum back of the throne shattered beneath the blow, leaving the once mighty seat broken and sundered. From all around Her came the voice of Athelion.

“All has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted.”

The Lightbringer repeated, and Miriam collapsed onto the steps of the dais surrounding the thrones as if She had been struck.

“Damn you.”

Miriam repeated, and then surrendering to Her emotions, buried Her face into Her hands, and wept openly, alone.

**********

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSF8blM2K58)

Caught up in reminiscence, Angelo stares down at the dagger cradled in his hand. So intense is his focus, he fails to notice his traveling companion’s attempts to get his attention until said companion backhands him across the face.

“You with me now? Or are you still contemplating the idea of putting that dagger to use?”

Angelo’s new friend asks, prompting the Baron’s son to give him a confused expression for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. I was just reminiscing. This was a gift from . . . a friend. Although I suppose it shouldn’t be called a gift, given that I had to take it from her. But then, that was just how our relationship worked. And I only took as much as she was willing to give, so don’t start thinking otherwise.”

“You do realize that she hated you, right? Everything she did was an effort to gain your affections so that she could destroy you!”

“So she told me herself. And I’m not some starry-eyed village idiot either – I knew she was only interested in me for the opportunities it gave her. But . . . it’s not quite so easy to feel what you think. I was careless, and as much I would like to deny it, I fell in love with her. And even though I suspected her feelings for me in return were false, I deluded myself into thinking that I could change how she saw me. Well, that is all over now. Now, all I need to do is learn how to forget her.”

“You could embark on a course to rescue her instead. I imagine saving someone from eternal damnation would do a lot to elevate her opinion of you.”

“Excuse me!?”

Angelo sputters, staring at his companion while the cloaked newcomer continues nonchalantly.

“Your father was willing to tear the world apart to drag the Valkyrie down from Her throne. Are you saying that despite being his son, you are incapable of tearing the Hells apart to save one mortal soul?”

“You’re crazier than you’ve let on! Have I failed to mention to you yet that other than myself and one seriously creepy assassin, and I guess you who is even creepier, I have no resources!? My father expended everything he had for his plans, and he held nothing back in reserve should he fail! Operation Revenant was an afterthought to him, a last-ditch method to claw his way back! But I don’t think he counted on how thoroughly everything he had built would come crashing down after he failed to kill the Valkyrie! So if I can’t even figure out a way to get him out of the Hells, how can I possibly consider pulling out the soul of some woman who hated me with every fiber of her being!? No, it is over and I will waste no more time pining for a woman who is dead and damned!”

Angelo pulls his arm back as if to hurl the dagger, but then freezes. With a sigh, he lowers his arm and sheaths the dagger instead. His companion likewise sighs and shrugs.

“Well. I tried – now we do things my way.”

The newcomer reaches out and grabs hold of Angelo, ignoring his surprised protests. With his other hand, he tears open a portal in the air before them, and then hurls Angelo through before stepping in after him. A moment later, and with a new urge to throw up, Angelo finds himself kneeling on rocky ground far from where he was a moment ago. And jutting up from the horizon like an iron claw was the metal battlements and spires of Ironheart.

“There. That’s your goal. I’m sure it’s crawling with elves and all sorts of other unpleasant beasties in the tunnels below, but nothing you and a creepy assassin can’t handle. Your job is to get to the bottom, to the Great Seal . . . and figure out how to open it.”

“What!? I –“

Before Angelo can continue to protest, his companion grabs him by the collar and shakes him.

“Now then, do you want to surpass your father or don’t you!? Do you want to carry on his work to spread chaos throughout the world or not!? Are you going to continue to wallow in self-pity and despair, or are you going to pick yourself back up and do something!?”

Releasing Angelo, his newfound “ally” slides an arm around his shoulders like an old friend, while using his other hand to point towards Ironheart.

“There’s your chance – your only chance, by the way – to do any of those things. Dacian’s done all the hard work for you, all you have to do now is figure out how to remove the last seal. You won’t have to worry about a thing if you succeed – Azguloth isn’t exactly nice but He’s not enough of an ingrate that He won’t give whoever releases Him whatever they want. You are worried about acquiring resources? Align yourself with the forces of the Hells openly, and the Fiend Lords will give you whatever you need to succeed. Even a few human souls who recently came into their clutches . . . I really do hope you see where I’m going with this, my friend.”

“I don’t think unleashing another god upon this world is exactly what Father had in mind, and I know he would never condone indebting oneself too much to the fiends. He wanted humanity to stand free of all influence at the end, not trade one divine overlord for another!”

“Well, I’m afraid you don’t know your father very well after all, then. Because he already indebted himself to a Fiend Lord by claiming to represent that Fiend Lord in an effort to manipulate the lesser filth of the Hells into doing his bidding. And it worked, but now the time has come to pay the piper. Or did you think that Lord Nihilus would remain a ghost forever?”

As if an electric shock had been sent coursing through him, Angelo ducked out from beneath his companion’s arm and leapt back.

“You’re!!?”

The figure’s concealed head nodded.

“In the flesh! Now, we all have our role to play.”

Stepping towards Angelo, Nihilus lays a hand on his back, giving him a firm shove towards Ironheart as he explains.

“Yours is to release Azguloth from His imprisonment. And mine – mine is to make sure that everyone is too busy with their own precious little corners of the world to smell the smoke. Together, we’ll burn it all to ash in record time! Won’t that be fun?”

*****************************

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90t_VHCX-js)

Deep in the Hells, there is a special tower containing a special chamber – the Meeting Chamber of the Fiend Lords. Unwilling to trust each other enough to meet in the flesh, the Meeting Chamber had been constructed to allow the Fiend Lords to hold conferences from the safety of their own estates via a vast network of communication crystals.

Now all but one of the twenty-one communication crystals set into alcoves throughout the chamber stand active. For the first time in thousands of years, all of the Fiend Lords are free and present – and as usual, they spend their freedom bickering.

“Whoever called this meeting better get on with it! I have angels to break!”

Mammon growled, underlining his point by backhanding the angel chained to the foot of his massive throne. This demonstration only earned a derisive chuckle from one of the other communication crystals.

“All this time and you haven’t changed a bit. Always in a hurry, never able to take the time for life’s . . . little pleasures.”

Videle, Lady of Lust, purred through her communication crystal as she tucked a lock of platinum blonde hair behind her horns. The softly delivered taunt found its mark, and the demon lord gathered himself up to his full impressive height. Before he could vent his fury on the unfortunate angel, which was the only thing within his reach, another Fiend Lord interjected.

“You waste your time and fury on targets beneath you Mammon. I know not whether it is cowardice or dumb luck that has spared you thus far, but if you continue squandering the freedom I have given you, then I will come and end you personally!”

The Black General rumbled, prompting Mammon’s ire to switch to mirth.

“That *you* have given *me*!? I seem to recall that I was the last to fall, and that I was the only one of us not to become ensnared in the mortals’ precious Reliquary!”

Now it was the Black General’s turn to be amused.

“Yes, that is very true. Rather than being tucked safely away in the cell they had prepared for you, to remain there for all time, you were sent to Ironheart instead, weren’t you? Who do you think arranged for that fortuitous outcome? I had high hopes you would actually take advantage of your situation, but I suppose that was too much to hope for. A blunt instrument, after all, cannot be expected to cut a rope.”

Before the demon lord could manage a reply, another crystal rasped out a question.

“Brother, do you mean to claim credit for our escape from the mortals’ clutches? It is a worthy lie, I will give you that much, but I was given to understand you had sworn an oath not to escape from the Reliquary. Unless you finally chose to cast aside that last pathetic vestige of your humanity, I cannot see how you could be responsible for this!”

Slevir hissed from behind the veils concealing him from sight. The Black General shrugged in reply.

“After my defeat, I gave my word that I would not leave my cell, nor attempt to do so until such time as the Speaker released me from that oath. I never said that I would not attempt to turn the situation to my advantage. Eventually, inevitably, I was able to turn one of my jailors into the instrument of our joint liberation – you are welcome.”

“Did you call this meeting just to gloat!?”

Quietus howled from his crystal, the fact that he was always howling making it difficult to tell whether he was angry or merely pointing out the obvious. After a long pause, however, everyone was surprised when the Black General shook his head.

“I did not. I had thought one of you demon lords had come seeking direction – you always need a target to be pointed at!”

As the ten demon members of the assembled group jointly bristled, the chamber fell silent for a moment as they all prepared to roar, howl, chitter, and hiss their responses. In that moment, a new voice rang out – from within the chamber itself.

“I called this meeting, actually. I figured it was as good a time as any to clear the air, and then chart a new course.”

From behind a pillar, a human-sized cloaked figure emerged. The Fiend Lords were less than impressed.

“You will suffer for this trespass, mortal!”

Zareth growled menacingly, his grating voice proving to be the most intelligible from the chorus of furious howls. The interloper merely shrugged and motioned for silence.

“Mortal!? I suppose it’s only natural for you fools to think that, but no. I’m one of you, in fact. I’ve heard that a number of individuals have claimed to be me over the years, but I can assure you that I am the real Nihilus.”

That rendered the group silent for a moment, at least until Mammon sullenly growled.

“You look tiny and frail, like a mortal.”

“Yes, I do indeed. Perhaps it’s because I understand, unlike you, that size doesn’t really matter. And for all their frailty, it was the mortals who smashed apart all of your fortresses, and placed you all in bondage.”

“Mmm . . . it wasn’t all bad.”

Videle quipped, but Nihilus ignored the Succubus Queen and pressed on.

“Only I escaped, and while I was content to watch you all fail spectacularly until now, I refuse to allow it to happen a second time.”

“You refuse . . . to allow it?”

Anguish groaned from inside his new angelic shell.

“What are you going to do . . . hurt us?”

“No. If I am unsuccessful I will merely sigh and step back into the shadows. And then I will watch as you all do what you have always done, bicker and squabble like mortal children, accomplishing nothing and willfully squandering the priceless opportunity that has fallen into your laps. And then at last when the mortals come back and destroy you again, one by one, I will laugh as I stand atop the mountain of your broken corpses, and do my best to pick up the pieces.”

“The mortals? What are the mortals going to do? Their Church is falling into ruin, their armies are in tatters, and then continue to fight amongst themselves no less than we do!”

Slevir laughed, and Nihilus sighed with growing irritation.

“It seems you all have forgotten, although I suppose it is merely natural to block traumatic experiences from memory. It was the mortals who made up the backbone of Miriam’s army during the Apocalypse. It was the mortals who threw you all out of their realm after you had grinded them under heel for millennia! And it was the mortals who came down here into your own homes and butchered you! And for nearly half of you, it was one mortal in particular!”

“ANDER!”

Daz’kick shrieked, and seven other Fiend Lords reflexively tensed at the mention of that name.

“Pah. Ander doesn’t scare me. What’s he going to do, come down here alone to fight us all!? If he does, I will CRUSH HIM!”

Mammon growls, prompting many of the assembled to roll what amounted to their eyes.

“You’ve lost to him how many times now, Mammon? Four?”

Nihilus said, and Mammon was hasty to argue that point.

“He had a dragon with him the third time! That one doesn’t count!”

“Fine. Three then – more than enough to underline the point that alone, you can’t beat him. None of you can.”

“Not all of us have fought him yet. How can you be so sure?”

Yvonne said, tapping her countless fingers against the hilts of her nearly countless weapons thoughtfully.

“And that only underlines my point. Ander is bad enough, but the countless mortals before him weren’t exactly helpless either – the Crusades did imprison twelve of you before he was even born, after all. If he falls, another will take his place. Even if you grind humanity down into the dust, it will rise again. There is no possible way you can win this in the end.”

“What do you propose instead, then?”

The Black General asked, and Nihilus spread his gloved hands wide.

“Simply this – that we work together as The Master intended, and that together, we take advantage of the opportunity we have before us. Humanity is scattered, the Valkyrie’s handmaidens are our prisoners, and Dacian has managed to remove all but one seal from the Master’s prison. The time for His Return shall never be riper!”

For a moment, anarchy again reigned in the chamber as all twenty Fiend Lords demanded to be heard. When Nihilus motioned for silence, however, this time he was promptly obeyed by all of them.

“All we have to do is figure out how to remove the last seal. But at the same time we need to keep the humans and the gods off-balance, lest they learn of our intentions. Which is why it is so fortuitous that we have a great many living angel and human prisoners. They will be an important part of this plan.”

“*Your* plan. I take it that you now see yourself as our de facto leader?”

Slevir asked, and Nihilus responded with a shrug.

“Not really. I look at this as a partnership. If any of you wish to take your chances alone, so be it. But my part in this is to manage the details, not lead. You can all do . . . whatever it is that you do best. I merely ask that you work together this time, and keep any would-be heroes off my back while I arrange the last pieces of the key to the Master’s prison. You really aren’t going to get much better of a deal than that.”

“I am willing to see where this goes.”

The Black General rumbled thoughtfully, and many of the shapes within their crystals bobbed what passed for heads in agreement.

“Fine. But I get to be the one to break Ander.”

Mammon growls.

“I’ll let you have whatever’s left when I’m done.”

Yvonne promises.

“ANDER!!!!”

Daz’kick shrieks in agreement.

And as the twenty Fiend Lords begin to actually converse and make plans for once, Nihilus smiles behind his mask and steps back out of the chamber. That’s one domino ready, but there were so many more left to be set up.

*********

It was a beautiful ceremony. Set on a quiet hillside overlooking the gently rolling plains stretching out from Ashargrin County, the chapel was small but serviceable. Despite its simplicity, it had been decorated to a degree that made it more breathtaking than the cathedral in the capital. Brilliant red streamers ran down the length of the chapel’s interior, and from those hung silver bells, tinkling softly at every gentle breeze.

Stepping inside, Amelia smiled as she saw that everyone was waiting for her. A boyish looking girl with short-cropped black hair and a perpetual sneer was seated in front of the organ at the front. Seeing Amelia, the girl cracked her knuckles and then began to play. Taking this as her cue, Amelia lifted up the front of her pearl-covered dress and advanced down the aisle.

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KE8FyKIJFwQ&feature=related)

Waiting at the end of the empty aisles was a fiery-red haired priestess, and a rugged looking man who seemed uncomfortable in his well-tailored suit. Still, after a shave and a bit of soap, the man was surprisingly handsome in his own way. Risking a sideways glance at Korram as she moved to stand beside him, Amelia smiled demurely as the priestess clapped her hands together.

“Alright. So . . . I’ve never done this before. In fact, my only experience with priests is them yelling at me about my life style choices. Ahem, anyway, I think I know how the most important bit of this goes. Amelia, do you take Korram to be your lawfully wedded husband, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

Amelia answered without hesitation, prompting an eye roll from Pyrene.

“Yes, of course. Don’t know why I bothered asking. What about you, Korram? Do you take Amelia to be your lawfully wedded wife, until death do you part?”

Silence was the only answer. After a few moments, Amelia glanced back over at her would-be husband in sudden concern, only to find that his back was suddenly to her.

“Korram?”

She asked, a tremor entering her voice as she suddenly recognized what was about to happen, a fragment of memory bubbling up to offer insight. Right on cue, Korram started to laugh, only his voice was higher in pitch than she remembered – sharper. Crueler.

“Heh heh heh. Until death do us part? With Death out of the picture, we’ll be together forever and ever.”

Her husband said as he turned back to face her, examining her up and down for a moment with demonic glowing eyes.

“Yes, you really do looking fetching in crimson.”

Cheran said, and then he brought his hand up and slapped her across the face. At his touch, Amelia’s veil burst into flame and that side of her face was nothing but a mass of searing pain. Screaming, she turned to flee, but as she tried to take a step away her legs betrayed her, going limp and throwing her to the floor. From that point on, they refused to respond to her commands entirely, although Amelia still attempted to crawl away, dragging herself across the floor hand over hand. Hearing Cheran’s approaching footsteps behind her, Amelia looked up at her friends and cried out in terror.

“Help me!”

Pyrene’s only response was to spread her arms wide before bursting into flame, a burning wickerman that promptly dissolved away into flicks of flame that danced to the far corners of the chapel before igniting it. In another instant, the previously peaceful chapel was a hellish blaze, the fire consuming everything to a charred cinder but continuing to burn nonetheless.

Turning away from the organ, Katrina reached into her jacket, pulling out a spoon. With practiced movement, she spun the implement around her fingers, then firmly grasped the head and saluted Amelia with the handle before plunging it into her own right eye. Without a sound, Katrina’s lifeless body fell backward off the stool, out of sight behind the organ. Behind her, Cheran laughed.

“All alone now, no one to come save you. Maybe now you see that the only one who has ever cared about you – is me. My lovely bride, my queen – you can rule with me down in the Hells!”

Although she couldn’t feel it, Amelia knew Cheran had grabbed hold of her ankles by the way her slow but steady momentum across the floor came to a sudden halt, bouncing her chin off the floor. Then she was going backward, dragged back into the middle of the room. This time, she wouldn’t be able to crawl away, as her arms were suddenly bound down to her side, held there by the twisted folds of her own dress. Unable to escape and with no one to rescue her, Amelia looked up in helpless terror as Cheran loomed over her.

“But before we go on our honeymoon, wifey, we have one important detail to take care of. We need to consummate our marriage!”

Reaching down, Cheran grabbed hold of the hem of Amelia’s dress and pulled, starting to tear it apart. Unable to do anything else, Amelia simply closed her eyes and started desperately praying. Laughing, Cheran continued on.

“Now, I know you won’t be able to feel this, due to your little, uh, “condition”. Don’t worry, I’ll try to enjoy it for the both of us!”

Unable to hold back any longer, Amelia threw her head back and screamed. And suddenly, she was falling, coming to a rough stop a moment later as her back impacted with the floor. Thankfully, this was enough to finally wake her from her recurring nightmare, although it would be several minutes before her heart rate subsided back to a normal pace.

In one corner of the room, a squat fire place sat, its contents reduced to glowing embers which were still sufficient to set shadows dancing across the walls of the otherwise dark room. They did nothing to calm Amelia’s nerves, still burdened by the lingering remnants of that dream. Amelia did her best to banish those by reminding herself that Cheran was dead – Korram and Katrina too, by all accounts. Slowly, she worked her arms free of the bed sheets they had become tangled in, not bound in any way after all. Unfortunately, her legs still did not respond, and one side of her face still ached whenever she made a facial expression that pulled on the scar tissue there – those parts were all too real.

Once she got free, Amelia would have to drag herself across the floor until she could reach the large bell she had specifically set there for just these circumstances. Then she would just have to wait until one of her servants heard it and came up to lift her back into bed. After that, she would do her best to go back to sleep and get some rest before daybreak, and pray to the gods that it wasn’t one of those nights where Cheran came to visit her more than once.

But first, she was just going to lie here and allow herself a good cry, tears of relief that it had still only been a dream mingling with ones of grief and regret that the first part would never be real either. And although Amelia hated to admit it, the dreams were getting worse. No doubt this was due to the incredible stress she was currently under, trying to manage a kingdom that continued to disintegrate daily.

She had formed a Triumvirate of nobles from the survivors of the Battle of Narle in an effort to manage a kingdom without its king – herself, Rose, and Elsa. But just because they claimed to be in charge didn’t mean anyone had to recognize their authority. Many of the nobles who were in charge now were heirs, successors who had been safe in their homes throughout the kingdom rather than at Narle. And the few nobles who were not spoiled brats relishing their newfound power hadn’t been present at the Battle. They hadn’t seen what the three of them had seen, and none of them seemed to think anything beyond their own lands mattered anymore.

Viscount Damont, once Demetrius’s most vehement enemy, was now the most vocal opponent of the Triumvirate as well. Amelia could now only assume that the little twerp was merely an obstructionist who just loved to hear himself talk. Unfortunately, like the others, there was nothing Amelia could do to make them cooperate.

Ashargrin County had a sizable treasury, built by Amelia’s father, but minimal military – confirmed by Demetrius’s servants breaking into her manor with impunity one dark night, slaughtering her entire household staff, and dragging her off to Ironheart. She also knew that the other nobles did not respect her – aside from the fiasco of her wedding to Cheran, she knew they had a nickname for her. The Crippled Countess was not a name they would use in front of her, but it was their name for her nonetheless.

Elsa was the last surviving member of the Gast family, as far as anyone knew, but she had inherited a Barony that had been almost entirely burned to the ground. And after the disastrous Battle of Narle, no one wanted to be led by a Gast. Which left Rose as the only member of their Triumvirate that the others would even consider listening to.

Rose, who was hardly ever around, and when she was she always appeared exhausted. Insomnia was certainly an expected reaction to what she had been through (as Amelia herself knew first-hand). The bruises and cuts that she occasionally sported, however, came from a different source. Rose’s new vice, which Amelia knew about despite the new Duchess’s best attempts to keep it a secret. In all likelihood it would kill her, if Amelia didn’t do it herself out of frustration at the Triumvirate’s best hope expending herself for an adrenaline rush!

So that was it then – a Triumvirate of screw-ups and cripples, trying to save their broken kingdom, and being ignored and secretly laughed at for their troubles. For not the first time Amelia idly wondered what the most peaceful way to kill herself was. It was at that point that the dim embers in the fireplace suddenly crackled back to life, allowing a spitting, hissing voice to enter the room.

Amelia . . . Amelia Ashargrin . . . I sense your pain . . .

Her nerves already raw from the nightmare, Amelia’s heart hammered back into a gallop as the flickering shadows regained their sinister quality.

“W-w-who?”

Amelia whispered, cursing in her own mind at the tremor in her own voice. She wasn’t sure acknowledging this strange newcomer was the best idea, but the fire continued to hiss sparks.

I have sensed your pain . . . I know you are afraid. But . . . it is not me you fear. So much fear . . . of everything around you . . . I can help. I can make . . . you strong. And then . . . you will never have to fear . . . anything . . . ever again!

Amelia had heard enough stories at her father’s knee to know that any sort of deal with a creature of shadow and flame ended poorly. And yet . . .

“Y-you just want m-my s-s-soul.”

Amelia managed to choke out, again cursing that she wasn’t able to control her fear. The presence didn’t seem to notice, nor did it seem troubled by the accusation.

No . . . I have no interest . . . in such things. All . . . I want . . . is to help you . . . together we can do . . . great things . . . together we can save . . . your kingdom. You need . . . to trust me . . . to do that. Alone . . . you will fail . . . as you already know. If . . . you wish me . . . to go . . . then I will leave . . . but . . . you will be dismissing your only . . . hope. Do you truly . . . wish to live . . . the rest of your life . . . crippled and afraid?

Amelia knew what she should say, but the words caught in her throat. There was no denying the risk involved, but – everyone she had ever cared about was dead. She hadn’t been able to protect any of them, and she wouldn’t be able to protect anyone at all as she was now. The Crippled Countess was just a scared and scarred young woman, but she was the only one who could save her kingdom. In the end, there was no choice. She had to succeed!

“What do you need me to do?”

Amelia said, her voice calm and clear.

Inspectre

2012-08-04, 10:54 PM

Meanwhile . . .

Closing in on their prey, the three thugs cackled amongst themselves as the young boy pushed his even younger sister back behind him. The children’s father lied in the mouth of the alleyway, beaten into unconsciousness and unable to protect them.

“William, I’m scared.”

The girl whimpered, prompting the three thugs to share a mutual grin. The girl’s brother only pushed her further behind him, struggling to keep the fear out of his voice as he addressed the three men.

“What do you people want? We’re refugees – we have nothing except the clothes on our backs!”

“Yeah, well it’s refugee filth like you that’s polluting our fine city!”

One of the ruffians argued, and his friend cackled and nodded in agreement as he advanced towards the two children.

“That’s right! It’s about time someone taught you rats that city life is dangerous! And this is gonna be a lesson that you two baby rats will never forget!”

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8Y5SLcBJks)

Before the man could carry out his threat, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the roof overhead. Swinging down on a thin rope, the shadow crashed down into the man behind, kicking him face first into the nearby alley wall. The shadow whirled to face the other two ruffians, who were scrambling to deal with this interloper.

The nearest thug leapt forward, swinging his club around in a high arc. The shadowy newcomer parried the blow with the rope, and then wrapped the line around the thug’s arm, and then back around his neck, before smoothly kicking his legs out from under him and leaving him hanging, entangled by the rope.

Focusing on the last thug who was even now starting to back away, the newcomer extended one gloved hand, pitching a small dart into the side of his neck. The man gasped in horror a moment, and then simply reached up and removed the dart with a faint grunt. He looked down at the dart in amusement, and then concern as it slipped from his suddenly clumsy fingers. Within another moment the knockout drug took full effect, and the man collapsed into a graceless heap.

In that instant while the newcomer was still watching the man collapse, the first man who had been kicked into a wall recovered. Scrambling back up to his feet, he grasped his club in a two-handed grip and swung wildly as his opponent’s head. It was a powerful but slow swing, easily dodged by the children’s nimble rescuer. And yet the newcomer did not dodge the blow, instead taking it directly across the head. The thug laughed victoriously as the shade went down onto hands and knees, and circled around for a finishing blow. As the thug did so, the newcomer twisted around and flung out another hand, dispersing a cloud of powder into the air. The thug walked right into it, and as he stood there gasping and sputtering, the cloaked figured recovered and got back up. And then with a single hard punch, the last thug went down.

Staggering a bit, the newcomer went over to the unconscious father, pressing a gloved hand up against the man’s throat while the two children worked up enough courage to approach.

“Thank you for saving us! Are you an angel?”

The little girl asked, ducking back behind her brother as the cloaked figure regained its feet and looked back at the two children.

“No.”
A gruff voice answered with a hint of mirth a moment later. The figure dropped a small pouch of coins onto the father’s chest, and then walked back into the alleyway.

“Get your father to a healer. He should be fine with a little care. Use the rest to find a place to stay in a nicer part of town. It’s not safe here.”

Going back to the thug still tangled up in the rope, the figure slammed the man’s head into the wall, and then untangled the rope from his limp form. And then without another word, the childrens’ rescuer scurried up the rope back into the shadows of the roof. Once out of sight, the figure groaned and pulled her cowl back, gingerly touching her bleeding temple where the thug’s heavy blow had nearly ended the short fight in a very different fashion.

“That was sloppy.”

A voice called from the shadows, and a moment later Albert, the woman’s faithful butler and mentor appeared.

“I thought it went rather well for a first attempt. There’s bound to be issues that will need to be worked out.”

Rose Volesin replied, grimacing as her fingers continued their exploration of her spreading bruise.

“That issue nearly got you killed, and it’s not something you’re going to be able to just fix! You are blind on that side, and if you are not perfectly aware of your surroundings at all times, it will get you killed!”

“I suppose you would have me give up now, then.”

The new Duchess of Volesin commented sullenly, earning a scowl of disapproval from Albert.

“Yes! There are other ways you can help your people – you don’t have to endanger the last of the Volesin line getting into fistfights with petty thugs! You have a Duchy to run!”

“My husband died fighting for what he believed in, as did my father and brothers! How can I be expected to do any less . . . or is it because I am a woman?”

“This is not about them, or your gender! This is about you, and your apparent need to martyr yourself! You were always the most level-headed member of the Volesin family – whatever happened to that quiet, insightful girl I remember?”

“She got sent to Ironheart!”

Rose growled, and then sighed, flopping down onto the edge of the roof and letting her legs dangle over.

“I need this right now. The whole kingdom’s going to the Hells, and I can’t save it. I just . . . can’t be that person. It’s too big a problem for me to solve. But out here on the streets at least, I can save one small corner of it, one person at a time.”

Rose watched as the two children helped their father up, and smiled as the small family trotted off down the street.

“I can be a hero to somebody.”

“So you can save them, as you failed to save the rest of your family?”

The question hurt, but the pain had become just far enough removed that Rose was able to nod.

“I suppose that’s true. The adrenaline rush of getting into a fist fight is a plus as well.”

“This is not a game! I patched your father up on a number of occasions when he grew too bold in playing the odds. And in the end, he lost. I will not allow the same thing to happen to his last remaining offspring!”

Slowly, Rose nodded and then pushed herself back up onto her feet, fixing her cowl back into place.

“Fair enough. I will be more careful in the future. But if the worst does happen, there’s always Ariella.”

“Teaching two Volesins was quite enough, thank you very much. Now, let us see if you can find someone else in mortal danger before the dawn breaks. I imagine you will also want me to inform the other members of the Triumvirate that you will be arriving late to the meeting tomorrow – as usual.”

“Yes indeed. You’ve been a tremendous help to me, Albert. I won’t forget it.”

“So your father kept saying. Perhaps that should become the new Volesin family creed – “Whatever would we do without Albert?””

“Don’t push your luck.”

*************

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8aK4xbJOqQ)

Within the unlit study, a pair of communication crystals suddenly sprang to life, faintly illuminating the room and its sole occupant with a sickly green light.

“Uhhh . . . is this thing on? How exactly am I supposed to know?”

The youthful face captured in one of the crystals asked, only to be answered by the occupant of the other crystal.

“Can you hear me, you dumbass? If so, then it’s working!”

“Don’t call me a dumbass, dumbass! I’m now a Marquis, and I own enough money to buy your little pig farm Barony ten times over!”

“Yeah? Well good luck with that when I send my elite private army over to kick your ass!”

“Silence, both of you! I hereby call this first meeting of the Shadow Triumvirate to order!”

The study’s occupant demanded, but both of the other members simply greeted him with derision.

“The Shadow Triumvirate? Seriously Damont? You’re still going with that cheesy name? Why couldn’t we just call ourselves the Triumvirate, or something cool like the Shadow Legion?”

“Because the Triumvirate is already being used by those three crazy hags who are trying to do what we’re doing now – take over the entire kingdom, dumbass!”

“SHUT UP!”

Both the Marquis and the Viscount shouted at once, and while the young Baron’s face curled up in anger, he did obey. Smoothing back his hair, Viscount Damont regained his composure, and explained.

“First off, never use our real names during one of our meetings again – we never know when someone else might be listening. Second, The Fist is right – there are only three of us so Triumvirate fits, but until those three are done away with calling ourselves that will only cause confusion. And since we’re going to be manipulating events from the shadows, putting Shadow at the front of it fits while at the same time differentiating us from our rivals. Clear enough?”

Within the crystal, the Marquis raised his hand.

“What!?”

Damont snarled.

“So, we’re all getting nicknames then? I’m supposed to refer to him as The Fist, and not –“

“Yes! That’s exactly right! He’s The Fist, you’re The Money, and I’m The Brains, is that simple enough for you!?”

“Yeah. Yeah sure. Whatever you say Da – Brains.”

“Good. Now then – while I keep the three witches at bay by endlessly opposing every single effort they try to make by getting the other nobles organized, I want the two of you to do the following. Money, you start buying up every wagon train of supplies you can that’s headed for Amaranth. Without the trickle of supplies it’s able to get now, things will become desperate inside the city in a hurry. When that happens, Fist, I want you to take your elite army and break through the elf lines with all of the supplies we bought. We’ll be hailed as heroes, and will have made our first move towards becoming known as this knigdom’s saviors. And from there, it ought to be easy to be selected as it’s rulers. Is that simple enough for the two of you?”

Both of the other young men nod, and Damont silently breathes a sigh of relief.

“Okay, good. We all have work to do, so let’s get to it. Meeting adjourned.”

Damont deactivates the two crystals, slipping them into the concealed drawer built into his desk before reaching over to light a candle. As the candle’s light washes across the room, a masked face suddenly appears from the darkness on the other side of the desk! Damont gasps in shock, and is about to scream for his guards when the intruder holds up a finger and makes a shushing noise.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Now then kid – how would you like some lessons on how to be truly devious?”

Nihilus asked.

*************

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLbkoQP8294&feature=related)

Frightened and angry, the assembled crowd greets the militia-escorted wagon with shouts and catcalls. With practiced ease, the militia captain held his hand up for silence.

“The people of Narle appreciate you sacrifices in this dark time. However, there is still great need for food, supplies, and able-bodied men! You have given much, but regrettably we still need more. After this is over, you will be justly compensated!”

More angry shouts went out as the militia men fanned out from the wagon, looking over the remaining merchant wares laid out in the street. From the crowd, angry voices shout out their futile protests.

“This is exactly what you said two days ago!”

“You bastards took my son, and I haven’t seen him with you since! Where is he!?”

Suddenly, the crowd falls silent as a broad-shouldered man muscled his way to the front and loudly clapped his hands together. The lower half of the man’s face was obscured by a scarlet-colored scarf, but his icy blue eyes were still visible, and they burned with purpose.

“Yes . . .”

The masked man began, his voice muffled but still quite understandable.

“You have taken much from these people. But what have you done for them in return other than continue to take? You do not maintain Order, save the orders of your masters. You do not offer them protection, because your masters would gladly abandon them to preserve themselves. What then, makes you any different than thieves, save that you come in broad daylight?”

Unable to allow this challenge to go unopposed, the militia captain steps up to stand directly in front of the masked man, his eyes just barely level with the top of the man’s chest.

“And you are spouting out challenges from behind a mask. Who do you think you are, that you dare oppose the will of your lord?”

“I am merely a concerned citizen, who for too long as seen the parasites that rule over these people suck the very life out of them. With taxes, with denied opportunities, and with men like you, these self-styled lords have ensured themselves a very . . . comfortable existence. And now that the kingdom stands on the brink of ruin, they will throw the very people who made that existence possible to the wolves so that they can go on being . . . comfortable. This, I will not permit. And if you choose to stand with them, then you too shall face Justice!”

“Alright, that’s it. I don’t care who you are – you’re coming with us. And we’ll just see if you can talk your way out of the Gallows.”

The militia captain gestures, and two of his men move away from looting and back towards him and their newly-dubbed prisoner. The masked man simply hisses in irritation.

“I did give you a choice, and you have made it. The consequences are therefore yours.”

In a blur of motion, the man suddenly reached into his jacket and pulled out a mining pick. The head of the makeshift weapon then flashed up, and then down as its tip buried itself in the militia captain’s chest. Poorly equipped for battle, the man’s leather jerkin was no match for something that could punch through stone. He fell gurgling, and the masked man let him, releasing his hand on the pick and gesturing. At his command, more masked figures appeared out of the crowd, firing crossbows into the unprepared militia men. Within a moment, it was over, and as his followers moved about the downed militia, finishing them, the masked man turns back to the crowd.

“There will be consequences for this action in turn. You will be the ones held accountable for the deaths of these men. It is unfair, but then your oppressors have never been about fairness. At this point you all have a choice before you – you can either continue to accept the yoke, and it will grow ever heavier, or you can cast it off and join the revolution. Either path will be difficult, but only one will leave you free to enjoy the prosperity that you have sweat and bled for. The choice is yours.”

And with that the man turned away and walked to join his fellows, now loading the wagon with equipment from the militia-men, and distributing half of the wagon’s former contents out to the people. Well over half the crowd moved to follow him as he left town, on his way to spread word of the peasant revolution.

**************

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BB-W7jIeobU)

Brother Timothy looked out at those gathered for his sermon and sighed. Although his congregation had shrunk from its regular size, it remained the largest in the area. Despite all the horrors of war and the rumors surrounding the Battle of Narle, many people remained faithful.

Their faith humbled Timothy, for he had lost his along the way through these dark days. It shamed him that he now lacked the faith he had once shared with them in countless fiery sermons. Dimly, he could recall the old fire that had burned within him, and that had led him to the priesthood.

But try as he might, he could not rekindle that fire from the embers that were left – it was gone. And so as he stood before his congregation now, who looked to him for guidance, he nervously licked his lips.

“My dear friends, these are truly dark days before us.”

Aware that his followers deserved someone who could preach as he no longer could, Timothy had written this sermon last night with the intention of announcing that he would be stepping down.

“In times such as these, we have turned to the Divine Couple for support. We have asked Athelion for His mercy, and Miriam for Her protection.”

He had intended to step down, but last night Timothy had found a pamphlet on his desk, placed there by an unseen hand.

“But I say that this time, to do so would be the move of a fool! It should now be plain as day, the true nature of the Valkyrie!”

That pamphlet had spoken truths that reverberated with Timothy’s very soul. And he felt the fire within him burst into new life.

“Miriam the Valkyrie is our enemy! She has hidden Her true motives from us since the dawn of time, but now she has cast that veil of lies aside! Her true intention, nay Her very purpose, is the complete and utter annihilation of all Mankind!”

Now there are gasps from the crowd, and a few angry cries, but Timothy ignores them as he pressed onward.

“Her actions thus far are only a prelude to the horrors She shall unleash upon us next! Against Her will, we have no hope of survival!”

Now everyone present was involved, arguing with their neighbors, shouting for him to step down, or crying softly. It was time for the meat of his argument.

“But there is One who can oppose the Valkyrie on our behalf! Nay, who has opposed the Valkyrie countless times before and forced Her hand to be stayed. Otherwise, we would not be here today, and Mankind would long have been wiped out! I speak not of the Forger of Oblivion, but Miriam’s own husband, Athelion the Lightbringer! It is He who we must place our trust in now!”

And here was the brilliance of Timothy’s argument. Had he supported Azguloth, the crowd would have surged forward as one to seize him and burn him as a heretic – and deservedly so. But the crowd knew of Athelion, and trusted that He had humanity’s best interests in mind. They were therefore willing to consider his argument with an open mind.

“We must throw ourselves wholly upon the Lightbringer’s mercy! Through our faith, and purity of devotion, we shall convince Him that humanity is still worth sparing! But we must also make Him understand that His consort must be brought to heel! And at the same time, we shall show Miriam that we have seen Her true nature, and we reject Her utterly!”

It was time for Timothy to deliver his masterstroke. As he descended from the podium to stand by the statues of Miriam and Athelion, his voice cresendoed.

“No longer shall we worship the Divine Couple together! I say that we devote ourselves entirely to Athelion, and turn away from Miriam as She has turned against us! There are some who say that Athelion is an indifferent and uncaring god, but let me ask you this! Which god would you rather devote yourself too? One who wishes to pervert you into a monster, one who wishes to destroy you utterly, or one which wants nothing to do with you at all!? There is only one logical choice here, and that is to support Athelion and Athelion alone! I have made my choice, and I will oppose the Valkyrie with every fiber of my being!”

With that, Timothy gave the statue of Miriam a hard shove. Early this morning, he had prepared for this moment by striking the back of the statue repeatedly with a hammer. The cracked stone was out of the crowd’s sight, and so they were all shocked as the stone creaked, groaned, and then gave way. The image of Miriam toppled from its base, and smashed down onto the floor, the head snapping off completely from the impact.

“Let us call ourselves what we truly are! Not sons and daughters of Miriam and Azguloth, but Children of Athelion!”

There is a moment of shocked silence from the crowd, but then someone in the back shouts.

“I am a Child of Athelion!”

And then another, and another parroted that response, until the walls of the chapel shook with the repeated refrain.

“WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF ATHELION!”

Inspectre

2012-08-04, 10:58 PM

Ancient, Hardened Meat

The Heavens

Dorizzit

Korram’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ld5Ru_FrAIc)

You stand on a seemingly infinite, empty black plane, although you are not alone. Standing in front of you is the Baron of Gast, grinning that damnable smile of his.

“So Korram, how’s retirement treating you? I’m having a great time in my own little corner of the Hells . . . with your family.”

You lunge forward to plant a fist in that smug face of his, but he melts away into black smoke at your very touch. He reforms a few feet further back, although his features are different. In the back of his throat, a blazing flame now burns, shooting sparks and gouts of smoke out of his mouth as he speaks.

“You could have joined us all down here, but you chose to be a hero instead. You always were a sucker!”

From behind the Baron steps your wife, her dead eyes fixating on you a moment before she turns away to face the Baron. The two of them share a passionate kiss, and then the Baron’s jaw detaches like a snake and he swallows your wife whole. Again you lunge at him, and again the Baron melts away into smoke, this time flowing around you and reforming somewhere behind you. As you whirl about to face him again, this time he has company. Forming an aisle of bodies between you and him stand Seraphan, Amelia, Kurt, and Joanna. At the end of the aisle stands the Baron, now with slate-colored wings jutting from his back. In his arms is Katrina, although she is considerably less of a willing participant than your wife. As the two of them struggle, the four of your friends move to block your path, intoning as they do so.

“Let the innocent be damned as the wicked. Let divine injustice be done. Feast upon her soul as you ravage her body.”

Finally, unable to struggle anymore, Katrina looks helplessly back towards you and whispers, “Go get him Dad.”

The Baron then consumes her in the same manner as he did your wife, and grins at you as the shades step aside. As the Baron beckons you forward, you again lunge for the Baron, but this time he proves solid as he catches you and holds you immobile in his iron grip.

“Come join us, Korram.”

He hisses in your ear.

“You know you want to.”

And then the Baron spreads his jaws wide, and you are tumbling down into a fiery, screaming abyss. A moment later, Miriam the Valkyrie appears before you and says “No.” And with that, you awake from your recurring nightmare.

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=MzOFvN6Qt10&feature=endscreen)

You awaken to find yourself lying in bed, soft sunlight streaming in through the window. It had taken a little getting used to the idea of going to sleep while it was still “day” outside, but then so did a lot of things up here. Apparently, you wouldn’t have to worry about it for much longer – as Kurt and Joanna explained it to you, your new body was no longer mortal.

This meant that it no longer needed such things as food or sleep, but your mind still thought that it did. So you still felt tired, and hungry, even up in the Heavens, at least for a little while. Eventually, your mind would adjust and then you would only ever need to do those things if you felt like doing them. Given the fact that your dreams were plagued by guilt-driven nightmares from your subconscious, you probably wouldn’t miss needing to sleep overly much.

Your new body also felt good – no more aches and pains from old injuries, and the simple wear and tear of old age. You felt as you had when you were twenty, and the only concern you had in life was whether or not the crops would be good this year.

But you had no concerns now, save for the nagging guilt your subconscious kept trying to shove at you in dreams. There was nothing to worry about up here in the Heavens. You could do whatever you wanted, for as long as you wanted to do it, so long as it didn’t involve hurting anyone. You could go and see all of your old friends and family, not just Kurt and Joanna but your long since passed siblings and parents, or even all the way back to the progenitor of the Alstans.

And it would go on this way forever, one unending day blending into the next without cessation. No one, not even the damn Baron of Gast, could take this away from you now. You had made it, you were safe, and now you had an endless existence in paradise stretching out before you. Which was not to say that you had been taking it easy.

Still enjoying the fact that your body responded to your commands without protest, you sprinted down the stairway leading from your upstairs bedroom down into your kitchen. This whole place had been created by you from memories of your simple farmstead back in Callaway, although you had taken the liberty of designing a few improvements and expansions.

Apparently, everyone had their own little plot of . . . well, you couldn’t really call it land, but their own little space outside of the Shining City to live in however they saw fit. More specifically, it was theirs to design as they saw fit, the blank space shaping itself to what that person willed it to be. Kurt and Joanna had mentioned visiting some people with quite intricate, mind-bending homes, but had confirmed that most people started with simple constructs – like a recreation of their home.

You are just contemplating what you wanted for breakfast when a soft knock came at your door. You were expecting Kurt and Joanna at some point in the ever-nebulous “today”, as they had proposed taking you on a tour of the upper-levels of the Shining City, including a walk past the Palace of the Sun. Apparently mortals weren’t usually allowed inside the Palace, particularly after the gates had been barred from all entry recently. Evidentially Miriam and Athelion weren’t taking any visitors at the moment.

Which was okay – you were still considering your options on how to solve the problem of your family. While the Heavens were extremely pleasant, there would always be something missing until Sarah and Katrina were here with you. There had to be some sort of cosmic loophole you could exploit – the damn Baron had certainly pulled a bunch of them off, and with enough preparation you ought to be able to manage at least one yourself.

In any event, when you pulled open the door, you discovered that it was not Kurt and Joanna after all, but a new friend you had made while up here – Marius, a former paladin. Marius was interesting in that he seemed to prefer himself as an old man – although he still had a youthful spring in his step. Speaking of alternative options, you had made friends with Marius in the hopes he could be a source of information on the natures of the afterlives. So far he had been happy to inform you, and although you don’t think he was suspicious yet he had cautioned you that he would like a favor in return. It seemed he had now come to collect.

“Hello Korram. Allow me to compliment you again on a lovely home. Not everyone is able to create something beautiful so soon after coming here, too stuck on the ugliness of their former life to escape it. Hrm, perhaps sticking to something so familiar to them is their way of coping with eternity.”

Marius says, his initial disarming smile fading as he grew more serious.

“So, I trust you remember that I said in return for some tutoring in the nature of the universe, I would request a favor from you in return. Well, I was hoping that I would be able to call in that favor now.”

The old paladin sighed as he turned back to look towards the Shining City, just barely visible on the horizon of your constructed home.

“I am helping a group of paladins adapt to their new existence. They were all present at a terrible battle that recently occurred on the mortal realm – the same one you were involved in, I believe. I was hoping that perhaps you would be willing to talk with them, maybe teach them how you let go of your old mortal concerns so quickly.”

Marius’s lips slip back up into a smile.

“Listen to me talk like one of the angels – mortal this and mortal that. Heh. Well, if you are interested, we are having a gathering shortly in a secluded spot in the Shining City. That’s where we’re keeping these unfortunate souls until they’re better adjusted – they might dream up something truly unpleasant for themselves out here if left alone. Funny how that is – we live in a realm of endless light, and yet our minds can still create the shadow. So anyway . . . will you do it?”

The Hells

The Gast Family Monument

Archpaladin Zousha
(Rather than use a lyrical video for Hondshioh’s theme, I decided to use a trailer video that used the same song. I figured it was a good demonstration of how I envisioned the following fight going, albeit with less acrobatics and more just shrugging off blows on Hondshioh’s part.)

Hondshioh’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bavMvN_1WOg)

“Mortal, stop! Surrender yourself immediately!”

The devils called, as if that alone was enough to convince you to give up. But you are a paladin, and it was time to show them why you are to be feared! Noticing a rusted blade buried in the sandy soil in front of you, you kick the hilt, tearing the blade out of the ground. As the weapon sails up into the air you catch it with your good hand, and while not an ideal weapon it would have to do. As the lead devils approach you, you harden your skin as much as you dared with several broken ribs and beckon them forward.

The first devil lashes out at you with a whip, the weapon’s length curling around your bad arm and pulling on it painfully. Twisting your torso rather than trying to use your bad arm, you pull the unprepared devil forward, sending it stumbling toward you. With a single swing you cleave off the creature’s head, leaving it collapsing into a pile of ash and mismatched armor at your feet. Two more devils are right behind him, and these two have actual weapons, a halberd and an axe.

Using the tip of your blade, you cut yourself free of the whip, allowing both ends of the severed weapon to fall off of you. Then you pull your arm back and throw the rusted blade into the throat of the halberd-carrying devil as he rushes towards you. The beast gurgles in surprise and collapses a few feet away from you, twitching as its blood pours out onto the crimson sands.

The remaining axe-wielding demon charges in, bringing its weapon down towards your head. You block the strike with your arm, wincing as the impact sends shivers running down your arm through your armor and stony skin. Moving your arm to continue to obey your commands, you push the devil’s axe back and to the side. Then breaking contact with the weapon, you bring your arm up and back around, delivering a punch to the devil’s jaw that shatters it. In shock, the creature falls to its knees, and you finish it with a swift kick to the face.

No sooner than you have finished these three before a javelin comes sailing in from behind you, slashing across the back of your right leg. Evidentially the fiends still wanted you alive, and although your armor manages to protect your flesh, the glancing impact does leave your leg tingling. Time to get out of here – fighting a running battle should hopefully draw this out a little longer.

Snatching up the fallen devil’s axe as you limp past, you duck around a rocky outcropping as several more javelins stab into the sand around you. From around the other side of the outcropping comes another halberd-wielding devil, who swings his weapon around in a wide arc. You manage to stop short just in time, leaving the weapon to slam into the rocks instead of your chest (apparently not *all* of the devils were interested in keeping you alive). Before the devil can recover, you bring the axe down on his outstretched arms, severing one of his hands at the wrist. Unable to control the heavy weapon with only one hand, the devil drops the weapon as it screams in pain. You kick the devil solidly in the chest, sending it flying away from you. With the way now clear, you keep running past the downed devil and duck around another outcropping.

As with last time, a devil was waiting for you, only this one was more patient. Pressed up against the rocks, it waited until you were almost past it before striking, swinging a two-handed maul down into your legs. You went down hard, agonizing pain shooting through your left leg, which was likely broken as well, or at least fractured. You end up stretched out on the ground, while the devil laughs triumphantly as he lifts his maul up for another blow.

With your remaining strength, you tighten your grip on your appropriated axe, and then swing upwards blindly, managing to strike the devil precisely at the point where its legs meet. The creature grunts in pain, and then collapses on top of you, pinning you down. Despite his injury the devil refuses to give up, grappling with you, its clawed fingers seeking your eyes. You manage to get your good arm up and around its head, and then twist, sentencing the fiend to ashes like his companions.

You manage to drag yourself part of the way up back onto your feet before more fiends arrive, battering you back down onto the ground. A group of them then clusters around you, stomping and pounding you into submission. Finally, you are battered into unconsciousness, and from now on your soul will belong to the Hells.

********

You awaken to find yourself in incredible pain. Your entire body aches, feeling like one contiguous bruise – and given the beating you had received, that might not be entirely unreasonable. The dull pain spikes to a sharp agony on the side with your broken ribs, you broken arm, and broken leg. One of your eyes has been swollen shut, and your vision swims whenever you try to turn your head. Dimly, you are aware that you are in motion, being carried on a stretcher somewhere. A short time after you crawl your way back to consciousness, you and your porters come to a stop. Into your limited field of vision, you see the withered face of the Black General appear.

“Ahhh . . . Hondshioh, was it not? We meet again, and now it seems that our positions have been reversed. I imagine you think that I will be a considerably less gracious host, but let me assure you that I intend to return the favor.”

The Black General turned his attention to someone outside of your field of vision.

“Repair this slave as best as you are able. I want him intact and mobile.”

A minute later, and your previous pool of pain becomes an ocean, blotting out all thought as your bones are savagely reset and your other injuries are treated, but not gently. You awake into a half-conscious daze several more times throughout this period, sometimes back on what passes for a fiend’s healing table, sometimes in an iron cell. Screams hang heavy in the air each time, and you cannot remember if they belong to others or are your own.

Finally, you have a period of lucidity again, and find yourself being carried into an ornate room, if one decorated in a rather macabre fashion. Waiting for you is the withered form of the Black General, sitting behind a desk of polished bone, into which have been carved profane writings. The two devils carrying you unload you from the stretcher, dumping you out into a chair that seems to have been upholstered with human skin. The two devils snap a heavy iron collar around your neck, which is attached to the floor nearby with a heavy chain, and then leave you alone in the room with their master. Not that you were much of a threat anyway at present, given your arm is still in some sort of metal brace that seems more like a torture device than a split, and your leg still sends shooting pains up and down its length whenever you try to put weight on it.

“Ah, I am glad to see that you survived after all. I am afraid that medicine is not a very advanced topic of study amongst the fiends – rare is it that we suffer any sort of injury that a quick death and reformation can’t fix. Much similar with the neutralization of pain – we are most effective in inflicting it, but preventing it . . .”

The Black General shrugs and then takes a sip from the iron goblet sitting on his desk.

“Would you like a drink? Time flows a bit differently here, but I still imagine you are starting to grow hungry and thirsty. I rather doubt that you would like what I’m currently drinking – blood of sinners and all that – but I do believe I have a bottle of Donovale wine that one of my servants appropriated during the latest invasion of the mortal realm. You and I have much to discuss, and I feel like celebrating.”

The Black General pushes himself up out of his massive chair, and then walks around the desk to stand in front of you.

“To cut to the heart of the matter, I was hoping to extend to you a job offer. You’re still alive in your mortal body, and that makes you quite useful to me. I could just trade you to one of the other fiend lords to serve as entertainment, but that would be a waste. From our brief conversation in the Reliquary, you seemed to me a man that was willing to be practical in his efforts, and not someone prone to blind zealotry. Are you willing to at least consider my offer with an open mind, or are you going to start spouting scripture at me like your men?”

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

Sohssal’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChTTmcraTZQ)

Your time down here in the Hells had been informative, but a bit draining. “Your” servants are proven to be loyal and obedient thus far, but it was clear they didn’t always understand your orders. Which was only to be expected, for you were not a Fiend Lord, and there were some things you simply didn’t understand. Like the fiendish obsession with pain, both delivering it and receiving it. You were certainly not against inflicting pain when it was necessary, but more than one underling was confused as to why you did not delight in torturing them at every opportunity. They had been especially shocked when you had simply turned over torturing the handful of human prisoners to them. Fortunately, you were able to play that incident off as being too busy to spend time on the simpler pleasures, and that had the advantage of being true.

You had made a study of the Hells as best you could while still seeming knowledgeable. What you had learned was both good and bad. It seemed that the real “you” had been an incredible recluse, essentially the Boogeyman of the Hells. Naturally, this left you with only a small estate and a small collection of followers, most of them zealots who followed the ideal of Lord Nihilus rather than you directly. Likewise, they are naturally pleased that you have returned to them, and there’s no real record of your behavior with them, so your behavior has been simply dismissed thus far.

Unfortunately, you were not alone among the pantheon of the Hells – and all twenty of the Fiend Lords had likewise recently returned to the Hells. Given the expectation that the various Fiend Lords tended to bicker and fight amongst themselves, you imagined that you would have visitors at some point. And most likely, those visitors would be considerably less friendly than your own followers. You were going to need to come up with a plan to deal with that soon, assuming you weren’t able to find a way out of here before that.

One effort to delay that day of conflict from arriving was attending the council of the Fiend Lords that you had heard was announced. One of the rooms in your modest estate containing an ancient communication crystal, which evidentially was connected to a network that allowed all of the Fiend Lords to hold joint conferences from their own homes. Unfortunately, when you attempted to activate the crystal to participate in the meeting, it swirled to life, and then immediately deactivated itself. Something was wrong with the connection, blocking the magical signal from getting through.

You are just starting to work out what was causing this problem when a commotion comes from outside. Expecting this to be a surprise assault upon your adopted home, you scry outside to find that it is not an attack after all, but a group of your servants leading a triumphant parade. They were pushing . . . well, something ahead of them, the figure too wrapped up in chains to really make out clearly. You did catch the sight of bound, dark wings jutting out from the figure’s back, however. So an angel of some sort – perhaps it was the same dark-winged angel who saved Miriam after the Baron dispelled your flight magic on Her.

Figuring that these idiots would drag the divine creature all the way up here if you didn’t go meet them, you leave the communication chamber and end up catching up to them in the lobby. Upon seeing you, the group of servant devils shove their prize towards you, allowing you to get a good look at the filthy, battered thing. Now up close, you recognize the individual, although from the bloody mess that was now his face that was a difficult feat. It was Seraph, clearly only just barely clinging to life, with a catalog of bleeding injuries and broken bones. The barest flicker of recognition flashes in his eyes as they briefly focus on you, before fading into dazed consciousness.

“Master, we came across a couple of Mammon’s demons dragging this thing out across the Wastes!”

“Yeah, we have no idea what they were doing out there, but we knew we could take them!”

“We knew you didn’t have an angel yet, especially something as unusual as a male angel, and thought that a being of your stature should have at least one such toy!”

“So we took it from them!”

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”

Idiots. Apparently they hadn’t thought through the idea that when those demons reformed, they would go tell Mammon, and assuming he knew who was responsible, he would come here with a whole lot more demons and reclaim his “toy”. Then again, you were the powerful and mysterious Lord Nihilus, and they probably figured you could handle it.

It was almost comical, like a bunch of children trying to please their father, were it not for the fact that this was going to be another distraction from your efforts. And given the way they were all eagerly watching you to see what you would do with your gift, you weren’t going to be able to just feign indifference.

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

Tare’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91J4PAda3EA)

You awaken slowly, first aware only of the sensation of movement and the screeching hiss of metal on stone. Finally, you manage to open your eyes, and predictably, wish you hadn’t. You are locked in some kind of iron bell, with only your head and neck visible out of it. And judging from the unpleasant sensation of a razor blade resting against your throat, there was some sort of guillotine device set up to deal with you should you become unruly. Not that they had much to worry about there, as you could feel that the interior of the bell was lined with spikes. Thrashing around inside the bell was therefore sure to be unpleasant and rather painful.

Meanwhile, the bell that you were locked inside was being dragged along through the hallways of the Screaming Dark estate by several burly devils. They didn’t seem particularly happy to be doing this, but given the looks they periodically gave you, they understood the need for the bell. Evidentially word about your little stunt while trying to rescue Karami got out, and now they were taking no chances with you.

Fortunately, this slow and boring trip came to an end shortly after you regained consciousness. Grinning in anticipation at you, the devils put their backs into it one last time, and haul you into an expansive office on the top floor of the estate. In one corner of the room an angel hung from the ceiling, looking more like a piece of butchered meat than a sentient being. But instead of the angel, your attention is firmly drawn to the large desk and chair at the back of the office. The chair’s occupant is concealed by the back of the chair, as they sit facing the massive window that takes up much of the back of the room. You expect to see Vylethar’s grinning face a moment later as the chair starts to turn, but you are in for a surprise.

Instead of the grandmaster of gross, a gorgeous older woman with platinum-blond hair is sitting behind the desk. She tucks a strand of the near-white hair beneath her delicate horns, and then smiles at you.

“Ah, so this is the infamous man who slew an entire platoon of my finest soldiers – or at least, what’s left of him.”

The devil-woman smirked, and then turned her attention to the devils who had dragged you in here.

“Leave us. I can handle him should he . . . misbehave.”

Clearly disappointed that they would not be privy to whatever followed, the devils nonetheless obeyed. As the door shut behind them, the devil-woman stood up from behind the desk, revealing that she was clad in some sort of ridiculous and non-functional suit of armor – essentially nothing more than a metal brassiere, thong, and set of heels. Coming around the desk, the devil woman perched herself on the edge of it, cocking her head as she examined you.

“So, I understand that you have been here before, and during your last visit you met my dear, sweet Vyly. He was taking care of this place in my . . . absence, shall we say. The Screaming Dark Estate, like you, belong to me. I’m Videle, Lady of Lust. Nice to meet you.”

You suspect, given the way she was flattering you with a dazzling smile, that she expected you to be drooling all over yourself at this point. Considering the fact that Vylethar had that sort of effect of women, and given Videle’s title, she was probably a succubus. Which meant that you should be drooling all over yourself at this point . . . except that you are not. Instead, the very sight of her makes you feel angry and embarrassed.

“Now that introductions are over, I would like you to tell me how exactly you escaped from my home the first time. Most mortals aren’t capable of such an impressive feat.”

Inspectre

2012-08-04, 11:02 PM

The Mortal Realm

Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

The Spirit’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wGoom4fCYcQ)

Up on your perch in the chapel’s bell tower, you watch as the three cloaked figures flee through the city streets below. Chasing after them is another set of cloaked figures, or perhaps more accurately, herding them towards you. Your followers were doing that part of their job well, although it was clear that the fiend worshippers they were chasing knew the city streets much better. You doubted that they would be able to catch them without your help – typical. Well, you certainly weren’t going to let them get away.

You had spent the first week after your return searching for Maurice. You didn’t find absolute proof that she had been dragged off into the Hells with the rest of the other angels, but in the absence of evidence to the contrary it seemed like the best assumption you could make. Which meant that now, you had to figure out how to retrieve her. Unfortunately, neither you nor any of your acolytes were very knowledgeable about the Hells, beyond it was full of fiends and that’s where human souls went when they died.

Which meant that you had to find someone that did know what they were talking about, and make them talk. Someone had suggested that the paladins, who had waged a war against the fiends for millennia, might know more about your new destination. Unfortunately, there seemed to be only slightly more paladins than angels now, and most of them had retreated off to their home city. You had considered going there to kidnap one, and then coerce or intimidate the human into helping you, but then one of your acolytes suggested a different idea.

Instead of interrogating one of the fiend’s human enemies, you could interrogate one of their allies. Evidentially the man was once part of a small cult of demon worshippers in a nearby town. He didn’t know exactly where they were, but he could find out on your behalf. And so you had spent another torturous week involved in clandestine investigations, bringing back memories of hunting for the angel seller in the human capital (although at least those had a few pleasant memories of your budding relationship with Maurice).

This time, rather than handle these obnoxious details yourself, and risk inadvertently tipping them off after you finally lost your patience and killed someone, you had let your followers do the odious work. Apparently, they had managed to bungle the job anyway, although at least it was merely the effort to go and collect the worshippers at their next meeting. And now that you knew who they were, it would be a simple matter for you to swoop down there and scoop them up.

You are just contemplating doing just that when an obnoxiously familiar voice clears its throat behind you. Turning, you see the withered form of the “man” known as Quadramus stepping out of the shadows. The “human” extends its hands up in what you believe was meant to be a peaceful gesture – among humans at least.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but I thought we might have another chat. I believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot – you dismissing me and trying to tear me apart, me with blowing up that corpse right on top of your town. I would like us to start over – I assure you that we can be most useful to each other. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I know what you’re looking for, and I can help you find it.”

(As a note, despite starting the game in a sort of in media res, you are welcome to pursue whatever angles to the Spirit’s investigation to find Maurice that you wish. So if you want to negotiate with Quadramus, go beat some cultist ass instead, or decide to scrap the whole thing above and instead go and try to have a nice chat with Ander, you’re welcome to do so.)

The Village of Woodhall

Kasanip

Lukina’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhHMI_0mFZ0&feature=related)

Your dreams, as they have been for a while now, are far from peaceful. They are a rush of vibrant colors, sensations, and noises that you can barely process while in the dream itself, and after you wake it all fades into an indecipherable mess. But they are nonetheless important, memories from a person who you were once, and instinctually wanted to be again. Genevieve the Champion, the greatest of the angels, now lives on in you. Or perhaps, you are Genevieve, and Lukina is merely an assumed identity, forged by your shattered mind to cope with your diminished station. You do not know the answers yet, but you intend to discover them – must discover them.

Which was another reason why your dreams had been troubled as of late – there was a war going on, not just the eternal one between the Heavens and the Hells but one between humanity and the elves. Even in the peaceful village which had been all you had known in your life until now, the people were now fearful and restless. Mercifully, the village was on the far side of the kingdom from the elves, which meant that it was as safe as anywhere.

You were not meant for a peaceful life in safety, however, and although your family didn’t understand the change that had come over you, they supported you. Your father had arranged to purchase a suit of armor to protect you from a merchant passing through. The set of lightweight halberdier armor had been salvaged from the Battle of Narle, and thus was damaged and didn’t fit you very well at first. Burke, the local blacksmith, had taken a look at it though, and managed to mend it and adjust it until it fitted you almost like a second skin.

Your family weren’t the only ones who had parting gifts to give, however. The local farmers had pulled together from their limited stores to ensure that you would have two weeks of food. Brother Adam’s gifts, however, were the most precious. He gave you a tome of holy writings, claiming that it would offer you the guidance he would no longer be present to give.

*And* he had given you a sword, not just a weapon salvaged from some battle somewhere, but an heirloom sword. He claimed that it had belonged to the paladin who had retired here to establish the village’s modest but well-built chapel. Since the paladin’s peaceful death from old age, the sword had remained in the chapel’s care, maintained but unused.

“Be careful in the outside world. There are men out there who possess neither honor nor decency. They will attempt to take advantage of you, and if they are able, they will destroy you. Do not hesitate to use that sword to defend yourself.”

Before leaving, you were given some rudimentary training in how to use the blade by the local constable. Upon touching the hilt of the blade, your mind had been filled with memories of how to use it. Unfortunately, your body had not developed the muscle memory to support the techniques that your mind was sifting through in rapid succession. As such, a bit of practice with the blade was a good thing, and you resolved to practice with it an hour after making camp each night.

Your departure from your home had been nearly a week and a half ago. Thankfully in that time, you had encountered neither wild men looking for an inexperienced girl to destroy, nor elves. For the most part, you had stuck to the roads, following the signs that marked the occasional crossroads, always heading towards Luxien. You sensed that there, the next phase of your journey would begin.

This night, you had stopped in the small village of Woodhall, which reminded you of your own hometown. Unlike your village, however, Woodhall supported itself with lumber rather than crops. Although you had only a little bit of money, after a week of sleeping on the hard ground you had decided to take advantage of the opportunity to sleep in a soft bed. A room at the local inn had been thankfully cheap, and you had fallen asleep almost immediately after gratefully crawling into the bed.

You awoke later that night to the sound of panicked screams and barked orders. Apparently the village had fallen under attack! Thankfully, the village militia must have been prepared for such a thing, because it sounded like there was an actual battle going on outside rather than a surprise slaughter. There was no question that you were going out there to help – the only question was whether or not you would be going out in your armor.

Although comfortable enough while traveling, the steel greaves, gauntlets, and breastplate were terribly uncomfortable while lying down. In order to get any kind of real sleep, you needed to remove the armor. Out on the road, that had been a dangerous proposition if those dangerous men were roaming around at night, but you had felt rather safe behind a locked door in the middle of a town. Fortunately, you had practiced putting the armor on quickly – it would only take a minute to strap on the gauntlets and greaves. Without someone to help you it would take another few minutes to strap the breastplate into place, although that was naturally the most important piece of armor. Those couple minutes could be crucial to saving the town, let alone someone’s life. But you would also be taking a serious risk with your own life as well. What would you do?

Vegna

Mal’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pw6_VXPwm6U&feature=related)

It had been a long journey to get to Silverstream, but assuming the occasional crossroad signs you had passed were not lying to you, that journey was nearing an end. Your trip had thankfully been an uneventful one, although neither you nor Val’tosh could stop wandering what had happened to Master Vork. For that matter, the two of you hadn’t stopped wandering how Master Vork showed up at the tournament – or survived when both of you had quite clearly seen his body.

“Hey Mal, I got it! Maybe he’s one of those, uh . . . things, whatchamacallit . . . those people with the big bird wings. Bangles? Bagels? Mmmm . . . bagels – one of those would taste good right now. Hey Mal, I’m pretty hungry. Do you think they’ll have enough food for us in Silverstream? All this traveling we’ve been doing has worked up an appetite!”

You weren’t an expert theologian, but you believe that the being Val’Tosh had referred to was an angel. Which, as far as you knew, were all female, which ruled that out as a possible origin for Master Vork unless that beard of his was hiding something!

Unfortunately, while your trip had been largely peaceful, that did not mean it had been pleasant, either. You had passed through the burnt-out remains of two villages on the way here. You had found no one but corpses in the villages, branded and impaled on spears in a macabre display. Whoever had destroyed the two villages had been thorough, although after you buried the bodies you and Val’Tosh had found enough supplies to keep you going until now. You would be getting into Silverstream with very little but the clothes on your backs, however – much farther and you would have needed to forage for a few days.

Evidentially Silverstream was located at the base of a mountain, as you had been ascending into foothills for a few days now. Since yesterday you had seen traces of smoke flowing up into the sky ahead, which suggested that there was some form of civilization ahead. In between you and the source of smoke, however, had been a dense forest. You had been traveling in near darkness for most of the day, and as the trees start thinning again you see that it is growing close to nightfall.

Furthermore, the thin plumes of smoke just ahead over the horizon have become a thick pillar of black smoke. That doesn’t seem reassuring, and as you crest the top of the hill you find the village of Silverstream nestled in the valley below. Most of the village is burning, which is undoubtedly the source of the black smoke. Dimly through the smoke, you can see figures moving about the buildings that are still standing – and some of those figures don’t seem too friendly with the other ants.

“Hey Mal, what are you – oh! Oh NO! Our resting place! Somebody is burning down our resting place Mal! WE GOTTA STOP THEM!”

As could be expected from an ogre, Val’Tosh starts making his way down the path leading down into the valley at a run. You could call out to him, with debatable chances of convincing him to stop, but something catches your senses. Although you don’t see anything, you can feel just the faintest amount of movement coming to you through the earth, off into the tree line to the right. It wasn’t an animal, the movements were too controlled and brief. Ambush!

You could wait and see what happens after Val’Tosh continues charging down the road – certainly if they were in their right minds, whoever was hiding in the forest wasn’t going to try to stop a charging ogre. You could also shout out a warning to him instead, and hopefully instead of stopping to puzzle out what you were trying to say your new friend would just smash into the forest. Or you could stay silent and slip into the forest to see if you can ambush the ambushers.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

Ander’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I96lXa3aVuQ&feature=relmfu)

You have poured over these hand-drawn maps of the Hells a hundred times before, but you had learned long ago that it was often the smallest detail which decided the battle. And now every single detail on these maps pointed to one immutable fact – you could not win. The Crusade was over.

Perhaps in several decades, with aggressive recruitment and training, you could amass an army capable of breaching into the first level again. That would be far too late for the captured angels, and the paladins and civilians who had fallen into the Hells while still alive. Many of them would likely be the very fiends you would come to fight.

You had wanted to take another look for Ysora’s sake, in the vain hope that you could pull one more impossible victory out of your backside. But this simply could not be done – although you had been widely the most successful Lord General ever, your path had been paved with the bloody work of millennia. To support the Crusade, the Church had forged an efficient war machine, with supply lines, weapon caches, and reserve units all standing at the ready.

You had none of that now, a decade of peace allowing the machinery that enabled the Crusade to rust away. The fiends had reclaimed and reinforced all the beachheads, and there was no guarantee that your old maps were even still accurate. And worst of all, the Fiend Lords were all out there now, waiting and reorganizing their forces for a renewed conflict. The work of dozens upon dozens of generations of sacrifice, undone in a single act of mad betrayal. You wished you could take comfort in the fact that Crane was likely burning down there now in some pit, but the bastard was probably enjoying it.

Finally, your weary body would permit no more. Your eyes were burning from hours spent examining every last sketched detail, and your back was periodically threatening to lock up. Even your divine body still had its mortal limits, apparently. You had a few hours until dawn, perhaps, enough time to get some sleep before breaking the news to everyone. No one would be surprised, but it would be the death knell for the hope of salvaging anything from the Battle of Narle. This time, you all could only be grateful to the Valkyrie for mere survival, and that would have to be enough. The Church would continue, and at this point you could ill-afford to fight a multi-front war anyway.

The elves continued to hammer at Narle with war-mad fury, burning everything and everyone they could get their hands on. You had already been forced to dispatch most of your remaining paladins to help reinforce endangered towns, lest the elves succeed in killing everyone. Thus far, Luxien had been spared, but it seemed to be only a matter of time before some war band of elves tried its luck.
Most likely, once Amaranth fell the elves would turn their full attention to the other hardened cities that refugees had been fleeing into since the invasion started – which included Luxien. But the elves were a problem for tomorrow – right now, you needed to grapple with the shades that haunted you in your dreams.

You had just collapsed into bed and closed your eyes when a sharp knock came at your door. There was only one person who knocked like that, and you groaned inwardly at the thought of having to deal with her just now.

“Ander, I need to speak with you immediately!”

Hephestia demanded from the other side of the office door. After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “Please.” Now *that* was new, the former archangel still adjusting to the idea that she could no longer command anyone to do anything. To be fair, she had come a long way from the deranged killing spree she went on during the Battle of Narle, but you did not look forward to answering her endless series of impertinent questions right now.

Phaedra

Lonna

Jacqueline’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3WKcocEMGT8)

Awakening from your deep slumber to find yourself somewhere else, you begin the by-now second nature process of taking stock of your situation.

You are lying in an opulent four-poster bed, the outside world partially concealed by diaphanous curtains.
Like the crystalline forest, the room is illuminated by a pair of light globes floating placidly in mid-air.
Your previous exhaustion is gone – indeed, you feel invigorated, nearly bursting at the seams with new life and energy begging to be released!
You are still fully clothed (good).
You are not restrained in any way (doubly good)!
You appear to be alone, although the light globes leave enough shadows that someone or something could be lurking in the darkness.
The air is very chill here – enough that it stings your lungs with every breath.
The air isn’t the only thing frozen within the room – indeed, the whole room appears to be made out of solid ice, including the frame of your bed!
Surprisingly, other than the nip of the cold air you don’t feel cold. Given the nature of the room and the thinness of your bedsheets – barely more substantial than the bed curtains – you should have frozen to death by now.
The source of your mysterious immunity to the cold turns out to be quite simple – your hair is on fire.
Your hair is on fire! Wait, no – it would be more accurate to say that your hair is now made of fire!
Although pure flame, your own hair does not burn you or even your surroundings. Instead it seems to merely render you comfortable despite the extreme cold.
Your hair does, however, move with a disturbing life of its own, locks of it flexing and curling slowly in mesmerizing patterns.

Having learned all that you can from the safety of the bed, and feeling like you would explode if you remain still a moment longer, you resolve to get out of bed and explore further. At your touch the bed curtain on th right side of the bed disintegrates, melting away at your touch to form a small pool of water on the floor that rapidly refreezes.

A moment after you get up out of the bed, the light globes come to life. Both of them begin to bob energetically in place, before one of them swoops down to hover directly in front of you. It rapidly sweeps around your head in a clockwise pattern once, twice, three times, and then bobs energetically in front of you. Up close to it now, you can see that it seems to be a swirling patch of glowing mist, contained within a thin shell of transparent ice similar to your bed curtains. At one point, you could almost swear that you see a face within the mist before the pattern shifts into chaos once more.

Apparently satisfied that it has acquired your attention, the bottled will-o-wisp floats to a nearby archway set into a wall across the room from the bed. The light spends another moment bobbing in mid-air, backtracks a short distance towards you, and then sweeps out into the darkness beyond the archway. Peering out through the archway, you see that the light globe is proceeding down a long hallway, also essentially a tunnel through a solid block of ice. If there is anything else out there in the hallway, it keeps to the darkness outside of the will-o-wisp’s constrained nimbus.

As the will-o-wisp moves down the hallway, it briefly illuminates what appears to be a transparent section of ice set at eye-level (a window?) as well as another archway, the room beyond dark and unseen. Briefly, the “window” holds your attention, for a pale light spills from beyond it, causing your mind to connect it to moonlight shining into your childhood bedroom. From the darkness beyond that archway, you hear intense whispering, one voice blending unintelligibly into the next. Like a sailor hearing a siren, your attention is attracted by these whispers, their presence calling out to you. And you do make out a few soft words with your sharp hearing, even with the whispers flowing so closely together – and that only piques your interest more.

“Pyria’s mate . . . Titania . . . belong here.”

Before you can move to investigate, however, the whispers’ spell is broken by a bloodcurdling scream. Like the whispers, it is faint, but your sharp ears are able to hear it very clearly. It is followed by another and then another, a stream of voice agony that goes on for nearly a minute. The screams are coming from down the hallway, in the direction that the will-o-wisp had been leading you. Just where exactly are you now!?

The_Snark

Mar’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggLkWIrbWWQ)

As he had done before in Ironheart, Julian took you by the hand and lead you onward. But this was not really Julian, and instead of being led towards freedom you were being dragged back into misery and torture. You knew now that you hadn’t deserved all the pain that you had suffered in the past – that you were not a wicked, evil girl in need of firm correction. What you didn’t know was how long it would take for you to be broken and twisted into thinking that way again.

After stepping through the portal, you and “Julian” had found yourselves in a crystalline forest, your surroundings pitch-blank except for the small islands of light created by floating globes of light. No sooner have you observed your surroundings before the portal closes behind you both, and the air is filled with a menacing whisper.

“Mortals are not welcome here! Why have you come here!? Have you come to . . . play?”

The cacophony of different voices ask, and you can dimly see the shadows beyond the light globes moving, shifting, like a pack of predators edging in on all sides. Istomilo is unimpressed by the implied threat in the voices’ questioning – although given he has spent quite some time in the Hells, it is unlikely that he is frightened by much.

“Did not your queen inform you to expect her consort’s return? Well, return I have, and Istomilo wishes to speak with Titania! Now.”

At these words, the shadows grew more agitated, causing the light globes to alternatively hem closer in to the air immediately overhead, spotlighting you, or drift further away, leaving you surrounded by a sea of empty darkness.

“Traitor! Liar! Your bodies shall serve as our playthings, and your minds our clay!”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Istomilo sneered, and then threw back his head and screamed. The sound of it forced you to your knees, cradling your ears as they bled. Nearby, one of the crystalline trees shattered and toppled, a series of discordant crashes as each part of it struck the ground. Even the shadow creatures were repulsed by this sudden shout, cowering back and adding their own shrieks of anguish to the cacophony.

“TITANIA!!!!!!!”

As everything falls silent again, you find yourself unable to hear much over the ringing that is suddenly in your ears. Nonchalantly, Istomilo reaches down and touches your ears, one at a time, sending spikes of burning pain into your mind. But as the pain fades, so too does the ringing, and the blood inside of them was gone, although traces of it were still on your hands. A moment after your ears recover, a bitterly cold wind blows through the trees. And on it is carried a hateful, familiar voice.

“I am pleased that you have returned to me. Allow him and his guest entry into the castle. Or you will face *my* wrath.”

That seemed to be more than enough, and the creatures that accosted you faded back into the shadows. Overhead, the globes of light begin to move again, steadily moving through the forest ahead. Istomilo grins as he reaches a hand down to you, grabbing you by one wrist again to pull you back up onto your feet.

“Shall we?”

He says with a predatory grin, and then the two of you are off again. As he leads you through the forest, it begins to thin out, and up ahead you can begin to make out a patch of . . . well, faint light, standing out against everything else. As you grow closer still, you can begin to see a structure of some sort, standing tall in the middle of a clearing, and that it is this structure which is the source of the light. And cold, for as you grow closer to this location the temperature begins to drop steadily until you are shivering. Istomilo pauses at one point to cast some sort of spell on himself, clearly easing the discomfort he feels as a result of the cold – he does not extend this courtesy to you.

Finally, you are able to make out that this structure is an immense castle, carved entirely out of solid ice. And your memory tells you that while it is not an exact match, it strongly resembles the citadel where Titania made her final stand against the gods. Rather than being lit from within, a massive pale globe of light, the Mother of All light globes, hangs in the air above the citadel, bathing it in its pale light.

Of their own accord, the thick sheets of ice that serve as the castle’s gates swing open, blasting you both with a cold wind that chills to the bone. Still ignoring your shivers, Istomilo drags you onward, into the castle. You come into a courtyard, the layout resembling the garden where the party to celebrate Titania’s coronation was celebrated – and where you had first met Istomilo. Now, the garden stands empty, choked with thorn bushes that, like everything else, are coated in a thick layer of rime.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

Istomilo asked while pulling you close to him, wrapping an arm around you and guiding you now rather than dragging you along by one hand. In truth, the closeness is not entirely unwelcome, as Istomilo’s warded body provides some minor warmth and shelter from the cold that continues to seep into you. You aren’t sure how much longer you are going to last like this, your entire body beginning to grow numb and your muscles starting to cease up. Even so, Istomilo drags you onward, pointing out things with his free arm as he goes.

“See, I believe it was over there that we first met. Whatever did you do with that silly crystal flower I gave you, anyway? And right there is where you landed when you returned ten years later to deliver the Valkyrie’s decrees. Barely even a few moments wasted on pleasantries – my, but you were an efficient servant of the Valkyrie weren’t you? Where has She been all these years, I wonder, while you were asleep – while you were suffering in Ironheart? Well, I wouldn’t worry about it for much longer – the Baron probably merrily tearing Her apart right now. Soon She’s going to be just like you and me – trapped in a soul crystal with no chance of release. Like mother like daughter, I suppose – that is what She calls you isn’t it – Her daughter?”

Again, the harsh, biting wind kicks up, blowing out from a nearby archway.

“Enough. Come!”

Ushering you onward, Istomilo leads you down several hallways, the dark interior of the castle illuminated by the pale “moonlight” streaming in through frosted windows or lit by more floating light globes. Whenever you seemed to go in the wrong direction, another blast of icy wind kicked up, herding you upward and deeper into the castle. Finally, you come to another familiar chamber – Titania’s throne room. At the far end of the room sits a replica of Titania’s throne, formed from ice – the original destroyed as it was used to beat both you and Ysora senseless during the final battle. This new throne, in addition to being made of ice, is encased by another solid block that is only semi-transparent, only just allowing you to dimly make out the contents within. As you feared, you can just barely make out a feminine form sitting on the throne, clad in the tattered remains of the queen’s royal robes.

Mercilessly, Istomilo shoves you out towards the middle of the room. As one might expect, here is where the cold is deepest, and even through the numbness you can feel your feet starting to crack apart and bleed as you stumble out across the chilled stone floor.

“Well go on, Marisiel the Protector! Re-acquaint yourself with Her Majesty!”

Through the ice, you can see the figure’s eyelids snap open. A blast of chill wind races out from the direction of the throne, buffeting you and driving you to your knees.

“Marisiel!”

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

(Although I had planned on Poets of the Fall being daelrog’s theme band, when I heard this song I thought it was a fantastic fit for the Lords of Blood. Perhaps a little too sentimental, but considering what just happened at the end of Flight, I imagine everyone is in a little bit of a reflective mood. :smallamused: )

Umber’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oarh4L0cPaI&feature=related)

Funny thing about death. You all spent so much time worrying about it, making it out to be the absolute worst thing that could happen. And now that you are actually dead, it turns out to be a complete non-event. No Heavens, no Hells, not even some two-bit parade to welcome you to the far side of the veil. If anything, the place that you found yourself again was similar to the Limbo you had become so intimately acquainted with during your time in Ironheart. Only this time, you are not alone.

For a brief moment, you feel an uncharacteristic swell of panic – you *had* just died, a bit of confusion was only to be expected – as the thought occurs to you that the old gods are real. Though you had stomped more than a few of them down into the muck like everyone else who stood in your rise, they had flown to the far side of the Veil to await your inevitable arrival to claim their opportunity for revenge. But no, after the momentary panic subsides you realize that the auras of your current company are familiar.

Once again in death, the Lords of Blood are reunited, although diminished in number. In one dark corner of this space, you can sense Zariel and Shiakti entwined, perhaps aware that they are finally together again and perhaps not. You can also feel Kartul and Gilgaem, those miserable traitors. Despite the fact that you are all nothing more than concepts, floating consciousnesses adrift in the inky darkness, you are tempted to discover if they are still capable of feeling pain. Before you can embark on that course of study, a sixth presence enters your awareness – Marialta. Of Fianna, there is no sign – which might somehow be a good thing, implying that she still lived, or a bad thing, implying that her soul had been utterly destroyed.

A moment after her arrival, a dark wind begins to howl throughout Limbo. Marialtia’s voice is carried on it, and you can feel the terror beginning to return as the other presences quail at the sound. Ah, so this fear you were feeling was nothing more than a magical effect – you knew it all along.

“Now the Lords of Blood are all dead, and there shall be no return! The journey inward is revealed by a tide of Blood, washing away the present and future, leaving only the past!”

The wind picks up, starting to form a roaring vortex that hurls all of your essences about in a circular pattern, growing more and more violent. Untouched by the storm, Marialta’s essence begins to advance towards the Eye. Even above the howling din, you can still hear her ranting ritual – a pity, that.

“The way backward is opened, as we plunge into the abyss of forgotten memory! Dammed by these damned souls, the flow of History is diverted, and the tapestry of Fate is unwoven!”

At the center of the darkness, a light begins to form. Bright, searing, blinding light, stabbing into the darkness, into each of your minds like carving knives. To say that this experience was painful was . . . downplaying it considerably. It felt as if *you* were being unwoven, your very essence being erased, melted away into the raw magic necessary for whatever foul ritual Marialta’s ghost was conducting. Over the roar of the wind, a high-pitched keening came from each of you, crescendoing and then beginning to fade as each of you did from existence.

“We return to the point of origin! The crossroads is once again at our feet, as our footprints from past journeys erode away in front of us!”

Struggling to maintain coherency, you feel the old anger returning. Not the anger of all these betrayals, nor the rage inspired by Fianna’s death. No, the original spark that drove you up from your knees, down with all the other chattel ruled over by the fiends that would call themselves God. The cold implacable fury that drove you onward, through fear, inexperience, and pain, all the way up to the pinnacle. That anger had been your constant companion until one day you looked around and realized that you no longer had anything to be angry about. You had won, and with that victory came the opportunity to abandon your anger and find other pursuits. Or perhaps just one, the clever enchantress who had, while technically cheating with drugged lips, managed to beat you.

You were Umber, damnit! Lord of Blood, the Certain King, and Unstoppable Fool! You were no one’s spell components! Gathering all that was left of yourself, you abandon trying to shield yourself from the merciless buffets of the spell storm, and fling yourself into the maelstrom. Shoving you way deeper into the storm, you allow the wind to throw you apart, cutting into your essence cruelly. You had only one objective in your mind, and that was the Eye where Marialta was finishing her work.

Noticing your attempts to reach you, the second-rate traitor’s shrill laughter rips along through the wind. With but a thought, the Hand of Fate sends a surge through the storm, a massive wave that crashes over you, tears through you, and momentarily renders you insensate.

But then another lingering spirit enters the maelstrom and comes to support you, handing over its remaining strength to you before melting away into nothingness. And then another, and another, the Lords of Blood rallying around you as they had in life. What they gave you was not much compared to the force you were now arrayed against, but that didn’t matter. They had said you were a fool to challenge the Fiend Lords for the world. And a fool to seek out eternal life – well, perhaps they had been not quite as wrong on that one.

Knowing you had only a few moments left, the light pouring into the darkness now all but wiping out everything else, you gather yourself up for one final charge. You shove your way through the layers of the maelstrom, feeling your strength likewise stripped away as you progressed deeper. By the time you reached Marialta at the epicenter, you were barely more than a whispered thought. But you were there with her at the end, when everything faded to white.

With a start and a screaming headache, you awake to find yourself once again whole. You are once again in a body too, judging from the rush of sensations filtering into your mind – hunger, thirst, pain, and a sensitivity to light that gradually fades. You are somewhere hot and dry, like the barren fields of your youth. Sand pours through your fingers as you raise a hand to block out the pounding sun and give your face an insignificant amount of shade.

Looking around, you find only more sand awaiting you – an entire desert’s worth in fact. However, there is some hope as you can see in the distance the sight of a squat but sprawling city. You can only hope that this site of civilization is not a mirage.

Inspectre

2012-08-04, 11:05 PM

Fresh, Tender Meat

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

(Why is this Bramble’s opening theme? Eh, I dunno – it seemed appropriate for some reason. :smallwink: )
Bramble’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKJcUW4PXbU)

Y’know, life could be a real bitch sometimes. There you were with your comrades-in-arms, Catbox, Turbine, and all the other worthless louts that made up your unit. You had been gifted with an unexpected and wondrous opportunity – it had been just another day down in the Hells, when suddenly orders came down. A rift had been torn open between the planes, and your unit was to secure the other side. Well, it turned out that the other side led onto the mortal realm, right smack dab in the middle of a human city! With people still in it!

So after you reported back in, the whole army went out, to hurriedly collect as much spoils of war as possible before the rift closed again. To cover as much ground as possible, you all split up into your typical squadrons, and then just fanned out. There was some sort of great battle going on, humans fighting and killing other humans, and elemental spirits, and undead, and yadda yadda yadda. None of that mattered to any of you, as the intent here was just to smash and grab – grab anyone of value, and smash whatever you wanted just for laughs.

This was the opportunity of a lifetime, because a chance to take actual human captives virtually never happened. You had never been really clear why that was – and whether it was because getting into the mortal realm was actually impossible, or if everyone was just too busy punching the other nearby social climbers in the nuts to bother with humans. But whatever the reason, coming back with a slave train of humans was a good way to guarantee a promotion, and maybe even one of the smaller ones to play with – you think the humans called them children?

Anyway, all of *that* was forgotten as soon as she stumbled out of the alleyway, desperately trying to limp away from a pair of Grafnir demons. The angel, aka your ticket straight to the top. Worth probably more than a thousand living humans, or more to the right fiend, if your unit brought her back you wouldn’t just be heroes, but legends. Well, a couple smoke bombs from you and Catbox, and the two grafnirs turned around and ran away – stupid demons were absolute cowards if they couldn’t take down already helpless prey from ambush. Which, as it turned out, was basically exactly what the angel was despite all the scary stories about them.

Unstoppable killing machines your ass, you had already seen unarmed humans put up a better fight today than this angel. Still, she did have spunk at least, not once giving up on struggling even after it swiftly proved futile. Mouse and Fringe tackled her to the ground, holding her down while Malarkey pried her sword out of her hands and Turbine worked on restraining her.

Taking no chances, he put the entire collection of shackles and fetters your unit had brought along, enough for a slave chain of over a dozen humans. Then Squib and Hammock stepped in, Squib conjuring up strands of shadowy darkness to reinforce and connect all of the chains while Hammock painted runes on her with his own blood to ensure she remained powerless and couldn’t just change her mind to kill you all. Even Blocky and Ship-shape got in on the action, handing over their command whips for the cause. Turbine used one to bind the angel’s wings so she couldn’t fly off (although again, why she hadn’t just done that at the start you have no idea), and made a noose out of the other one. You and Catbox debated on shoving some explosives in her mouth to keep her quiet, but ultimately decided against that plan due to the risk that they might go off, thus ruining your big payday into a fountain of blood and brains (did angels even have brains? Judging from this battered excuse, they did have blood).

So instead, you and Catbox worked on making sure that the way was clear back to the rift while the four big burly infantry half-dragged, half-carried your still squirming prize. You were also there – less than a dozen feet away from your unit having their own pet angel! – when *he* showed up. A male angel, wings dazzling white and looking like Death personified as he swooped down on you, screaming admonishments. You had heard something about angels being only female, being made in the Valkyrie’s image and all that, but here was clear proof to refute that claim! You don’t know if you had been about to steal this guy-angel’s mate or what, but he looked pretty pissed, and ready to give you the fight that your original prize had not.

For a moment, all of you simply stared up at this howling “angel” as he dived towards you, and then Blocky finally managed to recover his senses and start screaming “Kill it! KILL IT!” At the top of his lungs. For all the good it did – Squib conjured up a blast of eldritch energy which the mangel(?) dodged, and you got one of your biggest grenades out, ready to throw. Then, he was down amongst you, and all Heavens broken loose.

The mangel didn’t seem any stronger than a normal human, but he was freakishly fast. He dropped down on top of Malarkey, smashing him into the cobblestone street with his legs. In a blur, he stabbed downward with his sword, driving the tip into the slot between the side of your comrade’s helmet and the noseguard. Malarkey burst into ashes, sent home early as the mangel brought his sword back up to block a reflexive swing from Turbine and then kicked out at Mouse, sending him tumbling to the ground clutching at his knee after it bent back the wrong way.

You weren’t sure throwing this grenade at him was the right idea, considering he was standing right over the bound angel as if to protect her – the explosion might take her out as well. That concern faded after he blocked another strike from Turbine, twirled his sword around to block a swing from the rear by Fringe, ducked under another blast from Squib, kicked Mouse in the face, thereby breaking his nose, and then twirled aside as Blocky charged in, leaving his mace to smash down onto Turbine’s shoulder. *Then* he pirouetted again, slashing Fringe’s head off his shoulders in passing. Yeah, two members of the squad already sent back – this guy had to die, right now. Even if you took out the rest of the unit, and fatally wounded the angel, none of it mattered if you could drag her into the rift before she died. Well, her soul would be in the wind then, reforming somewhere in the Hells, but probably not on top of you. Still, your unit could then boast that you had killed an angel, if nothing else!

You wait until Hammock makes his move, ripping open one of his veins with a foul magical curse and spraying the group of combatants with his own blood. You seemed to remember that this particular spell was supposed to make Hammock’s blood into an immensely profane liquid. Contact with it wouldn’t do anything to you, but theoretically against divine creatures like angels contact with it would be similar to what contact with holy water would do to you – burn and dissolve your flesh like acid. As the enchanted blood rained down the mangel turned his back to you, fiercely parrying blows from Turbine, Ship-Shape and Blocky all at once. You threw the grenade, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Catbox do the same.

Unfortunately, the bloody cursed rain had almost no effect on the mangel, perhaps giving him a bad rash or an unpleasant greasiness of the skin, but certainly not the face-melting that Hammock had promised. Then the stranger weaved his way through the blows, taking only one minor scratch across the side as Ship-Shape’s spear nicked the flesh there. He threw his sword, sending it flying true right into Hammock’s neck and cutting off the spell. Then he whirled, caught your explosive, threw it at Catbox, and caught Catbox’s and thrown it at you!

“Motherf-“

Catbox exclaimed, a moment before your explosive ripped through the alleyway, catching both her and Squib in the blast. That one was one of your deadliest, shavings of iron packed in tight with high-yield explosive. Not even their ashes remained behind, and while a few pieces of shrapnel tore through everyone else present, including the mangel, it wasn’t enough to do much. Catbox’s explosive was a bit more conservative, a modest charge packed with a paralytic poison. Apparently she had been thinking you could drag two angels down, instead of just one – hahaha. Well, the joke’s on you, because even though you manage to throw yourself to one side, more than one splinter of envenomed metal bit into your backside. And that swiftly left you lying down, drooling on the cobblestones, and watching while this whirlwind of destruction finished off the rest of your squad with his bare hands.

He didn’t even bother freeing the angel, or finishing you and Mouse off. He just went over, scooped his mate or his buddy or whatever the Heavens she was to him, and then flew off with her in his arms. At least someone got to have a happy ending - but it really sucked that it came at your expense! The afterlife really just wasn’t fair.

“Molerat gonna be pissed.”

Mouse wheezed through his broken nose. After this fiasco, you would have to agree with him as the city begin to collapse around you, finishing the work of sending you and Mouse home.

*******************

That had been gods knew how long ago. Time really didn’t have much meaning down in the Hells, given there wasn’t really a sun, or clouds, or much of anything else to count out time by. Even so, time had an odd way of stretching out even more when you are in agonizing pain. The type of pain caused by, oh I dunno, hanging from a hook somewhere like a side of meat and being slowly carved up over and over again.

As Mouse had promised, Molerat *had* been upset at your failure. The other units had sustained similarly high casualties, but at least most of them came back with some human slaves to show for it. Your unit had nothing, and worse you could have had an angel if you hadn’t failed at the last moment. So Molerat felt he had to make an example, which meant he made arrangements for your entire unit to have an all-expenses paid visit to The Cleaver after you reformed.

You hadn’t heard of the guy before, but he must not have come cheaply because he was quite good at inflicting pain. Your entire unit had all been bound and led down into a blood-stained room, impaled on hooks and hung from the ceiling, and then left for The Cleaver. Words couldn’t really describe what followed, save that the rest of you had to watch and listen while The Cleaver went to work on someone, and inevitably your turn came around again. No one died from his attentions either, which was pretty impressive considering what was left after he was done cutting, flaying, and severing. Apparently he was as good at sewing back up as he was at hacking apart.

Finally, mercifully, the door to the world outside this horrible room swung open again, and Skullcruncher came in. That could be good or bad, but it did at least delay your turn, as you were next as soon as The Cleaver was done piecing Fringe back together again. The massive multi-armed demon ignored your brigade commander as he walked around the outskirts of the room, examining each of you in turn and sneering in disgust. Finally, he stopped in front of you.

“Molerat is really upset at your failure, as you might have guessed. How upset I’ll leave up to your imagination, along with just how much longer he planned on keeping you here. I say planned, because the situation has changed. Molerat has discovered an opportunity, an opportunity which requires someone knowledgeable with explosives . . . and that is expendable.”

At that, Catbox tries to say something, but only manages to sputter and drool blood, a hook directly through the chest not exactly conductive to talking. Skullcruncher frowns in irritation and then motions to you and Catbox.

“Hey, you. I need to be able to understand these two – cut them down and do whatever you need to do to make them talk.”

For a moment, The Cleaver looked as if he was considering putting Skullcruncher up on one of the empty hooks and going to town, but after a moment he obeyed. He was not exactly gentle in putting the two of you down, nor was having a big meat hook torn out of you a pleasant experience. But then he patched you up so that you could effectively suck air into your lungs again for speech (you didn’t really need it for anything else at this point). Skullcruncher waited impatiently, and then continued.

“So, here’s the deal. The two of you are going to be putting together a very sophisticated explosive for Molerat. Succeed, and he might forget you ever failed him. Mess up again, and you’re coming back here to stay. Forever!”

That was probably a bit of hyperbole, but likely not by much. The Cleaver’s services might be expensive, but he clearly enjoyed his work, and probably wouldn’t mind having his own special permanent set of ceiling ornaments. Skullcruncher grinned as he continued to explain.

“I’ll give you the rest of the details later, but that’s the gist of it. To minimize the chance of failure, you’re being assigned to a different squad, hand-picked by me. They’ll make sure you don’t manage to screw it all up again.”

Skullcruncher grins and speaks louder for this next part, making sure everyone here can hear him, no matter how much pain they happen to be in at the moment.

“But, just in case you feel any sentiment for some of the rest of this pathetic lot of maggots, and would work better with them, I’m going to allow *you* to handpick two members. So, is there anybody here you two ladies have a special attachment to? Because the rest are staying right here until this is done!”

Immediately, all remaining eyes in the room turn towards you and Catbox. And, of course, all of them are alternatively pleading or demanding that you select them to escape from this Hells among Hells. It doesn’t help that all of them seem to be staring at you, as Catbox seems to be completely out of it, her eyes just focused up on the ceiling – apparently The Cleaver had dropped her on her head while cutting her down, leaving her more addled-brained than usual. Either that, or she was playing dumb so you had to make the decision. Wonderful, you get to be the savior of two, and the bitch of whoever you leave behind after all this is over.

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

Lorcán’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zob5O3nyqYI)

It had taken you some time to get to this particular stretch of forest, following the summons sent by the local archdruid. Although the creatures of the forest left you alone, and most men didn’t stray far beyond their cities, currently a fair number of elves were prowling about. Generally speaking, the druids liked the elves – they were respectful of nature, kept to themselves for the most part, and didn’t tend to get involved in any of the petty squabbles that led to war and large-scale destruction. The only really troubling thing about elves was that they worshipped the spirits instead of the human gods.

That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, particularly as it meant they didn’t get involved in this war between “Good” and “Evil” that everyone else seemed obsessed with. And some spirits were worthy of respect at least, if not worship. But what the elves’ spirit worship did mean was that they didn’t see a problem with spirits being on the mortal realm. For short periods of time and in small groups, having spirits in the mortal realm wasn’t a bad thing either, and could even be beneficial. The spirits were, after all, little more than manifestations of the planet’s life energy, the essence of all the animals and plants, and even mortals if you didn’t believe the whole “mortals are special and they have souls which go to the afterlife” belief system. Plus, some elemental and more esoteric concepts thrown in for good measure.

However, even the Druid’s Circle recognized that spirits, whether animal, elemental, or weird thing, didn’t belong on the mortal realm and didn’t seem to understand that it had different rules than their home plane of existence. Worse, most spirits if left to their own devices tended to try and stay to make a new home rather than leave if not dismissed by their summoner. Which in turn meant the spirit in question would try to force the mortal realm to conform to whatever resonance made the spirit feel most comfortable – plants would create a patch of heavy overgrowth, fire elementals would burn everything, etc. Left alone too long, this section could become so similar to the spirit realm that the barrier between them eroded away, leaving a hole – a Nexus. And that was real trouble, because it meant spirits could pour through.

It didn’t help that the elves had recently developed an interest in war, still sore over all the defeats they had suffered at the hands of humanity for time immemorial. In turn they had developed an interest in serving more hostile spirit gods, and the whole thing was a downward spiral. Presumably this had led to the elves finally snapping, because now here they were, swarming about the human lands and looking to kill anyone that didn’t also have pointy ears. For the most part you had been able to avoid their warbands entirely, but occasionally you had to flee from a group of them, receiving a couple arrows in your back for the trouble. Such things weren’t lethal to one as such you, but that didn’t mean pulling them out of your own flesh afterwards was pleasant either.

It didn’t take a genius to guess that the elves were the reason that Jarod, the local archdruid, had called you here. You were, however, a little surprised by what he had to tell you when you finally arrived at his home beneath the rotted trunk of a massive but dead oak tree.

“We have serious problems, my old friend. I don’t know if the elves are responsible or merely stumbled onto it, but there’s a Fire Nexus not far from here. I’ve sent out a call to every druid that I know was nearby but you’re the first to get here successfully.”

This was indeed serious. Left unchecked, the fire elementals would spread out of control and burn the whole forest down to the ground.

“I had hoped to handle the situation myself, but one of the Lords of the Inferno has made the area his own personal domain. He’s been making it very difficult to make any progress at turning the land back to how it should be, but I think I could have handled him alone. Unfortunately, that was when the elves showed up. They’ve been worshipping the damn thing, offering it human sacrifices and aid in destroying the forest. They’ve got patrols set up all over this forest now, elves and fire elementals both. I think several of the younger druids in the area were also captured – as I said, no one but you has gotten here yet, and I know there were several druids closer.”

Jarod shrugs helplessly.

“I don’t know if the two of us can handle a small army, but I’m both concerned that if we wait, we will do so in vain, and that the Nexus will grow more established in the meantime. It was already pretty stable when the elves showed up, and their assistance has only allowed the Lord of the Inferno to strengthen it. Given the possibility that several of our members were also captured, I have no idea how long before the location of my home is compromised. You know that members of our order are sworn to secrecy and would rather die than reveal any secrets, but the savagery that the elves bestow upon their prisoners is well known to me.”

As a demonstration, Jarod pulls up the bottom of his tunic, allowing you to see the network of scars stitched across his back – old injuries from a time when he was a young man, and had foolishly wandered over the mountains into the elves’ homeland.

“So – what do you think we should do? There’s a human city not too far from here that the elves have put under constant assault. They may be aiding the Lord of the Inferno in exchange for disposable troops. Assuming we could figure out a way to get the humans out through the siege, they may be interested in dealing with the elves for us, leaving the Nexus open. We could also try rescuing any of our captured brethren, assuming they haven’t already been sacrificed. Perhaps they will have seen a weakness in the defenses from the inside that we could exploit further.”

daelrog

Alons Sift’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jzjBL5sTas)

With relentless precision, you unleash a string of arrows into the approaching orcs, striking each of them with one arrow, right in between the eyes. You reach back to grab your next arrow, only to find that you no longer have any – blades it is then. The orcs are each massive and burly, but slow and clumsy, giving you the advantage in agility and speed. With an efficiency only capable in a dream, you slaughter them all, over two dozen of them, by yourself – cutting, stabbing, and stomping their heads open.

As the last falls, you turn around to find Larent lying against a nearby rock, impaled all the way through by the thick blade of a falchion – a favored weapon of the orcs. Despite her injury, she is still alive as you rush over to her side.

“Alons.”

She chokes out, blood dribbling out her lips. Somehow, despite the seriousness of the injury, you know that you can fix it. You can bind her wounds, and she will live – now that you are here, she will live. As you lean down to remove the falchion, Larent tilts her head over to whisper into your ear.

“Dance with me.”

With the bizarre swiftness of a dream, you are suddenly back in combat, fighting off more orcs with Larent by your side. In life, you had never been granted that opportunity, the two of you always off with different units, purposely arranged so that you rarely saw each other even while not out in the field. Now your subconscious was rectifying that, and together the two of you are Death Incarnate as you react instinctively to each other’s movements, fighting back to back and killing a horde of orcs. Finally, the last one falls, and again you hear Larent call out your name.

“Alons.”

As you turn to face her, this time your love is no longer a lovely woman, but instead a corpse. Rather than being impaled, this time she has been beheaded, cradling her rotten, worm-eaten head in one hand. Both of her eyes are merely empty sockets, but you can still feel her gaze on you.

“Do you see, Alons? Do you understand!?”

She presses, and then just like that, you awaken.

To be fair, you do not awaken naturally, but instead are jarred awake by a boot being jammed into your side. You snap out of the dream, and find reality is much more sour than you effortlessly butchering orcs like the hero in one of your stories. You are instead a captive, like a number of other people, bound and guarded by creatures that are not human. These creatures are almost the opposite of the orcs, lithe and nimble, with pointy ears and sharp eyes. The other prisoners call them elves, and seem to be gravely afraid of them. Having dealt with inhuman monsters before, you are not terribly impressed by these “elves”, but admit that your situation is not good either.

After you series of stories at the inn, you had gone to bed. You had awakened later that night to find the inn under attack. Rather than charge in like orcs, these elves had hung back, sniping from the cover of darkness, always moving. You had engaged a few of them in an archery battle, perhaps even managing to hit one of them in the darkness. But then they had set in the building on fire, and the only alternative was to leave or stay and die. Once outside with the other patrons, you had heard a voice clumsily demand in the local dialect to surrender or die. One man who didn’t drop his weapons immediately was shot by a dozen arrows an instant later. The lesson was clear, and reluctantly you had joined the others in surrendering yourself.

Since then, the elves had bound your hands, and tied you all together into a long line, but left your feet free. Then they all led you deep into the forest, to some destination unknown. You had traveled for several days now, only occasionally paused to sleep for a few hours before being kicked awake again. Had you not been tied together with a number of old and disgustingly fat men, you think you might have been able to get away. The elves are very good in the forest, but they are not the only woodsmen!

The elves hadn’t taken only the men, of course. The few women who had also been at the inn were also taken, bound into the same long line of prisoners and treated exactly the same as the men – that is, like sheep being led to slaughter. After waking you all up, the elves gave you breakfast – a single waterskin and a big plate of grubs to share.

“W-what are they going to do to us when we get there?”

Willow, the comely but very young barmaid that all such establishments seemed to have on-staff, whispered desperately. The elves didn’t seem to like it when you all talked, and they weren’t above enforcing that rule with their fists. That being said, none of them were nearby at the moment, packing up camp instead, and evidentially confident in their ability to run your group down should you all attempt to escape.

“Kill us. Torture us if we’re unlucky.”

Greg, the old heckler of your stories from that night, grunted. You hadn’t seen the miserable old bastard smile yet. Then the old grump turned his attention on you.

“So, storyteller. You got a way to get us out of this situation, or were all those stories you told nothing but talk?”

“Mmm.”

Mags the barkeep grunted in agreement.

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

(Okay, let’s be honest here. Your character does have a lot of resemblance to the guy whose theme song I just stole here. Let’s just get the elephant out in the room now, and punch it in the face. :smalltongue: )

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SO9yurB3zY)

(Or if we want to be a bit more serious about it, particularly since Lucifuge is not *quite* that bad yet.)

Lucifuge’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASj81daun5Q)

You had come so close to achieving your goals – and so close to succumbing to madness entirely. The spires of Ironheart, your former home, had been tantalizingly within view. Dacian was dead, but even from your great distance away you could feel that his death had not been in vain. The seals around Azguloth’s prison had been weakened. Perhaps that was the reason, then, why you had felt the corruption so strongly. You had to do something to undo the damage that had been done, and yet to go closer would ensure that Dacian was replaced by a new servant.

So you had turned away from your goal, to plot and reconsider how to fulfill your duty without risking everything in the process. Perhaps it was fortuitous, perhaps it was not then that shortly after you returned to the human lands the city you sought shelter in fell under attack. The elves, a race that had not existed in your time, had come from their homeland in the forests south of the human kingdom. They had launched an endless series of harrying raids against the city of Amaranth since, growing steadily stronger as the city weakened.

Still, there was some cause of hope – the Baron of Gast was killed in another great battle a few weeks ago at the kingdom’s capital of Narle (why the humans named their kingdom after a city, you have no idea, but it was very confusing). The elves, apparently, now guarded Ironheart’s walls, unaware of its true purpose but keenly aware of its effectiveness as a fortress and base of operations. That too, could be both a blessing and a curse, these elves either becoming the Great Seal’s newest protectors – or eventually corrupted into Azguloth’s liberators.

Several times you had been tempted to scatter the elves attacking the city, transforming into your full glory and unleashing your terrible breath from above as you had done so many times before. But you dared not, for you suspected that if you transformed again right now, not within sight of the dread prison but close enough, you would not be able to stop yourself. You would fly all the way there, plow your way through the miserable gnat elves, and go down to the Great Seal, there to kneel in supplication to the monstrous force you had sworn to oppose.

There was a part of you that suspected this struggle for control was futile. Dacian was the former avatar of a god, and yet he happily succumbed to the corruption within. What hope did you have in managing to control it? But you were the last guardian, and the task that you had accepted all those millennia ago could not be abandoned. Someone had to maintain the vigil, and by default the only one left was you. You. Could. Not. Fail!

And so you would not. If you could not go yourself, you would need to send others. Which meant that you had to rebuild the Order. You weren’t sure how to do that, either, but being trapped in a war-torn city with a bunch of other warriors seemed like a good place to find new recruits! You weren’t sure how to brooch the subject, however, as there were countless details that you would have to explain, all of which had to be gotten out before the potential recruit ran away from you screaming.

Evidentially, dragons had gone extinct during your slumber. So not only were you the last steward of Ironheart, but the last of your species as well. It was a truly heavy burden sometimes, particularly since this detail meant that you could not reveal your true nature. Fortunately, when covered up in armor and a heavy cowl, you merely looked like a particularly beefy human.

And again, being in a war-torn city, most people didn’t tend to look too closely. The battlements were full of odd-looking “people”, mercenaries and adventurers attracted from all corners of the kingdom to help defend it against the “vile elves”. War, at least, hadn’t changed in all these years.

Another unfortunate thing that hadn’t changed was the human tendency to resort to paranoia and hatred when threatened. And if left unchecked, that in turn devolved into outright xenophobia, which in turn led to the humans hurting everyone around them, even those trying to help. Case in point – you are walking by an alleyway when you hear angry voices – they are quiet, but intense in their feeling.

Peeking around the corner, you see three men and a woman in the uniforms of the city’s militia. The woman is bound and gagged, while one of the men leans against the wall watching the other two berate the woman and working a coil of rope into a noose respectively.

“To think that I trusted you, ate beside you, never suspecting the truth! You lying bitch!”

The woman grunted a reply, and the accusing man stepped forward with an angry sneer. Instead of hitting her, however, he merely removed her helmet, pointing at her pointed ears.

“The ears don’t lie! You’re one of them! What, were they getting tired of trying to break the walls, so they decided to send you in instead to spy on us? Sow dissension among the ranks!? Tell us and we’ll make it quick!”

The woman merely shrugged, prompting the man to grimace again in anger and step forward, holding her helmet menacingly. He no doubt would have hit her this time, had the man leaning against the wall not suddenly stepped forward.

“Take it easy. We’re not here to learn anything. We’re here to make an example of it, so all the others like it know that we know about them.”

While the two are distracted, the woman suddenly struggles up to her feet and tries to run back down the alleyway. Beaten and off-balance with her hands behind her back, she doesn’t make it very far before they catch up to her.

“Knife-eared witch!”

The one grunts, driving his fist into the she-elf’s stomach while the other one holds her up. She crumbles from the blow, and the two men drag her back over to the third, where he has now finished hanging his noose from an overhanging beam jutting out from a building’s roof. Given their familiarity with the alleyway, this wasn’t the first time that the men had done this.

Most men at this point, likely feeling similar to the three vigilantes in regards to any and all things elven, would simply walk away and call it justice done. But then, you were not human, despite being caged in a body that vaguely resembled one. On the other hand, the men could be inadvertently right, and the elf woman was a spy. In which case, you would be depriving the city of three of its defenders in return for saving one of the enemy. Of course, with the speed that the woman’s “trial” was going at, if you stood around debating the finer points, she’d be hung and dead long before you reasoned out the most likely possibility.

The City of Luxien

Cardea

Bastion’s Opening Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IY9bh8jdQAMthe)

You had come to this city seeking answers, following one of the last threads you had left available to you. The Demetrius was dead. Those who had cut you from Mother Metal were dead. And many of those who had fled from the place that the humans called Ironheart and you called home were now dead as well. You knew because you had hunted them, just as the other humans had.

You knew who they all were, having taken that knowledge from one of the men hunting them. And one by one, you had found that they were all dead and gone, beyond your ability to ask them for answers now. All except one – Ander Windrivver, the Lord General of the Church of Light who had come back from the afterlife to destroy the Church. That was what they said, branding him as a heretic. But you knew that he had been an innocent man – you knew because you could hear the voice.

The voice that used to whisper every night inside his cell. “Father. Mother. Ander. Save me, free me from this terrible place with the truth that I only ever served the Valkyrie as you did.”

He had been a member of this Church too, you knew, sentenced because he had known Ander was innocent. What you don’t understand was how he knew that to be true. He had never met this Ander, you don’t think. Maybe they met in Ironheart at some point? No, that hadn’t happened either. So now you trusted this man, but you didn’t know why. You would have to ask Ander when you saw him.

Unfortunately, standing outside the gates to the city, you pondered how to get to him. Ander had evidentially gone on to be a very influential man after his escape, from what you had overheard from other humans. Getting to talk to him would not be easy.

You could fight your way to him, crushing those who stood in your way, but such a hostile action would likely have equally hostile repercussions. Despite previous attempts, you had learned that you could not easily scale high walls as you had remembered, your heavy body unsuitable for most handholds. So you could not fight your way in, nor climb in.

That left talking and sneaking into the city, unless you remembered suddenly how to fly. Fortunately, many people moved in and out of the city during the day. Unfortunately, many of those same people were questioned by the guards standing at those same gates during the day. Though you could hide your body beneath heavy cloth, you are not sure you could disguise the rumbling tones of your voice.

Perhaps you could convince some group of travelers to allow you to join them – the guards rarely seemed to question everyone if they were clearly in the same group together. You could also try to hide in one of the wagons going into the city, although again due to your weight that may become noticeable as well.

But clearly, however you accomplished it, you would need to get into the city first before continuing your search for Ander.

WhiteKnight777

2012-08-05, 01:16 AM

Umber

Once more, Umber fell. And one more time, he stood right back up.

He let the grains of sand fall through his finger, whispering like dead lovers. He looked around - and despite all that had happened to him, he tipped back his head and laughed. Death and treachery had done their worst, and yet here he stood! In the flesh or something like it, he persisted, his existence prolonged once again - and whatever had happened, whatever that traitorous bitch had tried to do to unweave him, here he stood.

And so Umber, the Lord of Blood - and perhaps the last of them - laughed. He laughed for the sun on his face, for the sand that ran through his fingers. He laughed because he had spat in the face of Fate once again. And he laughed because for all the pain and woe and sorrow, life was sweet, and he'd stolen a few more grains of sand from the hourglass. One more time.

And speaking of... this place did look awfully familiar. Had Marialta actually done it? Had she reversed the flow of history and lead them back into the past? He had always thought such a thing insane and impossible at once... but Marialta was nothing now if not insane, and who knew what a Hand of Fate could accomplish? Perhaps she intended not only to kill the Lords of Blood, but to unmake them - to erase them from the tapestry of creation and make sure they'd never been born in the first place. Umber shivered at the thought - well, no time for lollygagging in any case. He put one foot in front of the other, noting that he was arrayed in a manner not dissimilar to that which he'd worn in his half-remembered youth - a long white robe and coverings over his head. Desert-wear.

Well, perhaps the city would hold answers. No matter where or when he was, one thing held true - knowledge was power.

As he walked, Umber began to mutter a simple spell - this was the key... and another test. He needed to know if his powers still resided within the wellspring of his soul - and how much he could draw upon. He began working a simple invocation - a spell to call the sand to him and make a veil above his head to block out the sun, beckoning it with slow, languid gestures, even as he made for the squat and distant outline of the city.

TechnOkami

2012-08-05, 02:40 AM

Rosenberg

The man before Jarod stood tall. He was hooded, but the scythe by his side made him look like a messenger of death. Rather ironic for events happening beyond the forest borders, and because of what these two Druids would have to do. The scythe's bladeless end touched the ground; when it was first firmly planted there, the scythe's power drained the life of where it touched. Then, accompanied by a bed of thorns bloomed roses, deep and dark like blood. Of course, by now the Druid had been standing there for several moments, and the first few roses was growing into a large bush. Rosenberg made no move to stop its growth, nor to spread it any further than its point of origin.

Eyes loomed beneath that olive-green hood, eyes that held within themselves shades of amber, painted by an inner wildness which was not to be found with his friend. As he spoke, explaining the reason that he had summoned him, Rosenberg's chest rose, his nostrils taking in the fresh, crisp forest air.

It was seasoned by hints of smoke and flame.

When Jarod had finished, Rosenberg unveiled the hood whence he hid his face beneath. Under it was a mess of long curly hair, offset by a short-trimmed beard latched onto his jaw. He parted hair from his eyes, then laid his scythe down, his legs crossing together beneath his robes as he sat upon the earth. Consequently, the rose-bush would turn into a rose-hedge by the time he picked it up again.

He lightly stroked his fingers along the sides of his chin, as he thought and contemplated. Finally, the man spoke.

"Fire elementals... hm..."

A hand reached into a side pouch, pulling out pieces of a naturally-grown longpipe. They snapped together until the entirety of the puzzle was finished. He reached into another pouch, pulling a small tuft of tobacco out, packing it inside the pipe's basin. He held the pipe in hlis left, its mouthpiece held closely to his lips; his right hand was opened in the air, clenched slightly as natural magics beckoned to his call, where soon a small flicker of flame was dancing, floating just above his palm. He moved it to the basin, and gave a few good puffs until little embers grew inside, shaking his hand free of the flame afterwards, like putting out a match.

He gave one long draw, puffed out a bit of swirling smoke, and let his eyes rest on the little bits of flame coming from his pipe.

"I would say fighting fire with fire wouldn't be too bad of an idea; water elementals after all are rather opposed to those of the inferno. However... both are chaotic, and only reliable to a fault."

Rosenberg chuckled slightly.

"I doubt we could convert the elves and teach them why worshiping it isn't the wisest of decisions... although I wish I could. The more Druids we can get, the better."

"No... I think we will have to fight to get to that Fire Lord, which in and of itself will be a fight to be had."

Rosenberg's gaze turned to a seemingly random direction of forest, when actually it was the path towards the elf-sieged town.

"Speaking of likely converting opportunities, that human settlement looks promising. The easiest way to go through the elves is with them. If we can break their siege and aid them, they should feel entitled to give their aid to us, especially if it involves fighting against the elves. Then we can deal with the Fire Lord as we see fit."

Rosenberg's mouth curled slightly to one side, giving a sly wolfish grin.

"Two birds with one stone, right?"

GuyFawkes

2012-08-05, 01:29 PM

Lucifuge

The large frame of Lucifuge stood at the corner, silently observing the scene in the dark alleyway before him. He had heard every word and seen every movement of the scuffle, or ganging up, to be precise, so he had quite the gist of the situation - three men finding out one of their comrades in the militia was an elf.

By then, Lucifuge could have simply walked away. He was a proud creature; he had no interest in wasting his time for some petty quarrels between lowly beings. He found this "war" they waged against each other a complete farce, that it was nothing but mere indulgence to their cravings for power and material possessions. That, or it was simply the instinctive tendencies of mortals for self-destruction. Of elves, he did not know how their nature worked, but the dragon would not be surprised had all of this started because of the humans. Long ago, they had already exhibited such tendencies, and in the few years he had been awake, he knew it held true still.

If only they know, he thought.

But then again, some humans did know, and they chose poorly. Though he could not really ascertain if choice was even a factor; the mightiest beings he had known were the first to fall into that darkness, after all. And slowly, so was he. But to give them credit, it was also the humans who thwarted the foolish attempt to free that which lied underneath Ironheart. And he has heard of the paladins, who constantly fought bravely against the fiends. With those shining examples, why the rest of humanity chose to bother themselves with this petty squabbles with the elves, and even among themselves, he could only hope to comprehend.

Still, he stood there, watching, waiting. For as proud as Lucifuge was, he was wiser. The situation had presented him an opportunity. An opportunity to gather information. And he would be a fool to let such precious commodities go to waste.

Looking over his shoulders to see if there was no one nearby, he began chanting the incantation of a spell he had used more than any other. After he finished, he pulled his hood lower over his face and waited. When it looked like the humans were about to impose their verdict, he calmly started down the alleyway towards the four.

"What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?"

Baerdog7

2012-08-05, 02:54 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander sweeps his arm across his desk, scattering his maps and books across the room with a frustrated yell. He collapses into his chair, head in hands.

There's got to be SOME way! I've got to be missing something!

But he knew deep down that there was no way to mount an assault on Hell with the Church in its current state. That war machinery which hadn't wasted away during peace time was destroyed at Narle and there would be no way to rebuild it for a generation. There could be no rescue effort. There could be no recapture of the Fiend Lords. As much as it pained him to admit, the Church would have to focus its attention and limited manpower to the matters of the mortal plane for now.

And what matters they were. The Baron's defeat at Narle had saved Miriam and probably the world...for now...but it had left behind an immense power vacuum. The elves continued their bloody campaign in the south and Ander had been forced to dispatch too many paladins to reinforce the border towns instead of allowing them to rebuild. There were too few paladins to turn the tide of any battle but they could build defenses, bolster militias, and buy enough time for refugees to escape before making a tactical retreat themselves. Oh, what Ander wouldn't have given for a company of commandos experienced in guerrilla warfare to really disrupt the elven war machine. This kind of thing would have been right up Korram's alley, but he was dead. Dead dead dead, like all the rest.

Perhaps more disturbing to Ander were the reports he'd been receiving of the various heresies that had been popping up in the wake of the Battle of Narle. Despite his and Ysora's best efforts, rumors about Miriam's appearance on the mortal plane had spread like wildfire, prompting too many people to turn to fiend worship or to reject Miriam and worship Athelion alone. Lucky for Ander, the Church's Inquisition had survived Narle in better shape than the Paladin Orders. While the paladins fended off the elves, the inquisitors had been ferreting out fiend worshiping cabals and trying to track down the origins of this new Athelion cult. It was too early to know if they would be able to turn the tide, but Ander had to cling to a hope no matter how slim.

Of course if that wasn't enough, there were also the reports of increased spiritual incursions on the mortal plane, especially in the wake of the elven advance. Maybe the elves were summoning them, maybe it was Titania taking advantage of a power vacuum, or maybe they were working in tandem. Unfortunately, Ander had no real way of knowing and no real resources to deal with the problem even if he did.

Maybe the druids...?

The druids hadn't often gotten along well with the Church but Ander had adventured alongside a few of them while he was walking the earth. He'd even given his life to cleanse one of their ancient temples of a demonic infestation. Perhaps they could be persuaded to lend aid and their greater experience with the spirit world would be invaluable. He filed the thought away for later.

Of course above all of these other matters loomed the specter of Ironheart, casting its dark shadow over everything. The elves occupied it currently and likely didn't know its secret, but for how long? How long until they were corrupted into opening the last seal, or until the Fiend Lords decided to put their heads together and free their boss? Ironheart was a time bomb and there was nothing Ander could do about it.

"How does victory taste, Ander?" The voice of Crane mocks from a corner of Ander's consciousness. "Like ashes?"

Ander shakes the ghosts out of his head and stumbles to the bedroom for a few hours' sleep. His head had barely hit the pillow when he heard Hephestia knocking at the door.

“Ander, I need to speak with you immediately!”

Hells! What does she want now?

“Please.”

With a heavy sigh, Ander hauls himself out of bed and walks over to crack open the door. Squinting in the lamplight from the hall, the veteran paladin is not a pretty sight. His eyes are bloodshot and underlined with dark circles, his hair and clothes are disheveled, and several days of stubble adorn his face.

What do you want, Hephestia?

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-08-05, 03:09 PM

Hondshioh

Honshioh glowers as the Black General reintroduces himself.

I'll pass on the wine. I'd rather enter into any discussion with you sober.

After the Black General extends the offer of a job, Hondshioh scoffs a bit.

I haven't got a lot of choice in the matter, Black General. Last time we met, if I remember correctly, I only accepted your help under great duress. How is now any different? I'm in a situation I can't possible extricate myself from on my own, and you hold all the cards anyway. Even more so now that we're on your turf instead of mine. Go ahead and make your offer, though I make no promises of acceptance.

Dorizzit

2012-08-05, 03:15 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram snaps up into a sitting position on his bed as he awakens from his recurring, foul, and all-too-real nightmare. He gasps for air he no longer needs, shuddering breaths gradually slowing into a slower, smoother rhythm. He looks down at himself. Had he been mortal, he would be covered in sweat, but apparently that was something that he cannot even do unconsciously. Looking out the window, Korram squints out at the bright outside. Perpetual daylight was still taking a great deal of getting used to, but sleeping in it was proving easier than he expected; possibly due to the fact that he was only sleeping because he willed it. It was very unfortunate; sleep was one of the few aspects of his human existence that he has no desire to hold on to, although from what others had told him he will soon let go of the rest. He still isn't sure if he want to.

Regardless, it says much about Korram's adaptation to his new "life" that he now sees sleep as a hindrance rather than a necessity. As he pulls himself out of bed, the thoughts and emotions forced to his mind by his dreams subside once more as he revels in the joys of his reborn body. He attempts vainly to hold them close out of a sense of duty, but they slip stubbornly from his mind. As far as Korram can tell, something about Heaven rejects unhappiness and discontentment; it is nearly impossible to be unhappy here. Because of this, Korram has not been as dedicated to his efforts to save his family as he might have been otherwise, allowing himself to be diverted by the many distractions available, not the least of which was his dead loved ones.

When his youngest brother, Collin, had broken his leg and frozen to death on a hunting trip, Korram had been the one to find his disfigured corpse, a day burned into his memory. When Jeral had been murdered by an escaped convict sentenced to Ironheart, Korram had hunted the man down and killed him; the first time Korram had taken the life of another. It was the memory of the blaze that killed Amanda and her family that had inspired Korram to have Calcifer bound to him. Korram had been close to his siblings, and being able to see all of them again, along with his parents, was the one thing Korram never regretted about his entrance into Heaven.

Korram's ruminations on his next meal are interrupted by a knocking at the door. He is only partly surprised to find Marius there instead of Kurt and Joanna; the oddity of time and lack of nights meant that he had often misjudged the passing of time, which seemed to be something that most here had gotten used to. He had learned that his expectations were often contrary to reality. Korram steps back from the door to allow Marius in. The man's decision to keep his body old had always seemed odd to Korram, but Korram's keeping of his many scars would likely seem odd to most as well. Korram also hadn't regressed as much as most; his body was a few years younger than it had been at the time of his death, but it certainly wasn't the body of a young man.

Korram listens intently as Marius makes his request, then considers for moment. He is almost tempted to explain that he himself has hardly moved on from his life, and even now wants to leave to deal with mortal concerns; almost, but not quite. While he has always felt a bit bad about deceiving Marius, he is a good man and Korram does not want Marius to think ill of him, or worse, try to stop him. Even though they had only known each other for a few weeks, Marius had become a good friend. Instead, he merely nods, after an appropriate pause of consideration.

"Alright, I think I might be able to help."

The answer isn't dishonest; Korram is already coming up with ideas for how to ease the pain of the traumatized men and help them adjust. He stands and makes for the door.

"Shall we?"

As Marius and Korram leave Korram's "plot," Korram turns to the paladin.

"You know, I think they're important...the shadows, I mean. If perfection was all that was known, it would become ordinary. Meaningless. The fact that we can comprehend and experience suffering during our lives makes success and peace far...greater."

Tae

2012-08-05, 06:59 PM

Well damn, Bramble sighed inwardly while rubbing the recently patched hook hole in her chest. There’s no such thing as a choice that don’t screw ya. So I either takes the ones I know still have half a brain left in their mangled heads, or I take the ones what’re good at beating ‘piss down my leg so’s they don’t do it later. Or I take half and half and hope no one has allies.

At least Cat’ll be around. I’m looking forward to smacking her back into a daze once she shakes herself out of this one.

Great gaping hole of the Lady of Lust, Molerat wants explosives, does he? Maybe he’s hoping for something to blow some hair up out of his scalp. Bramble sniggered quietly, then felt something pointy dig into her back.

“Sapper, as much as I enjoy admiring The Cleaver’s handiwork, my art appreciation time is limited”, Skullcruncher breathed into her ear. “Make your choices now, or you’re going back up on a hook.”

“Just trying to choose from the best of the best Commander.” Bramble stifled a grin and quickly reexamined her squad mates.

Well, Block-head and Ship-shape are out, for sure. They’re more useless than tits on toast. Hammock’s alright, I guess, ‘cept that he don’t know what his spells do. I like Squib, but not so much as I’d trust him with anything important. The grunts….well….they’re grunts. Only one I like is Mouse, and that’s probably ‘cause he’s such fresh meat he ain’t started t’stink yet. Turbine would probably find a way to make friends with The Cleaver and trap me in here forever if I don’t take him, and Malarkey…well the less I think about that scary bastard the happier I’ll be. Don’t know why the guy isn’t deep in the nether with the rest of the demons. Guess he needs to let go of his arms and legs first. Maybe this here Cleaver guy can help him with that.

“Alright, there’s only one way to make such a big decision.” Bramble took a few steps back to get the rest of her hanging squadron in line, stretched her long red limbs, cleared her throat, and started pointing to them one by one while chanting:

“Omi, Kith, Eck’ra, Ruse
Hit someone and leave a bruise,
Laugh and punch him ‘til he spews,
Omi, Kith, Eck’ra, Ruse”

Her finger drooped as it landed on Malarkey. Well, thought Bramble, at least I can worry about him eating me sooner rather than later I guess.

“There’s your first one, Commander.”

“Really sapper? This is how you determine value?”

“If you’d ‘a had a better idea, you wouldn’t ‘a been asking me!”

An iron-sheathed fist rocked Bramble’s head forward. “Molerat will NOT stand for your insubordination scum. Don’t think I will either.”

Bramble mashed her lips together, silently taking out a multicolored silk rag and polishing her horns while lifting her finger to choose again.

“Omi, Kith, Eck’ra, Ruse
Hit someone and leave a bruise…”

“Oh by the holy hells, Mouse. Stop making those eyes at me. I’ll take you down, but you owe me one, if you know what I mean.” Bramble waggled her brow bones and blinked her lashless lids in a grotesque parody of seductiveness.

The Cleaver unhooked Mouse and as he regained his capacity for speech, the unfortunate infantryman turned his pleading eyes on his Commander. “You know, I think I’d rather be strung up again if it’s all the same to you.”

Skullcruncher’s maw gaped wide in a terrible grin while a laugh of genuine mirth rolled from his swollen belly.

Bramble spared her laughing Commander a glance then turned to the rest of her former squadron. “Sorry guys. I figured Omi Kith was the best way to be fair. Don’t worry; I’ll make a man outta Mouse to make up for leaving you all strung up.” The heat of six devils’ glares broke beads of sweat on her skin that hastened to form icy rivulets down her spine.

daelrog

2012-08-05, 07:48 PM

Alons Sift

“These Elves of yours are not to my liking.” No, Alons Sift much preferred the monsters of his own homeland, something he never thought would cross his mind. Then again, it had more to do with familiarity than anything else. In his homeland, the Orcs rarely took prisoners. Even the children were taught to bite the green hands when all else failed making captives of his people an undesirable situation. Still, telling everyone to take as many of these Elves with them as they could did not seem something the people of this land would favor, and Alons’s life was no longer his to sacrifice so willingly. He had a quest to fulfill, but he knew not what it was, and he knew nothing of these pointy-eared marauders.

Alons stretched his leg out and began moving it in a circular motion, his heel digging into the dirt. Since these Elves appeared to be beasts of the forest, he hoped that the druidic symbols of his home, the kingdom of Fairlyle, would hold some sway over them as well. Unlike the elders, he could not will the trees to life, or cause storms to rage above, two things he wished he knew at the present, but he knew the old symbols well, and knew a few small tricks from calling certain animals, and sensing the life of another creature. Unfortunately he had not placed his hands on one of the Elves to see what exactly they were.

After two circles, one within the other, he made a rough humanoid figure, then swirls, squares, waves, and circles in the four quadrants split by the figure’s arms and legs, each representing an element. The drawing as a whole was a symbol of the sanctity of life. He swallowed a particularly large grub after only a few chews. He had learned that the people of this land did not favor bugs, which Alons found deeply amusing. He would have told them if the situation was not so grim. “You will all stay close mouthed, you are not to these Elves liking. They will not take kindly to your pleas.”

He said the words slightly louder than he should have. Then again, it mattered little for he let off three musical whistles, each a different tone, hoping to call upon some of the small birds in the area. His gambit was to prove he understood nature, and was at peace with it. He hoped that the Elves still felt some tie to the natural order of things, and would at the very least speak with him. Maybe even untie him...

OverWilliam

2012-08-06, 12:53 AM

~Tare

Tare awoke to the sensation of a throbbing headache.

His thoughts took longer to collect than usual; the sensation of motion was the first thing to make it through the fog. His eyes opened, eventually, but did not focus at first. Memory clawed at his conscious mind, urging to be let back in, but for the moment it was staved off by sheer force of disorientation. Not unlike the sensation of suddenly being awoken from an unusually deep sleep, for many long seconds Tare was not convinced whether he was awake or still asleep.

Finally, the thought surfaced. He was neither. He was Dead.

His next thought connected the reason his headache was intensifying in bursts to the screeching sound of the enormous metal trap in which he was currently encased being dragged across the floor. Blinking painfully, Tare began probing the inside of the Iron Maiden and quickly discovered the extent of its fiendish design. With a bit of grim satisfaction, he noted that at least the devils were affording him a measure of respect by how carefully he was secured. They would not, it seemed, be making the same mistakes that Ironheart's prison guards had. More's the pity.

That finished, he started taking stock of his own condition. Well... I suppose I'm dead. His final memories of life, looking up into Melcara's battered, yet bravely smiling features, came back to his mind. They brought with them an unexpected wave of emotion. Yearning, mostly. Where was Melcara now? Was she ok? He did not know.

A horrible thirst clawed at his throat and tongue. Even breathing was unpleasant in this foul place. Tare noted the brutish demons hauling him along. Though they couldn't possibly be taking him anywhere good, at that point Tare could not even muster a sense of dread. If anything, his mood was one of passive curiosity.

Upon discovery that it was not, in fact, Vylethar waiting for him at the end of the hallway, Tare experienced a delicate mixture of relief and renewed apprehension. This she-devil spoke as though Vylethar had been a mere underling. This was not thoroughly surprising, as everyone in the Hells (it seemed) was only just evading the jaws of an even bigger monster right behind them. Still, it wasn't encouraging to have met one already.

When Videle moved around her desk, Tare noted something odd about the way she was behaving. Not at all like he'd expect a powerful fiend to approach a helpless prisoner... And then he remembered the ungodly effect Vylethar was able to exert on the targets of his "affections" (generally female), an effect that seemed horrifyingly potent even on one as generally level-headed as Adame' had seemed to be. With a bolt of cold fear, one born of a dreadful vulnerability, Tare pleaded inwardly that such an aura would not be turned against him.

...And then he realized that, apparently, it was not. He didn't feel anything laying hold on his mind or his emotions-- nothing, that is, that wasn't completely natural. It was more than a little shocking to see how little the succubus was wearing and how freely she flaunted it, and Tare's first instinct was to turn away (not that he could try, what with the blade in the Iron Maiden all-too-close to his unprotected neck). But why would the fiend be acting in such a way if she was not also trying to...?

...Oh. She was trying to breach his mind and enslave his will with netherworldly "charm." Wasn't she? Of course, that only made sense. This was perhaps even more encouraging than the realization that he wasn't being affected-- it was even better knowing that she was, in fact, trying... it just wasn't working.

And then Tare felt more than a tiny bit... indignant. How dare she, how dare anyone, even so much as attempt to invade and override another being's mind this way?! Tare gained an even clearer, and far more personal perspective of what Vylethar had really been doing with Black, Brown, and Red (not to mention Adame' herself) on his first trip through the Hells. It was sickening and horrifying merely in retrospect.

Some internal voice shouted just in time that he must handle this delicately, however. This Videle might be easier to reason with than Vylethar had been, Tare thought. This wasn't likely, he admitted to himself, but it was best not to assume. She might surprise him (more than she already had, of course). Either way, as far as positions of strength and weakness went, the balances could hardly have been tipped further against him.

“Now that introductions are over, I would like you to tell me how exactly you escaped from my home the first time. Most mortals aren’t capable of such an impressive feat.”

Tare swallowed slowly. His headache was not gone, and still the dryness grated at his throat. "...May I please have a drink of water?" He asked, his voice rasping as though it had never been used before.

Kasanip

2012-08-06, 03:58 AM

Lukina

Lukina woke up with a gasp for air. For a minute however, to lie and untangle her thoughts. She rubbed her eyes and looked at her hands with a shiver.
Genevieve, Lukina. The dull sound of voices of unhearable words. The dreams of color and light and noise. Somewhere in those thoughts, there was Genevieve. Or, there was Lukina. Or both. somewhere in those thoughts, there was memory and there was truth. For Lukina, this was how everything had become tangled been since that incident a month ago.

But it wasn't easier now. Each night was a trial. And recently too, now that the safety of a home, and a comfort of her family and life in her own town gone, the dreams had become more powerful and painful.

And maybe, she was just homesick too. Everyone had been very supportive when she had declared she was leaving. It was emotional, like any parting. But she had been moved by everyone's love and support. By Father Adam who had comforted her when she asked for advice. For her parents for loving her more than she had known. For the villagers who had supported her, even as she left. Lukina had vowed she wouldn't forget it in her journey.

But as she was awake in bed, the noise of dreams and memories hadn't disappeared. There was the sound of panicked screams and barked orders. Trouble.
Somehow, that was a nostalgic and familiar thought, but terrifying and exciting and new as well.
Adrenaline and energy high, Lukina was quickly up from bed, and throwing on her clothes.

Who was the town militia fighting? Was it beasts? Bandits? Elves? Something worse? Lukina didn't know. But she had to go. There wasn't a question that she needed to be there. And quickly.

She paused, to look at the armor and her things in the room. There wasn't time in a dark room to prepare the breastplate, but even though she could think of three different ways to cut arrows, or to avoid blows, she wasn't confident yet to do that.

The confidence she had originally had been reduced a little when the constable had practiced with her. It had been a battle of Lukina, not a battle of Genevieve, after all. Though she could think of the weaknesses in his stance, or of techniques to defeat him, Genevieve was Lukina. She couldn't follow at that speed yet. The sword she had received from the Church was a little heavy still, to use one hand.

I should have practiced more. She regretted with clenched teeth, tying the sheath and sword on. If she had to, she decided tonight Lukina would use her sword with both hands. She strapped on the gauntlets and greaves quickly.

Thanks, Burke. She thought silently. The armor cooperated, and she felt more ready now. The breastplate she put under the bed, hiding the holy tome Priest Adam had given to her. A sword and a holy tome. She could only bring the sword with her right now. But here at least, she hoped it would be safe for the night.

Taking a deep breath, Lukina opened the door into the inn. Without surprise, it was empty. Either the innkeeper and family was hiding or had run away. Both were probably good ideas, Lukina thought with a frown.

She ran through the lobby and opened the door outside into the cool and heavy night air. The sounds of battle were louder now. Steel and steel, cries and groans. But in the darkness, it was difficult to see at first.

She stepped out from the inn with a hand on her sword.
Who is attacking? Where are they coming from? She wondered. Lukina looked quickly around for any militiaman she could find. She needed to know what was going on first. She called out to one man nearby.

"Excuse me! What's the situation? Who is attacking?" She asked, hoping her voice sounded confident.

Gorgondantess

2012-08-06, 04:47 AM

She snorted, ignoring the proffered hand. Oh, she knew well what a handshake was, and was even willing to perform the ritual with certain humans. Not with this one, though- if he could even be called that.
Still watching the escaping cultists lazily, legs dangling off the side of the building, she speaks without giving "Quadramus" a glance.

"Oh? And what would that be, exactly?"

She shakes her head regardless of the response.

"I have no reason to trust you. Actually, I have no reason not to just try to kill you. In fact, if you hadn't earlier proven to me your remarkable evasive capabilities, that's exactly what I'd be doing right now."

She sighs, sparing him a glance.

"Even when you appeared to be trying to help, your motives seem... anathemic to my own. Even disregarding the exploding monster. Frankly, I'm skeptical you're not just here to taunt me."

She sighs again, turning her head back to the cultists. Overall, she doesn't seem angry so much as disappointed. She was too tired to be angry, to work up one of her classic furies. On top of that, she needed all the help she could get right now. It had been over a week of searching to bear no fruits whatsoever- a week for Maurice to endure all the torments of hell. She'd hoped Maurice managed to escape to some safe ground, or find some other means of eking out a bearable existence in the meantime- she was one tough angel (god, she was tough), but a strong will could only take one so far. So she would assume that Maurice was bearing the full brunt of hell's fury until proven otherwise. It was a grim thought- a terrible thought- but one that kept her moving forwards. And while these cultists might be her ticket to a swift rescue, it could just as easily be another dead end.

"Well, whatever. I'm willing to hear you out at least. But if you can wait a month to tell me what you wanted to say, you can bloody well wait another few minutes."

She continues to hawk the cultists, waiting for the opportune moment, then pulling herself together like a loaded spring leaps off the tower, sending shingles flying from the force. The leap turns into a soar, and the soar into a dive, her making fine movements and transformations all the while. She lands perfectly right before the first cultist, transforming her body into a rubbery composition right at the moment of impact, and then to a more rigid material as she holds out an arm and clotheslines the man, dropping him instantly. Still charging forwards with the momentum of her fall, she smashes the heads of the remaining two cultists together, dropping them as well.
She was reminded of the other time she battled cloaked figures. How times have changed- she was so clumsy then, so narrow minded, still growing used to her capabilities. Here, it was less than a second between touchdown and the last body striking the ground.
...Hardly perfect though. She winced at the forms of the cultists she'd smashed together. One had a steadily expanding pool of blood beneath her head, and the others' neck was twisted at an ugly angle. Both still, and hopefully only unconscious. She'd yet to learn the sweet spot of just enough force to incapacitate a human without killing them. She was also beginning to suspect it didn't exist. They were so frail.
At least the first one she'd brought down was still moving, huddled on his side, moaning. She scoffed.
"You'll live."

With that, she turned on her heel, heading back to the bell tower at a leisurely pace, hopping from building to building and scaling walls swiftly, but without haste. She wasn't sure whether to hope Quadramus was still there, or whether he had disappeared again- the... whatever it was... was an enigma, and likely not a friendly one. Still, it couldn't hurt to talk, could it?

Vegna

2012-08-07, 07:33 AM

Mal Harath

His friend's sentimate was shared, Mal's own stomach twinging at the thought of fresh food. Warm meals had been few and far between, something that he was used to, but his body still complained at. His scalp was now a grey field of stubbly grass, no longer annoying, but still a fact he would rather have shaved back to a smooth stone. His face carried a matching set of steel hairs, forming a faint beard-line that tickled and itched as it always would when barbers hadn't been forthcoming during the journey. At least Val'Tosh's conversation distracted him from it all, the ogre's company having kept Mal in equally high spirits.

"Haha. If Master's a bagel, then I'm looking forward to what his next student is. Maybe we'll be running after a gingerbread man."

With Silverstream only over the next hill, Mal's energy had been revitalised at the thought of rest, food and, most importantly, answers. That he was going to finally know something about what was going on, it bouyed his heart for himself and for Val'Tosh.

"I'm sure they'll have enough food for us, I just hope its cheap, I'm having seconds after this walk."

As his vision took in the sight of the village, Mal felt the usual surge to act, nearly charging after Val'Tosh if his tremorsense hadn't made him take pause. He cupped his hands over his mouth, yelling towards his shrinking friend.

"Val'Tosh! Attack right instead!"

He waves his arm towards the forest, trying to gesture to his friend as he starts to run towards the ambushers himself. Knowing he likely had their attention now, the best he could do was hope they'd assume him insignificant compared to his bouldering buddy. He clenched his fists, readying himself as he passed through the tree line towards the unknown enemies.

Cardea

2012-08-09, 03:06 PM

Bastion

Back in the cells, there was always the feelings of adrenaline and rush. There were thieves in its mind, memories of drifting through the wildest of guarded places, and coming back out just as silently and unnoticed. But that wasn't like it was in Mother Metal. Bastion moved, and heard, and it took the words from people who prayed in silent chambers away from their gods. It heard so many, yet this one stuck out. The pseudo-blood in his non-existent veins disappeared and stopped pumping wildly, and all it heard was this man, who prayed to Anders. A human.

And this one moment in time is what carried Bastion to his last quarry. There was nowhere else to turn, not out of desperation or a sense of loss of time, but because there was nothing else in the world. It was doubtful that this Anders could help Bastion understand everything, but perhaps he could answer why a man would pray to the servant, and not the master.

So now Bastion looked at this gate from a distance, running through its mind a way to enter. Up the road, another caravan of... people... were entering. If he was to enter, this would be as opportune as anything. He picked out a man, one already wearing dulled metal. As the group walked past Bastion's spot, a rock, to which it was sitting curled up to, it moved. It moved on tip-toes, its metallic boot feet causing small dents in the ground. He came up behind the man, and folded out.

Keeping the same pace as the man, it first moved onto his back and onto his legs, giving the man a bit of strength so as not to notice the extra weight. It opened onto his arms next, expanding to accommodate the elbows. It moved with him, doing its best to bolster the man's strength with the magic inherent, and trying not to restrict his movement.

Overall, the man was an average size, but Bastion did his best not to envelop him in the front, for appearances.

Iethloc

2012-08-09, 04:42 PM

Sohssal

Sohssal truly did not want his “followers” to be giving him these kinds of gifts, but he also did not want to alienate them so soon by never acting like a fiend. On the bright side, he would appreciate having some non-fiend company. His time here had given him ample reminder why he extracted the secrets of demonic immortality by force rather than by diplomacy.

”This will be an interesting 'toy', indeed! But it looks like I'll have to put him back together before I can have my fun. I will take him to my private chambers. However, Mammon's goons may be foolish enough to want him back, so stay alert!” he said. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he levitated Seraph, chains and all, and took him back to his chambers. As soon as he could spare a few moments, Sohssal patched up Seraph a little – enough to talk, but not to break free or become a threat.

Regardless, he was not overly worried about Mammon's forces coming back for him. Gathering energy wasn't hard here in the Hells with all his subordinates, and obviously he knew plenty of magic that targeted or manipulated demons. The spectacle of him repelling an attack could go a long way towards convincing everyone he really was Lord Nihilus, or at least too powerful to be openly questioned. He suspected the latter was what being a Fiend Lord was all about, anyway.

Inspectre

2012-08-11, 03:37 AM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

At your observation, Marius nods sagely.

“Perhaps that is the answer to why the Valkyrie permits humanity to suffer, then. So that it can learn to appreciate the Heavens, or embrace it and be pulled down into the Hells. Either way, I suppose, leads to happiness – of a sort. Having seen the Hells myself, however, I can say that I vastly prefer the Heavens.”

Marius smiles and leads the way down the path away from your home and towards the Shining City in the distance. As might be expected from a place that is made just as much from your imagination as actual existence, the two of you find yourselves standing in front of the gates to the city a few moments later. The gates stand unguarded, and Marius sighs as he walks underneath the soaring marble and gold arches into the city proper.

“I had heard that angels once outnumbered the humans within the city. I have been here for – well, I’ve lost track now, but I have only seen one angel in my time here. And that was at a distance, and she seemed to be in a hurry. That, more than anything, is the one shadow that *does* exist in the Heavens, I think.”

Despite Marius’s comment about the angels, the streets of the Shining City are still bustling, full of smiling people moving about conducting their business as they wish. A juggler dances on a street corner, not a care in the world as he entertains a group of children who undoubtedly know his routine by heart, and yet are still somehow enraptured by it. A young couple passes you going in the opposite direction, holding hands and staring briefly at you and Marius, old men in a city full of youth – and for all you know, the two of them had been here since the dawn of time!

“Now, I had been guiding all of them in speaking about their deaths. Sometimes, admitting that it happened is the first step to accepting it. With this group, admitting it only seems to remind them that their death was a failure, that they should feel guilty for what happened to them. In any case, you don’t have to feel the need to dance around the issue with them – you can speak as plainly as you wish. Perhaps even a bit of bluntness is necessary to break them out of this.”

Marius smirks a little at this, continuing to lead you down wide marble avenues and gilded promenades. Finally, he pushes open a small but intricately decorated gate of silver, holding it for you. Beyond is a shaded courtyard, not really much darker than the road outside but it feels noticeable to you. Perhaps it is not so much an effect of the buildings as it is what is inside the courtyard.

A number of open-backed chairs sits in a rough circle in the middle of the courtyard, perhaps two dozen in all. Every single one of them except one, at the “head” of the circle, is currently occupied by a slump-shouldered figure. Most are still wearing armor and filthy, blood-spattered tabards – although you note that none of them are armed, all of their scabbards empty. You also note that all of them are dead, or should be given the variety of horrific and invariably fatal wounds that each of them bears.

At the soft whispers of the gate, most of them jump as if an explosion has just gone off, while others remain starring at the ground as if they lives depended on not averting their eyes from the spot between their feet. As you and Marius enter, all of them eventually raise their heads and look at you. All eyes focus on you as Marius moves to take his seat, and gestures for you to take a spot in the middle of the circle.

“Good day to you, everyone. Today, I thought we could begin by introducing you to a friend of mine who has also recently come here. Everyone, this is Korram.”

“Hello.”

Came a number of muttered greetings. One woman, the right side of her face clawed off, simply stares at you. A moment after catching your attention, she asks a rather blunt question.

“Were you there?”

There was, of course, no question as to what exactly that meant. Were you present at the Battle of Narle. Heh, well you certainly had a story that you could tell them, assuming any of them would believe it!
The Hells

The Gast Family Monument

Archpaladin Zousha

At your refusal, the Black General gives a shrug.

“Fair enough. Though I warn you that in time, after Thirst has claimed you, you will be willing to drink even the blood of the innocent. Much as I’m doing right now.”

At your analysis of your situation, the Black General nods, his withered face splitting into a grin.

“So, you are a pragmatist after all! Good, good . . . that is very good. You are quite right that your situation is not much different now, although I believe you are underestimating the direness of it by a good margin. But I am most pleased that you are willing to accept the truth, rather than blindly cling to faith and zealotry. Some down here take great pleasure in . . . debating such things, but I find the whole thing tiresome.”

The Black General waves his hand magnanimously, and takes another sip from his goblet before setting it aside.

“Well then, to business. Allow me to be blunt here – I don’t need your body, as I have plenty of warriors, and I don’t need your mind, because I can get most of the information contained there-in from the other paladins. What I do have need of, however, is your influence over them. You are their leader, and they naturally will look to you for guidance.”

The Black General drums his long withered fingers on the desk for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. Then, he shrugs and continues.

“I want you to convince them to stand down. Most of them will hate you for it, and some will forevermore denounce you as a traitor. Which will be true, from a narrow point of view. Allow me to finish before you answer! The natural tendency for you paladins when in the clutches of us fiends is to resist with all of your might! I understand that – I too, was once one of you.”

The Black General smirks.

“Does that surprise you? You are welcome to call me a liar – trying to draw parallels between you and your opponent in an argument is a common tactic, after all. But it will not change the truth, just as resistance against us will not change the fact that it is futile! Although I was imprisoned for the majority of it, I understand that countless thousands of paladins lost their lives during the Crusade, their souls damned for eternity. Do you know what happened to all of them? They became fiends, one and all, inevitably no different than the worst sort of depraved murderer. By that point, they don’t even remember what they once were, filled with nothing more than rage and hatred!”

The Black General shakes his head.

“As it will inevitably happen to all of you, even the ones who have not died – yet. Ah – of course! There is always the hope of escape, that through your sacrifice at least one of you will somehow stagger back into the warm light of your mortal plane. Or, perhaps, that if you can hold out just long enough, they will come to rescue you! Ander and the angels and Miriam Herself, perhaps! No. You are mistaken. The Crusade have long since ended, and your remaining comrades will not rally sufficient numbers to renew the Crusade until long after you have died of old age. Miriam Herself is too afraid to come here, and wise enough to know that She is powerless in the realm of our Master. Her handmaidens are our playthings now, and they are even more helpless here than you are. Without the Crusade to maintain a portal into the Hells, there is no way to leave, and mortal summoning magic will only work on fiends, not humans. So there is no rescue and no escape, only an endless black pit of suffering ahead for all of you.”

The Black General clasps his hands together and smiles, more predator than pleasant.

“What if I told you it didn’t have to be that way? Things are changing around here, and as such I have an opportunity to grant you and all of your followers who submit . . . Mercy. For your cooperation – and I assure you, we won’t be asking you to kill babies or any stupid nonsense like that – I am willing to let you all live in as much peace as can be found in this wretched place. You will be left alone – not free to do as you wish, but not imprisoned either. Isolated, and permitted to exist even after your natural deaths undisturbed. I give you my word – and considering I remained imprisoned for millennia only by my word, you should know that I take my oaths very seriously. So . . . what’s it going to be? Compromise your oaths now, or compromise them later after you have been subjected to a mind-crushing amount of pain?”

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

Your lackeys cackled in amusement at the thought of all the horrible things you would subject Seraph to, although they were clearly disappointed that they would not get to watch. As they turned to leave and resume watch, one of them bobbed his head eagerly.

“We hope that you enjoy the gift that we procured for you, Lord Nihilus!”

The fiend fawned, patently obvious in an attempt to curry favor, and remind you that they had done something worthy of reward. Idiots – these were the creatures that all mankind lived in fear of? That had been another reason for using force to take what you needed – let other mages without spines whimper and plead with the “all-powerful” fiends for favors!

Once alone in your chambers again with Seraph, you treat his injuries. Not enough to get him back in fighting shape, but enough that he won’t die immediately. The Baron’s son grunts his thanks, and shifts awkwardly in his restraints. For a moment you wonder if he is trying to escape them, but it seems that he is merely trying to get comfortable – a difficult task it would seem. You also note that his remaining injuries do not seem to be healing on their own – clearly the Hells is suppressing that as it did to the angels. Perhaps that meant it also sapped his previously impressive strength, and other angelic traits as well. Oh well, it could be worse for him – at least his skin wasn’t melting, slowly burning away from the Hells’ very presence.

“Sohssal.”

Seraph finally manage to croak out, his voice slowly finding strength.

“I saw you fighting with my father . . . however long that was ago now. Is he dead? Although, I suppose down here, that may be an academic distinction.”

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

“What!?”

Videle purred, her lips tightening into a frown that more strongly resembled a pout. After a moment, she shrugged and forced a smile back onto her face. But there was an angry question in her eyes – there was no doubt now that she was *trying* to subvert your affections and leave you a drooling idiot that would do anything for a moment of her affection. The confirmation of what she was trying to do only made you more offended.

“I suppose that’s not an impossible request. Although I’m afraid we don’t really have a lot of water around here.”

As if just thinking of something, Videle clapped her hands together and turned back to her desk – giving you a good view of her delicate leather wings folded up between her shoulders blades and an even more delicate barbed tail stretching down from the base of her spine. Not surprisingly, both of these are also decorated and bejeweled, no doubt in a style that Videle thought was attractive. You thought all the decorations just made her look cheap, although you manage not to voice that observation as she turns back, a golden goblet cradled in her hands.

“Here. Because I want nothing but the best for you, I’ll let you have a little sip.”

Without waiting for you to accept or refuse, Videle strides over to the iron maiden you are imprisoned in and carefully raises the lip of the goblet to your lips. She pours something thick and burning into your throat. It is warm and salty and burning, all the way down. And yet you manage to choke it down, and Videle giggles delightedly as she raises the goblet to her own lips. As she lowers the goblet, the area around her lips is stained a bright red, at least until her darting tongue slips out to lick up the remains.

“Ah! Isn’t it just delightful? That sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, in liquid form! And so very fresh.”

Videle exclaims, shooting a glance over at the angel hanging limply in the corner. You wonder what she’s making of all this when Videle slams the goblet down onto the desk, bringing your full attention back to her.

“Now then. I want to know how you escaped my estate. Right now.”

Videle pressed, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. But there was also a dangerous note there, a suggestion that she was running out of patience. And why not? A creature like this thrived on sensation and in-the-moment thinking. You had her full attention for the moment, but at any point she might become fascinated with something or someone else, forgetting about you entirely. And yet, in another part of your mind, that was still capable of something resembling rational thought rather than hateful contempt, this creature had evidentially risen to the highest echelon of power within the Hells. Underestimating her would be an extremely stupid mistake, one that you would likely come to regret rather quickly.

The Mortal Realm

[u]Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

At your explanation of how you saw your relationship, “Quadramus” shrugs.

“I would imagine what you are looking for is your favored pet – the angel known as Maurice. Or perhaps she’s not your favored pet, but that human is? You could have killed him at any time, but you did not. Even arranged for him to take control of the Dusk Wardens after Augustus’s death. Saved his sister. Spared him from the consequences of his actions rather than allowing him and the others to perish ironically from the beast they thought would kill you. That’s certainly a lot of trouble to go to on behalf of one . . . fragile . . . gnat. But please, take your time – I can wait.”

That last comment sounding more like a dismissal rather than a peace offering, you envision different ways of tearing Quadramus apart as you leap down from the chapel – surely some way of killing him would have to take! You render the one cultist unconsciousness in a single blow, and render the other two to a state of even less – damn fragile humans! Well, you still have one cultist alive, and that should be enough as your followers run up. Ignoring the man’s cries of pain, they swiftly bind and gag him, before dropping a bag over his head and dragging him back up to his feet. Hopefully, they *should* be able to handle him from here.

Getting back up to the top of the chapel, you find Quadramus still waiting for you. He is playing with the broken half of a sword – you recognize it immediately.

“Recognize this? I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. I found it after the so-called Battle of Narle. I figured you would like it back.”

With a disdainful underhanded toss, Quadramus pitches the hilt and snapped off blade of Maurice’s sword to the floor at your feet.

“Hopefully that should be all the confirmation you need that she’s down there, suffering in agony. You have no idea where she is, and by the time you find her it’ll be far, far too late. I offer you . . . a solution.”

Reaching into his robes, Quadramus pulls out . . . an hourglass? You had seen one in the curiosity shop of a village, a rather odd and ungainly way of telling time. Why did the humans even care what time it was beyond whether it was day or night, anyway? This one seemed to be a bit different, however, filled with a red liquid instead of sand. As you watched, the viscous liquid slowly dripped down through the narrow middle and into the lower half, one drop at a time.

“This will tell you how much time you have left in which to find her before . . . well, you’ll wish that you hadn’t. And as you get closer, the liquid inside will slowly change from blood into tears. By the time it’s completely clear, well – she should be right in front of you.”

Quadramus waves the hourglass at you, balancing it precariously on his palm as if he could flip it off his hand and down onto the floor with a single lift of his fingers.

“So . . . interested?”

The Village of Woodhall
Kasanip

(Don’t worry about the breastplate since it’s not part of your image for Lukina’s gear. I’ll just keep in mind to describe you as dodging or blocking blows, rather than them glancing off your armor.)

Predictably, the outside world is still dark, it being still a few hours until dawn. There is light available, however, both from a series of torches scattered throughout the small village as well as the awful sight of one building completely engulfed in flames. No one is moving to try to put the blaze out, although you do note a few figures furtively moving about with buckets to douse the nearby buildings in an attempt to prevent the flames from spreading.

You hear shouts coming from several directions, the battle a chaotic mess that no one seems able to make sense of. You remember this, all battles a chaotic blend of fear, anger, and a steadfast determination not to be the one to die. In the end, battle was a wasteful, confusion mess, even at the level of Genevieve. But, you are also Lukina, and the thrill of adrenaline starting to pump through your body in preparation of your first real fight is not entirely unpleasant.

Fortunately, through the haze of smoke, you see a number of militiamen nearby, struggling to organize themselves. As you watch, a trio of arrows come hissing out of the darkness beyond the town, two of them thudding harmlessly into the side of a building but the third catching one of the men in the stomach. He goes down immediately, screaming as he clutches at the feathered shaft now protruding from his torso.

You instinctually rush over to join two other militiamen that come running over to their fallen comrade. As you approach them, you realize you don’t have any particular skill with the healing arts, and so can only watch helplessly as the two men struggle with the man’s wound. You do, however, help them to drag him out of the street and prop him up against the side of a building as several more arrows hiss over all of your heads. As you do so, you ask the two men still standing what the situation was, glad that you managed to keep all but the faintest adrenaline-fueled tremor out of your voice.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s the damn elves! Has to be!”

One of the men grunts, carefully breaking off the shaft of the arrow protruding from the wounded man’s stomach, but leaving the rest of it still inside him for the moment. As he pulls out a roll of shredded cloth and starts wrapping it around the man’s wound, the other one nods in agreement.

“Aye, and the knife-ears would be slitting all our throats right now was it not for Commander Welkin. Don’t know how we rated a detachment of honest-to-gods paladins, but praise the gods they’re here! Now we just have to – ugh!”

From the corner of your eye, you see movement as a shadow shifts out from around the corner of the building you had all taken shelter behind. A slender figure, still half-obscured by the flickering shadows of the alleyway it had emerged from. Even as you are turning towards it and the militiamen are just noticing it for the first time, the shadow moves in a blur. Its hands come up, revealing the bow clenched there. In a blur, it nocks three arrows and releases them, spraying your group at close range. Then the figure is retreating back into the alleyway from where it had appeared, and the safety of the shadows.

One arrow hisses past your cheek, just narrowly missing you – had you not turned immediately upon noticing the movement, it would have most assuredly gone clean through your head! The second arrow strikes the one still-standing guard in the throat, cutting him off in mid-word. The third arrow would have likewise struck the remaining militiaman, but he managed to get his shield up in time to deflect it.

“Knife-eared bastard!”

The remaining man roared, and then stepped around you and started moving towards the alleyway. You recognize this as a mistake – the elf was not retreating out of fear after it lost the advantage of surprise. No, it was retreating to lure the survivors of its surprise attack into a trap – there would be more waiting in the darkness of the alleyway, you were sure of it. Aware of such a thing, you might be able to turn it around to your advantage, and surprise the ones waiting in ambush by anticipating their attack. But darkness was clearly the friend of the elves, and they knew how to use it well. Although you would also be risking turning your back on an enemy, running away to a more defensive location and forcing them to come to you would be a tactic more likely to keep you and the militiaman alive (assuming you could convince him to come instead of charging off into the darkness alone). Certainly, there was also a slightly better chance of survival with the two of you going in together rather than alone.

Here was the next important decision of your new life as a warrior. Do you chase after an enemy and support a would-be ally’s potentially foolhardy plan, or do you attempt to fall back and convince him to do the same?

Vegna

You shout out a warning to Val’Tosh, who lets out an intimidating roar as he twists his body around in mid-stride to point towards the treeline. With the ogre charging into the woods from the side, you dive directly in, hoping you can circle around quickly enough to hit the ambushers from the far side of Val’Tosh.

Unfortunately, as soon as you are in amongst the trees, you lose sight of your massive friend. The undergrowth here is particularly dense, and it’s only through your contact with the ground that you have any sense of what’s going on. You can feel the steady pounding of Val’Tosh’s feet against the ground some distance from you, which suddenly slows to a halt just after reaching the treeline.

“WE GOT TROUBLE, MAL! MORE EARTH GUYS!!”

Val’Tosh roars, and suddenly you feel a series of tremors from the direction of Val’Tosh as he engages . . . something. It’s difficult to sense what exactly they are, but they do seem to be made of earth and rocks, similar to the constructs you had fought during your escape from the tournament grounds, but subtly different. You also sense that same quiet series of footfalls through the ground that had originally tipped you off to the ambush. Curiously, they were headed away from the fight, and not towards it. Well, not directly away from the fight, but circling around it and slightly spiraling outward, coming in your general direction.

With the thick vegetation but your ability to sense this ambusher through the ground, you have the advantage. Moving as carefully as you can, you head towards the disturbance, hoping that your friend can deal with the elementals while you handle the other potential threat. You are just slipping around a tree when the two of you come into sight of each other. Across a carpet of underbrush, sneaking around a tree was an elven woman, dressed in simple robes.

For a moment, both of you simply look at each other, both of you clearly surprised that the other had noticed you. Then she spits out an elven curse and gestures. At her command, a rock tears itself up out of the ground and hurls itself at you. You duck back behind the tree, and wince as you hear the tree crack and groan from the impact, the rock actually embedding itself into the tree near to where your head had been before you ducked back. Through your tremorsense, you detect the elven woman again trying to circle around, cutting through some trees to your right, trying to get around behind you.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

To your surprise, Hephestia doesn’t look much better than you probably did after several days spent secluded in your office. Her hair is an unruly mess, and she is still clad only in the chemise that she tended to wear while sleeping. Fortunately, this time she had remembered to bring along a blanket as a concession to modesty, clutching it around her like a cloak. Her eyes are bloodshot, likely as a result of yet again trying to resist the urge to sleep for longer than she should have. The skin around her eyes is also puffy – had she been crying?

“Thank you.”

She said, immediately pushing past you into the room. While you shut the door behind her, she goes over to your cot and plops down onto it. Clearly, you would not be getting any sleep for at least another hour. Wrapping the blanket more firmly around her, Hephestia hunches her shoulders and looks down at the floor, before glancing up at you. You think you had finally figured out the reason for the hunching – as an archangel, the gesture probably brought Hephestia’s wings around, wrapping them around herself. It was a reflexive self-comfort thing, and even though she was now human Hephestia apparently hadn’t forgotten it.

“I had a vision while comatose just now. What did you call them – gleams? Dreams? Something like that. Anyway I had one.”

Hephestia said flatly. You were about to congratulate her and force your tired brain to find a way to convince her to leave when she pressed on.

“In this vision, I was in the Hells – dead, or perhaps captured. It didn’t matter. I was dammed, and I was brought before Azguloth Himself. Apparently, I was to continue following in the footsteps of my . . . “sister” Melcara, and become Azguloth’s new Whore. It was unpleasant, but . . . I found myself coming to enjoy it. I . . . was this a portent of the future? Is that to be my ultimate fate?”

Hephestia glanced up at you again for confirmation, or some sort of denial. She looked like she was going to start crying again.

“I suppose it is no less than what I deserve for disappointing my Lady.”

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

You gather yourself up, savoring the sensation of having a physical body again. Limbo was a necessary part of your former immortality, but that did not make it pleasant. Unfortunately, while anything was more pleasant than the formlessness of Limbo, that did not mean your current body was fantastic. Your muscles ached with the strain of pushing yourself up onto your feet, your legs barely able to support your weight. Here and there, pain flared as your paper-like skin cracked open, and your lungs and eyes burned with dehydration.

You begin to suspect that this was not a result of the spell – that your current state was not in fact a result of your near-destruction at the hands of Marialta’s ritual. Rather, you had appropriated a body, possibly one that had recently been vacated by its owner, so to speak. It was hard to tell given that your body was obscured by the thick robes of a desert wanderer. Still – life was life, no matter how you had to beg, borrow, or steal it (not that you would ever beg).

It did mean your first priority upon reaching the city was getting your body back in fighting shape. No doubt Marialta was back here as well – possibly other Lords of Blood as well, but you doubted it. You had felt their passing as they had imbued the last of themselves into you, which was just enough for you to break through to Marialta and end up here. If you ever saw any of them again, you suppose you would have to adjust the scales – slightly! – back towards even with them.

As a new test, you attempt to summon some magic to shield your withered body from the sun. And other than making a few ridiculous gestures to an untrained observer, you accomplished nothing. Hmmm . . . now that would be a problem. You aren’t sure if *that* part is a result from the ritual, or the fact that you were stuck in someone else’s body. Perhaps you were stuck with someone else’s soul as well, with just your consciousness present, a ghost in a shell (of meat).

So be it. You had survived in the desert without magic before. Despite your dire circumstances, you could do it again. As you dragged yourself closer to the city, its spires became unmistakable. Before you is the city you and the others had built in the wasteland, crying defiance against Nature as you had against the Fiend Lords previously. You could remember every squalid street, every dark alley of the place you had forged into a home, a chrysalis for your transformation.

Although it was hard to see through the glaring sun with your gritty eyes, you believe you could make out dark red banners hanging here and there, the sand already starting to stain them to a more rust color. This was an important detail – it meant that the day of your transformation was not far away – one or two weeks at most.

Was that Marialta plan then? Disrupt the transformation and prevent the Lords of Blood from ever becoming in the first place?

You would need to stop her – a bold statement given your current condition and the fact that she very well could be in anyone’s body, in a city of thousands (quite an impressive size for its time), or worse, in her own, fully capable of magic, body.

First thing was first though – once you got to the gates, you would have to get inside, and then find some water and some salve for your skin. Fortunately, at this time the gates were wide open, as with your transcendence approaching you had dared what few enemies you had remaining to come and see the magnitude of their error in opposing you. Oh, how arrogant that act seemed now – after Kartul’s rampage in front of practically the whole known world, word had spread quickly that you had all become monsters. Support for your empire had crumbled quickly from that piece of news, allowing the damnable Church of Light to sweep in and shatter the pieces before you could reorganize.

(This is your city – you are welcome to detail it as you please. And, while Umber might be in for a few surprises now that he’s essentially on the bottom instead of the top, he’s familiar enough with the place to get to where he needs to go.)

Inspectre

2012-08-11, 03:39 AM

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

(That rhyme was hilarious! :smallbiggrin: )

With so many eyes boring holes into you, or at least trying to, it was starting to feel uncomfortably hot in here. Given the way both Turbine and Blocky were looking at you, you had better take steps to never be alone after you got back together with the rest of the unit. Maybe you could put in a request for a permanent transfer to this new unit, although depending on Skullcruncher’s mood he may just send you straight back to them trussed up like a hog, with a big apple in your mouth and some carving knives for them to use with his compliments. Such was life in the Hells, and while you might not dare trying it on Skullcruncher, Turbine and Blocky might find some lit explosives slipped into places of their armor where they most definitely did not want lit explosives to be, should they try any half-witted attempts at “revenge” for this.

Given that you had chosen Malarky, fortuitously by accident, at least you could sleep easy knowing that you weren’t on his list. Of course, that meant he was also loose, and free to slip something unpleasant into your backside as well, should the idea suddenly occur to him. Such was life in the Hells – maybe some part of his diseased brain would actually make a note that he owed you one, and he would stop looking like he was debating whether or not he should tear your face off with his teeth all the time. Yeah – and Nadireth would go back to having *one* head!

To be fair to Catbox, she actually played the dazed part all the way up to the point when Skullcruncher shoved the same hook he had menaced you with under her nose.

“Get up now or I’m going to shove this through the roof of your mouth and you can learn to scream out of your useless arse.”

Skullcruncher growled, and just like that, Catbox blinked and leaped back up to her feet!

“Whew! Ugh, where am I? I blacked out there for a minute!”

Catbox declared, sneaking a look at you. Oh yeah, she was going to pay. You’d have to think of something suitably cruel for leaving you to face the wrath of Turbine and Blocky (and to be sure, all of the others to a greater or lesser extent), all by your lonesome. For now, that would have to wait, however, as Skullcruncher grunted, tossing the hook back to the Cleaver and turning away.

“Great. Now let’s get out of here and leave The Cleaver to his work.”

As you walk past Turbine, he strains against this bonds, and for a moment you think he actually might manage to leverage himself up off the hook jutting out of his stomach.

“Get you!”

He manages to gurgle out, loud enough for all present to hear. If he was going to say anything more, he’s interrupted by The Cleaver backhanding him, hard enough to dislocate his jaw. Wordlessly, he continues to howl and thrash, at least for another moment until The Cleaver reaches up and plunges a hand through the stitches holding his gut together, beginning to slowly disembowel him as he pulls out Turbine’s guts one inch at a time. Thankfully, you don’t have to see any more – which is only inspiring flashbacks of The Cleaver strangling you with your own entrails – as a moment later you all step through the iron door and it swings shut behind you. Leading you up the dark stairs you had been dragged down to get to the room, Skullcruncher actually seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Now then. As I mentioned, Molerat wants some sophisticated explosives –“

“You got it, boss! Anything for Molerat!”

Catbox chirps, and Skullcruncher whirls on her.

“Open your mouth again and I will tear out your stitches, and use the thread to sew your mouth shut!”

Catbox nods, lips firmly pressed together.

“Now, as I was saying, Molerat needs sophisticated explosives. But not just the usual crap the two of you put out.”

Catbox shares a look with you and sniggers, coming dangerously close to pushing Skullcruncher to carry out his threat.

“No, he wants *human* explosives. He wants you to put together the biggest bomb you can devise that will still be light enough for a human to carry, and he wants you to do it with materials from the mortal plane. Nothing from the Hells, he was explicit about that. Now, as I’m sure you are aware, there isn’t exactly an abundance of such materials down here. Which is why we’ll be sending you back to the mortal realm.”

“Wait, what!?”

Catbox exclaimed, her outburst actually going unpunished by Skullcruncher, as he seemed to enjoy the shock that ripples through the four of you.

“Oh, Dirge’s withered nethers, no!”

Mouse exclaims, earning himself a hard thump in the back of the head from Malarky. Skullcruncher merely grins.

“Oh YES! Now come on, I need to introduce you to the rest of your team.”

Climbing up the last of the steps, you find yourself in the middle of a fortress – The Cleaver merely rented out space down in the basement. You don’t know who owned the fortress proper, although given it was merely an outpost on the first level of the Hells, it might well not be owned by anyone important. Nobody really wanted to be the first ones to greet the paladins when they restarted their insane Crusade.

You figured that Skullcruncher was going to lead you out of the fortress, or maybe lead you to join up with the rest of your squad on the battlements. Instead, he lead you over to a dark pool of brackish water, one which glowed with an eerie light from somewhere below the surface. Even from a distance, you can dimly make out the image of cloaked figures rippling in the water’s depth.

“Say hello to your new squadmates.”

Skullcruncher said with a grin, as the images of the cloaked figures in the water pulled off their cowls to reveal pudgy, soft, round faces. Human faces.

“Oh no, oh Heavens no!”

Mouse groaned, earning himself another punch from Malarky.

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

Jarod’s lips curl upwards into a smile to mirror your own.

“Indeed. I must say that were it not for the fact that the elves were willing to burn down the entire forest, I would not be concerned with their efforts to destroy the city. Indeed, I might even approve of it – even for the festering nests of filth that “civilized” humans like to create, that city is particularly foul. Nonetheless, I must agree with your suggestion – we need an army, and while the humans are cowering within their walls before the elves’ wrath, they do have an army.”

Jarod thinks a moment, and then nods slowly, his smile starting to fade.

“We should be able to convince them to lend us a detachment of troops, *if* we can talk to someone in authority that has a brain – a difficult person to find even in the best of times. We might also need to be careful while in the city. The place has been a home to an academy of those reality perverters – “mages”, as they call themselves – for a number of years now. And quite a few of them have wandered into these woods, drunk on what meager power they had learned to gather and looking for trouble. I was always happy to give it to them, the punishment in accordance with the crime. I understand that I’m a wanted man as a result – “The Mad Hermit” or some such nonsense.”

Jarod’s smile returns at that, although it is less than a pleasant expression. He thinks a moment more, and then shrugs, turning to walk back to his home.

“Well, I’ve ventured into the city now and again when necessary. As a result I’ve developed a bit of a flair for disguises. Given that I haven’t been into the city since this whole nonsense started, and a good while before that, I have no idea what your own status within the “civilized” world is, but I should be able to come up with someone for you as well should you need it. Now let’s see here . . .”

Jarod gestures with his hand, and the rotted tree responds, one massive root that made up the base parting in the middle to reveal a sizable hollow. Inside where all sorts of clothing and odds and ends – apparently Jarod’s version of a wardrobe. He sticks his head inside and rummages around for a bit, occasionally throwing bits and pieces over his shoulder. Finally, he cries out in triumph, producing the breastplate to a suit of plate mail.

“Aha, here it is! I got this off of a knight who blundered in here a few years ago, looking to put an end to “The Mad Hermit”. He didn’t seem a bad sort, actually, if rather misguided, so I just sent him back to town naked. I even gave him a few coins to purchase a new set of clothes when he got there! I must say though, this suit of armor has come in handy. Nobody ever seems to expect that the knight in shining armor is actually a mad hermit. Hah!”

Dropping the breastplate onto the ground, Jarod turns back and continues digging through his inventory for the rest.

“He had a squire with him, if I remember correctly. Poor boy was supposed to be his guide – at least he had the sense to be scared of angering me! Anyway, I took his gear as well, so we can pose as a knight and his squire arriving to join the battle. I’m sure no one will think twice of it, even if we lack the proper pomp and pageantry nonsense that seems to surround the real thing. Assuming how important such things are to them, but only when no one is actually trying to kill them! By the way, the suit of armor is fairly heavy, even if it is well made. I’d be happy with playing the squire and wearing the much lighter chain shirt if you’d prefer to play the part of the shining knight, clopping around like a metal crab!”

(As a note, this is not D&D. Contact with metal does not mysteriously cause your powers to go away. It’d look rather weird if druids were all running around in plate mail all the time, but there’s nothing particular holding you back from that unless you swore some sort of personal oath or have a phobia of worked metal.)

Jarod stops and turns back to you, his mildly giddy expression fading back to seriousness.

“Of course, I also know of a few loose sewer grates, which may or may not have been strengthened now that the city is actually in danger. Woe if the elves find those and the humans are unprepared for an unexpected attack! Still, that might also provide another way in, and one that will possibly attract less elven arrows than walking down the road in shining armor like an idiot.”

daelrog

At your song-like whistles, you hear at least one songbird in the distance tweet out a reply. But you have attracted the attention of far more important animals, as one of the elves immediately storms over and backhands you. Angrily the elf glares at you, shoving a finger to his lips, then backhands Greg as well – evidentially the elves’ hearing was sharper than they let on. Either that, or they didn’t like the old coot any more than you did.

Drawing the elf over to you does, however, attract his attention in the way you had hoped, as a moment later he looks down and notices your crude drawing. Immediately he jumps back away from you and the drawing with a harsh cry, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword as if he expected an attack. Seeing one not coming, he looks over his shoulder and shouts something to his companions in the elves’ native tongue. You had been trying to figure out the basics of their language since being taken prisoner, although so far it eluded you – not that you had been given much to work with – the elves were an unusually taciturn and quiet lot. Yes, nothing at all like the orcs, who screamed oaths in their primitive language at every opportunity, while lumbering towards you, as if their bellowed challenges would convince you to fight them fairly.

For a moment, the elves hold a brief conference among themselves – at least, the three that you can see. The fact that you knew there had been more of them initially, and you weren’t quite sure that they were the same three that had been with you this whole time – damn slender cretins all looked the same to you – was the only thing that didn’t urge you to trust in the weight of your numbers to earn your freedom right now. After a moment, the nominal leader of the three comes over to you, addressing you in a high-pitched but slow rendition of the local human dialect.

“You make sign? Are you, droo-aid? You not go with these people if you are droo-aid. But you will have to convince us. And you fail, girl dies.”

In response, one of the elves nocks an arrow to his bow, angling the shot down towards Willow’s face. The young girl understandably raises her hands protectively in front of her and shrinks back, now that it matters any as the elf carefully tracks her every movement with the tip of his arrow.

“Understand?”

The elf presses.

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes
There is no trial, or even a semblance of one. Either these men were smart enough not to waste time and risk getting caught, or their hatred overrode any sense of justice they might possess. As soon as the noose is around the she-elf’s neck, they pull it tight and then haul on the rope. The elf ascends struggling up into the sky, slowly choking to death. So these humans were sadistic as well – they could have brought along a stool to hang her properly, or even lifted her up onto their own shoulders before dropping her to break her neck. But no – it would be a slower death through strangulation instead.

You have just finished your spell and stepped into the alleyway when they tie the rope off to a post, stepping back to watch the she-elf struggle futilely for breath, twirling around in mid-air as she frantically pumps her legs. At the sound of your voice, all three of the men jump in surprise. The she-elf struggles more frantically, unable to speak between the noose and the gag, although her eyes are pleading. While one of the men stays behind to continue watching the elf’s death, the other two puff themselves up to look what they would think is intimidating, and then approach you warily, hands on their weapons.

“Back off, friend. Official militia business.”

As if the militia would conduct official business in this grimy alleyway. The lie is patently ridiculous, and even they know it, but that doesn’t stop the other one from joining in.

“Go back the way you came, sir. Forget you saw anything, and consider how hard the Amaranth militia is working to keep you safe from the elves.”

So, that was how they were going to play it. Well, it was not like they had any choice – even in desperate times such as these, you doubted grunt militia men had been authorized to enact summary justice. Your choice was the same – you could leave the militiamen in peace and the she-elf to die, or you could interfere. Humans never learned – this would only be settled with violence. Unless . . . you could try to trick them somehow, although the only thing they were likely interested in was an unpleasant end for the elf.

The City of Luxien

Cardea

Seeing an opportunity in this group of humans, and one human in particular, already sheltered within a shell of metal, you crept up behind them. You are dimly aware that some might find the concept of a giant piece of living metal trying to creep up behind someone humorous. You however, do not.

As you move up behind the man, thankfully bringing up the rear of the group – perhaps precisely because he is bearing metal skin – you feel your mind filling with another memory. Thankfully the other residual memories associated with this individual are able to guide your steps, not making a sound despite your considerable weight as you approach the man from behind. Thankfully again, no one in the group ahead looks back . . . almost as if they were afraid to do so. Unfortunately, your borrowed memories also lead to a disturbing mantra reverberating in your mind as you sneaked forward, approaching the man from behind.

Approach victim from behind. Reach around with right hand, over victim’s right shoulder. Clamp hand over mouth, applying pressure to the upper lip. Force hand upwards, coming into contact with underside of nose. Pull backwards, lifting victim’s head to the side and back, exposing throat. Bring left hand up over victim’s left shoulder. Stab deeply into the side of the victim’s neck, two inches down from the bottom of the ear. Twist knife within injury before pulling it free. Release victim immediately and step back to avoid getting spray of blood onto self. Approach victim from behind . . .

Although you wanted to use this man to gain entry into the city, you had no desire to harm him. For that matter, you still didn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt another. Certainly not with the frequency that the humans did. And if the surge of emotions accompanying these memories was any indication, why anyone would feel an electrifying thrill at the thought of harming another.

Still, you manage to sneak up behind the man and attach yourself to him. Still uncertain that this will work, you subtly increase the man’s strength, allowing him to bear part of your weight without noticing the sudden increase in weight. Perhaps you are successful, or perhaps the man is simply too focused on the gates ahead to notice. Either way, you successfully manage to meld yourself over the man’s iron skin.

When the group comes to the gates, you listen as the guards speak with them. Apparently this group was a band of refugees from a village some distance away. The village had been attacked by elves, and they were all that was left of their hometown. The guards agree to let them in, although not unescorted to roam the city. This was evidentially not the first such group to come here, and the guards had a relaxed air as two of them moved up to join the group, leading the way into the city.

Inside the walls, there are a lot more people, in much tighter quarters. Nonetheless, you could slip off the man, and duck into a dark alleyway before anyone would notice. That would not prevent your discovery for long, as humans seemed to swarm about everywhere, all around you. But it might be long enough for you to devise the next step of your plan. There was at least one more wall separating you from your goal, assuming Ander was located in the innermost part of the city. And you would still need to locate him once you got inside.

Perhaps waiting until nightfall, assuming you could figure out a way to remain inconspicuous until then, would grant you an advantage. Humans did not seem able to see very well without a source of light, whether that was the sun or a piece of burning wood. “Looking” out around you, you also notice that the city seems to be in some disrepair – or perhaps a battle had occurred here as well. Certainly, not all of the buildings within the walls were still standing, and there was enough rubble lying about that if you could get to one of them, you could hide amongst the broken stone until nightfall.

Vegna

2012-08-11, 06:19 AM

Worry stirred in Mal Harath's mind, at Val'Tosh's message. Could the mysterious organiser have managed to not only track the pair down with some sort of underling, but their pursuer had moved even faster than them?

Mal hadn't seen many elves before, aside from the odd fighter at the tournement, and perhaps some small childish part of him stood in curious wonder at the uncanny being, half-seconds before his common sense reasserted itself to make him duck.

He drew his hand low across the ground, carving the outline of his staff as his magic shaped it into fact, his feet following the elf as he worked. Much like the elvish woman had found, there was good rock here and after a few moments his staff was ready, as tall as himself and as thick one of his ogre friend's fingers. With a few practice swings, Mal was satisfied and readied himself against the largest tree closest to him, his back facing the elf's direction.

An idea struck him suddenly, as he felt the ambusher start to turn towards him. Moving the place the trunk between him and his opponent, he dug his staff into the ground and rubbed his palms. If the earth mage was distracted from Mal himself, he'd have a far better chance of getting close enough to hit her. And what is more distracting to an elf than a tree falling towards you.

Mal began to soften the earth around the roots, weakening its bindings loosely as he pressed his hands against the tree trunk and began to push the timber to fall towards the elf. As it tilted, he began to climb up along its bark, the tree starting to inch into a lower angle with slow building speed. As the roots began to show themselves, Mal was hugging the mid-point of the trunk, his feet flat against the bark. He may have looked a strange sight, but, he was poised to leap as soon as he saw the elf.

GuyFawkes

2012-08-11, 08:24 AM

Lucifuge

"Yes, perhaps you should truly wish I had just forgotten what I saw," a deep voice came from under the hood. As Lucifuge came within a few paces, he pulled the hood over his head, revealing a face the militiamen should be more or less familiar with; he had initially thought of just using the usual human face he used as disguise, but decided to use the face of what seemed to be a higher up in the militia he saw a few days ago for good measure. Underneath his cloak, the distinct colors of the militia's uniform could be seen.

"What is this? An elf among our ranks? A spy, I see. Hanged for the beasts that they are, yes?" he spoke as he moved forward with confident strides, focusing on the strangling elf, ignoring the men and their stance. Then, he turned his gaze back towards them.

"I take it none of you had the insight that maybe the spy is not working alone? And none of you bothered to do with proper interrogation as per proper protocol? I suppose our defenses being breached because we failed to appropriate information that could have been obtained in the first place never crossed your feeble, revenge-clouded minds either?"

He looked at each of the three men in the eye, letting his words sink in before continuing.

"I thought so. Now, leave at once. Be prepared for the consequences of your thoughtless actions later."

As he said that, he turned around to cut the rope. Holding one end of the severed rope, he let the let the elf's dangling body go down slowly, catching her with his free hand and putting her down on the ground gently. He loosened the noose from her neck and slowly slid it over her head before checking her vitals, his movements unhurried and calm. Looking over his shoulder, he made sure the militiamen are gone before speaking.

"Can you speak?"

TechnOkami

2012-08-11, 09:41 AM

Rosenberg

(That's nice to know, on the Worked Metal not being a hindrance. I don't plan to have a set of full plate armor myself, but it makes sense why Druids shouldn't be inhibited by metal: it's an ore or series of ores found in nature, when worked makes something new, but still derived by natural means. It makes sense that metal doesn't inhibit a Druid's strength.)

The Druid's smile changed from one of cunning, to one of amusement.

"The Mad Hermit? Is that the most creative title they bothered to give you?"

An earthen, hearty chuckle resonated from Rosenberg. His laugh was genuine.

"Haa.. that's rich."

Returning to a more serious composure, Rosenberg stood up, dusting the dirt off of his robe.

"I don't believe I've come to acquire any city-wrought nickname as of yet, though if I did, I wouldn't doubt that it would be something wolf or rose related, perhaps even death themed for..."

Rosenberg's eyes gazed upon his scythe.

"...more obvious reasons."

He made his way besides his long time friend, inspecting the armor he'd hidden beneath the earth for so long. He took a look at the various articles of clothing he had, as well as the equipment of the two men.

"Hm... your plan to walk into to the town is a sound one, but wouldn't that Knight and Squire still be there? I doubt we could get far if they recognized their own clothing, or you for that matter. And like you said, walking through their front gates as a walking target for the elves doesn't settle well with me either."

His lips sucked more smoke from the long stem of his pipe, exhaling it slowly and calmly.

"The grates idea wouldn't work. I don't think entering the town through roguish means sends the right message..."

Rosenberg sat on the stump his friend was all too recently sitting on, sitting and smoking, letting his mind think and ponder upon a good course of action.

"...I think the best way to get inside the town is by first earning a slight measure of their trust, just to let them loosen up and be calm over our presence. I think we might have to defend the town from a wave of Elves first, drive them off, and then ask to see whoever is leading the city folk. We'd be walking up to their front gates and not be targets... initially."

Rosenberg turned to Jarod.

"Or we could fly in as birds, incognito."

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-08-11, 12:07 PM

Hondshioh

"No. I will never compromise my oaths, not for you, not for anyone. My oaths were not to Miriam, or to Athelion, or to my brethren, but to the principles of honesty, justice, truth, charity and above all, hope. There's always a way, Black General. There's always a way for good to triumph over evil. You paint a picture of inevitability, that Azguloth will rise, that he will finish what the Baron started and kill the gods, and that the fiends you claim were our former brethren will swarm over the world. I say to you, no. It will not happen. As long as I have breath in my body it will not happen. You, like the Baron, are the weak one. You gave up hope and became the monster you were sworn to defend against. Those who would give up their souls for mercy deserve neither. So do your worst. I am as the stone at the roots of the mountains. I will not bend and will not break."

As opposed to his previous speeches, Hondshioh's voice is calm and even. Not the melodramatic shouting of the battlefield, but cold acceptance of what was happening and a resolute declaration to stand against it. Compromise was one thing. Betraying everything you stood for was something else.

Dorizzit

2012-08-11, 02:08 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram scratches his chin at Marius' hypothesis as to the causes of human suffering.

"Maybe. I wonder."

Korram looks around as they enter the Golden City, still far from used to the paradisiacal realm. On the one hand, he was attracted to it; the city was beautiful, and filled with a joy and contentment that Korram had rarely seen during his life. On the other, it contained a stagnation of horrifying magnitude. Anyone could be any age, from newly arrived to millenia old, and there was no way to tell by sight. Korram looked twice the age of most of the city, but was rarely even half. To exist unchanging for so long was inconceivable to him, but perhaps that would change with time as well. Korram is happy to be pulled from his unpleasant musings by Marius' explanation of the steps he had already taken. As they enter the courtyard, he begins to plan his strategy, taking in the states of the men and women all around him. He looks around at each, his gaze eventually settling on the woman, who is the first to truly address him. He pauses for a moment before answering.

"Does it matter? That battle was hardly unique. Oh, it isn't every day Miriam Herself descends from the Heavens to smite those who would stand against her, that much is true. But there have been other battles throughout history. To fight, and to fail, it is much the same no matter who you fight for and who you fight against. If it really makes that much of a difference to you, however, yes. I was."

He closes his eyes, and looks around at the circle. He gently clears his throat.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Korram Alstan. And I am a failure."

He pauses once more, allowing the words to sink in a bit. A few of the paladins who had previously refused to look at him glance upwards, surprised by his words.

"I am not a very complex man, but I have been a few things in my life. A husband. A father. A rebel. A hero. At all of these, I have failed."

Korram shifts his stance a bit, allowing him to address a new part of the circle. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I was born and raised in Gast. I lived in a small, out of the way village, and for a long time, my life was not unusual. I grew, married, and had a child. Then, the False Baron stole my wife from me. There was no warning, no explanation, and nothing I could do. I couldn't save her. This is my failure as a husband."

Once again, he turns a bit.

"This enraged me. I fought back, started a covert rebellion, and began fighting back. I avoided capture, and movement grew stronger. It consumed my life. In this way, I began neglecting my daughter. I was present at home often enough, she was fed and sheltered, but I simply wasn't there for her. She was the entire world to me, but I took her for granted, and continued to do so until the moment she died. This is my failure as a father."

Another turn.

"Eventually, my rebellion grew strong enough that it was more than an irritation to the Baron, if only just. He had me found, captured, and thrown into Ironheart. All the time I thought he couldn't capture me, he simply hadn't considered me worth the effort. The moment the possibility of my making a difference existed, I was humbled, and every victory I gained was through the power of another. This is my failure as a revolutionary."

Another turn.

"When I was a rebel, many of the people of the barony began to look up to me. Some even joined me. They saw me as a hero. I saw myself as a hero, until Ironheart cured me of that. Even after I was captured, imitators claiming to be me made themselves known from time to time. My example inspired others to rise up, only to be crushed just as I was. This is my failure as a hero."

Another turn.

"I won't bore you with the details, but I was one of the prisoners to flee Ironheart a while back. I sought revenge against the Baron, and joined a group planning to kill him. We failed. Those left waited until the Battle of Narle. I was aboard the Ghastly Truth when Miriam fought the Herald. I was planning to assassinate the Baron, but...there was a critical moment when Miriam was left weakened. The Herald was about to kill Her. I died stopping the blow with my body. I think that's the one thing I can say that I truly succeeded in during my life."

One last turn puts Korram back where he started.

"I don't expect you to believe what I've said, at least about the battle. But it's true. I have told you all of this so that you know, when I say I understand the sting of failure, I mean it. And I have learned from it. I have learned that it is not the destination that matters; it is the journey. I failed many times in my life, but I also stood up, and fought for what I believed in. I have come to terms with may failures and acknowledged my virtues. I always did what I thought was right, and regardless of whether or not I was correct, or whether or not I won, I tried. So did each of you."

He pauses, gathering his thoughts.

"Think back over your lives. You were paladins. If you were worthy...no, if you were not unworthy of the name, then your lives were not wasted. You chose to risk your lives, and died warriors' deaths. That is something to be proud of."

There is another pause, as Korram begins to run out of steam.

"Many people...good people, were damned unjustly in the Battle of Narle. That is tragic, and there is nothing that can be done about it by us. But, by creating your own personal hell here, you dishonor those trapped in the real thing. Remember, you would not be here if you had not earned it."

Finally finished, Korram lets himself relax a bit from his erect stance. He has never been very confident in his speeches, but he hopes this one has touched home. He glances around, trying to gauge the circle's reaction.

Baerdog7

2012-08-11, 05:24 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander slumps into a chair and listens wearily as Hephestia describes her dream.

Well I'm no diviner, so take what I have to say with a grain of salt. He says finally. But what your dream might have been of one possible future for you if you had not been stopped during the battle. The way you were going, you could very well have ended up at Azguloth's feet one way or another. It doesn't matter who you are or how powerful you were, once your soul is in Hell it's only a matter of time until you are twisted enough to do his bidding.

Melcara though...she fought to break free of that. She was just another tortured servant of Azguloth when I met her in Ironheart but I took pity on her. I tried to convince her that she could be redeemed and one day take her place at Miriam's side once again. Of course she was reluctant at first but eventually began taking small steps in the right direction. Miriam disagreed, however, and ordered me to kill Melcara.

So I did.

Ander stares blankly at the shadows in a corner of the room.

I regret that decision very much. When I saw Melcara again, she was a changed person who had found her own way but it was not because of me. I never got a chance to ask for her forgiveness and I don't know that I ever will.

Heh, look at me ramble on. Did you have anything else you wanted to talk about?

daelrog

2012-08-11, 09:38 PM

Alons Sift

“I understand. Relax.” Alons’s heart raced, but he kept his voice even, and spoke slowly. He stood up, taking his time. “No need to kill Willow.” Give the girl a name, would they be so keen to kill her then? Names held great power in Fairlyle, once you knew someone’s name, you became closer.

He walked over to a nearby tree. He kicked it twice, hard, breaking chunks of bark off, exposing the wood underneath, the kind of exposure that could kill the tree well before its time. He bent over and picked up some of the bark, showing it to the elves. He then pressed the bark back onto the tree, muttering words in the old tongue. “Eloran. Eshrahas. Salathai.” A white glow emanated from his hands and the bark molded back onto the tree. It was clearly warped where he had performed his magic, but the tree was safe once again.

“Druid.” He nodded. “Now the girl will live, yes? You said she’d die if I was not a druid, but I am, therefore the elves will not kill her, yes?” He knew the elf had probably meant that Willow would not be immediately killed, her death saved for later. Alons wanted to catch the devil with his own words though, and see if she could be spared. One at a time, or at least to save as many as he could. Perhaps even save himself, this is what crossed the foreigner’s mind.

Gorgondantess

2012-08-12, 02:50 AM

She ignores his words, but when he withdraws Maurice's sword she reacts immediately, snatching it out of the air as soon as he tosses it with elongated arms. She stares down at the relic, wide eyed as he speaks, then shakes her head.
"Too perfect. What is that made of? How did you make it? How do I know it will really lead me to Maurice, and how does it know of her impending fate? And most importantly of all- why?"
She stares him down, scoffing.
"Even if I could ascertain its functionality- which I can't- why would you go out of your way to create this powerful device for me? You've already proven yourself to be antagonistic in the past, and even if your original disguise proves true, your only goal would be my preservation- and aiding me in my quest here would do much the opposite."
She sniffs.
"And your attitude isn't exactly endearing either. If you want to help me so badly, you'll at least tell me of your motives. And if you can't even do that, then I have no reason to speak with you any longer, let alone accept your so-called gifts."

Cardea

2012-08-13, 10:11 PM

Bastion

Bastion takes note of the surroundings. The ability to see through... everything... sometime clashed with the memories of sight so limited. Sometimes it was a conflict, having to switch between two perspectives. But it looked outwards, viewing the area as they walked through. There were so many people, in such cramped places. It was like in the Mother Metal; so many, so huddled, so afraid. Bastion observed this, though. It felt nothing for it.

Bastion slipped off the man, the strength draining away from the man as each section of Bastion slipped off. Once off, Bastion reformed into its normal armor-self, and moved, fast. Ducking into an alleyway, Bastion thought. These people were like... locusts. They swarmed. They would reach everywhere. Even here wasn't safe. And it needed to reach Ander.

It propped itself into its default position, as if it were a man standing. It leaned backwards, propping itself against one building, so it was tilted in the alleyway. And it waited, waited for someone to come by to attempt to move it. It was something, with nothing else.

WhiteKnight777

2012-08-14, 06:42 AM

Umber

Umber looked around at the city. His city, forged from stone and will and blood. Mostly blood, really, now that he thought of it. Despite the desperation of his own situation, he was somewhat bemused by the whole affair. He supposed he should look around, find some supplies and then think of a way to...

He laughed aloud. Bugger that - there were other things he needed to resolve, and immediately - such as the nature of this oddly tangled timeline. And there was a very easy way to determine some crucial factors right now...

Umber's body may have been weak, but his brain was stronger than strong. He had carved this city from nothing, he and the other Lords of Blood - a place of refuge, a place for humanity in an older and more savage world. Everywhere, people from all accross the known world, and not a few from beyond it mingled in the glorious, vibrant life that the city embodied - it was a place to meet, to fight, to love and lust and indulge. It was a place to live. And above all, it was a mark of their defiance. In a world where humanity had all too often been considered nothing more than prey and playthings, the Lords of Blood had clawed their way out of the dark and into the fitful firelight of rudimentary civilzation. But crude though it might have been, the city had a rough-hewn and brutal sort of honor - there was no dissembling here. It was a savage place, built by seven people who ruled because they had claimed that right through bloodshed and unyielding will. And they had been proud of it. A shadow of that old pride filled Umber now, and he had to grin.

Umber's first stop was the Great Southern Bazaar. His borrowed senses overwhelmed for a moment by the sheer size and variety of the place - the mingled scents of **** and spice and spilled wine filled the air along with all manner of beastly bellows. Dark-eyed Svars of the southern savannah rode their eight-legged armor-plated Hurkals alongside furtive witch-doctors from Shakati's jungle home, while Umber's own long-vanished brethren sold carpets and coffee, and insulted each other outrageously to show their esteem. As he pinched a meat-skewer from a market stall, he watched a bearded plainsman run through a tall red-haired man from Fianna's tribe over the attention of a veiled, lovely little thing of haunting, androgynous beauty. Gods, Umber had forgotten how much he'd missed this city in the intervening years. It was wild and terrible, little better than the savage wastes around it, yet filled with promise - especially now, on the cusp of the ascension of the Lords of Blood...

Which brought him to the rest of his plan. Quickly wolfing his stolen goods in an alley, stopping only long enough to keep his withered stomach from vomiting up the rich fare, he made off towards the palace. There were secret passageways winding up through the bedrock that only he knew of - winding ways up through primordial stone and into his own private chambers, for it would not do to meet, say, Kartul... or Fianna, for that matter - his heart lurched at the thought, and he felt a pall sweep over his soul. But he knew his old home, and he had an appointment to keep - with himself.

Iethloc

2012-08-14, 01:37 PM

Sohssal

Sohssal barely paid attention to the pathetic little fiends, so he gave little more than a customary chuckle at their comments. The sooner he could escape, the better.

When Seraph spoke his name, Sohssal quickly sniffed the air for any signs of unwelcome magic. Now that he had something another Fiend Lord might want, he had to be careful about any scrying attempts on the estate. There were other methods of surveillance, but he very much doubted that the average lowlife demon would make a good spy.

”He should be dead. I dropped the Gastly Truth on him,” he responded to Seraph. Sohssal didn't put much thought into the Baron's fate after their battle. He had hoped to end him altogether, but consigning him to the Hells was a sufficiently horrible fate. For now, at least.

”I can't really do anything more for your wounds, since I'm currently 'Lord Nihilus', and I'm supposedly keeping you as a chewtoy. But I'm really trying to find a way out of this place...do you know anything about how your father opened the rift?” Sohssal asked.

Kasanip

2012-08-16, 04:09 AM

Lukina

Arrows had cried vengefully to attack the militia. Somehow Lukina avoided the arrow at her. The wind on her cheek was a warning.
But now she had seen two men just killed quickly. Only the shadow of an enemy had been seen.

It was better to retreat here. The elves had an advantage in this chaos and darkness. And they were dangerously accurate. The militiaman had just mentioned paladins, and Lukina had been surprised by this small luck.

But he had been killed while standing. And the other militiaman had started to charge.

In this kind of situation, there was only a second to make a decision.
"Please wait!" Lukina called out, to grab the man's collar as he started to run past. The man didn't want to stop, and Lukina grabbed the building to brace herself and pull him back.

It wasn't that she didn't have emotions. Seeing the man killed and the injured here had started her own heart to race. She wanted to go and stop the elf too. But to charge here was a mistake. It would be a disaster. But she couldn't explain that to the man. This wasn't a time of deliberation.
Even for Lukina, it was an instinctive thought, not a logical thought. Could she even explain such a thing? She negatively shook her head and pointed at the injured militiaman.
"We have to help him! To regroup with others!" She tried to explain with compassion. The injured militiaman needed help. Probably he would die from the wound if there was no more treatment.

For the moment, Lukina took the shield from the dead militiaman, to hold it protectively to cover, for the standing militiaman to help his injured friend.

"Where is... Commander Welkin?" She asked, thinking of the name. Maybe if they could group, then the situation would be easier to understand. And maybe, if they survived this attack, Commander Welkin and the paladins could help Lukina.

The_Snark

2012-08-17, 04:07 AM

Mar

Cold.

It seemed to Mar, as the frigid winds bit and shrieked at her like sheepdogs driving the flock, that cold had been a constant in her life for a long time now. The winter snows that had blanketed Stonefall, severe and—if not malicious—then at least indifferent to her suffering. The bone-deep chill of Ironheart, long nights sleeping on metal floor with nothing more than ragged clothes for a blanket. Even as an angel she recalled cold, though it hadn't bothered her much then: she'd flown on the high boreal winds for days on end sometimes, aware of the discomfort but strong enough to ignore it.

She was weaker now, though.

Memories flickered to life as they walked through icy halls. The crystalline palace was a strange echo of what had been, not exactly the same but close enough to call up old ghosts. Here was the balcony where the newly crowned Queen had stood to display herself to her war-weary subjects, a symbol of hope. Here a young princess had skipped through the halls to greet her father and his pretty visitor, blissfully unaware of the doom about to fall upon her home. There Marisiel had felled a trio of demons, called forth by Phaedran sorcery. Strange memories, even without the twisted lens of ice and briar that lay atop it all. Hero, conqueror, prisoner. None of the pieces seemed to fit together, like they belonged to three completely separate people.

At last Istomilo pulled her into what she recognized as the throne room, and she could no longer put off facing what she'd been trying to ignore. She knelt half-willingly. The stone was painfully cold against her bare legs, but she wasn't sure it was safe to look up, didn't know if she dared meet the eyes of the woman on the throne. Ice, and howling wind, the past frozen and covered in strangling vines; Mar had never harbored any hope that the years had softened the Queen's hate, and nothing she saw gave her reason to change that. She shivered. Silence wrapped around her, smothering, strangling, until the terror of waiting became worse than that of anticipation.

"T-Titania," she acknowledged, voice cracking (she couldn't tell if that was fear or cold). At last she dared look up. "I, I think... I owe you an... I'm sorry."

The words were awkward in her mouth, bordering on absurd. Even to her it didn't sound like enough. Titania hadn't wanted to listen when the wounds were fresh; why should this pathetic appeal move her now that they were etched in millennial ice? Too much had happened to bridge the gap with sorry.

And yet... trying felt right. That gap ought to be bridged.

Inspectre

2012-08-18, 02:54 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

Everyone listens attentively – although trapped in the pain of their own deaths, the paladins are still polite. At your mention of saving Miriam at the cost of your own life, however, a furor races through the crowd – even Marius looks shocked. Almost as one, all of the paladins stand up, and for a moment you are sure you are about to be mobbed and torn to pieces as a heretic or some similar fate. You are indeed mobbed, but instead of harm the paladins are literally tripping over each other in their attempts to get to you, to slap you on the back, shake your hand, or even just touch the man who saved their goddess.

For a few minutes, you are completely unaware to continue your speech, your voice drowned out by all the paladins shouting for your attention and congratulating you. When Marius finally manages to regain control of the meeting (and gives you a hearty slap on the back himself), all of the paladins listen even more attentively. While most were merely polite before, now virtually every last one of them hangs off your every word.

When you are finally finished, you look around to note that the crowd has drastically changed. A number of the paladins are no longer dressed in torn uniforms, but immaculate ones, while their wounds have likewise faded to mere scars. Others remain as they were, but now they seem thoughtful rather than withdrawn. These your speech had clearly resonated with on some level, but they were not yet convinced – perhaps still feeling that they had not earned an eternity in the Heavens.

The woman who had initially challenged you was one of these, and a few moments after your speech concluded she cleared her throat loudly – and this time her voice has a more nervous than angry tone.

“You said your daughter was dead. Is she here with – oh.”

Evidentially the woman was able to see the answer on your face, or at least thought she did, cutting her question off before she could finish it. She hangs her head, and when she speaks again her voice is low and trembling as she fights back her grief. She seems unable to look up and meet your eyes now.

“Then perhaps you can understand. I have a son, a mere boy, who did not understand why his mother had to leave, but promised to be brave. And I in turn promised to return to him. It was a foolish promise, but a necessary one . . . and now, I do not know what will happen to him because of my failure! Will he grow bitter, will he eventually understand? Will . . . will I ever see him again, or . . . or was that sight, of him choking back his tears as he watched me go from the doorway of our home, the last I will ever see of him? I *have* to know, I have to be with him again! Otherwise . . . I might as well be damned, for no punishment could be worse!!!”

At this point, the previously stoic woman breaks down completely, prompting one of the paladins seated beside her to lean over and give her a supportive hug. The rest of the group is speechless, but all eyes turn to you, as if you will have some sort of universal truth to this situation. You can also feel Marius’s eyes burning into the back of your head – if the crafty old paladin hadn’t put two and two together yet – and your plan to single-handedly storm the Hells was insane enough to be inconceivable – he was starting to get the inkling that perhaps your interest in the nature of the universe was not so innocent.

(Tore out enough of your heartstrings yet? :smallamused: )

The Hells

The Gast Family Monument

Archpaladin Zousha

At your refusal the Black General frowned, but he slammed his hands down onto his desk in anger when you compared yourself to him. For a moment it seemed as if he was about to throw a violent fit, revealing his true nature, but then with sheer force of will calmed himself. Slowly, he pushed himself back up onto his feet.

“That. Is a shame, young paladin. But since you have spat in the face of my generosity, then I shall cast off my gracious nature along with this frail form, and beCOme THe MONstER I AM!!”

Reaching up to his neck, the Black General makes a gesture as if taking off a cloak, and casting it aside. Instantly, a wave of darkness races out from him, and when it passes standing in the uniformed old man’s place was a hulking suit of fire-blackened armor. The Fiend Lord’s face is now completely obscured by a leering demonic visage that is built into his helmet – only his burning red eyes can be seen through the helmet’s eye sockets. From within the armor resonates a deep, rumbling voice choked with anger.

“IF THIS WAS THE HELLS AS THEY WERE AFTER THE MASTER’S DEFEAT, WE WOULD BE AT AN EMPASSE. I WOULD BE FORCED TO BREAK YOU THROUGH TORTURE, AND IT WOULD TAKE MORE TIME THAN I HAVE AVAILABLE. BUT NOW, TIMES HAVE CHANGED, AND I HAVE OTHER OPTIONS AT MY DISPOSAL.”

With a swat from his gauntlet, the Black General throws his desk into the wall, clearing the path for him to stomp forward and tower over you. But rather than striking you, he merely turns his helmet to regard a dark corner of the room.

“HE IS ALL YOURS.”

The Black General announces, and then the shadows twist in strange dancing patterns, before parting to allow a bizarre figure to step into the room. The gaunt, spindly-limbed creature with pale grey skin circles around your chair to stand beside the Black General. You note that the most remarkable feature about this creature is that it has none – its head is literally a smooth ovoid sphere perched atop its shoulders! And yet, the creature is clearly aware of its surroundings as it turns the front of its head towards the Black General and then back to you. A moment later, it proves itself capable of speech as well, its voice soft in comparison to the Black General’s now booming rumble – but the sound is like that of metal screeching against metal.

“Is this the one whose face you wish me to take?”

“YES.”

The Black General growls, and in response the faceless abomination plunges one of its claws into its own abdomen, the flesh there smoothly parting without apparent injury. It pulls the claw free a moment later, a white lump of something cradled there. Given the ease with which the creature begins to shape the lump with its claws, you would guess it to be some sort of wax or clay. The creature works quickly, and soon the lump has been molded into a flat shape – a mask, you see as the thing holds it up for you to admire.

“Now, this will be exquisitely painful for you! But I promise, it’ll all be over soon enough.”

The creature hisses in poorly-concealed delight, advancing towards you along with the Black General. The Black General circles around behind you, grabbing hold of your collar with one hand while wrapping his other armored forearm around you and the chair, pinning you down. You try to struggle, but the Black General is impressively strong, and in your weakened condition you are unable to put up much of a fight. The spindly creature advances on you slowly but steadily, flipping the white mask around so that he can lay it onto your face.

This gives you a good look at the back of the mask, and you see that unlike the smooth front, this side is lumpy and uneven. An explanation for this is forthcoming, as the mask draws close to your face, close enough for you to make out every detail of the back. Perhaps sensing the heat from your face, the back of the mask begins to writhe, and then disintegrate as countless segmented worms with elongated pincers burst from the surface. Squealing, they flail their heads out in the direction of your face, straining to reach it with their clacking mandibles.

One of the largest ones lashes out, coming into contact with your left cheek and immediately biting down hard, anchoring itself. From the corner of your eye, you can see it beginning to undulate, pulling the mask and its brethren closer to your face without any aid from your two tormentors. More of the worms attach themselves to your face, and then the spindly monster lets go of the mask entirely, trusting its pets to finish settling it onto your face.

Shooting pinpricks of pain break out all over your face as more and more worms bite down. You try to harden your skin into rock, but it doesn’t seem to matter to these foul creatures. They borrow down through your rocky hide as easily as they do on soft flesh. The mask settles down firmly onto your face, sealed there by countless dozens of worms anchoring it in place now. Your vision goes completely dark, as the mask was made with no eyeholes. You can’t see, can’t breathe.

Then the pain truly begins as the worms begin to bore down through your face in earnest. Despite yourself you open your mouth to scream – only to be gagged into silence an instant later as the worms flow into your mouth, anchoring themselves to your tongue, the roof of your mouth, others beginning to squirm down your throat and lodging a firm glob of the mask’s wax between your teeth, preventing you from closing your mouth. The pain rapidly turns utterly excruciating as the worms borrow through your eyes and ears, working their way ever deeper towards your brain. Truthfully, the proof that the gods still existed and were smiling down on you came a moment later, as you mercifully passed out.

You awaken slowly, your mind sluggish and foggy. Instinctually, you force your eyes open to find yourself sitting in a chair. Some sort of strange metal device is around your one arm, and a dull pain throbs up from your one leg. There is a metal collar locked around your neck, attached to a chain that leads down to an eyebolt in the floor. You are a prisoner of some kind, then? Funny, you don’t remember being captured. Looking down you see that you are dressed in filthy, unidentifiable rags, the skin beneath an unnatural pale grey.

A few moments after waking, your vision and mind clear enough for you to realize that you are not alone in the room. Two hulking, armored figures stand nearby, watching you. One is a massive shell of blackened armor, only two glowing eyes proof that there is anything inside at all. The other figure is similarly built, although perhaps a head shorter than the armored giant although the height difference may be due only to the fact that this other figure is lacking a helmet, allowing you to see his face. It is rugged, but has a noble quality to it . . . and it seems awfully familiar to you. Have you met this man before?

“Would you like me to . . . wipe the slate clean?”

The noble giant rumbles to his equally massive companion. The suit of armor shakes its head.

“NO. LEAVE JUST ENOUGH FOR HIM TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE HAS LOST, SO THAT HE MAY WEEP.”

The noble giant smiles and chuckles, looking down to straighten its battered but still relatively intact uniform . . . which also seems oddly familiar to you. Through the haze floating in your mind, you seem to recall that the uniform marks him as a paladin – and the other armored giant is some sort of fiend. Shouldn’t they be fighting instead of getting along so well?

“My, but you are the sadistic one, Black General! Perhaps those rumors that you’re actually just a human with a few fancy tricks are just that!”

“DO NOT MOCK ME, FACELESS ONE! I –“

“Oh, it’s Hondshioh now, or have you forgotten that part already?”

“AH YES, HONDSHIOH, MY APOLOGIES. ALTHOUGH I SEEM TO RECALL THAT YOU HAD A BROKEN ARM AND LEG. ALLOW ME TO HELP YOU WITH THAT PART OF THE DECEPTION!”

This Black General figure leaps at the other one, grabbing Hondshioh by the arm and snapping it, while simultaneously delivering a bone-shattering kick to his shin. The paladin goes down screaming, although he manages to look back up a moment later, gritting his teeth.

“Thanks. As I said . . . perhaps you’re a fiend after all!”

“TELL ME. WILL THIS ONE EVER PROVE TO BE A THREAT TO OUR PLANS AGAIN?”

The Black General announces, turning his malevolent gaze towards you. From his position on the floor, Hondshioh hisses in pain, pushing himself up into a sitting position with his one good arm.

“Well, if you want assurances, we should empty him out into a drooling sack of flesh! But if you’re referring to a reversal – no, impossible unless I will it. I am Hondshioh, Lord General of the Church of Light, while he – he’s a literal nobody.”

“LET US TEST THAT ASSUMPTION. WRETCH! WHAT IS YOUR NAME!!!?”

The Black General bellows, turning the full power of his malevolent gaze upon you. Terror wells up within you, and you know that a failure to answer this simple question will earn an eternity of pain. And yet, try as you might . . . you can’t remember! You can’t remember your own name! Or the names of your friends, or your hometown, or anything at all for that matter beyond vague tangential facts that float tauntingly out of reach of your desperate mind!

(Wow. I think I may have actually managed to outdo myself yet again on the ick/creepiness factor here. Poor Hondshioh, AKA “Ninka” -Nobody Important Nor Known By Anyone! His identity and memories have been completely stripped from him. He remembers the basics like how to eat, walk, run, fight, etc, but anything of a personal nature is nothing but a painful void in his head.

As such, this is basically your opportunity to show what Hondshioh is in the dark (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/WhatYouAreInTheDark) – albeit a rather extreme example! Does he still stick to his code of honorable conduct even when he lacks any memories to remind him of why he would want to do so? Or this is your chance to toy around with a different, perhaps not so nice and noble version of Hondshioh – however you would like to play this.

Or, if you *really* don’t want to deal with this, we can rewind a bit. I figured something like this would be more interesting than endless, brutal physical torture in an attempt to break Hondshioh. )

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“I see. An end too good for him even so.”

Seraph grunts at your explanation of his father’s demise. You had never found a body, of course, but given the nature of the utterly massive explosion being able to find a body would have been even more unusual. At your admission of his place here Seraph sighs but nods his head.

“I understand. At least I can trust your tortures to be constrained – I have been traded, stolen, and gifted to a number of “masters” so far. None of them were pleasant, but all of them were utterly fascinated with the fact that I am, to their understand, a male angel. As a result none of them were willing to risk breaking me, although I was told that Mammon delights in such things. Being kept out of his hands therefore is a significant upswing in my fortunes, such as they are. I want to live so I can escape from this place, even if only for the span of my natural life – I made a promise.”

Seraph looks intensely at you for a moment, and you can only assume that this promise had been made to his wife Rose. Given everything the two of them had been through, it was reasonable for Seraph to be rather determined about keeping it. You weren’t sure yet how to use the man’s desperation to your own advantage, given that he was even more of a prisoner here than you were. Unfortunately, thoughts of using his knowledge faded as Seraph shook his head.

“Father never taught any of us magic, keeping that skill for himself. Likewise, he kept almost all of the details of his ultimate plan to himself and our mother. I do know that it took him years to prepare the city for the ritual, however. Still . . . that ritual was to summon the Hells itself onto the mortal realm. I can’t imagine that simply creating a portal big enough for us to slip through will require as much effort. Fortunately for the world but unfortunately for us, it also seems to be rather difficult for the fiends to open such portals within the Hells – perhaps the doorway can only be opened from the mortal realm? It would explain why mortals have to conduct rituals to summon fiends, and why fiends don’t just open portals and invade whenever they feel like it. I don’t know if these “Fiend Lords” that seem to be at the top of the food chain down here are forced to obey the same rules, however. Being able to open portals might well be one of the ways they are able to stay on top.”

Seraph thinks a moment, and then proves to have an actually useful thought.

“While you certainly know more about fiends and the Hells than I do, being not just a mage but a demon mage, I know someone down here whose knowledge would rival yours. My mother - her death was what closed the rift. But as the conductor of the ritual, her soul is surely down here . . . if it wasn’t torn apart.”

Seraph looks thoughtfully at you.

“Is it possible for you to request ownership of a soul? If she’s down here I imagine she’s owned by one fiend or another. Surely there’s some way for you to put the word out that you are interested in one particular soul? Although I imagine such inquiries may attract unwanted attention . . . as well as drive up the price.”

The Mortal Realm

[u]Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

At your questions, “Quadramus” smirks and nods at Maurice’s broken blade.

“Take a closer look at the flat of the blade. If you hold it just right, you should be able to see the answers to at least a few of your questions.”

Holding Maurice’s blade up to the light, you peer at it a moment, and freeze as you realize that it is not your reflection that is visible. Instead, it’s Maurice, and the world around her, presumably as seen outward from the perspective of the blade itself!

Maurice has just clambered out of a burning, collapsing building – her skin horribly burned in places but regenerating into new skin at a steady pace. She seems to be looking for someone, and is on guard, her sword held defensively in front of her. She stops as she finds who she is looking for twenty feet away at the end of the alley – caught in the grip of Quadramus. Effortlessly, the elderly man snaps his victim’s neck with one hand, and then tosses the man’s body aside. Despite his assistance, Maurice regards Quadramus with a great deal of suspicion – as you would expect!

“You are that elderly man who appeared in the village, offering to help my . . . associate escape the Dusk Wardens! Who are you really, and what is your purpose here!?”

Quadramus shrugs and holds up his hands peaceably.

“Suffice it to say that I am here for you. I believe you will be able to help me with a project of mine.”

“First, I am in the middle of an important battle – I don’t have time for what it is you are plotting. Second, while I would do whatever is necessary to help a friend, we are not friends and I have no desire to associate with you. And finally, I do not trust your disingenuous nature and believe whatever you want me for will only result in harm to either myself or others. Good day.”

Maurice turns away and begins to walk towards the mouth of the alleyway in the opposite direction from Quadramus. As such, you are no longer able to see the meddling bastard, but can still hear his taunting voice.

“Oh, I never said that it would be willingly.”

A moment later, and the city street buckles, and then lifts up off the ground to form a wall, blocking the mouth of the alleyway. Maurice looks back in shock, and then pushes off the ground in desperation and takes flight, trying to get away from Quadramus as fast as possible. She is not nearly fast enough, as a broken wooden beam suddenly detaches itself from a nearby building, improbably positioned so that she flies directly into it, skewering herself. Past her on the ground, you can see Quadramus start walking down the street towards her. He gestures, and the beam detaches itself entirely, leaving Maurice to plummet down to the ground, where the tip of the wooden spear pushes its way through her shoulder and into the ground below her, pinning her.

The angel, as usual, doesn’t give up despite the pain, reaching up to snap off the remainder of the beam sticking out of her torso and then pushing herself up off of the piece still embedded in her and the ground below. As she moves to stand, Quadramus is there, reaching down for her. She slashes at him with her sword, but he blocks the blow with his arm, a dull clang echoing from the impact point. With his other hand, he grabs Maurice by the throat.

“You don’t give up easily, do you?”

Quadramus growls, shoving Maurice back down onto the ground hard. He gestures, and the earth of the alleyway rises up at his command. It flows over Maurice’s prone form and then hardens, forming bands of stone that pin her, immobile and helpless. Even still the angel valiantly struggles, straining against the stone bonds until they begin to crumble.

“You are annoyingly persistent.”

Quadramus remarks, gesturing again and sending more earth over her until only Maurice’s head, hands, and feet are still visible beneath a coffin of stone. Casually Quadramus reaches down and pries Maurice’s own sword out of her hands, testing the point of it with his finger for a moment before nodding n satisfaction.

“You . . . you’re like her!?”

Maurice gasps, and Quadramus frowns in irritation.

“Yes, quite. That’s enough out of you by the way. I have no interest in conversation with my inferiors.”

For a third time, Quadramus gestures, and the stone flows up again, this time burying Maurice completely. Quadramus approaches the mound of imprisoning stone, and gestures out a thin slot where Maurice’s chest would roughly be.

“And now, to conclude my business here.”

Quadramus remarks, before sliding Maurice’s sword down through the slot. You hear a muffled scream come from inside. Then Quadramus pushes the hilt to one side, pressing the sword’s blade up against the side. The sword withstands the stress for a moment, and the snaps in half with a melodic screech. Pleased with himself, Quadramus tucks the broken sword’s hilt into his belt and then gestures, collapsing the stone coffin into rubble. Maurice is lying there, still alive but with several inches of her own sword sticking out of her chest.

Whistling a tune, Quadramus reaches down and pushes the rest of the sword down into her. Maurice gasps, and Quadramus makes shushing noises as he pulls his bloody fingers back. With his other hand, he reaches into his robes and produces a familiar hourglass, which he opens and allows Maurice’s blood to drip off of his fingertips and down into it. Apparently satisfied, Quadramus puts the hourglass back under his cloak, and then grabs one of Maurice’s feet, dragging him along behind her as he makes his way down the alleyway.

“Now I just need to find some fiends who would like to own a slightly used angel!”

Quadramus remarks. The reflection ends there, looping back to play out the beginning again.

As you look back up from the blade at the Quadramus now in front of you, he smiles and spreads his hands.

“Does that answer some of your questions? I found a lovely team of devils to hand her off to. They promised to take good care of her, although being fiends, I imagine their definition of “good” is rather abstract. Given the pyramid nature of the Hells, I imagine she won’t be their guests for long, either. Like a hot potato, she will be passed around and around by all the fiends down there, each inflicting its own brand of humiliation and pain on her. They won’t want to kill her, not right away at least, but I wouldn’t give it very long before they accidentally break their new toy. Permanently.”

Quadramus holds up the hourglass.

“So now for your part in all this. I’ve already seen that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for lesser beings you barely even know or care about. Now I want to see just what you are willing to do to save a lesser being that you seem to care about a great deal. This hourglass is attuned to her blood, naturally, and when combined with her sword there should enable you to track her down in a very rough fashion. I will also be able to communicate with you and watch your progress through the hourglass, should you require my advice, as you never have before. Even with my help, you might not find her in time – but do you really think you’ll be able to succeed without it? Remember . . . time is precious right now, and every delay costs Maurice.”

Quadramus tilts the hourglass slightly, allowing you a better look at it in its entirety – it’s nearly half empty, or half full, depending on how you defined such things. Drop by drop, however, it was proceeding to be entirely empty, with the implication that when that occurred, Maurice as you knew her would be no more.

The Village of Woodhall
Kasanip

The man is stopped in his charge by you. For a moment he gives you an angry look, and then understanding dawns as you point at his wounded companion. He thinks a moment, and then nods, giving you the shield while he bends down to lift the wounded man up onto his shoulders.

“You’re right – we’ve got to get to shelter, somewhere those damn arrows can’t get us!”

The militiaman agrees, and then shrugs, causing his burden to grown in pain.

“Damned if I know where Welkin and his paladins are thought. Their assistance sure would be helpful right now!”

“Church. They’re . . . at the Church. It’s s-stone . . .”

The wounded man helpfully gasps, and the two of you set out for the stone structure, just barely visible through the smoke at the far end of the village. The militiaman leading the way with his burden, you follow closely along behind, scanning the dark alleyways for more arrows and hoping you will be able to use the shield to deflect any that come your way. Fortunately, you do not have to do so, the elves that are about apparently busy with other prey.

As you move towards the church, you find that the streets are full of people – some lying down on the ground dead or dying, others likewise desperately making their way towards the Church. Now and again, arrows flit out of the darkness, cutting down one or more of the people as they attempt to flee. Amongst the small groups of people, trying to protect them and lead them to safety are the town’s remaining militiamen, although there are few of those left as they seem to be the primary targets of the elves.

From behind you come the sounds of shouting and galloping horses, approaching quickly. Glancing over your shoulder, you see a dozen armored riders charging down the main street through the chaos. All of them are armed with crossbows, and as they pass each alleyway one of the three riders in the lead fires a bolt into the darkness. When it hits, the bolt erupts in a flash of brilliant but short-lived light, revealing anything hidden there. Some alleyways are empty, but more than one must have been chosen as shelter by elves as the remaining riders fire their crossbows now and then into the briefly lit-up alleyways. As the riders grow closer you can see that they are all wearing the tabard of the Church of Light – paladins.

“Hurry! Everyone get to the church! We can make our stand there!”

The leader of the riders urges, stopping periodically by groups that are struggling to reach the safety of the church. Some he lays his hands on, seeming to heal that person’s injuries, while others, particularly those that are lightweight like children, he or one of his riders hefts up to sit on their mounts in front of them.

Reaching your trio, the leader leans down from his saddle and pulls the bolt out of the injured man’s shoulder without preamble before slapping his hand down over the gaping wound. The militiaman screams in pain, but you watch as color returns to the man’s cheeks and he slides down off his comrade’s shoulders under his own power.

“That’s the Commander.”

The previously wounded man says, looking down at the hole in his armor, beneath which is now untouched skin. Commander Welkin blinks in surprise and looks at you and the other militiaman with curiosity.

“Aye, I am the leader of this detachment of paladins. Why do you ask?”

Unfortunately, while the paladins’ efforts to light up the dark alleyways between buildings and then kill any elves caught in the sudden light is effective and keeping the elves back and killing any too foolish to learn not to try, that does not keep all the elves back. Silhouetted against the night sky, you suddenly see a figure stand up from the roof of a nearby building, nocking an arrow to its bow. It undoubtedly is taking aim at Commander Welkin, an easy target leaning down off the side of his horse to aid the previously injured militiaman and speak with you.

Vegna

Ducking around behind the tree to keep it between you and the elf, you suddenly get the crazy idea to send it smashing down towards her. Although you can feel that the roots of the tree go deep, interwoven with those of the trees around it, that wouldn’t be enough to hold it upright should the earth turn entirely to mud. And that’s exactly what you do just before climbing up to the mid-point, intending on riding it straight down onto the elf’s head.

The tree begins to tilt with a groan, and there with an increasingly loud series of cracks as the roots start to surrender their grip. You manage to kneel down against the trunk, gathering yourself to spring off as soon as you see the elf. Even more thunderous cracks come as the canopy of the tree impacts those of the other nearby trees, snapping branches off and sending them flying in all directions.

You catch a glimpse of the she-elf a few feet off to one side, staring open-mouthed at you and the tree as you both fall. With a single powerful leap you launch yourself off the tree, leaving it to complete its fall behind you with the loudest crash yet. In mid-air you bring your staff around, only to find that instead of leaping down onto the elf woman, you suddenly slam into the side of an earthen wall that she desperately erects in front of herself!

Too late for your to alter your trajectory or dismiss the wall, you crash right into it, sending chunks of dirt and torn up plants flying as you smash right through the thin wall. The impact does, however, completely throw off your jump, but at least somewhat breaks your fall as you tumble into an ungainly heap just beyond the shattered wall. As you twist up onto your feet, the elf spits a curse in some language (presumably her own), and backpedals away from you, moving just out of reach of your staff before you can use it to trip her.

Again she gestures, and from the pieces of the shattered wall, a pair of lumpy earth elementals form! Presumably Val’Tosh was busy fighting similar summoned spirits, and this confirmed that the she-elf was the source of them. That could be good or bad, since it implied that the tournament organizer wasn’t here, a man that Master Vork insisted he fight alone, although it also meant that he had figured out where you were going and sent this woman to stop you.

While the two earth elementals start thumping on you with their stubby but hardened arms, the she-elf gestures again, and another rock begins to tear itself out of the undergrowth. The thick roots of some stubborn plant seem to have wrapped themselves around this one, and the elf is having clear trouble getting it to pull itself free to hurl at you. That wasn’t going to last much longer, however, as one by one the roots start to snap, allowing the rock to rise a little higher.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

“As She should! The stains on the soul can never be washed away. Melcara chose to damn herself – it no longer matters the reasons why or what she has done since. She is a servant of Azguloth now, and must be destroyed!”

Her habitual vehemence fading, Hephestia is nonetheless sullen as she continues.

“And yes, I know what she did at the end of the battle. That just proves she is a treacherous creature, unable to stop herself from betraying both sides. If she was truly redeemed and repentant for her sins, then why didn’t My Lady spare her right then and there? No, there can be no redemption for such betrayal.”

Hephestia sighs and looks down at her hands, sniffling, and then continues, her voice now barely above a whisper.

“That’s why My Lady chose to punish me like this. It’s why I will never see Home again, and why I will come to willingly lay at the Forger of Oblivion’s feet. I used to think I had such strength, but no - I am pathetic! I am an oath-breaker, a lying wretch that would promise anything to avoid a little pain! I am a miserable disgrace to My Lady and my sisters!”

White hot, her rage flashes up again, only this time directed against herself as Hephestia pounds on her legs and pulls her own hair. After a few moments, the anger fades and Hephestia slumps again, hunching her shoulders even further.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

She asks, glancing at you with bloodshot eyes. She sighs, deceptively calm as she brushes her tangled hair out of her face.

“My Lady is not punishing me for killing those humans. I either sent them all on to paradise, or the fire where they would have ended up eventually. No, I am sure what incited Her anger was that She saw my failure. I gave my word to the Baron that I would not interfere in his part of the battle – that while I would be free to unleash my wrath upon the humans below, I would not attack anyone aboard the Gastly Truth. Essentially, I would stand aside, and let My Lady fight Her battle alone. I – I thought that She would destroy him without effort, no matter what foul plan he had in mind – I never knew he would unleash such horror! But . . . I was weak, and gave my word to an evil man nonetheless.”

Hephestia winces and seems to shrink further, caught up in the memories as she narrates what she is seeing.

“I . . . I just couldn’t take it anymore! He – he got in my head, crawled inside and started cutting, the same way he cut into my body. Eight years . . . I spent eight years as his plaything, his pet project! You spent, what, fifteen years as a prisoner within Ironheart, abused and humiliated? I should have been able to hold out for eighty, or eight hundred! But no . . . I barely managed more than *half* the time that you did!”

Hephestia shakes her head, blinking away the tears that were starting to form at the corners of her eyes, seemingly determined to continue until every detail was out.

“I went to Ironheart following a lead that my sisters were being held there, where My Lady could not see them. I expected that Dacian would be able to provide assistance, and although perhaps I was suspicious of his actions after all these millennia, I never thought he had fallen so far! He could have defeated me with ease, but he didn’t even need to lift a finger before I was assaulted by other attackers. Too deep within Ironheart to escape, too many to fight – not that they were interested in a fight anyway. They snapped defiled chains onto me, and my strength failed me . . . so dizzy, so weak . . . they subdued me with ease. And then I was theirs.”

Hephestia shivers, looking down at her hands as she turns them over and over, over and over, as if hypnotizing herself.

“I awoke – somewhere else, although the walls of Ironheart still surrounded me. It was only later that I learned it was the beginnings of the Baron’s flying abomination. They had built my cell first, and worked out from there. I was still bound by those damned chains, helpless, but I was determined to still resist. When he finally came to visit me after an eternity of waiting, my fate unknown, the Baron informed me that I was now his. Ysora belonged to Dacian, and Marisiel was also spoken for by . . . an ally of his. But I . . . I was to be his alone, and he had been preparing for the moment when I would fall into his hands.”

As if hearing that cell door open again, or perhaps merely hearing a patrolling guard in the hallway outside, Hephestia’s head suddenly snaps up, the former archangel nervously looking at the door. After a moment, she manages to calm herself, and forces herself to continue.

“He tortured me in all sorts of inventive ways, but I had prepared myself for physical torment. Although it was rare, one of my sisters would be dragged into the Hells against her will after all. I had thought that should the same ever happen to me, I would acquit myself well, never yielding until my consciousness itself was dissolved. But although he always had some new test to see how my body reacted, the talking was actually the worst part. Talk, talk, talk, talk. Always probing, always lecturing, like some sort of perverse instructor of agony! He never got angry, was always more amused than frustrated at my refusals to give him what he wanted, and was completely indifferent to my pain.”

Hephestia winced, and flexed her fingers as if to check that they were still functioning.

“And it just went on . . . and on . . . and on. He would savage me to the edge of death, allow me to recover, and then tear me apart again. Sometimes he wouldn’t wait, and force healing potions down my throat so that his latest experiment could continue uninterrupted.”

Hephestia paused a moment, and then apparently decided to include another detail.

“He let his odious son borrow me for his own entertainment. That one lacked the subtlety of his father, but certainly not his cruelty. He would force me to fight him while still bound, even to give the illusion of fairness but not enough to allow it to end any other way. He would beat me until I could no longer stand . . . and did worse things . . . terrible things I don’t want to talk about.”

Hephestia gave a hopeless little laugh, reaching up to wipe at her eyes but not stopping.

“But that wasn’t the worst. All that, and it wasn’t even the worst! No, the Baron also showed me things. Presenting me in front of the crowd with promises to let me go if one of them would step forward was just one lesson he had for me. I was forced to watch as he tore my sisters apart, binding their immortal souls to use as a power source for his abominations! And one day, he took me back to Ironheart to see Marisiel.”

Hephestia hung her head, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“My dear sister. I never understood her obsession with protecting the humans, but I respected her determination. I hadn’t seen her for millennia, since she was believed lost to the Hells. And then I was led into a room with a scared little human girl, who cowered at the sound of our voices. The Baron explained with amusement that this was Marisiel, or at least all that was left now. They called her Mar now, as a joke, to imply that she was less than half of what she once was. I didn’t want to believe it, but I could see into her soul . . . and it was! It was my dear sister, broken and shattered, and shoved into a frail human shell that had been taught to fear her own shadow!”

A tremor entered Hephestia’s voice as she reached the climax of her story.

“And then one day, the Baron came into my cell, and said that he no longer had time for me. Events were moving forward, and his plans were about to come to fruition. As such, my fate was to be boiled down into a simple choice – either I would give my word to aid the Baron, or I would serve him in another way. He would kill me, shove my soul into a crystal, and then place that crystal inside a girl. He would call me Heph. I should have said no, I should have refused him as I said so many times before! But when I opened my mouth . . . I said yes. I gave him my word that I would aid him, although not against my sisters.”

For a moment Hephestia was quiet, and then all the words came out in a rush.

“I didn’t want to become Heph! I just couldn’t take anymore! All that suffering for years, listening to the Baron, watching him do the most heinous things with impunity . . . No one was coming for me. Not my other sisters, and certainly not any humans! It was as if even My Lady had abandoned me, had abandoned all of us! And just like that, it was all over. The Baron allowed me little freedoms – I was to stay in my cell, but I was free to move, to train, even practice with my weapon! Neither he nor any of his sons laid a hand on me again, and when his odious son tried, the Baron beat him in front of *me*! You see, the Baron knew that I would not break my word once given – to do so would be to throw away the only thing he could not take away from me. I gave in to Evil, and isn’t it ironic that my punishment is the thing I most feared? I am caged in this miserable prison of frail flesh, less than half of what I once was! I am Heph!”

This acknowledgement finished what was left of the dam, and Hephestia gave a despairing wail before plunging her face into her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. So great is her anguish, you aren’t even sure that she will hear you. But if she could, you would need to choose your words very carefully – the scars that the Baron had left were deep, and while they could be treated, the wrong words would only tear them further. And given her current state, that could very well shred Hephestia apart entirely.

Phaedra

The_Snark

“Marisiel. I have been waiting a long time for this!”

The frigid wind howls, Titania’s voice almost drowned out in turn by a series of hellacious snaps and crackles as the ice block surrounding her begins to crack apart. Then, with a final piercing crunch, the ice block erupts outward, its sections falling away like the petals of an opening flower bud. The mad queen of Phaedra stands up from her throne, her head twisting and lolling at the motion. Titania frowns in irritation and reaches a hand up, conjuring a collar of ice up around her neck that holds her head firmly in place. This accomplished, she then strides toward you, stopping only when she is standing perhaps no more than two feet away from your kneeling form.

The proximity makes it abundantly clear that Titania is the source of the cold, an unnatural chill wafting out from the torn holes in her robes. You recognize them to be the same ones that she had been wearing during the battle, the cuts in them looking as fresh as they had thousands of years ago. But much has changed about the queen, even if her attire has not. In addition to the cold that she now radiates, a cloak of shifting shadows hangs down from the queen’s shoulders. The cloak seems to have a life of its own, and you can faintly hear countless hateful whispers echoing up out of it.

“So, you dare to come here after an eternity, and utter those words to me. As if they would absolve you of the part you have played in all this.”

Titania reaches a finger out, touching you underneath the chin and forcing your head up, to look into her eyes. Even through the numbing cold, a stabbing pain shoots into your mind from you chin – where the queen’s finger touched, the skin there suffered frostbite.

No longer the deep almost-sapphire blue that they had once been, the queen’s eyes were now a murky grey, as if they too were covered with a film of ice. But they still clearly smolder with anger as they born down into your own.

“You stole the affections of the man I loved, my kingdom, my daughter – you even tried to take my life! And for these crimes, you think a simple apology will suffice?”

Titania wraps her hand around your throat, the previously shooting pain becoming a mind-numbing wave as your entire throat begins to freeze solid.

“I ought to do to you what you tried to do to me, Queen Markash! Your head would look absolutely lovely hanging from my wall, your face forevermore frozen into a scream of terror! But don’t worry – time has no meaning here in my domain, and thus neither does death! You will remain aware of your surroundings, a disembodied head whose only function will be to scream and chatter out apologies!”

“Ti, control yourself – savor the moment!”

Istomilo warns, reaching up to place his hand on Titania’s outstretched arm, and grunting a little as the action causes his own hand to suffer frostbite. Titania does release you, but then backhands Istomilo across the face, leaving a hand-shaped patch of frostbitten skin on his face.

“How dare you tell me what to do, here and now! You lost that privilege when you sided with this miserable wretch! You are only here because I allow it, and your continued existence is only due to the fact that you brought appropriate tribute!”

“I thought you wanted *me* back?”

Istomilo muttered, but Titania either doesn’t hear him or ignores him as she begins to circle around you, occasionally reaching out to brush her finger across your arms, pinch your ears, and run them through your wings, inflicting frostbite on whatever she touches. Her attention is entirely focused on you.

“So tell me, Marisiel the “Protector”, now that you have apologized, how do you intend to make amends? You don’t think, if I had at any point begged you for forgiveness, that you would have accepted the apology, do you? Not without an appropriate penance. So what are you offering me? Your services, as *my* Handmaiden? You don’t seem to be quite the same as you once were – diminished, broken, and useless! My kingdom back? What makes you think that I would even want it, when I have this place, formed by my own will and imagination? I am GOD here! *Is* there anything you are willing to offer me, or have you once again come here to speak friendship, only with the intent of stabbing me in the back!?”

Having completed her circuit, Titania stands in front of you again. She lowers a finger down to hover just above your right eye, moving to touch it before she halts the movement a few inches short. You reflexively wince as you feel the cold radiating from that digit, your mind filled with the possible sensations of one of your eyeballs becoming frozen solid within its socket.

“Tell me! Why are you here now, after all these years? Why are you so eager to apologize after you were oh so eager of a participant before? And what are you willing to give in exchange for what you have taken from me!?”

Inspectre

2012-08-18, 02:55 PM

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

(To quote Kill Bill - You didn’t really think it was going to be that easy, did you? Yes, for a second there, yeah, you kinda did. :smalltongue: But THIS! IS! IRONHEART! :smallbiggrin: )

You take in the sights of the city, simply enjoying for a few brief moments being back in the one place you had ever truly called home. You first see to the needs of your body, aware of the consequences of being caught stealing – which is to say, none except whatever the provider of the food could do to you. Considering who you were, even stuck in a wretched body that was not yours, that was laughably little.

Once food was no longer a consideration, nor was water (I’m going to just assume you swiped some water as well, being that your body’s former owner died of thirst), it was time to move on to other considerations. You still weren’t entirely sure how this was happening – whether you were literally in the past now, or merely in some sort of bizarre alternate realm created entirely by magic and filtered through your own consciousness, as your reversal of the Elixir had been. In the end, you weren’t going to bother yourself with fretting and wringing your hands uselessly. There was an easy way to make sure that Marialta’s plan, whatever it was, failed, and that was to elicit help of the highest caliber – namely, your own.

Although the seven of you were treated with the utmost fear (which was the closest thing to respect in this savage city), that did not mean the desperate or foolhardy would flock to your doors if allowed. So while you could handle yourselves quite capably, you had employed guards and gates to keep out unwanted visitors to keep yourselves from being bothered by all but the most unusual of unwanted guests. That being said, such things were only useful for keeping out the riff-raff, who knew nothing of the secret passages you had built into your citadel to spare you from having to deal with all the guards and gates yourselves. To one such as you then, who knew the location of every such passageway, sneaking into the citadel was a laughable exercise.

Of course, you had nearly died, or whatever would happen should something unfortunate happen to your current body, when you forgot about a few of the traps that had been seeded into the secret passageways to keep things interesting. In your reckless youth, it had been great fun to pursue Fianna through a recreation of your first meeting, with a similar but much more intimate ending. Now, it was rather obnoxious to pick your way through, your clothing getting slashed and skewered on several occasions when you forget that Fianna had moved that particular switch plate. On the other hand, it was helpful for narrowing down exactly when this was supposed to be – almost precisely one week away from your Apotheosis.

That in turn helps you remember the exact configuration of traps, and you get through the second half of the gauntlet with considerably less difficulty. Considerably less difficulty, at least, until you come to the end and the concealed door springs open not at your touch, but a touch from the other side.

“Oh! Hello there!”

An intimately familiar voice cheerfully calls from the other side of the now-open doorway, and then strong hands are grabbing you by the collar of your robes and heaving you out of the passageway and into the room. Then, you are flying through the air and smashing into a bookcase which totters, threatening to topple down onto you. You roll aside and come back up onto your feet just in time, as the bookshelf slams into the floor where you had been, scattering scrolls and tomes everywhere. Standing at the mouth of the secret doorway was, predictably, you – thousands of years in the past. You favor yourself with a jaunty smile.

“Well, I must salute you, whoever’s assassin you are. That particular passageway was filled with an array of deadly traps! But unfortunately for you, I was just about to brave that passageway myself, so I really don’t have time for you right now.”

Umber the Younger raises his hand, and you lunge forward from your position on the floor, narrowly ducking under the blast of conjured lightning that he sent your way. You tackle him, slamming him back into the wall, and use yourself as an anchoring point to pull yourself back up onto your feet. The two of you grapple for a moment, and you attempt to explain your presence here. Unfortunately, anticipating that you were attempting to cast a spell instead, Umber the Younger delivers a finger-jab to the throat, cutting you off before shoving you roughly away from him, proving that he was much stronger than your current body.

You manage to fend off several more blows from your younger self before a kick finds its way through your defenses, sending you crashing back into the wall again. And suddenly, it occurs to you that you know exactly when this was. You had been planning on running the gauntlet with Fianna today, only this time you had a surprise for her. You were going to go in early, and wait for her on the other side of the first trap. You had been successful in surprising her, and so took your usual reward early. Afterwards, to alleviate Fianna’s mocking claims that you had cheated, you had gone through the gauntlet anyway. But before all that, you had surprised an assassin of some sort who had been lurking in the concealed passageway, discovered only because you had entered the passage early. Other than his unexpected presence, the would-be assassin was not particularly remarkable and after Zariel had shown up you had entrusted the man’s disposal to your master assassin.

Zariel . . . as if summoned by your thoughts, the master assassin suddenly materializes out of the shadows behind you and delivers a hellacious punch to your temple. Your body crumples, sliding a good five feet across the floor before coming to rest. As you fade out of consciousness, you hear Zariel assure Umber the Younger in his wispy, sing-song voice that he would handle your disposal.
*************

You awake to a throbbing headache, and the fact that you can’t move your limbs. Or rather that you can move your limbs, but not without difficulty and not without cost. The leather strips which bind your arms and legs seem to be attached to a noose around your neck – move too much and the noose would tighten, to the point that you would no longer be able to breathe. Across the dimly-lit cell from you, the shadows move – and Zariel speaks.

“You should not have come here! This task was entrusted to me alone, and your presence here has endangered us both! If the others should discover that there is a traitor in their midst, Morganna will lose more than her source of information! So what could be so important that she would risk sending you here - and into Umber’s personal chambers, for goddess’s sake?!”

Oh, you remember how this bit ends as well. The next morning, Zariel had presented the assassin’s body to you. He had said that the man never spoke, and thus his presence here was a mystery. Normally you would have used necromancy and other black magic at that point to force an answer, but frankly so close to the Ascension you had little time for such obnoxious investigation and so had considered the matter settled, giving the body to Kartul for study instead. Fate was such a bitch, taunting you with a way out and then slamming the trap closed on your nethers.

Still, perhaps there was a way to foil Marialta, at least. But you were going to have to tell quite a convincing story to convince Zariel, of all the Lords of Blood, to operate on your behalf. Then again, you knew his secret now, that he was in fact a god-botherer, and at their core all of the god-botherers were the same.

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

Jarod quirked an eyebrow at you with a smirk.

“The Deadly Howler, perhaps?”

His expression turns thoughtful as you point out the flaws in his disguise. Jarod nods sagely.

“You have a point. I certainly never encountered them again, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t in the city. And certainly, if that fool is still seeking honor and glory, this would be the prime location to earn it! Fair enough, although I do have other disguises that we could potentially use.”

At your dismissal of the sewers as an entry point, Jarod shrugs, but gives an exaggerated sigh of relief. He listens to your own two suggestions, shaking his head at the last one.

“Although the elves do not have our skill with Nature, they do have some magical talent. I can only assume that the city mages have set up some defenses against such magic, or at least means to detect it. Flying over their city only to be discovered trying to sneak in will lead them to make the wrong assumptions about whose side we are on. If we are going to reveal our true nature to them immediately, we need to have strong evidence that we are on their side. As you said, a bunch of elves, dead or captured, would be an excellent piece of evidence.”

Tossing the armor and other odds and ends back into the trunk, Jarod gestures for it to close and then fetches his own implement, a heavy and gnarled staff of petrified wood. He shrugs and gestures to the forest around you.

“Well, while I’m sure if we wander around we’ll find more elves and fire elementals than we want to deal with, we need to deal with them in front of the city defenders. Unfortunately, that may be more difficult, as while the elves do launch occasional attacks on the city, this isn’t the sort of siege where both sides just stare at each other on opposite sides of a wall. The elves have isolated the city by attacking anyone and everyone beyond its walls. They’ve launched occasional probing attacks against the city, mostly just terror hit-and-runs to convince everyone to stay behind the walls. They’re gearing up for an all-out assault, however – the Lord of the Inferno might even be just one part of that.”

Jarod sighs and rubs his eyes.

“Anyway, the point being that there isn’t going to be a bunch of elves just sitting right outside the front gates for us to pummel. So either we’ll need to lure them there, or . . . hrm. Maybe we don’t have to prove our friendship to the humans just by killing their enemies. Since the elves have started their siege, the city hasn’t been able to get any supplies. I imagine if it hasn’t already happened yet, then the humans will institute rationing of food soon. If we show up with a bunch of food, and I’m talking a wagon or two of it, we may be able to convince them of our benevolent intentions that way without having to shed blood and risk shedding some of our own.”

Jarod shrugs.

“Growing it ourselves could work if we had time, but I don’t think we have that long. There’s a few ruined nearby towns we could try to salvage from. I think the elves destroy any supplies they seize, so unfortunately they don’t have any storehouse we could rob – I imagine any such storehouse would be near the Fire Nexus anyway. Hrm . . . I do know that the humans have been regularly trying to get supply caravans through the elven blockade. It would take some time to get to the nearest point where they’re sending aid from, but we could sign up as guards for one of those caravans, and assure it gets to its destination intact? Doing so would also get us inside the city, and welcomed as heroes.”

daelrog

At your comments, the elf nods and gestures to his companion. The elf relaxes his grip on the bowstring, allowing it to return to its resting state, but keeping the arrow nocked. Willow gives a sob of relief, but still watches you and the elf with wide eyes. All eyes are on you as you walk over to the tree, pulling the rope attached to your waist taunt. You kick a patch of bark off the tree, and then hoping you remember how to do the simple healing spell correctly, put the piece of bark back.

A warm tingle passes through your hands into the bark, and when you remove your hands, the bark stays in place, sealed back onto the tree. The assembled people from the tavern gasp in shock and whisper amongst themselves, and even the elves seem too surprised to silence them.

“The girl will live – for now.”

The elf translator said, and then hurriedly gestured to his companions. Recovering from their shock, the elves race forward and untie the rope from your waist. Unfortunately, any thought that they were planning to release you faded as they wrapped more of the viney rope around you, binding your arms down to your sides and tying your legs together. They also take the precaution of tightly gagging you and moving you off some distance from the rest of the group before using yet more rope to tie you against a tree. Only then do the elves seem to relax, but only a little bit – the elf who had been threatening Willow now takes up position a short distance from you, his arrow still nocked.

After a moment of consulting with his peers, the elf translator sends his associate running off into the woods, presumably to go get more of his friends. That left only two elves for you and the others to deal with – still not good odds when they are the only ones armed and unbound. The elf translator approaches you, and carefully removes your gag before stepping back. As he does, the other elf raises his bow and pulls the bowstring back again, holding the arrow ready to fire into your head. The translator’s voice is low, but carries an urgent tone.

“Where you learn that? Why were you at the tavern, eating with this human filth!? Which of the Great Spirits do you worship!?”

You had never heard of these Great Spirits, but given the reverence assigned to them, the elves presumably either worshipped them or at least held them in high esteem. You had heard of spirits as part of your training, of course, but there was no guarantee that any of them were the same ones that the elves knew of, half a world away.

You were going to have to give them something, or at least distract them in some way. Hrm . . . those efforts to repair the tree had reminded you of the rest of your brief druidic training. The ropes that the elves had bound you with seemed to be a tough, flexible species of vine. You might be able to command the vines to release you, but you would have to be subtle about it. Nothing that would make the elves think you were trying to escape, as doing so would lead you to sprout an arrow from a part of your body that arrows most definitely should not sprout arrows from.

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

At your harsh condemnation, all three of the men look at you quizzically. You hear one of them whisper to the other “Is this a test?” before being arm-punched into silence by his associate. The third one addresses you directly, although he is clearly nervous about it.

“B-but sir –“

Knowing that the whole deception relied on confidence and not giving them enough time to think about when they last saw “you”, you bellow the man into silence, finishing your monologue with a dismissal. The three of them look at you with uncertainty, the demand to obey a superior that was drilled into their heads at war with their confusion. Apparently the leader of the trio suddenly figured out his own explanation, as his face reddened and he nodded.

“Yes, of course sir. We’ll leave immediately, and let you have some “alone time” with the prisoner. Our apologies for our overzealous actions – we were not aware that you wanted to ah, “interrogate” her.”

The man turns to his friends and jerks his head back towards the mouth of the alleyway.

“We’re leaving!”

The she-elf watches this play out, although it’s hard to tell how much attention she was paying given that she was currently being hanged to death. You wait until the militiamen are out of sight, and then swiftly cut her down, gently lowering her to the ground and removing the noose. As the noose is loosened, the elf sucks several deep breaths through her nose, her body shuddering with repeated coughs. Eventually, the coughing fit passes and she relaxes, breathing more normally now although with a bit of a rasp. An ugly line of purple bruises traces a path all the way around her neck, blending in almost seamlessly with the rest of her battered body.

Up close now, you can see that she has been badly beaten, her face a patchwork of bruises and her one eye almost completely swollen shut. In several places her uniform has been cut open, the holes in the fabric then patched over with blood-stained bandages. You also note that while her wrists are tightly bound (the skin there rubbed raw like everywhere else), it’s hardly necessary anymore – most of her fingers are broken. She is covered in filth from head-to-toe, and smells as if she has just crawled out of the city’s sewers. At your question, she nods slightly, and then glances down at the strips of dirty cloth tied around the lower half of her face, gagging her.

(Just going to assume you’re going to ungag her, rather than waste a round of DMs on that.)
You carefully cut the gag off, nonetheless prompting the elf to wince once or twice as you press against one of the bruises adorning her face. She spits out a wad of cloth and then licks her lips, clearly trying to get rid of its taste. After a moment, she takes a deep breath and manages to croak out.

“What sort of game is this? You’re the one that told them to finish it. Change your stance about how doing me would be like doing a farm animal?”

She seems to be trying to gather a wad of spittle up, but then breaks into a rough cough and abandons the idea of spitting in your face. Instead, she merely glares sullenly at you.

“My gratitude doesn’t extend that far, pig. Send me on to the Spirit Land if that’s what you’re going to do, and be done with it!”

Ah – so this man you were impersonating was their commanding officer, and he was in on it. This was clearly not some impromptu execution then, but a planned endeavor. They had kidnapped this woman, probably under pretense of sending her on a covert assignment, abused and interrogated her for a couple days, and then moved on to disposing of her. Given their familiarity with the area, those militiamen had likely carried out similar executions here – how long had this been going on?

Well, you had really managed to step in it now. Those men would report back to their commander eventually, and then they would figure out that you were an imposter. They didn’t know who you were, of course, but they would know someone had interfered, and their paranoia would undoubtedly increase. They might even start blaming their fellow humans, declaring anyone not as murderous as themselves to be elf sympathizers – it was really quite amazing how long humans could justify their actions as needed.

The City of Luxien

Cardea

Ducking into the alleyway, you prop yourself up against the wall and wait. Some time passes, as marked by the passage of the sun moving across the sky. It is halfway between its zenith and the horizon before someone comes, as you knew someone inevitably would. Two men, lugging what appears to be a heavy chest between them. One man gestures with his head towards your alleyway, grunting.

“Come on, shortcut!”

The other man, who is closer and is able to actually see into the alleyway, notices you and shakes his head.

“Can’t. Something’s there.”

At this point the other man drops his end of the heavy chest, rushing over to the mouth of the alleyway to have a look for himself. Meanwhile, his group grunts in surprise and struggles to keep the chest intact as the abandoned end slams down into the ground.

“What!? This place was clear an hour ago!”

The man growled, eyes narrowing in anger as he scans the alleyway, noticing you quickly enough.

“Who put that there!? Damn refugees! Come on, help me move it!”

The man advances towards you, only to be stopped by his friend who drops his own end of the chest in exasperation and leaps forward to grab the man by the arm.

“No, come on! Let’s just go around. It won’t take that much time, certainly less than moving whatever *that* is. Maybe one of the paladins left it here, specifically to keep people from using this alleyway.”

“Now why would they go and do a thing like that? And if we don’t move it now, it’ll still be here when we come back through with the *next* load!”

“Maybe they found one of the Reaper’s passages in there? Or something worse? I’ve never liked that alleyway – now come on!”

The two men argue a bit more, but eventually agree to avoid you and go around down the main street. This leaves you in solitude again, although not for long as three miniature and dirt-smudged humans suddenly come dashing into the alleyway.

“Rawr! I’m the Forger of Oblivion, and I’ma eat your souls if I catch you!”

The miniature human in the back of the trio roars, holding up his hands like claws while the other two desperately try to keep ahead of him. The one in the lead, a young girl, runs directly up to you, and then puts a hand on your bent leg.

“Sanctuary! I’m safe from you!”

She cries, ignoring you as she looks back at the other two who slow to a stop a few paces away from you. Ignoring the other human boy, who he had managed to grab hold off from behind, the Forger of Oblivion walks up to the little girl and frowns.

“Nuh uh! Nowhere’s safe from the Forger of Oblivion!”

“The Heavens are! And I’m saying this is a church, which is like a little piece of the Heavens! So as long as I’m here, you can’t touch me!”

“Wanna bet!?”

“Hey, you can’t do that! Ow!”

Looking down at the three, you suddenly realize that these must be children. You look at the boy in the back, who not involved in the argument, is studying you with open but nervous curiosity. Another wave of memories assaults you as you realize the boy looks just like your own son, who you used to swing up onto your shoulders after coming home from a hard day in the fields. Then the fever hit, and you resorted to banditry to afford the necessary medicine to stave off Death’s hand. And got a trip to Ironheart for your trouble. Was this him, your boy, thought lost to you after all this time? Or was he just another child who merely resembled him?

More importantly, why do you continue to be assaulted by these memories of strangers!?

Although they don’t seem particularly frightened, caught up in their own game, the children would likely become scared if you revealed yourself. You doubted that any of them would make a suitable bearer for your shell-self, being one and all too small. Still, they were more familiar with this city than you were – perhaps they had found this Death Corridor those other two men had been talking about? Such a secret method of traveling appealed to you for understandable reasons.

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-08-18, 08:28 PM

Ninka

The creature paws at its face, trying to feel if it can see or hear. Then it attempts to say something.

My my my, this IS an interesting turn of events! :smallbiggrin:

I like it! Plus, without memories, it'll be easier to get along with a character like Bramble. It doesn't remember that fiends are the enemy. On with the show! :smallamused:

Though I realize that Hondshioh's...replacement, will certainly cause some havoc among the forces of good! :smalleek:

Dorizzit

2012-08-18, 09:15 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram does not flinch as the paladins rush him. He is prepared to accept violence from the traumatized souls; it wouldn't cause lasting damage to him, and it might even help some of them to work through their problems. Still, he isn't at all prepared for their wholehearted acceptance of his words. The gratitude and reverence shown by the paladins touches Korram deeply. He himself had never thought too much about the action; it had been one of his last, and it was one he was proud of, but it was just one moment in a lifetime. Apparently, the paladins gave it more weight, not that they could be blamed. He waits patiently for the group to settle down, and can't help but smile as he sees some of them restored, and others...hopefully beginning their road to recovery. At the least, he had given them something to think about. If his own experiences were any indication, they would fall into line eventually.

The woman who had first addressed him, however, pushes him once again. In some ways, her deference is harder for him to deal with than her aggression; Korram can deal with anger and bluntness, but his experiences with reassuring and teaching others largely stem from his life before Ironheart. Those times weren't much help either; Korram, now, has a much different view of the world than his younger self.

As a parent, one who has known concern about his own failings as such, Korram can easily empathize with the paladin's concerns. Fixing an even stare on the woman, Korram takes a step towards her and kneels down on one knee so that he is eye level with her, although she does not return his gaze.

"If my daughter is here, I have yet to find her."

His voice is more quiet now than before. He is not a guide, attempting to lead anyone out of the darkness as he was previously. He is a parent, speaking to an equal whose pain he can feel as though it is his own.

"I'm afraid...that I don't have any revelations for you, or any universal truth that will erase your concerns. All I can say is...have faith."

He pauses for a moment. He doesn't want to say more. The temptation to leave her with his meaningless words is strong. To say more would be to bare a part of himself to others that he does not want seen. Seeing her pain, however, is too much for him. Hesitantly, even more quietly than before, quiet enough that most of the circle would have to strain to hear, Korram begins again.

"My daughter died in my arms. As she lay there, one memory of her forced itself to my mind: I had left her with some friends of my family while I left town for a few weeks to acquire a weapon for my rebellion. While I was gone, she broke her arm. The moment I came back, so horrified I didn't know what to say, wouldn't leave my mind. What could I have said? She needed me, and I wasn't there for her. That was the only truth of the matter."

Korram pauses for a moment, collecting himself, before pushing forward.

"I wanted to think of happier times we had shared together. But after my wife was taken from me, there were precious few of those. The memory so burned into my mind was a memory of what our relationship was. Not what it should have been."

Korram takes a deep breath.

"My daughter suffered greatly for her idiot father's mistakes. But even after all of that, she forgave me. Even without my guidance, she grew from a child into a strong, brave adult. In the end, she gave her life for my sake. If she hadn't done that, hadn't brought me back to myself, I might still be alive."

While the statement seems almost paradoxical at first, the implications inherent within it should not be lost on any present.

"I guess...what I'm trying to say is...believe in your son. He may be angry for a time, but he can move on. Grow stronger. And while I won't claim to know what I cannot, I'm willing to bet that he has had at least one very good role model. You have given him an ideal, a person that he can always look up to, and a lineage that he should be proud of."

Korram reaches out a hand to place on the woman's shoulder.

"If you love him, then trust him. And pray that you won't see him again for a long, long time."

Giving the paladin's shoulder a supportive squeeze, Korram rises and backs up.

"Well, I think I've said my piece. I hope I've helped, but if you want to speak with me more, I'm always willing to talk. Marius can tell you how to find me...I think..."

Navigation in Heaven is still something that Korram has not quite wrapped his head around. Finally, Korram turns to face the aforementioned individual. He tries to gauge the paladin's reaction to Korram's most recent words; after all, the man was hardly stupid, and Korram had probably said more than he should have. If Marius was suspicious, Korram would have to be very careful about controlling the damage.

GuyFawkes

2012-08-19, 02:34 PM

Lucifuge

Not quite what I intended, but nonetheless, an acceptable result.

Lucifuge made a mental note of the situation as he took the gag off the elf. He knew when all came to light, this little incident would put the already-paranoid state of mind among the local militia closer yet to the edge, and maybe illicit some drastic measures from them. But he did not care. He needed information, and the elf apparently knows more about what he needs to know that those humans. And besides, he could take care of the matter later.

"Calm down elf...I am not who I seem," he replied as he assessed her wounds. Black and blue in all sorts of places, but apparently nothing too grievous to hinder her from attempting to spit on his face. As for her ability to walk however, he was not so sure. At least walk normally as to not arouse suspicion.

"We have to get out of here quickly," were his only words as he lifted her frame up with one hand, put her over his left shoulder and began walking briskly deeper into the alley. After a few feet, he stopped.

"Do not move. And try not to make any noise."

With that, Lucifuge started to dash towards the wall to his right. As he neared it, he kicked off the ground and put one foot on the wall, pushing himself up and repeating the same motion with his other leg, as if running up the wall. After a few 'steps', he kicked hard, sending him off the wall up and towards the one across, turning his body midair. Before he slams into it, he placed his foot forward and pushed himself upwards again, rebounding back to the previous wall and back again until he reached the roof.

Standing atop of a rather tall building, the dragon gazed down on the streets of Amaranth, and after gaining his bearings, headed of for the direction of south. He began to run and leap on rooftops, his speed uncharacteristic for his appearance, his footsteps silent like a trained assassin.

After a few minutes, he stopped upon reaching a derelict-looking building, one he knew to be an abandoned shop, and dropped down the adjacent side street. He then propped open a window and with one swift motion hopped inside.

The inside of the building showed the years of being left unused, cobwebs and dust gathering on top of whatever furnishings were left. Lucifuge dusted off what seemed to be the store counter and gently placed the elf on top of it. He then whispered some words in the language of the arcane and placed his hands on her, from which a soothing warmth began to emanate. Slowly, the elf's wounds seemed to close.

"It is not quite as good as the ones cast by someone more versed with it, but it shall help at least relieve some of your superficial injuries. The broken bones and other serious injuries, however, are beyond my capabilities," he said after he finished his magic.

He then began another chant, and this time it changed his face to the face of a middle-aged human.

"This is how I really look. Yes, I am a human. Why I saved you, you ask? Simple. I have my own agenda, and I believe you can be the means to some of my ends. You owe me your life now, so it is befitting that you reciprocate it with a favor, yes?" He moved his face closer while saying the last sentence, then moved back away.

"What I need are simple answers. After that, you are free to go and do as you please. I might even help you take care of your little situation with the militia if the information you provide is valuable. Well then, shall we begin?"

He walked towards the window to shut it close as he spoke, and before the elf could even reply to his question, he continued.

"Ironheart. Have you heard of it?"

TechnOkami

2012-08-19, 04:48 PM

Rosenberg

Rosenberg listens to his thoughts, smoking what remained in the bottom of his pipe, letting the embers flicker and burn at their slow, continuous pace. Then, a thought flashes past his mind, his eyes widen slightly, and the pipe is removed from his lips.

"Why don't we do both? If they go out of their way to destroy supplies they come across, then I doubt that much of it is still intact, but that also means that the city will be welcome to whatever food they can get their hands on. There must be something the elves missed. Assuming that there's still food to be found, why don't we take that to wherever they're arranging their supply caravan and follow through with your idea? That way, we'll be welcomed even more since we also brought food ourselves."

The pipe returns to his lips for a few moments.

"That sounds legitimate, doesn't it? Either way, we need to get a move on."

Rosenberg empties his pipes basin, patting out the embers so they won't be the cause of yet another forest fire. Then, groping his hand through the tangle of thorns and roses, he eventually pulls out his scythe.

"Let's find some grub."

Kasanip

2012-08-20, 04:32 AM

The Village of Woodhall
Lukina

A first sight of paladins, riding dutifully in battle, it can be understood immediately the feelings of awe and respect that has been gathered around this image. Something about the glittering armor was reassuring, and nostalgic. And even just seeing the healing powers used raised Lukina's spirits. There was some relief from the high tension of the night battle, and Lukina breathed a small sigh of relief.

She wanted to introduce herself, and to ask a thousand questions. Questions that had started to come when she had learned her past.

But for this moment, there wasn't any time. Standing up from the roof of a building, Lukina only had a second to react to the elf's attack at Commander Welkin.

"It's Dangerous!" She shouted her warning, but there wasn't a chance for Welkin to avoid this arrow. Genevieve could get there in an instant, flight or stepping.
Lukina urged herself to move quickly.
She grabbed Welkin's arm, and then put her boot into the stirrup, even though it couldn't fit with Welkin's boot too. But some [leverage] could be obtained, and Lukina mounted onto his horse, raising the shield above and behind him.

Then an arrow strongly hit the shield, and became stopped. Lukina breathed a sigh again.

"Excuse me. I'm..." Lukina paused. She had thought to introduce herself before to the paladins as Genevieve first. But in this kind of situation and with the attack, it wasn't such a situation to ask her questions or to make a claim quickly.

"I'm called Lukina Marcellis." She introduced. "I'm not a member of the town's militia..." She started to explain. But there wasn't so much time for that kind of introduction.

"I mean to say, there's something I need to talk to you about after this is over." Lukina tried to explain hastily.
She let go of Welkin's arm, and to lower dismount to the ground from the horse again.
"What can I do to help?" She asked.

(ooc: Sorry, I don't think my explaining of action probably can be understood easily, so a quick sketch was drawn to show intention)

http://i1015.photobucket.com/albums/af275/umbrellako2/1187f1ad.jpg

Tae

2012-08-20, 11:24 PM

((sorry for the delay. I just started a new job and my body had to readjust to standing for eight hours a day))

Back to the mortal realm...with humans…

Flashing memories of her former top-side adventures spun like a top through Bramble’s mind. Dizzy visions punctuated by violence; slaughter and explosions. The triumphant bitterness of stolen beer on her tongue. The stench of human terror contrasting sharply with the green-growing smell permeating the mortal realm. Bits of white platemail shining in the sun as shreds of paladin blew away from grenades.

Grenades…

Bramble turned her red gaze onto Catbox’s black one. As their eyes met, both sappers’ features cracked with ferocious grins.

“Bombs on legs”, Catbox squealed. Ripples distorted the watery humans’ faces as over five-hundred pounds of demonic meat hit the ground, shaking with laughter.

“Cat. Cat, Cat, Cat…CATBOX! Come ‘ere.” Bramble crouched on the ground and began drawing in the dust with a clawed fingertip as Catbox crawled over. Soon both fiends were huddled over Bramble’s drawings, whispering.

Skullcruncher’s face clouded with anger. “You two!” He was promptly interrupted by Bramble’s long red finger held up in the universal symbol for “wait a minute”. The clouds of anger burst into lightning behind Skullcruncher’s eyes and he began striding towards the sappers, intent on beating subordination back into their heads. His momentum was halted with a meaty thwack as Malarkey’s ichor covered arm cut across his chest.

“Not a good idea, Commander.” Malarkey’s voice bubbled and oozed like a man drowning in his own mucus. “I know they seem like idiots, but there’s a reason Molerat picked them for this job. Just let them finish.”

Skullcruncher snapped the bones in the infantryman’s dripping forearm and smiled at the gurgling growl he got in response. “Never, EVER get in my way again.” He crossed the last few feet between him and the sappers, and then stood, listening.

In between barely heard murmurs the commander heard things like “overpressure of 3%”, “potential for tertiary damage”, “controlled reaction of quicklime and water”, “blast seat radius”, and “greater brisance”. The dust between the sappers was covered with precise geometric diagrams and equations. Bramble’s grin of insouciance and even Catbox’s habitual look of wide-eyed stupidity were replaced with sharp concentration. Bramble rose and brushed the dust from her palms.

“Okay Commander Skullcruncher, sir. I just have three questions.”

“You don’t have the prerogative of questioning orders, sapper.”

“Look, Commander, if Molerat wants this done, Cat an’ me gotta know three things.” She began counting off on her fingers. “Number one, what’re we blowin’ up? Number two; does the human carrying the bomb have’ta to survive? And most importantly, number three: what do we do if Malarkey starts munching on our new squad mates?” Her grin returned as she met the furious Commander’s eyes.

Gorgondantess

2012-08-21, 02:31 AM

She shakes her head.
It could all just be an illusion. You could simply be leading me astray. If you want to test me so badly, you could always throw more challenges at me along the way. You could have thought up a myriad of other ways to royally screw me over along the way. In the end, it would be safer to not accept your help, really. Beyond that, I just don't like you.
She could've said all that and more, but she didn't. There was no time, and it would've played into what he wanted- to learn more about her and her motivations.
Why did he desire this knowledge? Why did he desire to study her so? It was an enigma she might never discover- she wouldn't sink so low as to ask him. Besides, he killed Maurice- she'd have his head for that.

"No," she said, snapping the hourglass in half and hurtling the pieces into the distance. She didn't waste time on another word, immediately after that turning to him to swipe at him with Maurice's blade.
Naturally, he disapparated as soon as she did so. This suited her purposes perfectly well. Even if she could've fought him now, she wouldn't have. There were more pressing matters to attend to- finding Maurice. A scenery chewing battle was the last thing she needed at the moment.
No, Quadramus would meet his end, and at her hands too. Just not at the moment. There were larger things to deal with than petty revenge.
She'd be flying largely blind throughout all this- as such, she'd need some help. She considered going to the paladins for aid. She didn't know where they were located, though much less how to get there. If it would take her a matter of days, it certainly wouldn't be worth her while.
Of course, at the same time, she had an ace up her sleeve. An ace of hearts, if you will.
When she broke the hourglass in half, she let its contents spill over her hands... and absorbed them. She was now carrying a piece of Maurice with her- her blood, which resonated within her.
It wasn't much- she wasn't sure how to utilize it, after all- but it was a start.
With that, she went to meet with her worshipers.

"Promise him gold, riches, power. Whatever his little heart desires, so long as he manages to give me a speedy gateway to hell. I have no doubt he'll find me a much more generous patron than these demons."
She looked down impatiently at the unconscious form of the hell-worshiper.
"And dammit, can't you manage to wake him up faster?"
She waved a hand, leaving the task to her now frantic underlings. Like ants they were, shambling about in service to their queen. Still, she couldn't help but take on some feelings of... endearment, in these weeks- however slight- to these creatures. Gods, were they earnest.
That done, she heads to her high priest.
"Find me a... cartographer. Explorer. Geographer. Whichever- one who knows cities and maps and distances and such."
She had two options present to her at this point beyond the hell worshipper.
The first was the paladins. She might be able to enlist a decent fighting force to raid hell with from them, and they would likely have a good amount of knowledge on demons. At the same time, she'd had a mind to pursue her goal in a more covert manner (a slower but surer route, in which case a group of paladins would be more hindrance than help), and their knowledge of demons was likely as narrow as the Dusk Wardens' knowledge of 'Archdemons'- that is, pertaining to the tracking down and slaying thereof.
Her second option was, well, the Dusk Wardens themselves. It was Omnicron who got her into this mess- after all, if she hadn't saved his sister she might have not lost Maurice- and he owed her a great many favors for it. First was the disposal of Quadramus, and while she intended to do it herself, she could requisition a weapon- those stone daggers might be an excellent way to deal with him... and being the new High Warden in status if not title, she'd now be immune to its sting.
Meanwhile, she knew they had excellent diviners. While their previous methods were now done away with, surely they would retain some ability- and perhaps with that, and the blood she now carried, they could aid her to track down Maurice.

Both were equally viable choices. At this moment, it was simply a matter of time- which was closer?

WhiteKnight777

2012-08-21, 06:57 AM

Umber

Well... That could have gone better.

Oh, the beating was irritating - more irritating was the fact that he still hadn't confirmed what sort of scenario he was facing - whether this was a dream, a memory, the actual past, or something stranger still. Time-travel theory aside, however, Umber had more pressing issues.

It was strange - he wouldn't have expected his borrowed body to feel this real. He had been discorporated before, and he would have expected something similar, wrapped in a borrowed meat-suit. Instead... everything felt mostly like himself - only far inferior, of course, since the previous owner had used this particular suit rather roughly. Umber would have had words with the tailor, but that shop stopped taking his letters a long, long time ago... Or maybe it wasn't so long. Bloody-damned time travel.

Where was he? Oh, yes. Pressing issues. He gave his one-time companion a long, calculating look. How to play this? Well, this Zariel was still a fanatic... albeit one who had somewhat assumed the mask, if the Zariel of Umber's own time was to be believed. He would need to be handled carefully, unless Umber wanted to be... denuded again. But on the bright side, Umber had an idea about how this might play out. Being from the future (or possible future) had a few advantages.

"Brother" he croaked in a raspy voice. "you should know that no task is so important that it could be entrusted to one alone, even one of your skills. I was sent because we have become aware of a danger... There is another agent in play, of a power unknown to us. Nebulous. Uncertain. Blasphemous. Something that would usurp the fates of the so-called Lords and of us as well. Its agent is already in the city, perhaps even here in the citadel. We are unsure of the agent's identity, but..." Umber contrived to look confused, even disturbed. "There is something unnatural about this power. Even moreso than the bloody-handed heretics with whom you must now associate. An... out-of-place-ness. The agent of this power does not belong in our world, more than any creature our mistress has ever seen."

Umber took a deep breath. Perhaps he could twist this to his advantage after all... "This power's agent is going to try to disrupt the ritual, perhaps assassinate one or more of your... companions." Umber twisted his face in barely-concealed disgust. This cannot be allowed. If the monsters are to die, it must be by our mistress' command, not this intruder's.

Lonna

2012-08-21, 10:38 AM

Jacqueline

A moment of panic at the discovery of her hair's apparently spontaneous transformation into living flame was swiftly suppressed when Jacqueline realized that it had probably saved her from freezing to death. Deciding that for the time being it was better not to meddle with a good thing, she cautiously climbed out of the icy bed, triggering the attention of the ice-encased light spirits. With no better idea to work with, Jacqueline followed the sprite down the hallway until the voices beyond the darkened arch caught her attention. A slight frown flitted briefly over her face as she made out a few disconnected words, trying to decipher what they might mean.

And then a scream rang out, and suddenly Jacqueline remembered Titania's emissary telling her that she could not vouch for Wulfric's safety. Breaking into something just short of a run, for fear of losing her balance in the icy corridor, Jacqueline hurried after the will-o-wisp, praying to whatever gods might be listening that he was not the source of the sound.

Baerdog7

2012-08-21, 09:51 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Something clicks inside of Ander as he listens to Hephestia's tale which makes his problems seem so...selfish. He moves next to the broken angels and wraps her in a gentle hug.

Shhh, shhh, it's okay. It's okay... he whispers.

They sit intertwined for minutes or hours, Ander silent and Hephestia pouring her emotion out on his shoulder for as long as she needs. His thoughts meander back to his own time in Ironheart: to the beatings, the bleedings, Crane's sneering face, and the sheer sense of abandonment. The story of her capture seemed hauntingly similar to his own. Once she seems to be calming down, he speaks.

We all make mistakes, we all fall from the straight path, and we must all live with the consequences. What matters is whether or not we get up again.

He runs his hand through her hair, straightening some of the tangles, and lifts her face to look him in the eyes.

Miriam took your wings but she didn't take your legs. Stand up. Keep moving forward! Embrace your mistakes and become stronger for them, Hephestia. As long as you don't succumb to despair, as long as your never give up, there is hope.

As the sky begins to lighten and the first rays of dawn caress the landscape, the irony of Ander's words likewise dawns upon him.

I've also fallen into despair since becoming Speaker. I've let the stresses of leadership consume me and distract me from my goals. Not anymore! Even if I have to march into Hell and fight every Fiend Lord myself, I will not fail.

He gazes at the sunrise and cracks a smile.

The great thing about being human is now you've got all the potential in the world to become better than you are. Believe in that. Take it to heart because nobody, not the Baron, not Azguloth, not even Miriam or Athelion can take it from you.

daelrog

2012-08-21, 10:43 PM

Alons Sift

"The girl will live - for now." It was those last two words the elf had said that told Alons what he needed to know. Common beasts.

"I come from across the ocean, from the kingdom of Fairlyle." He closed his eyes and focus on the vines, willing them to loosen, little by little. "My kingdom believes in old ways. I do not worship one spirit over another. The Laughing Fox, the Red Bear, the Frog who Waits, these are but dozens my people know." He listed off a few more, most of them animals. He wanted to buy time for the vines to loosen enough.

"I eat with the humans because I am human. Just look at my dear mother, Mags. The older woman. Can you not see the resemblance?"

If the elves looked away long enough, he would make his move. Eye gouge, punching the throat, boxing the ears. Fast, dirty, efficient. Only if they would look though. He could only hope that Mags's unique ugliness could distract them long enough. He would go after the one who didn't speak the common tongue first.

Iethloc

2012-08-22, 02:36 PM

Sohssal

Sohssal couldn't help but be disappointed that the Baron kept his magic to himself. He probably saw his own children as mere tools. It fit everything else he know about him. One more reason to despise the Baron, but that didn't matter anymore.

He also did not relish the thought of resorting to contacting the mortal plane and convincing someone there to perform some ritual. It felt so...stereotypical, not to mention unreliable. He never doubted the key to escape would lie on his own end. Sohssal hoped getting his hands on the soul of Seraph's mother would be that key.

”I'm sure I could find it, but I suspect I'll have to take it by guile or force. If all goes well, we won't have to worry about the long-term consequences of that. I may as well start the search now,” he said. It wouldn't be hard find the soul through a combination of scrying and sending out any minions who were actually discrete. He didn't want to have to talk to any fiends in the search unless it was necessary.

The talk of acquiring souls made Sohssal think about Omega – or Dahlia. But he couldn't afford to stretch himself too thin, and there was no guarantee she was even down here. Would all those bad deeds have counted if she had no real free will? Well, he was a mage, not a philosopher. The best he could do was keep an eye out.

OverWilliam

2012-08-24, 04:43 PM

~Tare

Tare sputtered on the "drink," recoiling from the taste (but more than taste, feel) of the thick liquid as it ran unbidden down his throat. For the first half second he tried to fight against it, but restrained as he was he had little choice-- Videle, it seemed, had a certain amount of experience in forcing unwilling subjects to swallow things against their wishes.

It was not until he saw the demoness take a quaff herself that he realized what the stuff was-- Angel Blood. His stomach churned on itself as horror sunk into his brain.

“Now then. I want to know how you escaped my estate. Right now.”

Tare felt a new wash of invisible, intangible Will rush across him like a floodgate of it had been opened in front of him, in the form of a wave of gooseflesh that prickled all over his body. It did not touch his mind, however, a fact that Tare was instantly and infinitely grateful for. Not that he could explain why the Succubus' charms were wasted on him, but for the moment the simple fact that he was Protected was enough.

Tare cleared his throat, trying to banish the still-tingling remnants of the Angel Blood that was even then soothing the harshness of his thirst with its own peculiar spice. He felt immediately guilty to be realizing that, however horrible the thought of drinking any creature's blood was to him, that Videle was not voicing mere opinion when she called it refreshing.

He considered the demoness' question, and wondered why she would ask such a thing. He couldn't begin to fathom her purpose in it, but it seemed obvious that by giving her what she wanted it would not be beneficial to himself. He considered lying. A moment later, though, he thought; What the hells. I'm already dead. Why bother?

"All right, Lady Videle, I'll tell you." His voice remained empty of the kind of passion the Succubus was no doubt accustomed to in the tones of almost all her dealings, a fact that most likely would not go unnoticed. "I came to be in the Hells while still Mortal because of an accident. Something tore open a gap between this plane and the one above and I, with some companions, fell through. My companions, who were under my explicit protection, were taken captive by one of your Generals, and I followed after them to return them to the Mortal world where they came from. He obviously did not know that by imprisoning those whom I protect, his actions were not against them alone, but against myself."

"You speak fondly of 'your dear, sweet Vyly,' but I wonder if he was a very good choice as manager of your estate. I decieved him by posing as a servant demon, learned from him where the prisoners were being held, and then under cover of a distraction I dispatched him temporarilly with a dagger to the back of his head. I found my companions, then incited a riot among the prisoners to overwhelm your guards in order to escape. We returned to the Mortal world in a smilar manner to the one that brought us here originally."

As he finished, Tare realized that it was likely good that he had not tried to lie-- though he had not thought of it before, surely Videle already knew most of the story from questioning Vylethar personally. He of course had no compulsions against lying, but to be caught lying so obviously would have been shameful.

Vegna

2012-08-24, 09:45 PM

Mal Harath

His head aches from the impact on the wall, but Mal still tries his hardest to keep his defence against the earth creatures. Trying to dodge their swings or deflect them with his staff, he staggers slightly as his head re-focuses at the sight of the trapped stone.

He began to back away quickly, leaving a trail of sludge where his feet had touched, passing between the staggering elementals and spread onward towards the elf. Letting the line of mud end, Mal wound up for a running start and dashed into the muck, his knees skidding across it as he raised his staff overhead to protect himself from the earth beings.

"Why are you hunting us, elf?!"

As the sliding path ends, Mal drops his weapon and rolls towards the earth mage.

"What does your boss want with Master Vork?!"

He pushes himself off with his hands to jump onto his feet, his body twisting to bring a sharp kick into the elf woman's torso.

Inspectre

2012-08-26, 03:21 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

The woman keeps her head down as you begin speaking to her, although when you approach and whisper quietly to her, she looks up at you with tear-filled eyes. Although they are paladins, they are still human, and so you note from the corner of your eyes that several lean forward, almost unconsciously, to pick up what you are saying. The woman listens to your words, although when you mention that her child has at least one strong role model she bursts into a fresh round of tears.

You suspect that there may be a story to the other half of this child’s parents as well, and so perhaps your own experiences hunting your wife’s kidnapper would also be useful. In any case, you didn’t really feel that you had much left to say. You place your hand on the woman’s shoulder and give it a supportive squeeze. As you lift your hand away, she catches it in her own, giving it a supportive squeeze as well, and forces a weak smile onto her face while reaching up with her other hand to wipe her tears away. Although she still has not made the miraculous transformation some of the other paladins have, there is not quite as much pain in her eyes anymore.

“Thank you.”

She says, a statement that is repeated by a number of the paladins throughout the circle. Even Marius says it as he steps forward into the circle to clap a hand down onto your shoulder.

“Yes, thank you Korram. Everyone, please continue your discussions now. I need to have a private word with Korram, and then I will be back. David, can you lead the discussion?”

Near the “front” of the circle, a young man stands up and begins moving about the circle, seeming to direct the conversation as each paladin turns and begins quietly conversing with his/her neighbors. Meanwhile, his hand still clamped down onto your shoulder, Marius leads you back out through the gateway and out onto the street. Despite being more out in the open, the street is actually a more private location due to the fact that no one was currently walking about. Indeed, the streets seem surprisingly empty to you in this section of the city, and the air feels heavy. If you were not up in the Heavens, and thus had a reason for the paranoia welling up inside you, you would almost think that this was the calm before the storm.

Indeed, it might very well be so, thanks to Marius as the grizzled paladin looks you up and down. It’s blatant that he suspects something, although you aren’t sure what he thinks just yet – the man’s weathered face is almost unreadable as he looks at you. Then he moves in and gives you a firm bear hug and a slap on the back.

“I didn’t know that about your daughter. Or your wife for that matter. I am sorry that I got you involved in this – I’m glad that it helped them, but now I’m worried that it has opened your own old wounds. I’m assuming since they’re both dead, and neither of them is here, that they’re both somehow in the Hells. I’m sorry for that as well - I should have looked into your situation further . . . I just don’t ever recall you mentioning either of them in our talks. And of course, why would you if – gah, I should have been more circumspect. You have my sincere apologies, Korram.”

The old paladin shakes his head sadly, but then slowly breaks into a smile again.

“So, if you will permit this old man one last question – Miriam, what was She like? I grew up knowing that I wanted to be a paladin, to protect others and serve Miriam. I always dreamed of meeting Her, which I figured I might be able to do one day once I got here, but . . . ever since The Battle, the Palace of the Sun has been closed to mortal entry. I missed my chance, I guess.”

The Hells

The Gast Family Monument

Archpaladin Zousha

You find that you are able to speak, and although you don’t remember where you learned it, you are familiar with the dialect the two fiends are using. Unfortunately, you don’t really know what to say, so you just examine yourself instead. Your one leg is in a cast of some kind, and one of your arms is caught in some sort of metal cage which seems to be doing a somewhat passable job as a split. Reaching up with your hand, you feel out your face, and find it humanoid in shape, roughly similar to Hondshioh’s, in fact, but with an odd rubbery consistency to it, as if your current face was nothing more than a mask.

Losing patience with you, The Black General grabs you by the throat, a self-defeating gesture given his roared command.

“SPEAK, MORTAL! OR I WILL INTRODUCE YOU TO SUCH PAIN THAT EVERYTHING YOU HAD ENDURED UP TO THIS POINT WILL SEEM MERE PRELUDE!”

From his position on the floor, Hondshioh drags himself back up onto his feet, balancing on his one good leg.

“Aren’t you satisfied yet? You won’t get any real answers out of it. In fact, disorientation is a common result . . . and it may or may not fade with time. I may have even accidentally taken away his knowledge of speech – this isn’t an exact thing.”

“FINE.”

The Black General rumbled, releasing you. From within his chest, a piercing shriek, metal grinding against metal, echoes out, tempting you to clamp your hands up over your ears. A moment later, the door swings open again, and two armored devils enter - they too, seem oddly familiar to you. Perhaps they were your jailers, given their indifference as they came over and released you from your collar before dragging you up out of the chair with practiced ease. Once you were up on your feet, the two stopped and looked at the Black General, who bobbed his helmet.

“DISPOSE OF THIS FILTH IN THE LOWER DUNGEONS! I HAVE NO FURTHER USE FOR HIM.”

At this order the two devils grin in anticipation and offer their master a low bow. Then they turn their attention back to you, one driving his fist into your stomach, doubling you over. You would cry out, but have no time as the second devil grabs your lowered head, holding it there while he brings his knee up into your face. Then the first one strikes you again, slamming both his fists together onto the back of your head, and rendering you unconsciousness once more. You spiral down into darkness, feeling as if you are falling from a great height, and somewhere just below you, there is a hard surface that when you impact against it, will shatter you into a thousand pieces.

*************************

You awake slowly, your head feeling very much as if it had, in fact, shattered into a thousand pieces. As you become more aware of your surroundings, you realize that you are curled up, lying on your side on a hard stone floor. Your attempts to straighten yourself up fail, however, and this gives you your next vital discovery – you are now bound.

Rough iron shackles are locked around each of your wrists, and they are attached by short lengths of chain to a set of iron stocks locked around your feet. The effect is that to get any slack on your arms, you have to sit curled up, and can only straighten up about halfway before the chains, and by extension your arms, go taut. Although of relatively crude construction, the iron restraints are strong, and it seems unlikely that you will be able to pull them apart without some sort of tool – or a key.

From your position on the floor, you are able to look around and see that even if you got out of your chains, it would do you little good. You are locked in an iron cage, the dimensions of which would not be big enough for you even if you could stand or stretch out to your full height. Iron bars surround you on all sides, and with the exception of the door side, another iron cage is sitting beyond the bars, stacked directly against your own.

The cages to the left and right of your own are currently empty, you can hear someone quietly sobbing in the cage above yours, and looking down through the bars of your cage that make up the floor, you see a crumple form lying in the cage below yours.

The area beyond the door to your cage seems to be a long narrow hallway of some sort, with cages also forming the opposite wall of the hallway. There does not seem to be any light source, but a smoky red haze is prevalent throughout the area wherever you look – it hurts your eyes, but allows you to see roughly shapes. Your mind draws the parallel to light at sunset, although it occurs to you that you have no memory of what the sun looks like. Some sort of giant torch, maybe? That knowledge seems irrelevant now, given that you know that you will never have the opportunity to see it again.

Suddenly, the soft groaning and moaning coming from all around you is broken by a loud, bloodcurdling scream coming from somewhere further down the hallway. It goes on for several seconds, and then is followed by shouted begging and pleading, and then another bloodcurdling scream that trails off into silence.

It occurs to you that right now, without the ability to do anything else, it would be time to . . . pray? That instinctually feels like something you would want to do right now, but it occurs to you that you don’t know who to pray to, or what to say. In the back of your head, it feels like something lingers just out of reach, and if you could just concentrate hard enough, the words would come. Then another wave of screams echoes down the hallway, and your concentration is shredded. The words, if that was what they were, fade into the darkness. You are lost and alone, even to yourself.

(I’ll give (Char Name Here) another post to adapt to his new circumstances, and then we’ll see what kind of feces I have lying around to throw at the wind generating device. :smallbiggrin: )

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

At your agreement that the best way out of here would be to find his mother, Seraph nods and leans back into his seat with a groan. He closes his eyes and seems to do the best he can to relax.

“I haven’t gotten much of a chance to rest in between beatings down here. So if you don’t mind, I think it would be best if I could get a few hours of sleep. I don’t know if there’s much else I can do to help you, given my own situation. If you can get us both out of here, however, you will have my eternal gratitude.”

Confident that no one would dare enter this area without your explicit permission, and equally confident that Seraph wouldn’t be going anywhere - indeed, in your custody he was probably in the safest place for him in the entire Hells – you leave him. You are headed back to the communication room, as it would work just as well for a place to conduct your scrying rituals as attempting to communicate with the Fiend Lords. And, of course, on the way there you are stopped by another distraction.

“Lord Nihilus! Your servant Xerxes has returned from the mortal realm! He urgently wishes to speak with you!”

The messenger imp reported, and then reflexively ducked and went invisible as the aforementioned devil clapped his hands together, appearing at the end of the hallway.

“Indeed I do. I have very urgent news to bring to you . . . Lord “Nihilus”.”

Xerxes said with a knowing grin, leaving no question that he remembered you. The devil looks around, clearly confident that he is the one in control of this situation.

“Perhaps we should retreat to your private quarters, or some other area where we are sure no imps are lurking about? After all, what I have to report to you is *quite* sensitive information!”

From a shadowed corner up by the ceiling, the messenger imp hisses, and then flutters away, heard but not seen as it leaves the hallway – or scurries to a new hiding place. Great, someone who knows for a fact that you aren’t really Nihilus. This was something that you had always feared would happen, but you had always expected it would be the other way around, and that someone would know Nihilus and not you. Unfortunately, that also meant that Xerxes was at least vaguely aware of what you are capable of, and he might well have made arrangements in the event of his untimely disappearance. He wouldn’t be here, acting so confidently otherwise. Unless he really was that stupid, but so far at least, Xerxes seemed to be at least a slight cut above the other drooling sycophants you found yourself having to work with down here.

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

“Mmm . . . you are quite right about Vylethar. But then, *I* didn’t actually place him in charge – while I was . . . indisposed, he overthrew my appointed successor and took over. I never thought he would have it in him to do something like that! It was bold . . . but ill-conceived as you proved, and now that I’m back he’s going to be . . . mmm . . . punished quite severely for it. Of course, without his indiscretions I never would have found you!”

Videle fixes you with a dazzling smile, but then purses her lips again in consternation as you fail to respond as she clearly expected. She is quiet for a long moment, reaching behind her for the goblet to take another thoughtful sip before setting it back down onto the desk.

“You know, I don’t think you like me very much. One of my less experienced daughters might think you just aren’t into girls, but I know better.”

Videle stalked back over to you, raking her fingernails through your scalp before bending down and taking a deep whiff of your head.

“Mmm, yes! You’ve already given your heart to another, is that it? True love – oh, you poor boy. Don’t you know that never ends well? You’re much better off indulging your desires, and then moving on.”

Videle takes another whiff, and then giggles delightedly. Clapping her hands together in excitement, she pirouettes back away from you, and raises her hands up to cover her own face.

“Oh, you naughty, naughty little boy! Tell me, the one who you gave your heart to – does she look something like . . . this!?”

Videle removes her hands from her face, and suddenly it is Melcara standing there in front of you. Melcara in a metal brassiere and thong, and if you had been able to avert your eyes, you might well have even though you know that it is not her. Thankfully, while the change to the image of your love renders you no less immune to Videle’s charms, it does seem to stifle some of the unreasonable disgust her presence triggers in you – either that or she dialed her charming magic back a bit.

“I could be her for you, if that’s what you want. Or one of my daughters. Or both of us at once, if that’s been a fantasy for you. Working for me has some very enjoyable perks . . . if you’re a good boy.”

Melcara frowns, crossing her arms across her ample chest and flaring her wings in irritation.

“But you’re not being a good boy right now, are you? You tell me that you just randomly blundered down here with your friends, through a portal that just opened up and swallowed you. And then, after you rescued your friends from my inept stewards, you just happened to blunder out through another portal? One that just conveniently opened up right above my pool!?”

Still frowning, “Melcara” reaches back behind her, this time snatching up not the goblet from the desk, but instead a weapon of some kind. It seems like a very peculiar sword, its blade divided up into segments. After flipping a switch on the hilt and snapping her wrist, however, Videle/Melcara turned the weapon into a sort of metal whip, segmented fragments of the sword blade held together by a length of wire.

“Now. I know that you are powerful, you wouldn’t have been able to dispatch several dozen of my more, shall we say, violence-inclined servants otherwise. What I don’t know is whether I should believe you when you say why you came here, and how you got back out. Mortals don’t simply walk in and back out of the Hells whenever they please – unless they’re paladins, I suppose, but that’s a different story! So, either you are able to open portals between here and the mortal realm – making you useful to me – or you really did just get unbelievably lucky – in which case you are just a curiosity. Now, which is it? And remember – I can make your time here more enjoyable than you ever would have up in the Heavens –“

And with a flick of her wrist, Videle underlines her next point as she sends the tip of the chain sword slicing through the air, its path leaving a brief after-image of the weapon following along behind it. A red line appears down the length of one of the bound angel’s wings, and she moans weakly.

“- Or I can make it a very long, very unpleasant, eternity for you. So which is it going to be – and yes, those really are your only two options!”

The Mortal Realm

[u]Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

You refuse Quadramus’s offer of assistance – completely, totally, and with a firm demonstration of such by smashing his hourglass and then slashing open his chest with the broken end of Maurice’s sword. As he had before, Quadramus’s form merely tears itself apart, dissipating into nothingness – but he would undoubtedly be back. Meanwhile, you had an angel to save.

Through the blood that you had absorbed, you were able to sense the angel – it wasn’t very clear, like hearing an echo carried on the wind. But it was enough to let you know that Maurice yet lived, even with the tip of her own sword embedded in her chest. She was not well, however, and was suffering – whether she actually *was* in the Hells, or in Quadramus’s private dungeon, she was being tortured. For now, the resolute angel was keeping a grip on her sanity, but it was only a matter of time before she was irrevocably broken. In that, Quadramus had not been lying. It seemed then that you did have a little time in which to conduct a rescue, but it would not last an eternity.

Determined not to waste any of that precious time that you did not have to, you hurry back down to the city street to see how your new pet demon worshipper was doing. Not very well, unfortunately – he was still unconscious! At your question, your followers shook their heads.

“We have reasons to believe that he is in a coma at present.”

The leader of the small chase group eventually admitted.

“We are not sure when he will awaken, although we may be able to speed up the process once we get him resting comfortable and have access to healing potions.”

So . . . not only could these fragile humans die when you hit them too hard, but they could also become semi-permanently unconscious!? UGH – why did every single dealing you had with humans end in a headache!? At least this cultist was still alive, and they did seem sincere in their ability to wake him up . . . eventually. With that lead unavailable to follow-up on for the moment, you turn your attention to your high priest. The man, a former merchant that had for all his scrambling before your arrival had still managed to work out a sedate life for himself, had followed the group at a walking pace. No one expected him to be able to catch a fleeing cultist, who apparently used to being hunted, were like rabbits and fled at top speed at the slightest disturbance.

Still slightly out of breath, and the only proof that he had hurried at all, the man bobs his head.

“Yes, I shall locate one right away. In fact, I believe I know a man who is familiar with the area in this very city. I can take you to him immediately.”

(For the sake of expediency, I’m just going to go over what you find out from the cartographer.)

Consulting a map was helpful in letting you know the distances involved in your two choices. The cartographer had also heard some news of the paladins – apparently following the Battle of Narle they had all withdrawn to the city of Luxien, which was served as the Church’s effective capital. Since that time, however, they had spread out throughout the kingdom, attempting desperately to hold off the elves. Yet more mortals wanting to kill other mortals – from what you could tell, the Battle of Narle had been an absolutely horrifying bloodbath for all sides involved . . . and they were still fighting. So, both a positive and a negative there – you could probably find a small band of paladins nearby if you looked, but they likely would just point you to their boss, who may or may not be sitting on his fat ass somewhere in Luxien. On the other hand, just showing up at the city without anyone to introduce you would probably lead to the typical outcome – misunderstandings, screams of horror, you being forced to kill them all after they tried to kill you. They also didn’t owe you anything, and while they might, astoundingly, be the first humans who would prove willing to help you out of the sheer goodness of their hearts, they might just as likely tell you to go away.

On the other hand, Omnicron owed you a great deal. His sister was also a diviner, and while her methods were rather unpleasant and designed to locate you, it might be possible to adjust them to locate Maurice instead. The problem there – and there was *always* a blasted problem! – was that you had no idea where Omnicron was right now. To be sure, you had seen him several weeks ago after your revival, but he and the Dusk Wardens had left during your mad flight to the capital. Upon your return, they were gone, presumably heading back home.

You seem to remember that the main force of Dusk Wardens led by Augustus had arrived by boat, and that they all lived on an island somewhere out to sea. Presumably, it would have to be a fair distance out to sea as well, else there would be an island labeled “Dusk Warden Island” or something equally ridiculous on the map. No, you take that back – the humans always had to needlessly complicate things, so the island would be named “Donovale’s Wine Tasting Isle” or some other drivel.

Regardless, given that you had previously made it clear that you wished to be left alone, and they had no real desire to interact with you either, the home of the Dusk Wardens was still a mystery to you. It was quite possible that Omnicron and the others were still out on the ocean somewhere, having only gotten to the boats and set sail a few days to a week ago. If you looked long enough, you might be able to find them. But the ocean was vast, and like their island home, you had never seen the Dusk Warden landing point with your own eyes. Which meant that you had absolutely no way of finding them short of searching blindly and patiently, or calling out their name and hoping that they would magically appear out of thin air.

That seemed to place things squarely in favor of seeking out the paladins, unless this demon worshipper turned out to be extraordinarily helpful once he woke up. However . . . you believed Maurice was in the Hells, Quadramus showed you a vision of him dragging her off to the Hells, and the blood you had absorbed told you that she was being tortured. That did not mean that she was actually in the Hells – given the extent to which Quadramus had gone to mess with you, it was impossible to know for sure. If she wasn’t in the Hells and you bought into this wild duck chase (that was the human expression, wasn’t it?), it could be too late to save her. If she could locate Maurice, Omnicron’s sister would allow you to be sure – she might even be able to give you some undoubtedly cryptic leads about Maurice’s exact location!

On the third hand, if you spend a lot of time hunting down the Dusk Wardens and it turns out that they can’t help you . . . well, you would have wasted all of your spare time, to be sure. There was really no way to be sure, and you couldn’t help but feel that this was another important choice that could have drastic consequences on your hunt for Maurice. (But not really – you can be sure I’ll keep things . . . “interesting” for you regardless what you do! :smalltongue: )

The Village of Woodhall

Kasanip

(I got the gist of it, but that sketch looks really good too! :smallbiggrin: )

At your shout, Welkin blinks in surprise, but does little else to defend himself. Really, caught by surprise like that, there really wasn’t time for him to do so. But you had seen the attacker as the elf stood up, and so had a moment to plan. You did not have Genevieve’s ability to fly, nor her speed, which would have allowed you to grab the arrow in mid-flight – although you understood how to do so. Fortunately, you still had a shield, and so you leverage yourself partially up onto Welkin’s mount, throwing your shield arm up into its path. A split-second later, a shiver races down your arm as the arrow impacts, embedding itself into the shield, now harmless. Welkin had been saved.

Now exposed, the elf does not risk another shot, but instead throws himself off the roof as several of the paladins raise their crossbows to return fire. The elf lands lightly at the entrance to a nearby alleyway, pauses just a moment to look back at you and Welkin, and then vanishes into the darkness. If you cared about such things, you are sure that you have made an enemy this day. But you have also made a friend, as Welkin looks at you with gratitude in his eyes.

“Thank you Miss . . . Marcellis, you say? I think I can spare a few minutes for someone who just saved my life – although it will have to wait until after this attack. If we both survive, we can speak then! For now, we need to get everyone inside the church – it’s the only defensible building in the town that can’t burn! Then we’ll just have to hold out until dawn and hope the elves give up and leave with the sunrise.”

Welkin turns his attention away from you, and points at one of the other paladins.

“Claude, take half the unit and sweep down the right side of town again! Make sure nobody is still trapped in their homes! The rest of you, you’re with me! Let’s give the elves something to shoot at that can fight back!”

The paladins give a ragged cheer, and divide up into two groups. As they are doing so, they help the children and wounded townfolks who had been riding with them down from their mounts. Welkin turns his attention back to you as he wheels his horse about, evidentially for another charge down the length of the town.

“Miss Marcellis. I would be further indebted to you if you could help ensure that these people get inside the church safely. Can you do that?”

Welkin looks at you intently for your reply, but before you can reassure him that you are dependable, a sudden tremor passes beneath your feet. The horses whiny in terror for a moment, and you watch as a bulge in the earth passes through the middle of your formation. At impressive speed, the bulge of earth races down the street towards the church, growing steadily more and more pronounced and visible as more and more earth rises up as something passes through it. Just in front of the doors to the church, the ground suddenly heaves, and a massive, ogre-sized humanoid figure made of broken stones and clumps of dirt pushes itself up onto its feet.

“Aw, Hells. They have earth elementals!”

Welkin acknowledges in dismay as several people within the church fire arrows down into the creature with no effect. Several militiamen who had been almost inside the door stagger back at the elemental’s appearance, and they continue to fall back out of the creature’s reach. Strangely, the elemental does not pursue them, when with a few easy steps forward it could have smashed them – instead it remains firmly in front of the doorway, its bulk alone nearly blocking the entire opening.

Past battles against elementals race through your head, and like everything else, you just somehow know that unlike most elementals, earth elementals don’t tend to like their new physical bodies. Unless specially prepared ahead of time, an earth elemental’s body is formed out of whatever the summoning magic rips out of the ground – stones, roots, dirt – it’s an uneven, disparate mix. While it doesn’t exactly cause the elemental pain, the sensation of such a random assortment of materials is unpleasant, and this in turn makes earth elementals rather irritable. It also makes their bodies unstable, and easily disrupted if hit with enough force. Unfortunately, piercing weapons like arrows and spears do nothing to the elemental, and slashing weapons, while they could sever the bonds holding the body together, tended to just get stuck inside instead. If you had a magic sword it would be different, but while expertly made the heirloom sword you had been given seems to be just plain steel.

In addition to being surprisingly fragile if struck hard enough, earth elementals tended to be fairly clumsily as a result of their unstable bodies. They could be hideously strong, and burrow down into the earth to hide or circle around – as you had just seen this one do on its approach to the church. If you wanted anyone to get inside the church, you were either going to have to hit the earth elemental with something big, or lure it away. Angered enough, it would likely abandon its obvious orders to remain and block the church doors, and instead chase after whoever had angered it. Of course, then there would be an angry earth elemental running through the town, and it would have to be dealt with eventually, lest it be given the new command to smash through the stone walls of the church!

Vegna

As you prepare your mud slide, the she elf mutters curses and continues desperately trying to lift the rock up out of the tangle of roots. As it turns out, while they’re pretty strong, the earth elementals she had summoned were not very agile nor sturdy. You batter the one into pieces with a flurry of blows from your staff, and force the other one back, out of the way for your upcoming slide. At your questions, the elf glares indignantly at you.

“Me!? *You’re* the aggressors here!”

The elf shouts back, grimacing with the effort as she pulls the large stone free of the last roots. Instead of grinning in triumphant, however, her brow furrows in confusion as you shout your second question.

“Wait, you know Master Vork!? How do you – urf!”

The she elf isn’t able to finish her question, as you dash through the mud slide, ducking under the second earth elemental’s swinging arms, and then spring up at the end of the slide, launching yourself forward. As you fly through the air, you adjust your positioning, and deliver a hellacious kick to the elf’s stomach, sending her flying backwards. The lightweight elf goes flying a bit further than you had even expected, and as it turned out, her path intersects with the now-levitating rock. Her head bounces off the side of the rock, sending it spinning off to one side, and then both elf and rock crash back down to the forest floor. The elf does not rise again, and neither does the rock.

Unfortunately, that still left the last earth elemental the elf had summoned, and a moment later it crashed into you from behind, having used your own mud slide to chase after you. It drives a pair of stony fists into your back, driving you to the ground, and then pulls them back for another, and undoubtedly more painful, smash.

“MAL!”

You hear Val’Tosh roar, and suddenly your ogre friend is there, bodily picking the earth elemental up before throwing it against a nearby tree, shattering it. Your massive friend is covered in bruises and scapes, and his breathing heavily enough that he sounds more like the rumble of the sea than a person. Still, he seems to be in good spirits, grinning as he hauls you up to your feet just as he had picked up the earth elemental a moment before.

“That was some ambush! I would have walked right into it if you hadn’t spotted it. So what happened? You get the guy that summoned all those things?”

The ogre looks over and notices the fallen elf.

“Huh. So she’s the one that did all that? Doesn’t look like much. What do we do now Mal? The village is still burning!”

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

Hephestia clings to you for what seems like a long time. She sobs into your shoulder, and occasionally pounds a fist on your back – which, thankfully, are delivered with human and not archangel strength. Eventually, though, she manages to calm down and pulls away from you, reaching a hand up to wipe away her tears.

“Thank you. I don’t know why you have been so willing to help me, but thank you. Perhaps . . . perhaps even after falling so far, it is still possible to do good. Humans still end up in the Heavens, and even my sister, however grating it is to admit it, did save my Lady. I shall have to think further on this.”

Hephestia looks out the window at the rising sun and yawns. She stands up, wrapping her blanket around herself again, and then walks over to the door. Before she opens it, however, she stops and turns back.

“Would . . . would it be possible for me to sleep here for a few more hours? On the floor, I mean. I would not think about taking your cot away from you, and it doesn’t look big enough for both of us to lie down on. I . . . I do not want to be alone right now, in the event that I have more visions while unconscious.”

Now here was another dangerous line for you to walk. You had heard one rumor circulating that you and Hephestia were doing more than just talking in private. It was just idle talk, the sort of tall tale guards liked to tell each other while on nightly watch, trying to pass the hours away and stay awake by convincing others to buy into normally patently ridiculous stories. Still, to an outsider observer, you supposed that these random visits at all hours of the day from Hephestia, and your tolerance for them suggested that something illicit might be going on.

On the other hand, Hephestia clearly trusted you a great deal, and while Tyra seemed to tolerate Hephesta’s questions, you were probably her only “friend”. One would think Ysora would also be looking out for her sister, but there seemed to be some lingering tension between the two and Ysora had her own demons to wrestle with. Which left you as the only one Hephestia really ever approached on her own initiative, and if you closed off that connection the proud former archangel might just withdraw entirely into herself. Given what you’d heard here tonight, leaving Hephestia to try and figure out how to work through her issues alone was not a good idea.

(You are welcome to jump to the next morning, and what Ander does as he goes about his day. By the way, is he usually sleeping now in Morganna’s formerly secret office after dragging a cot in there, or does he sleep in his own quarters?)
Phaedra

Lonna

Hearing the sound of distant screams, vision of Wulfric being tortured flash through your head. Accordingly, you break into a run, as fast as you dared on the smooth ice floor. Ahead of you, the light globe keeps pace, flying ahead to keep the path illuminated.

You run down a number of corridors, all of them elegantly carved and all of them stretching out into the darkness. You run into no one on your way, the hallways hauntingly empty.

Almost immediately after you start running, the screams stop, leaving you without answers as to why. Fortunately, the light globe seems to know where you want to go, leading you either to the source of the screams or into a trap. Either way, you continue following the light globe, having to throw yourself against a wall and rebound off it at one point to avoid falling after the light globe suddenly ducks down a side passage and you have to change direction without stopping.

Soon enough, you dash through this frozen castle leads you to a flight of stairs, curving up and around, out of sight. Echoing down from above, you can hear voices – one male & one female. Wulfric and Ruya, perhaps? Both of them do seem oddly familiar to you, although you can only hear their voices, their words echoing off the walls, and running together into an unintelligible murmur.

Without hesitation the light globe begins to ascend, and you follow after it, wondering what you would find. At the top of the stairs, there is an open doorway, which leads into an expansive throne room. You seem to have entered from a side entrance, and thus the occupants of the room do not immediately notice you. There are three of them – one woman dressed in ornate but tattered robes, a teenaged boy with a red crystal embedded in his chest, and a teenaged girl with angel wings (The_Snark). It seems only a matter of time before one of them does indeed notice you, but for now the woman and boy’s attention is focused solely on the angel girl.

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

Zariel listens to your plea quietly, his face unreadable. When you are finished, he stands and cracks his knuckles. He approaches you, and slowly draws a knife from its sheath. You are uncertain whether this was to be the end anyway – your body did have a date with Umber as a corpse after all – but instead Zariel cuts your bonds.

“They will expect a body tomorrow, and I will need to provide them with one. I can manage that, but I shall need your clothes to complete the illusion. Start stripping – I’ll be back with a change of clothes for you, and then you need to leave. Get out of the city – I will handle this mysterious assassin.”

Sheathing his dagger once more, Zariel stands up and opens the door. He does not pause, swiftly closing the door behind him – and locking it. That’s when one of the shadows in the room suddenly detaches from its brethren – you are still not alone.

“Well, this is certainly an interesting development. You are Umber, and yet most definitely not Umber. Umber’s off having a rather . . . enthusiastic coupling with Fianna right now. But if you’re not Umber, then what, indeed are you?”

The cloaked figure asks, crossing its arms and leaning back against the wall in mock thought as it regards you with shadowed eyes.

“I suppose it’s not an entirely fair advantage I have over you right now. Allow me to play more fair – you may call me Nihilus . . . or The Writer of History if you’d prefer. How’s that for a title – or do you think it’s a bit too grandiose? You’re the expert on that, I’m afraid. So . . . how exactly did you get here, Umber? Really.”

Inspectre

2012-08-26, 03:23 PM

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

“Well . . .”

Skullcruncher said with false sweetness as he laid a hand on your shoulder, his talons digging into the flesh there a moment later. He follows this up by driving his other fist into your stomach, doubling you over. The blow would you left you crumpled, but with his grip on your shoulder Skullcruncher kept you on your feet as he hit you again, each blow underlining an answer.

“First, Molerat didn’t say, beyond that it will be used for widespread demolition. So something that will level a building, preferably multiple buildings. Second, no he does not, although it would be best if he thinks he will – we won’t have a suicide bomber, but it will be no loss at all if he fails to escape the blast. Third, if Malarky eats anyone that I don’t specifically tell him to – kill him.”

Skullcruncher glares at the devil, who is still struggling to reset his broken limb.

“These humans are our . . . allies, and our only way onto the mortal realm. Treat them with respect!”

And then, with a mutter low enough that the words do not carry over to the humans, he adds.

“For now.”

From the watery portal, the apparent leader of the group swallows nervously, and then speaks up.

“Masters, we should be able to bring all four of you through within the hour. We will, however, require your names in order for the summoning magic to work.”

“Masters?”

Catbox asks with a grin, driving an elbow into your side – which was already sensitive from Skullcruncher’s pounding of your stomach. You were seriously, seriously going to have to get Catbox back for all this once this was over. Maybe you can convince Turbine that abandoning him to the Cleaver was her idea.

“Is there anything else you vermin need from me, or can I leave you to it?”

Skullcruncher growls impatiently, clearly eager to be away from all of you and back doing whatever it was that he did in his spare time.

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

At your suggestion, Jarod nods.

“A sensible plan. There was a cabin not too far from here – a trapper. Despite what you may think, he was surprisingly reverent of nature for a human, and only took what he needed to survive. I’m not sure if he was an outcast from human civilization, or merely wanted to be out here alone. Either way, he is now most assuredly dead, but I know that he kept a cache of supplies in a concealed larder, for use during winter. That may not have been destroyed, regardless of whether his cabin still stands or not. That’s as good of a place to start our collection as any.”

As you move to leave his home, Jarod stops at the circle of trees surrounding the small clearing that surrounded the remains of his rotted tree that he called home. He spoke a few urgent words of power, and the roots of the nearby trees pulsated in response.

“A little surprise in case any elves or other unwanted visitors come calling. I dislike leaving behind wards that could potentially kill people while I am not present to intervene, but there are only elves here. For their crimes against the forest, it would only be fitting for them to be crushed in the grip of a tree.”

Jarod looks back at his grove for a moment, and then sighs.

“Well, come on then. Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into!”

As it turns out, you weren’t the only ones getting into trouble evidentially. You have only been walking through the forest for a few minutes before you run across an elf. He hears you coming, and because you are downwind of him, you smell him, having become acquainted with the subtle musk of elves after plowing through several of their ambushes just to get to Jarod’s Grove. You shove Jarod aside just in time, as an arrow whizzes past the older druid as he stumbles out of the way. A second arrow comes flying in almost immediately after the first, striking you dead in the chest – more obnoxious than painful. It seems the elves haven’t figured out they needed to use silver arrows on you yet – and that is a very good thing.

In reaction to his utter failure to kill either one of you, the elf bursts from his hiding spot within a small outcropping of tall ferns and runs away. He seems to be heading towards something, as unlike their usual characteristically silent approach, this elf is shouting at the top of his lungs as he runs. Apparently, the elf wasn’t expecting what he found, because he skidded to a halt a moment later. And a moment after that, you heard someone shout out in the human tongue.

“WHOO! DID YOU SEE THAT THROW!? I WASN’T SURE KEEPING OL’ CARVALA DOWN THERE WAS WORTH ALL THE CHAFFING, BUT IT ALL WORKED OUT GREAT!!!”

Undoubtedly spitting curse words in his native tongue, the elf doubles back, now coming back towards you. He releases another pair of arrows at you, one sinking into your shoulder while the other one goes wide, thudding into the tree behind you. From his position on the ground, Jarod mutters something and taps his palm against the ground. In response, a tree root in the elf’s path suddenly raises itself six inches, tripping the elf and sending him sprawling. The elf cries out in surprise, tumbling to the ground – and swears vehemently when he staggers back up to his feet, holding a bow with a broken string. Tossing the ruined weapon aside, the elf draws the curved sword on his belt, and screams a desperate battlecry as he rushes towards you and Jarod.

“Think you can handle him from here?”

Jarod asks with a smirk.

daelrog

At your words, the elf’s brow furrows in confusion and he says turns away to look at Mags. To the ugly innkeep’s credit, as soon as he hears your words, he does his best to give coy glances to the elf – which, in the innkeep’s case, is barely more than a tight-lipped glare. The elf says something to his companion, and the elf turns his head briefly to look at Mags. To the elf’s credit, he keeps the bow ready and pointing out at you as he looks, but that doesn’t matter.

With a last flex of your shoulders, the bonds holding you to the tree fall free away from you. You manage to kick your legs and feet free of the vines binding them as well, although your hands remain bound for the moment. It seems that after being used, some sort of change takes place within the vines, and they tighten and harden, as if drying out. Having been tied around your wrists for several days now, the vines around your wrists are therefore quite tight indeed, and it would take more time than you had to get them off.

That was alright, as you flung yourself at the elf holding the bow, ducking around the arrow as the elf instinctually releases it. The projectile scrapes along the side of your head, giving you a nasty scratch there but doing thankfully little less. A moment later and you slam into the elf, driving your bound wrists together into his face and then clawing at his eyes with your fingers. You rake a double set of furrows down his face, and the elf cries out in pain, flailing clumsily at you before your bring your doubled-up fists up under his chin, snapping his head back.

At this point the other elf jumps in, wrapping you up from behind and trying to pin your arms down at your side. Despite his rather slim stature, the elf is surprisingly strong, and seems to have at least a basic understanding of how to properly grapple. You are not alone in this fight, however, and an instant later he gives a cry of pain as a carving knife sprouts from the back of his shoulder. This loosens his grip, and you desperately squirm around, and then headbutt the elf, shattering his nose with your head. That sends a nasty backlash of pain through the wound on your head, but the elf fares even worse, releasing you before stumbling back and tripping over his own feet. He goes down, landing on the knife and driving it even deeper into himself.

You block the wild swing that the elf you had half-blinded throws at you, and then reach down to his belt, grasping for the blade sheathed there. With a bit of difficulty you wrap your bound hands around the handle, and tug on the blade, trying to draw it. It seems that the blade has a significant curve to it, and so your first attempt to draw it fails, only managing to partially pull the blade free. With your hands down at his waist, you are wide open, and the elf takes advantage as he drives a fist into your face.

In desperation, you bring a foot up and kick the elf, shoving him back and giving you enough force to rip the blade from its sheath. The blade is slim like the elves, and indeed very curved – it seems to be more of a one-handed slashing weapon, although the tip does seem to be sharp as well. You put the weapon to the test immediately, slicing two deep rifts in the elf’s chest. He goes down, and while you are not certain that he is dead, he soon will be unless he has the unstoppable battle-fury orcs could sometimes drive themselves into.

You turn to the elf still down on the ground, who even now is fumbling for his own sword while simultaneously trying to remove the buried carving knife in the back of his shoulder. You drive the point of the curved blade down into the elf’s throat, and then tear it across, ripping out the beast’s throat. This definitely seems to be a way to kill elves, as the creature gives a final desperate gurgle, clutching at its throat for a moment before lapsing into the brief period of unconsciousness before death.

You are just considering whether to do the same to the other injured elf, who perhaps interrogate it in its last moments of life, when Greg gives a wild whoop. The sound draws your attention to the group of other prisoners again, and you immediately wished you hadn’t looked. Greg’s pants were down around his ankles, and while his shirt provided him with some modesty, it concealed nothing about the old man when he raised his arms above chest height – as he was doing now, pumping his fists into the air.

“WHOO! DID YOU SEE THAT THROW!? I WASN’T SURE KEEPING OL’ CARVALA DOWN THERE WAS WORTH ALL THE CHAFFING, BUT IT ALL WORKED OUT GREAT!!!”

Willow, having more sense than the old man, sullenly reached down and kicked at his bare legs.

“Shhh! Stop shouting like that! There’s bound to be more elves around!”

“Mmmmm.”

Mags agreed, holding his hands out, a clear invitation to cut him loose. Meanwhile, Greg works on pulling his pants back up, and you look around to see if there were any more arrows about to come your way. So far, the forest is quiet again, although you know that the third elf they sent couldn’t have gone far – and either he would come back immediately, or with help. Either way, you should probably get moving.

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

Your admonishment causes the elf to blink in surprise, and she remains silent as you heft her up onto your shoulder. She is thankfully light for her size, which will make this next part easier. Despite the elf weighing barely more than a half-grown human, you can feel her muscles tense as you leap into the air, and from that surmise that she does possess some wiry strength. Unfortunately, despite your command to remain silent, your rapid ascent up onto the roof alarms the she-elf, and she screams. Thankfully, a sideways glance from you manages to convince her to bite her lip and stop, otherwise you may have had to gag her again.

Once up above the streets, it takes you a moment to get your bearings, and then you are off, running across rooftops and leaping over streets. No one notices you, because predictably no one ever looks up. Within a few minutes you reach your destination - a derelict building in the merchant distinct that had apparently been an alchemist’s shop before an uprising of undead lead to the shopkeep’s demise . Dropping back down onto street level, you push aside a window that merely looked secure and hop inside.

Stepping into the entry room to the shop, you set the elf down onto the counter. Uttering ancient words of healing, you lightly run your hands over the elf’s wounds, causing them to seal. Or at least partially – the battered tomato that had been the elf’s face before now clears, the bruises mostly fading, until they appear as if having been suffered several weeks ago. The elf breathes a sigh of relief, then winces as she attempts to flex her fingers only to find them as mangled as before. Your magic also does nothing for the filth and stench surrounding the elf.

“Thank you. For providing what healing you could as well as saving my life.”

The elf falls silent, and her smile dies as you explain that you need something in return, while cutting off her only means of retreat by closing the window. At your first question, her brow furrows in confusion.

“The fortress? Well, I mean the former fortress – it got turned into a prison a number of years ago didn’t it? And now . . . well, I imagine it’s in the hands of the elves now.”

The elf shrugs as best she can with her hands still bound and then twists to present her back to you.

“That’s all I really know about it. Could you untie my hands now? Or have I exchanged one set of captors for another?”

You find it hard to believe that someone living almost in the very shadow of Ironheart would also know nothing about it. Then again, you had expected her to get the order backwards – after all, Ironheart was originally a prison that became a human fortress, not the other way around. There was an influx of people coming to the city recently, either to protect it or fight the elves, and so it was possible she had come from somewhere further away from here.

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-08-26, 10:33 PM

The Lost and Forgotten

When the comforting thought of prayer is stripped away, only one other instinct remains. Struggle. He did not know why he should, but he knew he was in a Bad Place, and he did not want to stay in this Bad Place. He had to leave. Find help. Someone would be able to help him. Anyone. He couldn't be completely alone, could he? There had to be a way. There's always a way.

GuyFawkes

2012-08-27, 12:56 AM

Lucifuge

"Apologies. Where are my manners?" he smiled and drew a small blade sheathed and strapped into the side of his waist as he moved closer. He held up both the elf's hands with his right and cut the bindings with his other hand. Sheathing the dagger, he turned and found a table nearby where he sat down.

"The elves, you say. Are you not one of them? You mean to say you do not know what your people are doing there?" he pressed on with the questions. From what he could see, it seemed she was speaking truthfully. But she had been sent in as a spy after all; lying would have been second nature for a spy. Or perhaps she just did not know anything at all. Nevertheless...

"You do not need fear of betraying your people by telling me information. I have no interest in this petty conflict you call war among my people and yours, and I do not answer to those militiamen. As you may have guessed, there is something in that fortress that interests me. It just so happens that its current masters are your people, that is why I ask you. But if you truly do not know anything, that is all good. No need to worry." He smiled. His body language ever since he started asking questions had been a trial of hiding any hint of aggression, trying to show the elf he can be trusted.

Lucifuge waited for the elf's reply, if any, before speaking again. While he had been talking to the elf, the thought of the war had been nagging at him, considering it as, while helpful for his ease of moving about, a waste of resources for both sides. If somehow he could know of its cause, maybe he could use it to his advantage. Here now, sitting before him, was an opportunity to learn more about the situation from the other side of the conflict. Humans, well, they are what they are. A xenophobic bunch, would never place the blame of any war on themselves. Even wars they started themselves were easily justifiable for them. Of elves, he did not know anything more than what the humans told them out to be, and one could say they were no less than highly exaggerated and biased.

"This might seem an odd question, but from where I came from, I had no knowledge of this ongoing war between humans and elves. If you could please enlighten me on this?"

TechnOkami

2012-08-29, 05:21 AM

Rosenberg

"I don't have anything against hunters or trappers, in fact, I encourage it; any living which can be made by collecting Nature's fruits is a good one, as long as it can be sustained by her." The Werewolf explained. "Regardless, this isn't the time for discussion over dogmas and doctrines."

Quickly following the feet of his friend, they made their way towards the stash of food, when suddenly Rosenberg found an arrow lodged into his chest. He tore it out, cursing quietly, only to have another arrow launched into him.

"Really now?"

And it too found itself dislodged from his bodily wound. Thankfully he didn't need to bother with medical attention; being a werewolf has its perks. Soon though, this rather barbaric elf amongst elves began to charge, and at the request of his friend, readied his scythe. The two arrows that were so rudely forced into him broke under the weight of his foot. Wordlessly, he charged headlong at the elf, Rosenberg's scythe met the young elf's own crescent blade. The clang of metal on metal resonated through the air, the elf's own wild sword hacking away at the werewolf's weapon. Rosenberg easily defended, blocking his rapid assault with all parts of his mighty weapon. It might not have been as fast as his sword, but it was certainly larger, and carried more strength behind it. Taking advantage of his wild stance, the elf suddenly found himself knocked backwards, and while unbalanced, had a crescent blade shoved through his chest and out of his back. Quickly the elf found his pain-wracked body lifted by the scythe into the air, and slammed down to the ground. If that didn't cause him to go unconscious, the blood loss from his mortal wound would. Rosenberg tore out the scythe from the elf's chest, and as his body died, roses took root into his corpse. All too soon, the dead elf lay hidden beneath a bed of roses, only his face remained visible.

Rosenberg uttered a quick word in the elvish tongue. "Even if he didn't live with a purpose, at least he now has one in death."

Rosenberg swung his scythe to the side, roughly forcing most of the blood off of its blade. What remained would be water for the roses to drink. He looked around, but didn't see anyone. He definitely recalled hearing a voice, however... so he called out.

"Hail, whoever you are. I believe you can come out now; the elf is dead."

Dorizzit

2012-08-30, 12:33 AM

Korram Alstan

Korram, although he remains solemn, allows himself a moment of elation as the pained woman responds positively to his words. He could get used to people looking up to him. The last problem, however, is Marius.

Maybe he doesn't suspect anything. I wasn't exactly declaring my intent, after all.

Turning to face Marius, Korram is met with a firm hand on his shoulder and a forceful imperative for a private talk.

Of course.

Paranoia wells up within Korram. If Marius had realized his plan, and opposed it, it could spell real trouble for him. He begins sweating instinctively under Marius' keen gaze, but his fears fade as the older man wraps him in a firm hug. Whatever he expected to happen next, it certainly isn't an apology, but that is exactly what Marius gives him. Korram rubs the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

"Well. I know my daughter is in Hells. My wife...I don't know. The Baron did...something to her, made her part of his ship. If she's anywhere, though, it's probably the Hells. It hurts..."

Korram cuts off, his emotions threatening to overwhelm his firm self control. He never loses composure, but his struggle is obvious. After a brief moment, he recovers and continues.

"...But that isn't a wound that has closed yet. This hasn't really made things any worse for me...and only someone who has felt pain like those paladins, and recently, so it hasn't been softened by Heaven, could help them. Anyway, there's nothing to apologize about. I'm glad I could help."

Finished with his attempt to alleviate Marius' concerns, Korram allows Marius to move the conversation forward. The old paladin's next question catches Korram off guard, however.

"Well, you don't just have to ask me all the easy questions..."

Korram smiles as he gathers his thoughts.

"A description, a satisfying one, is not something that I can give you. There is a sensation caused by Her presence that no words can really describe. Physically, She was much like an angel, but...more so. Shining, wings, armor, the whole bit. She looked young, but that was the body She was using. Her presence was what truly distinguished her. She was...human, but also...not. She felt kind of...pure? She was...more than any human could be."

Korram shrugs helplessly.

"Sorry, I'm not exactly a poet. It was really something that can only be experienced. Don't give up hope, though; these are challenging times, but eventually they will be resolved, one way or another. You may get your chance to see Her then."

WhiteKnight777

2012-08-30, 03:02 PM

Umber, in his borrowed body dropped to the ground, trying to rub life back into his withered extremities. He was all for a little light bondage, but really, this was getting ridiculous. He'd spent far, far too much time in the past years getting tied up. Or was it the future years? Gods, time travel was a piece of buggery.

Umber looked at him, his head cocked to one side. He pursed his lips, thought about the situation for a few moments, and then used the most powerful weapon in a liar's arsenal - the truth.

"Curiously enough, I died. Frankly, I was unsure exactly what, where, and when I am, until you just... acknowledge my existence, I suppose." He paused again, dusting himself off. "Frankly, I'm still unsure about all that... but I do know one thing - I am not here alone. I was chasing Mellita - a version of her from the same patch of history wherein I died. I believe she's trying to do something rather unnatural to the order of events." Umber smiled sourly. If you're the writer of history, good Nihlius, I think that Mellita's about to try to erase your book. I think she's rather insane, to be honest, and that's coming from someone with the audacity to try to strip away his own mortality.

He gave Nihlius a wry grin. "And while I may be many things - egomaniacal, vain, pompous, brilliant, audacious - even I wouldn't bugger about with causality quite like that. To be honest, there's a fair-to-middling chance that what she's doing could unmake all of reality. Paradox, and all that. I tried to warn myself, but something - call it fate, I suppose, intervened."

Umber paused. "This probably sounds rather insane, but it's the truth, at least as best I can puzzle it out. I seem to have inhabited a fresh - well, relatively fresh - corpse. And although I'm as cunning as ever, I'm somewhat lacking in the raw power department. I've tried to get Zariel to be on the lookout, but he's unaware of the magnitude of the threat."

Vegna

2012-08-31, 10:08 AM

Mal Harath

Mal's hand is over his own eyes as Val'Tosh approaches, realizing what he has just done to his fellow student of Master Vork. He breathes deeply, before turning back towards the burning village.

"Watch the elf, she's the other student Master Vork sent us to find. If she wakes up, I think you'd be the better one to explain who we are to her, than I."

He rubs his bruised backs, before he stretches his arms and legs, checking he's not too badly injured. Picking up his staff, he rests his weight on it slightly and turns back to Val'Tosh.

"As for me, I'm going to help the village. I'd never be able to look at Master Vork in the face, if I just left them with whatever is attacking them."

He gives a cheery smile and a thumbs-up to his ogre friend.

"Just take care of her, I'll be back before you know it."

He starts to walk out of the forest, crouching lower as he approaches the village, attempting stealth before he plans to tackle the people burning the place.

daelrog

2012-08-31, 11:48 PM

Alons Sift

Alons wiped the blood out of his eye. His scalp wound would have be dealt with later. He leaned over to the one still clinging to life. "Tell your friends that if their lives are worth less than old men and tame girls, then they can follow."

He had no illusion that they could lose the elves if they pursued. Still, he could not, would not, simply leave these people. "We move out now. Those who can fight, pick up their weapons. Leave this one alive. He may slow them down." Alons used the knife to cut his own bonds, and he took the bow and arrows for his own as well. He freed the others. "We move, we don't stop. They will find us."

Alons would take the back of the pack, keeping his eyes alert. Anyone with a weapon would take the front or back, with anyone unarmed protected in the middle.

How many people are there total?

Inspectre

2012-09-01, 12:13 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

At your confident reassurance, Marius smiles and nods.

“Perhaps I will at that. I –“

Whatever Marius is about to say, he doesn’t get the chance to say it. As if a cloud has moved across the sun, the light that suffuses the Heavens suddenly dims ever so slightly – but the change is noticeable. And it clearly isn’t a usual occurrence, because Marius is immediately put on his guard, hand driving down reflexively to his waist while he looks around in confusion.

“What is this?”

Marius asks, and his answer is forthcoming. Great billowing plumes of black smoke suddenly erupt in several places throughout the city. Including one almost directly behind you, in the middle of the secluded courtyard you had just left. From within come the sounds of screaming . . . and something far less human, inhuman wails and cackles and shrieks. It sounds just like it did in the middle of Narle during the battle . . . it sounds just like the Hells.

Without another word both you and Marius turn and race back to the gate of the courtyard, wrenching it open and stepping inside to find a scene undoubtedly ripped directly from the assembled paladins’ nightmares. In the middle of the circle where you had been standing, a large open wound in the air itself hangs, black smoke pouring out of it and therefore making it difficult to see what lies on the other side. But from the frenzied cackling from the other side, there could be only one place, as impossible as it seemed.

Standing just on this side of the portal are half a dozen armored and armed figures, their leering helmets cast in the shape of demons. Thin but steady wafts of smoke rise from their armor and weapons, the materials of that other plane not more welcome here than the other way around. Strangely, rather than rising up into the air, the smoke coming from the armored figures instead twists and bends in mid-air, arcing back to flow through the portal, like an ethereal anchor. As you enter, one of them raises his heavy mace to trace a half-circle in the air in front of him, indicating most of the paladins assembled, who are all rapidly scrambling back away from portal.

“You are all our prisoners now! So, uh . . . surrender yourselves now? Or it’ll go badly for you? Yes . . . it will go very badly for you!”

The lead figure rumbles from behind his helmet, strangely nervous despite the fact that he just stepped through a portal leading to the Hells in what could only be labeled as an invasion of the Heavens. A number of the paladins continue to cower back, although you see a few of them step forward instead, clenching their fists in anger. Before violence can break out, however, the woman you had just spoken with steps forward, her hands held up in surrender.

She walks directly up to the armored figure in charge, her hands still held up beside her head. When she comes to a few paces of the group’s apparent leader, she stops. And then she delivers a hellacious punch to the man’s armored face, snapping his head back and likely breaking of her own fingers from the blow. That serves as the signal, and suddenly pandemonium reigns as the paladins rush the figures.

Unfortunately, the paladins are unarmored and unarmed, and most do not seem to be especially skilled at unarmed combat. But they make up for that deficiency with sheer numbers, and the same trauma that left them unable to adjust to the Heavens now gave them an unstoppable rage. That being said, the armored figures’ goal does not seem to be to kill the paladins, but rather force them through the portal. One paladin is shoved back through the portal . . . and he does not come back out again.

“This is not good! They may have picked a poor spot here, but there’s more than one, and there isn’t going to be a group of dysfunctional paladins waiting at the others! I’m afraid most others up here are going to be easy prey for them.”

Marius looks at the chaotic battle, and it’s clear he has to force himself not to join in.

“Do you think we should help out here first, or trust them to handle it? I don’t know much a whole lot about magic . . . any ideas on how to close these damned portals!?”

The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

While you are unable to remember any prayers, you are not yet broken. Although your situation is incredibly dire, that only hardens your resolve to escape. And there is a way to escape, you are sure of it. It will almost certainly be difficult, especially given your lack of memories, but you still have your instincts, and one in particular pushing you forward – the urge to survive, at whatever cost must be paid! For now, however, unable to break your chains or the bars of your cage, there is little else you can do but wait and bide your time.

As it turns out, perhaps something has heard your unspoken prayer. A few minutes later the pair of devils who had escorted you down here return. They are dragging another prisoner down the hallway in your direction, although you can only make out a few details about the prisoner. This is due to the heavy sack tied over the prisoner’s head, the thick cords holding the sack in place tied around her neck. You would expect that such an arrangement would make it difficult to breathe, but the woman seems to have no trouble as she angrily berates her captors.

“You *******s! Think you’re so tough? Take these chains off me and I’ll show you tough! I’ll tear your damned heads off!”

“Be silent, filth! You will scream when we demand it, and not make another sound!”

One of the devils hissed, its patience reaching an end as it released its grip on the prisoner’s arm to pull a fist back for a punch. The blow never landed, as the prisoner suddenly sprang into action, throwing herself back against the other devil. The two slammed backwards into the opposite wall of cages, and the woman braced her back against the devil’s chest, allowing her to swing both of her shackled feet up. The double kick struck the devil who had foolishly released its grip in the chest, sending it slamming into your side of the cage wall. Unfortunately, this fight was occurring several cages down or else you might have tried to join in, stretching yourself to reach through the bars and wrap your hands around the devil’s throat.

While the kicked devil regained his balance, the devil that had maintained its grip attempted to bring the prisoner back under control. He got head butted for his trouble, the prisoner throwing her head back into the creature’s nose, soaking the back of the sack in dark blood as bone shattered.

“You bastards think everyone who ends up down here is going to lie down and play victim for you!? Well I have news for you – I’m not down here with you! You’re down here with – UGH!”

The other devil had finally managed to recover, and now brought weaponry into play, drawing his club and delivering a hard blow to the prisoner’s mid-section. From there it was all downhill, as there was very little a bound and half-blind prisoner could do against two armed guards. The devils furiously pounded her into the floor with their clubs, and for a moment it seemed as if they would simply not stop until the prisoner stopped moving. But then they regained their composure, and dragged the battered prisoner the rest of the way to their destination – the empty cage next to yours.

“You’re a feisty one! Those with some spirit left in them are highly prized. Enjoy your rest now – you won’t be getting much of it soon enough.”

The devil said, stomping down onto the woman’s back one last time before shoving the limp form into the cage and slamming the door shut. The other devil was less amused, clutching the ichor-dripping remains of its nose and glaring hatefully at the prone form. His eyes pass over you for a moment, and then he turns away and stomps off, the other devil following a moment later after tugging on the cage door to make sure it was secure.

For a long moment, you look at the limp body lying in the next cell, wondering if it would move again or if the devils had killed their prisoner after all. Then the woman’s voice comes again, a thin gasp laced with pain now rather than the angry shouts of a few moments ago.

“So. Is there anyone human out there? Or I guess human-ish? I’m not gonna be picky.”

The Mortal Realm

The Village of Silverstream

Vegna

“WHAT!? Are you *serious*!?”

Val’Tosh rumbles, looking back at the elf and snorting.

“Bah, why’d she go and attack us then, huh!? It wasn’t like we were coming to attack the village – we were coming to help!”

Still grumbling to himself, Vol’Tosh rubs his bruised shoulder while he plops himself down against a tree a short distance away from the elf. He glares at her unconscious form a moment later, and then snorts his disdain again.

“Fine, I’ll watch her. But if she tries anything when she wakes up I’m going to bury her up to her neck!”

Trusting that your friend, while not especially smart, was nonetheless wise enough not to antagonize the elf further if she woke up before you returned, you head down the path towards the burning village. You don’t walk directly down the path, of course, but instead follow it from the woods, putting what few lessons you had received in the way of stealth to good use. You stretch out your senses as far as you can, seeking out any other potential ambushes, but find none. The reason for such is obvious once you reach the village.

Although still burning, it was obvious that Silverstream had been set ablaze *after* whoever had attacked it left. The streets were abandoned, arrow-filled bodies scattered here and there – the sight of them was not exactly comforting, but it was a relief to see that whoever had attacked the village had done so conventionally, and seemed not to be the mysterious tournament organizer who even Master Vork apparently feared on some level.

Then, you come around the corner of a collapsed building, and see it. Right in front of the village’s other main entrance, a macabre scene has been erected. Several people were hanging from spears buried in the ground, their bodies skewered upon the upraised weapons. Judging from the contortions some of the bodies held, it was clear too that these people had been thrown upon the spears while still alive. None of them were anymore, however.

Here at the other entrance to the village, the dust speaks to you. Even without your earth senses, you can see that a large disorganized party left here a little while ago, heading down the path leading out from the village. Presumably, this path lead down to the base of the mountain on the far side of how you and Val’Tosh had approached the village.

You were no expert on geography, but you knew that you were in one of the further reaches of the kingdom of Narle. Beyond this mountain laid the wilderness domain of the elves, and there you would not be welcome. In fact, no human was really, although occasionally some explorer or another was able to get the elves’ grudging permission to travel through their lands. Only a few of them ever actually came back from such journeys, however.

The direction of departure seemed to strongly suggest that it was the elves who had attacked Silverstream. Why, you don’t know. But the elves were not so clumsy as to leave such an obvious trail, even if there were a number of them. Which meant that they had prisoners, whoever had survived this deliberate massacre – and they were undoubtedly taking them back home for gods knew what.

It occurs to you that your mysterious assailant was also an elf. Although it seemed that she was a student of Master Vork’s, why was she lurking up near the other road? How was it that she alone survived this utter destruction? The fact that she was of the same race as the attackers suggested several possibilities, none of them pleasant to contemplate. But there was only one way you were going to get answers, and so you head back up to rejoin Val’Tosh.

When you arrive, the two of them are much as you had left them – to your great relief. Your ogre friend is also clearly relieved to see you are alright as well.

“So what did you find down there? Who’s attacking the village? What are we gonna do to stop them?”

Val’Tosh nods at the unconscious elf.

“She hasn’t woken up yet. You must have hit her pretty hard Mal.”

Strange, though, now that you examine her . . . wasn’t she over there before? And if she was unconscious, how then did she move to over there? It didn’t sound like Val’Tosh had touched her, which meant . . . she was not as unconscious as she would have you believe!?

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

At your explanation, Nihilus’s calm air shatters.

“WHAT!?”

He exclaims, and then immediately falls silent again, regaining his composure. The masked humanoid figure shakes its head, muttering to itself.

“Not the way this is supposed to go – is this a change or just a random quirk? And what does that mean for me either way?”

After a few moments of mulling over your information with himself, Nihilus turns his attention back to you.

“Alright . . . first, I’m going to give you a quick lesson on the nature of time. You know that old saying about time flowing like a river? Well, that’s a surprisingly apt description. Time only goes one way, from the past into the future.”

Bending down, Nihilus drew a finger down one of the stones forming the floor of your cell. At his touch, the stone scorches slightly, leaving a single black line.

“Time travel is impossible.”

At this point, Nihilus stops to chuckle.

“Okay, so not impossible, but it is quite difficult to swim back upstream against the flow of time. Where – or more appropriately, when – did you exactly come from? Because even going back a few days would take an enormous amount of energy. Anyway, because time *normally* only goes one way, you don’t have to worry about causing the death of causality and the complete paradoxical destruction of the universe or anything like that. Changes to the universe only go one way – forward in time.”

Nihilus shrugs.

“So, say you’re feeling in a suicidal mood and decide to expend all this enormous energy just to go back and kill yourself. If you succeed, your former self will die, and you too will likely fade from existence, but there will be none of this paradoxical chicken or the egg stuff. You’ll be dead from the point where you killed your younger self, and the world will simply go on without you. Which is not to say that the world will go on exactly the same.”

Turning back to his drawing, Nihilus begins scorching other lines into the floor, branching out the single line into several crooked forks.

“So, just like a river, Time has bends and eddies and forks in it. Without foreknowledge, things pretty much just go on with however they’re “intended” to go. And even if you know exactly what’s going to happen, in most cases Time has a sort of inertia, and it’s fairly hard to change the course of events in any meaningful sense. Every so often, though, there comes a fork in the road, a place where the course of History can be diverted to flow in an entirely new and different direction.”

Nihilus pulls back to admire his handiwork, and then jabs a finger at one of the forks in the drawing.

“We’re coming up on one of those pretty quick. I’m sure you remember. The night of your glorious ascension and all that. Well, that’s a fork in the flow of Time, and there’s basically only one of two ways that it can go. Either you become immortal and in the process lose all relevance to the future course of History . . . or things take a very different course.”

Nihilus looks back from his drawing to stare into your eyes.

“So tell me Umber. Without the promise of immortality, and all the disruption that came about as a result of your accomplished quest for it . . . what would you have done? Life was then – well, now – is nasty, brutish, and short, but you managed to carve out for yourself a nice little empire of Blood. If you couldn’t live forever, how would you have spent your last days and years, however many there might have been?”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

Although fast and reasonably skilled, the elf’s desperation eroded his swordsmanship. The fact that you were a werewolf also helped, as the sword was no more threatening to you than the bow. All it took was one opening, and then the scythe was embedded in the elf’s chest. With that, the fight was over as you lifted the elf’s body up off the ground, and then planted it, allowing a bed of roses to rapidly spread over the area as a marker for the creature’s grave.

Jarod gave you a few congratulatory hand claps, and then turned his attention with you back to where the elf had come from. Someone had been shouting in the human tongue, and evidentially whatever the elf saw in that direction made him think a swift death on your scythe was better. It didn’t take long to discover what that was.

Over the next hill, you found a dead elf and a second that would likely be dead soon. More importantly, you found four alive humans. One young girl, one withered old man fiddling with his trousers, one a mass of scars, hair, and just plain ugly, and finally a man using one of the elves’ knives to carefully slice apart the vines holding his wrists (daelrog). Judging by their condition and the scene in front of you, it was fairly obvious that these were elven prisoners. Likely, they were being dragged off to the burning grove to be additional sacrifices to the fire elementals. Apparently they were not going to be easy prey, although it seemed likely there were additional elves somewhere nearby. They might be heading here now, or they might be content to wait and watch until they had sufficient numbers to overwhelm.

The old man, surprisingly enough, notices you and Jarod first, squinting at the two of you as he continues fastening his trousers.

“Eh!? Who might the two of you be!?”

daelrog

“You die slow.”

The elf spits out in broken local dialect, and then slumps back to the ground, clutching at his wound. Having no more time for him, you use one of the shorter knives that they carry (which was *also* curved) to cut yourself free. Then you help the others with their own bonds. Although there had been a numerous prisoners taken at the inn, as the elves moved deeper into the forest they split up into smaller and smaller groups. As such, yours had been down to just yourself, Willow, Mags, and Greg plus the three elves.

Once freed, your fellow captives each divided up responsibilities, almost without needing to say a word about it. Willow went about the makeshift camp, gathering up the elves’ supplies while Mags kicked the still living elf before helping himself to his weapons. Greg, meanwhile, pulled his trousers back up, sparing everyone from that sight.

“I used to hunt in these woods when I was a boy. We’re only about a day from the mountains . . . and Ironheart’s about a day beyond that.”

As one, the three locals gave a mutual shiver, although you have no idea what this “Ironheart” is, or why it’s mere name would inspire such fear. Holdings his trousers up with one hand, Greg points to the west with his other hand.

“The city of Amaranth should be about a day’s travel west. It’s probably the only safe haven around there – the elves have been burning everything else they can get their filthy mitts on.”

At that point, your planning session is interrupted by the third elf suddenly charging back up over the hillside. He takes in the scene of his friends dead and you free in a second, and then turns back and runs back down out of sight, screaming in his native tongue. From over the hill, you hear the familiar rasp of steel striking steel, and then even that fades. A few moments later, Greg looks back up the hill and his brow wrinkles in confusion.

“Eh, who might you be?”

Standing atop the hillside now is an older man and his younger partner who is carrying a scythe (TechnOkami).

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

The elf gave a soft gasp somewhere between pain and relief as you cut her hands free. She lifts her hands up in front of her, examining them critically.

“Oh . . . that’s bad. They certainly were methodical in crippling me, weren’t they? I don’t suppose you have any sort of healing that could fix this, do you? Maybe a healing potion? Or even some finger-sized splints – these need to be treated immediately or I’ll be lucky to lift a spoon again, let alone a bow.”

The she elf grimaces and then folds her hands into her lap.

“Sorry, you had questions you wanted to ask. Given they left me down there in the sewers for several days like this, I suppose five minutes isn’t going to change much.”

At your next question, the elf smiles self-consciously, and tilts her head so that you can get a good look at her sharply tapered ear.

“Oh I am an elf. But that doesn’t mean I want to see this city burn.”

The elf listens as you explain the reasons for your questions, quirking an eyebrow at your false assurances. She sits there a moment, thinking and refusing to meet your gaze. Then she gives a deep sigh and looks back up at you.

“I might be throwing away the life you just gave me back right now, but you deserve the truth. I’m a deserter, okay? I came here as part of the vanguard, driven on by promises of avenging ancient wrongs and securing the future of the elven people. But what I saw when I got here . . . the humans are not the monsters told of in our history. They are just people, defending their homes. And for that, we slaughter them all – men, women, and children. This is not the glorious war we were promised.”

The elf shakes her head, and then lowers it, staring down at the floor as her voice drops to a whisper.

“I was at the battle for the human capital. The blood shed there . . . it could have stained the ocean. So much death . . . too much. My people had lost their way, and I no longer wanted to be a part of it. So I abandoned my post and came here, thinking I could help. You’ve seen how well that went.”

The elf pauses a moment, and then continues.

“As I was part of the vanguard, I do not know much of the garrison at the fortress. However, I was there when we first secured it. We came expecting to find humans manning the ramparts – instead the fortress was almost abandoned. We found only a handful of human guards, and Rashalnen . . . um, demons in your tongue. We dispatched them all easily, and took the fortress for ourselves. But my people prefer a mobile form of warfare – I doubt the garrison is large, just enough to hold the fortress and keep it from falling into human hands again.”

The elf shrugs.

“As to why this war began, originally it began as a rescue mission. Crown Prince Teareal had been abducted during a mission of peace, and we knew he had been taken to the fortress. When we got there, he was not, and so the decision was made to press on into the human lands. While Tur Villid was preparing for an assault on the human capital, Crown Prince Teareal returned to us, and led us to war. Now there is only the slaughter, waged across the entirety of your kingdom. I fear my people will not stop until our dominance is secured upon the graves of every last human.”

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-09-01, 12:21 PM

The Lost and Forgotten

He clears his throat and ventures a gentle and timid.

"Hello? I'm human...or at least I think I am. I'm not like these other things."

WhiteKnight777

2012-09-01, 01:00 PM

Umber

Umber had a feeling that the man wasn't going to like the next answer he provided, although the academic in Umber was certainly fascinated by his explanation regarding travel in time. "We're from several thousand years in the future, I'm afraid... which makes some extremely uncomfortable assertions about how much power our foe possesses."

He continued, after giving the man a few moments to get over whatever conniptions he went into upon hearing the latest revelation. "An interesting question there - but there is a snag. The *I* that is speaking to you now would not exist without those millenia of wandering. If I disrupt the process of history, I will never have existed. And frankly... I like existing."

He tipped his head to one side, smiling. He imagined it was a rather ghastly thing, given the condition of his borrowed body. "As for what I would have done, how I would have spent my life... I would have spent it with the woman I love. I rather suspect we would have reshaped the world - forged a true Empire. If I could not live forever, I suspect my former self would have wanted to leave a legacy - a vast and potent thing blazoned on the world that proclaimed that I was here. I am, after all, an egotistical bastard."

Umber rubbed on wrists where the bindings had chafed him, chuckling darkly as he did. "The funny thing is that I was trying to reclaim my mortality during the middle of the mess that resulted in my current state. But the future I come from is just as turbulent and... interesting as the now which we inhabit. " Umber laughed. "All I wanted was a quiet retirement - perhaps a little kingdom by the sea. But things always seem to get in the way. But I will win through even this, even if I have to carve out Fate's own eyes to get it."

GuyFawkes

2012-09-01, 03:00 PM

Lucifuge

"Ah. I almost had your kind placed higher than the hu...than my own...but it seems both our races are moved by similar motives." The dragon shifted his position to hide his mental lapse, then continued.

"Nevertheless, one cannot put blame on the entirety of your people. I would imagine all that tales of 'ancient wrongs' might not be too far out of context. Humans are a greedy bunch, and the concept of dominance is not entirely original. I guess that, coupled with this Prince of yours, who may have seen far too much than his spirit could take while being in there, and you have this," he gestured with both his arms, spreading them open.

"If you speak the truth, then you have earned my respect. For rising above what is before you and seeing through the boundaries of race and ethnicity. And you have my thanks for answering all my questions." He stood up and walked towards the window. He looked outside, deep in thought. After a few seconds, he turned towards the elf.

"If you truly meant what you said, then hear me out." He walked back towards her, stopping a couple of feet away.

"Helping out the people of this city against your people is a noble act. But what if I told you there are far greater things to fear out there than an elf's arrow or a human's sword? What if I told you there is a greater war out there that needs to be fought?"

He paused.

"I am currently waging that war. And I fear that I may be alone."

He paused again. His face wore a somber look.

"If you truly wish to prevent bloodshed, then would you fight with me?"

Lucifuge let the question hang in the air. He knew it was hard to accept an offer so vague as what he had put forward. Fighting his war alone, although spoken with intent of eliciting a favorable response, might indeed be closer to ther truth than he liked; in the few months that he had started to look for any trace of the Order, he had found none. And as proud as he was, he knew he could not do things alone. He could barely move about without constantly disguising himself, and he could not hope to even be within a few miles from the fortress without threatening to give in to the darkness inside him. He needed any help he could get, be it elf or human. But he could not disclose anything more.

Not yet.

"I shall give you time to think it over. I will be back with some healing potions, some food, and maybe some clothes for you to change into. That at least is what I can offer for what you told me."

He turned around once again and made for the window. He opened it, but before he climbed out, he spoke without turning back.

"You can leave if you want to. Then I shall take it as you declining my offer, and I shall forget this all happened," he said before climbing out and closing the window behind him, then disappearing into the night.

After a few minutes, the figure of the old man arrived back at the alley outside, checking left and right to see if anyone was watching before opening the window and climbing in.

Baerdog7

2012-09-01, 07:03 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

((Ander has actually been sleeping in Morganna's old chambers (the ones with the giant bath), so Hephestia has probably collapsed into quite a nice bed instead of a cot. He also would likely have moved the books from the secret office in there so he could study them more comfortably.))

You can take the bed, don't worry about it. Good night, Hephestia. Ander murmurs as he slides into an armchair and nods off to sleep.

The pealing of church bells finally woke Ander up as they called the faithful to the morning Mass. He rises (reluctantly) and walks over to the window to observe the crowds of faithful filing into the Great Cathedral. Ander hadn't been to many Masses since becoming Speaker. Far too many other matters had demanded his attention and, to be honest, Ander hadn't really been motivated to make time for it. Instead, he had allowed Archbishop Kranmer to retain the responsibility of leading Luxien’s worship services. Anyway, what could he gain from listening to some old man drone on about Heaven and Hell and the glory of the Gods when he had experienced all of these things for himself? Nothing. His experiences with the Gods had left him far too jaded to put any stock in old man Kranmer’s sermons and parables.

Good morning, Hephestia. He says as she too rises with the bells. What are your plans for today?

Whatever Hephestia decides to do, Ander proceeds with his morning routine. After cleaning himself, shaving, dressing in a fresh doublet and trousers, and taking a light breakfast he certainly looks a far sight better than the ragged, overstressed Speaker of the past few weeks.

The seed of an idea had planted itself in a corner of Ander’s mind since last night. It was a crazy, reckless, surely foolish idea but it had taken root nonetheless. If he were to have any chance of pulling it off, Ander would need the right tools, careful preparation, and more than a little bit of luck.

The right tool…it must still survive even after all this time. There has got to be a record of it, perhaps Morganna knew…

With some hours still to go before the Council meeting, Ander sits down at his desk with a stack of Morganna’s journals from around the time of his death and the years after.

Hephestia come here, can you help me with something? He asks, hurriedly scribbling out a note. I need you to go down to the Holy Archives and speak with the head Chronicler. Give him this request, he says, pressing the not into her hand. It’s for any record of my death and the whereabouts of my old weapon, Fiendkiller!

**************

Belroar, I got your message. What is it you wanted to see me for? The young paladin asks, stepping into the dwarve’s tent and grateful to be out of the scorching Hellish winds.

“Ah, Ander! Good to see ya, lad. I see the brass’ve given you a captain’s cloak. Congratulations!”

Thank you, Belroar. I’ve just come from the promotion ceremony in the Lord General’s tent. He wants me and my men to lead the assault on Mammon’s citadel. Dahlia is practically champing at the bit with anticipation.

“The Lord General mentioned he had big plans for ya. He asked me to craft you something special for the occasion.”

Oh?

“Aye! Feast your eyes.”

Belroar Halfhand walks over to his work table where a long object is covered in a sheet. With a flourish, he whips away the sheet revealing a two-handed warmaul of exquisite manufacture.

“If you’re gonna be going up against a Fiend Lord, you’ll need a weapon up to the task! Take a look at this. The fore-end of the maul is an oversized hammer head, perfect for smashing through armor and turning flesh into bloody pulp. The back-end here is thick, curved spike, incredibly useful for tearing or tripping or whatever other ways you can come up with to savage some demon bastard. I forged the whole head out of adamantine so it’ll be harder and more durable than any material those fiends can come up with. The haft I spun out of elven hornbeam: incredibly hard and supernaturally resilient. The elves may be poncey tree huggers, but they know their wood. This is the only stuff they use to make their best pole weapons.”

“Normally we weapon like this would be pretty unwieldy but I know how you’ve always had a knack for fighting with two-handed hammers and such. In the right hands, you’ll find her to be a versatile and brutal weapon without peer.”

Yes, I can see how. The reach will be very handy and the combination of a stabbing head and a bludgeoning head is very clever.

“Now look here,” Belroar says, pointing out the symbols and runes etched into the weapon’s head and branded down the haft. “This weapon’s had more blessings and litanies laid on it than the Speaker’s arse. It’s been enchanted for strength so between that and the hornbeam’s natural qualities it shouldna' bend nor break on ya. The sheer number of blessings on it has made it Holy with a capital “H.” When wielded by a righteous man pure of heart, it will become wreathed in holy fire and be the bane of any evil creature. When wielded by an evil creature, they shall be smote by Her fury.”

Belroar picks up the weapon and, taking one knee, presents it to Ander.

“Ander, dear friend, I present you with my finest work. May this weapon always lead you to glorious victory.”

Thank you, Belroar. Ander breathes in wonder, reverently accepting the weapon. I will keep this weapon always at my side and with it I shall become the ruin of Miriam’s enemies.

“She still needs a name, have you got any ideas?”

Yes. I’ll call it…Fiendkiller!

((I don't think Ander will have the time to act on any information he might be able to find on Fiendkiller right now, so I think we can move on to the council meeting in the next post.))

Vegna

2012-09-01, 08:45 PM

Mal Harath

"Dead bodies, like the other villages before. And judging by the direction they left beyond Narle, they were either elven or extremely cocky."

He moves to stand near the elven woman's body, then taps her foot with his staff.

"And our fellow Terra style user, here, is our method of following after. Providing she doesn't feel like playing dead the whole journey, that'd us take forever."

Mal leans over, towards her face.

"I'm sorry about the kick, okay. I bouldered in when words would have been better, but those villagers are going to get taken further away the longer you spend down there."

Kasanip

2012-09-02, 02:21 AM

Lukina

Lukina felt a little relief and had to agree with Welkin. This wasn't a good time for talking.

Receiving the request, Lukina nodded immediately. Helping the children and wounded into the church wouldn't be too difficult, but they had to be careful of more elf's arrows.

"Understood!" She responded.

Then the ground tremored, and an earth golem appeared. Lukina breathed out in a sigh and grimace. She had just agreed to the duty. But thinking it wouldn't be difficult was a mistake.

She looked around. Nothing really around was going to help defeat it. Arrows and spears were useless. She put a hand on the heirloom sword she carried, and thought. But Lukina could imagine the blade becoming stuck or not helping. Was she strong enough to even hurt it anyway?

Lukina took a deep breath and started to move faster towards the golem. She left her sword in the sheath, and took the shield from her arm. Faster. The objective anyway, was to get the golem away from the church. The wounded and children could get inside then and be safe. Miriam would protect them.

Miriam would protect her too. Right?
That was a comforting and warm thought. It gave her a little more determination, and then Lukina twisted about and threw the shield to spin and hit the golem in the face. It flew like a falcon, and Lukina for a moment dared to hope.

When it hit the face, the wooden shield made a sad and weak sound and fell to the ground. The golem turned to look at the shield, and then stepped on it, breaking it. In only a moment, to cross over the line from hope to despair, and then back again, just as the boots skipped and danced on the stones.

Lukina took this moment of distraction to sprint the distance. She pulled her sword out and with a war cry, stabbed at the sandy part of the golem's knee. It wasn't a magic blade, but it was still a paladin's blade. And Lukina called the blade to stand.
"Break through, ye blade of Justice!" She cried out. The blade sparked as Lukina urged all of her weight into it. Her arms hurt with the impact, but the rock split. The golem stumbled, and Lukina tried to pull the sword free, but it didn't come.

A wild swing fell down, and Lukina retreated, leaving her weapon in the knee.

Of course the golem now looked at her. It stepped forward. Lukina stepped backward. Again, and then as the golem reached to grab her, she stepped to the side. She couldn't run, the golem might just turn back. She had to make it more angry. Lukina scrambled to avoid the big fist pounding the ground like a drum around her.

It was a dangerous dance, to avoid the golem and lead it away. But as Lukina ran, and looked over her shoulder, she hoped the civilians could now escape into the church. The golem's stumbling walk followed, and Lukina turned to turn and face it. There wasn't anyone in the town who could stop it probably. Somewhere the elves also were still attacking. Could she do it?

Edit: Lukina (part 2)

Lukina breathed heavily, having run and been chased by the golem around the town for some time. But finally she had decided on a plan. The sledgehammer that was found at the blacksmith was necessary, so she had retrieved this. And now she stopped in front of the two-story town-hall. The golem came from around the corner, making it's thundering steps in a charge. Lukina ran into the doorway, and up the stairs, while the golem punched the door and ruined the front wall of the building.

But from the position on the second floor, Lukina had a chance. She held the sledgehammer properly and closed her eyes.

Just this once, let me be as a weapon. She prayed silently to Miriam above. Before, I would not have backed down from this task. I would not. I can't. I won't. The air shimmered hazily around her with a very faint blue glow, but Lukina didn't notice, it was like white spots from staring at light, or dizziness. But instead of those feeling, she felt warm and assured. A brief nostalgic feeling, like of flying high in the sky, though Lukina could only imagine rightly that was the feeling. Compared to that, this jump wasn't so far. She could make it. And the sledgehammer wasn't so heavy. She could make the hit.

So, without hesitation, Lukina jumped down, and swung the sledgehammer down with all of her strength and a cry. The sledgehammer crushed the stones of the chest, but became stuck. For a second, Lukina held onto this in the air, before pulling herself up to balance on it. Staring into the surprised golem's face, she guessed the location of the summon tag.

'"Turn to dust, and go home!" She yelled, and punched with all of her strength into the face. Something in her hand moved, and the gauntlet made a loud sound. But the rock face cracked. She punched again, and it cracked some more. She punched a final time with a shout, and the rock fell to reveal the tag, which ignited from the sparks of her gauntlet.

Lukina felt an exhausted moment relief of victory. And then as the golem collapsed, she also fell to the ground.

Dorizzit

2012-09-02, 07:03 AM

Korram Alstan

As the skies darken, Korram observes Marius' reaction. It was one well known to him; an expression that meant something was very, very wrong. It would seem that in this time and place, not even the heavens were safe from harm. Korram's face twists into an old, sour expression. This was just his luck. Instead of panicking as the clouds of smoke erupt, Korram simply stretches his arms briefly. It was time to get back to work.

As Marius and Korram rush back into the courtyard, Korram takes a moment to take stock of everything that is happening. Despite an intimidating and impressive entrance, the hellish soldiers are unimpressive at best, the leader stumbling over his speech. Korram's eyebrows knit in confusion. This was much different from his own experiences with denizens of the Hells. He smiles, just a bit, as the paladin throws the first punch.

Marius interjects into Korram's observation, raising the question of weather to stay or go. Korram considers the question for a few seconds before responding.

"I don't know how to close the portals; they might shut by themselves after a while, since it looks like the plane is rejecting them. For the moment, thought, I think the only thing we can do is suppression. We should split up. Stay with this group and lead them; I'm sure they can handle themselves, but they'll fight better with some guidance. I can move faster and fight harder if I'm on my own. Once you deal with these idiots, keep moving and try to shut down any other groups you see."

Unless Marius objects to his plan, Korram dashes off towards the next closest column of smoke.

TechnOkami

2012-09-02, 09:40 PM

Rosenberg

The druid stood upon the hill, the weight of his scythe resting on his shoulder. Jarod, of course, stood beside him. The two of them made their way down to meet their new company.

"It's fortunate we ran across you all. It would have been unfortunate to think of what would have happened otherwise."

A well weathered, but friendly hand rose in greeting to the man, regardless if he took it or not.

"My name is Rosenberg, and this is my friend, Jarod."

Rosenberg looked at the rest of them, making note of just how many of them there were.

"We are traveling to the forest's edge to help get supplies through to a nearby settlement, stopping along the way to collect a potential stash of food. You are all welcome to join us, if you wish. If not, then I would suggest you move away from here as fast as you can. The elves in these forests are not kind, and I believe we would simply add more kindling to the fire if we stayed."

Tae

2012-09-03, 01:16 AM

Bramble sighed, wiping fresh blood away from the patched up meat-hook-hole that Skullcruncher’s punches and Catbox’s nudges had reopened. Fiends healed fast, especially at home in the hells, but repeated abuse ensured that pains lingered. Her chest ached with a deep nauseating agony as her bones and organs struggled to knit before another onslaught could begin. Hardening her grin into something more akin to the bared teeth of a snarl, she faced Skullcruncher.

“Yes sir, we will be just fine sir. Please pass along our thanks for the assignment and our assurances that it will be executed flawlessly to General Molerat, sir.”

“Enjoy your stay topside, scum.” Skullcruncher’s heavy boots stomped back into the bowels of the fortress. Just before his weighty tread faded from hearing, Bramble heard the rumble of his laughter. The sound created a block of ice in her belly beneath the flaring hot pain in her chest. Skullcruncher’s amusement was only ever caused by another’s suffering. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was anticipating theirs.

Despite the excitement of a top-side trip and Catbox’s enthusiasm for their new title of “masters”, Bramble was anxious. Something wasn’t sitting right, wasn’t adding up. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a trap. But why?

It was the humans’ need of their names. In order for the four fiends to be summoned, they’d have to give their names to beings they knew nothing about. Creatures…humans at that…who were allies according to Skullcruncher. Skullcruncher, who, as far as Bramble knew, was merely setting her up for an even more elaborate punishment than the one he’d pulled her from.

Bramble squatted down beside the water and dipped a long, bony finger into the eye of one of the reflections.

She remembered times in the hells before she was Bramble, when she was just another Ix. Ix. A slave. A nobody who belonged to everybody. Anyone who needed fresh meat to abuse could pick up an Ix for their needs. Ix was a creature butchers vivisected for practice. She was a target dummy who’d scream at the weapons range. A living doll for the sadistic playtime of spike-cocked savages. An Ix was a victim; over and over again until she realized nothing and no one would stop what was happening to her, ever.

Eventually, an Ix chose a name.

Bramble chose her name after overhearing upper-world stories of dense, thorny undergrowth that entangled the feet of the legions and shredded the skin of their legs - brush that slowed their progress. The brambles were resistant to cutting or uprooting, and fire only made the plants’ thorns harder, more likely to tear flesh. Brambles were an annoyance that could not be eliminated, only either contended with or worked around. Brambles were an obscene gesture at those who sought to destroy the world.

Once she became Bramble, she was no longer just an Ix. She was no one’s slave, even if stronger devils and demons could hurt her or manipulate her to their own ends. Taking a name gave her the power of individuality. She might be called by her name, she might be commanded by it, but she could refuse to obey. She could fight back. She could defy.

She looked at Mouse, Malarkey, and Catbox who were standing around her near the water’s edge. Each of them, once an Ix, now a devil in their own right, each with their own name - none of them were slaves anymore. She pulled her finger from the pool and sucked the bitter water from it. She stood and faced her squad-mates, hands on skinny hips.

“All of ya have a choice, here, ya know? I’m not gonna give these humans your names to summon ye like ye’ were a bunch of Ix’s. I’ll give ‘em mine, ‘cause I told Skullcruncher I would do this thing. But I ain’t commander or sergeant or even corporal of this crew. You each gotta do this on yer own if ye’ want, but I’ll tell y’all right now, I smell a trap. Just so’s yer warned. Now, I’m goin’ first, so, if ye don’t like what happens t’me, don’t follow.”

Mouse smiled tentatively at the sapper. “And what’re we gonna do otherwise Bramble? We’re legionnaires. We follow orders.”

Bramble reached over and stroked the short fur of the small fiend’s face with a look of tenderness before reaching down to twist Mouse’s nipple hard between her thumb and forefinger.

She grinned hard at his yelp and look of hurt surprise.

“Ye’ might follow orders Mouse, but ye’ ain’t no damn slave no more. So stop acting like it. I can’t always be protectin’ ye.”

Catbox frowned at Bramble before wrapping a muscular arm around Mouse’s shoulders. She always did have a soft spot for the little imp. “Don’t worry Mouse, they called us MASTERS. We’ll be following right after Bramble here goes and makes sure they realize who they’re dealin’ with.”

Malarkey gave a grumbling gurgle. “Mother of monsters, just get on with it already.”

Bramble turned back to the faces in the water and let her mouth widen into its most intimidatingly friendly grin. “All right you humans. I’m ready for yer summons. M’ name’s Bramble and there had BETTER be beer when I get there.”

Lonna

2012-09-03, 11:30 AM

Jacqueline Flame-Hair

Stopping short at the entrance to the icy throne room, Jacqueline simply stood still, taking in the bizarre scene, which nevertheless seemed so familiar.

Echoes of dreams... she thought wonderingly, remembering some of impossible memories that had surfaced over the last weeks. One, in particular.

"Mother?" Hesitantly, she took a few steps toward the trio in front of the throne. "Titania, Mother, I've come at last."

daelrog

2012-09-03, 09:07 PM

Alons Sift

"The extra company would be welcome, friend. Your timely arrival kept the last of them from calling any others." So he as not to meet Larent, just yet. He looked at the elf still barely clinging to life. "I no longer need you alive." The knife flashed and found the elve's throat.

He stood up. Alons tucked the knife away and kept the bow at the ready. "I think we're ready to leave, no?"

TechnOkami

2012-09-03, 10:07 PM

Rosenberg

"Indeed, I think we are."

And off they went, wandering the columns of trees for the first stop of their journey.

The_Snark

2012-09-04, 03:41 AM

Mar

"I didn't want to come." Awfully hard to admit that, with Titania's finger hovering so close to her eye. Even that was painful. Mar blinked several times, trying to rid herself of the creeping cold. Could she really feel frost starting to crystallize on the surface of her eye, or was that her imagination. "I... I wouldn't have, if if he hadn't made me. But now I'm here—we were wrong. We shouldn't have, we... I don't know what we should have done instead, but the war... We should never have let it go that far."

It was so familiar: kneeling on a cold floor floor before an uncaring judge, stammering as she tried to articulate what she'd done wrong, hoping for mercy but knowing none would come. Just like old times. Yet part of her welcomed the chance to admit her guilt, and she couldn't help but wonder if this confessional impulse was a relic of her imprisonment, something Brother Corwin had beaten into her so thoroughly she couldn't get it out. She was terrified, but there was a shameful sort of rightness about spilling her sins.

Was that his hand, reaching out from beyond the grave? Making her believe she *ought* to be punished?

"And I know it's not much, but… sorry is all I have to give," she whispered, barely meeting Titania's eyes. The horrible thing was, she knew it wasn't true: her debt could be paid in pain. But she wouldn't offer that. Too cowardly, or not quite broken enough, depending on how you looked at it.

She heard footsteps approaching, and a woman's voice, but did not turn to look. Titania held her attention like a venomous serpent.

OverWilliam

2012-09-04, 03:39 PM

~Tare

Melcara.

Tare's face darkened. This was too far.

Stealing her face-- not only her face, but her voice, the witch! --was the true insult. Parading a body that was not hers beneath it, like a puppet with a meat body, was cheap and chintzy. And it made Tare angry.

The very air in the room grew heavy as Tare subconsciously breathed out his wrath.

"Do not presume to call me a liar, she-devil." Tare said, apparently too angry over the fiend's affront to be intimidated by her whip sword. "The first portal was torn open by a hag who had a cabin out in the black forest around this estate. You're probably familiar with her. The second one was formed already by a ritual devised by a mortal in the Other Realm. It was closed when I found it, but I did not create the portal. I merely opened it." Tare took a deep breath.

"...Now. I'm hardly in a position to make demands. But here is where we determine if there can be an understanding between us or not." His voice ground through his teeth like the edge of a steel dagger being drawn across a whetstone. "Release the stolen face you are wearing, or I swear by its rightful owner I will become far less cooperative to deal with." The weight in the air intensified, making it almost possible to choke on.

Iethloc

2012-09-04, 11:04 PM

Sohssal

At first, Sohssal felt relaxed for perhaps the first time since he arrived in the Hells. Things might finally start going his way! But, as he should have expected, a complication in the form of Xerxes arrived. Another confirmation that this was, indeed, Hell.

”I have another 'guest' in my quarters right now, but I can arrange some privacy elsewhere,” Sohssal explained to Xerxes. There was no way he was going to let him see Seraph if he could get away with it, on the chance that one of his minions didn't already blab about it.

Making one of the more remote rooms of the estate private would hardly take any effort. Not even his sneakier underlings could escape his magic-sensing capability. Once he was sure of their privacy, he turned to Xerxes. ”It's been quite some time. Sounds like you're eager to tell me something,” Sohssal said.

Gorgondantess

2012-09-07, 03:39 AM

The facts were these:
She didn't need the paladin's help. They could offer her martial aid, which she'd hardly need, a gateway to hell, which would hopefully be dealt with as soon as the cultist woke up, and maybe some general information as to the structure and nature of the hells, which would be helpful but hardly vital.
Meanwhile, flying into hell blind, while perhaps necessary, was something she would avoid if possible. Maurice might not even be there! So, the Dusk Wardens would be an important asset, as well as against Quadramus, who was a greater threat than any.
Though she often didn't utilize it, she had a brain capable of rather powerful feats of inductive reasoning. Though perhaps brain isn't necessarily the right word for it: mind, rather. Consciousness.
It was the way she was able to comport herself as well as she did within human society and master their language after only a couple months of observation; in actuality, most of her lack of social graces were more due to not caring (and flagrant disdain) than not knowing.
...Most of them.
This was one of the times when she used these abilities.
She started spitting out information to her high honcho at a rapid pace.
"We need to find the Dusk Wardens. If not before I leave, at least while I'm gone. So: ask around. Wrangle up a search party. Talk to people who might have socialized with them, or had watched their movements. Perhaps one of them found a mate and remained behind. Perhaps some were disgruntled by their betrayal and left the group. Talk to those who work the docks where they departed, the lighthouse- find out which direction they were going, if they said where they were going, if they requisitioned any supplies that might denote where they were going. Ask any who have come in to port if they have passed ships that look like that of the Dusk Wardens, and where it was headed.
While you're at it, I'm looking for an oracle. A diviner, a seer, whatever you may call it. Send out the word- if one can aid me, they will be granted all their worldly desires. Frauds will be summarily executed, of course. Perhaps we can cut past them and find a freelancer who can aid me- or failing that, who can tell us where the Dusk Wardens are."
As she speaks she creates little trinkets of value, flicking one out onto the table every few seconds. Whereas before she just made lumps of precious gems and metals to bribe, now she took to the task with some whimsy, each piece she dropped a miniature work of art- spindles and baubles and moving things, all made of precious metals and stones.
"Offer only enough to obtain the information you need. Humans are greedy: if they see what they covet, they will tell you what you want to hear in order to obtain it, not what you need to hear."
She nods. "That should be all. Pursue any other line of inquiry that might lead us to the Dusk Wardens or a diviner. If all else fails, send out ships: we will scour every island in a thousand miles if we have to. If they cannot help me in my search, they can at least help me with their weapons. In the meantime, I will seek contact with the paladins. I expect bi-daily reports on your search: I do not know when I will return, if at all, but when I do I expect to recieve up to date information. Understood?"

Inspectre

2012-09-09, 06:04 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

Marius shrugs in reply to your suggestions.

“Works for me – I’ve always been more a doer than a thinker anyway! It’s gotten me into trouble more than once – what’s one more time for old times’ sake!? We can meet up afterwards and share stories of how many fiends we sent running back to the Hells!”

Turning back towards the portal, Marius straightens his back and marches towards the battle, barking orders as he goes. Trained to obey shouted commands, the paladins immediately fan out, surrounding the invaders while simultaneously draw them further away from the portal. Now although one or two paladins still go down from mace and sword blows, they don’t vanish through the portal, likely never to return.

Trusting that Marius and his fellows could handle half a dozen of the well-prepared but strangely incompetent hell warriors, you turn away and run back out into the street. You don’t have to go far to locate more of the invaders – another half dozen of them are double-time marching down the street towards you. Upon seeing you they stop and begin to fan out, the leader pointing at you.

“There’s one! Grab him quick!”

Four of them, including the leader, ready their weapons while the last two instead pull out shackles made of the same smoking metal as their armor. Oh the folly – not since the bumbling men the Baron first sent after you (likely as just a distraction) had you encountered such willful incompetence. Time for their first lesson – although as it turns out, you would not be the one to deliver it.

Like a bolt from – well, the Heavens – a winged shape suddenly descends from above, crashing down into the midst of the six fiends. The angel’s halberd arcs down, slashing down through armor, muscle, and bone to split one of the six literally in half before embedding itself in the street cobblestones. Red blood and gore goes flying in all directions, spattering the angel’s immaculate armor, and suggesting that these were not, in fact, fiends beneath that black armor. This is confirmed a moment later as the angel pirouettes, one of her legs flashing up to slam a second invader backwards and halfway through the marble wall of a nearby building.

“Blasphemous mortals! Your trespass here will be punished by death and eternal damnation!”

The angel shrieks as she abandons the grip on her halberd in favor of the hilt of her sword, drawing the weapon in one smooth motion that continues into a slash to another invader’s torso, denting the armor and sending him stumbling back but failing to kill him. The remaining invaders momentarily scatter, but to their credit they immediately reform to converge on the angel from multiple directions.

“Then we have nothing left to lose!”

The group’s leader shouts, sweeping in to swing wildly at the angel’s head. The angel parries the blow and then steps in, delivering a punch with her free hand to the leader’s helmet. Unlike the paladin’s similar punch that started the scuffle back in the courtyard, this blow strikes with unfathomable force, crumpling the helmet inward and undoubtedly the man’s skull within. As their leader crumples the three remaining humans pounce, the two shackle-equipped humans attempting to snap them onto the angel while the third tries to keep her attention.

The angel is not surprised by this attempt, dodging the distracting blow while sweeping her sword around, literally disarming one of the shackle-wielders. As the man starts screaming and clutching at his spurting stump with his other hand, the angel sweeps her sword around again, cutting into his neck before shoving the dying man’s body back into the other shackle-wielding, stopping his lunge.

“You mortals and your foul magic!”

The angel spits as the two remaining humans collect themselves and look at each other nervously.

“I have seen your filthy tricks before and I am no longer impressed by them! Cower behind it all you like, but it will not save you!”

At that point, the last two fiends in training finally lost it, and turned to run away. They managed to make it half a dozen steps before the angel made an upwards gesture. At her command, the street itself rose in front of them, forming a solid wall!

“See some magic of my own!”

The angel cries, prying her halberd out with one hand before leaping after the two fleeing humans. She pins the one to the newly formed wall with her sword, and then abandons her grasp of the weapon in favor of two hands on the halberd. She twirls around and then brings the halberd around in a mighty sweep, cutting the last man in half. With another gesture she flattens the street back out and goes over to retrieve her sword from the man’s corpse.

Both you and the angel are surprised by what happens next, as the six corpses suddenly start screaming as one and begin to move again! Although this is not intelligent movement, but more strongly resembles the bodies being rapidly dragged along the ground by some invisible force. Leaving six trails of blood on the street behind them, the six corpses are dragged at high speed down the street and around a corner out of sight, in the rough direction of one of the dark plumes of smoke.

This bizarre scene seems to shock the angel out of her vengeful fury, and she stumbles back from the trails of blood with a look of horror. Her sword tumbles out of her grasp, and she stares down at her shaking hand as if entranced.

“No, you’re not down there. You’re safe here. Safe . . .”

The angel repeats to herself over and over, like some sort of strange mantra. It seems paladins weren’t the only ones traumatized by the Baron’s last stand. The fact that freckles adorned the angel’s face didn’t help, making her seem less an immortal warrior and more like a scared little girl. Her ornate armor and faintly glowing wings remind you, however, that this is an immortal servant of the gods and not some human child. Would words of support help her the way they had helped the paladins, or would she view them as an insult? Could she even hear you in her current state?

While it might be a waste of precious time trying to talk to the angel while more portals continued to disgorge smoke and human invaders, having an angel for a friend could also make for an important step forward in your own plans. Of course, you could also always just throw yourself through one of those portals and hope for the best as well. In a more impetuous time, that sounds exactly like something Korram would do – and it sounds to you now like a good way to get yourself damned eternally and uselessly.

The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

“Really? You think!? Well, that’s not very reassuring now is it? But I guess I’ll take whatever I can get.”

The bag-headed woman groans as she shifts and crawls over to the side of her cage that is pressed up against yours. She shoves her back up against the side of the cage, revealing that her hands are shackled behind her – but more importantly, she has a large iron key jutting out from one fist. That key seems oddly familiar to you . . . did the fiends have it on them when they escorted you from the Black General’s office?

“I was hoping to get the key to my shackles with that little performance, but I guess these devils aren’t complete morons. I dunno – maybe it’ll unlock yours, or the door, or something!? Ugh . . . I’m not exactly thrilled here that I may have just gotten a beating for nothing!”

The woman drops the key into your cell, and for a moment, you have a fear that it will instead flip off the edge and fall down into the crack between your cages somehow. It was just that sort of day you were having, but fortunately that did not happen. And as it turned out, this was indeed the key to your chains . . . although it did not open the door to your cage, so you were still trapped.

“Uuhhh . . . damn that smarts. So hey, how’s it going over there? That key do you any good or should we start trying to make it into a shiv or something?”

The woman is silent a moment, and then speaks up again.

“So, hey. I dunno if you have the use of your hands or not, but if you do, do you think you could help me out in return? Not being able to see anything more than splotches of light and dark through this bag is really starting to get on my nerves! These knots are rather tight, but I think you can pick them apart – maybe pry them with the key if you can’t with your fingers? Give it a try for me anyway, would you?”

The woman presses her head and neck against the bars, allowing you to reach through to pick at the knots. It would be a bit difficult to fit your hand through the intervening two sets of bars, but you could probably manage now that your own hands were free.

(For the sake of moving things along, I’m going to assume that you return a favor for a favor, rather than pointing and laughing at the NPC. :smallwink: )

You check to see that there are no more fiends coming along, and then carefully slide your hand and forearm through the bars. The woman is right that the knots have been tied pretty tight, but with a bit of patience you manage to get one undone, and the rest get easier from there. Once the last knot comes apart, you have to pull your hand back as the woman violently rubs her head against the bars of her cage, ripping the bag off.

Now that you can see her face, you realize that she is vaguely familiar to you . . . although you can’t imagine where you would have met her. In favor of the idea that this was just a weird sense of déjà vu and didn’t mean anything are the pair of inch-long horns jutting up through the woman’s short-cut black hair! The woman’s emerald green eyes look you up and down in confusion, clearly not recognizing you either. Then her eyes roll up to shift her gaze up to her scalp, and she smirks, although somehow the expression looks more like a sneer on her face.

“Oh, those. Yeah, they seem to be a souvenir of my time here. The fact that I have them doesn’t seem to make a damn bit of difference to these bastards, so I’m guessing they’re not big enough to suit them or something. Anyway, let’s get introductions out of the way now. My name is Katrina Alstan, and that’s not going to change no matter how many times these *******s call me “Ix”. How about you?”

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“Of course, “Lord” Nihilus! What I have to tell you should be kept as an utmost secret – barring your own discretion, of course.”

Xerxes waits for you to escort him into a side room of your mansion fortress, and sense around to see if any imps are lurking about. After all, all of them are basically food to you. While they are able to hide themselves, that in turn also creates a magical signature you are able to sense. You suppose a being with considerable magical skill could create a cloaking technique that even you would not be able to sense, but that would require an impressive understanding of magic. Imps, in addition to all of their other flaws, did not seem to be able to grasp basic arithmetic, let alone magic. Their invisibility seemed to be an innate ability that they just use – and you imagine for most other fiends it was the same.

Once you are sure you are alone, you address Xerxes, and the devil’s cracked lips pull back into a grin of poorly concealed glee.

“Oh yes I am, “Nihilus”. Or should I refer to you by the name you used when we first met – Sohssal? Although we are all loyal to our chosen master, given his reclusive nature very few of us know what he actually looks like. As you can imagine, from time to time we do have an issue with imposters claiming either to serve him or to actually be him – usually foolish mortals like Demetrius Gast! As a result my brethren tend to have a rather dim view of those who attempt such things, as I am sure you can imagine. I, on the other hand, am willing to be . . . flexible when it suits my needs.”

Xerxes spreads his clawed hands in what you would assume to be a magnanimous gesture – or perhaps mere preparation for tearing you apart.

“I can be very helpful in that regard. I am very good at keeping secrets, and ensuring that those secrets left in my care remain secret. I would only be too happy to serve my “master” in this regard. Of course, I do expect to be well compensated for my efforts as well. On my way in I heard that some of my fellows managed to acquire an angel for you. I would be honored if you gift me sole possession of that angel – as a reward for my distinguished past services . . . and to retain my invaluable skills going forward.”

Xerxes holds up a finger.

“Now, you might want to consider other, more . . . violent options. Allow me to point out that I am immortal, and while this body may perish, my soul shall return soon enough. Regrettably, without my constant and close supervision of all of this manor’s affairs, all sorts of secrets might slip out to your enemies. Mammon learning who stole his angel . . . and that it was not actually Lord Nihilus would be a . . . terrible tragedy, would it not?”

Xerxes extends a hand out towards you.

“I could see this being the beginning of a very profitable relationship – for both of us. So what do you say . . . do we have a deal?”

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

At your words and implied threats, Videle pouts but shrugs a moment later.

“Well now you’re just being disappointing – in more ways than one, in fact. *Sigh* But alright – perhaps a little more sugar than spice, will suffice?”

Videle’s skin ripples as it shifts and morphs into a different but eerily similar form. The fiendish seductress now wears her original face again, but retains her angelic body – although now with pure white feathery wings. She stretches luxuriously for a moment, as if you hadn’t already been given more than enough chances to see what she has on display, and smirks knowingly.

“Ah, now that’s much better isn’t it. Although I suppose if I’m going to look the part, I might as well act like it as well.”

Strutting around to behind her desk again, Videle reforms the chain sword back into its blade form and sets it down on the desk. Then she pulls a scarlet-colored silk cloak off the back of her chair and wraps it around herself. Like its owner, the cloak ripples and shifts as it settles over Videle’s shoulders, changing into a silk dress that covers just enough bare flesh to be a mockery of modesty.

“There – just the right amount of distraction now. I suppose if we’re going to have a “pleasant” conversation I should also repress my aura. It’s meant to help lower inhibitions, but I understand for those suffering from your . . . delusion it instead is rather irritating. My children generally aren’t capable of such a feat – they’re barely even aware that they can control it. But I am the Lady of Lust, so . . .”

You feel the psychic rattling in your teeth fade as Videle suppresses her aura entirely, allowing you to think clearly without the danger of amorous nor furious obsession. Videle hops up onto her desk and crosses her legs with a smile.

“Now then, let’s return to business. Apparently, you can’t open portals to the mortal realm at will. That makes you less useful to me, although no less entertaining. After all, your perversion of choice is quite possibly the perversion to end all perversions. In love with a servant of the gods – and not just any, but a fallen servant! OooooOOOOH! This is gonna be good!”

Videle raps her fingers against her chin thoughtfully.

“So, let’s start with a few questions. You’re clearly in love with her, but is the feeling mutual? Is she even aware of your exclusive infatuation with her? And even if the answer to both of those is yes, how do you know that she’s not merely using you for her own ends? She’s a creature of the Hells, sworn to corrupt and destroy – do you honestly think she’s even capable of returning whatever you feel for her? For that matter, how do you know it’s really your heart, and not somewhere . . . lower . . . that is attracted to her? Hmmm . . .”

Videle rocks her head back and forth, pantomiming the act of thinking deeply, before she snaps her attention back to you and begins counting off points on her fingers.

“Well, you’re down here for some reason, and sadly falling madly “in love” with a pretty face is not enough to do it. So you must have done something naughty . . . what was it? Did you do something for her . . . something you shouldn’t have, hmm? It’s a little late now, but I should point out to you that this love thing you’re experiencing is not a good idea. Mortals and immortals don’t mix for a reason, you know – for starters, what do the two of you have even vaguely in common? Trust me, if you continue down this road, it’s going to end very badly for you. I should know.”

Videle snorts and rolls her eyes.

“I met this guy once, and he was even more of a freak than you. He was obsessed with an archangel – can you imagine it!? One of the Valkyrie’s personal handmaidens, and this guy wanted to be with her in the worst possible way. She was the only thing he would talk about, think about! He was a bit less prudish than you, which made for some . . . memorable sessions, but in the end all he wanted was the real thing. During my extended . . . vacation from the Hells, I lost track of him, but for all I know he’s still here somewhere, doing gods know what to some rock while crying “Marisiel, Marisiel!” Tch, pathetic. Is that really how you want to end up? Because that’s the only place “love” is going to take you – and that’s if you’re lucky.”

The Mortal Realm

[u]Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

“Yes, of course. Unless these Dusk Wardens have prepared some sort of magical retreat, or simply fell off the face of the world altogether, we shall find them!”

Your high priest had always been a bit grandiose in his promises, but in general he had served you quite well. If there was any way that humans would be able to find the Dusk Wardens, he would succeed. (Incidentally, he will, but we’ll cover your trip to the paladins first.)

Finished giving him your instructions and various baubbles to bribe the masses with, you set out to arrange a meeting with the paladins. Even if they couldn’t help you with finding Maurice, if she was down in the Hells you would need every piece of information you could get. Also, you could only assume that rescuing an angel from the clutches of fiends would be something that the paladins would actually like to do.

As usual, you figured you would handle things directly, and so made your way to their capital, a city they called Luxien. Of course, as usual the humans had a dozen different names for it as well, including the moniker “The Cathedral City”. The only question now was whether you would attempt to be circumspect, or would simply fly down into the middle of the city, kick open the doors to the biggest building you could find (important humans seemed to love living in bigger buildings than their fellows), and start demanding to see their leader – some man they called “Speaker”. Presumably, he was supposed to be the speaker for the gods, although knowing humans he could very well be speaking for the trees instead.

(So, how are you handling your own insertion mission into the city of Luxien?)

The Village of Woodhall
Kasanip

Your blows had certainly angered the elemental, who relentlessly pursued you, slamming its fists into the ground when it got close. Thankfully, it didn’t get close very often after the start of the chase, as it was hobbled by the presence of your sword embedded in your knee. Perhaps it simply wasn’t smart enough to remove the sword, or simply too angry to think of anything other than catching and smashing you. You could only imagine that the stones tumbling back and forth around it was not doing anything good to the sword’s blade, but so long as it remained intact you had the advantage of speed.

Unfortunately, while you were able to keep ahead of the elemental, neither were you able to escape from it entirely. Perhaps it could sense you somehow, or feel your footsteps through the ground, but it never seemed to lose track of you even when you ducked out of sight around a building. This was both a good and bad thing, as at least for as long as it was chasing you, neither was it guarding the doorway to the chapel. But if you wish to survive beyond serving as a distraction, you would need to send this elemental back home before it sent you from this mortal coil.

Fortunately, you had a plan. As you ran through the blacksmith’s, which was open on three sides, you snatched up the heavy hammer used to pound the iron while it was still hot. Now armed again, you race to the small village’s town hall, which was one of the few two-story structures in the town. As you fumbled with front door, the elemental caught up, and nearly smashed you as it crashed into the front of the building. You ducked inside just in time, and while the elemental raged against the wooden door frame, you dashed up to the second floor. As planned, there was a window right above the front doorway, and you break it out carefully with the hammer before stepping out onto the ledge outside.

With a loud battlecry, you then leap down onto the elemental, sending the heavy blacksmithing hammer crashing down into its chest. Such a mighty blow caused the elemental to reel back as some of the largest rocks in its chest cracked and split . . . but it did not destroy it. Which left you hanging down there in mid-air, held aloft by your stubborn grip on the handle of the hammer. With surprising calm, the elemental reached up to grab you, and from there undoubtedly squeeze you into a bloody jam.

In desperation you examine the elemental, and notice that your blow has partially revealed the summoning tag, the small item that served as the continual focus for the magic – and ensured that the elemental’s presence in the mortal realm would remain permanent. If you could destroy it, perhaps you would still be saved!

With very little time left, you desperately swung your gauntleted fist up at the remaining dirt and stone protecting the tag. There was a loud crack from your first blow, but from the sensation of pain now coming from within your gauntlet it seemed you broke before the stone. But you punched again, and then yet again, and that time your fist finally broke through the remaining stone and into the summoning tag, smashing the wooden token and setting it on fire with sparks from your metal gauntlet grating against the stones. Instantly the elemental collapsed, and you fell, your fall broken by a semi-soft mass of dirt.

Looking down, your gauntlet appears to be intact, but you can tell that at least two of your fingers have been broken from those desperate punches. It seemed that, as always, your body could not live up to your mind’s intentions. But you had done it, and now unless the elves had another one of those things the people inside of the chapel would be safe.

Jutting up from the earth mound a foot from you was the hilt of your sword. Grasping the weapon with your off-hand, you are able to pull the weapon out smoothly. The blade is pitted and scarred from repeated impacts from small stones and grating against larger ones, but still intact. Perhaps you would be able to have the blacksmith, if he still lived, use his hammer to smooth out some of the imperfections.

Unfortunately, the soft sound of footfalls bring your attention back to your surroundings, and you now realize that you likely weren’t going to survive after all. A group of elves surround you from all directions, watching you silently, a few of them covering you with nocked arrows. You aren’t sure why they haven’t just killed you already, and given their previous assaults on the guardsmen you can’t imagine that they would want to take you prisoner. The answer is forthcoming, however, as an elf steps forward from the group, motioning his comrades to lower their bows. You recognize him as the elf whose shot against Welkin you had blocked.

The elf looks at you, at the mound of earth and broken stone beneath you, and sneers angrily as he draws his curved sword. The other elves take three steps backward, but maintain their circle around you, several of them drawing their own blades but holding position. With the tip of his curved blade, your rival gestures at you, and then at himself. It seemed it was to be a duel, then, the challenge issued without words.

Unfortunately, two of the fingers in your sword hand were broken, so you would have to use your off-hand to wield the equally injured sword. And while you still had some adrenaline from the flight and destruction of the elemental, that was starting to fade, leaving you with only exhaustion. But you would give a good accounting of yourself before the end, if that was how it was to end. You sadly had a fair bit of experience with that.

Several feet away, your elven opponent stands there in an easy stance, waiting for you to make the first move. And then you hear the loud sound of horse hooves striking against the dirt, growing louder as they approach. Commander Welkin and his paladins were coming to help!

The elf curses in his native tongue as his comrades scatter, taking up defensive positions in an attempt to ambush the paladins when they got near. Meanwhile, all caution abandoned your opponent lunges toward you, his curved blade seeking your neck!

Vegna

With a defeated sigh, the she elf pushes herself up, cradling her ribs with one hand.

“I thought *you* were raiders, coming to pick over the remains of the village, okay? Ow, I think you may have bruised a rib there – to say nothing of my head! I knew throwing rocks around was going to be a bad idea!”

“Hey lady, we’re not raiders! Just look at us – do we look like raiders to you!?”

Val’Tosh growls, pounding his fist on the ground. The elf just looks at your ogre friend with a raised eyebrow as she pushes herself up into a sitting position.

“You’re an ogre, so uh – yes? I’ll admit I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind either, though. Master Vork told me to run, so I did, but I could have helped defend Silverstream! Maybe I could have saved someone at least! Instead of cowering out here in the forest while the village burned.”

Now it was Val’Tosh’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Master Vork is here? How the Hells did he beat us here Mal!?”

Ignoring your ogre friend, the elf focuses her attention back on you.

“Wait, you said “fellow Terra Style” . . . does that mean you also were taught by Master Vork? How long ago was this – I’ve been studying under Master Vork for twenty years now!”

“TWENTY!? What the – Mal! MAL! Why does everything have to keep getting weirder and weirder!?”

“Ooooh . . . we don’t have time for figuring this out right now. We have to find Master Vork and the other villagers, and rescue them if necessary! My people won’t be gentle.”

The elf groaned as she pushed herself up onto her feet, still holding her side and rubbing her bruised head.

Vol’Tosh looks uncertainly at the sun, now only visible as a sliver on the horizon.

“It’s going to be pitch black out soon. How are we supposed to follow them?”

“Does it look like I have all the answers here!? I do know “my” people aren’t going to stop just because it’s dark – besides, it’s not *that* dark. You just have to be a look a little more closely for roots jutting out, that’s all.”

“Elves can see in the dark, can’t they?”

Val’Tosh grumbles, and the elf shrugs.

“Not quite, but I would guess my natural senses are much sharper than yours. I . . . guess I could also conjure some elementals, send them out searching. They can just go underneath all the trees until they sense a large group moving above them. That would at least tell us where they are?”

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

(Sounds good.)

Like you, Hephestia also awakens to the church bells. Her hair is still a mess, but as she sits up and stretches you can see that her eyes are no longer quite so bloodshot. She wraps her blanket around herself and then moves to stand by the window.

“I thought I would attend one of Kranmer’s ceremonies – he should be made aware of any factual errors and inconsistencies he makes as a result of ignorance. After that – I do not know. I suppose my first action should be to get dressed?”

As you start your morning routine, Hephestia moves towards the door to retire to her own quarters. Just as she gets to the door, however, there is a knock from the other side. A moment later, you hear the voice of Winril Milner coming from the other side.

“Ander? Are you awake yet? I made some important discoveries last night! I thought you would want to hear about them before the council meeting.”

Hephestia looks at you in absolute panic, her eyes roaming around for a place to hide as the door knob begins to turn. You kept the door to your new bedroom locked, but likewise had made sure certain individuals had a key available to them. In hindsight, that may have not been the wisest course of action, as there aren’t very many good places to hide in the expansive bed and bath quarters you now owned as Speaker.

Tossing the blanket aside, Hephestia dives headlong into the bath, disappearing beneath the surface just in time as the door swings open to reveal the Church’s newest and oldest Exarch. Winril steps into the bedroom, shooting a questioning glance at Hephestia’s abandoned blanket before he locks eyes with you.

“Well Ander, as I said I made some important discoveries last night. Morganna actually kept quite detailed records on Project Angelus. Unfortunately I haven’t figured out how to reverse the brands, but we may not have to. The brands are only attached to the body – the soul is unmarred. Now, as you know Morganna also had soul crystals inserted into the angels, which will imprison their souls the instant they die. Apparently these crystals are inert until that moment, however – and they’ve all been implanted in the same place – here, between the third and fourth rib, right next to the heart.”

Winril explained, indicating the exact spot on himself.

“We’ll need to find a skilled healer to remove the crystals without killing the angels in the process, but once we remove the crystal we can just kill the angels to send them home. They will reform in new, undefiled bodies back in the Heavens . . . unfortunately, I don’t know how we can repair their minds, and so those would still be deeply scarred. I think –“

“*GASP*!”

Hephestia wheezed as she suddenly burst up out of the pool, flopping herself down onto the edge, choking and coughing violently.

“Forgot . . . breathing!”

She managed to rasp out in between wracking coughs. Winril shoots glance at Hephestia, and then looks back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Well . . . I was not aware you had a guest already, Ander. I suppose I should see myself out, then. I will return to continue this conversation later!”

“No . . . need!”

Hephestia gasped, dragging herself out of the pool and lunging for her blanket. Snatching the cloth up, Hephestia quickly wrapped it around herself, restoring her modesty as the soaked-through chemise did practically nothing. Her skin flushed to a shade that almost matched the red blanket, Hephestia dashed out of the room without another word. Winril watches her go, and then looks back at you and shakes his head.

“I’m going to forget that I saw that just now. Just keep in mind that as Speaker you are supposed to be the model that the rest of the Church bases itself upon. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so we can safely send all of the angels home once we find a way to safely remove the implanted crystals. I’m not sure if you had one implanted in you, but we should conduct a full physical examination at some point. Or is it your intention to stay on, in which case I believe the simplest solution would be to simply re-brand you. That would mean having to recreate one of those abominable branding stations, but anything branded on over the runes should nullify them permanently. That’s about the extent of my findings thus far.”

Winril turns and walks out, pausing at the doorway to look back.

“I will see you at the council meeting later today. And for what it’s worth –“

Winril gives his best mischievous smile.

“If I were a younger man, I might consider it as well.”

Alone again, you finish getting ready for the day and then set out. Unfortunately the duties of the Speaker are many, and you had a lot to do before the Council meeting. So much, in fact, that you stopped by Hephestia’s quarters with a hand-written note for the Head Chronicler. She sheepishly accepts the note and nods.

“I will speak with this archivist. For what it is worth, you have my apologies – I did not intend for my presence to suggest anything untoward.”

After that brief visit, you still had several hours before the Council meeting . . . and still an endless list of things to do. Unfortunately, much of the Speaker’s time was spent on meetings, meetings, meetings – you are starting to understand why Morganna acted as much from the shadows as she did. Still, your spirits are buoyed by a plan that is starting to form in the back of your mind. It was going to require quite a bit of preparation, which meant still more meetings, meetings, meetings, but if you could pull it off it would all be worth it!

Finally, the time of the Council meeting arrived and you entered the Council Chambers to find, as expected, all of the Exarches already waiting for you, along with Melissan and Ysora in their guest seats. (I know Tyra and Winril are Exarches – not sure who else Ander went and invited into the group. You’re welcome to place already existing characters in those seats, or invent new ones – or, save yourself some work and just have them remain silent shadows. Generally speaking, there are seven Exarches and the Speaker.)

“This meeting of the Church Council is now in session! Today, we will be hearing from Randal Luxford, head of the Inquisitors, who is here to report progress on curbing the latest outbreak of heresy. We will also be discussing the ongoing efforts to blunt the effects of the elven invasion, and provide succor for the refugees fleeing form the devastation. Exarch Milner will also be sharing the results of his efforts to reverse the angel brands. Finally, we will be discussing the possibility of instituting new training regimes for the various Orders that should accelerate training and provide us with new paladins ready to serve.”

Tyra announced, fulfilling her de-facto role as your major domo quite effectively. Before the meeting got bogged down in the usual arguing and quibbling over minor details on efforts that while important were not usually anything the Council could do anything about directly, it might be wise to share your plan with the others. Assuming, of course, that it was shaped well enough now for you to put it forward in a cognizant manner.

Inspectre

2012-09-09, 06:05 PM

Phaedra

The_Snark

“Should have, could have, would have – these statements are meaningless now! You cannot erase what you have done with regrets! The future is waiting, and now you shall repay your sins with an eternity of pain!”

Titania pulls her finger back, clearly with the intention of stabbing it into your eye, but suddenly stops when Istomilo loudly clears his throat.

“If you merely want to inflict pain on her, I can suggest a method which does not require any effort on your part. Nor will it leave any lasting effects that you would have to heal or wait for her to recover from. Watch. A broken bird tumbles to the forest floor.”

Oh no. No no no. Istomilo knew about Daddy’s conditioning – and he knew how to trigger it. As always, there was nothing you could do. Just suffer, and dread what was going to happen to you next.

“Wingless, it stumbles And shall taste the sky no more.”

As he completes the stanza of the horrid poem, pain floods your senses. Unable to control yourself, you collapse onto the frigid floor and scream. You keep screaming, as you always do, unable to stop yourself, even as the frigid air burns your lungs. Dimly, you are aware of Titania and Istomilo circling around you, Titania watching you with rapt fascination.

“Milo, what did you do? This is . . . wonderful!”

Istomilo was surprisingly not as entertained by your agony as Titania was, and after a moment said,

“That’s enough for now. I am your father and your god.
You will obey me in all things.
Or I shall smite you, and burn
Your heart until all evil is cleansed from it.”

Mercifully, the pain disappeared as suddenly as it began. Titania looked somewhat disappointed.

“Hmm. That was not magic, was it?”

“No, it was not. You see, my love? Sometimes magic is not necessary to accomplish one’s desires.”

“Does it work only when you say the words, or anyone?”

Titania asked, and then smirked as she began to recite the hated poem.

“A broken bird tumbles to the forest –“

"Mother?"

At a side door stood a young woman, flicks of fire dancing around her head – it takes you a moment to realize that it is actually her hair (Lonna). You sense that you have met this woman before . . . and after a moment she confirms her identity as Pyria.

"Titania, Mother, I've come at last."

(Continue reading the joint DM below.)

Lonna/The_Snark

Although her full attention had been focused on Mar, her face twisted up in vengeful anticipation, at Pyrene’s words a remarkable change comes over Titania. She relaxes and turns towards her daughter, her face now displaying a genuine smile.

“Pyria? Oh my daughter, you don’t know how happy I am to see you unharmed.”

The fey queen moves over to embrace her daughter, causing light puffs of steam to emerge from where Pyrene’s hair touches Titania. Neither appears to be harmed by this, and after a moment Titania breaks the embrace to reach up and brush a lock of flaming hair away from Pyrene’s face. Istomilo looks at the two of them in wonder, moving away from Mar to join Titania beside their daughter.

“You actually found her!? Oh daughter, I thought . . . I thought perhaps you had.”

Istomilo’s attention drops to the brand on her arm, and his face darkens as he takes note of the scarred numbers there.

“You were in IRONHEART!? I-I didn’t know! How did you escape!?”

“Does it matter, Milo? Our daughter has returned to us!”

Titania says, and then her attention snaps back onto Mar. Wrapping an arm around Pyrene, the fey queen steers her over to stand over Mar’s prone form. At least Pyrene’s presence takes away most of the chill threatening to leave the former archangel insensate.

“I have the perfect welcome present for you, my daughter. And all the birthdays and events that I’ve missed! This winged freak of a girl is Marisiel – you remember her, don’t you? The bitch who tried to split our family apart, destroy our kingdom, and kill us all! And now that we’re reunited again, I think it’s only appropriate that you be the one to decide what we should do with her.”

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

Although you could not see the man’s face, the double take he did upon your mention of the time difference was visible nonetheless.

“Several thousand years!? Great, so that would place you from around . . . the Battle of Narle. Gods, why does it all have to revolve around that one point? Ugh, Fate has a thousand different ways of biting me in the ass.”

Nihilus shakes his head and throws up his hands with a bitter laugh.

“Okay, so tell me – are you still imprisoned in Ironheart? No, okay how about Fianna – have you reunited with her yet? Okay, and how is the Baron of Gast doing – dead? Yeah, like that’s going to last. Alright, so you probably already got the sense then that the Baron of Gast is your evil – well, eviler – twin? Yeah, that’s Fate’s doing.”

Nihilus returned to his drawing on the floor, beginning to curve all of the branching lines back around, merging them down until they all come to a single point.

“See, while sure there are points where the course of history can be diverted, if you have foreknowledge and the proper barricade, there’s only one “right” path. That’s how things are supposed to go, and there’s a force that tries to bring everything back into line with that – the oft-cursed Fate. And there’s only one thing that Fate ultimately wants – to burn this world to a cinder.”

Nihilus gestures at the final point that all lines meet back up at.

“That’s the end point. All hope gone, no world left. And while I’m not going to be helping to keep your ego in check here, I will tell you that this end for the entire world is what you will accomplish. Or would accomplish, if I hadn’t already subtly meddled with how things “should” go – I was the one that arranged for the meeting between Fianna and the Hierarch. Without that vital component the Hierarch gave her, your elixir would fail, and while pissed at all the wasted effort, you and your erstwhile comrades would eventually get over it and move on to other things. I’ll spare you the gory details of what “should” happen after that, unless you really want to know, but I will give you the end result – you free Azguloth, and together the two of you destroy the world. You’re welcome for my interference.”

Nihilus sighs and gestures down at the swarm of lines flowing back to a single point.

“Because of that seemingly simple change, the entire world is spared from destruction for several thousand more years. Unfortunately, Fate doesn’t seem to ever give up, and there’s a multitude of ways it can try to push back – someone else does it, a conflagration of events leads to the same forking decision years later - it’s all really quite tiresome how many different variations of results can come from a single choice at the wrong moment. Hmph, although sending an assassin back through time to undo everything is a new one.”

Nihilus wipes his hand across the forked lines, leaving just a blackened smear on the floor.

“Well, I don’t know what’s ultimately going to happen to you. But unless you’d like to experience your younger self ending the world in a few years, we’re going to need to stop Mellita or Marialta or whatever the Hells she wants to call herself! I imagine she’s going to want to reset things as closely to how they “should” be as possible. That rules out anything overly dramatic like stabbing you to death in mid-coitus with Fianna. Any ideas on how she could ruin our big day in subtle ways to make sure that you stay mortal?”

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

“Beer!? Er, yes! Of course!”

The human said, gesturing at one of his cowled companions before turning back to face presumably your reflection on his end.

“We will summon you right away, Master Bramle. And the others of your group?”

Catbox moved to stand beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders, which was just a pretense to get her arm up around your neck.

“Catbox. That’s C-A-T-B-O-X, in case you dummies can’t spell. Wherever Bramble goes, I go. She’s not going to get to have all the fun!”

“Mouse.”

Mouse says after a moment of hesitation before shuffling up to stand beside you at the edge of the pool. Malarky comes up behind you, poking his head up over your shoulder and growling into your ear.

“Malarky. And since you’re taking requests, I want something good to eat when I get there. BRING ME A CAT!!!”

The human’s nose wrinkles in obvious disgust, but he nods in obedience nonetheless.

“It will take a bit of time to summon all of you, please be patient masters. We will get started right away.”

The pool ripples, distorting the image of the cloaked figures for a moment, and then dissolving them entirely as the magic fades. The four of you stand there for several minutes, looking impatiently at each other, and Malarky starting to look like he was going to need something to pound on. Then, you are suddenly standing somewhere else, although it still sounds like home with screams coming from just behind you.

Looking around, you are in a dimly lit room now, standing in the middle of a burnt circle of lines and squiggles that you can’t make any sense of. Several of the dark-robed cultists are here waiting for you, bowing deeply to you upon your arrival. Behind you, a young human male screams again, although this one cuts off into a gurgling sigh as he slumps down onto the altar which he is bound to. The blood pouring from the ritual wounds cut into his body slows, and you can only assume that the human is now dead. Two of the cultists come forward to deal with the body, slitting its throat to make sure before cutting it loose and dumping it off to one side. Then they go over to a group of filthy-looking humans sitting huddled in one corner of the room, grabbing this time an old woman and dragging her over to the altar.

“We will summon your associates as quickly as we are able. In the meantime, please come with me. I sent one of the younger initiates to retrieve your beverage. Of course, if you would prefer to watch the summoning of your comrades personally, you may stay here as well.”

Although she struggles, the old woman is no match for the two men, and they swiftly have her bound down onto the altar and begin cutting squiggles into her flesh with their knives. Several of the other cultists step forward and begin a low, ominous chant as they dip their fingers into their wounds, beginning to retrace the burnt circle on the floor with the woman’s blood. So far, no trap, although if your experiences in the Hells taught you anything, it was how quickly everything could go boom.

The lead cultist hands you a dark robe similar to the ones that they are wearing.

“We believe that we have located a potential source for most of the components you will require. Unfortunately, it is some distance from here and we must be careful to conceal our presence from the local law enforcement. I hope you understand the need for subtlety.”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

“Unfriendly!? You think, eh!?”

The old man grumbled, and then gestured to himself, then the scarred barkeep, and finally the girl.

“I’m Greg, this is Mags, and that’s Willow. Blasted elves burned down the tavern and took everyone else in separate groups. Probably all dead now.”

“Mmmm.”

Mags grunted, pausing in his search of the now-dead elf to deliver another hard kick. The barkeep takes the bow and sword for himself, but offers the elf’s slim dagger to Willow. The bar maid accepts it uncertainly, turning it over in her hands before tucking it into her simple belt. Greg finally finishes buckling his trousers back up, and nods at Alons.

“I think that fella’s named Alons, or something weird like that. He’s more competent than he looks.”

The old man adds with a smirk, accepting his previously hidden dagger back from Mags, who hands it off with a grimace of disgust.

“So where we headed?”

The old man grumbles, and the answer is forthcoming as the two groups merge together into one. Perhaps it is merely good fortune, or the elves have learned to bide their time, but the combined group is not accosted on its journey through the forest. Soon enough, you all come to a burned out cabin, although that is not Jarod’s destination. He goes over to a nearby section of the clearing, staring at the ground thoughtfully for a moment before he tabs his staff against the ground. A hollow thumping answers, and Jarod reaches down to brush aside the thin covering of leaves and dirt before pulling open a concealed door. The cellar beyond is well stocked, with barrels of salted meats and tubers that are not bothered by being stored underground. The assembled survivors of the tavern massacre begin salivating at the sight.

“Don’t suppose we could stop for lunch right now, could we? Damn elves have been feeding us nothing but bugs!”

“Mmmm.”

Mags grunts in agreement, while Willow wrinkles her nose in disgust at the memory of the fat grubs. Jarod looks down at the assembled goods and then shrugs.

“I imagine there is more down there than we will be able to easily carry. And given that it’s probably better to travel light, I suppose we could lighten our load a bit.”

The druid looks up at the sun, now halfway through its course across the sky.

“But we have a long way to go, and if we don’t reach our destination by sunset I fear that the elves will make it a very long night.”

(You’re both free to have a lunchtime chat, although I could just as easily picture both Alons and Rosenburg being the strong silent type. Either way we’ll move onward with the next DM.)

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

At your words of praise, the elf’s face flushed and she looked away.

“It was nothing. The truth simply is, is it not?”

She mutters, still not looking at you, although she tilts her head in interest as you continue.

“A greater war you say? What could possibly be of greater import than this!? Or are you in fact one of those human holy men, preaching of hellfire and salvation?”

The she elf’s tone for this last question suggested that she was skeptical of such things at best, although perhaps more out of ignorance than scorn. It seemed in addition to all their other differences, these elves had turned away from the true nature of the world as well.

“I will . . . think on what you have said.”

The elf says as you move to depart, giving her a few minutes to think alone on the topic of her future. When you return, she is still there, in much the same place as you left her. She is staring down at her broken hands in morbid fascination when you enter, although she looks up to favor you with a weak smile.

“I have nowhere else to go, really. And I still owe you something for saving my life. Do you have a name? I just realized that you have told me a little about yourself and what you are doing, but not your name. I am called Aurewlynn. Or Aure, as I went by amongst the militia . . . I guess that’s not really a human sounding name either though, is it?”

Aurewlynn shrugs.

“So, tell me about this war of yours.”

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-09-09, 06:58 PM

The Lost and Forgotten

"Forgive me but...I don't know if I have a name. All I remember was waking up in the presence of someone called The Black General, and he called me things like "Mortal" and "Filth." I don't think either of those is my name, but I can't remember if I called myself anything before."

GuyFawkes

2012-09-10, 04:40 AM

Lucifuge

"Aurewlynn. A beautiful name," he smiled at her while placing all the things he brought on the counter beside her. He sorted them out in a hurried fashion and picked up two bottles he was looking for.

"Here," he handed them to the elf. "One should be potent enough to mend your broken hands, but just in case, I brought two."

The dragon returned his attention to arranging the stuff he brought with his left hand with his other hand still extended, waiting for the elf to receive the bottles. After a few seconds, he stopped what he was doing as he realized his error. He looked at the elf who was just staring back at him, and she seemed to motion towards her hands.

"Ah, yes. Apologies." Lucifuge put down the other bottle and proceeded to open the other one. His large fingers and protruding claws struggled to remove the glass stopper - to the observing elf who saw nothing but human hands, he just seemed extraordinarily clumsy - and after a few frustrating seconds, he managed to open the bottle. He then put the bottle's opening near her mouth and waited for her to put her lips on it before lifting it up slowly until the bottle was emptied all of its clear liquid content to the last drop.

"How are your hands feeling? Can you move them now?" He placed down the empty bottle and moved his hand over the other stuff on the table.

"I have brought some food. Go ahead, I imagine you have not eaten for a while. I also brought some change of clothing...They may not be to your size, and not tailored for the feminine tastes, but they are clean."

Lucifuge took his seat on the spot he sat earlier. "Name. I have not used my name for a while. Not that I needed to. Noctis. That is what they call me now, and you may call me so."

He shifted his position to make himself more comfortable, then continued.

"As for my war, it is far bigger than this...crusade...as those paladins would call it. The fiends, even the fiend lords, are merely the pawns of that which we fought to keep out of this world. You may not believe in gods, but they do exist. The Valkyrie and Athelion. They are the gods who watch over this world, protecting it from those who seek to destroy it."

"And as there are the gods who seek to protect this world, there is one who wishes to end it. It is against this evil being that we fought our war. It is not a war directly against him so much as to keep him out of this world, and stop those who wish to make it happen. Suffice to say, if this being is brought into this world, everything will cease to exist. No humans and elves to wage war against each other. No land or wealth to fight over for."

"I once belonged to an order devoted to keeping this being out of this world, but I am afraid I am all that is left of it. You might ask why I continue to fight this war even though I am alone...I do not know the answer myself. Perhaps it is just the lingering sense of duty left in me. Perhaps it is my way of honoring those brave souls who fought with me. It does not matter. That I am fighting still is what does."

Lucifuge stopped and stood up. "But I do know that I could not continue this alone. That is why I have given you this offer. I see in you someone who will fight for the right reasons."

"So, what is your answer?"

daelrog

2012-09-10, 06:08 AM

Alons sat with the other druid. "I missed your name before, friend. The bloodlust was still in my head when you arrived." he smiled, amiably. "I am Alons Sift, I come from across the ocean. You are a druid to, no?"

WhiteKnight777

2012-09-11, 11:53 AM

Umber

Umber gave Nihilus a wide, wry grin. He flexed his hands - noting that his fingers were rather longer than he was used to - or perhaps it was simply the dessication of the flesh. Gods, this body was irritating. It was like wearing a suit tailored by a blind idiot. Admittedly, he hadn't worn anything made out of human flesh for a long, long time.

He had to smile at Nihilus' reaction, nodding. "Mhmm. I participated in the battle - my death came shortly after its principal events occurred, but before most of the bodies had cooled. I destroyed most of the other Lords of Blood myself - most of them proved to have less fidelity than I might have hoped." He smiled rather bitterly. "Perhaps I'm just not a big enough bastard anymore. And yes, Fate is a rancid bitch. I'll admit the Baron is competent enough at strategy and tactics - but he lacks vision. At the end of the day, he's a petty, self-obsessed little narcissist with a vastly exaggerated opinion of his own self-worth. And at least I have standards." Umber sniffed. "From what I understand, he's a rapist - among other things. I don't really have scruples, but that's one sin I've always found repugnant. And gauche besides. I would have rallied my forces against him for that alone, although he tried to entangle me in an alliance."

Umber leaned in to study Nihilus drawings, bobbing his head as he studied the diagram and considered the man's metaphor. He felt his stomach go a little cold at the confirmation of Fate's ultimate plan - something he'd always suspected, but had never really had confirmed by an authoritative source - and Nihilus seemed like the sort of fellow who was as close as Umber was going to get. "Well, you call yourself history's author - but I have to ask what your ultimate purpose is? If Fate wants to burn the world to ash, I have to know - what do you want, besides continuation?"

Umber paused, continuing to study Nihilus as he spoke again. "Obviously you're manipulating me - hell, you're manipulating everyone, pretty much literally. Well enough - I can deal with that. However, I'd like to know what the point is - for myself, it's always been enough to try and cheat both Fate and Death - although the latter seems to have won a temporary victory. But then, I consider death the kinder of my opponents." Umber waved a hand, dismissing the tangent for now. "Make no mistake - I intend to help you. All the gods know I need some assistance myself. But it seems to me that, if we're ever going to succeed at more than stopgap measures, there must be an end goal - a way to break the hold of Fate forever, or at least in a more permanent fashion. We need an endgame. You know, this would have been *so* much simpler if you would will have come to me in Ironheart, or after, when I regained my sorcerous strength - Maybe you should write that down for your future self. Hell, I could give you one of the codewords I have so I'd know we would have had met - I have a few, in case of doppelgangers and the like. Fate's not the only bitch who can bugger causality up one side and down the other."

That said, Umber considered the immediate problem. "The most obvious way for her to influence the ceremony subtly is to quietly tamper with the formula - if she finds a way to corrupt it without us knowing, it would set us back by years - hell, if it were done right, some of us might despair of the whole project."

Dorizzit

2012-09-11, 03:42 PM

Korram Alstan

While he had originally planned to simply jump through the first portal he found, en route Korram had abandoned the idea; he had no idea where in the Hells he would show up, but more importantly he would be appearing in an area expecting new, and likely recalcitrant, prisoners. Besides, this was a momentous event; changes would likely be coming in the aftermath, and with that could come opportunities.

Korram prepares to engage the first group of "demons" he runs across, but is preempted by the far more efficient and powerful angel. Korram simply stands back and allows the divine being to do her work. At the end, however, Korram is shocked to see the angel enter a near catatonic state at the sight of the invaders being pulled away.

Looking at the angel, Korram quickly deems his previous method of re-encouragement useless; he could play the wise man to adults his own age or younger, but to do so to an angel with who knows how many centuries of life behind her would be worse than comical. Instead, he tries a more direct approach, walking up beside her and then slamming his fist into her face, knocking her from her feet.

"Stand up! There are more people that need your help, and you shouldn't be standing here traumatized! Your home is being invaded. Are you just going sit here and let it happen?"

TechnOkami

2012-09-11, 03:55 PM

Rosenberg

As the small party made their way to the food cache, Rosenberg talked with Jarod.

"So... how are we going to transport this food cache? It's fine if we only bring what we can carry, but we should try to bring as much of it as we can along."

Rosenberg turned to look around at the forest scenery, and then back to Jarod.

"I don't suppose we could call upon the animals here to help us, could we?"

Later, after finding the cache of food and pulling out a slice of salted pork and several fruits, he seated himself for a quick lunch. And then he was being talked to by this "Alons Sift" fellow.

After chewing on a piece of meat for a while and a crunch of apple to kill the salt flavor, Rosenberg reponded.

"Yes, I am a Druid. You can call me Rosenberg."

After wiping his hand off, freeing it of whatever salt crystals or apple juices remained, he offered it to Alons.

Kasanip

2012-09-12, 04:00 AM

Lukina

Lukina lay on the dirt for a moment, letting the relief and exhilarating emotions fly. But her right hand ached in a bad way. She grimaced and clutched the sword hand to her chest, trying to will the pain to go away. It felt a little foolish now, to think about what she had done. But it was worth it. The elemental had been destroyed, and the chapel was safe.

She felt a little guilty about her sword too, and apologized to it.
"We both became injured, didn't we? Sorry, I'll try to be less reckless in the future."

But she turned to see the group of elves surround her, and felt the relief disappear. The famliar elf come into the circle and suggests the duel. Like there was a way to refuse such a thing now. Not that Lukina, who was Genevieve, would let such a thing happen. There was a lingering stubborn and proud feeling that wouldn't allow such an action.

It wasn't that this kind of situation was hopeless. Such a thought was also dangerous. Somehow, standing here with the elf charging, Lukina's eyes blurred for a half a second.
It wasn't an elf, it was something different. Shadowy, fiery, something like that. There had been a similar emotion, resignation and determination with sacrifice. To die together, maybe it was a heroic way.
But it was sad.
And somehow, Lukina who was Lukina, and not the Lukina who was Genevieve, was both sad and revolted, but also determined and resigned. Exhaustion and adrenaline and pain and refusal. This time it wouldn't be the same. She didn't want to die. Not yet. Not before she accomplished those promised things.

She held the injured sword in her off-hand, and held up her sword-arm wearily, to defend the attacks of the elf's sword with her armor, and spun around with a pivot. It wasn't graceful like a dancer, but in soft dirt that was a golem, her boot moved quickly enough. Enough to surprise the elf, who received a cut and injury to his face. But he had avoided. Lukina defended again and again, and evaded the attacks of the elf, until her sword arm was bruised and her off-hand ached.

"I-won't-give-up." She said resolutely, breathing hard. "Even if just a temporary moment, Oh Lady Miriam, give me wings!" And for a miracle and for the moment, a spark of blue flame seemed to twinkle about her, like a cool fire. And in that moment of relief and determination, Lukina attacked forward at a surprising speed with another war cry filled with pain and defiance that must have been echoed in her heart for thousands of years.

When she blinked, the flames hand disappeared, and the faithful and injured sword was trapped in the elf's body, which was collapsed above her. Lukina fell to her knees, too exhausted to be relieved, or worried.

Vegna

2012-09-12, 01:43 PM

Mal Harath

Mal nods at the she elf, before turning towards the mountain on the village's far side.

Send them, but we'd better get moving after the group as soon as possible. They've got tracks, so that can at least give us a rough idea of where to follow."

His stomach growled in protest at the prospect of further walking. He patted it with an awkward smile.

"Lets just get going."

daelrog

2012-09-12, 08:52 PM

Alons took the food readily, speaking as he chewed. "This is an unusual land. The people here seem fractured, even as these Elves pick them apart." He swallowed. "Why is this so?"

TechnOkami

2012-09-13, 05:06 AM

Rosenberg

Rosenberg looked directly at the man, taking another bite out of his apple.

"...from the sounds of it, I can gather that you're a stranger to these lands."

He then took another piece of salted meat, tearing it off with his teeth.

"To be entirely honest, I don't know why. I live in the forest, and the forest is my home. However... civilization seems to bringing their problems to us, like rampaging elves worshiping a fire elemental."

Rosenberg shakes his head.

"Anyways, whatever is happening beyond the forest's edge isn't good."

He lastly wiped away whatever food bits remained around his mouth.

"But somebody has to deal with it."

daelrog

2012-09-13, 06:19 AM

Alons

Alons smiled as he filled his stomach up and talked to this man. Not that Mags wasn't an interesting character, and Willow intriguing for her own merits, but this one was a warrior, and it gave Alons some comfort to speak to one who knew how to draw blood.

"You would be right sir. I come from Fairlyle, a kindgom from across the ocean. The Crone told us that a great evil was taking hold here, and that it would affect our lands as well. So here I am, come to save this land from an foe I know not, and a people who seem soft and scattered. Quite a silly thing to ask of a person really. I sometimes wonder if this was not some joke to take me away." He sighed. "But it was no joke. And there does seem something wrong with this kingdom though all I seem to have done is kill a couple of these elves and save two beautiful damsels and a horrid man."

Rosenberg could tell the man was an outsider on first glance. Alons had a shock of blood red hair, with a few beads in it. His eyes were dark, almost black. ost noticeable was a green tattooe that went from Alons's right jaw, to beneath his shirt. It was likely the intricate green lines covered much of Alons's body.

"I will warn you now I am not much a druid. I know some tricks, but that is all. No, I do better with a bow and arrow, or with a tankard of ale and song on my lips."

OverWilliam

2012-09-13, 10:57 PM

~Tare

'Sugar?'

Tare's jaw almost dropped, surely a common reaction in Videle's presence, but certainly not for the common reason. She actually listened to him. Melcara's face disappeared, to be replaced by the demoness' own (if shape-shifters like her were even born with a face-- Tare suppressed a shudder as the thought that maybe this face was no more hers than any other sent sparks down his spine).

This was not something Tare was used to dealing with. Instead of antagonizing him further, like he'd honestly expected her to do, she was actually cooperating, just a bit. Some part of his brain warned that she was no less a demoness than she had been a second ago, no less dangerous, and deserving of no less suspicion and distrust than she had been when she'd force-fed him the Blood of a living Angel. It was an effort of will to keep that in mind, but Tare managed it. Don't trust her. Don't let your guard down. Keep your block up or she's going to lay you out flat. ...Bad choice of words. Tare would've shaken his head to reorient his thoughts, but the blade still vaguely against his skin made that a bad idea.

And then, Videle went a step further. Without even a suggested implication from Tare, she put some clothing on. It was no floor-length evening gown, but the fact stood. She covered up for him. Tare's expression went blank with surprise, and... confusion.

And then the aura vanished.

It was like suddenly not being in pain anymore after having gotten so used to it you didn't even remember it was there anymore. His stomach settled, his thoughts suddenly became easier to organize. His eyes almost teared up from the relief, but he did his best (as best as one could, given his position) to keep it from showing so much.

I... I don't understand. Why would she do this?

...Well, why not? What has she got to lose? I'm still helpless. There'll be plenty of time for pain later once I've grown boring. She's playing with me.

But even that thought was numbed by the fact that, in a sense, he didn't really care that much anymore. Death, he realized, had taken a toll on his Survival instincts. What was there left to surviving anymore?

It was strange, in fact. Not being afraid of death anymore. From this perspective, he could see that fear of death (or need to survive, same difference) was a much bigger part of Life than he'd realized. Even if it had not been a focus, it was present in every goal and every drive he'd ever had. He realized that without it, not a single sarcastic remark came to mind for putting distance between himself and the succubus' questions. Now that that need to survive was gone... how had the rest of him changed? What would grow to fill in those gaps? Or maybe nothing would? Was he now smaller on the inside, with the empty space in his spirit simply deflating within him like a water skin with the lid left off?

Tare snapped out of brooding introspection to find that he'd dazed off while staring at Videle's shapely legs.

And he was instantly angry with himself. It felt like a surrender, like he'd yielded a point in their verbal sparring match, and the demoness was guaranteed to have noticed. Ah-- anger. It was good that that still remained to fuel him. He grabbed onto the feeling and fed it for warmth.

“So, let’s start with a few questions. You’re clearly in love with her, but is the feeling mutual? Is she even aware of your exclusive infatuation with her? And even if the answer to both of those is yes, how do you know that she’s not merely using you for her own ends? She’s a creature of the Hells, sworn to corrupt and destroy – do you honestly think she’s even capable of returning whatever you feel for her? For that matter, how do you know it’s really your heart, and not somewhere . . . lower . . . that is attracted to her? Hmmm . . .”

Denials and excuses started popping into Tare's head with startling rapidity, but he wisely held them back. She wanted him on the defensive, because in order to prove her wrong he'd have to volunteer information as evidence.

That didn't stop the questions from sinking in, though. He hadn't really thought about Melcara yet, he'd only felt about her. Reacted to her. And it wasn't the reaction that Videle was hinting at, he realized, though his want for her to be happy wasn't necessarily restricted to the platonic. He'd never thought about that either. Now probably wasn't the time, what with the Succubus' apparent ability to "read" such matters from him.

It wasn't like what she was talking about at all.

“Well, you’re down here for some reason, and sadly falling madly “in love” with a pretty face is not enough to do it. So you must have done something naughty . . . what was it? Did you do something for her . . . something you shouldn’t have, hmm? It’s a little late now, but I should point out to you that this love thing you’re experiencing is not a good idea. Mortals and immortals don’t mix for a reason, you know – for starters, what do the two of you have even vaguely in common? Trust me, if you continue down this road, it’s going to end very badly for you. I should know.”

Tare's thought went back to the circumstances of his death. The rest of Videle's anecdote went wasted on his ears; he really didn't care, didn't see how that really mattered to anybody or anything.

...Damn it all, he was looking at her legs again. This time he caught it after only a second, though. Maybe she was paying too much attention to more... sensual memories from the distant past to be paying much attention to the subtleties of his vague reactions. ...Yeah, right.

That was the trouble, he realized; before, he had avoided looking at much of her at all-- it was easy to maintain strict eye contact or simply look somewhere else when she was being so outrageous. Now it was far more subtle, and so much harder to identify-- and therefore resist. She'd gone from fighting out in the open to hiding in shadows and waiting for mere moments of vulnerability. Damn her.

"Ok, you're right. I am here, aren't I? I'll admit, I'd always thought about it. I didn't exactly live a stainless life, so there was always the thought of winding up here someday. But I never tried to hurt anybody, and the ones I did I tried to pay for. There may be a little blood on my hands, but there's not a drop more than I could've helped. And not a drop of it was innocent." ...And then he remembered Limier. She hadn't been innocent, that was certain, but she'd never done him any wrong. His only family. And the bottom dropped out of his gut, letting all his innards drop into a furnace of ice-cold guilt.

"There was this... fight. Back in the Capitol. I don't even know who the sides were, but it must've been some damn high-up powers slugging away at each other. I'd be surprised if more powerful sides existed. Something happened, somebody did something I wouldn't have ever believed was possible. I've been here before and I got out alive, so I knew what the Hells feel like. Somebody-- don't even ask me how, but somebody... redrew the lines for a little while. Of where Hell stops and the Real World starts. I don't know how long it lasted-- I sure as hell hope it wasn't permanent-- but somebody brought the Hells to the Mortal World. Or brought the Capitol down into the Hells, take your pick. And that's where I died. When I died. Or rather, where and when your henchlings killed me, as I remember. I won't be quick to forget that." The words came out of his mouth much more mildly than they had seemed in his head. It was an idle sort of bother coming from him rather than real ire.

"...That's where I died..." He mused. "...I'm sure I probably wasn't the only one." Understatement came a lot easier than sarcasm, he found.

Gorgondantess

2012-09-14, 04:10 PM

She'd finally learned to be circumspect, and it wasn't the time for circumspection. What savage irony.
At least she was kicking in the correct doors, though, as before she'd left she asked her high priest what sorts of buildings to look for, what might allow her to discern a paladin from the slurry of humans there. See? Deference. She was learning.
She did indeed kick in the door, though, without breaking it even. Inside, she unfurled her wings (much like an angel's, though a tawny color as opposed to pure white) dramatically and let her presence be known, demanding the location of their Speaker. Hopefully they would understand she wasn't in the mood for senseless dithering.

TechnOkami

2012-09-14, 05:20 PM

Rosenberg

He smiled slightly at his final words.

"Well, it doesn't matter how little you can do as a Druid. If you're a Druid, you're still a Druid. Welcome to these new lands."

He paused, drinking some water from a waterskin, draining some of its contents. He then turned to him.

"Who is "The Crone"?"

Baerdog7

2012-09-14, 06:55 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander nods at Tyra as she completes her introductory remarks and takes his seat.

Thank you, Tyra. Let's get right down to business, we have a lot to discuss today.

Ander shuffles through his notes and settles his thoughts.

Before we hear everyone's reports, I have an announcement to make. I'm sure you will all want to voice your own opinions but please, wait until I have finished speaking.

Since the Battle of Narle, a major concern of ours has been what to do about the paladins and angels who, alive or dead, are trapped in Hell. Another concern has been growing in my mind as well: what do do about the released Fiend Lords. I believe that with all of them free and back in Hell it is only a matter of time before they attempt to do something serious: an assault on the mortal plane in order to release Azguloth.

The Church obviously does not have the military strength to meet the legions of hell in open combat and the nobles of this kingdom are less than useless, completely unable to set aside their differences to drive out the elves let alone an army of fiends. As I thought about what to do, only one course of action became clear.

He pauses for effect, looking each of the Exarchs in the eye.

I will undergo the rest of the Project Angelus transformation and return to Hell myself to defeat the Fiend Lords before they can put their plan into action. No other living person has as much combat experience fighting fiends and Fiend Lords in Hell as I do and branded with the complete set of Angelus runes, my divine powers will work potently even down there.

There will be no mercy for the Fiend Lords this time. Their souls will be imprisoned in soul crystals to be destroyed finally and utterly. At the same time, it is my hope that I will be able to rescue at least some of our fallen comrades.

This is not a mission I undertake lightly and it is not something I will rush into half-cocked. It will take some time to prepare my equipment, formulate a plan for travelling back and forth between the planes to resupply and deposit rescuees, and to make sure I leave the Church in a capable state to handle its affairs while I am gone. To that end, I have begun searching for my old weapon, Fiendkiller, and require either new armor or a way to repair my old suit. Any suggestions on those points will be greatly appreciated.

Looking around at the faces of the other council members, it is obvious that they won't be able to hold their silence much longer. Each one looks about ready to burst.

Let's open the floor for questions. After that, I would like to hear from Winril about his breakthroughs regarding Angelus and the soulstones, from Melissan about the state of the branded angels and the refugees, Randall about the current outbreak of heresy, and from Ysora about the proposed training plans to bolster our forces.

With the can of worms well and truly opened, Ander leans back and prepares for the verbal onslaught to come.

Iethloc

2012-09-14, 07:06 PM

Sohssal

This was exactly what Sohssal hoped Xerxes would not want. He might have gotten all the information he needed from Seraph, but he didn't feel inclined to immediately trust to the fiend who got him involved with the Baron. In recent times, he hadn't been the type to betray any of his associates, either.

Instead, Sohssal feigned a chuckle. He hoped his lack of a real face made it hard to read him. ”It's only Seraph, and I wouldn't be so quick to call him a real angel. But even if that doesn't dissuade you, I'm sure there are other things you desire. You know how powerful I am, and I could offer you a lot more than an 'angel',” he explained. He hoped Xerxes would not be so eager to stab him in the back like the Baron was. But if it came to that, he would accept the possible consequences of his temporary dissolution. For now, he needed every competent ally he could get.

Lonna

2012-09-15, 07:54 PM

The Woman with Many Names

Jacqueline took in the half-familiar figures in front of her, reacting as if in a daze as Titania welcomed her and offered her the fate of the winged girl. The Titania in front of her was different from her dream-memories, but recognizably the same person. She didn't know the children, but... that crystal. She remembered that at least. And the boy was, somehow, impossibly, her father?

Well. No more impossibly than the rest of this odd family.

"I remember... fragments... lovers, enemies, guardians... Advisors. Bits and pieces of dozens of lifetimes." Jacqueline spoke slowly, staring at the pseudo-angel, who was visibly trembling with either cold or fear - it was impossible to tell which.

"I don't remember her... but I remember the shambles our family, our kingdom, became during the war. And after. If this really is Marisiel..." Jacqueline paused, her face grim. She dared not defy Titania, but the winged girl seemed so... fragile. And quite frankly, the grudge Titania was nursing was a hundred lifetimes ago for Jacqueline.

"In Ironheart, I experienced a unique form of torture. My body was held in suspended animation while I was forced to watch all my worst fears play out in a series of endless dreams. I don't think I could duplicate that, at least not yet." Jacqueline turned and met Titania's eyes. "But if Marisiel was so desperate to stop the rise of Phaedra that she destroyed our family to do it, I think it would be fitting to force her to be present for Phaedra's return to glory."

Inspectre

2012-09-15, 08:56 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

No sooner has the angel fallen than she is back up again, wrapping one hand around your neck and hauling you up off your feet. Her face is a mask of anger, which fades immediately as she realizes that your attack was not an act of aggression. Sheepishly, she sets you back down and nods as she reviews what you yelled at her.

“You’re right human. Forgive me, I’m – I’m still learning, and the past few lessons have not been pleasant.”

The angel looks at you again, and seems to see you with new eyes. Just for a moment, her jaw drops.

“Y-you’re the Korram, aren’t you? The human who sacrificed himself to save our Lady!? Um . . . you’re v-very brave.”

The angel says demurely, her entire demeanor changing, and now it was your turn to do a double take. You hadn’t expected the paladins to be awestruck, although it was understandable that they had been. But an angel, acting like an awestruck village girl as a knight rides by?

“I’m M-Miranda.”

The angel says, and then shakes her head as if to clear it as she looks towards the pillars of smoke.

“I need to drive the rest of these blasphemers out. I’d be honored to have you fight beside me. Would it be alright if we flew? It would be faster.”

The angel offers you an arm, waiting for your consent before wrapping the arm around your waist and then bounding into the sky.

(I’m just going to assume that you say yes, since it is after all Korram. :smalltongue: )

It’s a little disconcerting flying over the golden city, held up only by the angel’s arm firmly tucked around your waist – especially given how you got here in the first place. But it doesn’t last very long before you find more trouble, in the form of another half dozen demon armor figures making their way through a side street, dragging several screaming prisoners with them.

Miranda drops you down onto a nearby rooftop and then moves to hover over the group, gesturing and causing the cityscape to morph at her command once again. Two buildings stretch and flow together at the angel’s command, sealing the street shut just in front of the group. Cursing, the band immediately reverses course to go back the way they came.

That’s where you come in, climbing down the side of the building until you manage to swing yourself down onto a stairwell that Miranda conjures for you. You move down into the street, blocking the way, and the group again stops in confusion. The leader of this group steps uncertainly forward, cradling his club nervously.

“Listen. I’m sorry but if we don’t come back with prisoners they’ll torture our families! Get out of our way – please?”

The man waits a beat, and then lunges at you with his club.

“Damn you!”

“Are you alright down there Korram!?”

Miranda calls as you dodge the man’s clumsy blows, either due to a lack of training or the encumbrance of the heavy, smoking armor.

“I think I see another group heading back to a portal! If you’re alright here, I’m going to go and stop them!”

(There’s six of them, but they’ll pose virtually no threat to Korram, being essentially 1st level commoners. Feel free to dispatch them all in your next post, or however Korram wants to deal with this situation.)

The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

At your confession, Katrina gives a low whistle.

“Wow, and I thought I had it bad, waking up here after I died! So you can’t remember your own name . . . do you remember anything?”

Katrina is silent for a few minutes, clearly thinking. Finally she speaks up again.

“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. See if you can snap off the teeth of that key – try pushing them down against the floor of your cage at an angle. That should give you a long stick of metal, essentially. Then you can slide that into the lock of your cage and try to jimmy it open. Umm . . . I’m not sure what to do after that, but we can’t just stay here and wait to be tortured again, can we?”

It takes a fair bit of effort to break off the key’s teeth, as the metal is certainly a lot more durable than it looks. But you press down with increasing force, and slowly the metal gives way, before one by one the teeth snap off entirely – apparently you are a lot stronger than you thought! As you carefully move over to the cage door with your new, rather unwieldy lockpick, you realize that not only do you have any idea how to pick a lock, but you can’t even see it from the inside. Fortunately Katrina has a solution to that problem, as she crawls over to her own cell door with a groan.

“Okay, I can see the lock from here. Little bit to the left . . . left some more . . . just a touch more – there!”

You feel the tip of the key slip into the lock, able to pass through now that its teeth aren’t in the way. Unfortunately, you still don’t know how to open the lock. Again, Katrina’s help is invaluable.

“Okay, now you need to use the tip of the key to press down the tumbles and undo the latch holding the lock shut. Just jiggle it around a bit until you feel something start to give a little, and then push that section down. Once it goes down all the way, try to turn the key and push against the door. If it feels like the key gets stuck, don’t try to force it! Just carefully try to work it loose again, and start over.”

You still don’t really have an idea what you’re doing, but you follow Katrina’s suggestions as best you can, pushing the tip of the key around inside the lock until you feel something give. And then suddenly as if by magic, the door creaks open, nearly causing you to tumble out into the hallway!

“Wow, you did it! Maybe you can some skill as a thief before this?”

Katrina said, her voice carrying a note of surprise. Looking down the smoke-filled red hallway, you don’t see anyone, although you suddenly hear your two jailors coming down the next aisleway over.

“Alright maggot, it’s your turn on the rack next! I wanna hear you squeal!”

One of the devils growls, and you can hear them working on opening a cage in the other aisle. They’re only a little way down the aisle from you, and if they look closely on their way back, they might see through the bars and notice that someone’s cage door is now open . . .

“Go! Go get the keys and get me out of here! But watch your back!”

Katrina hisses, motioning her head towards the two devils.

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“Oh.”

Xerxes said, marking a face as if he had just swallowed something bitter.

“I was hoping you had an *actual* angel in your possession. In some circles I could probably pass him off as a male angel, or even just a half-breed valuable for the curiosity of it. But I’ve known him since he was a child human. It just wouldn’t be very tasteful, and I *do* have standards.”

Xerxes sighs, looking crestfallen, although he perks up again as a thought occurs to him a moment later.

“Fine. You can reward my loyalty with something else. Unless . . . perhaps you could acquire one on my behalf? I don’t want one that has seen heavy abuse, however! I want the pleasure of breaking the Markash to be all mine!”

Xerxes pondered a moment more, and then shrugged.

“I suppose your island mansion would also do. Or even a small village up in the mortal realm, provided you could make me the undisputed master of its inhabitants. I do so love watching mortals squirm!”

The devil coughed loudly, as he suddenly remembered that he was in fact in the presence of an arguable mortal.

“Present company excluded, of course. But no . . . I am willing to wait for my payment, so long as you are willing to pay me interest. An angel, or a lifetime of luxury up on the mortal realm. I’m willing to take either.”

Xerxes frowns.

“I never bothered to collect the details, but I heard something about you and the Baron betraying each other. I don’t really care which of you started it, but seeing as you are the victor I wanted to mention that I was not privy to the Baron’s plans – I was merely his, urmm, recruitment scout, as the humans would describe it. I hope that our partnership is much more rewarding with no such pitfalls.”

Xerxes rubs his clawed hands together.

“Now then - with contract negotiations out of the way for the moment, let us move on to something more interesting. I trust you are plotting some way to return to the mortal realm – some ritual to conduct, some ally to contact. What sort of resources do you require for this plan to succeed? Perhaps I can locate them for you.”

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

Videle looked thoughtful for a moment, reaching over to her blood-filled goblet to take a sip while you explained. When you were finished, she smiled and shook her head.

“You didn’t answer my questions!”

Videle accused in a singsong voice. Then she shook her head and smiled sympathetically.

“Oh you poor dear. You have to be terrified, don’t you? Caught in the middle of two sides far beyond you, struggling to survive against creatures you’ve been told all your life only want to devour your soul, dying, and awakening . . . here.”

Videle tilts her head and looks at you as if she’s just see you for the first time.

“I’m sure being dragged here in that thing, and then me ranting at you about “pleasure or pain?” probably didn’t help much. I’m sorry about that – I thought you were a warlock or paladin or something, used to – well, all this!”

Videle waved her hands around her, and then pursed her lips and rapped a finger against her chin.

“Of course . . . you *did* kill quite a few of my servants. Surely you can forgive my servants for a little bit of overzealous caution. I can’t imagine being in there is very comfortable. Tell you what – if you promise to behave, I will let you out. Deal?”

Without waiting for an answer, Videle sashayed back over to her desk, picking up a familiar looking stone. On her way back, however, she diverted course over to the angel.

“Before I forget, I do want to point out something about you said. You’re right – in your entire lifetime you never shed innocent blood. And do you know why? Heh, because! No one is innocent! Not me, not you, and certainly not this little Markash right here!”

Videle said, grabbing hold of the angel by the chin and forcing her head around so that you can see one half of her bloodied face. The angel, now face to face with Videle in turn, works up what little strength she has left, and spits a bloody wad into Videle’s face. The succubus queen merely smiles, releasing the angel to reach up and wipe away the blood from her face, and then putting the bloody finger in her mouth, sucking on it while her eyes roll up in exaggerated pleasure. Her taunt finished, Videle walked back over to you.

“Think about it for a minute. You said two sides were waging a horrific battle nearly beyond your capability to understand. Who do you think belonged to one of those sides . . . and what do you think she was doing there in the first place? She should have been up in the Heavens minding her own business, but instead she was down on the mortal plane, to kill and maim and damn. Does that sound to you like a truly blameless, innocent being?”

Reaching your metal prison, Videle waves the keystone over the guillotine blade first, unlocking it and allowing her to pull it back away from your neck. Not stopping with that, she then waves it over the dumbbell surrounding you, and you can hear locks clacking open. Videle pushes the dumbbell open, and then quickly waves the keystone over the handful of shackles still locked around you, a final defense in place to keep you immobile. Showing incredible trust or incredible arrogance, she then turns away from you and struts back over to the desk, dropping the keystone before turning back to face you, leaning back against the desk.

“I want to help you adjust to your new existence. I know you don’t trust me, not yet, and I want to fix that. I sense that you are . . . special. You’re clearly not interested in me, but I would like us to be friends then, at least.”

From her position over in the corner, the angel makes some sort of gasping sound, either unable to speak clearly or lacking the strength. Either way, you aren’t sure whether the sound was meant to be a warning, a snort of disgust, or laughter. Ignoring the heckler, Videle continues.

“So in the spirit of garnering more trust, I am granting you two very precious gifts. The first gift is I am giving you a name. Now, I’m sure you are about to say that you don’t need one, and that you already have one. Well, let me explain! That was your mortal name – and it died with you. Like it or not, dear . . . you’re one of us now. A damned soul!”

Reaching behind her, Videle suddenly whipped up an elegantly carved silver-framed mirror, catching your reflection within it. And, although it could have been an illusion, something tells you that the . . . thing looking back at you was real. (I will leave it up to you to describe what sort of horrible deformity/disfiguration/mutation Tare has, but it should be something on his face for dramatic reasons – glowing eyes, bleeding sockets, small horns, scaly skin, whatever. Just something that marks him obviously as no longer human, but at least part fiend.)

As quickly as she holds it up, Videle lowers the mirror.

“It hurts, I know, but I’m afraid it’s true. You are no longer human. You are something else, and unfortunately existence is going to be very hard for you from now on. You’re going to have to take what you want, and fight to keep it – every little thing. Even something as simple as a name. Normally until such a time as you are strong enough to choose your own name, you are instead called Ix – victim, slave . . . food. The word has a number of different meanings in our tongue, depending on the inflection. I’m willing to spare you from that, in the interest of our friendship. And so I would like to give you your new, eternal name. Hmm . . . how does Tamerlane sound to you? Yes, I like the sound of that.”

Videle tilts her head back and forth, looking at you critically and then finally nodding as she sets the mirror back now. She cracks her knuckles, and then smiles as she walks over to a nearby closet, her hips swaying with every step.

“And now for my second gift, something to help you relax and adjust to your new existence. I imagine you were pretty cramped in there. So I’m willing to give you a nice massage to work out all those tense muscles – and trust me, one massage from my hands and you will be thankful you went down instead of up! Or, if you’re feeling more . . . adventurous . . .”

Videle opened up the closet and then stepped aside, allowing you to see inside. Within was a veritable prison storehouse of coils of rope, chains, straps, and other bizarre devices made out of a combination of all three that did not bear thinking about.

“For the next hour I’ll let you practice on me. You’ll be the fiend, Tamerlane, and I’ll be your helpless Ix. You can do anything you want with me – and I have only one condition. Once I’m tied up to your satisfaction, you stay here and we talk - I ask you a question, you ask me a question, and we both answer the other’s questions truthfully. Does that sound fair?”

Videle drapes herself against the side of the closet, looking inside and then looking back at you with a mischievous smile.

“So what’s it going to be, Tamerlane? Your pleasure . . . or my pain?”

The Mortal Realm

[u]Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

You decided that you didn’t have time to be entirely circumspect in your efforts to make new allies. Bowing and scraping and begging for assistance was beneath you anyway, and if you let the humans decide the pace you’d probably end up on another wild duck (or was it goose? Stupid human sayings) chase like you had with the angel buyer. Still, smashing down the door and demanding to speak with their Speaker might give the paladins the wrong impression, as would killing in self-defense whoever attacked you first – the humans would certainly not understand that and instead think you were there to attack them!

So you got some information from your high priest first. Generally, paladins worn armor, metal shells designed to protect them from injury (not that it did them much good when you struck with sufficient force to crack apart stone – or could just absorb the metal into yourself). They also typically had insignia and tabards and banners, all the nonsense pageantry humans so loved, of their Church somewhere on their person – shining swords or sunbursts, typically. Their Speaker could usually be found in the Council Chambers, a large building intended to hold meetings amongst the Church’s leadership, as well as serve as the Speaker’s residence. Also attached to it was the Speaker’s Aerie, a tower looming over the rest of the city where the Speaker could go to brood or preen or whatever it was Speaker’s did while looking down on the rest of their city.

That tower made finding the correct building astoundingly easy from above, although the Speaker could admittedly be anywhere inside, from his Aerie all the way down to the basement. Unfortunately, such concerns are a bit elementary at the moment, as you note with consideration consternation that someone has already kicked in the door ahead of you!

Below, fighting and fires have broken out, armored ants battling other armored ants while small dark figures cackle and cavort in the sky above. Presumably these attackers are the fiends you are so often confused with, here to kill all the paladins before they could do the same to them. This would simply not do, at least not until the paladins refused your offer of friendship!

You imagined that this Speaker would either be on the front lines to repel this attack, or cowering somewhere inside surrounded by guards. Either way, the quickest way to find him in this mess would likely still be your original plan – locate some paladins and demand that they take you to their leader.

As you plunge down towards the city, several of the winged creatures take note of you and fly up to meet you, cackling and screaming madly. They say something over and over again, as if that one word was the only thing that fit inside their tiny heads – “Markash”. You aren’t sure if that is a greeting, a taunt, or an insult, and it doesn’t really matter. While Maurice was an angel, essentially the “good” opposite of these creatures, they did not offer nearly as entertaining of a fight as she did. They were trash, and you disposed of them appropriately, cutting them apart and smashing them, reducing all of them that dared come near you into short-lived bursts of fire and ash.

Finally you were through the layer of flying fiends and approaching the ground level. Below you a pair of humans are fighting back to back valiantly in front of a set of heavy wooden doors leading into the interior of the building. Four more humans already lie dead in the street a short distance away, evidentially part of the door’s guard that didn’t last very long. Several fiends picked over those corpses, mutilating them further with obvious glee while a wave of their filth brethren crowded in around the two remaining paladins on all sides. You came down directly on top of two of the fiends, stomping them down into the pavement with enough force to shatter the stone beneath their disintegrating bodies. You fling your arms out wide, smashing through another two fiends’ torsos, and the rest of the filth flows back away from you, hissing “Markash” as they do so. The barely intelligent beasts did not seem particularly intimidated by your display nonetheless, and so you imagine you would have to kill more of them in a few seconds. Nonetheless, those few seconds were enough time to shout your practiced greeting to the two shocked paladins.

“Greetings! Take me to your Speaker!” (Yes, it’s supposed to be a mutation of “Take me to your leader”. It’s funny, damnit! :smallbiggrin: )

The two paladins simply stare at you for a moment, but then either because you vaguely resembled an angel or you just saved their lives, one of them points through the double doors.

“He’s up in the Council Chambers in the middle of a meeting with the other Exarches! Third floor!”

And, while you do believe the door was barred from the other side (apparently by those inside who felt it was alright to leave their comrades trapped outside to die), it didn’t slow you down as you kicked it open. Sadly, that did result in breaking the door, so you would have to demonstrate your new ability to kick open doors without breaking them elsewhere. The two paladins close ranks behind you, apparently intent on continuing to guard the doorway with their lives. Given their battered state and the numbers against them (and the fact that they were humans – arguably even more pathetic than the fiends you just effortlessly smashed), they would give up their lives shortly. You were in a hurry . . . but didn’t their cooperation deserve some reward? Maurice would probably want you to save them, and would say as much if she were here – but then again, she wasn’t here and would never know what you did unless you told her.

The Village of Woodhall

Kasanip

Despite the pain in your sword hand, you use the gauntlet to deflect the elf’s thrust. The action sends shivers down your arm, and pain shooting from your already aching fingers. Determined not to let your story end here, you do your best to ignore the pain as you shift in the soft dirt remains of the elemental, spinning inside the elf’s guard and slashing a cut across his face. The elf backs off for a moment, touching his bleeding cheek in surprise, and then anger as he re-establishes his stance. More cautious now, the elf advances once again, and you are forced to block and deflect more of his blows with your gauntlet or parry them with your sword. Now would be a good time to have a shield, but unfortunately the earth elemental had broken the only one you had effortlessly.

The duel continues for what seems like an eternity, neither of you able to penetrate the other’s guard. But it wouldn’t last much longer, as the last of your adrenaline is burned up, and all the aches and pains you had accumulated through a night of running, fighting, and protecting others started to more loudly demand attention. The elf also seems to be tiring, but not as quickly as you, and it seems likely that he would land a lucky for him, fatal for you blow any moment now before help could arrive.

In desperation, you call out to Miriam . . . and your prayer is answered with a rush of power. For an instant, the world seems to be illuminated with a pale blue flame, and then you are lunging forward to skewer the elf with your battered sword. The weapon tears through the elf’s chest, who gasps in surprise and collapses forward. You also fall to your knees, and then onto your stomach as the elf falls on top of you, pinning you to the ground with his body.

Although literally dead weight, the elf’s body is still surprisingly lightweight, enough that you would be able to crawl out from under him . . . that is, if you had any strength left. That last blow was indeed the last that you had, and lacking any further strength you simply lie there and wait for one of the other elves to walk forward and finish you. But they don’t get the chance, as crossbow bolts start to fly, brightly illuminating the area with light. Two elves rush forward and pick up your opponent’s body, lifting him off you and then carrying him with them as they rush off into the darkness.

A few moments later, and the paladins are there, Welkin dismounting to rush over and lift you back up onto your feet. He wraps an arm around you to steady you, looking down at the shattered remains of the elemental in confusion before leading you over to his horse.

“Easy now, looks like you’ve been in quite the battle. Did . . . did you dispatch the elemental? When you went running off into the darkness with the thing right behind you I didn’t expect to find you alive! But after we got everyone into the chapel I came with a few volunteers to finish the damn thing off before the elves used it to smash the chapel down on our heads. Guess that won’t be necessary now – come on, let’s get back to the chapel. It’s still not safe here.”

Welkin helps you up onto the horse, and then mounts behind you, still keeping one hand on you to keep you steady. You are utterly exhausted, on more than just a physical level, and so Welkin’s aid is helpful. One curious fact does penetrate the fog of exhaustion, however – your sword hand no longer aches from where you had broken your fingers. They feel perfectly fine.

**********

The rest of the night passes uneventfully, or at least as far as you know – the paladins maintain a watch throughout the rest of the night but they refuse to let you join them.

“You’ve done enough.” Welkin insists, and eventually suggests that you help stand guard over the refuges cowering in the chapel basement. “Just in case the elves have another earth elemental after all – you’re our secret weapon against those!”

Occasionally, you find yourself nodding off down in the dark basement, along with the rest of the village’s remaining populace, tiredness inevitably trumping terror. But what little fitful bouts of sleep you do get offer little shelter, filled with past battles, sorrow, and death. Finally the sun rises, and the paladins come down to escort everyone up out of the cellar and out through the chapel doors.

“The elves have gone – for now. I fear they left precious little behind, though.”

Welkin growled, as the chapel doors opened to reveal that the formerly peaceful village was now nothing more than a burnt out ruin. None of the buildings were intact, and only a few were even standing at all, blackened and smoking fingers poking up at the sky.

“I know it looks bad, but there may be something left among the ruins. Everyone should spread out and collect anything of use that you can find – move in pairs and be careful. The elves are gone but they probably haven’t gone far. We leave for the city of Luxien in two hours!”

Welkin announces, and then dismisses the sobbing townsfolk to sift through the ruins of their town, trying to find anything useful that remained to bring along on the journey. As they being to descend, Welkin turns his bloodshot eyes onto his second-in-command, a sour-faced looking dwarf.

“I want two three-man patrols on horses circling around the village at all times. If they encounter any elves they are to withdraw immediately and sound the alarm. They can rotate horses as necessary to give them a rest – gods know they’ll need it. Everyone else is to help with the search of the town for supplies, starting with the chapel – there’s bound to be a few barrels of water down in the basement at least. The trip to Luxien is going to be hellish, but it’s the only place we and the rest of these people will be safe.”

Welkin slaps his lieutenant on the arm, and then turns his attention back onto you. It’s clear that he has not slept at all yet, but he still forces a smile onto his face.

“Ah, there’s our elemental slayer. I believe, Miss Lukina, that you wished to speak with me? I imagine once we’re on the road my attention will be needed elsewhere, so I am afraid this is likely your best opportunity. What is it?”

Vegna

At the rumbling of your stomach, the elf quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Oh, are you hungry? Here, it’s all I have left from my lunch. I left in a hurry, so I didn’t have time to pack any supplies!”

From the pocket of her robes, the elf produced an apple, which she tossed over to you. Val’Tosh looks at the apple sullenly, although the piece of fruit likely would not even put a dent in his appetite.

“Got any more surprises for us, elf?”

Your former attacker smirks as she turns away to start back down the path.

“I might have a few. But they wouldn’t be surprises if I told them to you right now, now would they?”

Despite her snark, the elf is rather solemn as you cross through the burnt remains of her town. Once on the far side, she pauses a moment, suddenly kneeling down and vomiting.

“We . . . we should bury those people that were . . . left behind as a warning. I-It wouldn’t take us long.”

Even your normally jovial ogre friend seems disturbed by the macabre scene the elves left behind. And it was even worse now that you had time to really examine the bodies, the looks of horror frozen of their faces, the bloody muscles frozen in place by rigor mortis after the elves peeled away the skin . . . you almost felt like vomiting yourself. But every moment you delayed was another moment that the elves gained on you. And if this was what they did when they were in a hurry leaving, you shuddered to think what they would do to the survivors once the elves could take their time, safely back at home.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

(So, I’ve been trying to figure out when to move on to the next phase, a decision not made any easier by Cardea’s disappearance. But you know what? Well . . . (Warning, Portal 2 spoilers)

Surprise! We’re doing it now! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQP87ZzcaP0)

You steel yourself mentally for the verbal onslaught that is sure to follow your proposed plan, but before anyone present can shout a word out an entirely different sort of onslaught begins. The sunroof dome that forms a central portion of the Council Chamber’s ceiling suddenly explodes inward, raining glass shards and a trio of black-armored figures down upon everyone present.

One such shard of glass slashes across your cheek, the wound resealing almost as fast as it was torn open by the speeding glass. Tyra is not quite so lucky, a jagged chunk of reinforced glass stabbing into the base of her neck. The others present are largely unharmed, Ysora and Melissan regenerating instantly from their minor wounds while Randal is taking shelter underneath the desk before the first glass even gets there, dragging Kranmer down to safety with him. The trio of dark figures standing across the table from you, now unmistakably fiends, brandish their weapons threateningly.

“Death to the –“

The lead fiend shouts, but he is cut off as Ysora lifts the entire, massive table that the assembled council is sitting at, and then slams one end back down onto the fiend, turning him into a bloody paste that immediately burns away into an ashen smear. A moment later, she swings the stained end around in a wide arc, reducing the other two into flashes of smoke and ash. Melissan rockets up to the broken sun dome, sending the next wave of fiends about to jump down flying in all directions – and in multiple pieces. Judging from the sounds of furious battle that come from above, she is far from alone up there right now. Kranmer immediately turns his attention to Tyra, placing his hands around the gushing wound while whispering prayers that spark a warm glow to begin emanating from the wound. As he comes back up to his feet, Randall has a blade in each hand – seeing that the fiends have already been dispatched, he shrugs and offers one of the short swords to you. From her position on the floor, Tyra looks desperately up at you as her face begins to pale.

“P-Protect . . .”

She gurgles, only to be shushed by Kranmer as the archbishop continues to struggle with saving her life. From somewhere outside, you hear an unearthly shriek, followed by the unmistakable sound of ringing bells. The alarm had been sounded, and now it was unmistakable that this was a full-scale attack. You were too late – the Hells were bringing the battle to you. How, you have no bloody clue, but the seriousness of the attack is unmistakable as Melissan suddenly plunges back down through the sun dome battered and bloody. She tumbles down out of control, hitting the floor of the chamber with a sickening crack. A moment later, and a screaming column of wind and debris comes howling down through the broken sun dome after her.

“ANDER!!!!”

Quietus screams upon seeing you, and the column of wind plunges eagerly downward. Hefting the massive table again, Ysora pulls back and hurls it up like a discus, the heavy wooden desk flying up to smash through the column of wind with minimal effect before cracking itself in half against the rest of the ceiling. With a gesture and shouted word, Ysora follows up her ineffective attack by summoning a shimmering barrier across the entire room a few feet above your heads. This does force the Fiend Lord to stop, and his shriek of frustration reverberates down into your bones as the wind slams itself wildly into the barrier over and over again, grinding the two split pieces of table into splinters.

“Can’t hold him . . . for long.”

Ysora grunts, straining to keep the entire barrier intact as the Fiend Lord rages against it. Struggling up to her feet, Melissan limps over to join you, one leg twisted and unable to support her weight and both wings hanging at unnatural angles from her back. Randall goes over to the set of double doors behind your seats, which fly open just as he gets there, revealing another trio of demons standing there. Randall smoothly dodges back as the doors fly open, ducks under the claw of the lead demon, slashes open the fiend’s throat in passing, reaches into his robes with his free hand, throws the vial of holy water that hand produces into the second demon’s face before running it through with his sword, leaving the weapon embedded there as he sidesteps a swipe from the third demon, spins around to a spot behind it, and reaches up with both hands to snap the fiend’s neck. As the three demons fall away into ash, Randall looks both ways down the adjoining hallway, shrugs and bends down to retrieve his sword from the pile of ash.

“This way’s clear. We need to get to a more defensible location immediately.”

From his position on the floor, Kranmer looks up and shakes his head.

“If we try and move her now, she’s not going to make it.”

“Go!”

Tyra rasps, as the doors at the far end of the room buckle inward and then collapse, allowing another trio of demons to come charging into the room. More enter behind them, a tide of lesser fiends that you could sweep aside, but there was no telling how much longer Ysora could keep Quietus at bay. To turn and run away, however, meant abandoning a friend to death or worse – but you had sacrificed friends before now. What would you do this time?

Phaedra

Lonna/The_Snark

At your mention of “Advisors”, the boy with the familiar red crystal sticking out of his chest winces. Evidentially Istomilo caught the reference, although Titania merely watches you without catching the implication. At your mention of dozens of lifetimes, however, Titania’s eyes go wide.

“Dozens!?”

She repeats, shaking her head.

“No no no, impossible! You were to be immortal, timeless, eternal my daughter! You should have had only one lifetime, an endless span of vitality lasting from past into the future!”

The boy Isotmilo coughs.

“Umm . . . actually you made a mistake, Ti. Our daughter is not immortal at all, her soul merely transfers into a new mortal shell rather than pass on to the afterlife upon the death of her current one.”

Again, Titania’s eyes go wide.

“What!? Then . . . you have died hundreds of times as well? Oh, you poor dear! I never wanted such a horrid fate for you!”

Titania said, turning back to face the reborn Pyria and placing a hand on each of her cheeks. This time, the cold does bite through the aura of warmth surrounding her, and the sharp biting pain causes Jacqueline to wince as Titania leans forward to plant a gentle kiss on her nose.

“I’m going to fix this, I promise. But certain matters demand our attention first.”

Titania vows, releasing her gentle but still painful grip a moment later and allowing the warmth to painfully start flowing back into Jacqueline’s cheeks, prompting another reflexive wince. All attention then turns back to the angelic girl, too cold or too frightened to say anything as Jacqueline passes judgment. Istomilo nods at the mention of the imprisoning crystal.

“Yes, I remember that research, an outgrowth of this, actually.”

Istomilo gestures at the crystal protruding from his chest. He eyes Marisiel with a frown.

“Of course, that crystal consumed the body as well if I remember correctly. Not terribly a lot of fun of watch, although I imagine it’s not very pleasant for the one experiencing it.”

“We’ll save it for last then – the grave that Marisiel shall be condemned to until the end of time! But I agree with our daughter, Milo. Marisiel shall be made to suffer first, and be given a chance to watch her failure unfold as this family returns to its rightful place upon the throne of Man!”

Titania gestures imperiously.

“Take this little tramp away to the dungeons, would you Milo? I would like some alone time with my daughter.”

The boy gives Jacqueline a pleading look, and shakes his head ever so slightly. Then, he grabs Marisiel roughly by the hand, and drags her out of the room.

(The_Snark, if you have anything you’d like to add to this scene, or anything you’d like to say to Istomilo in private once out of the room, now would be the time to post. If I hear nothing from you by next DM I suppose I’ll start the next scene for poor Mar.)

Meanwhile, Titania returns to the remains of her icy throne and sits down, patting her lap encouragingly, either uncaring or unaware that her daughter was a full-grown woman rather than a preteen child anymore.

“Come daughter. Sit on your mother’s lap and tell me how you have been all these long years. Whatever you can remember. We have been apart for so long, and I . . . I am sorry for that.”

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

At your comparison of the Baron and yourself, Nihilus nods in agreement.

“True. You are a bastard Umber, and perhaps even a monster, but the Baron of Gast is – was? Will be? – far worse. Makes you sort of wonder what Fate would dredge up if I ever somehow move past him.”

For just a moment, you sense a flash of anger as Nihilus clenches his hands into trembling fists, but then it’s gone and your new unflappable ally is back. And as you question him as to his motives, the stoic façade again cracks apart as Nihilus throws his head back and laughs.

“Do – do you have any idea *snort* how ironic that is? The *heheheh* very definition of meaningless *hah* self-preservation, asking me if I have a plan beyond simple preservation!?”

As with the flash of anger, the mirth fades quickly, and Nihilus sternly shakes his head.

“No, I’m afraid a simple stalemate with Fate is the best I can manage, and all I can hope for. My actions now will preserve the world for several thousand years, but I have not found a way to escape the fire forever. Every action I take now plants a seed of destruction that will sprout at some later date, some other way that Fate can turn it back on us all. Perhaps destiny cannot be averted forever, and it is inevitable that our world will be burned to ash. I don’t know, but many of the obvious solutions I have already tried.”

Beneath his cowl, Nihilus clearly smiles as he explains.

“Like enlisting your aid. Tried that already. Didn’t end well! Tried enlisting the Baron’s aid as well for that matter, and that was even more of a cluster****. Also tried killing both of you – that ended about as well as you would think. Fate seems to go a little ape**** whenever I try to interfere with either of you directly, so I’ve resorted to more subtle means – which generally means I convince you to seek immortality and the Baron to seek dominance over the gods. You’ve likely seen how well that works out, but the world limps on – until it doesn’t anymore.”

Nihilus falls silent for a moment, as if debating something internally, but then sighs and speaks up.

“This is probably going to bite me in the ass at some point, but when I fail again it’s hardly going to matter. I am the writer of history, but that does not mean I can travel through time – at least, not how you did. It’s easy enough to let the flow of time carry me along downstream at a rapid pace – although I tend to like being able to use the peaceful years to rest and plan – and possible to go back upstream a very short distance. But by and large, I have one shot at diverting the course of history at each important fork. As you can imagine, I prefer to change only a precious few details each time through, trying to keep the course of history manageable for me to understand – not that Fate makes that easy with its damnable subtle variations! But once the world ends, so do I. And then, well, let’s call it a new incarnation of me starts back at the beginning, aware of what happened “last time”.”

Nihilus shrugs.

“I don’t know if I die ahead of schedule whether I will appear back in the Hells like other fiends . . . or if I will simply fade out of existence. And if I don’t come back when the next go around starts, then this world is doomed. Forever. It’s made me understandably cautious, although that’s caused problems as well. For example, I still don’t really know how exactly you and the Baron manage to free Azguloth – I’m guessing magic, but beyond that . . .”

Nihilus shrugs.

“Being anywhere near the Forger of Oblivion when he gets out doesn’t seem like a wise move for survival. But one problem at a time – which currently, is foiling Fate’s latest attempt to **** with me.”

Nihilus gets back up to his feet with a sigh and offers a hand up to you.

“Alright, let’s go with her attempting to alter the formula. When exactly would she be able to do that? Anytime, or only when the moon has completed its sixth rotation around the sun and the stars are in perfect alignment, at which point she utters the magic words backwards three times instead of four?”

Nihilus snickers and then holds up a hand.

“Sorry. This is actually a little bit exciting. I tend to sleepwalk through this part and the next couple hundred years, figuring nothing of import will happen now that I’ve got this challenge handled. Or so I thought I did – I wonder if something I did last time . . . or will do, or . . . ah, you know what I mean – triggered this? Anyway, I should be able to identify Marialta as I identified you, although that’s going to require me actually seeing her. Where shall we start the hunt?”

Inspectre

2012-09-15, 08:58 PM

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog
While the others begin hauling the supplies out of the cache so that a proper accounting could be made, the two of you retire a short distance to have a private conversation over lunch. Certainly, although most of the storehouse is salted meat and other easily stored goods, there are a few additional amenities.

“Hah! A bottle of Donovale 286! Why did your backwater tavern never have any Donovale on stock, Mags!?”

Greg cried as he emerged from the cache, periodically taking swigs directly from the opened bottle of wine. Mags who was right behind him – and carrying a barrel under each arm, merely glared at his former elderly patron.

“Mhmm!”

Mags grunted, in what likely passed for some sort of dire threat as he set the two barrels down next to the small stockpile of similar barrels already brought up. Willow appeared a moment later, lugging a barrel on her back with surprising ease, the barmaid apparently used to helping her employer maintain stock. Jarod came up a moment later, balancing a somewhat smaller cask on his shoulder which he set down next to the others. He then went back and shut the cache’s secret door before turning back to regard the stockpile with a triumphant smile.

“Well, that is the last of it, and so now it’s time for us to get moving. I’ve thought about what you said, Rosenburg, and while it’s a good suggestion I think it would take some time to call the animals here. And, unfortunately, they would be no less susceptible to exhaustion than we would be. Dangerous and attention attracting as it may be, I think we have no choice in the matter.”

Jarod traces some runes in the dirt with the butt of his staff, muttering a chant under his breath as he does so. And then he shouts a final word as he twirls his staff around before bringing the head of it cracking down against the earth. For a moment, nothing happens, but then the earth heaves and separates, rising of its own accord to form a dozen man-sized earth elementals.

“Pick up those barrels – gently! – and follow. You will be returned to your home immediately after we arrive at our destination.”

Jarod says, and the earth elementals move to obey. They’re not precisely gentle with their burdens, but for a mass of shifting earth and rocks they do pretty well and nothing is smashed or broken. The dozen of them are also strong enough to carry two barrels of supplies apiece, leaving nothing behind and allowing everyone to travel unencumbered.

“Be on your guard everyone. If the elves are going to bother us, they’re going to do it now before we can reach the – ha, “safety” of civilization!”

No sooner has Jarod voiced this warning than another voice calls out from the forest.

“Oh, I daresay they will do much worse than bother you!”

From the woods, a man swaddled in bandages and a tattered cloak strides into view. The patches of his skin that are visible are pockmarked and scarred, evidence that he has been badly burned at some point. Jarod squints his eyes at the new arrival, his voice cautious but also carrying a note of hope.

“Garret, is that you? I knew you were coming but when you didn’t show up I figured that you had been captured by the elves! How did you manage to escape!?”

“Garret’s” only reply was to throw his partially-concealed head back and laugh maniacally.

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGuCjQgB9mA)

“Sorry, your little meat puppet friend isn’t here right now! But I’ll be sure to give him a front-row seat to your deaths!”

Gouts of flame shoot out from underneath each of the former druid’s sleeves, creating a wall of flame that rapidly travels out around the periphery of the clearing, forming an unbreakable ring. A few moments after the wall has shot up to its full height, small dog-sized flicks of flame begin to emerge from it - infantile fire elementals.

“Go, my pets! Burn these fools until not even their bones remain!”

An unending stream of fire elementals emerge from the flame wall, a handful at a time, to approach the group from all directions. From his position at the head of the circle, Garret begins to dance with an invisible partner, his eyes always remaining locked onto the group. His feet cut hypnotic patterns in the dirt, while his hands weave arcane patterns. He begins twirling towards the group, and as he gets close he makes a low bow, his one hand snapping out as it conjures a fiery whip out of thin air. The whip narrowly misses Jarod, cutting against the ground just in front of his feet instead. Where the whip touches ground, another wall of fire roughly three feet wide erupts, it too beginning to slowly disgorge elementals.

“You should just lie down and let the flames wash over you! It will end so much quicker that way! Mmm, but not nearly as much fun for me!”

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

Aurewlynn simply stares at you as you offer her the bottle, and smirks as you realize your error. She watches you fumble with the bottle with obvious curiosity, although she doesn’t say anything as you finally get the cork out and offer the bottle to her lips. She drinks slowly, but then with increasing greed as the potion cures both her injuries and her thirst. As you watch, her fingers magically straighten themselves, the potion’s magic indeed powerful enough to fix them. She turns her hands over, back and forth, smiling as she flexes the fingers and they work successfully.

“Thank you. Perhaps it is just my understandable distrust of humans, but I feel as if you are one of a kind with your kindness and generosity.”

At your offer of food, Aurewylnn’s eyes go wide and she pounces on it, tearing it apart and shoving it into her mouth as fast as she can swallow it, barely chewing or tasting it. Halfway through, she realizes what she is doing and slows down with a sheepish smile.

“I did not think I would taste anything other than my own blood again, nor feel clean. I think I would need to submerge myself in a stream of several hours to completely get the smell of those sewers out, but a change of clothes will help. You are very thoughtful, Noctis.”

The elf listens to your story with skepticism initially, but changes to growing concern as you explain the full nature of the conflict. Aurewlynn is silent for several long moments after you are finished, unable to meet your eyes.

“You give me too much credit, Noctis. I’m not what you think, and I doubt that one elf who is bested by a handful of human scum can help stop such a menace. I’m sorry.”

Aurewlynn falls silent for a moment, shaking her head . . . and then looks up at you.

“Wait. Your first question, about the human fortress . . . it’s connected to this, isn’t it? It has some sort of relation to your quest to keep this evil being out of our world, doesn’t it!?”

A look of real horror passes across the elf’s face as she hops down from her counter-top seat.

“We have to warn them! We have to tell my people that they are in danger there! What if they trigger something accidentally, and it lets this thing into our world!? They’d be right on top of it! Or, or – these other dark forces you talk about come to the fortress, expecting to find those who would oppose their desires, and finding my people instead!?”

Aurewlynn grabs the clean set of clothes and runs into one of the adjoining rooms, tearing at her filthy uniform with her free hand as she goes. She is back in less than a minute, dressed in the clothes that you had provided, nearly tripping on the cuffs of the pants that are much too long for her legs. She stops briefly to roll them up, hopping the rest of the way to you as she finishes rolling up the second.

“Come on, we have to go! I’ll help you, swear the oaths of your order, whatever! But we have to go to Ironheart right now and warn my people!”

Baerdog7

2012-09-16, 01:54 AM

Speaker Ander Windrivver
Current mood: :smallfurious:

Battle Music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTwk1UuGJIA)

Council meetings were often rife with conflict, but this was ridiculous.

Ander watches with growing rage as first Tyra is nearly killed by a shard of falling glass and again when Melissan is thrown back into the Council chamber with Quietus hot on her heels. This could not be allowed!

Time seems to slow as all of Ander's battle senses awaken at once, his righteous fury manifesting as a corona of holy energy.

While High Inquisitor Luxford dispatches the trio of demons at the rear of the Council chambers, Ander reaches down to lay hands on Tyra. It's not much, just a quick jolt of healing energy but it would hopefully stop the worst of the bleeding long enough for her to get somewhere safe.

GET HER OUT! Ander roars, his words spurring the Archbishop with the bolstering power of his cloak.

The Tyran and Kranmer situation addressed, but there is banging at the doors at the front of the room. More demons were on the way. Ander whirls on Winril, currently helping Melissan get to her feet.

I hope you were right.

With no more time for delay, Ander forms his hand into a beak shape and plunges it deep into Melissan's chest right between the third and fourth ribs on the left side near her heart and tears out her soul crystal. Pressing Randal's other sword into Winril's hand, he pushes the two towards the far door.

Only he and Ysora were left standing their ground when the front doors splintered and gave way to the demonic onslaught. Ander's corona of light reaches blinding levels as he focuses the full might of his Will and the full power of his divine cloak into his voice, lending it the might of the Gods themselves. As the demon filth spills into the room, he speaks but a single syllable...

DIE!

While several of the weaker ones do die, the stronger-willed demons are merely halted in their tracks. Even Quietus seems cowed for a moment before resuming his eternal howling. Ysora's barrier was failing, however, and it was on the wrong side of the Fiend Lord.

Ysora, you can't keep him out! We have to keep him IN!

Holy chains sprout from Ander's hands as he shouts, flying toward both passageways into the chamber. With all of the other Council members (hopefully) out of the room, Ander tears and lashes at the heavy masonry around the passages, collapsing them on the remaining demons and sealing the room from the ground.

Drop the barrier now! Get it above him and keep him close to the ground!

Ander steels himself as Ysora's barrier drops and the flaying winds envelop him. Splinters and shards of glass tear at his flesh and clothes, but he pays them no heed. Drawing Morganna's sword, Ander leaps into the center of the tornado.

OverWilliam

2012-09-16, 11:45 AM

~Tare

At this latest shift of demeanor, Tare had to do a mental double-take to keep from getting thrown for a loop. Was she sympathizing now?

And the way she looked at him. It was suddenly different. It was a relief when she turned away-- to go torment her poor angel prisoner more. This made Tare incredibly uncomfortable. In a flash of insight, he saw himself as the beaten tormented creature hung against a wall, his blood being swallowed by a terrifying demoness. It helped curb the minor leeway Videle had made so far at getting her perfect thighs into his imagination.

“Think about it for a minute. You said two sides were waging a horrific battle nearly beyond your capability to understand. Who do you think belonged to one of those sides . . . and what do you think she was doing there in the first place? She should have been up in the Heavens minding her own business, but instead she was down on the mortal plane, to kill and maim and damn. Does that sound to you like a truly blameless, innocent being?”

This only confused Tare further. ...Who is she TALKING about?? "Up in the Heavens minding her own business"? That couldn't be Melcara. What is going on?

He stared, baffled, at Videle as she walked back over to his one-man prison, her very walk a dance of seduction, and watched disbelieving as she disabled the internal pressure-sensitive booby-traps. It's a trick. He thought, as she released the lock on the iron maiden itself. Don't fall for it. You're still a prisoner. Even if the dumbbell is unlocked, the doors of this room are no doubt sealed tight. She's trying to get you to relax. The trouble was, if that was what she was trying to do, it was working. She even released the shackles on his hands and let them drop to the inside floor of the iron maiden with a freedom-affirming clatter. Tare rubbed at his wrists. They'd not been in the shackles long enough to have started bleeding, but sure well long enough to be sore.

He looked down at himself, taking inventory. A length of shapeless black cloth was wrapped around his waist, vanguarding some measure of modesty from the waist down. From there up, though, nothing now stood between him and Videle's appraising gaze. He might've imagined it, or more likely it was put there specifically for his benefit, but a look of intrigued approval passed across the Succubus' features at his street-muscled figure. It was impossible to suppress a tiny amount of satisfaction, even given the outlandish circumstances.

“I want to help you adjust to your new existence. I know you don’t trust me, not yet, and I want to fix that. I sense that you are . . . special. You’re clearly not interested in me, but I would like us to be friends then, at least.”

Tare did not know how to take this, at first. The idea that the Succubus was going to give up trying to coerce him seemed far-fetched, but some form of mis-guided wishful thinking made him want to believe that she could be telling the truth. The angel's impossible-to-interpret interjection from her station in the corner threw a lot of doubt into that thought, however. Ok, seriously. She's starting to get to me. Knock it off, Tare. You've been in the room with her for 15 minutes and already you're starting to go soft. She's a DEMON. She's EVIL. Cut it OUT.

“So in the spirit of garnering more trust, I am granting you two very precious gifts. The first gift is I am giving you a name. Now, I’m sure you are about to say that you don’t need one, and that you already have one. Well, let me explain! That was your mortal name – and it died with you. Like it or not, dear . . . you’re one of us now. A damned soul!”

When the mirror flashed up, there was an actual, physical bolt of pain that went through his chest as his heart stopped beating for half a second. It made up for lost ground in the seconds following by trying to pound its way out of his chest.

There was his face. But it was his own in resemblance only-- it had been replaced with something from a horrible dream. His eyes had their steely green replaced by rings of orange that glowed like coals burning with inner heat. The whites around them were dyed inky black, but these two things together were possibly the smallest changes to Tare's visage. As though a bolt of fire had glanced off the left side of his face, the outermost layer of skin almost looked like it had been burned away-- but instead of leaving exposed muscle and bleeding flesh behind beneath it, a Demon's face lurked beneath his own. Burgundy-red skin, new and fresh with his re-birth, stretched over angular bones. A healthy, oil-skin sheen caught the ambient light even as he stared, and the beginning nubs of spikey scales pushed from where his cheekbones and his jaw connected. The corner of his mouth was drawn back further than a human's should, and an extra double-row of sharp teeth peeked out from behind where his human molars should have stopped.

Without thinking about it, one shaking hand went up to his face and came away with flakes of his own skin peeled off by barely brushing his fingers along his jawline.

He'd had dreams before where his face crackled and fell off in flakes, revealing a new face underneath. They weren't dreams, they were nightmares.

“It hurts, I know, but I’m afraid it’s true. You are no longer human. You are something else, and unfortunately existence is going to be very hard for you from now on. You’re going to have to take what you want, and fight to keep it – every little thing. Even something as simple as a name.”

The room began to spin-- or maybe it was just his head and the room was standing still. This wasn't a dream. He wouldn't be waking up from this one. It was happening. For real. Tare realized he was bathed in cold sweat.

“Normally until such a time as you are strong enough to choose your own name, you are instead called Ix – victim, slave . . . food. The word has a number of different meanings in our tongue, depending on the inflection. I’m willing to spare you from that, in the interest of our friendship. And so I would like to give you your new, eternal name. Hmm . . . how does Tamerlane sound to you? Yes, I like the sound of that.”

The word had a bizarre effect on Tare. He was Named. He desparately called his "real" name to his mind, but found that the demoness was not exaggerating-- it felt hollow and distant, as though it lacked the power to discribe him anymore. The Hellname, Tamerlane, settled around his shoulders like the weight of a physical cloak. It was a cloak that provided no warmth, no protection. Only weight. Tare's knees started buckling underneath it.

“And now for my second gift, something to help you relax and adjust to your new existence. I imagine you were pretty cramped in there. So I’m willing to give you a nice massage to work out all those tense muscles...”

Her voice turned into an indecipherable succession of meaningless syllables as horror tightened its grip on his chest. His ears were ringing too loud to pay attention to anything else.

It was too much. His mind was reeling trying to process it all. He was DEAD. He had actually, literally DIED. He was trapped in a room with a demon woman who could probably tear him in half (down the middle) and she was trying to solicit sexual favors from (or for?) him. Half of his face was literally falling off, and a fiend was living underneath it. And that fiend was HIM. He didn't even notice how badly he was hyperventilating. He did notice that his stomach was churning on the half-pint of angel blood he'd just been force-fed, and now--

“So what’s it going to be, Tamerlane? Your pleasure . . . or my pain?”

"I-- I don't even know you!!" He finally exploded, spinning to face Videle, fear and desperation making his voice thin and brittle. There was a dangerous kind of crazy in his newly-minted eyes, their orange screaming of mental strain not resolving itself well. "You're insane!! How could you even offer--" But the exertion proved to be a bad idea given his current state. "--offer to... oh, gods..." He was clearly going into shock.

"Woah-- woah. Woah,woahwoah..." Tare murmured weakly as his vision began to tunnel, losing all color and going black in a collapsing circle from the outside in. He stumbled into a wall and, at this point so disoriented as to barely identify it as the wall and not the floor, he slid down it into a dizzy heap where it met the ground. His face (save for the "torn" parts) had gone a decidedly unhealthy shade of clammy green.

"I... want to leave now." He tried, his voice cracking just barely above a whisper.

Tare--or was it Tamerlane?--was not taking this well.

Dorizzit

2012-09-16, 06:52 PM

Korram Alstan

I-really-hope-that-wor-oh-this-was-a-terrible-plan-oh-good-it-worked.

Korram's thoughts blur in a rapid, multi-faceted transition as the angel first retaliates, then lets him back down onto the ground after acknowledging that he was only helping, albeit in a rather rough fashion.

“You’re right human. Forgive me, I’m – I’m still learning, and the past few lessons have not been pleasant.”

Korram simply remains silent, allowing the angel to get her bearings once more.

“Y-you’re the Korram, aren’t you? The human who sacrificed himself to save our Lady!? Um . . . you’re v-very brave.”

What.

Korram has no idea how to react to the angel's almost reverent reaction to his presence. Instead, he simply nods in confirmation and does his best to avoid looking utterly confused as she continues.

“I’m M-Miranda.”

“I need to drive the rest of these blasphemers out. I’d be honored to have you fight beside me. Would it be alright if we flew? It would be faster.”

"Yeah, of course. Let's go."

Korram allows Miranda to carry him high into the air, keeping a tight reign over the weak but insistent fear that pushes on the edge of his consciousness, the experience recalling his last moments of life. When they spot another group of invaders, Korram quickly consults with Miranda about their course of action. After the plan is formed, Korram waits on the roof before agilely moving into the path of the conscripts. He lands in a crouching position, before coming to stand in an intimidating posture.

“Listen. I’m sorry but if we don’t come back with prisoners they’ll torture our families! Get out of our way – please?”

So that's why.

“Damn you!”

Before Korram can respond, the leader of the group attacks him. Korram effortlessly avoids the first attack, then dodges out of the way of the subsequent strikes with similar ease.

"I'm sorry. Really. I am. But I won't let you damn these people to earn temporary safety for your families."

Before he can continue, Miranda calls to him from above.

“I think I see another group heading back to a portal! If you’re alright here, I’m going to go and stop them!”

"Go! I'll be fine!"

Korram punctuates his statement by grabbing his opponent's wrist mid-swing and disarming him. Using his grip, Korram flips his opponent off of his feet and onto the ground. Disorienting the leader with a swift kick to the head, Korram rushes the rest of the group. Korram sweeps the first opponent of his feet, then slams an elbow into his head to disable him. He catches the next attacker much like the leader, then backhands a fourth before using his grabbed opponent as leverage to pick himself off the ground and kick the assailant with both feet. The action repels him and his grabbed target back into a wall, knocking him out as well. Korram finishes by diving between the last two conscripts, then slamming their heads together before they can attack him. Finished, Korram dusts his hands off and checks to make sure that he has fully incapacitated his opponents.

WhiteKnight777

2012-09-16, 10:14 PM

Umber

After Nihilus' outburst of mirth, Umber looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Instead of immediately answering Nihilus' latest question, Umber spoke in a calm, meditative tone - almost as if he were trying to puzzle something out. "Meaningless? An interesting thought... but one that I reject. Do you know why it is I've continued all these years. For that matter, do you know why you have? It is... hellish, at times, being so dreadfully alone - knowing you are the only one who walks the path you have chosen. Fighting a cause that seems doomed to utter failure. That vast, almost cosmic sense of helplessness - knowing that no matter how damn hard you find, you are ultimately a brief, guttering candle flame in an illimitable dark infinity - and that once all this comes to an end - " he gestured around himself, a wave of a hand that encompassed the world. "It will be exactly the same as if you had never existed.

"
So Umber spoke, and it was unclear about whom he was speaking. And then he broke out into a broad grin. "I have learned one or two things on my road - as I'm sure you have on your own, albeit more twisty-turny path. One of the things I have come to realize is that a sense of perspective is ****. It is absolutely worthless when it comes to all the things that really matter." Umber laughed aloud, at a joke perhaps only he could see. "What does it matter if nothing matters, Nihilus? Does it change the way you feel? Does it make you want to fight any less? Does it make you waver one iota in your resolve to spit in fate's eye and damn the darkness? It never has for me. Do you know why I carry on, and why I have for all these years?"

Umber paused, his smile fading, his expression growing thoughtful again. "Part of it is fear - I always feared the dark. Oh, not the night - I mean the true darkness that I always suspected lay beyond the slick, ebon walls of death. The chill of absolute nullity, the annihilation of self and soul and the rendering of all that I am unto nothing. That petrified me, in a way that nothing else ever has - that was what drove me. And, I suspect, what drove the others - well, save perhaps for the Angel of Silence. He's always been a hard one to fathom, and no easier now that I know his... allegiances."

"But fear alone would be meaningless indeed - a man who lives for no other reason than fear is a coward, and a coward is a thing of little worth to others and less to himself - I admit that fear is part of my makeup, but far from the whole of it. The other reason - the more worthy reason - is just as elemental. Life, Nihilus, is good."

Umber spread his hands, a conjurer performing a trick. "Banal. Perhaps even peurile. But it remains true. For all that I have suffered, for all the defeats and humiliations I have endured - for all the lost love, the endless aeons without the only woman who ever made me feel complete, and yes, even for my own death - it is my life, and it is sweet. Life is worth living, Nihilus - this I have never ceased to believe. For all that I have suffered, I have seen wonders even I cannot describe, felt joys both strange and mundane. I have known countless great men, seen actors who could make a stone devil weep, and watched the world change. I have built, I have loved, I have laughed. I have made friends, learned secrets - eaten well and drank better. Life is good, because life changes. Life builds. Life creates. Life is a terrible, wonderful thing, and I will not surrender mine - not for god nor demon nor some vast and implacable force. And where Death or Fate try to take it from me, I will claw back from the abyss itself to reclaim what is mine and spite the very universe herself by clinging to it. And I think you must feel the same - after all, you continue to fight - when all reason would tell you to give up, when logic compels you to submit, when all the forces of the cosmos are arrayed against you - you fight. And you tear victory from your enemy's chest, bloody and beating, and then you are alive." Umber's voice thrummed with emotion, and he spoke his next words in tones of solemn promise.

"Know this, Nihilus - I will not give up. Though Fate strike me down a thousand times, I will rise again a thousand and one. I will claw and tear and howl through the years, grabbing life by the throat and riding it right into the jaws of damnation itself - and in the end, I will see Fate broken. You said it yourself - this has never happened before. Change is possible. If Fate can change the rules, then so can we - and if it exists, it can be destroyed. In the end, Fate is a thing of stasis. Beings like you and I - we are creatures of change. All we have to do to beat Fate is to keep on fighting, and that's what we'll do. I will see a world unfettered by destiny - a world where men are free. A world where I am free. So long as you fight, you will not fight alone."

His voice still thrumming on the air, Umber subsided. After a moment, he spoke again, and his tone was clipped and businesslike. "Now... as to the current problem. At this point in time, the spell-chamber is the most heavily guarded and warded place in the building - we've assembled almost all of the ingredients, so there's very little opportunity to tamper with the work that's already been done. If she's got enough magical talent, or some strange weapon, I suppose it's possible she could breach the wards - but I think it would take time, and there's not much of that at the moment. I would guess she's going to try to get the keys - it takes three keys - well, key-talismans, really - to enter the chamber." He grinned. "I knew all that paranoia would pay off - if she can get three of the keystones from the Lords, she'll be able to enter the chamber and muck about with the formula."

Umber gnawed his lower lip. "I kept mine on me at all times, save for when I slept - and I didn't do that all that often, by this time. Shakati usually swallowed hers - and no, don't ask. Fianna sometimes kept hers in our chambers, as did Kartul - well, in his chambers. I mean. Gilgeam had his worked into his sword, and he never went unarmed... but Marialta kept hers on her ship, for some reason. I could never find where Zariel kept his." Umber grunted, thinking aloud. "It seems like Kartul, Marialta, Fianna, and possibly Zariel would be the ones to watch... the only problem is that I'm not exactly sure what the divergences from my own reality would be - obviously, it worked in my timeline, so there was no interference..."

daelrog

2012-09-17, 12:32 AM

Alons

"A very old woman who could see into the possible futures." Alons sighed. "I doubt I'll ever see her again even if I do return home."

-

Alons was not agreeable to what he saw before him. He did not know the man before he was corrupted. He had already tried to save these few people already from this fate, and he'd face the fire before them if need be.

"Willow, I think your knife is a poor weapon against fire. Keep with Mags."

Alons launched two arrows at the summoner, or whatever he was, one aimed for his jugular, the other his stomach. He hoped it would at least distract him, or preferably kill him outright.

GuyFawkes

2012-09-17, 01:38 AM

Lucifuge/Noctis

"Impressive. You were able to arrive to that conclusion out of what I have told you. We could certainly use that ability of yours. That, or you know more about the fortress than you would let on," he said with a meaningful smile.

"Never mind that. Calm down. We are not going there. Not now anyway." Noctis calmly closed in and held the elf in both shoulders. He looked into her eyes and continued.

"Think for a second. Think about that story you are about to tell them. Do you honestly think that they would believe you? And I doubt it would bring more good than harm, in the unlikely event that they do believe you. Curiosity would get the better of them, and they would likely try to look for whatever is in there, further complicating things. No, we do not tell them anything about that."

"I imagine they are safe. At least for now. And inasmuch as I do not like to use them as decoy, if indeed there would be an attempt to take Ironheart soon, it is better that your people are there to defend it."

Noctis stopped for a few seconds to think and let go of Aurewlynn.

"On the other hand, you going there would be advantageous for us..." he waved his hands through a series of simple gestures and whispered a few inaudible words and a parchment and a pen immediately materialized on his hand.

"...here. Write a letter as how your leaders would write to each other, or your best guess at how it would look like. Write down that there will be an impending attack, but do not specify any further. I shall put an illusion over it to make it more believable to the reader. You will then go and deliver this to Ironheart. That should at least get them ready, should anything happen."

As Aurewlynn finished writing, Noctis took the parchment and read it. "Good, this looks good enough," he said as he tuck the letter into his pocket. "Come."

Noctis moved towards the stairs and climbed up to the next floor. On the second floor, there are three doors, two on the left side and one big one on the other side of the hall. The dragon moved towards the closer door on the left and opened it.

"You can use this to rest while I do my preparations."

He then moved towards the larger door to the right and entered, closing the door behind him. Inside, Noctis brought out a book from his bag and flipped through the pages for the particular spell he was looking for. He slumped down on the floor and started reading.

After about an hour, he stood up. He then took out a chalk from a small pouch on his belt and started drawing arcane symbols and signs on the floor while reciting some line on the book. After about another hour, his chanting drew into a crescendo and, putting his hand on a small circular symbol at the middle of the floor, each symbol pulsated with light three times before disappearing altogether. Noctis then closed his book, stowed it away, and stood up.

"Aurewlynn, come. Everything is ready," came a voice through the door after two knocks. When the elf entered the larger room, she could see Noctis holding the letter and again doing the murmuring and hand gestures he did earlier.

"Take this," he said as he handed the parchment to her. "Stand in the middle of the room please."

"I will be using a spell to transport you very near the fortress. I will also put an illusion on you to make you look a bit different. They should not be taking note of every single deserter such as yourself, but it doesn't hurt to be safe," he told her before doing the same murmuring and hand gestures.

"While you are there, try to gather as much information as you can, but do not ask direct questions and do not tarry as to be suspicious. When they ask you details, do not give any detailed answer. Runners aren't usually privy of intimate knowledge anyway. As for other details, well I trust a woman of your intellect will be able to handle them easily. Oh, and remember this. The effects of the illusion will not last for more than a day, so you might want to avoid that happening in front of others, especially your kin."

"When you return, do not try to get in the city. I imagine they would be more stringent after what happened to you and the stunt I pulled earlier. Stay somewhere around the vicinity of the city and use this scroll. Give me your hand."

Noctis took Aurewlynn's left hand and singled out her middle finger. With his other hand he took out his dagger, apologized and gently pricked her finger, putting pressure to let the blood out. He sheathed the dagger and took the scroll on the table to his side. Noctis pressed the elf's bloodied finger on the circular symbol on the center of the scroll, and upon doing so all the symbols in the scroll pulsated with light twice.

Letting go of her hand, he rolled up the scroll and handed it to the elf. "When you're somewhere near, just read the first two lines on this. That should activate the scroll. You would know it worked when the symbols start pulsating with light like it did earlier, but three times, and everything disappears. When that happens, speak and describe where you are. Be concise and exact. I will then come to find you. Now, ready yourself. I will begin the spell."

After Aurewlynn confirmed that she was ready, Noctis put his right hand on her shoulder and began his spell. When his chanting stopped, his hand was reaching out to thin air and the elf was gone. As soon as he completed the spell, the familiar uncomfortable feeling crept up from within him, making him stagger and fall to the floor. He clutched his chest and tried to suppress the negative emotions trying to take over him, almost passing out in the process. But as the last waves of pain and intense emotions came over him, he managed to stay conscious.

Even just sending someone close to that damned place has this much effect on me. Pathetic, he murmured to himself as he lied there on his back, gasping for air. He closed his eyes and did not move. After a few minutes, he open his eyes and stood up.

No time for rest.

Noctis stood up and gathered his belongings and went downstairs. He cleaned up whatever remained of the food he brought and took out Aurewlynn's old clothing articles from the other room, wrapping them up in the bag he brought the food with earlier. After restoring everything to how they were, he exited through the same window he used earlier and closed it behind him.

The sky was still dark outside, and Noctis prowled the rooftops once again, looking for a suitable alleyway with a tall structure beside it. Once he did, he began chanting another illusion spell. When he was done, the image of Aurewlynn appeared to be hanging from a rope tied around her neck, pretty much how she looked like earlier with the militiamen's doing, except this Aurewlynn looked more beaten up and bloodied. And lifeless. He made sure the 'body' was 'tied' to a beam which was hard to access so the possibility of someone interacting with the illusion and finding out the trick would be close to none.

That should take care of that.

After finishing the task, Noctis left and went to his favorite place in the city, atop the tallest structure in Amaranth, and waited. He watched the night sky wordlessly, not moving an inch, like a statue, more likely a gargoyle, facing the direction of the invisible spires of a familiar fortress that has not seen much change over the millennia. His mind dwelt on the idea of the irony of wanting to protect a place where he could never go near to. He must find a way to rid himself of this curse, he thought.

But how?

When at last the sun peeked through the horizon and streams of people began filling the streets below, Noctis started to move and go down into the adjacent alleyway. He redid his illusory mask and started towards the main streets.

This day he intended to find out more about the paladins.

Noctis approached one middle-aged man who looked to be a merchant, pulling his wares on a small cart, probably to set up shop for the day.

"Excuse me, sir. Pardon for the interruption, but could you please point me to where the paladins are stationed here in the city?"

TechnOkami

2012-09-17, 12:54 PM

Rosenberg

Counter Battle Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aCommKaFxw) Yeah, I know, I'm terrible, aren't I?

As the crackling flame rose ever higher into the firestorm it had transformed itself into, Rosenberg had to move quickly to counter it. The easiest way to stop these fire elementals was to go directly for the one summoning them, and that was exactly what Rosenberg had in mind. First, he extended his hand, calling upon roots and vines to hold that fire-corrupt man in place. Though they would most likely burn to cinders in a moment, it was all the time he needed to move in close.

He charged, rushing past the fire and flames, ignoring any charring he might have incurred, knowing it would regenerate later. He ran with the speed of a wolf, but not in a transformed state. It was then that two arrows whizzed past him, hopefully reaching their targets. With the crescent scythe in his hands, he swung with his metal fang, cutting off and damaging what he could of the man's side which wielded this whip of flame; if he could stop him from using it, then fighting him head-on would be easier.

Iethloc

2012-09-18, 02:43 PM

Sohssal

Xerxes' reaction to the news on Seraph was interesting, to say the least. It seems there were even devils with higher standards than the Baron! Sohssal was also pleased to learn that Xerxes wasn't as involved with the Baron as he initially thought. He might even be tolerable.

But the price was less than tolerable. He could make a single angel suffer, or create the potential for a lot of mortals to suffer. He didn't care about how angels were portrayed as being so good and pure, but he did know catching one would be hard, and giving up his old island manor would be very easy. Getting Xerxes into the mortal realm would fold nicely into his escape plan.

”Yes, I am looking to contact an ally...of sorts. It's Seraph's mother – I need to learn everything I can about the ritual she performed. I suspect it's going to have quite a price, but I'm willing to use means other than bargaining to get her soul. Discreet means, if possible,” Sohssal explained.

Tae

2012-09-18, 11:26 PM

NOW WITH MORE MUSIC!!! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tmhp_NEH12Y)

“Look, I’m not going anywhere ‘til I get my beer and my squad.” Bramble tossed the robe back to the cultist. “So roll out the barrel, meatbag.”

The cultist murmured, “Your commander led me to believe that someone of your talents would want to get work right away.”

“My commander looks at his arse-hole and a looks at a latrine then can’t figure which one’s for crappin’ into and which one’s for crappin’ out of.”

“Your commander looks at his arse-hole?

“’X’actly.”

A barrel of beer came rolling through the doorway, with a frantic acolyte rushing after it, nearly colliding with Bramble as the barrel rolled to a stop at her hooves. The acolyte’s jaw gaped up at Bramble's salacious grin.

The lead cultist cuffed him on the back of head and hissed, “tap the barrel!”

Bramble turned the barrel on its side, straddled it, and leered into the acolyte’s face.

“Come on, fresh meat, tap my barrel.” Her breath burned in his eyes and nose, sulfurous. The acolyte, gagging, bent to put in the tap.

“You’d think he never seen a devil before,” Bramble grinned at the cultist, who silently handed her a mug.

Another acolyte came through the doorway, this one holding a snarling, spitting, one-eyed old tom-cat by the scruff. Malarkey’s snack hit the floor with a yowl and went streaking across the room. Bramble scooped the tom up in her arms, snuggling him into her chest. The lead cultist gaped along with his two acolytes as she purred and whispered into the bedraggled beast’s ears, until the tom-cat was purring along with her.

“Cats like me.”

As the moans of the old woman on the altar reached a death-cry crescendo, Catbox appeared in the circle of cultists. She blinked stupidly for a moment before crying out “YOUR MASTER HAS ARRIVED. TREMBLE BEFORE ME!”

The sound of the old woman’s corpse hitting the floor was the only response.

Bramble snugged the cat closer. “Very scary Cat. Wanna beer?”

The big black devil squealed, knocking over a cultist as she made a one-woman stampede to the barrel Bramble straddled.

Another victim, this one a small child, with barely enough self-awareness to struggle, was strapped to the altar. Self-preservation doesn’t require self-awareness, however, so the babe shrieked in pain as sigils were carved into its flesh.

“Oh yes, Bramble, BEER. We haven’t had beer since before the Cleaver was stranglin’ you with yer own guts, remember?” Catbox grunted a heavy laugh.

“Yeah, Cat, I remember. That was right after he finished sticking both yer hooves up yer own arse while they was still attached to yeh. Now sit down here next to me, have a mug, and wait for Mouse an’ Malarkey.”

“I don’t need no mug.” Catbox threw herself down on the floor head below the tap, gaped her maw, and let the beer flow.

Bramble grinned, giving the tom-cat a final snuffling kiss before setting him on the floor. The tom-cat sniffed at Catbox, and turned its one eye up at Bramble. She nodded encouragingly, and the cat took aim, raised tail, and fired. Bramble pulled her knees up beneath her chin, red eyes shining like a delighted child’s.

“NOT AGAIN!” Catbox roared and grabbed the tom. The cat and Catbox wrestled furiously on the floor, both hissing and growling, while Bramble giggled and rocked on the barrel. The lead cultist and acolytes watched the two devils, bemused expressions across all three faces. The tom gave a final ripping yowl of apparent defeat, while the toddler gave a last gurgle of life.

“MY CAT!” Malarkey squelched across the floor, dripping ichor and smelling like swamp-rot. His jaw unhinged like a snake’s as he lunged for the cat.

Another human’s screams ripped through the room. A sacrifice already so abused it’s sex couldn’t be determined in either voice or body, it cried “Mother” over and over again.

Bramble took a sip of beer.

Malarkey’s giant jaws wrapped around the shocked-looking tom-cat, and slurped it down in one gulp. As it began descending into the demon’s gut, its form was faintly recognizable.

“Black General’s Balls.” Catbox scooted away on from Malarkey as quickly as she could.

“That cat was my friend! He pissed on Catbox!” Bramble shouted at Malarkey with a gesture of contempt, sloshing beer out of her mug and into the face of the lead cultist.

Malarkey’s face screwed up. Screwed down. He had the distinct look of a devil who’d gotten something down the wrong pipe. A muffled “boom” sounded, Malarkey’s stomach poofed out a bit, and the oozing demon’s mouth yawned wide again.

Inside out cat splattered against the nearest wall, followed by swampy-smelling smoke.

“You stuck a firecracker in my cat’s ass?!”

Catbox at least had the good grace to look alarmed. “I thought…I mean I meant…Bramble was supposed to get cat-bombed!”

Bramble cackled wildly, straddling the barrel again, steaming tears rolling down her face.

Whimpers for mother died on the altar, and Mouse appeared.

“What’d I miss? Oooh, blood!” The imp began lapping the blood pouring from the neck of the most recent sacrifice, bliss written across his furry features.

The lead cultist wiped beer down his face with one palm. Subtlety.

Gorgondantess

2012-09-20, 03:36 AM

She makes the mental equivalent of a sigh, and shoves the two guards inside the building. "Tell your 'speaker' that the front door is secure, and that I need an audience with him as soon as possible." Her fingers lengthen and twist around Maurice's broken blade, as her hand and wrist encroach on its base, forming a tight seal. Meanwhile, her left arm twists and morphs into an older form- larger, stronger, harder, craggy and clawed. She gestures with the blade.
"GO. I can take care of this."
Turning back to the entrance and praying that those two would do as she said, she leaps into the fray. While at first she just hacks a few of the fiends to pieces, she starts getting an engine going. This wasn't about style, this wasn't about poise, this wasn't about elegance- this was about efficiency.
Two tentacles extend from her shoulder, each grabbing a fiend by the arm and coiling around it, dragging it to the ground by the entrance. As it does so, it seals itself and begins to extend over the fiend like a liquid, engulfing the hapless struggling creature entirely into a pulsing mass. That pulsing mass, using its inhabitant as an energy source, extends more tentacles of its own and the process continues. Soon enough the entire entryway is covered by this... thing. It took her about three minutes.
She dives through her creation, confident in its ability to hold back the demons, and emerges on the other side with a vein sprouting from her back connecting to it. Without further ado, she charges up to the Council Chambers.

Vegna

2012-09-20, 09:23 PM

Mal Harath

Unwilling to give up the living for the dead's sake, Mal tries to comprimise with the elf, not trying to offend her as the sense of urgency presses on him.

"We can bury them with our magic, but I'd not spend more time than that. We need to move as quickly as we can, if we're to catch up to the group."

Inspectre

2012-09-22, 06:28 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

You swiftly disable your attackers, the small crowd of shackled prisoners cheering you on. For some of your blows, the armor has evaporated away enough to be extremely brittle, shattering beneath your blows and revealing patches of bare human skin underneath. Whatever has been done to them, whatever threats to their families the fiends used to motivate them to do this, they are truly human beneath the armor. From his position slumped against the wall, the defeated leader groans, his tone accusatory and grief-stricken.

“’You don’t know what you’ve done. Up here safe and warm, you have no idea – ugh! ARRRGGHH!”

As you watch, the last of a crucial section of the man’s armor suddenly snaps apart, too thin and brittle to remain intact anymore. This triggers a spring, which in turn operates a lever, and suddenly the still-intact iron collar around the man’s throat suddenly constricts violently, crushing his throat. Upon his death, his body begins moving with a life of its own, dragged by the same invisible force that had pulled away the first six defeated men. The Hells would never relinquish what it has claimed. In rapid succession, the other five invaders’ armor deteriorates to a similar point, and all of their bodies are pulled down the street. When they get to the buildings that the angel had used to block the street, they go up the side of the buildings, still being dragged towards their ultimate destination relentlessly.

The three former prisoners’ cheers turns to screams of panic as their chains begin to react in a similar manner, dragging them back the street after the bodies, their efforts to strain back and stop themselves futile. A man, a woman, and their young daughter – although given the relative age in the Heavens, the child could have been their mother in life. Even so, the appearance of this small family being threatened with damnation inspired you to draw parallels to your own. You knew you had to help them, but how!?

Any keys to the shackles would have been on the men, who were already disappearing out of sight over the roof of the blockading buildings. And from the glimpses you had gotten of the shackles before the three started being dragged down the street, there were no keyholes, the shackles not intended to be opened until the fiends waiting in the Hells so willed it. The chains were smoking though, not a vigorously as the men’s armor, but still being rejected by the Heavens. Perhaps – yes, the chains might be brittle enough to shatter, just like the armor had become! But you would have to catch up to them first, and that was going to be a lot more difficult in a moment when they all started being dragged up into the air along the side of the buildings!

The Hells

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

Xerxes grinned and shrugged.

“Fiend Lords just happen to “lose” and “find” each other’s pets all the time. I imagine a powerful mage like the Baronness will be quite a valuable pet, however. They will be particularly interested in the ritual to summon the Hells, given that they have not had access to it for a long time. Not since Istomilo – hrm, what a disappointment he turned out to be! Or at least, so I’ve heard from others.”

Xerxes studied his claws thoughtfully.

“Still. There is more than one way to eat a cat, and I doubt you will mind getting your hands, such as they are, dirty. Plus, you *are* “Nihilus”, and that name commands a certain amount of respect. I will look into the matter, although it may take a little bit of time. With so many new toys to play with, the Hells are somewhat disorganized at the moment. That being said, I’ve been hearing that a majority of the humans have been moved to the Black General’s fortress. I will start my search there.”

Xerxes turns towards the door, but upon reaching it he stops and looks back.

“You know, I have heard rumors that Nihilus is back – and not just those concerning “you”. You may want to keep a close eye on what “you” are doing. After all, there is only one Nihilus. And while “you” are busy now, “you” could return home at any time.”

Xerxes then leaves, allowing you to lower your guard, as much as you did down in this literal Hellhole. That went surprisingly well, particularly given the cards that the devil was holding. Still, it was fortunate that he was so willing to negotiate. You doubted many other fiends would be as willing if they ever learned of your true nature. Xerxes’s warning about the real Nihilus’s return was troubling, however. Judging by the sad state of his manor, Nihilus rarely came home, but that did not mean he wouldn’t. And if he was actually moving about, that meant that more and more fiends might become aware of the possibility that Nihilus clearly couldn’t be speaking to them, and resting at his manor at the same time. All the more reason to get out of here as quickly as you could, and it was likely prudent to seek out other options beyond relying on Xerxes and the Baron’s wife.

(Anything else Sohssal is going to look into while waiting for Xerxes to locate Isabella?)

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

(Just to make sure OverWilliam is not as confused as Tare, Videle was talking about the captured angel right there in the room with them. If she had stayed in the Heavens, she wouldn’t have been at the Battle of Narle, and if she hadn’t been at the Battle of Narle she wouldn’t be down in the Hells right now. Thus, she’s not innocent either. :smalltongue: )

After struggling for so long to fend off Videle’s overt and covert attempts at seduction, you were starting to crack. Then she showed you that Death had brought some . . . significant changes with it, and you almost shattered completely. Gravity suddenly seemed to be reversed, or sideways, or some other direction that didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense for that matter, and you barely heard the rest of Videle’s offer over the ringing buzz in your ears.

Struggling to keep yourself standing on this suddenly shifting floor (or was it merely that your legs were weak?), you release your frustrations and fears in the form of a rant. You are only dimly aware of what you’re saying until the words have left your mouth, everything rushing out in a torment. And then another wave of nausea hits, and you fear that it will be something other than words flowing out of your mouth next.

Fortunately, the wall is there to catch you, and then the floor. Everything still feels like it’s spinning around and around and around though. Your voice just above a whisper, you utter a plea, or perhaps an unheard prayer. The world recedes to a single dancing point for several long moments, and then you hear a soft voice.

“Tare . . . Tare . . .”

Grasping hold of that sound, you follow it back to the real world. For a moment, your mind plays a cruel trick on you, as you think that you are back in the real world, being woken from a terrible dream by Melcara. But then your vision clears and you can see that if the past few minutes have been a nightmare, you are simply picking up where you left off.

Stretched out on the floor luxuriously a few feet away from you is Videle, her head propped up by one hand. At least, you can only assume it’s Videle – she has changed a fair bit, taking on an entirely human form. She stills wears her default face, but it is subtly different, the cheekbones not quite as well defined and her hair pulled back into pigtails rather than hanging down to frame her face. Her clothing has also morphed, becoming a far more chaste version of the dress she put on for you earlier. The whole effect makes her look much more like a simple teenaged girl rather than a succubus queen.

“Tare . . . oh! There you go, you’re back now. I was worried about you.”

Videle favors you with a sheepish smile that seems oddly fitting with her newest look.

“I’m sorry. I pushed you too hard, too fast. It’s a very big adjustment to make, and most beings done here delight in making that transition as painful as possible.”

Videle’s smile changes into a pouty frown, although on her new face it looks more adorable than sexy.

“Down here you only have the power that you can hold onto. In a way, I am just as helpless as the lowliest Ix, because there are certain expectations that restrain my behavior. But I . . . I hate it! I want to change it, but I can’t – I’m not strong enough!”

Videle emphasizes her point by thumping a fist against the floor. To your surprise, her eyes starts to get misty, and then actual tears begin to flow down her face as she continues.

“That’s why I want – need, your help! B-but I don’t know h-how to ask! And . . . and you have this transition of your own to make, and I want to help you make it, because I’m afraid you’ll lose what makes you who you are now. So many others, when they get down here, they change because they have to in order to survive. I don’t want that for you but I don’t know how to help you! P-please, please tell me how I can help you Tamerlane!”

Videle covers her juvenile face in her hands, sobbing into them like some sort of princess out of a fairy tale. It was a little . . . too convenient, but on the other hand if her attempts were sincere it would explain her erratic behavior. As a creature of the Hells, she had probably had the ability to relate and connect with others beaten out of her, beyond a certain definition of “connecting”. And once she clawed her way up to the top of the heap, power had an isolating effect of its own.

The Mortal Realm

Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

“Yes ma’am!”

The two humans replied as they obeyed, ducking inside while you turned to deal with the mob of fiends. Funny how that worked – humans were so eager to serve something more powerful than themselves, whether that be an actual being, another human, or even a “cause”. And at the same time they could just as easily turn their back on everything they previously believed and strike out in a different direction. Maurice was right – humans are a fascinating lot, because unlike animals, or rocks, or trees, they are not what they are. They are what they *choose* to be – and that can change on a whim.

It’s possible you were underestimating these fiends as well, but they certainly seemed little less than beasts as they recklessly threw themselves at you. You focused on cutting them down not with speed or brutality, but efficiency. You could have probably kept this up literally all day, as the few blows that the fiends landed did next to nothing to your form – nothing that could not be healed within a moment, at least. But you didn’t really have all day, and so you created your own living barrier out of a few fiends and your own biomass, and then dove through it, into the building. Through its connection to your back you can feel more of the fiends stupidly trying to cut through it, only to be caught by tentacles and absorbed themselves.

Then something heavy and massive slammed down into the center of it, cutting it cleanly in half. The separated portion likely died off then, no longer under your subconscious control although it still probably gave a good account of itself before it ran out of energy. Another similar blow severed the rest from your back, and the thick vein retracted back into you – it was starting to become rather long and unwieldy running from you to the biomass anyway.

This did reveal two important facts, however – one, there were much more powerful fiends here than the trash you had just dealt with. And two, the way was now open for the fiends to once more pour into the building, although in considerably less numbers after your efforts. Hopefully, you would find this Speaker soon – they had said he was on the third level, and you had just found a stairway up to the second.

Suddenly, your attention is attracted by the sound of panicked screams, and you look down the hallway to your right just as a woman with long red hair comes dashing into sight around the corner. She slides to a halt upon catching sight of you, clumsily stumbling over her own feet in her attempt to stop from a full sprint so quickly. She goes down onto her butt, and a moment later what the woman was fleeing from originally rounds the corner as well – two more trash demons. You dispatch the two of them with barely a thought, flicking out your long muscular claw limb and slapping both of their heads off. The woman cowers and crawls back away from you, stopping a moment later as she backs into a stand holding some sort of religious icon, which had been sitting against the wall minding its own business.

“Pleasedon’tkillmepleasedon’tkillmepleasedon’tkill me!”

The woman blurts out, clearly quite grateful for your help as she covers her head with her arms protectively. You aren’t sure whether it would be better to try to reassure her directly, or simply leave, allowing her to draw her own conclusions. Before you can do either, the two paladins suddenly appear from another corridor and rush over to join you.

“It’s alright, she’s a, uh . . . a friend?”

One of the paladins offers helpfully, and the woman seems to relax a little. Still shooting nervous glances at you, the woman turns her attention to the paladins.

“Do you know if Ander is still in the Council Chambers? I need to warn him that we have an intruder in his chambers!”

“We don’t know – the hallway leading to the Council Chamber has collapsed! We’re not sure even if the Chamber itself is intact or not!”

Well, wouldn’t that just be typical – the human leader goes and gets himself squished before you could talk to him! Although, it seems rather weird that only one section of the building has collapsed while the rest of it remains so intact. Perhaps the Speaker was merely trying to protect himself – or keep something in with him. Either way, the stone walls of this place are still just stone, “holy” to these humans or not. You could clear a passageway into these Council Chambers with ease.

“Hey, you could fly up there, and go down through the sunroof! Assuming the Council Chamber is still intact, that is. Umm . . . should be pretty obvious if it’s not.”

One of the paladins suddenly suggested, pointing at your wings, and then at a nearby window which he moved to swing open. The red-haired woman closed her eyes and grimaced, as if swallowing something unpleasant, and then blurted out.

“Take me with you! I have to warn Ander about this as quickly as possible!”

Silverstream

Vegna

You cut the dead down quickly, and between the three of you it takes little time at all to bury them. Periodically while you labor, the elf stops to summon up a group of elementals and sends them out. It is completely dark by the time you are finished, and your friends are just silhouettes moving about.

"Now, stay close to me, and keep quiet. If they so much as hear us breathing out there, they'll put arrows in all of us."

"Yeah, so how we gonna know when we're getting close?"

Val'tosh rumbles, prompting a frown and a shrug from the elf.

"I'll think of something. Like this!"

The elf gestured, summoning a tremor of earth beneath your feet that pulses for a moment before it stops. Your ogre friend shrugs.

"Fair enough. Let's go."

Through your contact with the ground, you are able to keep track of the elf and follow along after her. How Val'Tosh keeps track of you, you don't know, but you can periodically hear your friend crashing through the underbush and cursing under his breath as he tries over roots. The sad part is that this was likely Val'Tosh's best efforts to be stealthy.

It is slow going through the forest without the aid of any trails or roads to follow, and you can't help but feeling as if you are only getting further and further behind the elves. But you can't give up, you owe it to the survivors of Silverstream to not give up. An hour passes in this way, and then two, and then . . . you suddenly feel a tremor pass through your feet. A moment later and the she elf slips back over to you and Val'Tosh.

"There's a group of them about five minutes ahead - I'm not sure how many, but there's a lot. Elementals aren't exactly good at counting. I'm not sure what happened to cause them to stop, but they've stopped and they're sending patrols out into the forest. Maybe they're looking for someone who escaped from the group? Master Vork?"

The elf is silent for a moment, and then clears her throat.

"So, um . . . what do we do?"

"You don't have an answer?"

Val'Tosh rumbled.

"That's a surprise."

"Hey! I shouldn't have to be the only one that comes up with plans here!"

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

(You didn’t really think I only sent one Fiend Lord for Ander to deal with, did you? :smallamused: )

Theme Song - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKY5hDdBMys&feature=relmfu

Summoning your divine power and wrath, you spot for a moment to lay a hand on Tyra, giving her a small but not insignificant jolt of healing energy. Kranmer in response to your shouted command nods, but continues working on removing the glass shard. With a final decisive tug, he pulls the bloodstained glass out of Tyra’s neck, and lays his hand over the wound as it begins to spurt blood. The flow of blood rapidly slows, and Kranmer begins pulling her up onto her feet. Luxford comes over to help, but Kranmer waves him off and motions for him to continue guarding the door.

Winril and Melisan both look at you in confusion, and then shock as you plunge your hands into Melissan’s chest. The angel screams and falls to her knees, and then down onto her side, your extraction of the soul crystal effective but deadly.

“Thank you.”

Melissan murmurs, an instant before her eyes close and her body fades away into light, a sure sign that she has been saved. Muttering something under his breath, Winril runs over to help Kranmer support Tyra’s weight as the three of them stumble out of the room with Luxford leading the way. Quietus howls in ever greater fury as he sees most of his potential victims getting away. That howl changes significantly in pitch a moment later when you slaughter his reinforcements by collapsing the hallways leading into the room, and Ysora drops the barrier only to reform it behind him.

“No no no no no! I know how this goes!”

Quietus screams as you leap into the midst of the tornado, ignoring the slashing debris that cuts into you. You catch a flicker of greyish green dancing about within the storm, the only evidence of Quietus’s existence within the maelstrom. It is rapidly cycling away from you, ironically backing itself further into a corner in its attempts to keep away from you.

“Yvonne! Anguish!? SOMEBODY!? HELP! I NEED AN ADULT!!!”

As if in reply, a brilliant beam of light suddenly blasted a hole in the floor. A moment later, and a long serpentine, brilliant crimson creature skittered into the room on far too many legs. Or perhaps hands, as they are all shaped as grasping claws, the better to wield the entire arsenal that festoons the entire length of the creature’s body. The demonic centipede lifts one end up into the air, curling around to reveal a face there, that splits into a vile grin.

“Ah! You must be Ander! I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Yvonne, the Crimson Arsenal, and I have been waiting to find a human worthy to kill for a long time!”

Yvonne hefts the massive weapon several of her legarms are currently cradling - what seems to be a discarded cannon from the Gastly Truth – and levels it at Ysora.

“The archangel, however, can stay out of this!”

A brilliant beam of light lances out from the barrel of the massive cannon, causing Yvonne to stagger back and momentarily blinding you. Ysora, still concentrating on maintaining the barrier that is keeping Quietus steadily more contained, is unable to dodge in time and takes the blast in the shoulder. She screams and goes down, the barrier instantly vanishing and allowing Quietus to twirl back up into the air – where he stays, in the far upper back corner of the room away from you, suddenly not so eager to try and claim his revenge.

“Mmm, a most impressive weapon, if rather cumbersome and distasteful. I much prefer my array of blades – a duel is so much more satisfying. But Daz’kick, while unable to be here himself, wanted to make sure that we were well-equipped to deal with the likes of you!”

Yvonne turned her attention up to the ceiling where Quietus was still cowering.

“Speaking of which, don’t you have something to contribute as well, you cowardly little rodent?”

“Oh yeah! NanananananaHAHAHAHAH!”

Quietus shrieks, his nature ensuring that you can’t see exactly what he is doing, but suddenly instead of mere debris within the tornado droplets of water start to appear. More importantly, droplets of water start to come flying out of the tornado, forming a foul mist that fills the room. You don’t feel much of anything when the droplets strike you, except your divine power starts to fade. Ysora, on the other hand, moans as her skin begins to blister and smoke. Clearly unholy water, and its presence was going to make this coming fight a lot more difficult.

A lot more difficult, as suddenly another angel plummets down through the sunroof. Only this one lands on its feet, crouching in a feral manner before twisting its head up to look at you. Pus oozes from its mouth and nostrils, and its eyes are frozen wide in shivering terror.

“Ah. So this is Ander? Pah, he is only a mere human! The two of you can have him – I want the archangel! Let us see how long she can endure as my host before she begs for the sweet release of death!”

The possessed angel gurgles, and you suspect this is Anguish, another Fiend Lord. Making the total present here now at least three, although that mental count shifts up to four as the room suddenly darkens. The sun itself is being shadowed by an eclipse, and as the brilliant golden orb begins to disappear you hear a voice come hissing from all around the city.

“Gaze upon the loss of your precious sun and despair, mortals! Now is the hour of night, of chaos, of death! The Fiend Lords have returned to this city not as its prisoners, but its conquerors! Surrender yourselves to the power of the Hells now, or we will tear apart the Heavens themselves to claim you!”

Behind you, Ysora pushes herself up to her feet with a groan. Her shoulder is a charred mess, the arm still attached but hanging lifeless at her side. The unholy mist was doubtless making it difficult for her to regenerate, although you could see the flesh there struggling to knit itself back together. She looks at the three assembled Fiend Lords gathered before you and shakes her head.

“Perhaps it is time for a tactical retreat? We seem to be outnumbered and unprepared for a united group of Fiend Lords. I have not seen them fight side-by-side since the defeat of their Master. One would question who is pulling their strings together.”

Ysora says, moving up to stand beside you despite her injury. The Fiend Lords bristle in response to her insinuation.

“No one is making us work together! Nihilus has simply made us understand the benefits of temporary cooperation!”

Quietus howls in response, and Yvonne grimaces.

“Quiet, you idiot! Stop talking and start killing!”

Yvonne growls, swinging her weapon up to fire uselessly into the tornado of movement that is Quietus. The blast destroys part of the ceiling, leaving it dangerously unstable given the already significant damage to the room. Yvonne’s appropriate cannon also gives a pitiful whine, prompting her face to split into a grin as she slings the weapon onto her back and begins drawing a thicket of weapons, each one slightly different.

“Ah, I was wondering when it was going to stop working! Now, we can move on to the more pleasurable means of battle!”

With a joint roar, the three Fiend Lords present rush towards you and Ysora. You could stay and try to fight, while Glurdalak and any other Fiend Lords present now ran rampant through your city, or you could attempt to retreat and regroup in the face of this unexpected development. Nihilus was responsible for this? He had never been anything more than a legend in your experience, and nothing you had ever seen save for a few deluded fiends had convinced you he was anything more. But you hadn’t known Azguloth Himself was imprisoned beneath Ironheart until you had stumbled over Him, either, so perhaps the legend was coming to life now. That did not bode well either.

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

“Right, and we can’t assume that what worked previously will work this time. Marialta is from your time, and so while she may not know the exact specifics of all the defenses, she will know of their existence. She is likely plotting up ways of circumventing them now. We should probably just assume that she has access to her own key by this point. She’ll likely go after her sister’s key next, so we should probably start there. Besides, I have special access to her, given that I was the one who arranged for her meeting with the Hierarch. I was here in sort of a discrete advisory position – so discrete, in fact, that she never told you apparently. Makes you wonder what else she never told you about, doesn’t it?”

Nihilus chuckles to himself as he turns away from you and approaches not the door, but the back wall of your cell. He traces his fingers over the stone, and then rakes his fingers down the wall. Rather than triggering some sort of secret door, however, he seems to tear some sort of shimmering portal in reality! As casually as a hunter cleaning game, Nihilus inserts his hand into the wound, tugging it further open and moving to stand aside and allow you access.

“I figured we would take the faster and less inconspicuous route, and simply portal directly to Fianna’s bedroom rather than walk through the halls. Oh, of course it’s warded, but I can take care of that easily enough – here, take my hand.”

Nihilus holds out a gloved hand, and as you place your fingers into his you feel a small jolt of magic race over you.

“We are now invisible to all senses both mundane and magical. Well, I am, and you are as well for as long as we maintain contact. Now then, shall we go play voyeur? Although I believe it’s not for another hour or two before you and Fianna emerge from your little play area for . . . round two?”

Together with Nihilus, you step through the portal, and emerge into Fianna’s room as promised. It was as messy and disorganized as you remember it – articles of clothing and other, more exotic items scattered about haphazardly all over the floor, bed, and dresser. You had always wondered about how such an elegant and brilliant creature as Fianna could live in such a mess, and yet she had always just given a little knowing smile when asked about it. You suspected that things were not nearly as chaotic as they seemed, for Fianna always knew exactly where the object she wanted was in the mire, and disorganization was always a good way to hide a cleverly concealed trap.

The room was in an even messier state than usual, and it was not hard to see why. Hip-deep in one of the closets was a slave girl, one of the previously insignificant drones who made sure your joint palace was keep clean and well-stocked. Of course you had vetted such people carefully, using a mixture of worship and magic to make sure that they remained loyal – but then no one had intended on future versions of yourselves coming back to possess them, either. Perhaps you should recommend that to Nihilus to suggest to Fianna the next go around, just to make things easier on your next self, or whatever. My, but the twisty things that time travel did to the mind!

As you and Nihilus step into the room, the slave girl wiggles carefully back out of the closet, studiously avoiding touching the door jam. Cradled in her arms is a small jewelry box, which the slave girl examines with a smile for a moment before looking up – directly at you and Nihilus.

“So you’ve come, Writer. I was wondering if your aid was genuine, or merely another twisted strand in the web you call History.”

“That’s the trouble with pre-cognition, isn’t it? You can never hide from them because they already know you’re coming.”

Nihilus says with a sigh, and then the evidentially Marialta-possessed slave girl screams and throws the jewelry box at an artfully spread cloak on the floor. The jewelry box hits square in the middle of the cloak, shattering open, and throwing the entire room into bedlam. Immediately almost every single thing in the room – clothing, furniture, objects – comes to violent life. The jewelry box, meanwhile, merely quivers, already too broken to participate, leaving a handful of gems to be scattered across the floor as the cloak writhes up like a snake. One of them resembles a piece of amber, enclosed around what looks like . . . a small key.

“Ah, you are too predictable, my dear sister!”

The slave girl chortles as she dives across the room, seeking to enclose her hand around the false gem. Abandoning you, Nihilus blinks out of existence, and must have come back somewhere near Marialta, as the gem suddenly flies up into the air. Marialta laughs as she catches a book that is flapping down through the air towards her head and swings it around, batting the gem back down out of the air an instant after it has left the floor.

“Did you really think that was going to work against someone who has seen everything!?”

Meanwhile, you have troubles of your own. Abandoned by Nihilus, who seems to still be invisible to everyone but Marialta, you have now become visible. And thus, you are a valid target by the angered room. A clothing rack descends on you from behind, its tines trying to wrap around your arms and legs to hold your immobile, while the cloak previously thrown haphazardly on it wraps around your neck like a noose. But Fianna’s defenses are not entirely non-lethal, as a dagger swishes through the air towards you, diving down towards your eye.

Inspectre

2012-09-22, 06:34 PM

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

MORE MUSIC, YEAH!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMOhsvhF4Jw

You and Catbox are summoned without incident, and enjoy some of the beer while waiting for the other two to be summoned with the death of mortals. To your surprise upon being summoned, however, Malarky did not slurp up the cat. He did, however, certainly lunge for it while screaming.

“MY CAT!”

The foul-smelling devil snatches the old tom cat up, and for a moment the two of them stare down into each other eyes (or eye, in the tom cat’s case). Then, the cat meows emphatically, and purrs as Malarky sets it onto his shoulder. You had heard stories of humans walking around with parrots on their shoulder, and could only imagine it looked as ridiculous as the devil with the cat perched on his shoulder, whispering quietly but audibly to it.

“Yes . . . yes my fine feline friend. Now you’re going to go and catch me some fine sewer ratsies for us to feast on, aren’t you? WHAT!?”

Malarky suddenly roars, turning to glare at Catbox, who is simply staring at him and the cat, jaw wipe open.

“Um . . . nothing!”

Malarky gives the cat one last gentle pat on the head, and then sets it down onto the floor and gives it a little push.

“Go on, find our feast!”

And the cat runs back out of the room at high speed, either glad to get out of there alive, or bewitched into going and finding some “ratsies” for his new friend. It was at this point that Mouse got summoned, and the little oblivious bastard, bless his cold dead heart, just cheerfully started lapping the blood up off the altar and asking what he missed.

“Oh, nothing . . . just Malakry’s new fine feline friend.”

Catbox said, snickering. Malarky raises a claw in anger, but then thought better of it as he looked around at the assembled humans.

“We doing this assignment or are you two just going to get drunk and earn us a permanent spot on the Cleaver’s hooks?”

Malarky growled, and Catbox’s grin lessened – but only a little. While you start on your second mug of beer, the cultist leader comes back over to you. He looks over the motley assortment of fiends he has just summoned and smiles uneasily.

“Masters. The materials that you will need are in a nearby alchemist’s shop. The man was killed several months ago, and his family has not moved in to claim the establishment yet. I’ve managed to procure the key, but the streets are filled with guards. You see, the city is under attack right now, and we were wondering if maybe you could help –“

“No.”

Malarky growls, and then looks around at the assembled group of cultists, who suddenly seem a lot less hospitable.

“Yes?”

He says a moment later, without enthusiasm, and the humans relax.

“We are surrounded by elves, and are afraid that if they break into this city they will kill us all. If that happens, your own masters will no longer have our aid to rely on.”

“No more trips to the mortal realm!?”

Mouse chipped up from his spot on the altar, still picking over the corpse that summoned him. The imp tore out one of the dead mortals eyes and then greedily shoved it into his tiny fang-filled mouth, chewing vicious for several long seconds.

“Can you help us?”

The cultist leader pressed again.

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

As Rosenburg charged the traitorous Garret, twin arrows streaked even faster to their target. The first hit Garret in his non-weapon arm, the former druid deliberately interposing his arm with blinding speed to take the arrow rather than let it hit his stomach. This left the other, more dangerous arrow, however, to pass through his guard unimpeded and strike him directly in the throat. Held in place by the roots, Garret didn’t stagger back from the impact, nor did he go down. Instead, he actually grinned, revealing blood-flecked teeth as he gurgled a challenge.

“What would be fortune-ending for your meat is merely an inconvenience for me!!!”

A few moments later, Rosenburg reaches his opponent, ducking under the fallen druid’s next whip crack and then swinging his scythe up and across. Impeded by the remaining roots still charring into ash around his body, Garret is unable to dodge and takes the scythe directly across the chest. The well-honed blade rips through cloth and flesh, but even this is unable to bring him down. Roses sprout out from the hole left by the scythe’s path, and immediately flash burn into a plume of ash. Through the tear in Garret’s dark cloak, more bare burned flesh is visible . . . and despite the patchwork nature of the burns, brands can also be clearly seen, scarred into the skin. The brands are spaced periodically up and down Garret’s entire body, at least as far as Rosenburg can see, and now that he’s close he can also see the same brands adorning his hands and face beneath the bandages.

“You’re lurking beneath this inelegant form as well, aren’t you wolf?”

Garret whispers to Rosenburg as the druid brings his scythe back around. This time, Garret catches the scythe’s blade as it descends, the blade biting into Garret’s hand before becoming stuck. Veins of ice begin to run down the length of the blade as Garret’s hand closes around the blade, holding it immobile as beads of frozen blood roll down off his palm. Garret brings his other hand up and wraps it around Rosenburg’s throat, using his grip to shove his head back instead of choking. The back of Rosenburg’s head begins to grow hot as he becomes aware that the pillar of fire Garret’s last whip crack created is directly behind him.

“They say this world will end in either fire or ice, wolf. Tell me – which one would suffice for you?”

Meanwhile across the battlefield, the others struggle to survive the onslaught from the pint-sized fire elementals. Jarod dispatches his previously summoned earth elementals out to meet Garret’s servants head-on, but it is merely twelve against dozens. Some fire elementals get through, while the rest swarm around the earth elementals, gradually heating up their bodies until they glow red hot and the rocks begin to shatter and the charred dirt loses its cohesion. It is a slow process, but an inevitable one when the earth elementals are so badly outnumbered. Jarod jabs his staff into one of the leading elementals that reaches the group, and instantly the elemental bursts into a burst of sparks, dismissed back to its home plane. Four more close in around him, cutting him off from the others.

“Rosenburg! Garret is likely possessed! There must be something holding the spirit into his body! Destroy it!”

Jarod calls, desperately swinging his staff around him in wide arcs, dismissing two more elementals and keeping the other two as bay.

“SILENCE!” Garret roars, renewing his efforts to shove Rosenburg back into the pillar of fire. Another half dozen elementals meanwhile, menace Alons and his charges.

Willow shies back by Mags, who watches the approaching elementals and periodically looks at his appropriated sword uncertainly. Greg watches the elementals’ advance with considerable less calm, and grunts as he breaks the top off of the bottle of Donovale wine.

“To Hells with it!”

He says, tipping his head back and pours some of the contents messily down into his mouth through the shattered top of the bottle. Willow watches this, and her eyes suddenly light up with an idea. The barmaid runs over and snatches the bottle out of Greg’s hands, and then pulls back and hurls it at the elemental.

“Please work, please work!”

The barmaid chants, and then gives a squeal of delight as the bottle passes directly through one of the fire elementals. The sudden heat causes the already compromised bottle to burst, spraying the surrounding area with wine. Wine which doesn’t have a high-enough alcohol content to ignite from its brief contact with the fire elemental. Instead, the sudden burst of liquid within it causes the elemental to expire into a wet pile of ashes.

“The ale probably isn’t strong enough either! We can use it to put them out!”

Willow shouts, and Mags drops his sword in favor of one of the casks abandoned by the earth elementals. He cracks it open across his knee, and then sprinkles the contents over the nearest two fire elementals, the ale likewise not having enough alcohol to ignite.

“Praise the gods for cheap-ass swill!”

Greg shouts as he runs towards a cask of his own, only to be cut off by one of the remaining fire elementals. The remaining two close in on Alons from opposite directions.

“Alons! Look out!”

Willow shouts.

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

At your claims of perhaps knowing more than she let on, the elf’s eyes twitched – ever so slightly . . . surprise. At your reassurance, however, she relaxes again, although she is clearly confused as to why you are not going to the fortress.

“I do not know. I can be fairly convinced when I need to be.”

Aurewlynn says with a pout, although she sighs and nods a moment later.

“Although the words of a deserter mean nothing to my people. And you are right, they likely would try to investigate if they knew what was lurking below.”

The she elf agreed, her tone sullen. After you explain the plan to her, Aurewlynn takes the paper and pen, and quickly sketches out a note. It looks like a standard message to you, although you do note that it has an interesting feature – a forged signature.

“That’s the signature of Tur Villid, the leader of one of our armies. As far as I know, he’s still leading the efforts against this city, and so would be the natural choice to send a message back to the fortress. I’ve seen his signature a few times, having served briefly as a message courier myself. I . . . assume your illusion will be able to improve my forgery?”

At the doorway before going inside to rest, Aurewylnn pauses and looks back. She seems about to say something, mulls it over in her mind, and then forces a smile.

“You have been more than kind to me, Noctis. I owe you my life, and I will not forget that. Thank you.”

Then she goes inside to rest, and you prepare the remainder of the necessary magics. She opens the door again at the first knock, and watches you finish your preparations with interest. She barely even winces when you prick her finger to take the necessary blood for the scroll’s magic. After listening to your instructions, she nods. Again she hesitates for a moment, and then leans in and kisses you on the cheek.

“Thank you again Noctis. I will return as soon as I can . . . be careful.”

Then she is gone, and you are left reeling from the chaos trying to climb up out of your mind. You had to find a way to deal with this hideous temptation, because when the time came you doubted a bunch of elves, skilled as they are, would be enough to hold the fortress against the full might of the Hells. How to accomplish that, however, was something beyond your kin, and you spent most of the night’s remainder mulling over it, watching the city waiting for the sunrise. This stand-off between the humans and elves would not last much longer – sooner rather than later the elves would likely make their move. But what form would it take?

Thinking about trying to find more allies to your main problem, you decide that the paladins would be the ones most likely to agree to help willingly, even if it meant abandoning Amaranth to burn. Azguloth could *not* be set free. Unfortunately, you weren’t aware of where the paladin base camp within the city was – you were aware that there was a small detachment of them present though. It was all the paladins could afford to send with them scattered all over the kingdom trying to save everyone, or at least as many as they could.

Hoping the citizens of Amaranth would know, you approach a relatively friendly merchant, doing his best to take advantage of the grim times by peddling his wares directly in the streets. Before he can answer, however, you feel a heavy hand fall onto your shoulder.

“Who wants to know?”

A voice growls behind you, and you turn to find yourself standing in front of a mountain of muscled flesh. A mountain of flesh that wreaked of alcohol and back alleys, however, threatening to bring tears even to your eyes from the stench. Two bloodshot eyes peered out at you from a chiseled, hair-covered face. Across this . . . person’s back was slung an equally massive warhammer, adorned with what appeared to be holy symbols. Beneath the man’s cloak, you could see an array of weapons and vials hanging from his vest, but no sigils marking him as a member of the Church of Light himself. An ally, or hanger-on, perhaps? The city was filling up with would-be heroes, and this man certainly smelled like one of them.

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-09-22, 11:02 PM

The Lost and Forgotten

He stands and tries to sneak for the keys, but something stops him. He looks to the devils opening the cage and wondering what will happen to the person inside. It doesn't seem right to abandon that person. He wouldn't want to be tortured, so why should he let someone else be tortured. Thinking of no real way to deal with the devils without sparking violence, he looks around for something, anything he can use as a weapon. Maybe if he got the drop on them he could stop them from taking that captive without alerting more guards.

Sorry for the delay, work's been a killer lately. :smallredface:

It's time for this amnesiac to remember a little bit of what it's like to be a paladin! :smallcool:

Tae

2012-09-23, 07:26 PM

Guess cats like Malarkey too, Bramble thought, sipping her beer. The beer was good. Dark, thick and bitter. It reminded her of life.

Bramble turned a genuine smile of approval onto Malarkey. Get him away from Turbine, and the big oozing brute ain’t half bad, she mused. He’s right about us getting the job started. Much fun as it was listening to the Cleaver make the others scream, it weren’t much fun when my turn came ‘round.

To her surprise, Malarkey met Bramble’s gaze and quirked up the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Mouse’ll be a problem if we don’t keep ‘im on a short leash. Little bastard’s scared of his own shadow back home, but as soon as he comes up here he’s all fangs and claws, eatin’ people and makin’ nasty with the leftovers.

Bramble picked at a scab on her forehead, examined the result, and flicked it into Catbox's beer, where it floated unnoticed until being lost between the big fiend's black lips. Malarkey can hold that leash, since he’s already been grabbin' at it. Maybe if I let ‘im keep thinkin’ he’s the new sarge, he’ll convince our friend tom kitty to piss on Catbox again.

Bramble smirked thoughtfully, finished off her beer, and then turned to the cultists.

“So lemme see if I got this straight. You want us to help you with your elf problem. There’s a whole bunch of goodies nearby in an alchemist’s shop that me an’ Catbox can use t’ blow stuff up. There’s guards everywhere in town ‘cause of the elves, and you cultists’re worried about sneakin’ us through to the shop. Yer also tryin’ t’ threaten us into helpin’ with your war by implyin’ that we won’t be able to get back here if the elves win. I think that about covers it.”

“So here’s the plan. Get us some burlap and rope so’s we can cover up our hooves and not sound like a herd of horses troopin’ over the cobbles. We’ll all wear yer robes, so ye better make sure they’re long ones ‘cause me, Cat, an’ Malarkey ain’t exactly petite. We’ll all go bust in the shop, subtle-like, and while me an’ Cat quick knock ourselves a few things together, Malarkey and Mouse can figure out a strategy. We’ll wipe up the elf problem real fast, and that’ll give us a chance to try out some new bombs. So long as none of your people have qualms about carryin’ fiend-made explosives into battle, ‘course. We got a mission to do, but it looks like helpin’ you with yer problem might help us with ours. What in the bloody hells is elves anyway?”

daelrog

2012-09-23, 09:51 PM

Alons Sift

Clever girl. Alons was spending his attention watched as Rosenberg fought that summoner... whatever it was whether a fire elemental itself, or something far more malignant. His attention focused back on the elementals at Willow's shouts.

Two of them?

He threw off the elven quiver, letting it fall to the ground, then yanked his grey cloak off. Weak elementals were little more than the elemental itself giving a small intelligence, and he'd put out the fire elementals like any other fire. He whipped out with his cloak at the first one, attempting to snuff it out, and then move to the second.

GuyFawkes

2012-09-24, 01:01 AM

Lucifuge

Lucifuge turned around to face the speaker and his rather sensitive olfactory senses is immediately assaulted by the strong smell of alcohol and whatever it was mixed with it. Nevertheless, he did not flinch and looked at the man, observing him from head to foot.

He certainly looked like a fighting man. An adventurer, perhaps, out to make a name for himself in this besieged city? More likely, for he heard paladins were devoted to their church, and drinking, he gathered, would be out of the question. But he did not dare assume. Humans were a peculiar bunch.

"No one important in particular. Just someone who wishes to seek their guidance and assistance. Might you be one of the paladins?"

WhiteKnight777

2012-09-24, 05:51 AM

Umber

Umber leaned back just as the dagger came towards his eye, taking a single skipping step - damn this untrained flesh-sack! - and took a cut down his cheek... but the cloak fell away from his throat in tatters as the blade sliced cleanly through the fabric. He spared a single disgusted glance for the space Nihilius had occupied. So hard to find good help these days, without the aid of magic, brainwashing, and alchemy...

"You know" Umber mused aloud, diving towards the supposed hand of fate, driving home a blow that might have been lethal, if she hadn't dipped aside at just the right moment. "That whole claim is really starting to bother me." He let out a grunt as a knee caught him in the gut, and he stumbled back. Driving this body was more an effort of will than anything else - and though the flesh was weak, Umber's iron control made up for it, at least in part. Besides, as it was only temporary, he could afford to risk long-term damage for short-term gain.

"I mean really, if you actually were possessed of omniscience, and able to use it properly, you wouldn't be so gods-damned terrible at your job." Umber continued, his casual tone marred just a bit by the great, gasping breaths he took has he struggled to avoid both Mellita and the room's defenses. He staggered back into a particularly irate bedspread, only his face emerging as the thing wrapped around him like an angry sea-sponge... and then Umber grinned. "Besides that, you'd know about this..." He snarled out a series of words and snapped a couple of intricate gestures behind the cover of the blanket, and suddenly the room's defenses began moving around him. Really, it wasn't as if he'd never prepared for this, back in the day. He knew everyone's defenses. And how to negate them, should they be suborned. And, for that matter, how to suborn them.

He leaped forward, a sword flying into his hand from somewhere in the clutter, the mess moving with more purpose now that he was directing it. A particularly fetching pair of stilleto-heeled boots kicked out from under the bed, and drove themselves at Mellita's ribcage - actual stilleto-points glittering at the heel's ends. He threw the clutter-guardians at Mellita in waves, attempting to put her in a position where her knowledge would do her no good - where she would simply be swarmed by too many attackers for her less-than-stellar body to deal with.

TechnOkami

2012-09-25, 12:00 AM

Rosenberg

The Druid grits his teeth, faced with a cacophony of fire and ice before him, though mostly it consists of fire.

"You speak as if the wolf and I are separate... let me tell you this-"

Rosenberg kept his right hand firmly attached to his scythe, using his left to punch upward at his arm and hand gripped tightly around his throat, likely breaking the elbow in the process.

"The wolf and I are one, inseparable! There is no, we, there is only I!"

Rosenberg's right hand shifted, transforming into a fearsome claw. Swiftly and savagely, he tore downwards at his chest, ripping apart whatever bandages lay bound around his chest. If he's to free him from his elemental possession, he needs to see where to strike first.

His strengthened blow knocked the pyre-man a few feet away. Unfortunately his scythe is still stuck through his hand... but Rosenberg has other weapons to lash back with while his main weapon is temporarily unavailable. His other free hand shifted as well, two menacing claws before the man of flame, two predatory eyes looking directly at his prey.

"As for the world's demise... I do not care. As long as I live, I will fight, and continue to fight."

He brandished his claws before his foe.

"Come on!"

Iethloc

2012-09-26, 09:24 PM

Sohssal

There weren't any urgent matters Sohssal needed to tend to, other than keeping his temper around “his” simpering minions. But this wasn't the first time he had heard about Istomilo. The Estate surely had a library or other repository of information, and Sohssal went there to look him up. If he had such an impact on the Hells, there had to be a record of him somewhere. He couldn't afford to show ignorance of things Nihilus should know about, especially if the real one is out and about.

More importantly, if Istomilo knew a similar ritual (or the same one), digging him up would be a good enough backup plan. But that was assuming he was still available, or even intact enough to be of any use. Sohssal had an inkling about what Fiend Lords did to failures.

Baerdog7

2012-09-26, 11:50 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

((Battle Music: Battle With the Four Fiends - The Black Mages (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPi89gzpvK8)))

Ander visibly pales at the appearance of not one, but three additional fiend lords. This kind of incursion was unprecedented since the Age of Fiends and for the briefest of moments, he thought of running away.

And then Ysora gets hit.

At that moment, something within Ander breaks. The faces of all the comrades and loved ones he had lost fighting the Good Fight flash before his eyes: Caitlyn and Gerald, Dahlia, Melcara, David, Belroar and the other Grandmasters, Morganna, Hondshioh...

He would not add Ysora to the tally.

“Gaze upon the loss of your precious sun and despair, mortals! Now is the hour of night, of chaos, of death! The Fiend Lords have returned to this city not as its prisoners, but its conquerors! Surrender yourselves to the power of the Hells now, or we will tear apart the Heavens themselves to claim you!”

No.

“Perhaps it is time for a tactical retreat? We seem to be outnumbered and unprepared for a united group of Fiend Lords. I have not seen them fight side-by-side since the defeat of their Master. One would question who is pulling their strings together.”

NO.

However, the reality of the situation meant that Quietus' rain of holy water was sapping his divine power fast and keeping Ysora disabled. Without his powers and her aid, there would be no winning the fight. Temporarily regarding Yvonne, Anguish, and Glurdalak as "mere" distractions, Ander reaches out with his senses to pinpoint Quietus' location.

Knowing the Slaying Wind's starting point up in the back corner of the room, Ander quickly estimates an intercept trajectory. He unleashes a large portion of his divine reserves as a blinding burst of holy light, hoping to daze the assembled Fiend Lords and buy himself some precious seconds. Without hesitation, he follows it up with a mighty heave of his sword, a holy chain playing out from the hilt like a grappling line. The heavenly-forged blade strikes true, striking Quietus in the side and pinning him to the wall near the ceiling.

Grabbing the holy chain in his right hand, Ander commands it to shorten, rocketing himself up towards the pinned Quietus. In his left hand, sheathed in holy flame, is Melissan's soul crystal. With a mighty blow and ignoring any struggling on the fiend's part, Ander plunges the soul crystal deep into Quietus' chest, beating and clawing the pint-sized fiend to death.

(In case it wasn't clear, Ander is using the sword and chain like Batman uses his grappling gun to propel himself up to where Quietus is pinned near the roof.)

As Quietus' corpse dissolves into ash and the Flaying Wind dissipates, Ander carefully climbs up onto the nearby metal framework that used to hold the glass ceiling of the Council Chambers and extricates Morganna's sword from the wall. He mutters a short, exhausted prayer of thanks as he feels the holy power returning to his body. Even as his wounds close, Ander strides to the ragged edge of the framework and addresses his audience.

THIS IS OUR CITY! THIS IS OUR WORLD! AND YOU SHALL NOT HAVE IT!

Divine power fills the Speaker's voice, amplifying it so that he can be heard all across the city and compelling all within its borders to listen. As his voice crescendos, his aura also brightens, shining against Glurdalak's darkness like a miniature sun.

Paladins, take up your arms. Refugees, run ye no further! Show these fiends what greatness exists within the hearts of MEN!

Angels! Branded sisters of Angelus! RISE UP! Throw off the shackles that bind your minds and bodies and fly to me! Teach these invaders to FEAR the mar'kash once more! SHOW THEM THE GLORY OF HEAVEN!

As the Speaker's words echo over the city and fade away, he leaps from his perch and streaks down to earth like a blazing comet to interpose himself between the remaining Fiend Lords and Ysora.

Die here by my sword or wait for me in Hell to finish the job, it makes no difference. The time for you and all your brethren is nearly at an end.

No more words, now it is time to fight. Ander summons a shield of holy energy in his off-hand and raises his sword in a defensive posture, ready for the onslaught to begin.

Gorgondantess

2012-09-27, 03:51 AM

She sighs. Her barrier was breached, the path to the Speaker cut off, and now this. Granted, normally she could just turn to vapor and pass through the rubble, but she was currently holding Maurice's sword, which was quite tangible- and she didn't want to tamper with it at the moment.

"Do you need to see him now?"

"YES! Yes, I need to see him RIGHT NOW because gods only know what this THING is doing up there! And there's no telling what he'll be able to do if he looks through those journals!"

She grimaces. Typical. Closing her eyes a moment, she judges the extent of the damages, and speaks to the paladins.

"The entrance to this building has been breached. Thoroughly."

The paladins hesitate a moment, then go charging back downstairs.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Whatever managed to destroy my barrier would be able to cut through the both of you in a heartbeat. And seeing as your options for exit are limited, my advice is: hide, or stick with me."

She didn't like leaving the entrance overrun- she said she'd secure it, and unlike certain humans her words were worth more than the air behind them- but it seemed there were more pertinent matters at the moment. Meanwhile, the Speaker was either crushed under the rubble (which would likely be enough to kill any human) or trapped behind it, separate from her but also from the fiends. Either way, he could wait. She turns back to the red haired woman.

"You. Human. If these archives of yours are so valuable, then we have no time to waste. These men can attest to my ability. Take me to these quarters you speak of."

"But I don't trust y-"

"I don't exactly think you can afford that kind of luxury right now," she snarls. "Now either you lead me there or I go back downstairs to secure the entrance. If these archives are so very important, I advise you do as I say. What do you have to lose?"

Vegna

2012-09-28, 06:34 AM

Mal Harath

The man's head span in circles as the thoughts of Master Vork being everywhere at once started to ache his head again. He kept his voice low, as the thought of searching elves was making him a little paranoid.

"If it somehow is Master Vork, then we could do with another strong-hand to help us rescue the rest of the group. We should divide for the moment, the elf and I will take off in different directions to try and follow the patrols or catch the escaped prisoner before they do, with less chance of detection. Val'Tosh, you'll stay here for now, but if we find the main group and need a distraction, our elven friend will send back a tremor for you to start making a lot of noise. After that, just try get out of the area and head towards the sound of fighting, that'll probably be us."

With a sigh, he felt his plan would work, providing they didn't have to fight anything by themselves. But, that they were so close to the villagers finally filled him with confidance.

He turned to the she elf.

"I realise if we're all about to fight elves, I should probably know your name before any embaressing mistakes can be made. I am Mal Harath."

Kasanip

2012-09-29, 07:41 PM

Lukina

"Yes." Lukina answered. She was still very tired, but even a little sleep had helped. She took a deep breath. She answered honestly.

"As a paladin, you know many of the stories and the history of the church, and of Heaven and the Angels, and you know of our Lady Miriam, and those who are her servants. Though it may be difficult to believe, I am telling you the truth, and I hope that you can see it and believe my words.
I am one of my Lady's servants, and though I don't know how yet, I am here in this form, for some purpose that has been hidden." She hesitated. "It's better to say maybe it is like being in a dream at the same time. I am Lukina, I have lived a life here for these years, and only recently there was something that opened within me, and the memories of ancient times returned."

She looked straight and fervently into the eyes of the commander with a determined expression.

"In those days of service, my name was Genevieve. I don't know what has happened since those days, but I must find out. I must find out what the plan My Lady had, why I am...like this. And what my purpose is." Her expression fell a little. "I see those past times in my dreams, or at least pieces. But I must meet my Lady again to learn the truth." She returned to look at him. "That is why I was looking for the paladins, who are loyal servants of My Lady. I know it is difficult to believe. Sometimes it is hard for me to believe too. I will try to answer any doubt that you have."

Dorizzit

2012-09-30, 01:24 AM

Korram Alstan

Korram receives the damned man's condemnation calmly. Before Korram can give a response, the man's armor kills him and he begins being dragged back into the portal. Korram begins to shake his head at the sad state of affairs, when he realizes that the chains will drag the family back alongside the already-damned soldiers.

You have got to be kidding me.

Korram explodes into action, rushing towards the three trapped souls. Along the way, he scoops up a large shard of armor left behind by the conscripts, a jagged piece of metal still relatively whole. Korram reaches the man first, as he was closest. Without hesitating, Korram hammers the jagged triangle of metal into the chain dragging him along. Both the chain and the makeshift chisel quickly shatter, ripping a jagged wound in Korram's hand, but freeing the prisoner. Korram presses on without a word.

Korram next moves for the child, catching up with her as she reaches the base of the building. Instead of dealing with her chains directly, Korram throws her bodily, swinging her on the chain so that she flips over an extending piece of the facade, an intricately carved stone lion. The chain tangles with the edges and ridges of the carving, and the weakened hell-steel gives way before the celestial rock, depositing the girl bruised but unharmed on the ground.

The man is already several feet off the ground by the time Korram focuses on him. Kicking off a ground level window, Korram scrambles up the building after him, quickly grabbing hold of the man. Climbing up the prisoner to reach his chain, Korram looks around for a solution, but nothing presents itself. Deciding to take a risk with his other options exhausted, Korram winds up and punches the chain with all of his strength. It is difficult to tell whether the loud crunch that follows comes from the chain or the bones in Korram's fist, but regardless, both break apart under the force.

This presents Korram with his next problem, which is a nearly two story drop. Wrapping his arms around the rescued prisoner, Korram does his best to cushion the man's fall. The two land heavily, but miraculously Korram avoids any serious injuries. The man quickly rolls off of him, but Korram waves off the subsequent attempt to help him to his feet, in favor of dragging himself into a sitting position against the side of the building. Shaking an uncomfortable heat from his arm, Korram takes stock of the former prisoners. Although still shackled, they are no longer in danger of being dragged to hell, and the shackles grow weaker with each second in the divine atmosphere of Heaven.

"Alright, well, that was fun. Is anyone hurt?"

The_Snark

2012-09-30, 05:01 AM

Mar

Perhaps Pyria's arrival should have worried Mar, but all all she could feel right then was relief: she wasn't going to be tortured just yet. Even a few seconds's delay was precious. She huddled on the floor, shivering with cold and the memory of pain, and stole an upward glance when she thought nobody was looking.

Titania was so different when she spoke to her daughter. Warm (figuratively speaking). Affectionate. It didn't make sense; how could someone be so caring one second, only to turn around and show cruelty the next?

Mar hunched beneath the princess's scrutiny, not sure what to expect. She could not remember seeing Pyria more than two or three times during the war, always at a distance; the queen had kept her well-guarded. And this wasn't the same Pyria, was it? Mar had no idea how human she had become. She dimly recalled feeling horror when she looked at the princess's spirit-ridden soul, but through human eyes Pyria seemed no different than anyone else (except her hair).

Sentence was pronounced. It seemed... light. Mar didn't really think Titania would be content to chain her up somewhere to watch the old kingdom's return. And if by some miracle she was? Well. It was less of a relief than she would have thought a minute ago. Of course it was better than enduring Daddy's poem and whatever other torments the Queen felt like inflicting, but it meant remaining a prisoner—perhaps forever. And if Phaedra really did rise, what might she be forced to witness, helpless to interfere?

She met Pyria's eyes briefly, still uncertain whether she should be grateful, before allowing (hah! as if she had a choice) Istomilo to lead her away.

Inspectre

2012-10-07, 04:21 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

You save the entire family, although not without cost as you shred one hand, break a few fingers of the other, and break at least a couple ribs in the hard landing at the end of it all. You manage to drag yourself up into a sitting position against the wall, waving off any attempts to help you up onto your feet, and take stock. All the threats have been neutralized, not that the enlisted forces of the Hells had been much of a threat to anyone but those who had grown soft living in complete safety up in the Heavens for years and years. The three members of the family had been saved, and although you are not sure if you can die up here, you can certainly still feel pain as your reborn body pointedly reminds you how bad it is to break even the smallest of your bones.

A few moments later, and the support of the wall against your back suddenly disappears, leaving you to topple backward with a gasp of surprise as the buildings rearranged themselves to their original configuration. The small family gathers around you to help you back up, although they back away respectfully as Miranda suddenly appears at your side.

“Korram! Are you alright!? You’re injured – did those humans do this!? Where did they go?”

Miranda pressed, reaching down to lay a hand on your shoulder. She began to murmur a prayer, her voice wavering a bit as she stumbling over a few of the words, but although the language she was now speaking was unfamiliar to you it sounded very comforting. You felt your broken bones begin to rapidly mend themselves, not an entirely pleasant experience but a familiar one to those used to magical healing. Miranda hefts you back up onto your feet with ease after the deep cut in your hand seals completely.

“The portals have closed – for now. I do not know how many people were taken, but I saw at least one group of these monsters drag a set of prisoners through the portal before I could intercept them. I can only assume the results are similar or worse across the rest of the City.”

The angel shudders, and again for just a moment she seems more like a young girl than an ancient being. This sense is only reinforced when she turns to you with an uncertain frown.

“Um . . . what should we do now? I mean, what do you suggest should be our next course of action?”

“Those poor people. They didn’t want to do this. But they said they didn’t have any choice either.”

The girl of the family spoke up, prompting the man to grimace.

“There is always a choice. I do not envy them for the “options” that were doubtlessly presented to them. May the Gods have mercy upon their damned souls.”

The man shakes his head and turns to you, giving you a curt nod.

“You have my deepest gratitude for saving us, sir . . . um, Korram, was it? I’m not sure we’ll be able to help you or the honored protector much in whatever you do next. So, if you do not mind, I think my family and I are going to go and check on the rest of our family, and make sure none of them were . . . lost.”

And with that, the three people who had just saved shuffled off, as if nothing had happened. Well, nothing technically had happened to them, but it certainly would have if you had not stepped in! Apparently, their near escape was not enough to motivate them to do anything more towards a solution save check on those that were important to them. Selfishness like that was surprising to see in someplace like the Heavens, and leads to the dark thought that perhaps there were other negative aspects lurking just beneath the pleasant surface up here. In the end, humans were still involved, and not even a stagnant perfection could change some things. But, that was someone else’s problem. Right now, you also had problems of your own that you would need to focus your attention on solving. At least now, you had an angel in front of you . . . perhaps you could turn this situation to your own advantage? Even if the thought of that left a bitter taste in your mouth after reminding you of the casual self-centeredness you had just seen.

The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

Deciding that escape was secondary to ensuring no one else would be tortured – although you are sure there’s more than just these two devils down here – you plan to interfere. A bold decision, and a dangerous one given the fact that you are clad in rags and have no weapons, while the two devils are just as big as you are, heavily armored, and armed with clubs. Looking around for a weapon to even the odds, you momentarily despair as you can find nothing to use in the short time you have available.

You could potentially heft one of the cages themselves, depending on how heavy the entire thing was -bulky, heavy, and unwieldy, but something to use. The point was moot as the cages were stacked up higher than the reach of your fingertips - how did the devils get to the top ones, anyway? Given some time and effort, you could potentially break off the doors to your cage, but that would make a lot of noise. Surprise was the only advantage you had right now. There was nothing lying on the ground or hanging from the walls that you could use (the walls being nothing but more cages anyway).

The only thing you had was the makeshift lockpick . . . Katrina had suggested making it into a shiv at some point. You didn’t know how to make it into a shiv, or even what a “shiv” was actually. But you slid the key into your palm, and wrapped your fingers around, making a fist with the remains of the key sticking out a few inches before your knuckles. That felt good – it wouldn’t break through the devils’ armor, but if you hit a soft spot like their flesh, it would presumably hurt.

Judging from the sounds of it, the devils almost had their captive out of the cage. With no time left to spare, you begin to move, slipping as quickly as you can down the hallway. Katrina watches your progress with interest, and hisses at you when she notices that you don’t seem intent on leaving the area as fast and as quietly as possible.

“Hey! What are you doing!? You’re going the wrong way!”

Ignoring her, you come to a slightly gap in the cages – an intentional space where one column of cages is missing. This creates a row where you can squeeze through – apparently the devils liked being able to change aisle without having to go all the way to the end of the rows. You still don’t see any source for the red light, and you are starting to get the sense that this place is gigantic. There are similar gaps in the cages on the rows of either side of your aisle, allowing you to see more rows of cages beyond the confines of these two aisles – also stretching out of sight in either direction.

Refusing to despair just yet, as there had to be a way out of this place – to the torture chambers if nothing else, you concentrate on helping your fellow prisoner for now. Peeking around the corner of the intersecting row and the next aisle, you see the two devils standing a short distance away. They are entirely focused on extracting their prisoner from his cage. The devils’ current victim seems to be a tall elderly man, although his elongated crimson-colored fingers reveal that there is something inhuman about him, just as Katrina had her stubby devil horns. Other than your memory and physical size, you seem to be completely human – although perhaps that is your disfiguration down in this place?

There was no time to ponder such things for the moment. Despite the prisoner’s efforts to remain in the cage, the two devils had him almost out now, and were punching and kicking him savagely. This only inflamed your anger further, and without further thought you stride down the hallway towards them. Their backs are to you, and your bare feet make barely any sound whatsoever against the rough stone floor. Therefore, you are almost directly behind them before one of the devils whirls on you, shrieking in your face!

Confronted by the shrieking devil, you react on instinct, throwing up your empty hand to catch the devil’s club in your grip before it can be used against you. Then you swing your key-equipped fist up into the devil’s neck, striking him in a soft spot just below the jaw. Dark ichor erupts from the spot where the key imbeds itself, soaking your hand. You twist and tear your hand free, and suddenly the devil melts away in a bright flash and a burst of smoldering ashes. You still have his club in your hand, and you quickly twist your grip around from the thick middle of the club to the grip. Now you have a weapon!

The other devil turns on you with a look of shock, and then growls as he brandishes his own club, dropping the prisoner to square off with you.

“Hmph. So you didn’t have everything taken from you after all, did you maggot!? Well, that’s going to make stomping you back down into the muck all the sweeter!”

The devil moves to step forward, and you prepare yourself for your first real battle. Then the other prisoner jumps on the devil from behind, knocking the fiend to the ground. You don’t give him a chance to get back up, smashing your club down onto his helmet until it flies off, and then down onto his head until it is a crushed pulpy mess that soon melts away into ash with the rest of the devil’s body. The other prisoner slumps back against the cage wall with a sigh of relief, while all around you comes hoots and cheers from the other nearby occupied cages.

“Thank you.”

The prisoner grunts, holding up his bound claw-like hands to examine them, as if he has never seen them before.

“Down here, I believe that I am called Ix. But I can remember that once, I had a different name. I think, I believe it was Hohenhiem . . . Hohenhiem Volesin.”

The elderly man with the blood-stained claws looks up at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Are you a prisoner here as well? I assumed you were no friends of those devils by the way you killed them, but I suppose that does not necessarily define your role here. You could be their supervisor, displeased with how they were unable to handle one elderly man. Or whatever I am now.”

The man looks down the aisle of cages both ways, which stretch on into the darkness.

“So what happens now? Those two were planning on dragging me off to the torture chambers, which I assume is around here somewhere. Frankly, I have no desire to be tortured, so if there’s somewhere else we could go, my gratitude to you would only multiply tenfold.”

Although the devils melted away, their armor and gear remained behind. Which meant that you now had two suits of armor, two clubs, and more importantly . . . a set of keys. You don’t think they would open everything, but they might open some cage doors, and perhaps the chains binding your latest new friend. From there, it seemed, it was simply a matter of picking a direction and walking until something changed. You should probably also go back and try to get Katrina out of her cage, assuming you wanted to make it a three-person party. You could just as easily go off on your own, as you owed nothing to either of them. And as your efforts a moment ago proved, you could sneak around past the devils so long as they don’t see you or get close enough to sense your presence or smell you or however that devil knew you were right behind him. That may not be as easy with two other people traveling towards freedom or at least delaying the inevitable with you.

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

As it turned out, while Nihilus did not have a particularly ornate manor or many servants, the one thing that he did have was an extensive library. You aren’t sure that you would find too many deep, dark secrets hidden in plain sight here, but it seemed that just about every matter of public record within the Hells was recorded here. You found a tome labeled “Istomilo” sitting on the bookshelf above a small reading desk, as if someone wanted it to be easy to find and ready at hand.

You scan through the tome quickly, trying to avoid being bogged down in minutiae when all you really wanted to know was where Istomilo was now. Apparently Istomilo’s soul was trapped in one of the Baron’s crystals – or perhaps you should say, Istomilo’s crystals, as he was their original inventor. The crystal had entered the Hells shattered, leaving Istomilo literally in pieces, inert and dead for all intents and purposes. For a long time fragments of his soul were nothing more than a curiosity, until Zareth the Remorseless enacted a plan to reform the crystal. He collected a fair number of fragments, and then worked with Daz’kick the Forgemaster to figure out a way to meld them back together. It doesn’t go into details about the exact process used, but evidentially it worked and Istomilo came back, if perhaps a bit damaged (they didn’t locate all of the crystal fragments).

It seems after Istomilo was reborn, he was predictably enslaved by Zareth, who enjoyed a brief boost in prestige at having a powerful magician at his disposal. That ultimately backfired after Istomilo was stolen from him by Videle, the Lady of Lust. The succubus queen had her own turn at shaping Istomilo’s rebuilt soul, and evidentially found a few more fragments of his soul to merge back into the whole. Eventually, however, he escaped and willingly joined forces with the Black General, making promises of unleashing the Hells upon the mortal realm in exchange for freedom.

The Black General ultimately agreed to let him go, in exchange for casting down the entire city of Vallon, a obnoxious thorn in the fiends’ side at that time. Istomilo failed, but he did manage to destroy the city. The mage disappeared after that, but it was believed his soul had been shattered again, the remains of the crystal scattered across the ruins of the once-great city. For a long period of time, nothing else was heard of Istomilo.

Then, he came back a number of years ago, perhaps because he had grown strong enough to no longer be afraid of a return to enslavement or perhaps because all of the Fiend Lords had been captured by the Church of Light by this point. He didn’t seem to have any particular agenda, setting up a small workshop in a distant corner of Zareth’s abandoned realm. The only thing that was known was certain was that he had not given up on his obsession with Marisiel the Protector, an archangel and a hated enemy of the Hells. Recently, he has disappeared again, but is presumed to be somewhere else, likely the mortal realm.

It is possible that there might be something useful in his workshop – obviously he had figured out a way to teleport himself back and forth between the mortal realm and the Hells if he came and went as he pleased. Any secrets that were left in the workshop were doubtlessly either hidden or very well-protected, and Istomilo was regarded as one of the most powerful wizards who had ever existed. You wondered if he had a similar level of arrogance as Umber.

And then you came upon a surprise. Written on the back cover of the book in plain script was a note. Addressed specifically to you.

Dear Sohssal,

I do hope that it is you reading this rather than one of those obnoxious imps. They can be entirely too noisy for their own good, although I’ve yet to see one of them particularly interested in reading a book so hopefully this will be safe.

In any event Sohssal, we need to talk. I disabled the manor’s communication crystal to prevent any inconvenient messages from being sent out by you at an inopportune time. As you might imagine, the idea of there being two individuals claiming to be Nihilus running around at the same time is likely to confuse the Fiend Lords, and they may just decide to turn on us both rather than attempt to put their heads together and figure it which of us is the real one.

Below I have written instructions for how to fix the sabotage done to the communication crystal. Once repaired, simply stand before it and utter the phrase “Writer of History”. That will send a message to me that you have received this secret message and would like to discuss my offer. I will arrive discretely back at my manor as quickly as I am able – unfortunately I am quite busy, and not even I can predict when you will find this.

You’re also welcome to try and continue to go it alone. Hopefully you will find a way out of here before you run afoul of one of the other Fiend Lords, or I do and they attack while still under the mistaken impression that you are me. It’s up to you. Best of luck.

Nihilus, the Writer of History

(So at this point just to recap, your options are to repair the communication crystal and contact Nihilus, investigate Istomilo’s workshop, or wait for Xerxes to return with news of where Isabella is – which he will do shortly if that’s what you want to work on so we can keep things moving along. The choice is yours over which path you would like to investigate.)

The Mortal Realm

[u]Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

“I –“

The red-haired woman licks her lips, and glances at the two paladins, who are also looking at you. Noticing her glance, they both give a slight nod, confirming that you had won someone’s trust today at least. The woman sighs and nods in defeat, turning to start running back the way she had arrived by.

“Fine. It’s this way!”

The woman leads you up another flight of stairs, and down another few hallways, the architecture subtly changing to suggest living quarters rather than worship areas. As you approach the latest corner, the woman comes to a stop and peeks around the corner before jumping back. She points around the corner as she turns back to you and the two guards.

“It’s through those doors – there’s two fiends right outside. Looks like they’re standing guard . . . I don’t know if they saw me or not.”

Really, it mattered very little whether they saw the woman or not. A moment later you went around the corner, and you were the last thing either of them saw as you dashed their bodies into the set of ornately carved double doors, sending the doors exploding inward. The room beyond was less an archive and more of a bedroom. There was an ornate bed in one section of the room, a set of baths in another corner, and then finally a large writing desk with several filled bookshelves sitting next to it.

Standing over the desk is a cloaked figure, the only thing really distinguishable about him being that he is humanoid and man-sized. He is leaning over the desk writing on a scrap of paper while simultaneously pouring over an open book when you and the others enter. With an unconcerned pace, he slips the scrap of paper inside his cloak, tosses the ink quill onto the desk, and closes the book before tucking it under his arm.

“That’s him! I told you he was here to steal secrets!”

The woman said, jabbing an accusatory finger at the creature. He seems more amused than concerned as his cowled head turns, taking in all of you in one long glance. Finally, he speaks, his voice slightly muffled but still clear enough to understand.

“Ah. The infamous “Archdemon” arrives. You’re a bit early – I was expecting Ander to burst in here instead.”

As one, the paladins and woman turn to look at you in questioning concern, prompting a bark of a laugh out of the intruder.

“Oh, don’t look so worried! She . . . it – what exactly do you identify yourself as these days, anyway? – is not an actual fiend. That is merely a title, bestowed by a superstitious and paranoid lot. Although I suppose the same could be said of you lot.”

The creature shrugs.

“In any event, it is time for me to depart.”

“You’re not going anywhere!”

The woman snarls, and the two paladins back up her implied threat by advancing into the room, splitting up to circle around the intruder in opposite directions. He watches the two guards and sighs.

“Oh please. You aren’t going to stop me. Do you even know who I am? I am called Nihilus, the Writer of History! Only one Fiend Lord among many, but I believe my reputation speaks for itself.”

All three of the Church members blink in shock at this revelation. Evidentially this Nihilus fellow was rather infamous. As the woman recovers from her shock she looks at the intruder incredulously.

“*You’re* Nihilus?”

“Indeed. Now that introductions are out of the way, I really need to be going.”

Nihilus sweeps his cowl over to face you directly.

“Listen. I know who you are and what you are searching for. Maurice, lost to the Hells like so many of her sisters. I know exactly who is holding her at the moment, and I am willing to introduce you in return for escorting me out of here. If you want to have a good bargaining chip for those negotiations, drag Hephestia here along – I’m sure he’d be only too happy to give you ten angels in return for the Adjudicator!”

Now it was the paladins’ turn to look at the red-haired woman in shock, who also recoiled in surprise and began to pale as she backed away from you.

“N-no, leave me out of this!”

“Trust me. Grab Hephestia and follow me. You can have your Maurice back within the hour, so that you can enjoy what little time you both have let together. Otherwise. . .”

Nihilus shrugs.

“You’ll waste a terrible amount of time searching for her. These humans can’t help you. They can barely save themselves, let alone anyone trapped down in the Hells. She is suffering terribly at the moment, but that will pale in comparison to what will follow shortly. You need to save her now. Isn’t that all you really wanted?”

The two paladins’ begin to waver their attention between you and Nihilus, clearly uncertain if they would have to fight one or both of you. No doubt they would fight to the death, even if they had no more chance than those two fiends you had just crushed into the door.

“Please. Don’t do this!”

Hephestia pleads, having backed herself into a corner away from you (which would ironically make her even easier to grab should you wish it). Everyone present in the room awaits your answer, and you suspect that once the choice was made there would be no going back. Either you would ally yourself with the Hells to save the one you loved, or you would ally yourself against them, and that would make your efforts to save Maurice much more difficult.

The Village of Woodhall
Kasanip

“Genevieve? Genevieve the Champion!?”

Welkin’s bloodshot eyes went wide, and judging from the sift in posture he went from curious but tired to shocked and wide awake. He looks you up and down thoroughly, and then peers deeply into your eyes as if the truth was written somewhere within.

“This is not some sort of joke? You are being actually serious. Hrm . . . I hope you can understand that your claim is rather hard to believe.”

Welkin looks away, staring at the horizon as he pounds a fist into his other hand.

“We don’t know a whole lot about Genevieve, only that she perished in the service of our Lady a long, long time ago at the hands of the Herald of Azguloth. I suppose it is possible, although you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit incredulous. I mean no disrespect, but well . . . you’re just a young girl to my eyes, not a . . . a battle-hardened warrior of the gods! Although, you are very brave and spirited, I will give you that.”

Welkin shakes his head.

“I am unfortunately just a soldier, not a scholar of ancient texts. I cannot test your claims, ask you things that only Genevieve would know. But we are headed to Luxien, the seat of the Church, and there will be all manner of scholars there who might be able to put your claims to the test. They might even be able to help you further, assuming that they do not prove you to be . . . delusional.”

Welkin says, finally choosing a diplomatic word to use in concluding his statement. The paladin captain nods sagely.

“Yes. If you will accompany us to Luxien, I will introduce you to one of these scholars, an old friend of mine. I owe you at least that much, if not more. You leading that earth elemental off and destroying it saved the lives of at least several villagers, if not at least one of my men who would have had to deal with it instead. Thank you again.”

Welkin offers you a hand in friendship, and as he does so he frowns and then continues, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“Would you mind if I continue to call you Lukina rather than Genevieve? That is the name that I knew you by, and is the one that I’ve gotten used to using.”

(If you have any further questions for Welkin we can continue this conversation in the next DM, but for now I’m going to move on to the journey to Luxien.)

The next several days are no less exhausting as what has come before, with the daylight hours spent marching down the road to Luxien and the night hours spent in shifts of nerve-wracking guard duty. But despite the precautions that Welkin takes, or perhaps because of them, it turns out they are unnecessary as there are no further attacks by the elves on your band.

That does not, however, mean that you are out of danger. As you crest the last hill before the valley that Luxien is situated in, you notice that despite it being midday it rapidly grows darker as you reach the top of the hill. The answer for this is forthcoming for as the valley comes within sight you can see that it is as if it were nighttime within the valley – a great darkness has been cast over the land, blotting out the light of the sun.

But though the darkness blocks out the light of the sun, you can still see the light of numerous fires ahead – Luxien is burning, and even from this distance you can hear the screams of humans and the shrieks of fiends. The paladins spring into action immediately, the fatigue of the journey being driven out of their bodies by adrenaline at the sight of their home under attack.

“Vicks! Samuel! Guard the citizens! The rest of you, with me!”

The paladins swiftly cut the packs of supplies and family heirlooms that their mounts had been loaded down with, and leap into the saddles. They begin to ride off, but then Welkin whirls his horse about and comes back for you, offering a hand to swing you up into the saddle behind him.

“You would have just run off after us, wouldn’t you!?”

Welkin says with a slight smile. Then, once you are close, he whispers to you so that only you will hear it.

“I don’t suppose given your current circumstances you can do much about all this, but if you have any real power that you have been holding back, now would be the time, I think, to use it!”

Vegna

You feel rather than see the elf start to move away, and then turn back.

“You can call me Elise. That’s what everyone in the village calls me. Best of luck to you . . . Mal.”

And then the elf is gone, moving off swiftly but silently through the underbrush, circling around the elven camp. You can’t see any of them in the inky blackness, but somewhere out there are a lot of people counting on you to rescue them – and quite possibly a few desperately trying to stumble away in this darkness while the elves doubtlessly hunt them. You were going to help them . . . or die trying.

“I’ll stay right here Mal, and wait for the signal. Uhh . . . when should I stop running? When I get back to what’s left of Silverstream?”

Val’tosh rumbles, as quietly as he can manage, and his question brings up a good point. Presumably the elf would be able to find you again, with her summoned elementals if not personally, while you and Val’tosh would both have a hard time finding each other again if separated. The ruined village seemed like the best place to meet back up, as that was the only landmark you were even vaguely aware of at the moment. Meeting back there would mean likely giving up on rescuing these kidnapped villagers, but in all likelihood if you were discovered it likely meant that you and/or Elise were dead as well.

That thought foremost in your mind, you left Val’Tosh and started swinging around the elf camp in the opposite direction as Elise. You strain your senses to the utmost, and while you can dimly sense a large group off in the distance, you don’t detect anyone nearby as you creep along. Therefore, you are more than a little surprised when you suddenly have Master Vork whispering in your ear.

“Mal.”

The dwarf master whispers, clapping a hand over your mouth a moment later to prevent any outbursts. He lets go of you a moment later, and you presume he’s pointing back towards the elf camp even if you can’t see his finger.

“There’s a large detachment of elves over that way. We need to be quiet or we’ll both be filled full of arrows. They’re not in a very good mood, not after I’ve spent the past several hours harrying them every step of the way through these woods! Now, what are you doing here? Do you know where Elise is?”

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

You hone your senses, focusing in to find that one evil point within the swirling unholy mist. Even against the defiled mist, Quietus stood out like an enflamed sore. He was moving too fast to easily track, as always, but creating this mist forced him into a predictable pattern. You therefore didn’t have to aim for him – just where he would be.

You summon up a blast of holy light to momentarily blind and disorient the assembled Fiend Lords, and then pull back your sword arm and fling your blade into the maelstrom. The lashing wind knocks the blade off-course, but you had compensated for that, and it ultimately strikes true.

There is a high-pitched squeal and an instant later, Quietus is revealed, pinned to the ceiling by your blade. The beast is as ugly as ever – just about twice the size of an imp, but ganglier with rough, shark-like green-tinted skin. Two metal vials are clutched in his elongated claws, out of which constantly seeps a disgusting, viscous liquid.

Following up your attack, you summon a holy chain to attach to your blade, and then wench you up to him, Mellisan’s soul crystal clenched in one holy-enshrouded fist. Quietus flails at you with his claws, tearing open your face and nearly ripping out an eye, but you had taken everything he could dish out back when you were just a human and couldn’t regenerate as fast as he could cut you. He, on the other hand, couldn’t take you smashing your empowered fist into him repeatedly. In the end, Quietus was just a fragile coward.

“No! No! Someone help! Bad, Ander! Bad, bad touch! NO! NNNOOOOO!”

Quietus screamed as you smashed his small body into the ceiling, the foul flesh melting away as it came in contact with your blessed fist. After a few moments of this, Quietus’s body slumped, not melting away into ash as it usually did when a fiend died. You felt something foul pass through your hand, and the soul crystal in your palm grows slightly warm. Looking inside it, you can see something swirling inside of its dark red depths now, like a black miniature tornado. Quietus was trapped, his soul no different in the end than any human or angel’s.

Victorious, you pull Morganna’s sword from the ceiling, allowing Quietus’s body to messily collapse to the floor, and then swing yourself up through the skylight. From there you surround yourself with a glowing aura almost as bright as the sun, forcing back Glurdalak’s darkness and standing out as a beacon for everyone across the city. Everyone there heard you as you bellow out your defiance, and your order for the assembled mortals and angels to do the same. Your city is burning, but it is not dead. Not yet.

Like a falling star, you rocket back down to the floor of the shattered Council chamber, landing between Ysora and the two remaining Fiend Lords. At your challenge, Yvonne recoils and looks back and forth between you and Quietus’s broken body in a mixture of shock and horror.

“What did you just do to him!? No. No, I will not commit myself to a battle where the stakes are this high and I apparently know nothing about my enemy! Not just so Nihilus can look at some damn books! We will have our duel, Ander, but not here and not while your pet archangel is around! I’m leaving!”

And with that, Yvonne crawled back down the hole in the floor from whence she came. Anguish looked back and forth between you and Ysora with bloodshot eyes, and then his angel host spat out a bloody wad of phlegm onto the floor.

“**** this.”

Anguish gurgled, and then rocketed up to the ceiling, seeking to escape the same way he had entered as well. Before he can disappear up through the broken dome and into the dark sky, however, Ysora summoned a host of holy chains to create a net across the sun dome, blocking it. The possessed angel merely flew up into the net, sticking her out up out through a gap in the chains. Then she vomited, heaving up a great mass of pus-colored ooze that slithered up onto the roof and out of sight. The angel herself collapsed back down onto the floor a moment later, shuddering violently.

Ysora immediately went over to her sister, pulling her up into a sitting position and murmuring healing prayers over her. The angel was badly injured, seemingly more from her long period spent as Anguish’s host rather than the fall itself. The wounds were not just physical either, as the angel began to weep uncontrollably while muttering nonsense phrases to herself and trying to curl up into as tight of a ball as possible. Ysora looked up at you and motioned in the direction of your sleeping chambers.

“You heard what Yvonne said. Nihilus must be after Morganna’s journals! Go, I’ll be fine here.”

Ysora eyes the soul crystal still cradled in your palm warily.

“What are you going to do with that, Ander? Even imprisoned in a soul crystal, the Fiend Lords will seek to rescue their comrade eventually. Destroying it is the only way to ensure that Quietus’s evil will not continue . . . but it also means doing something utterly abhorrent to the Valkyrie . . . the destruction of a soul. I . . . I’m not sure even a Fiend Lord deserves that fate, but I will not judge you if that is what you feel must be done.”

Phaedra

The_Snark

Her attention focused on her daughter, Titania barely even notices as you are dragged out of the room by the wrist by Isotmilo, in much the same manner as you were dragged in. Now, instead of going up, you were going down, into the depths of the castle instead of into its spires. Curiously, the palace seems . . . less well-defined down here, as if the sculptures had grown lazy in chipping out the ice. Some passages were iced over completely, preventing travel and leaving you curious whether there was an actual passage beyond the blockage . . . or simply a solid wall of ice. Predictably, as you go, Istomilo threatens and rants, his voice resembling Julian’s only superficially.

“I go to all this work, bringing you here, and then she upstages me effortlessly yet again! Oh look Milo, it’s our daughter, home at last! Why don’t we let her decide what to do with you? Well don’t worry Marisiel, I won’t let the new reign of Phaedra across the face of the world be boring for you. Maybe I’ll even take a page from Corwin’s book, and find some new bodies for you to use after this one gives out! I doubt Titania would even notice if that happens!”

You are down in the depths of the castle now, and it’s almost entirely featureless tunnels through ice now. Paradoxically, it is actually ever so slightly warmer down here than in the Queen’s throne room, although that is logical given that Titania seems to be the source of the cold as well as everything else.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure if my lab is intact in this recreation of our home. That’s going to be one of the first things I check up on. So for now, I guess the dungeon it is! Maybe I can convince Titania to form a recreation of your old cell in Ironheart to keep you in. Or, maybe, I’ll just whisper the full poem Brother Corwin drilled into your mind, and then Titania will seal you into one of the walls, unable to move, unable to scream, only watch in agony as we destroy everything you’ve ever loved. Turnabout is fair play, is it not?”

At this point, you finally reach a line of cells, carved into the wall of ice, the bars that make up the door likewise made of ice as far as you can tell. The door opens at Istomilo’s touch, easily swinging open. He roughly shoves you instead, and you stumble, collapsing down painfully onto your side on the floor of the cell. Istomilo swings the cell door shut, and then tugs at it experimentally – as if it was aware there was a prisoner inside, the cell door remains stubbornly shut this time.

“I want you to have enough quiet time to reflect on your current situation. To think about what’s going to happen next and build up anticipation. Dread. So I’m going to leave you now as you are. But don’t think for a moment I won’t leave you bound and screaming on the floor if you try to escape. Not that there’s anywhere to go here, nor anyone who will have pity on you or try to help you!”

And with that, Istomilo flashes you one last sadistic grin, and then disappears. You can hear his faint footsteps against the ice fade into the distance, and then disappear entirely. You lie there for a moment wondering if you should let your teeth chatter or start crying first, when a new voice suddenly echoes out into the hallway beyond the cell door.

“Man, that guy was an *******! What’s his beef with you, anyway? I’ve dealt with sadists before but he was just shy of getting off on threatening you! Well, enough about him. My name’s Wulfric, what’s yours? And while our hosts have been oh so gracious with our accommodations, what do you say we break out of here, the sooner the better?”

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

At your taunts, Mellita/Marialta merely laughed.

“You think your little tricks actually matter compared to the will of Fate? You merely delay the inevitable!”

Despite her bold decree, the self-styled Hand of Fate was having trouble keeping the room’s defenses off her now that they were all concentrated on her. As the stiletto-heels flew towards her back, Marialta whirled to snatch them out of the air, immediately having to dive to the floor afterwards as one of the dressers lifted itself up off the floor and hurled itself at it. The furniture smashed itself apart against the wall a moment later, the pieces of wood lying still only a moment before becoming animate again, a dozen shards of wood now instead of one massive piece.

From her position on the floor, Marialta rolled aside as a number of books dashed themselves down at her. She slashed at Nihilus’s legs with the heels, forcing him to dance back, and then she lifts the heels up and brought them down onto the false gem. It shattered, allowing the small brass key to clatter to the floor. Marialta’s hand closed around the key, and then the remaining defenses of the room came crashing down. Virtually all that was left to be visible of the girl was her outstretched arm, closed around the key. An arm that then moved for a moment, before a ghostly arm lifted itself out of the dead flesh. A hand still clasped protectively around Fianna’s key, the real Marialta stood up out of the wreckage, her form no more substantial than that of a ghost. Parts of the room’s defenses slashed through her, distorting her body momentarily like mist, but clearly causing her no harm. The Hand of Fate risks a jaunty wave, and then dissolves away into nothing but a thin cloud of mist that likewise vanishes . . . Fianna’s key going with her.

“Well, that’s certainly going to make this a lot harder. I don’t suppose you can do that trick as well?”

Nihilus asks, looking at where the Hand of Fate had been only a moment before. He looks over at the door, which has morphed itself into a formidable, iron-reinforced barricade.

“So, while we should probably plan out our next moves carefully, I suspect we should do it elsewhere. While she might still be tied up in your affections at the moment, I imagine Fianna is at least aware that a disturbance has happened in her room. She’ll be coming here sooner or later, and your younger self might be right behind her. I don’t really feel like trying to explain our presence here, particularly with the Fianna’s key missing.”

Nihilus gestures, casually tearing another portal open in reality with his hand. Beyond you can see a secluded rooftop vantage point within the city. A perfect spot to figure out where Marialta would strike next, and with Nihilus’s apparent ability to teleport anywhere, it should not be difficult to return to your citadel, even with the undoubtedly heightened security after this mess.

(Feel free to discover your next moves, ask Nihilus any questions, and figure out how to deal with a ghost-mage – which is much different than a demon-mage, let me assure you! :smalltongue: )

Inspectre

2012-10-07, 04:22 PM

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

At your suggestions, some of the cultists nodded and ran off to find more cloth for your hooves, swiftly returning with burlap sacks and short lengths of rope to use to hold the sacks in place. At your question about the elves, however, the cultists looked at each other helplessly.

“Um . . . I guess . . . they sort of look like us? Skinny though, with pointy ears?”

“And they smell like trash!”

One of the other cultists offered helpfully, prompting a slight laugh out of the gathered humans. You’re not sure how that makes the elves any different from these mortals, although at least you could picture a human with pointy ears – that was apparently a close enough match to reality. The smell, however, was difficult to picture – you had no idea what trash smelled like, nor why the elves smelled of it enough to comment on it (and what these humans thought what you smelled like).

It takes the work of only a few minutes to finish your makeshift disguises. The cloaks despite their length only come down to about your shins, while Malarkey’s legs are exposed to the knee. This isn’t an immediate problem given that the burlaps sacks cover your legs and cloven feet, but you suspect it will look strange to anyone that looks too closely. Hopefully you’ll move too fast for anyone to notice.

“Hey . . . am I going to get a cloak too?”

Mouse asks from his perch on top of the dead body’s head. The imp winces as Malarkey grunts in amusement, and then he has cause to wince as the big devil grabs hold of him and shoves him inside his cloak.

“You’re coming with us, and you’re coming under my cloak. People are already going to be staring at us enough without having a cloak fluttering around on its own after us.”

“Hey!”

Mouse grunts, and then manages to squirm out of Malarky’s grip and flutter up over his head before blinking out of sight.

“If it’s going to be like that, I’m an imp you idiot! I can turn invisible! And I can scout ahead for us and make sure the path is clear!”

Catbox turns to you with one eyebrow raised.

“Since when does Mouse have a spine? Or be actually useful?”

“Hey! I heard that!”

An invisible voice said, and then Catbox’s head jerks to one side as if struck. The impact causes her mug to slip out of her hand, slipping the remains of her beer.

“No! You little **** – I don’t have to see you to blow you up!”

Catbox hisses, reaching into her own cloak, while Mouse actually cackles maniacally instead of his typical cowering. Apparently being let loose on the mortal world has gone to the little bastard’s head. Fortunately, Malarkey steps in to enforce order, by picking up Catbox’s mug and using it to brain her.

“Stop fighting! You can send each other back if you want *after* the job is over!”

The lead cultist looks at his followers, and then clears his throat nervously.

“Um yes. If you’ll just follow me? The alchemist’s shop is only a short distance from here.”

The three of you file out of the basement room with the lead cultist and two of the other humans. The next room seems like it was some sort of storage area, as there are a number of sacks propped up against the walls. In a way, the room was still being used as a storage area, as three humans sit bound on the floor around the periphery of the room, sacks over their heads and watched closely by two more cultists with clubs.

“In the event of an untimely demise, of if you should need reinforcements, we should be able to enact the summoning ritual a few more times. It will take time to acquire more sacrifices, although it should not be impossible. With the city under siege, everybody expects a few people to go missing here and there. We’ll bury the bodies in the walls, and move on to another location after this job is complete.”

The lead cultist explains as he leads you over to a set of stairs, going up to a door. He opens up to it and knocks in a very peculiar fashion. This seems to be some sort of signal, as a few moments later someone from the other side opens the door. At this point, bright sunlight floods down the stairway. Mouse’s presence is confirmed as you hear screaming coming from just above your head, and even you wince as the bright light floods your eyes, momentarily blinding you. It was never this bright down in the Hells – supposedly it was always this way up in the Heavens. Ugh, how horrible it must be up there.

But, your eyes manage to adjust well enough, although you imagine you will need another beer after this - for medicinal purposes to smooth your growing headache. You’re up inside someone’s house now, a few lingering bloodstains here and there suggesting that it’s previous owners had been used down below. Two more cultists were waiting for you upstairs, these dressed in what you assume passes for normal human clothing rather than the black robes everyone down below seemed to favor.

“These are our guests. I’ll be taking them to visit the alchemist’s shop nearby. Are we almost ready to go?”

“Place is set to go up like a piece o’ tinder, boss! There’ll be nothing left here when we leave.”

One of the cultists grunted. His comrade was not so sure.

“Unless the wind decides to blow in the wrong direction, and we end up burning the whole damn city down around us. I don’t know boss. I thought we were supposed to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. Setting a building on fire ain’t exactly subtle.”

“We need to make sure that there is no evidence of our presence left here. The bigger the fire, the less likely anyone will be to look too closely at what caused it, or this house in particular. I am sure the people of this fine city will be able to extinguish the blaze long before we are put into any danger ourselves.”

The lead cultist clearly smiles beneath his hood as he adds.

“Besides, I’ve already got our next home picked out. A charming rat’s nest of slum dwellings on the far side of the city. Once we’ve moved in and secured our new home, we’ll be perfectly safe, both from the blaze and any chance of discovery. Now then, finish what you’re doing here and then one of you go down and help the others with burying the expended sacrifices.”

The two followers nod, and the leader moves on to the front door of the house. At that point he stops and turns back to you.

“So, um – walk at a steady pace, but not so quickly that you would attract attention. I’ll take us to the shop by a circuitous route that should avoid any of the major streets. There will be people out at this hour, but given the situation I doubt any of them will be too curious about a bunch of cloaked figures moving about. So long as we don’t run into any guardsmen or make anyone alarmed, we should be fine.”

“Hey – Bramble. Can I pop into existence in front of someone. Can I? Can I? They won’t know what they saw – I’ll do it fast, just give them a glimpse of me to scare them!”

Mouse whispers in your ear, and something lightweight settles onto your shoulder. This little imp could ruin it for all of you if he didn’t get brought back into line. Although . . . watching a human try to figure out what exactly s/he just saw would be funny. Your decision is interrupted by the lead cultist nodding and shoving the doorway open.

“Okay, let’s go!”

Out in the street, it is even brighter than inside the small one-story house. This seems to be a fairly well-maintained section of the city, as the streets are cleared of debris and the handful of people you do see moving about are dressed in fine clothes. All of them are too busy with their own troubles to pay any of you much attention as you quickly move down the street. Yet, something seems off . . . it’s weird, but you have a feeling of familiarity with this place, almost a lingering sense of déjà vu.

You’ve never been here before, you know that, but . . . maybe you’ve been somewhere similar? Yes . . . it wasn’t the capital, as that had been virtually leveled by the time your squad had crawled up out of one of the Hell rifts. But there was definitely some memory lingering at the back of your mind, gnawing at you. You had been somewhere like this once before, a peaceful city with gently curving streets and tall stone buildings. But nothing beyond that lingering sentiment comes to mind. There was no time to waste on trying to figure it out now, either. The cultist was ducking down a narrow side street, and after you follow him down several other such streets, he suddenly stops at the mouth of an alleyway and points. There on the corner of the courtyard beyond the alleyway was a squat building, with a wooden potion symbol hanging from the front.

More importantly, there was a group of three humans in uniform, talking to another two humans dressed in fine clothing and looking rather annoyed as they gesture angrily at the streets around them.

“****. Someone must have got pickpocketed, and they’re important enough to waste the guardsmen’s time, even during a siege. We’re either going to have to wait until they leave, and get rid of them somehow – without making a scene!”

The cultist hisses, looking back at your small group as if looking for advice. Meanwhile, the three guards were starting to look in the direction of your alleyway, which is one of the directions that one of the two well-to-do citizens is pointing. It seems whoever “pickpocketed” them came this way, or at least they thought he did.

Looking around the courtyard, you see a few vendors still maintaining open shops. Disrupting one of them might convince the guards to look elsewhere. Or, although the cultist didn’t want you making the guards into a bloody mess, which was sensible since that would likely cause more guards to flock to this location . . . that didn’t prevent you from making a mess somewhere else nearby, that these guards would have to flock to themselves. If they caught the pickpocket the guards might also leave. You could also go up and talk to one of them and convince them to leave, but given the cultist’s concern about you being discovered that might not be the wisest course of action. You could also enact you and Catbox’s specialty, which is the smash and grab, and to Hells with what the cultist said about remaining discrete. Decisions, decisions.

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

Abandoning his weapon in favor of more natural ones, Rosenburg tears the man’s robe apart, shredding cloth and scratching flesh. Now removed of bandages and robes, the man’s bare chest is revealed as a mass of burned tissue, the only thing really intact being the dark brands running down from his neck to somewhere beyond his waist. Blood slowly oozes from the deep gash running across the man’s stomach, but like his previous wounds the former druid doesn’t seem to care.

“You are strong, wolf. You would make the perfect new host! This one appears to be a little broken now!”

Garret cackles, attempting to reset his broken arm for several moments before giving up. With his remaining intact arm he gestures, and a new fiery cyclone bursts into existence around Rosenburg. The superheated wind buffets him about, lifting him up off the ground into the air as his robes burst into flame.

“ROSENBURG!”

Jarod cries out, raising his staff and pulling that arm back as if he intends to try to throw it into the cyclone, which would be an impressive feat given the distance involved. He doesn’t get a chance as Garret interrupts him, telekinetically ripping the staff out of Jarod’s hands and flinging it beyond the ring of fire. Then the flame druid lifted off the ground, flying up to Rosenburg.

“Now, let us become one, wolf. I have many wondrous things to show you!”

Passing through the flame cyclone without apparent ill-effect, Garret grabs hold of Rosenburg with his one good arm, stabilizing him without the buffeting flames. Even through the pain of the fire whipping all around him, an entirely new plateau of agony opens up as a searing pain shoots up Rosenburg’s arm. As he watches, the black runes burned into Garret’s body begin to shift and move, flowing down Garret’s arm and starting to burn themselves onto Rosenburg’s own arm. In the corner of his mind, he can begin to feel an alien presence, gleeful as it grows louder and more insistent with each passing moment. However . . . getting so close as also brought Garret into reach of Rosenburg’s claws yet again.

Meanwhile down below, the fight against Garret’s horde of fire elementals continues. Alons discovers that his heavy cloak is enough to easily extinguish the elementals, tiny as they are. That being said, the cloak is only able to put out one of them out at a time, and another wave of two dozen is closing in on the group from all sides. And this time, Jarod is without his staff and all but one of his earth elementals have been destroyed.

“Get to the edge of the flame wall!”

Jarod shouts, pulling off his own cloak to swat a fire elemental out of his way. As the druid runs, he gestures, and the earth begins to slowly rise up in front of one section of the flame wall. A tunnel begins to form through the upraised earth, allowing passage beyond the flame wall. At the moment, however, the tunnel is only large enough to allow a gopher through it. It will be at least a minute before it is large enough to allow someone as large as Mags through it. Desperate, Willow squeezes into the narrow mouth of the tunnel, and begins to tear at the walls of the tunnel with her bare hands, trying to widen it faster.

Reaching the group as everyone clusters around the slowly widening tunnel, Jarod turns to Alons. He pulls an old, bruised and mushy apple out from underneath his cloak, and gestures with it at Alons’ bow.

“How good of a shot are you with that thing? Good enough to fire it with this stuck onto the end of the arrow . . . and hit that?”

Jarod asks, pointing back to the center of the burning glade, where Rosenburg and Garret continue to swirl in the midst of a flame cyclone, at least ten feet up off the ground.

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

At your question, the man shrugs and gives a bark of a laugh, only against assaulting your nostrils with his breath.

“I used to be one. Then I decided to go hunting monsters full time, rather than waste time in prayers and meditation.”

The man sneers at the thought of spending his time in that manner, and then his shoulders suddenly slump.

“At least, I used to hunt monsters. Now, I suppose it could be said I spend all my time drinking. Not much else one can do after they’ve failed at everything.”

The man seems to momentarily shake himself out of his funk again, and sticks a beefy hand out to you.

“Name’s Alexander Ross, nice to meet you lad. Now then, what did ye need to speak to the paladins about? Perhaps I can help you, and if not, then I can introduce you to them.”

daelrog

2012-10-07, 08:12 PM

Alons/Rosenburg

Alons snatches the fungus from Jarod. Thoughts of why only now shoot through his mind. Now the thing is swirling with Rosenburg. He knows he'll hit one of them at least. He steadies his breath, ignoring the heat. He focuses his eyes trying to find some discernable pattern to their fighting. He feels the wind on his fingertips. He offers a few extra moments to see if Rosenburg notices him.

Not today, Larent.

He releases the arrow.

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-10-07, 10:37 PM

The Lost and Forgotten

"You are luckier than I, then Hohenheim. I don't even have a name I can remember. Come on, let's do what we can to get out of here."

He unlocks Volesin's shackles and returns to Katrina's cage to unlock it as well. After that, he dons one of the devil armors and takes up the club before trying the keys to other cages. It didn't feel right to just abandon these people to the devils.

WhiteKnight777

2012-10-07, 11:55 PM

Umber

Umber grinned as Fianna faded away... and turned to Nihilus, holding up his right hand. Clutched between his index and middle fingers were several strands of hair. The attack had never been meant to do any harm - he'd already learned that lesson in a way that most people never got a chance to learn from - instead, he'd focused on... other objectives. Despite her claims, Umber still suspected that the bitch's fabled "omniscience" was far less perfect than it appeared. If it wasn't, she really would be invincible - and he'd never have been able to get this far. And, frankly, it wasn't a useful possibility to consider.

"If you have any help to offer, now's the time." Umber said with a rather sarcastic edge to his voice. The "Writer of History" had been about as much use as your average historian in that little fracas. Well, unless you were talking about the old Valorin historians, but that was only because they were all retired generals. It made Valorin histories unusually interesting reading, though.

He snapped his focus back to the present, waving the strands of hair. "I was thinking we might head over to my god... friend Kartul's lab. I happen to know he keeps a number of very nasty magical devices around that just need a focus component to cause severe discomfort - ghost, specter, or otherwise. Kartul always was keen on dissecting souls, the nasty bastard." Umber grinned nastily. Be nice to think he could be useful, for once.

Kasanip

2012-10-08, 02:25 AM

Lukina

It was not the first time to have Lukina's explanation be responded to with skepticism. But Lukina had hoped for a little more, and couldn't help but feel a small amount of disappointment.

But there was some relief as well, and she reminded herself that she was traveling to Luxien for the same reason anyway, and Welkin's offer had been what she had hoped for.

"I know it is difficult to believe. And, I know that I am not quite the same champion... I was. I am human. Or I think I am." She frowned a little. Then relaxed and tried to force a tired smile and return the handshake of the paladin. "Please feel free to call me Lukina. That is my name, too. I've lived by it for 18 years, so it suits me. I'm not just Genevieve the Champion. Thank you for your offer, I would be grateful. I was traveling towards Luxien for the same purpose, so it is fortunate that we could meet. "

(Arriving at Luxien)

"What a horrible battle..."
Lukina suppressed the grimace and shiver she felt, looking at Luxien burning and hearing the sounds of the fiends and people. It was a familiar feeling, and also a completely new feeling. Of course, such a feeling is called "Deja vu". There was adrenaline again, some energy after the weary and tiring last few days. But there was something else too, the darkness was fearsome, but even as she felt nervous, her hand curled into a fist. Defiant, angry, resigned, focused. Something about the shrieks of fiends resounded in her.

She took Welkin's hand and sat into the saddle behind him and tried to hold on. Hearing his words, she grimaced, and then assented with a nod of her head. She let go to secure her ponytail and focus.
What power could she truly call upon? She believed, and closed her eyes. Broken memories echoed in her mind, and she knew that at the least, if there is one weapon against darkness, it is always light.

"I don't know how much I can do, but I'll do everything I can!" She took a deep breath and released it. Then, drawing the damaged sword, she carefully stood behind Welkin, resting one hand on his shoulder, and turned to look at the other paladins riding behind. She raised the sword into the air with a defiant look.
Slowly, a shimmering blue flame surrounded her as white and blonde grew up her hair. The light reflected on the sword and glowed, making it bright like a blue torch. She pointed the weapon at the city.

"To the ones who surround your city of light in darkness, the enemy who opposes our Lady, we FIGHT!"

She sat again behind Welkin, the blue flame glowing light on his armor. She wasn't sure how long she could keep this, but if it inspired the paladins, and if they could break through the enemy to the city, then they could keep the momentum.

GuyFawkes

2012-10-08, 04:48 AM

Lucifuge

Lucifuge hesitated, but then extended his hand to shake the man's hand. He assessed the man and his words as well as his body expressions. He figured with the nature of his questions, he could probably get more of his questions answered by this man, but if not, well, maybe he could help him in some other way.

"The pleasure is mine. And thank you, I shall take you up on your offer. But I rather we not discuss such matters here. Perhaps somewhere where we could talk over a drink or two? On me, of course. Do you know of a place open at this time?"

Letting them man lead him to some tavern, Lucifuge settled down on a chair and ordered two tankards of drinks. Turning to Alexander, he started.

"Let me introduce myself. I am called Noctis. I am, or was, a member of an order, whose goals were not dissimilar to the paladins. But unfortunately, I am the only member left. I know it is a long shot, but I would like to seek an audience with the current head of the paladins. I...have some sensitive matters I wish to discuss with him in person. I heard he is a man called Ander, if I am not mistaken?"

The serving wench arrived with their drinks and placed it down on the table in front of them. The dragon took one of the tankards and took gulp. Wiping his mouth with his arm, he continued.

"So, do you know where I could find him?"

Lonna

2012-10-09, 04:11 AM

The Woman of Many Names

Jacqueline hesitated at Titania's invitation, and not merely because of the discomfort, emotional and physical, that sitting in her icy lap was likely to evoke.

"Mother," she began respectfully, "while I would love to spend the time to catch up with you, there was a man, a mortal who helped me to return to you. He is... important to me, and your recreation of our home, while beautiful, is not, I think, kind to the flesh of ordinary men. I would like to make sure he is safe and comfortable."

OOC: Gah! I had hoped to do more with this scene, but the inspiration just wasn't coming, and then RL kicked my ass for a while. So now we have a short post to move the story forward, and my apologies for the delay.

TechnOkami

2012-10-09, 05:38 PM

Rosenberg

Fire. It burned and crackled around him, dancing its incendiary dance until it was a churning firestorm of destruction. He was forcibly lifted into the air, his own clothes and skin burning away until it was naught but his naked self, barely retaining its form due to his regenerative strength. Even though he didn't take lasting damage from the flame's effects, it didn't stop them from burning. And then, a new pain was lit amidst this sea of agony, as black and charred runes etched themselves into Rosenberg's skin. It felt as if his arm had become someone else's, like a puppet master sewing thread through his limbs until every twitch of muscle spasm was another's to control.

Rosenberg would not allow it.

The Wolf would not allow it.

A new look started to shine through Rosenberg's eyes, enhanced by the flame reflected within. The hair and fur started to grow past his hand, and cover the entirety of his body. Despite there being flame all around, it did not burn. Green tendrils of Nature's energies enveloped him, causing his form to glow, and expand into a form nearly twice the size of the man floating before him. The light then shed like leaves of the fall, and before Garret was a fully formed lycanthrope. Dark curly hair ran across his body, with a large amount flowing from his head and down his back like a mighty pelt. His claws were neary twice the size they once were, and his form was a more lithe, predatory hunting form compared to his human shell.

Garret could only gawk in awe, even as an arrow found itself impaled into his shoulder.

In a low, deep fusion of growling and Druidic, the wolf man spoke.

"I will never bow to your feeble will."

His claw found itself torn through Garret's chest, the source of this foul burning corruption.

"Remove yourself, vile scourge, and never return!"

His now bloody claw clenched, tore the heart of corruption asunder, and let it burn in the creatures own flames.

"Never play with fire."

Baerdog7

2012-10-09, 11:27 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander watches, outwardly defiant but inwardly quite relieved, as Yvonne and Anguish make their escape.

Cowards!

With the battle seemingly over, Ander's brilliant corona dims until it is merely wisps of golden light.

“What are you going to do with that, Ander? Even imprisoned in a soul crystal, the Fiend Lords will seek to rescue their comrade eventually. Destroying it is the only way to ensure that Quietus’s evil will not continue . . . but it also means doing something utterly abhorrent to the Valkyrie . . . the destruction of a soul. I . . . I’m not sure even a Fiend Lord deserves that fate, but I will not judge you if that is what you feel must be done.”

I will destroy it and I will do the same for each of the twenty remaining Fiend Lords. I have to! They're a threat to this world that cannot be contained!

He hurries over to the hole in the floor and turns back to Ysora one last time.

Once you've seen to your sister, find the rest of the Council. Make sure they're safe. Please.

With that he hops through the floor and hurries through the embattled corridors. Time was short and Nihlus may already be in Ander's chambers, but the veteran paladin had the home field advantage. He knew these corridors intimately and Morganna's journals contained more than information on Angelus: she had not only helped design Luxien but she was also familiar with its secret passages.

Ander runs down a hallway, summarily dispatching any demonic filth that gets in his way, and comes to a flight of stairs, taking them three at a time. He takes a right at the top of the stairs, then a left, and screeches to a halt in front of a recessed alcove containing a statue of "Marisiel's Salvation of the Refugees." Checking to make sure he isn't seen, Ander twists an innocuous-looking candlestick near the alcove and the statue turns, revealing a hidden passage. Redoubling his speed, Ander rushes through the secret passage until he reaches its end. Taking a deep breath, he enters his chambers.

If Ander reaches his chambers before Nihlus leaves:

“You’ll waste a terrible amount of time searching for her. These humans can’t help you. They can barely save themselves, let alone anyone trapped down in the Hells. She is suffering terribly at the moment, but that will pale in comparison to what will follow shortly. You need to save her now. Isn’t that all you really wanted?”

The two paladins’ begin to waver their attention between you and Nihilus, clearly uncertain if they would have to fight one or both of you. No doubt they would fight to the death, even if they had no more chance than those two fiends you had just crushed into the door.

“Please. Don’t do this!”

With a soft click and a greased whisper, one of the bookshelves behind Nihlus swings open, revealing none other than Speaker Ander Windrivver. Wisps of golden light swirl about the Speaker as he steps into the room, angelic longsword drawn. He studies the two strange figures. The one at the far end of the room is...odd, but not like any fiend Ander had ever seen. Based on their body language, it may have even been aiding Hephestia and the other paladins until just very recently. The cloaked figure near his desk, however, reeked of the Hells and was getting a bit too cozy with Ander's books.

Nihlus, I presume? For one who pretends to be so adept at pulling the strings, you sure can't find very good help. You only sent three Fiend Lords after me? HA! Yvonne and Anguish didn't even finish the fight. They took off running as soon as I obliterated Quietus. I'm sorry to say you won't be seeing him in Hell any longer. Glurdalak of course didn't do anything besides making things a bit dim but I wouldn't expect much more from him. He is, after all, little more than an ill-tempered cloud.

It doesn't matter much anyway. I am coming, Nihlus. I am coming for you and them and the rest of your filthy brethren. By the time I'm done with my one-man Crusade, there won't be a Fiend Lord left in existance.

The Speaker strides closer to Nihlus, his corona brightening and holy flames licking down his angelic blade. When he speaks again, his words carry divine weight, heavy with the inevitability of a tomb.

Drop my book and leave, Nihlus. Run. Run far away and hide like you always have. It will not save you. The days of the Fiend Lords are numbered, oh Writer of History. Your final chapter is at hand!

Iethloc

2012-10-11, 10:56 PM

Sohssal

Sohssal was definitely not intimidated by the implied power that Istomilo had. Surely he was also one of the most powerful wizards in existence! He would keep this workshop in mind in case things went wrong, but for now the mysterious note had his attention.

The note implied that Nihilus was some sort of powerful diviner. Knowing where to hide would certainly have helped him stay hidden all these years. And to know to sabotage the communication crystal...well, now he had the means to fix it. He took the note so he could dispose of it when he had the opportunity, and made his way to the communication crystal.

Sohssal kicked out any imps in the room or lurking nearby, since he obviously needed privacy to talk to what was probably the real Nihilus. Then he followed the instructions on the note, confident that his previous examinations would have revealed any tricks. ”Writer of History,” he tentatively declared once he was done. He found that title a bit pretentious and silly, but who was the Demon Mage to judge?

Dorizzit

2012-10-12, 03:18 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram recovers his breath for a few seconds before his support recedes, leaving him to topple backward painfully. Letting out a soft exclamation of pain as he impacts on the ground, Korram is finally ready to accept the help of the family when Miranda reappears. After Miranda helps Korram to his feet and heals him, he dusts himself off and sighs contentedly with his ability to breathe without pain.

“Korram! Are you alright!? You’re injured – did those humans do this!? Where did they go?”

"I'm fine, and I did this to myself. The armor those men were wearing was designed to kill them after a while; it sucked them into hell. The restraints were designed to take any prisoners back if their captor's died. I managed to get them free, but I don't think it was fun for anyone."

Miranda looking towards Korram for guidance puts him a bit off balance, so it takes him a while to respond. In that time, the family thanks him, and leaves, practically unbothered by the catastrophe that nearly struck them.

How can they be so...uncaring? Look at this! Heaven itself was just attacked! But...is there anything they can do? Maybe they're just being practical...or maybe not. Once you're dead you should never be called upon again. And yet, somehow, I feel like that no longer applies. Feh. Everything is going insane.

Breaking from his inner musings, Korram looks back at Miranda.

"What to do now..."

The thought occurs to Korram to turn the situation to his advantage, but he dismisses the idea almost immediately, as it leaves a poor taste in his mouth. Instead, he simply shakes his head.

"I have no idea. Do you know if anything like this has ever happened before?"

Vegna

2012-10-12, 07:56 PM

Mal Harath

"Master Vork."

He bows respectfully, before pointing towards the elven camp. He speaks low to the dwarven teacher.

"She is searching for the escaped prisoner, same as I. But, with respect Master, what are you doing here? You sent Val'Tosh and myself here because you couldn't. If you were so free to travel to Silverstream ahead of us, you could've at least joined both for the journey. And then Elise says that you have been here all this time, can you explain?"

Gorgondantess

2012-10-14, 03:09 AM

She snarls as she hears the title "Archdemon" dropped. Only one sort should know that name.
"Defiler! Or one of Quadramus' lackeys- how did you track me here?"
As he speaks, though, it becomes clear that perhaps this knowledge was incidental... her interest was piqued, to say the least.
"I..."
She closes your eyes.
"I do not know who you are, or what you're doing here. Nor do I care. I do know, however, that I have been called a fiend before, and assailed by followers of the same gods that these paladins worship. As far as I'm concerned, accusations of fiendhood are meaningless- at the least, you've earned my sympathy. If you can indeed take me to whom I seek, then I see no reason not to aid you."
She whips her sword out towards Hephestia- though with the flat of the blade, not the edge. It was a protective gesture.
"However, neither you nor I shall molest this human. Adjudicator or no, I will bargain as I see fit, and I hope you will allow me that."

As Ander bursts into the room, she whirls between him and Nihilus with, quite literally, the speed of a coiled serpent. She listens to his speech with little amusement.
"We'll be on our way then. In the meantime, your lower levels have been overrun- while you're here pontificating at this man, those things are killing your humans. I've done my part, but you've taken these humans under your wing, haven't you? They're your responsibility!"

The_Snark

2012-10-14, 07:39 AM

Mar

"They'd just come after me again," Mar said, sounding tired. "And I don't know what you did to Titania to get thrown in here, but it wouldn't do you any good to be caught helping me."

A moment later she realized her mistake. This was the first friendly person she'd met in Phaedra; she didn't want to drive him away. "Sorry. I don't mean to be like that, it's just - I wouldn't be much good at breaking out anyway. I'm... Mar." Why did that name come to mind? Titania and Istomilo thought of her as Marisiel, and in her memories she thought of Marisiel's actions as her own. But there were other lives tucked away in her head, human memories; brief by comparison and mostly unhappy, but they were there. Just as well call her Alia or Caroline—and as she'd discovered to her pain, she wasn't Caroline. Was she really Marisiel, then?

Mar had been Brother Corwin's invention, something he'd coined to show how he'd cut away who she was. His little joke. Mar: a blemish, the imperfection that ruins the whole. But it was the only name she had that she felt was really hers. Marion was artificial, just somebody she'd made up. Like it or not, Mar was who she was.

It was hardly the only mark he had left on her. Mar wasn't sure how to feel about her apology to Titania now. She thought it was the right thing to do, because as Marisiel she'd hurt her rather badly (even if she hadn't meant to). But she'd thought doing what Daddy said was right too, let him bully and hurt her because he knew how to exploit her guilt. Guilt was a knife embedded deep in her soul, and anyone who knew how to twist it could hurt her very badly. And that poem! She'd never thought to question it before—Daddy had been all-powerful so far as she was concerned—but now she knew better. Istomilo said it wasn't magic, so what was it? Had he scarred her so badly that she'd never be free of it?

"Sorry," she said again, recalling Wulfric's presence. "It - it's been a hard day."

Baerdog7

2012-10-14, 04:01 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander glares at the stranger, but she has called his bluff and after a moment his face betrays his concern. He lowers his sword and speaks with the voice of a man.

Yes...yes, I know. I've done what I could by defeating their generals and now I have to hope my Council can rally the defenders. If you've helped my paladins in any way, you have my deepest thanks but please consider what you are about to do. If Nihlus leaves here with the information he stole, it could doom this world.

Ander's eyes dart down to the angel's blade and back up to the creature's girlish face.

You're looking for someone aren't you? Is that her sword? Nihlus is no mere man, but a Fiend Lord: one of Azguloth's most powerful servants. It is in his nature to lie and deceive. Do you really think he will just bring you to her? Even so, what then? If your friend is an angel, how will she be able to stomach the sight of you knowing you sided with one of her mortal enemies? How do you intend to escape with her from Hell? Think this through!

Ander slowly steps up to the Stranger and reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder.

I know what you must be feeling right now. The heavy tightness in the pit of your stomach; the gnawing doubt in the back of your mind wondering "What if I'm too late? What if I can't save her?"; the cold, greasy guilt that slithers through the cracks in your armor and down to your bones when you thing about how you are up here safe and she is down there suffering and dying bit by bit each day.

I get it. I live it every day for each one of the thousands of men, women, and angels who have been condemned to Hell because I led them there.

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

But I will save as many as I can and if you stay and hear me out, I will help you save your friend as well. I've spent two lifetimes fighting these creatures and I have more experience fighting them in Hell than any other man. Together we will crush every Fiend Lord and smash every fortress that gets between us and our goal. But if you turn your back on me and everything your friend stood for, if you choose to go with Nihlus into darkness you will be my enemy and there will be no mercy when next we meet.

Inspectre

2012-10-14, 08:19 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

“No, never as far as I know! Both because the fiends would never dare attempt such a thing, and because they would be powerless up here. But it seems they have found a way to enlist humans to do their dirty work, and are emboldened by recent success.”

Miranda sighs dejectedly.

“If my sisters were here, this would not have happened. But so many of them are gone now . . . there are not enough of us to protect the City. I would go to my Lady for guidance, but She has secluded Herself, even from us. We are alone in this.”

Miranda shakes her head, looking around at the rapidly diminishing plumes of smoke.

“At least it appears that this incursion is over. But I have little doubt that the fiends will be back, once they have feasted on whatever spoils they managed to acquire from this raid. It will never end now. I . . . I must consult with my other sisters. Perhaps they will know what to do.”

Miranda leaped up into the air, but turned to look back down at you, biting her lip uncertainly.

“Would you like to come with me, Korram? I’m not sure that my sisters would appreciate a human being present, but these are unusual times. And certainly, um . . . I don’t think any of them would mind having the Savior of our Lady present. Or perhaps I could meet you somewhere afterwards, if you would like to check on your own family and make sure they are safe . . . your siblings and parents, I mean.”

The angel said, wincing at the accidental reference to your damned wife and daughter. It’s true that you should check on your family at some point, although they were out in the lands beyond the City. Did the fiends attack those isolated personal realms as well? Were they even able to get access to those special places, or was it only in the central location of the City that they could arrive? So many questions that you needed to have answers to. On the other hand, ingratiating yourself with as many angels as possible might also yield positive benefits, even if that left an unpleasant taste in your mouth. Would they be able to discern your actual intentions, in the way that Marius also had? Miranda did not seem to realize or care, but then she also seemed to have a hero crush on you. You could not count on all of the other angels sharing those feelings.

The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

From the assorted keys that the devils had on them, you were able to remove Volesin’s shackles, as well as open Katrina’s cage and remove her shackles as well. However, the idea of rescuing anyone else presented you with a few problems. The devils did have two more keys on them, although you do not know whose restraints and cage door that they matched . . . and there were a lot of cages here. It was a simple enough matter to cycle through all of the keys until you found the ones that matched Volesin and Katrina’s restraints, but cycling through all the cages with your remaining two keys would take hours if not days.

You could also just pick the locks as you had with your own cell door, but that had not been an easy task and it would take you several minutes for even a single door. Who knows how long it would be before more fiends showed up to acquire a victim? In their armor you looked like one of the devils, but only from a distance . . . and being seen kneeled down trying to pick a lock seemed unlikely to be appropriate behavior.

“You seem to be concerned about the rest of these damned souls. You should not be – many of them have earned their fate here.”

Volesin looked down at his clawed hands and sighed.

“As it seems I have.”

“Speak for yourself, pal.”

Katrina sneered.

“I died in my father’s arms trying to stop a complete and utter bastard from – you know what, I’m not even really sure what exactly the Baron was trying to accomplish, he was insane.”

“The Baron?”

Volesin parroted, suddenly paying a greater deal of attention. The title, used more like a name in this case, felt like it struck a chord with you as well. But there was no memory on which to draw to give that context, other than a vague sense of familiarity. Katrina continued.

“Yes, the bloody Baron of Gast, monster extrordinaire! What, did you know him or something?”

“Actually . . . yes, I had dealings of my own with him. Perhaps it was those very dealings which lead me here to this place.”

Volesin gestures onward down the corridor of cages, seeking to quickly change the subject.

“In any event, I believe that the devils kept a number of keys near to their Torture Chamber, which should be down this way and to the left, if I remember correctly. There will be more devils in there, however . . . as well as other souls to grant a brief respite from their suffering.”

Volesin shakes his head and peers around at the red mist that seems to provide this area with illumination.

“What exactly is our long-term plan, anyway? I do not believe that we will be able to evade re-capture forever.”

“Doesn’t mean we should make it easy for them! I saw we cause as much Chaos down here as possible, make them regret ever letting us get loose in the first place!”

With no other clear destination in mind, your small band makes its way to the Torture Chambers. You can swiftly tell that you are going the right way because the mist begins to thin . . . and the screams grow much louder. A short distance in front of you is a solid iron door, carved to resemble a leering fiend, its jaws spread wide as if it devour the door’s entrants. There do not appear to be any guards present, although that could change at any time. Nor was the door locked, although as you carefully swung it open, the world suddenly shifted around you.

Now, instead of finding yourself still standing within the confines of the iron-walled prison, you suddenly find yourself standing in the middle of an ankle-deep bog. Thick curtains of fog hang in the air around you, and after only a moment you realize that you are alone – Volesin and Katrina are nowhere in sight!

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

You follow the instructions to fix the communication crystal, which seem to be a deceptively simple misalignment of the runes responsible for connecting the crystal to the rest of the network that apparently run throughout the Hells. You had only missed it the first time because, obviously, you had never seen what the correct arrangement was supposed to look like, and without that the incorrect one appeared equally valid. You also determined that this was no trick, at least from the perspective of the crystal exploding or some other sort of negative result. Whether Nihilus himself was trustworthy or not remained to be seen. For now, however, you would continue to play his game, and so once the crystal was active you uttered the words “Writer of History”.

Immediately the communication crystal came to life, rapidly flickering from one color of the visible spectrum to another, and then just as suddenly shut itself back down. You don’t have long to wait before a shimmering portal suddenly appears, and a humanoid figure obscured by a long cowled cloak steps through. The figure’s orange eyes look you up and down for a moment, clearly sizing you up, and then he inclines his head forward ever so slightly.

“Hello Sohssal. I’m the real Nihilus. Let’s talk. Now, we both have things that we want. I assume that you want out of the Hells before any unfortunate discoveries regarding your identity are made. I likewise have certain things that I want, things which I believe that you can help me with. But before we discuss those details, is there anything else that you want? Or are you simply content to retire to your isolated manor once back on the mortal plane, and keep to your own little experiments for the rest of eternity, for as long as *that* lasts?”

The Village of Woodhall

Kasanip

As you summoned up . . . something from the depths of your soul, you felt a rush of power surge through you. This new power manifested itself as a brilliant blue light surrounding you and flashing up through your sword, like a beacon. All of the assembled paladins riding behind you gasp in awe at the sight of it, and as he turns around to look at you Welkin’s mouth drops agape in shock.

“W-well. I guess there’s something to this after all!”

Welkin mutters to himself as he urges his horse into a faster gallop, forcing you to drop down to sit behind him again rather than standing on the horse’s back. Even so, the change in position does little to diminish the light pouring out of your body, illuminating the surrounding area so that it is once again as bright as day, with a faint blue tint.

You find that the gates leading into the city proper have been smashed down, the defensive positions just inside the wall now occupied by demons rather than paladins. But they do not control it entirely, for as you and the others ride up you see a small unit of paladins engaging the demons. These paladins seem to have forsaken the heavy armor usually favored by members of the Church, and this allows them to display impressive feats of agility as they climb up the sides of the walls to spring up on the demons atop the walls from below. The fight could have gone either way nonetheless, but as you grew near and your light fell upon them the demons shrieked in pain, their flesh starting to burn. With this distraction, the paladins are able to swiftly fell the remaining demons and secure a path through the gates. Several of the paladins shoots flaming arrows up into the darkness, apparently some sort of signal, while their leader, an elderly man turns to face you.

“Ho there, fellow servants of the Valkyrie! Thanks to you for that light, it was a most effective distraction! Although I’m not sure I’ve ever seen magic like that before.”

“Yes, well . . . it’s a rather . . . new development. And a long story.”

Welkin said, glancing back at you.

“Who are you, exactly?”

“Oh, my apologies. My name is Tyberius, and I am a member of the Order of the Guiding Star. We are from outside of the kingdom of Narle, and came to help – and not a moment too soon, it would appear.”

“The Order of the Guiding Star? Yes . . . I’ve heard of you. Missionaries to other lands. I’m not sure what the handful of you are going to be able to do in a battle of this scale, however – no offense to your fighting abilities.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We didn’t come alone.”

Looking off into the distance away from the city, you could see a sizable force of paladins now rushing forward towards the secured gates – at least a hundred or more. The exuberance of Welkin’s paladins is short-lived, however, as a deep rumbling voice suddenly comes from overhead.

“That light . . . that hideous, detestable light! I thought that it had been extinguished for good, long ago!”

The darkness overhead splits open in two places, revealing a pair of burning, bloody orbs that gaze down upon you and the other paladins assembled at the gate with pure hatred.

“But it does not matter how you are here now. I will crush you and drag you screaming into an eternal darkness from which there shall be no escape! Skithiss, join me in sharing this unexpected bounty!”

Beyond the range of your light, a massive spider the size of a wagon suddenly crawls into sight on top of a building. Instead of eight eyes, however, this beast had eight heads, eight humanoid faces equipped with gaping mouths and slavering fangs. As the spider leaped down from the building, the darkness beyond the range of your light settled onto it, forming a second layer of dark, oily armor. For a moment, Skithiss and Glurdalak are obscured from sight by the intervening buildings, but then they burst out into the street, charging directly for you and Welkin!

Vegna

“What are you talking about Mal, I –“

Master Vork began, and then suddenly stopped with a sharp gasp of realization.

“Ahhh . . . so, it has begun then. I am very sorry for what you have been through Mal, and I am sure you have many questions now, just as I am sure you will have even more after I explain. Unfortunately, this is neither the time nor the place for such things. Just know that after we get these people free and to a safe place, I will explain everything. Please, just be patient a little longer.”

Quietly, Master Vork shifts positions, looking back in the direction of the elven camp.

“They’ve stopped, which is something they haven’t done before. I think they’re tired of my harrying actions, and they’re up to something to put a stop to that. I need your help, yours and Val’Toshs’s and Elise’s, to get the people out safely. I’ll keep them distracted, the three of you break through the perimeter and get the people. Can you do that? I –“

Whatever Master Vork is going to say next is interrupted as light suddenly flares through the forest from the direction of the elf camp – they have apparently lit some sort of bonfire. A moment later, and you hear a reedy voice shouting out from the direction of the camp, in a heavy accent.

“Interloper! We know you’re out there, and your interference in our affairs ends now! You have until the count of 10 to reveal yourself to us and surrender! For every number that I go over, we will execute one of our prisoners! ONE!”

“**** we’re out of time. Alright, um . . . I’ll “surrender” myself to them and stall for more time. You go collect Elise and Val’Tosh, and let me know when to start sowing chaos in the middle of their camp.”

“TWO!”

“Send an earth elemental or a tremor into the camp, and I’ll use that as the start signal. Unfortunately, I’m not sure where the prisoners will be now if they’re lining them up for execution.”

“THREE!”

It occurs to you that while Master Vork is certainly more knowledgeable in the full discipline of Terra style, he might be able to use that knowledge more effectively from the outside of the camp than as a prisoner within it. And while you aren’t as capable, you’re just as capable of subtly throwing things into chaos with a few inopportune mud holes. Perhaps then, you would make a better choice of sacrificial “victim” to enter the camp? Also, if Master Vork eats an arrow in the head as soon as he shows himself, neither you or Val’Tosh will ever get any answers. But there are two of you and Val’Tosh at least.

“FOUR!”

“Mal . . . you aren’t entertaining one of your self-sacrificing ideas, are you? Because I need you to do what I ask right now!”

“FIVE!”

(So yeah. Mal can basically play Trojan prisoner in Master Vork’s place, or try to hurriedly round up Val’Tosh and Elise and hope Master Vork can be a big enough distraction for the three of them to break in and get everyone out.)

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7/ Gorgondantess

At the Spirit’s protective gesture towards Hephestia, Nihilus raises his free hand.

“Fair enough. It was only a suggestion anyway – I’m afraid you will need to trade or otherwise convince Maurice’s captor to hand her over to you. I can make the introduction, but I rather doubt I can force him – the Fiend Lords are very independent. I’m actually surprised that I was able to get them to work together – perhaps their time spent together as joint guests of the Church had an effect after all.”

At that point, Ander strode into the room through a secret entrance, announcing his presence with the full thunder and fury of the Church’s Speaker. Nihilus was not impressed, walking around the Spirit and ducking under her sword arm in order to stand beside the newest strange creature the Church would have to contend with. This also, coincidentally, puts him almost nose-to-nose with Ander.

“Ah, Ander! You’re right on time after all. I was beginning to worry that sending three Fiend Lords after you would be more than you can handle! Good to know they weren’t all stupid enough to fight to the death over what was supposed to be just a distraction while I got in here.”

Nihilus pats the leather-bound tome with his free hand.

“Found what I was looking for though, so now I’ll be on my way.”

Nihilus inclines his cowled head at the Spirit.

“I’m afraid that my new friend here has the right of it. While we’re here and Yvonne and Anguish are running for their lives, the other four Fiend Lords that I brought with me are making quite a mess of your city – killing your men, kidnapping refugees, and just generally smashing everything. I’ll try to convince them all to leave with me, but feel free to kill any of them too stupid to understand hit-and-run tactics.”

As if he were waving off a fly, Nihilus reaches up and tears open a portal in mid-air. Through the shimmering outline, everyone can see a wavering depiction of Luxien’s market square in ruins – merchant stands smashed and fires beginning to rage out of control. The Writer of History turns to the Spirit and indicates the portal.

“Now I would like to have a few more private words with Ander. This portal will take you to our designated meeting spot – I’ll take you to the Hells from there. Alternatively, you can just fly there if you don’t trust stepping through that. And I can understand why you wouldn’t trust me – Ander does have a point. I have done nothing to earn your trust . . . but if you don’t give me the opportunity, than you are just as close-minded as them, willing to dismiss someone on sight as a monster.”

Nihilus indicates the wide sweeping windows of the Speaker’s bedchamber, looking out over the dark and burning city.

“If any of my fellows give you a hard time, just tell them Nihilus sent you. Or beat it through their thick skulls that you’re coming along and they can’t stop you – either way.”

Nihilus turns away from the Spirit and resumes his attention on Ander.

“Now then. You are right about one thing, Ander. Today the End begins! Not just for your Church, or the Heavens, but all of existence! And for all your bluster, Ander, you can’t stop it. No man, fiend, or god can! The sooner you come to accept that, the longer you’ll have to spend with your family before all goes dark. Still . . . if you need to expend some of that guilt-driven aggression . . .”

Nihilus beckons Ander forward as he settles into a fighting stance, still clutching one of Morganna’s journals to his chest with one hand.

“Show me what you’ve got!”

Nihilus vs Ander Theme (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SlfGw0kiy7k&feature=relmfu)

Lyrics: (Now the only question is, who is singing them – Ander or Nihilus? :smallamused: )

I stand before a line in the sand
The fight lies ahead
The fate in my hands
Today the end begins
One step and the battle is born
The road that I walk
Is a gathering storm
Today the end begins
If it was up to me
I’d rewrite history
And change my destiny
One last time
Betrayed my father again
This is the last time
I’m the Mega of men
Today I change the end
Hi Rock, my weapon is hot
It’s time to throw down
Show me what you’ve got
Today we change the end…
If it was up to me
I’d rewrite history
And change my destiny
One last time
(There’s a sound before the fight)
And he says,
Why do you fight?
How can you say
You know what’s right?
(There’s a song before the fall)
What if we win?
What if we fall?
Will any choice that we make
Matter at all?
I know I can win
I’ve done it before
Get out of my way
I’ve got to settle the score
One last time
(He’s the prototype man
of Megaman)
If it was up to me
I’d rewrite history
And change my destiny
One last time
And now it’s up to me
To go make history
And change my destiny
One last time.

Phaedra

The_Snark

“Well, I’m not exactly sure what I did either, but I get the impression that these aren’t exactly the most welcoming hosts. Which makes me worry that if we’re down here in the dungeons, what are they doing to the woman I arrived here with. Maybe you’ve seen her? Name’s Jacqueline, and if you’ve seen her I imagine you would know it – she’s, well, here she’s got this weird flaming hair thing going on for one. Spooked the **** out of me when I saw it as they were dragging us in here – separated us almost immediately after that unfortunately, but I know what I saw and that sure as Hells wasn’t natural. They did something to her, and they could very well be doing more to her now as we’re sitting here. So it looks like it’s up to me to come to her rescue, again, which means escape.”

You hear grunting from the other cell next door, and then a melodious crunch followed by Wulfric humming to himself in triumph. More melodic banging follows, the sound interweaving with Wulfric’s next words.

“Nice to meet you, Mar. No need to apologize, we’ve all been there. But listen, that ******* is going to torture you no matter what you do. So **** him, why cooperate? Staying right here is not going to change anything. Maybe he is all-powerful and there is no escape, but you’ll never know if you don’t try. Sometimes, for the right reason, you have to risk it all in order to get what you really want. Course, then life tends to spit in your face and make things all sorts of complicated, but you can’t just give up on your dreams either.”

You hear some more grunting from Wulfric, and then suddenly a mass of thick fur is tumbling into the hallway outside. With a groan, the fur moves, allowing you to see that it is merely a fur cloak, and not an actual creature. Beneath the fur cloak is a rugged looking man, cradling a long thin bar of ice in one hand while he uses his other hand to rub his head. Slowly, he begins to turn to face your cell.

“There, see? I escaped from my cell, and that shouldn’t be possible if these guys are – gah, what happened to you!? What are those things – wings? Oh, you poor kid, I guess they’ve been experimenting on you too. Come on, I’m going to get you out of here. If we get caught you can tell them I took you as a hostage or something, that way you weren’t trying deliberately to escape. Now back away from the bars – this isn’t exactly a precise process.”

Gripping the ice rod in both hands, Wulfric brings it around and slams the end into one of the bars making up your cell door, prompting a melodic crack to come from the cell bar as the ice begins to splinter. Wulfric continues swinging, and likewise continues his conversation with you as if you were both doing something far less serious than attempting to escape.

“So, what brings you here Mar? I guess Jacqueline’s mother is supposed to be here, or some crazy **** like that. If you want to talk about someone with issues, Jacqueline is certainly the pinnacle! But that’s why we came here, and I’m guessing ******* had something to do with your arrival? It sounded like the two of you had quite a history together, which I’m not sure I really get considering the two of you can’t be a day over fifteen! I tell you, my life just keeps getting weirder and weirder – things were so much simpler when all I had to do was shove a sword into somebody first! But you don’t see me complaining, no sir, I just roll with Life’s little punches!”

Wulfric smashes his makeshift club so hard against the bars that it snaps in half. Wulfric tosses his half aside in disgust, and then moves to start alternatively pushing and pulling at the splintered bars of ice that now line half of the doorway to your cell.

Lonna

At your mention of Wulfric, Titania’s warm smile mercurially turns into a stern frown.

“Oh yes. Him. Your “paramour”, I believe Ruya called him – honestly daughter, what do you see in him? He is beneath you, a common grain of sand lost amongst the shore of humanity! But . . . because he is important to you, I have ensured that he is safe.”

Titania shook her head.

“You should have not brought him here, Pyria. It is dangerous for a human to be here, for their kind do not belong here. I have extended my protection to him for now, but he cannot remain. His presence will serve as a constant temptation and distraction for our servants. You will need to send him away sooner rather than later, for his own sake.”

Extending one hand, Titania conjures up an orb of clear ice, forming it out of the moisture in the air, one frozen drop at a tme. Within it, a cloudy mist swirls but begins to dissipate as Titania holds it up in front of your eyes.

“So that you can be reassured of his current state, I will show you. He is down in the dungeons, where he will be prevented from endangering himself. He has been given a measure of protection against the cold which I understand is not to humans’ liking, although he would be in no danger of expiring from it regardless. Here, daughter, Time has no hold, and neither does Death. There are worse things that could happen should I revoke my protection, however.”

Titania warns, pausing as she is suddenly wracked with a coughing fit. A wad of pitch black, oily phlegm oozes out between Titania’s fingers a moment later, and with a look of distaste Titania scrapes her hand against the armrest of her throne. Your focus is on the interior of the orb in Titania’s other hand, however, for now the mist has faded away entirely. Within the orb you can now see Wulfric, a heavy fur cloak draped over his shoulders. He is standing at the doorway of a small room hewed out of the ice, straining against the pillars of ice that block its doorway. As you watch, the ice pillar gives way, cracking apart and giving Wulfric a long icicle club which he uses to batter at the other bars blocking his way.

Recovering from her coughing fit, Titania looks into the orb as well, and her eyes narrow.

“What is he doing!? The fool is only placing himself in greater danger by attempting escape! DARIEL! Come forth for I summon thee!”

The light globe that had been guiding you to the throne room suddenly swoops down to in front of you both. Titania stretches out her hand, and in response the light globe morphs, bursting apart to release the golden light within into a cloud which quickly solidifies into a tall muscular man with the legs of a horse. The man raps his chest and rows his head in respect to his queen, and then sweeps his silver-colored eyes over to you and smiles.

“Pyria. It has been a long time since we have seen each other face to face.”

“Yes yes. The two of you may catch up later – right now I need you to go down to the dungeons Dariel. Stop this man from escaping.”

Titania lowers the orb so that Dariel can see within it, and the centuar’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

“A human? Here!? I will dispatch him post-haste for defying your will, my queen!”

“No need to dispatch him, merely ensure that he doesn’t escape. Do it gently!”

Titania adds, glancing at you for a moment and nodding ever so slightly. Again the centaur bows over his fist, and then turns and runs out of the throne room at a gallop. Titania gently sets the orb down onto the right armest of her throne, where the two fuse together from the cold almost immediately. Within, Wulfric’s escape attempt continues to play out, as he has managed to shatter another two of the bars, which is almost enough for him to squeeze out into the hallway beyond.

“Now that this disaster has been averted, can we speak of other things my daughter? As I said, Time has no meaning here, but I understand that it has been many, many years for you since we have last seen each other. You must have a lot of questions, especially given your . . . unfortunate condition.”

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that offering you instantaneous travel wasn’t considered helpful.”

Nihilus snapped back.

“Oh, but of course! You’re Umber, and you don’t need my help to move about your own citadel because you can just circumvent all of your own security! Except, oh yes, that still takes time that neither you nor I have!”

Nihilus suddenly pauses as he observes you weaving the strands of hair together. You aren’t positive that this will work, since Marialta herself was a ghost and thus her hair didn’t actually exist. But since she possessed that slave girl, there was a sympathetic connection through her to Marialta. Given the nastiness of some of what Kartul was playing around with, you could probably find something useful. And if not, his laboratory was still the place to go to collect all sorts of necromantic tools that would make Marialta suffer should you encounter her ghostly form again.

“Hrm . . . I just had an idea. I have some skill at . . . well, it’s more People Reading than Object Reading, but with the hair it should be close enough. I can see where the slave girl Marialta possessed has been, and whether or not she’s used that body to go anywhere else rather than directly to Fianna’s bedroom. I could go collect these components from Kartul’s lab as well, while you stay here and finish . . . whatever it is that you’re doing. You just need to tell me what I need to grab and what I’ll have to deal with in turn.”

Nihilus snorts in frustration.

“Or would you prefer to handle all of these details yourself, while I go sit over there and pout in the corner?”

With a flick of his wrist, Nihilus tears another portal open, this one revealing Kartul’s laboratory judging from the disgusting contents beyond.

“We can also just go there together right now if you’re concerned about my effectiveness outside of your line of sight.”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

After Jarod’s apple is impaled onto its tip Alons nocks the arrow to his bow and takes careful aim. Although the mushy fruit is barely intact, its presence does leave the arrow heavily front-weighted. Alons does know the rough range of his target thanks to his prior shots at Garret, but his target is now up in the air and obscured by curtains of flame. After taking all of these details into consideration, Alons whispers to Larent and lets fly.

The shot flies true, and as it reaches the edge of the cyclone Jarod’s magic comes into play. The apple comes apart from around the arrow, allowing the missile to continue streaking on into Garret’s shoulder without much effect. As the apple comes apart, however, it bursts to shower the area with far more water than could ever have possibly been held by the hand-sized fruit.

As the rotten apple’s water begins to fall down through the cyclone it magically freezes, turning the flaming cyclone into a hollow ice pillar. Garret & Rosenberg are caught within the pillar’s empty center, but it is a far more tolerable place now. Garret is both surprised and annoyed, and turns away from Rosenberg to look at his surroundings and rasp a harsh “No.”

Instantly the ice structure begins to shatter, chunks of ice flying away in all directions, but the possessed druid’s inattention has cost him. The distraction gave Rosenberg a wide opening, one which he didn’t hesitate to exploit as he unleashed the beast within and put it to work.

His body morphing into its massive, beasty, – and debatably true – form, Rosenberg roars a new guttural challenge to Garret and then plunges one claw into the druid’s chest. The claw emerges a moment later with a good chunk of Garret’s flesh, ribcage, and the apple-sized organ beyond. Into the flickering remains of the flame cyclone, Rosenberg plunges Garret’s heart, charring it to a cinder. And yet the druid still does not cease moving, although Garret’s body is now plagued with bizarre twitching and spasms due to the damage done to the network of runes.

“Fool! You may have ruined the flavor of this body, but you also dismissed the tiny speck holding me back!”

Garret roared back, extending his good arm to send out a lance of air that drove Rosenberg out of the sky and down into the ground. Even once on the ground, the blast of air continued to push the werewolf down into the ground. Garret flailed his broken arm, and in response bands of stone rose up to wrap around Rosenberg’s limbs, pinning them and holding him down. The fallen and now dead druid began to descend, continuing to summon up bands of stone around Rosenberg’s limbs until he could no longer break free, only his head and chest visible, the rest buried beneath solid stone. Floating just above Rosenberg, Garret’s corpse reached a hand down, and the searing pain began anew as runes began to flow down onto the werewolf’s chest.

“You will be my new vessel, wolf! And there is nothing and no one that can change that!”

“Yo.”

Jarod called out, appearing at Rosenberg’s feet and behind the fallen druid’s still-moving corpse, cradling Rosenberg’s scythe in his arms. He swings it, awkwardly but with his full strength behind it nonetheless as Garret’s body whirls at the sound. The blade of Rosenberg’s scythe bites through Garret’s chest again, this time finishing the job of obliterating the line of runes that Rosenberg’s first swing had started. Just like a marionette, Garret’s body instantly collapsed to the ground, a look of astonishment on its face as the remaining runes began to evaporate. Even so, Jarod continued swinging down Garret’s body, until it was nothing more than a dismembered pile of severed flesh lying within the midst of a rose garden.

With the thing that was possessing Garret’s body gone, the magic it had summoned likewise began to fade. The wall of flame collapsed, sending the tiny sparks of the fire elementals guttering out, and the bands of stone piled on top of Rosenberg weakened to the point he was able to burst out of his tomb. Even the runes already burned into Rosenberg’s body began to fade, helped along by his impressive regeneration. There was still, however, the issue of his nakedness.

From across the field, Willow stared at the werewolf with a mixture of horror and fascination, at least until Mags forcibly turned her around. Removing his cloak, Jarod offered both it and his scythe to the hulking werewolf.

“I think it’s time we get out of here before they send any more of those things. I guess we know now what’s happened or going to happen to our comrades. I think . . . that was a Fey.”

Jarod said with a sigh, walking away to retrieve his staff once Rosenberg has clothing and weapon back. If his suspicion was correct, then it was not a good sign. Fey tended to be even shyer than spirits in revealing themselves, and infinitely more dangerous. Generally they needed to acquire a physical shell before entering the mortal realm, as unlike elementals they seemed unable to fashion one out of their surroundings. Foolish explorers crossing Fey tended to have one of two ends – either they were left to be found in humiliating positions, or they were never seen again. And while travel into the spirit world was possible, nobody ever came back from visits to the Fey’s corner of it.

“I’ll resummons some earth elementals and then we’ll move on. Is everyone alright?”

(Next post we’ll be moving on to the next scene, which will likely segue fairly quickly into breaking through the siege into Amaranth. In video game terms, this is your last chance to wander about before you get stuck in an hour-long cutscene to then find yourself in some new inescapable area that you can’t leave before completing that section of the plot. You have been warned. :smallwink: )

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

As you shake the man’s beefy hand, you examine him closely. His muscles are hardened, and what little skin is visible outside of his armor has the weathered and scarred look of a veteran warrior. There is something in his eyes too – sorrow, but also something feral, a beast waiting to be unleashed. At your mention of a free drink or two, those feral eyes light up.

“Ah, aye. I have a new favorite drinking spot, although with the city under siege alcohol is starting to become scarce. Fortunately, I have a few old friends who are only too happy to share what they have. Come, let’s discuss this over drinks as you said.”

You soon find yourself in the basement of a former shop in the Merchant District, since converted to a makeshift bar. Predictably as this early hour, there aren’t many people present, although you note with distaste that a few militiamen from the night before are still slumped in their seats, sleeping their troubles away. Ross leads you over to a table made out of several crates, and joined by chairs made out of old barrels. Recognizing their one guest, the boy they have playing barmaid is quick to return with two mugs and a bottle, rather than mugs of the thin-looking ale the other patrons are enjoying.

“Ah, thank ye lad. Now this, this is a bottle of Donovole whiskey. Some people think that they just make wine, but let me assure you that the Donovales make alcohol of all kinds – although this is some of the strongest you can get! Put some hair of your chest, hah!”

Ross pours out a full mug, offering it to you, and then keeps the rest of the bottle for himself. Periodically, he pauses to take a deep swig from it, although he clearly is as hardened a drinker as he is a warrior – he does not seem much effected by the heavy alcohol.

“So, you were saying that you wanted to talk? Then please, talk. This is about as safe of a place from lingering ears as I can think of in the city right now.”

Ross listens intently to your questions, even nodding and smiling at your mention of the Church’s current Speaker.

“Aye. Ander’s the current Speaker, although I heard that news curled a few toes! Quite a bit of bloodshed within the Church these past few months, but hopefully with all the rotten flesh cut away things can start to heal now. Not that this war with the elves is doing anyone any favors – the paladins that are left are running themselves ragged trying to keep the townsfolk out of the way or so I hear.”

Ross looks at his bottle of whiskey thoughtfully, and then continues.

“As for Ander, if he isn’t off leading the charge somewhere personally, I imagine that he’s back in Luxien trying to piece everything back together. That’s the Cathedral City, lad, and it’s on the far side of the kingdom. Even assuming you could cut your way out of here through the elf-infested woods, you’d still have a several week journey of ye. Although . . . hmmm.”

Ross slams the bottle of whiskey back down onto the table.

“The paladins here may have a communication crystal to keep in touch. I could probably . . . convince them to let us borrow it for a few minutes. Good luck trying to cut through the bureaucracy though to get to Ander! I imagine the Speaker’s time is pretty valuable right about now. Still . . . I could put in a good word for you if you would like.”

Ross gets up, and then stops to drain the last of the bottle. He has consumed enough alcohol at this point to likely leave most men staggering drunk, and seems only a little sluggish – so far. He leads you back out of the tavern and then spreads his arms wide, pointing at the front gates and presumably at the location of the paladin camp.

“So, what’s it going to be, lad? Are we going to visit the paladins here, or are we wading through elf country for the next several weeks?”

GuyFawkes

2012-10-15, 05:51 AM

Lucifuge

The black dragon leaned back and took another sip from his mug while listening to the man speak about Ander and the church. He did not fancy himself as a drinker; he never understood the propensity of humans to fill themselves with this odd liquid, this poison, and make fools of themselves. A prime example were the militiamen all dozing off without a care in the world, when they should be outside doing their part But right now, facing this guy, looking at his eyes, and listening to his stories about the situation he has been and is currently in, he could understand if only a little bit.

Judging from the way he talked, Lucifuge understood this Alexander Ross fellow might indeed know of Ander, maybe even to the point of personally knowing him.

Good. At least Lady Luck still has some time to flirt with me.

He finished up his mug and stood up after Ross. He rummaged within his belt pouch and produced a few coins, placing them on the table and followed the man.

"I imagined it to be so, so I think I need to go to the Cathedral City and find a way to meet this Ander personally. But I cannot leave this place immediately. I am waiting for a friend. Best we visit the paladins in the mean time and use that communication device. If I were to go and pay him a visit, might as well be sure that he is there. Lead on then, my good sir. To the paladin camp."

On the way to the camp, Lucifuge looked around the city streets, which by now had come alive. One thing that amazed the dragon about humans was their resilience, and the persistence to continue living even during these tumultuous times, going about their lives like the danger of the ravages of war just hanging about outside those walls. Not even mentioning the greater danger that was only waiting to erupt.

"How long have you been in this city, Mr. Ross?"

Vegna

2012-10-15, 11:16 AM

Mal Harath

For the first time in a long while, anger pours into Mal, frustation that he must wait once again to know what he has been caught up in. But the elf's threat cools him down, as he realizes what he must do.

"I'm sorry, Master. But I've spent too long waiting for answers to leave you to the elves."

He runs towards the light, before his master can stop him. Arms waving in the air to show he is unarmed, he calls back to the voice.

"Here I am! I am surrendering!"

Kasanip

2012-10-16, 10:32 AM

Lukina

Lukina turned her back to Tyberius and Welkin, enraptured by the appearance of the fiend lords.

Th-this is what...

Her knees felt weak with fear.

How can I?

She wanted to ask the sky. But even as the voice and darkness pressed down, it resonated within her. It resonated something deeper, in the depths of her heart. She wanted to cry out against it. She wanted to deny it, and tear away the fear, and throw it against her foe.
They were everything that was wrong. The evil that she had fought how many times in her dreams and through the years?
That thought was Genevieve's resonating, and in her fists wrapped around the sword as a pale blue flame gave off it's proud light, Lukina gritted her teeth.

She charged forward with both hands on the sword. Not too high on the blade, not too low. The weak feeling in her legs burned away as she ran towards the spider-like enemy. Why was it so nostalgic?

She wanted to picture the attacks and it's order. And she made her decision how she would strike. Faster, across broken ground towards the darkness, her blue light hit the and sparks howled in the air. She met the leg crashing down with the sword, and the darkness and blade hissed, as her soul yelled against it.

Arms straining under the strike, Lukina fell back, dust flying up from her feet.

She felt a second of horror to see no wound or damage to the fiend. But a constable had told her never to stop moving against a larger enemy.
Move! She ducked as a second leg swung over her head, and she stood straight as the third slid behind her.

A trap! If she stayed here, she wouldn't be able to avoid the blows.

"I, will not be afraid" Lukina swung the sword down, trading blow again and again, dodging around the legs. As the blue flame around her burned brighter, the faintest halo-like light.
"I will tear asunder your resounding shadow!" Each exchange of sword and shadow howled, as Lukina threw herself into acrobatics that could only be trusted to instinct. Never stopping the dance.

I will not be afraid of the darkness! If she only believed and continued to believe, then nothing could hurt.

The shadow didn't give away, perhaps the fiend lord believed the same. Lukina skidded back, as her breath started to try to catch up. The poor blade in her hand was living only from the blue flame, Her body had become numb long ago- was that strength or exhaustion? She steadied herself and adjusted her two-hand grip on the blade. The shadows beyond the sparks of light and darkness meeting- there was little damage.
What? There's no way! I hit that with all my strength! And as she circled with her enemy warily, she called out.

"Who are you and how do you know me?!" She shouted at the darkness. Lukina didn't know. Genevieve should know, but it was part of a broken memory. But she desperately needed to know. If she could only know- only could complete that memory and remember... Then maybe she would remember how. How she could break that armor.
She needed to know soon. She had a grim feeling that was dangerously close to despair, but she threw away that thought before she started that [if] question. She would win.
She could win.
If she was complete, she could win.
If she could convince her exhausted body for just a few more minutes that she was an archangel and not a human.
If she wasn't weak.
If she didn't give up.
If she didn't show any weakness.
If she could keep her shining soul burning.

She took a shuddering breath and grit her teeth, circling oppositely the fiend. She forced her voice to a deadly calm. "Answer me, before I kill you, so that I know who fell by my sword today!"

WhiteKnight777

2012-10-17, 02:24 AM

Umber

Umber gave the... man a bemused look. All around him there was a soft patter as the collection of bric-a-brac that had formed the room's defenses settled back down into a deceptively random clutter. It was like watching some predatory reptile change its coloring, thought Umber absently.

"Calm down. I only meant that you could have intervened directly. Unless there's a reason that you can't? And what was all that about "aid?"" Umber asked. His tone was light, but suspicion reared again. Nihilus had seemed sincere about fighting fate, but a creature as old and as potent as he was probably had a mind that could go through a corkscrew without bending.

He looked through the portal, quickly tabulating what he would need. Gods, but it was taxing to remember the contents of a laboratory that had burned millenia ago. Except, right now, it hadn't. Gods damn but is whole time-travel muckity-muck was hard on the tenses.

There are a couple of things I'll need - a black sapphire. A small, barbed hook-like instrument. A large crystal flask. A carved bone rod - the one with the forked end, not the pointed one. And the jawbone of an ass with the teeth still in. That should give us a range of options for hunting that bitch down and doing some nasty things to her.

daelrog

2012-10-17, 03:51 AM

Alons/Rosenberg

It would have been a poor way to die. That is what echoed in his mind as the fires turned to ash around them all. His hands rubbed against his face as he crouched, offering a smalll smile as he noticed Willow's wandering eyes.

Alons turned his attention to the werewolf and the earth druid. An interest duo, two who knew far more about this land than he, and certainly might have insights as to why he had come to this place to begin with. Now was not the time though. It was tricky enough to just survive, there would be plenty of time to discuss strange foretellings of destruction and darkness. As Alons looked up to the daylight sky, he could only hope that he was being honest with himself, that there would be time, that this conflict with the elves wasn't merely the tip of the iceberg in this mad kingdom.

He barely heard Jarod's warning of the need to move on, but he did see new earth elementals rising up to take their rations. Right, it was time to go.

He moved over to where his charges were getting ready. "All is good and well then?" He turned his attention to Willow as he walked up. "You may have saved us with that cheap swill." He leaned closer. "But you should save your thoughts of play and leisure for when we make it out of these forests." He gave her rump a playful pinch.

"Off we go then."

TechnOkami

2012-10-18, 07:09 PM

Rosenberg

After having been pounced by the rune-scarred fire man, whose body was now slowly decomposing beneath a bed of roses. Of course, now he had the issue of walking around naked out of his hybrid form, but thankfully this was quickly remedied when Jarod offered his cloak.

"Thank you." Rosenberg said in a softer growl. He wrapped the cloak around him, clasping it firmly around his neck. It was then that he began to shift back to his human form, as to save the women from staring at his naked, but good looking body. As he began to return to his human height, Rosenberg turned to Jarod.

"I'm sorry..." he said in a growl, "...about your friend.", he finally said in a human voice, fully shifted back to a man.

He took his scythe back into his hands, the familiar touch of the weapon returning to its master. He had to hold it awkwardly however, the length of the shaft tucked under the cloak with the curved blade sticking out from underneath. It was then that Rosenberg turned to the men and women they were keeping in tow with them.

"Did anyone find an extra set of men's clothes in the cache? I doubt I have the time to hunt down animals and make leather from their hides, let alone sew new clothes for myself."

Baerdog7

2012-10-20, 01:15 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

The air around Ander crackles, electric with divine energy, as he endures Nihlus' taunting. Wordlessly, he drops into a fighting stance and circles around Nihlus to be closer to draw the fight closer to the center of the room. As he moves, Ander finally gets his first good view of the ruined city and one of Nihlus' taunts worms its way through the armor of his mind.

There were four more Fiend Lords in his city.

Ander shifts his gaze from Luxien and back to Nihlus. Light from the fires below dances on the marble of Ander's chambers and the sounds of battle filter up through the windows: the laughter of demons, the screams of refugees, the shouting of officers desperately trying to mount a defense. If he concentrated hard enough, Ander thought he could just make out Mammon's familiar voice bellowing as he exulted in some wanton destruction...or maybe that was just his imagination.

Nihlus was too clever by far. This was another delaying tactic to keep Ander occupied while demons destroyed his city and killed his men. Every fiber of the paladin's being wanted to shove a sword through Nihlus' face but now...maybe now violence wasn't the answer.

Ander straightens up from his fighting stance, sheathes his sword, and disperses the corona of holy light that had surrounded him.

Too clever, Nihlus. Too clever by far. This is just another delaying tactic to keep me busy while the other Fiend Lords run rampant. If I fight you and beat you here, there will be nobody to drag them back home. Sure, I could eventually defeat them all on my own but by that point I doubt I'd have a city or a Church left that's worth saving.

So this time, Nihlus...you win. Leave this place and take your confederates with you.

One more thing gnawed at Ander as Nihlus turned to go. Something the Writer of History had said didn't mesh up with Ander's theory that this was all part of a plot to free Azguloth.

Wait! Before you go, I have a question. You spoke of a threat that not even the Gods could defeat, something that would destroy all of existence. If this attack wasn't part of a plan to release Azguloth, what was it for? What are you up to, Nihlus? What are you fighting?

Gorgondantess

2012-10-20, 04:49 PM

if you choose to go with Nihlus into darkness you will be my enemy and there will be no mercy when next we meet.
She smiles sadly, narrowing her eyes.
"I'd like to see you try."
Extricating herself from Ander's grip, she continues.
"I'm sorry, but... Nihilus... has the right of it. I have no reason to trust one of you over the other."
She shakes her head.
"This war of yours against these fiends? Not my fight. I have to save Maurice. Even if she hates me for it. And this... is the best way to do that."
She turns around, and goes through the portal.

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-10-20, 11:40 PM

Nameless

"I don't know how I got here, or what I've done, but I feel like I shouldn't be here at all. I don't remember doing anything wrong, so I have no idea what I'm being punished for by being here. If I'm even being punished at all. From what you're saying it sounds like they just hurt people here for fun."

At the mention of the Baron of Gast, he winces. The word cut through his mind like a knife. SOMETHING told him he should know what that meant, who they were talking about. But when he tried to focus, the thoughts faded away again. No name, no personality, not even an image to connect to the word. Baron.

"Baron? I feel like I've heard that name before, too, but I can't remember where. Who is he?"

...

At the mention of causing as much damage and chaos as possible, he shakes his head.

"We need a plan. Running around with no idea where we're going will only get us recaptured faster. And we can't do it alone. We need to get as many people as we can to help us. There's a strength in many where one would fail."

The words felt natural to him. He wasn't sure why. But it only seemed right for the many to stand up and fight.

When his companions disappear, Nameless raises his weapon and adopts a defensive stance, almost instinctively. A few memories seemed to still be there. Fight, guard, stand strong and be aware. He didn't know much about where he was, but something in his gut told him this was a trick.

The_Snark

2012-10-21, 06:45 AM

Mar

A laugh almost escaped Mar. Wulfric thought his life had taken a turn for the strange...? Well, he was here, so probably it had been. Meeting her would almost certainly make it stranger. She didn't even know where to begin. There was so much to explain, and she wasn't sure she understood it all herself.

He wasn't giving her much time to think it over. Mar didn't like being rushed; it made her nervous. Marisiel hadn't much cared for it either.

There was one thing that seemed pressing, though. Jacqueline was not the princess's name, but surely there couldn't be two such women here to reunite with their mothers? "Your Jacqueline," she said. "Fiery hair? Green eyes?" He nodded, and she went on.

"I saw her. You ought to know that her mother is the queen here. Her father... is a sorcerer; he died a long time ago, but found a way to take other people's bodies after they die. He's the one you saw bringing me down here. She was with them last I saw, and they wouldn't like it if you tried to take her away. I don't think... I don't know if she would want to leave." She hadn't gotten a good read on the princess—well, she'd been awfully distracted at the time!—but Pyria hadn't behaved like a woman under coercion. Nobody had dragged her into the throne room.

Wulfric had paused his assault on the bars to listen. This was less of a relief than she'd expected. She didn't want to stay in her cell, after all, she was just afraid of what might happen if she didn't. Being caught trying to escape would doubtless lead to some terrible punishment, but really: they were going to do something horrible to her anyway, if she stayed here and let them. Just because Pyria didn't seem interested in torturing her didn't mean Titania and Istomilo would restrain themselves forever. Frightening, yes, but—she thought it was probably right.

What happened to being sorry? part of her wanted to know, but she told herself firmly that sorry didn't mean she had to let people torture her.

"My story... that's complicated. I'm older than I look. Sort of." She felt a twinge of guilt; he had no idea what he was getting into. She didn't want to take advantage. "Look, I... Are you sure about this? They'll be hunting you if you break me out, twice as hard as if you didn't. Nobody will believe you took me hostage. And I don't think Py - Jacqueline would be happy to see me, even if you got her away from her parents. I don't want to stay here, but..."

Mar clasped her hands in front of her, momentarily possessed of a dignity beyond her apparent years, and looked Wulfric square in the eye. "It'll mean trouble for you. I just thought you ought to know before you decide."

Dorizzit

2012-10-21, 12:35 PM

Korram Alstan

Oh joy, she knows about my family. That's going to be awkward.

Korram considers his options for a moment, unsure of the best path to proceed. He should check on his family...but on the other hand, the two most important members of that category would not be there no matter what had happened, and the bulk of the rest would have been out in their personal territories; far from a flawless defense, but it probably made them safer than those in the City. Regardless, he won't be able to provide any concrete assistance.

Moreover, this was an opportunity that might not come again, and could help move Korram's agenda forwards. He tries not to think about the moral implications of using the situation to his advantage, but that isn't the only motivation for him. The attack was extremely concerning even without Korram's other worries; if this really was nothing more than the first in a series, then Heaven would quickly become overwhelmed. If there was something Korram could do to help prevent that, then he should do so.

"I'll go with you. I can't do anything for my family now, and if there's anything I can do to help prevent this from happening again, I want to."

Inspectre

2012-10-21, 05:09 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

“Alright. Let’s go!”

Miranda says as she picks you up and lifts up into the air once more. She flies to the gates of the Palace of the Sun, located at the heart of the City. Right now, those gates are closed, but it still seems to be a meeting point for the angels as there are already two of them waiting there. One of them turns to face you, and Miranda reacts with shock, nearly dropping you face-first onto the ground.

“Melissan!? What are you doing here!? I, I thought –“

“You thought correctly, sister. I have . . . been away for quite some time. You can thank Ander for my return.”

The angel announced, and for a moment Miranda and Melissan embraced.

“I will be sure to do that then! But first I want you to meet someone, another human who I think can help us. This is Korram – he’s the one who saved our Lady!”

Melissan looks you over critically, and then smiles and extends a hand to you.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Korram.”

The third angel, the one that Melissan had been conversing with before your arrival, gives you only a sullen glance of acknowledgement.

“As I was just informing Melissan, we were just attacked. By humans, looking to steal away souls from their proper rest for their vile masters.”

Miranda bristled, clearly picking up on her sister’s implication in regards to you.

“Don’t associate Korram with that filth, Maya! He is a noble soul, and his sacrifice was the only thing that saved our Lady!”

“We saved our Lady as well, Miranda, or do you forget the final moments of that battle? More than one “hero” has harbored dark thoughts in his heart, and become twisted by them!”

“He helped me, just as he helped our Lady!”

“He’s still human! Why did you get him involved in what is a matter for us!? *We* are this city’s protectors!”

Melissan raises her hands, physically interposing herself between the other two angels before it could become any more heated.

“Considering that it was humans who attacked our city, and it was human souls that they were after, I think that is would be our benefit to have a human’s perspective on this matter. And certainly, from what I understand Korram is a new arrival here, and thus conflict is not a long-forgotten mark on his life. Now then, do you have any insights that you would be able to share about these humans, or why they would be aiding the fiends in this endeavor?”

All three sets of eyes turn towards you.

The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

Other than a few puffs of mist idly floating past, nothing moves around you. This is not nearly as relieving as it should be, but it does allow you to relax your instinctual guard. Seeing nothing and no one else to interact with, you cautiously advance. The thin banks of fog that surround you rapidly thicken after a few dozen feet away from you, leaving you with little sense of direction or where to go.

There is one thing that does allow you to be able to pick a consistent direction to wade through the ankle-deep turbid water, however. Now and then, through the mists, you are able to hear what sounds like a violin playing a slow, mournful tune (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yg_vuQ3I4-o). Every now and again you think you even hear a voice singing as well, but the sound is distorted and unintelligible from your current position.

As you move towards what you believe is the source of this soul-rending music, the swamp grows more difficult to traverse, with uneven depths beneath the placid water, and more than one sinkhole that threatens to swallow you unexpectedly. You still see no one, and hear nothing but the haunting melody, and the constant seclusion is beginning to grate on your nerves.

The ground grows more uneven still, as now skeletal trees begin to emerge from the mists here and there, their gnarled roots snaking underwater to trip and grasp at your feet. The melody is slightly louder now, however, its notes more clearly defined and longer stretches of the music reaching your ears. Like a siren’s song, it drags you forward, compelling you to continue. And then, you are rewarded for your efforts . . . after a fashion.

Looming out of the mists ahead of you is what appears to be a stone structure, little more than the crumbled outline of a hut. Its roof has long since rotted away, leaving only the stones behind to gradually sink into the mire. And even more importantly, ever so faintly, you can hear the faint sound of someone crying coming from within the hut.

You advance even more cautiously than before, but you advance nonetheless, right up to the hut, around the side, and peer in through the open-mouth of the stone hut’s doorway. You find a young woman lying within, half-submerged in the dark water, staring up at the obscured sky as tears flow steadily down her face. She is dressed in armor and a uniform of some kind, the tabard emblazoned with a shining sword. Like the tabard, the woman’s face triggers a sense of familiarity in you, and for a moment you find yourself standing somewhere else, a much different song being sung by a dozen voices, led by this same woman.

The handful of remaining paladins gather around you, most of them wounded, exhausted, and afraid of what was to come. But then one of the paladins threw her head back and began to sing an old hymnal that you had all been taught during your training. One by one, the other paladins joined in, reciting all of the words that had been etched into your minds over countless hours of worship.
The sun shall shine,
Through darkest cloud,
Following blackest night,
Again and again,
To fill the world with the light.

So don’t frown,
And don’t cry,
The Lightbringer smiles
Upon thee, Fear not,
The Sun shall shine.

Sensing but not seeing you, the woman stops crying and inclines her head up to stare at you and the world behind the hut.

“Father? Is that you? I’m so cold here, Father. Why did you leave me?”

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

“Wait! Mal, don’t!”

Master Vork calls behind you, but his pleas fall on deaf ears as you run towards the bonfire, shouting that here you are, and that you surrender. Your chest burns as you anticipate a series of arrows being fired into it, but none of that is forthcoming. Instead, the elves watch you approach, some of them just barely visible up in the trees, most down on the ground, and almost all of them turning to cover you with bows as you step into the ring of light provided by the bonfire. Near to it stands the apparent commander of this unit, along with a wizened elf that makes strange rhythmic gestures before the bonfire, paying no attention to you. A short distance from them, three humans kneel down in the dirt, an elf for each of them holding a nocked bow right over their hearts.

“Wise decision! TAKE HIM!”

The elf commander calls, as two elves lower their bows and step forward. Reaching you, one of the elves drives the hilt of his sword into your solar plexus, sending you crumpling to the ground. The other pounces on you, savagely binding your arms behind your back with some sort of vine-like rope. The two elves then drag you back up onto your feet and half-carry you over to the bonfire.

Risking a few glances around as you struggle to regain your breath, you can see that other than the three villagers by the bonfire itself, there’s about two dozen more clustered off to one side of the camp, all of them tied to trees. You note that all of them are young – children, teenagers, and a few young adults. It’s a little harder to count the elves as some are up in the trees and some of them are down on the ground hanging back in the shadows, but you’d guess about twice as many elves all told. That’s a lot of elves, and all of them watch you with barely-contained hate as you are led before their commander.

The commander sizes you up for a moment, and then repeats the actions of his men by driving the hilt of his sword into your chest, sending you crumpling to the ground a second time. Grabbing you by the hair, he pulls your head up and then turns to the crowd.

“This is your hero! Your rescuer! And he has failed! No one is coming for you! No one can save you! And if any more try, then they shall share this fool’s fate!”

By your hair, the commander pulls you back up onto your feet and shoves you back into the clutches of the other two elves. From there the two of them drag you over to a nearby spear planted into the ground near the bonfire. For a long moment you fear that they’re going to throw you down onto it as they had to the villagers back at Silverstream. But instead they merely bind you to it with more of those vines of theirs, wrapping coils of it around your torso and binding your legs. When they’re finished, the elves step back, and you quickly realize your fate is going to be far, far worse.

The bonfire . . . moves. Like a great serpent uncoiling, the great fire stands up, shifting into a vaguely humanoid form that towers over you. The wizened elf nods in satisfaction and steps back as the commander points at you.

“Oh great spirit, we have a sacrifice to offer to you! We only ask that you consume him . . . slowly!”

Realizing that you are about to be burned alive by a big fire elemental is not a pleasant discovery to make. Realizing that there is no way you can slip out of your bindings in time to do anything about it but scream for mercy was even worse. Fortunately, you were not a lone hero as the elves thought – and that assumption cost them as suddenly with a loud groan one of the trees at the edge of the clearing collapsed. Floundering in the sudden deep pool of soft mud that surrounded the tree, two of the elves are unable to get away and time and are crushed beneath it. A moment later and a boulder comes flying into the clearing, rolling to a stop a short distance in front of a cluster of elves that had moved forward to watch your death. A moment after it comes to a stop, the boulder explodes, spraying the elves with razor-sharp fragments. And from the far side of the clearing, a small army of earth elementals comes bursting out of the darkness, ignoring the arrows that the elves launch at them.

Pandemonium breaks out throughout the elven camp as the elves scramble to react to this attack. Meanwhile, the fire elemental continues to lumber towards you with single-minded determination, ignoring the chaos around it.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip

Dismounting from Welkin’s horse, you rush forward to meet the arachnid Fiend Lord, your sword clutched in both hands. The assembled paladins looked on in shock at the sight of you charging out to meet the demonic spider, and even the two Fiend Lords present seemed surprised. That did not stop Skithiss from trying to impale you with one of his legs, and chitin met steel in a shower of pale blue sparks. The patches of liquid darkness covering the giant spider protected it from contact, leaving it without a scratch, but the darkness quivered and led to this exchange.

“I knew I recognized that hateful light! Extinguish it! EXTINGUISH IT! NOW!”

“Pah! It’sss jussst a human girl! I can ssssmell her flesssh, sssso ssssoft, ssso ssssweet! One bite, and it’sss over!”

(All those extra s’s might make it hard to understand what Skithiss is saying, so here’s the translation: Pah! It’s just a human girl! I can smell her flesh, so soft, so sweet! One bite, and it’s over!”)

So saying, the spider leapt forward, trying to sink one of its eight arrays of fangs into you, only for you to smoothly dance aside, slashing across the beast’s side with minimal effect as the shadows swarm around to block the blow again. And thus begins a rapid dance, with Skithiss attempting to corral you with his legs so that he can deliver a fatal bite while you furiously dodge aside, parry, and counterstrike.

A minute later and the two of you briefly separate, sizing each other up again. To your dismay, you discover that the spider demon’s carapace is intact, not even scratched thanks to the living darkness’s protection. You are likewise unharmed, gods be praised, but the air burns in your lungs, and your muscles quiver uncontrollably with exhaustion. You can’t keep this up much longer, but you had to!

Trying to give your body just a moment to recover, you circle around the creature instead of charging back in, demanding answers from it. Skithiss simply laughs, its fangs rubbing against each other to make the horrid sound.

“You are nothing but meat, little girl! I will drag you down into my web, and you will be nothing but food for the lowessst of my petsss!”

(“You are nothing but meat, little girl! I will drag you down into my web, and you will be nothing but food for the lowest of my pets!”)

The other Fiend Lord is more respectful, its voice tinged with exertion or perhaps even pain.

“Hurry up and kill her, Skithiss! I don’t know how you are recreating Genevieve’s light, girl, but before Skithiss takes your body I will rip the answers from your mind! You will cower in my darkness forever, until you acknowledge Glurdalak, the Seething Darkness as your lord and master!”

At that point, Welkin interjected his own point, which boiled down to a single word.

“FIRE!”

With the two of you now separated, the assembled paladins are able to freely take aim and loose a volley of crossbow bolts at Skithiss. As with your sword blows, the attacks are deflected by the armor of liquid darkness, but the spider lord roars in fury nonetheless. Ignoring you, Skithiss charges towards the assembled line of paladins, just starting to be reinforced by the leading members of Tyberius’s small army. Knowing what you had to do, you throw yourself forward into harm’s way again, moving to interpose yourself. Summoning all of your remaining strength, you bring your sword down on one of the spider’s outstretched legs.

Your sword glows with an intense light, almost blinding in intensity as it comes into contact with the darkness covering Skithiss. And then . . . your sword cuts through the darkness, dispelling it, and burns rather than cuts through Skithiss’s leg. The severed appendage goes spiraling off behind you, and the Fiend Lord stumbles and momentarily crumples to the ground at the unexpected loss of his leg. A moment later and the spider is back up on its remaining seven legs, skittering around to face you as the last of the darkness melts away from its body. Overhead, the darkness begins to give away to daylight as it pulls away and begins to condense down into a much smaller cloud.

“I . . . can’t take that light anymore! You’re on your own, Skithiss!”

Glurdalak wails, and the demonic spider hisses in irritation as it gathers itself up to lunge at you. Its attack is again interrupted by Welkin, as he again shouts ‘Fire!” The chitin plates normally covering Skithiss’s body are still strong, and thus are able to deflect most of the crossbow barrage even without Glurdalak’s aid. But several of the bolts do manage to penetrate, leaving a black ichor to ooze out from the wounds. Skithiss recoils, and then begins to skitter back away from you to take shelter in a nearby alleyway.

“Thisss isssn’t over, little girl! I will feassst on your soul yet! Whether you really are Genevieve or not!”

(This isn’t over, little girl! I will feast on your soul yet! Whether you really are Genevieve or not!)

Then the spider skitters sideways down into a connecting alley, and is gone. Relief and a little disbelief that you had driven off not one, but two Fiend Lords races through you. And with that relief comes a crushing exhaustion. You’re barely even aware of it as your legs give out beneath you, pitching you face first down onto the street in an undignified heap. A moment later and Welkin and Tyberius are both there, helping you sit up and propping you up against a nearby building while the rest of the paladins fan out to begin further securing the city.

“Lukina! Are you alright?” Welkin presses. Tyberius’s question is more thoughtful, but infinitely more difficult to answer.

“Never in all my years have I seen quite such a display. You appear human, and yet I’ve never heard of a human fighting two Fiend Lords at once and surviving, let alone winning! Certainly not with such a sloppy technique . . . what exactly *are* you, child? The two of them seemed to think that ”

Baerdog7

Nihilus is clearly surprised by your sudden shift in behavior. As the Speaker sheaths his sword Nihilus similarly relaxes, shaking his cowled head.

“Proof that not everything is set in stone, and you are not as headstrong as everyone thinks. I will do what I can to convince them all to leave. But be warned Ander – we will be back. This shall see to that.”

Nihilius said, patting the stolen journal once more. The Writer of History turns to leave, but stops as you call out a question. The twenty-first Fiend Lord stands there a moment, but then bends down and traces his finger against the stone floor. Left in the finger’s wake is a scorch mark, the series of such marks that Nihilus quickly creates forming words that Ander cannot quite read from his current angle.

“This is about the end of the world, Speaker. Only this time, instead of taking a hundred years I will ensure that it takes only a hundred days! For too long I have watched and directed from the shadows. Now I shall dance upon Fate’s stage, and I will see to it that the curtains fall swiftly and mercifully. You are welcome to oppose me, but know that even if you kill me this will not stop. Even if you kill every last Fiend Lord this will not stop. The only thing that you can truly do is accept your fate, as I have accepted mine. Go home. Hold your child. Make love to your wife. You have spent so much time away from them, first in the service of revenge, and now in the service of a goddess who continues to lie to you. You have so very little time left to enjoy their company. Do not waste it struggling against the inevitable – as I have.”

His sketch complete, Nihilus stands up and backs away, indicating the scrawled words with a nod of his head.

“If you insist upon continuing this course, then so be it. Consult this writing, and understand that the end has been coming since the beginning. Everything has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted. Oh, and one more thing – if I were you, I would destroy Quietus’s trapped soul as quickly as possible. The other Fiend Lords will insist on trying to rescue him for as long as he continues to exist.”

And then the Writer of History is simply gone, disappeared through the portal that is now starting to close in the span of a single blink of the eye. The writing that he left behind, however, remains and now that the danger in the room is gone Ander is able to shift his position to more easily read it.

The Prophecy of the Certain King

All things must end, even the reign of the gods. Watch then for these signs that will usher in a new era, the reign of the Certain King.

Those created by the gods and of the gods shall be created to exist in Harmony. But the Harmony will be shattered, broken by One who will lead the heirs of the gods to embrace their destiny. Discord and Inequality will follow, leading to Ambition and Desire, and culminating in the rise of the Certain King.

But before the Certain King sits upon the Throne of Athelion in judgment, the world shall cry out as it is split in twain. As their world is divided, so too shall be the gods and their heirs, both Within and Without. Their Balance Destroyed, the Scales of Fate shall settle anew, leading to only two possible outcomes.

What was driven apart shall try to rejoin, with Violence being the only possible outcome. The Scales of Fate will tip, leading one side to Fall, and the other side to Rise. The Shattered One will be thrown down beneath the Throne, there to remain until the coming of the Certain King.

It is from these seeds that the world’s destruction shall spring. All has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted.

“How could you just let him GO!? He all but confessed that he let these beasts loose upon us, and that he intends to do so again!?”

Hephestia shrieks, drawing your attention away from Nihilus’s writing. Right, there were still a bunch of fiends running amok in your city. And whether you trusted Nihilus to keep his word about leaving with them or not, you had to make sure that none remained behind to inflict further chaos. Curiously, as you look outside now, you can see that the unnatural darkness Glurdalak had created was beginning to fade.

Gorgondantess

Announcing your intention to side with the fiends after all, you step through the portal and immediately find yourself in the ruined market square. You are alone, but not for long as a very-oversized centipede-like creature, bristling with weapons, skitters out of a nearby alleyway. Upon seeing you it draws its weapons, although it assumes a defensive posture.

“You appear to be an angel but given you aren’t attacking me on sight I can only assume you are something different. Identity yourself, or prepare to defend yourself – your choice!”

As it turned out, you would have to do neither, as a few seconds later Nihilus emerged from the portal, which swiftly closed shut behind him.

“This is a new ally of mine Yvonne. That is all you really need to know for now.”

“Fair enough.”

The serpentine woman said, and sheathed all of her weapons. Nihilus looked around at the empty courtyard and sighed in irritation.

“It would appear that we are alone. Would you be so kind as to signal the rest of our allies that it’s time to gather here and leave?”

“Very well.”

Yvonne said, pulling out a strange sort of weapon that seemed to come from the Baron of Gast’s airship. Pointing it up into the sky, Yvonne fired several blasts from the cannon, and then slung the weapon back across her back and crossed her arms. Again, you didn’t have particularly long to wait before a pile of ooze slithered out of an alleyway from the same direction as Yvonne. A large winged demon wielding a pair of equally massive swords approached from the opposite direction, accompanied by a gaunt, emaciated figure.

“Why are we leaving!?”

The massive demon growled.

“We can destroy them all here and now!”

Nihilus sighed in reply.

“No, we cannot. Most of the cannon fodder that Ek’ra has provided us with have perished. The paladins have a large group of reinforcements breaking into the city. And perhaps most importantly, Ander has killed Quietus and destroyed his soul. I got what I came for, and have no desire to risk Ander accomplishing the same with me. You are welcome to stay behind if you wish to join him in oblivion.”

“WHAT!?”

Before Nihilus is forced to repeat himself, the area around you grows very dark, and you sense that another Fiend Lord has arrived. A moment later and a gigantic spider that is missing one leg stumbles into the destroyed square. Nihilus nods in satisfaction and tears open another portal, this time walking forward as he drags his hand through the air to rip a portal large enough for the bigger Fiend Lords to enter.

“Gang’s all here. Time to go. Don’t look so worried Mammon – we’ll be back soon enough.”

Sullenly the large demon growls and then steps forward, ducking inside the portal. The rest of the motley assortment follows in rapid succession, leaving you and Nihilus the only ones present in the square. Nihilus holds up a hand for you to wait.

“Once we get back to the Hells, I will need to deal with them. Hopefully this little excursion has sated their bloodlust somewhat. I will introduce you to the one that should currently have possession of your love – his name is Zareth the Remorseless, and he’s one of the members of the Devil side of the Fiend Lords. I’m afraid he has quite a taste for torture, so Maurice may be . . . damaged somewhat. I suspect he won’t want to hand her over to you willingly unless you have something to offer to him – a favor or some new plaything, hence why I suggested Hephestia. Of course, negotiations aren’t the only way business can be conducted down in the Hells. I would be willing to assist you in such an effort . . . in return for an additional favor. What is your plan at this point in time?”

Phaedra

The_Snark

“Hmph. I got the sense that her mother was important, given that the . . . person sent to retrieve her kept calling her “princess”. I didn’t actually buy that at first, but y’know, it just fits. Surprise every minute with her! And we’ll just see about that – they certainly haven’t been very friendly to me. Or you.”

Wulfric growled, and then resumed his assault upon the bars of your prison. After a moment’s thought, he paused and growled out another oath.

“Y’know what, I don’t care whether she wants to stay or not. Her father has already demonstrated that he’s an *******, and if he’s running around snatching bodies on top of that I can’t see how being with him is going to be good for her. And so far her mother is up there on my list as well!”

Wulfric is about to resume his assault on the bars when you make the older than you look comment. He pauses again, sizing you up for a moment as you continue, and then nods.

“Yeah, I guess I can see that. And look around girl, er, lady – we’re already locked up at the bottom of a frozen castle in the middle of an alternate realm inhabited exclusively by what I can only assume are the legendary Fey. I’m sure things could be worse, that’s the one universal constant, but we’re already in it pretty deep. And I suspect that they’re going to like the idea of me taking Jacqueline out of here even less than freeing you. And so far you’re the only friendly person I’ve met here, so the more the merrier – I don’t suppose you’re any good in a fight? Maybe know how to use magic or some such?”

Wulfric manages to break another of the bars, and then predictably everything goes bad. A man with the lower body of a horse comes charging around the corner, skidding to a halt to jab a finger at Wulfric.

“Stop, human! By order of Queen Titania, you will return to your cell immediately!”

“Oh, bugger it!”

Wulfric curses, and then pulls his arm back and hurls his makeshift tool at the centaur. It strikes the Fey directly in the face, and blue blood erupts from the centaur’s nose as he reels back into the wall. Desperately reaching in through the broken bars, Wulfric grabs hold of you and drags you out through the gap he has created. It’s not an entirely pleasant experience as the gap is a little too small for both you and your wings, but Wulfric manages to twist you once you are halfway out and get you into the hallway with no serious injury. Then he snaps off a hanging piece of one of the broken bars, pressing the sharp tip of the shattered ice up against your throat.

“Listen ugly! I see or even hear you following after me and I’ll slit this little tart from ear to ear! You may not care about that, but I bet your precious queen does! Now back off!”

Cradling his dripping nose, the centaur bows his head and whispers, the sound not carrying far enough to be intelligible. Nonetheless, the centaur holds his ground as Wulfric backs away down the corridor, dragging you along with him. You turn around a corner, and as soon as you do Wulfric lowers the icicle away from your throat and shifts his grip from your waist to your wrist.

“And now, we run!”

He says, dragging you along behind him as he charges down the mostly featureless corridor leading through the ice. At the first open doorway you find, Wulfric dashes through it, heedless of whatever is waiting on the other side. Fortunately, nothing is waiting, except one of the floating lights that you had seen in abundance out in the crystalline forest, this one half-covered by a film of ice and thus glued to the wall. Wulfric peeks out into the corridor and then turns back to you with a grin.

“There. Now we take a quick breather, and then we keep running. Sorry about that tart comment. So, uh . . . any idea how to get out of here? Maybe where Jacqueline is now? If I can talk to her alone, maybe I can convince her to get us out of here.”

Wulfric looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, and then pulls his heavy cloak open.

“You look cold – guess ******* didn’t think you needed a heavy cloak like they gave me. Do you want to borrow it for a little bit? Need to keep your muscles warm for all the running, fighting, and staying alive that we’re about to be doing.”

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

At your questions, Nihilus fixes his orange-colored eyes on you.

“What do you think I was trying to do? But it’s not exactly easy to deal with someone who can anticipate your every move! Damnit, I wish I had that gift so I could stop being blind-sided by nonsense like *this*!”

At your last question about Marialta’s claims of Nihilus aiding her, Nihilus shrugs.

“I have no idea. I see no potential benefit in sending her back here to risk muddling everything up. Unless . . . maybe my future self knew she would fail here, having my experiences to draw from, but that there would be some benefit from it? Ugh, these time travel loops give me a headache. It doesn’t matter why she’s here, only that she is and that the two of us have to stop her. Now what did you need from Kartul’s laboratory to deal with her?”

You give Nihilus the list, and he nods and steps through the portal. A few seconds after it has closed behind him, it re-opens again to deposit Nihilus back onto the rooftop. Questions about why he has returned are immediately answered as he drops the requested bundle of supplies at your feet.

“There. I’m pretty good at fetching things quickly, at least.”

Nihilus says, and then looks out over the city thoughtfully.

“You know, Marialta might well have her own key, which means she has two of the three. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have an idea about where she might be getting the third. Gilgaem should be hosting one of his little impromptu challenger brawls in a couple hours. As you might recall, he basically just goes out into the city and looks for anyone with the stones to stand up to him in a fist fight. He won’t have his weapons on him – nearby, perhaps, but not readily at hand. There’s enough magic in them to prevent thievery, but someone who knows what they’re doing might be able to retrieve the key from the hilt. I happen to know where Gilgaem will be for this particular rampage, and so we can lie in wait there. Unless you think Marialta will know we’re going to do that, and go after someone else’s key while we’re sitting around waiting for her. I assume with all of these . . . items from Kartul, we might be able to hunt her down regardless, but I’m not exactly thrilled to be chasing after her, one step behind yet again.”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

At Alons’ comments, the barmaid’s cheeks flush, either from embarrassment at the praise or the fact that someone noticed her passing fascination with Rosenberg.

“R-right.”

She says, nodding in agreement as she turns away and hurries off to pick her pack of supplies back up. Greg and Mags also pick up their sacks, and within a few minutes the group is once again ready to depart. Thankfully, although they were not going to be brought along, the cache of supplies did have a few sets of dry clothes that Rosenberg was able to appropriate.

Meanwhile, Jarod stares down at the dismembered body of his friend. He stretches out a hand, and the earth rises up to reclaim the hacked apart pieces, leaving the roses left by the scythe to serve as a marker for the grave.

“Rest in peace, my friend. You shall be avenged.”

Jarod said simply, and then turned away to rejoin Rosenberg. He nods at the offered sympathy.

“Thank you. Garret was not always the most astute druid, but he did not deserve to be made into some creature’s puppet. The elves have gone far beyond the boundary of acceptable behavior. I shudder to think what they will do next, or what they might be able to unleash with an entire city’s population to offer as sacrifice.”

A few minutes later, and the small group continued on, leaving the somber example of what the elves were capable of behind them. Nothing bothers the group for the rest of the day, and as the sun begins to set the forest begins to thin, revealing the presence of a small village that is still intact and bustling with activity. Apparently there is a supply caravan that is going to attempt to reach Amaranth leaving early the next morning, and aware that they won’t be able to evade detection the caravan organizers are instead attempting intimidation by employing every mercenary and do-gooder that they can find to protect it.

“Whelp, this is where we part ways, I think!”

Greg announcing, looking around at the assembled people, most of who will likely work through the night attempting to fortify the wagons.

“I’ve got family up in Coastvale. Long ways away from here, and even better, a long ways away from all of these damn elves.”

“But – I thought we were going to Amaranth? To help?”

At this, the crotchety old man gives a bark of a laugh.

“Are you kidding me? I just got done escaping death or worse at the hands of a bunch of those knife-eared bastards! Why the Hells would I willingly go into a city that’s about to be sacked by the blighters!? No, I’m going somewhere far away and wait for all this to blow over.”

“Mhmmm.”

Mags grunted, clearly agreeing with Greg’s assessment that running away was the better plan. Tears starting to form in her eyes, Willow looked to Alons for support, or perhaps to question whether the traveler had thought better of involving himself in this dangerous conflict any further. Meanwhile, Jarod pulled Rosenberg aside for no less grim of a conversation.

“Listen Rosenberg. I am no longer sure that it is best for us to both go to help save Amaranth. It was one thing when the elves were simply helping an Inferno Lord create a Nexus. Now that the Fey are involved we are in even more serious danger. We need to warn the others, and get every single druid that we can hear to stop this before it spirals out of control any further. That means either we both go, or one of us goes and the other tries to keep the elves from overrunning the city. They aren’t going to stop here if they sack Amaranth – maybe it won’t ever end now that the elves are meddling in affairs far beyond them. Do you want to stay or go? Or do you think that we should stick together? We seem to make a pretty good team – as always.”

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

“Very well lad, I’ll introduce you to the local detachment’s commander. I believe he knows of me. And I haven’t been here long, perhaps a little over a week . . . or was it two? I spend more time than I should in the taverns. My wife, she used to say . . .”

Ross trails off, not completing the thought and instead turning away and hustling off down the street, evidentially trusting you to follow after. The paladin base camp is not a particularly impressive sight, due to the fact that it was a squat warehouse in the city slums that the paladins had appropriated for their use. Nonetheless, you notice several crossbowmen keeping watch from the building’s roof, and they keep a wary eye on you and Ross as the two of you approach the front entrance where two more guards wait. Recognizing Ross, one of the door guards motions to the ones up on the roof, and they turn away to continue scanning the rest of the city.

“Greetings, lads. We’re looking for Knight-Captain Williamson. Can he spare a moment to speak with an old friend?”

The door guard hung his head.

“Williamson is dead, Sir Ross. Slain in an elven ambush when we rode out to try and help a group of refugees they had released as bait for a trap. Knight-Lieutenant Harrington is now is command.”

“Harrington? As in Ashley Harrington?”

Ross said, his face brightening to the closest that you had seen to a smile yet. The door guard nodded, and Ross actually broke out into a grin.

“Where is the Knight-Lieutenant at then? We both need to go see her!”

“She was in the infirmary, last I checked, helping to treat the ones that the elves didn’t manage to kill outright. They used some kind of poison on their arrows this time, something that is resistant to magical healing. They’ll be unable to fight for several weeks at this point, if they survive at all.”

“Thank ye lad. Now if it isn’t too much trouble, mind opening the door for me and my friend here?”

The door guards unlock and push open the door, allowing you to go inside, almost having to run to keep up with Ross as he hustles into the building, demanding directions to the infirmary from every paladin that you meet inside. Within a minute you find yourself inside a portion of the warehouse that has been cordoned off for use as a makeshift infirmary. Eight men lie on beds of straw, clearly hovering on the line between life and death. There are three more paladins who are also present that are in considerably better shape, although still haggard. One of them is a young woman with braided copper hair, who is involved in deep conversation with one of the other paladins as they check an injured man’s wounds. At Ross’s cry of “Ashley!”, however, she looks up, and her face brightens in the same way Ross had a minute ago.

“Uncle Alexander!”

She cried, running over to the two of you and allowing Ross to scoop her up in a bear hug that for a moment looked as if it might crush the life out of the small woman. Breaking the embrace off, Ross looked at the woman in a mixture of happiness and confusion, and then spares a glance at you.

“It’s been years since I’ve seen you lass! My but you have grown! And a Knight-Lieutenant already!? Oh, Ashley, this is Noctis, a new friend of mine. He needs to talk to Ander immediately.”

Becoming serious again, the young woman gives you a curt nod.

“If you are a friend of Uncle Alexander’s, then consider yourself welcome here. Although I’m not sure of how much help we will be at present. The Speaker is currently at Luxien, last that I heard.”

Ross leans in to you, delivering the next line in a stage whisper and earning a slap to the chest from Ashley.

“I’m not actually her uncle, although I’m sure her family would benefit from having some Ross blood in it.”

“When I was a child, Alexander saved our village from the predations of a vampire. More specifically, he saved me after the vampire abducted me with the intent to turn me into his own child.”

“Crazy bastard, trying to make his own eternal family! What should have just been one vampire to deal with turned into half a dozen. Nearly was seven, but I got there in time. I’ve been Ashley’s honorary uncle ever since.”

“And the reason that I decided to become a paladin. But enough reminiscing! Come with me, and I’ll try to get in touch with the communicators at Luxien. Although I do caution you that the Speaker is a busy man, and we will likely end up talking to an officer or perhaps one of the Exarches if we’re really lucky.”

Ashley leads you up to one of the offices at the far end of the building, delivery schedules and inventory sheets still tacked onto the walls. She opens up a sealed chest with a key that she had hanging around her neck, and then pulls out a fist-sized crystal that periodically switches from clear to cloudy and back. The Knight-Lieutenant holds the crystal up in front of her face, and quietly whispers to it “Luxien”. The crystal swirls to cloudy, and then to Ashley’s clear consternation remains that way.

“I said, “Luxien.”

The crystal remains cloudy for a moment, and then suddenly swirls to reveal a panicked face, blood trickling down from one temple. Beyond the man, you can see fires raging out of control and dark shapes moving about. Sound begins to emanate from the crystal as well – screams both human and unearthly along with the clash of combat.

“We’re a little busy here right now!”

The man shouts, turning away as a shriek comes from directly behind him. As he turns, you catch a glimpse of the creature over his shoulder, all claws and armor plating, just before the beast strikes and the image within the crystal twirls wildly before suddenly resolving to be from the floor now, bearing witness as the demon tears the man’s body in half with another shriek. Ashley pales, and even Ross mutters a fierce curse at the sight. The crystal goes dark a moment later.

“So . . . we’re on our own, I guess.”

Ashley says quietly, setting the crystal onto a nearby desk before collapsing into a chair. Ross places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing we can do about this, lass. But knowing Ander, I’m sure those fiends are going to rue the day they ever thought about setting foot on the mortal plane, let alone attacking *his* city! Soon as we finish dealing with these elves, we’ll go help him with putting that boot up their ass!”

Ashley is not so convinced, rubbing at her temples.

“And how, exactly, are we going to do that Uncle? The elves are picking us off one by one – we’re already down to half strength, and I don’t trust the city militia to be able to successfully defend this city once the elves *do* decide to attack in force!”

“Don’t worry so much, lass. Your “uncle” has been in worse scrapes than this before.”

Ross shoots a glance at you and shrugs.

“Well, I have! Like when I was down in the bowels of Ironheart, having to wade through an army of cultists with a ragtag band of former prisoners – including our current Speaker mind you – to stop the Forger of Oblivion (read: Azguloth) from being released from His prison! I even had to accept help from that damn fangy bastard Umber!”

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-10-21, 06:41 PM

Nameless

The sudden memory shocks him into excitement, only to aggravate him as it disappears just as suddenly.

"Who are you? How did you do that? I remembered something! How did you make me remember?" he says, taking hold of her somewhat roughly, desperate for answers.

GuyFawkes

2012-10-22, 11:04 AM

Lucifuge/Noctis

Noctis nodded when the Knight-Lieutenant addressed him, and he could not stop the edge of his lips creeping up into a faint smile as he saw the little familial dynamics going on between her and Ross. For the man to show such light side despite the grim atmosphere of the room, he could only ascertain the hardships to which this man called Alexander Ross must have faced in his life.

Inside the office, Noctis' eyebrow raised a little at the sight he saw inside the crystal ball. Not at the horrible scene that transpired within, but at who, or more appropriately what committed the act.

Fiends. So they are already making their move. And against the paladin headquarters. This may not bode well.

He could only hope that this was a random attack, but he could not help think the picture was a lot bigger than that. The only way to certain was to go there. With this attack, however, he thought he needed to wait for the elf's report from the fortress all the more.

Noctis' eyes twitched though at the mention of Ross' apparent exploits within the fortress, and his heart definitely skipped a bit when he heard him mention the Forger of Oblivion.

"Interesting story you have there. Perhaps you should tell that to me some time. As for Luxien, I would gladly accompany you with reclaiming the Cathedral City. Since I am still awaiting for my friend's return, I might as well lend a hand here to show my gratitude for helping me. Do tell me more of this situation with the elves. What information do you have about them?"

Vegna

2012-10-22, 05:05 PM

Mal Harath

He tries to keep his feature steady, giving the passing people some comfort that things might be okay. They didn't need to see his gut growing blacker as he realized the fate his heroism had pulled him into.

The vines rubbed his skin uncomfortably, reddening his wrists and constricting his breath, but the mounting heat of the bonfire was far worse. His thirst felt lethal now, the marching across the countryside having squeezed him dry. As the fire elemental grew, his lips felt cracked and split, the roar of the shaped flames weakened his legs.

The falling tree brought a grin to his dry mouth.

"Val'Tosh. Thank the heaven and the stones."

The timely support of his allies turns his horror into elation, his limbs regaining some strength. Sweat begins to drip down his brow, in fear and from the heat, as Mal starts to try and wiggle against the spear, trying to topple it over with renewed conviction.

He pushes with his toes to soften the earth at the bottom of the elven weapon, his back pressing against the wood as he starts to tilt backward.

"Woah woah-woahwoah!"

His back smacks painfully against the wood, but the heat on his toes takes up the bulk of his attention. He starts to roll away lopsidedly, as his hand clasps for whatever he can find. As the fire monster turns to follow him, Mal's fingers clutch a jagged piece of rock, a shrapnel from the rescue boulder. As he tries to angle it to help him cut the vines, the heat starts to envelop him again.

Trying to focus, despite the heat and his cutting efforts, Mal pushes to try and slow the fire, softening the earth in front of it into muck, a pool larger and than he's ever had to try before in the conditions. He yells in frustration as he forces his slight magic to the edge of his ability.

OverWilliam

2012-10-22, 10:19 PM

~Tare

Tare waited in breathless uncertainty as his vision tunneled and then went black altogether, expecting to drop into unconsciousness at any moment. But, for once he was surprised; gradually, beginning with a hazy point at the center of his vision, his sight faded back in and the sound of his own breathing in his ears began to relent. Having dropped against the wall for support, his shocked system quickly began to recover. Meanwhile, Tare hoped that his mental condition would make a matching rebound.

That process began when his still-fuzzy sight dropped onto Videle. Changed again, this time almost all hints of threat were gone from both her appearance and her posture.

“Tare . . . oh! There you go, you’re back now. I was worried about you.”

A surge of competing emotions broke out from Tare's chest to spread through his whole body when he heard the child-like voice. Memories of Melcara and Karami flashed through his mind. It was as though Videle was desecrating both memories by trying to tug on the same instincts of love and protection that were still real in his heart.

Momentarily, the thought that those emotions were still his own provided a quiet encouragement.

“Down here you only have the power that you can hold onto. In a way, I am just as helpless as the lowliest Ix, because there are certain expectations that restrain my behavior. But I . . . I hate it! I want to change it, but I can’t – I’m not strong enough!”

Tare let his face drop into a blank non-expression-- it was the only way he could conceal the rising volcano of ice-cold anger that was beginning to burn behind his eyes.

“P-please, please tell me how I can help you Tamerlane!”

Tare slowly stood from his slumped seat at the wall. She's lying. She's trying to manipulate me. The pieces were falling into place, and his eyes were beginning to adjust to see the strands of the demoness' spider web that had already begun wrapping him up for the kill. She's desperate. Something has happened and she needs someone with the kind of muscle that I showed her back when I was alive. First she tried to twist my mind with her aura. When that didn't work, she tried whoring herself for pain. Now she's offering me something to protect. She'll keep trying until she finds the one thing that I'd sell my soul to have, and when she does I'm finished. The anger burned brighter.

All of a sudden, a horrifying impulse came over Tare. He wanted her to hurt. More than that, he wanted to be directly responsible for causing her excruciating pain. He wanted to cut her. To bleed her. He wanted to strap her down and experiment with every single instrument of pain in her little toy closet, and then invent new ones when those ran out. He wanted to use fire, then water, then steel to draw out her screams like warm nectar. He wanted to use his own teeth on her skin, the better to feel her agony directly.

He wanted to dominate her. To Master her. He wanted to pit her will against his own, to drink in her confidence and then watch as she slowly realized herself to be weaker than he was. He thirsted to revel in those final moments of desperate struggle as she tried to fight him before he tamed her, and then broke her.

This was what he'd been offered mere moments ago, he realized, back when he'd still thought himself too human to be enticed by the thought. She would've given herself willingly, expecting the bumbling inexperience of a near-human, never expecting to discover that Blackness which had already lived in him since long before he had died. He'd hidden it from himself when he'd been alive. Now he could smell it. He could get drunk on it. He could lose himself in it.

Tare turned to face Videle, the glowing orange rings floating in inky blackness that now formed his eyes burning with single-minded hunger. She looked so soft. It would be so... easy. She had no idea what he really was inside.

He barely knew that himself.

That was finally the thought that scared some of himself back into his own mind. Holy hells... What is this? Tare looked down at his hands in horror. Where is this coming from?!

Again it attacked him, the hunger waging war for control of his hands, his feet, his desires. Tare realized that he was trying to resist it, but it didn't seem to be helping. It had the same feel as Vylethar's aura, or Videle's charms, but he was only just barely keeping control of himself. Then it dawned on him; where the succubi's charms had tried to force themselves on his behavior from outside... these urges were originating within himself.

How am I supposed to fight against... myself?! A breath of angel blood danced across his nose, and that was almost enough to take the fight right out of him. He heard himself snarling, an inhuman growl rising from within his own throat.

This is what drives them. To do what they do, to become what they are. Tare connected the puzzle pieces with dogged force of will. It's as though they have no free will-- what they do is merely an extension of what they are. She wasn't lying. She's telling the truth. Tare struggled, mortified by the thought, but feeling that victory was now within his grasp, if he could only find the key that would put his own will back in control again.

But then another thought occurred to him. Why bother? Why fight any more? Who was there to fight for?

His thoughts wandered to the Lost that he'd seen on his first trip to the Hells. When he'd still been alive. The ones, like himself, he mused, who had not earned their eternal damnation. The ones enslaved, the ones who'd been robbed of their very souls. Who cared about them? He could rule them now. He could be a just, benevolent slave master. Or a brutal, unforgiving one. Who was to tell him anything now? Why should he be anything other than what his gut instincts were telling him to be?!

Because I choose to.

The answer came to him in his own voice, a voice from his own past life. The hunger balked, unable to respond. Tare's thoughts surged. And then an old promise came to his mind. A promise no one but he knew, because it hadn't even been spoken aloud. A promise that here, now, he could choose to either keep... or break.

You who are trapped here wrongly... You who have no hope...

I'm not much... But watch for me.

...I'm coming back for you.

Tare's soul brightened.

And instead of visibly battling with himself, his stance grew still. He decided to call the demoness' bluff. "You're lying to me."

Iethloc

2012-10-23, 02:25 AM

Sohssal

”Can't say I expected to see you in person. I also thought you'd be...taller,” he said. Sohssal almost expected a Fiend Lord to be more openly arrogant. Then again, it's not like he'd met that many Fiend Lords before. Nor would he do so in the future, if things went his way.

”Regardless, there is almost nothing I could not get on my own once I get out of the Hells, and I'd prefer to owe as few favors as possible to the locals,” Sohssal explained. He didn't feel the need to tell Nihilus about his plan with Xerxes. It couldn't hurt to have a backup in case one fiend or the other was untrustworthy, and knowledge of the ritual might come in handy even if he had other means of escape.

Kasanip

2012-10-24, 03:28 AM

Lukina
Luxien, The Cathedral City

"Glurdalak and Skithiss... The names Lukina muttered brought a fierce headache, as if her memories were disgusted by the names.

But it couldn't stop her from the relief she felt as well. Somehow, she did it. Even if the cold stones of the street didn't celebrate, and her body rebelled, it was ok for now.
"Thank you." She whispered greatfully for the help of Tyberius and Welkin to help her sit up. She tried to raise her sword to look at the blade, but it felt like it weighed 100kg.
She caught her breath and nodded weakly to Welkin's question, finding it easy to make a faint smile.

"I-I'll be ok. I didn't get hit. Only, exhausted." She responded, her hair finally returning to it's normal dark color. Then she turned her eyes to look at Tyberius. This made her more solemn as she answered.
Even if she had believed, somehow it was a relief that the fiend lords had recognized her light. For Lukina it was resonating proof.

"I'm Lukina. I was born here in Narle. But before this, I was Genevieve. I am Genevieve, servant of Our Lady Miriam the Valkyrie. I can remember faintly in my dreams and nightmares some things... But a lot of it is clouded. I don't...know. I don't know what happened. How I came to be...like this." She said, weakly clench and unclench her fist in her lap. "Was it Our Lady's plan for me to live like this? How do I answer, being Lukina and trying to remember the part of me that is Genevieve? I have to learn... And that's why I wanted to come here."
She tried to look as composed and earnest as she could. "I really don't know what is going on. Why those...fiend lords? Why are they attacking Luxien. Is my purpose to be here? I know I am asking a lot of questions... I hoped that the paladins, who are always faithful and loyal servants of Our Lady, can help me.

And I know it's difficult to believe my words. But you've seen what I have done. I'm..not human."
Lukina stopped as she said that. The words were surprisingly painful. She was human. When she wasn't fighting, she was very much Lukina, and not Genevieve. The old memories were more like dreams when she was alone, or when she had been riding. But they had become so strong when she fought the fiend lords, that she had felt like she was close to remembering something important.

"No, I am human." She corrected. "I am Lukina, too. But...I desire to speak to My Lady and learn her plan for me. I wanted to ask you paladins, who serve honorably, if you can help me. And what I can do to help. Though....we have to save the city first, right? Wait, are there more of these fiends here?" She tried to stand, but found it too difficult. She silenced a groan, as she reached her right arm to Welkin.
"Please help me stand, I can still fight."

TechnOkami

2012-10-24, 03:35 PM

Rosenberg

Rosenberg smiled slightly at the comment of their teamwork synergy.

"That we do, my friend."

He then took out his long pipe, which thankfully was not snapped like a twig during the fight, and began to load it once again with his tobacco of choice.

"I wish you could stay and we could send someone else, but I fear we do not have that luxury, not this time."

His palm grew a little flame once more, finding its way to the pipe to set smoldering embers inside once again.

"Between the two of us, we both have good knowledge of the outlying Groves, and I am more weary of travel than you. Arguably, to a degree, I am stronger as well. No offense."

Puffs of smoke swirled from his mouth, like the forlorn breath of a dragon rising from slumber.

"I will stay with the town and hold the line, with everything I have. You must go and rally the others. Send them here as soon as you can. If this situation is as dire as you say, then we're going to need all the help we can muster. Go, and be swift, my friend."

Lastly, Rosenberg turns to his archer companion.

"Alons, can you come with me to Amaranth? I could use your help defending the town; your sharp eyes would be useful against the elvish bowmen."

WhiteKnight777

2012-10-25, 06:46 PM

Umber

Umber simply smirked at Nihilus' protests. It didn't really solve anything, but Umber was still a bit irked by his ally's non-involvement during the fight, and he knew how irritating his smirk was. His answer in regards to the bitch's cryptic commentary was no more helpful. But since Umber had no further information at the moment, he filed that one away for future examination. He had been one of the most powerful people on the planet, yet somehow he managed to keep running into foes who flat-out cheated. It was getting rather irritating. It was like playing a game of Chess, or the more complicated Shei-vailan equivalent... what was it called again? It translated to something like battle without honor or reason... Feh, his mind was wandering again.

He considered Nihilus' proposal, then nodded. He had been preparing to simply wait near the chamber itself and then ambush her, but this plan offered more advantages - and besides, they could always fall upon the other as a backup if necessary. "Aye, let us do so. Although I wonder if Marialta intends to attempt to interact with her past-self. Fate seemed to intervene to prevent me from doing so, but I'm unsure if it would do the same for her. Frankly, that possibility is a little disturbing."

The possibilities unrolled before him - Marialta helping her future self. Marialta posessing her former self. Neither was good, and both had the potential to ruin the entire plan. But... if she had been intending to do that, she would've done it from the beginning, wouldn't she?

"In any case... the items I've asked you to obtain give us a number of options. We can attempt to outright murder her host body, capture the fugitive soul, or simply tear her essence apart at the level of the essentium - the smallest unit of spiritual existence, that is. It's a bit like the natural philosophy concept of the atom, applied to the soul."

Gorgondantess

2012-10-26, 06:09 PM

"What is your plan at this point in time?”
She looks down, pensive. Nihilus' words didn't change anything, but they made the urgency of her quest ever more palpable.
"Can you reopen that portal? Back to the tower."
"Mmm. Why?"
"...I left something there."
Nihilus complies, and as he's opening the portal she begins to transform. She doesn't even step through, simply standing inside and sending some feelers through.

Back in the Speaker's bedchambers, Hephestia is the one doing the speaking.
“How could you just let him GO!? He all but confessed that he let these beasts loose upon us, and that he intends to do so a-AH!” YOINK!
She shrieks as a black tentacle, covered in barbs and suckers, coils around her ankle and yanks her through the newly formed portal there and over her waiting shoulder.
"Any particular reason you changed your mind?"
She responds with a non sequitur, not wanting too divulge too much about her motives. Nihilus could probably guess as it was.
"Why is it exactly that these people want to get their hands on this human so badly?"

She grunts at his response, quirking an eyebrow unimpressed. It mattered little, anyways- Hephestia was a human now, and so she had little to worry about in terms of her escape. It was the actual transaction that was going to be... tricky.
"As for my plans... I'd like to send a message to this 'Remorseless'. To tell him that I have their Adjudicator, that I am willing to trade her for a single angel, and that until our negotiations are complete he will refrain from torturing, molesting, or otherwise damaging his stock or he'll not get so much as a whiff of her. After all, I don't want my goods to be damaged," she says dryly.
"...Do you think he would be amenable to that?"

daelrog

2012-10-28, 07:34 AM

Alons Sift

At first Alons was glad to be rid of Greg, he could do without the unpleasantness. It wasn’t until it dawned on him that there was a legitimate choice to be made that his expression turned sour. Any signs at all, anything to make his choice clearer. He glanced at Willow looking at him with teary eyes, making Alons sigh. She was beautiful, and had a good mind on her shoulders, but she was not Larent, and she never would be. The foreigner had been hoping for a night with the girl to celebrate surviving the ordeals within the forest, but it wasn’t love, something it seemed like poor Willow was starting to have.

There was that pull still to take her with him, to have a buxom, young maiden accompany him for a bit longer. It would make the headache of speaking this new language all the time more bearable, and something to look forward to between fights if this city was indeed under siege. Not as if this city couldn’t use another strong set of arms like Willow’s to help behind the lines, safe within the walls…

Then Rosenberg spoke and Alons snapped out of his lust-driven reasoning. Without any direction to go, the fellow druid seemed as like a path to follow as any. Alons nodded an ascent to Rosenberg.

He then looked to Willow. “You should go with the caravan. Surely we will meet again another day.” It seemed the right thing to do. To tempt a young maiden was more than acceptable to the scoundrel, but he was not so callous as to bring said maiden to a warzone, just for the warmth in his pants.

Lonna

2012-10-28, 10:23 AM

The Woman with Many Names

"I didn't bring Wulfric, technically." Jacqueline patiently replied to Titania's scolding. "He carried me through the portal to save me from an attack. It was all I could do to burn out the poison on the assassin's bolts."

Her justification for Wulfric's presence was interrupted as Titania's ball of ice revealed the man in question attempting to escape his admittedly prison-like room. Before Jacqueline could say anything more, Titania acted to resolve the situation, leaving her daughter to stare as one of the previously formless wisps transformed into a centaur... with a familiar name. The shock of memory distracted her an instant too long to interfere, and the former huntsman disappeared into the ice palace.

Hesitantly, she decided to leave well enough alone, for now, and turned her attention to Titania. "I can only remember bits and pieces of that first life, as Pyria," she explained. "I remember running from the city, with my bodyguard, but I don't know what exactly happened. Why did the angels attack us? What happened to the city?"

As she listened to Titania's explanation, Jacqueline's eye fell on the scene playing out in the crystal ball, just in time to see Wulfric threaten the winged girl. Titania, seeing her distraction, followed her gaze, her face instantly darkening.

"Mother," interjected the princess, before Titania could do more than swell with fury, "Wulfric does not understand your good intentions. He has overcome everything the mortal world could put in his way in order to protect me, but I only recently came to understand who and what I am, so I never had a chance to explain it to him. He probably thinks I am in danger here. Please, let me go to him. He will listen to me. Otherwise he will try to tear through the palace as he tore through Baron Gast's airship to rescue me."

Inspectre

2012-10-28, 01:01 PM

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

As you grip the woman and almost shake her in a desperate attempt to break her out of her fugue and get answers, you realize that you cannot pull her further out of the water. It is like she is buried in rock rather than water, and not even your apparently considerable strength can move her. She winces at your grip, indicating that she is still somewhat aware of herself, but nonetheless continues her confused rant.

“Father, you’re hurting me! Why are you hurting me!? I know you’re disappointed in me, but I tried! I tried so hard to follow in your footsteps. All I ever wanted was to be just like you. I’m sorry that now, I will never get that chance.”

You are suddenly thrown off-balance and nearly stumble face first down into the muck within the hut as the woman suddenly sinks further down below the surface. Her descent is not rapid, but it is without warning, as if whatever had been holding her up unexpectedly collapsed. She sinks down into the muck until only her face is still visible, floating just above the surface (and as you could not pull her out, neither could you stop this descent even if you try).

“I’ve let everyone down, but I don’t think there’s any way I can redeem myself. Oh gods, how could I have been so stupid!?”

The woman whispers, and then as if to comfort herself, she begins to sing. It’s off-tune now, more in line with the haunting violin eating away at the back of your mind than it was in your brief snatch of memory.

“The sun . . . shall shine . . . t-through . . . darkest c-cloud . . . f-following . . . blackest night . . .”

The woman’s sorrowful rendition is cut short by a bout of swearing – not from the woman, but from outside the hut. You recognize the voice as belonging to Katrina, and watch as the devil-horned woman stomps through the swamp just outside the hut, pausing now and again to kick blindly at roots jutting up from the swamp’s bottom.

“Gods damn IT! When are you bastards going to stop ****ing around with me and get to the gods’ damn POINT!? I’m already dead, in the Hells, killed by that no-good piece of **** Baron! I’ve been shoved into some mockery of a human body, beaten to within an inch of my new life, and called Ix. Just what the **** is an Ix anyway!? But you couldn’t leave it alone, could you!? You just had to go and pair me up with someone who’s taken so many blows to the head he can’t even remember his own name, and one of the Baron’s lap dogs! Did you think that was funny, you bastards!? But even that wasn’t enough because as soon as we got anywhere you had to split us up and dump me in this gods damned swamp, filled with nothing but mist and the most obnoxious music I have ever heard! Yeah, can you hear me violin player? **** you! I’d cut my own ears off if I had a knife, just to be rid of your miserable attempts to make sound!”

Katrina storms past the hut, potentially not even noticing it in her rage. In a few moments she would be swallowed by the mists again, but before that happened you could intervene. You could chase after her, although that would mean abandoning the hut and its about-to-drown occupant, and you could very well be unaware to find your way back if it disappeared into the mists behind you. You could also call out to get her attention, although that might well attract other, unwanted attention. You have still not shaken off the feeling that you’re being watched, from somewhere unseen, just beyond the barrier of mist, ahead or behind you or off to one side. On the other hand, Katrina was making more than enough noise for the both of her with her unending rage-fueled rant against those responsible for this place.

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“And if I was as big as Mammon, you’d openly wonder why I was so fat.”

Nihilus quipped at your tall remark, continuing to size you up with his orange eyes. At your next observation, Nihilus nodded his head.

“Yes, that is undoubtedly true. But getting out of here – that is the rub, is it not?”

Nihilus holds his hand out in front of him, arm outstretched and palm up. A small portal appears just above his hand, and through the head-sized portal you can see your island manor.

“I can transport you to your island retreat safely and without delay. But I will require one of those favors you just mentioned in return.”

Nihilus closes his fist and the portal vanishes, too quick for you to think about trying to pass through it (narrow spaces weren’t much of a problem after all when you no longer truly possessed a body).

“All I require in return is that you figure out a way to produce me one of these.”

Nihilus opens his hand back up again, and resting on his palm is the by-now familiar sight of a soul crystal. The finger-long object glows faintly with its own inner light.

“I’m sure your brief alliance with the Baron has informed you as to what this is. What you may not know is how to produce them. For that, you will need to speak with Istomilo – perhaps you have heard of him? From here you may find that difficult, although I’m told he had a laboratory here prior to his departure. Perhaps you can start your search for answers there? Oh, and I don’t need any of the lesser crystals that the Baron favored for his constructs. No, I want something more along the lines of the one he intended to use to trap Miriam in – only roughly the same size as the crystal I now hold in my palm. Do you think that is within your abilities, demon mage? I get the crystal, you get your freedom, and we both go our separate ways having mutually benefited from this arrangement. What do you think?”

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

“Oh, for the love of –“

Videle hisses as she changes back into her succubus form and also stands up. She sighs in clear irritation as she brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

“You were so close for a moment there. I actually thought you would come out and play for once, and then we could have some fun. But apparently a disappointing coward is all that you will ever be unless provoked. Well . . . I can do that too!”

Videle suddenly leaps forward, grabbing hold of you and slamming you against the wall, displaying that same level of awe-inspiring strength that Melcara had. Videle seems unable or unwilling to display the same knowledge to use exactly the right amount of that strength, however, and shivers of pain radiate from your back as it meets the unyielding stone.

Videle does demonstrate that she knows more than simple brute force a moment later as she precisely jabs her fingers into a spot just before your ribs on the right side, digging the fingers deeply there and twisting, while at the same time reaching up with her other hand and pressing down on a spot just behind your left ear. Your entire body suddenly locks up, your own muscles freezing up to hold you immobile. The succubus queen cackles in delight as she dances back, raising a hand up to her face in mock surprise.

“Oh, did you really think that I had become the master of this place through temptation and deception alone? No, they rightly fear me above and beyond their adoration and it’s time for your next lesson. If you’re not going to be a player, then you’re nothing but a toy, and I will use you at and for my pleasure.”

Going over to her supply closet, Videle procures several lengths of rope and then returns, taking her time like a spider. And just like a spider she starts wrapping you up, displaying the same lack of gentleness as she did when she threw you against the wall.

“You don’t need to worry about the paralysis, it’ll fade soon on its own. Of course, by then it’ll be much too late, and you’ll still feel everything that I do to you regardless. Maybe next time someone offers you the chance to be the master and not the slave, you’ll take it.”

Videle murmurs in your ear as she pulls the knots painfully tight. Eventually she finishes and walks back over to her desk. You are starting to get some response back from your muscles by then, not that it means much as you’ve been practically mummified. Videle picks up her weapon of choice, and with a flick of her thumb extends the chain sword into whip form.

“Now then Tamerlane, I’m not going to kill you. Killing you would merely be letting you have the easy way out, as you gradually forget more and more who you were with each death. No, you’re going to surrender yourself to me, because each time you don’t I will inflict such pain upon you that you could never even conceive of it, even in your worst nightmares!”

Videle rants, growing more agitated with each word until spittle is literally flying out of her mouth. It would seem that the succubus queen has her own impulse control issues, although unlike you she has no reason or desire to struggle against them. That unfortunately isn’t a weakness that you can exploit right now, although it does seem to confirm that you are not the only one with an inner darkness, merely just the only one that hasn’t (yet) unleashed it.

“So which unnecessary body part would you like to lose first, Tamerlane? How about . . . we start with something below the waist!”

Videle taunts, pulling the whip-like blade back for a strike. Having already seen what she was able to do with it to the angel, you suspect that what was about to transpire was going to be highly unpleasant. Fortunately for you, at that exact moment a loud hammering came against the office’s door.

“Mistress Videle!”

A guttural voice bellowed from the other side of the door. For a moment it looked like Videle would actually explode and save you the trouble, but she manages to regain enough control to merely skewer the door with a look of fury.

“What did I tell you about interrupting me when I was busy with business in my office?”

Videle asked with false sweetness, her voice dropping an octave to a husky growl. For a moment there was silence from the other side of the door, then the interloper persisted.

“It’s Lord Nihilus, my Lady! He is most insistent upon seeing you! Immediately!”

Again Videle seems like she is going to throw a potentially disastrous temper tantrum, but then she carefully reforms the chain sword back into a mere sword and sets it down onto her desk. Walking over to you, she picks you up with one hand and tosses you back inside of the iron maiden, making sure to close and lock it, as well as rearming the guillotine blade, although she leaves the chains that formerly held you in a messy pile on the floor. Evidentially she trusted her rope work to hold you, and rightfully so perhaps. Gliding over to the door, she threw it open and fixed the burly devil, one of the same who had dragged you in here, with a withering stare.

“Fine.”

She says simply, hooking a thumb back to point at you.

“Go get your friend and drag this wretch down to my play room. I’ll go deal with Nihilus, and then when I get down there you better already be finished with the moving.”

“Yes, of course.”

The devil said, bowing low as Videle sauntered past him and down the hallway out of sight. He likewise disappeared, only to return a few moments later with his twin, and the two of them began to drag your torture coffin out into the hall and then down to Videle’s play room one screeching, sliding foot at a time. This time, you are wide awake for the journey, and so you see every horrific detail of the estate’s transformation under its new owner.

Theme I: Tare Falls, Tamerlane Rises (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_90eOj6iWXI&feature=related)

Gone are the paintings and sculptures of varying quality, replaced by occupied torture devices and chained prisoners. Devils of all shapes and sorts, from the burly ones similar to those dragging you to lithe succubi to chattering imps, move about in the hallways, stopping now and again to turn the devices another quarter-turn tighter or slice swallow cuts on the bound victims with their claws. The side rooms are all occupied and in use, although the curtains drawn across most prevent you from seeing inside. Judging from the horrific sounds coming from within the rooms beyond, you wouldn’t want to.

The great hall that runs down the middle of the estate is similarly decorated, although the primary victims there are the angels hanging down from the ceiling from hooks and chains in a cruel mockery of flight. Nobody touches those, presumably as they belong to “Mistress Videle” alone. On the floor of the great hall itself, it appears that a bazaar is taking place, still-living humans in flimsy clothing and chains being peddled before fiends who have come to purchase live slaves. There is good business being done down there, if any definition of “good” could be applied to this travesty.

Deeper into the manor you go, the two devils struggling as they carefully lower your movable prison down the familiar steps leading into the basement of the manor. Here again the purpose has been changed, from a meaningless mining project to an overflow chamber, bound humans packed into the cells lining the outside ring while others are beaten and whipped for sport down in the courtyard.

Still deeper you go, into the very darkest depths beneath the manor. This section had been presumably the side passage you had seen but never explored during your first visit here. Despite the meaningless digging and construction that Vylethar had ordered connecting the manor to this area, the grimy corridor appeared to be older than the area above it. Both sides of the hallway were lined with thick iron doors spaced every few feet, with narrow barred grates allowing sight into the rooms beyond. This appeared to be a holding area rather than a . . . work area, although that did not mean it was any less of a place of suffering. You could hear sobbing, screaming, and other more muffled cries coming from within a few of the rooms, and saw several figures being beat and tortured in others, the occupants evidentially being given a private session.

The one occupant that particularly caught your eye was what appeared to be a half-formed succubus with bright red hair sitting bound in one corner of the room, her head lulling listlessly from side to side. You thought you recognized her, from your last time here when she was more human-looking . . . Vivian, you think Vylethar said her name was? You seem to remember her stabbing you in the back – evidentially this was her reward.

Then your little parade reaches the end of the hallway, to a solid black door decorated with hearts made out of bloodstains. The devils unbar the door without too much difficulty and then throw it open, dragging you inside to Videle’s playroom. It is as well-stocked with torture devices as her office supply closet was stocked with restraints. It was also currently occupied, another familiar face hanging vertically from a rack while gears turned and ever so slowly worked a bloody saw up through his body.

“Hahaha . . ugh . . . hah! So good to see you again!”

Vylethar said as the two devils dragged you into the far corner of the room, settling your prison down into a slot on the floor and bolting it into place. The two devils left without further comment, evidentially in a hurry to get out of there lest Videle arrive while they are still present. Vylethar groans as the saw slides up another half inch through his waist area, and then flashes a bloody grin.

“So . . . still planning on torturing me for eternity? Or is this . . . ugh! . . . painful enough for you already?”

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

Your efforts to free yourself succeed somewhat, as you manage to tip the spear and yourself over. The impact against the ground does not break the elf weapon, but it does leave you free to start working the lengths of vine off of both ends. The bladed tip of the weapon works quite well for cutting through the loops of vine holding your arms behind your back, as does a sharp stone that you just so happen to find.

The fire elemental is surprisingly repulsed at your creation of a pool of mud in front of it. Upon learning that advancing forward would mean stepping down into the liquefied ground, the elemental shies back, and eventually ops to walk around the mud patch. This gives you enough time to free yourself, although no sooner have you cut yourself free before another threat other than the giant fire elemental reveals itself. The elven captain has seen your escape attempt, and you have just enough time to snatch up the spear you had just freed yourself from and interpose it between his falling sword and your head.

Unfortunately, you are still at a disadvantage seeing how you are currently lying on the ground. The elven commander exploits this by delivering several more downward slashes that you are able to frantically parry, and then kicks you in the face. Your head snaps back into the ground, and for a moment you see stars. Forcing yourself to roll aside more on trained instinct than anything else, you nearly dodge the elven commander’s downward thrust, leaving him to embed his sword in nothing more than dirt.

Just as you can soften dirt, you can harden it too, and at your command the earth hardens around the elf’s sword, preventing him from drawing it back out. Undoubtedly cursing in elvish, the commander abandons his weapon and dances back away from you, reaching around to the bow slung across his back. Meanwhile, the fire elemental has finished circling around the pool of mud and again begins to lumber towards you, circling around to come at you from the opposite side as the elf commander. So, apparently the creature of fire was smart enough to understand basic tactics. Just great.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip

“You’ve done – alright.”

Welkin conceded after looking into your eyes. He offers you a hand, pulling you up to your feet. You had thought from your sitting position that you were alright, but your legs disagreed as they buckled and your vision momentarily greyed. You were not injured, but the exhaustion went beyond mere physical discomfort. It felt like the strain of being Genevieve for those brief minutes had gone down all the way to your very soul. It was a concerning thought what might have happened had you been forced to maintain your concentrate for much longer.

Although beneath the exhaustion, ever so faintly, there was a lingering warmth, a connection that had been forged and now could not be broken. Like exercising a muscle, you felt that in time you would grow stronger and able to more easily maintain the focus necessary for what you just did. Hopefully in time, your body would also grow used to the new demands being placed on it. Farm work was hard work, but nothing compared to fighting for your life.

As you stumble, Welkin again steadies you, and Tyberius lays a hand on your shoulder.

“Miss Lukina, I cannot say that I know what exactly you are either. But I believe that you are something . . . more than human. The idea that you are Genevieve is incredible, and it raises many questions, not the least of which is why would you return now?”

Welkin looks around at the ruined city and shakes his head.

“I would have thought that question, at least, had a very obvious answer.”

A few moments later, and the darkness covering the city faded entirely, allowing sunlight to once more shine upon your face. A number of the paladins briefly look up at the sky, enjoying the feel of the sun on their faces once more after the tainted darkness of Glurdalak. Now illuminated by sunlight, however, the city looks even worse, the damage no longer concealed by darkness. But as you watched the paladins advanced further into the city, finding survivors amongst the rubble and putting down the last of the demons.

“It would seem that Glurdalak, at least, has fled. Perhaps your services will not be needed after all. I’m going to the Council Chambers to introduce myself to the Speaker, should he still live. Would the two of you like to join me?”

Tyberius remarks, and for a moment Welkin grins in excitement before he realizes it and returns his expression to a more neutral and professional one.

“Of course! It would be an honor. And I do believe that was Lukina’s hope all along.”

Together the three of you set out through the city. In some places the damage is extreme – buildings leveled with corpses strewn about the wreckage – but in other places there is barely anything to suggest what had just happened. Unfortunately the Council Chambers appear to be more of the former as there are a number of bodies in the streets just outside. But those bodies are being quickly cleared away by survivors, and a new guard around the door set up.

As it turns out, looking for the Speaker won't be necessary, as three men exit the building as you approach. Two haggard looking men serving as bodyguards for the third, an older man dressed in the ornate armor of the Church's Speaker (Baerdog7).

"Hello. You are Ander, I presume? Tyberius, Knight-Commander of the Order of the Star. This is Welkin, Knight-Captain, but I believe you may already know of him."

Tyberius gestures to you.

"And this . . . is Lukina, a very special young girl."

Gorgondantess

At your question Nihilus quirks an eyebrow.

“For her? You might even convince him to do a little song and dance, assuming he isn’t already going to be doing a little jig at the thought of having one of Miriam’s archangels under his thumb. That’s been a dream of the Fiend Lords as a whole for a very long time. Assuming he can keep her, I imagine that there will be a significant shift in the power structure of the Hells as a result. Or perhaps not – depends on whether or not they’ll believe that she is the real Hephestia. I will, of course, vouch for her . . . authenticity to Zareth.”

For a former archangel, Hephestia didn't seem like much, her efforts to pry herself free from your shoulder no better than any other human - which is to say, completely ineffectual.

"I thought you weren't going to allow this!? You promised!"

She cried out, digging her fingers into the flesh of your shoulder. You suppose that would have hurt if you had actually been human, but then you weren't human and with a minor bit of effort hardened the skin there to the point that Hephestia couldn't even dimple it with all her meager strength.

Nihilus closes both portals and then tears a new one open. Through this one you can see a different slice of the Hells waiting for you, this one a strange assembly of gears and machinery.

“Go. I will catch up with you momentarily.”

Nihilus says, leaving you with little alternative but to step through the portal with Hephestia over one shoulder or fly away. You decide to step through the portal, thrown off-stride for just a moment when Hephestia manages to twist enough in your grasp to bring her knee up into your face. The force of the blow sent your head snapping back, causing you to stumble back a step. But it was only a step, and no permanent damage was done. A moment later and you are through the portal to find yourself in the middle of a cacophony of grinding gears and screams. A short distance away an immense tower looms over you, assembled from pumping pistons and turning gears. Hephestia relaxes at this point, seemingly surrendering to her fate now that she was trapped in the Hells as the portal fades shut behind you.

"Do you even know what they're going to do to me? Do you even care?"

Hephestia mutters sullenly. She looks up at the machine tower with a mixture of dread and resignation.

"At least if you were giving me to Mammon there would be a chance he would get overzealous and kill me early. But torture is one of Zareth's specialities. He'll want to break me with an audience, and he'll want to make a show of it. Savor it for as long as he can."

Hephestia, unable to do anything effective, spits in your face.

"I hope that whatever you're hoping to gain from this, Zareth tricks you out of it."

(The Spirit has a few moments alone with Hephestia if there's anything you want to say to her in private.)

As promised, a few moments later another portal opens and Nihilus steps out. He nods at the tower of machinery.

“There’s Zareth’s fortress, an immense clock tower designed to count down the end of the mortal world, when the Hells shall reign supreme over all. I’ve heard he’s had to manually set the clock back on a great number of occasions. Apparently Zareth is currently away, attending some sort of meeting with the Black General and several of the other devil lords, but I assume he will returning shortly. Shall we go? Unless, of course, you’re having second thoughts.”

Nihilus examines you and the archangel closely, as if trying to puzzle something out.

“This is likely your last chance to turn back. Once we make the offer to Zareth, I suspect he’s going to go to any length to claim Hephestia, whether you give her up willingly or not. Fortunately, Zareth can be quite pragmatic if he doesn’t let his emotions get control of him, which thankfully does tend to be a rare occurrence. He might also appreciate having a show put on for him - this is Hephestia the Adjudicator after all, not a sack of grain that you are delivering.”

"Call me Heph."

Hephestia says with a doomed sigh.

Phaedra

Lonna

Titania thinks a moment on your explanation of Wulfric’s presence, and then nods.

“Ah yes, the cur who attacked you. He slew one of my valued servants as well. Rest assured that he shall see his punishment, from now until the end of days! At least, he will once our kingdom is once more established upon the realm of mortals!”

As you explained what little you remembered of your life as Pyria, your attention is brought back to the orb by Titania hissing in rage. You catch a glimpse of Dariel clutching at a nose stained blue with his blood, and then Wulfric backing away while threatening Mar with an icicle. A few moments later, and Dariel’s voice echoed through the hall.

“My queen, shall I destroy this interloper? His threat is an empty one, but he may damage the gods’ whore nonetheless.”

“Dariel, you idiot! This is all your fault!”

Titania growled, backhanding the orb free from the throne to send it flying back against the wall and shatter.

“Stand down, lest your incompetent bungling manage to make the situation even worse! I will handle this – myself!”

Titania declares, pushing herself up from her throne angrily. As she gets to her feet, for a moment the fey queen’s legs buckle, and she is forced to brace herself against her throne for support. This gives you a much needed moment to try to temper her rage. Although she still looks ready to re-ignite with fury at any moment, your voice seems to be the one balm that can affect her. After a few moments of thought, Titania slowly nods.

“Very well, my daughter. Because you have asked this of me, I will grant you your request. But if you are unable to convince him to graciously accept my hospitality . . .”

Titania leaves the threat unspoken as she gestures, and the floor of the throne room responds as the ice melts away to leave a stairway going down. Taking the clear invitation, you walk towards the stairs, but are forced to stop when Titania lays one chilling hand on your shoulder.

“I will be coming with you, however.”

Together, the two of you carefully make your way down the steps into the darker depths of the castle, Titania leaning against you for support on a number of occasions. You are unsure if Titania’s weakness is a symptom of sitting upon her icy throne for too long, or if it suggests a more serious problem.

The stairs eventually lead down to a solid wall of ice. Titania gestures, and suddenly the ice shifts to a clear, thin wall of ice. On the other side you can see Wulfric and Mar, examining the room they are currently in and perhaps trying to find a better place to hide despite the fact that it’s clearly impossible to hide from Titania in her own castle. As you watch, Wulfric offers his heavy cloak to the angel girl, and you can hear his voice faintly through the ice.

“Do you want to borrow it for a little bit? Need to keep your muscles warm for all the running, fighting, and staying alive that we’re about to be doing.”

“You may speak to him, and he will hear you.”

Titania explains.

“But I think it unwise to allow him to see you at the moment. He would not be able to comprehend your glory.”

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

“I see . . . well, whatever will make her very dead and gone, more so than she already is technically.”

Nihilus says distractedly, looking out over the city. His gaze focuses on something in the distance, and he absently reaches out to open a portal.

“Let’s go. I’ve been keeping an eye on Marialta’s ship in the event that she shows up there. Of course, who knows what she’s managed to accomplish between the time you first arrived here and she revealed herself to us. As I said earlier, I think it would be safe to assume that she has her own key and Fianna’s now, and we will need to endeavor to prevent her from getting a third.”

Stepping through the portal, you are nearly struck by a body as it flies through the air past you and crashes into a wall just behind you. You hear the familiar voice of Gilgaem roar out a moment later, “That’s what you get when you don’t come here looking for a real fight! Now, who wants to be next!?”

Nearby, your old friend and rival stands in the middle of a circle of hooting and cheering onlookers. He has both arms at the moment, a sight which brings back memories of the two of you fighting back to back, in the days before your city was founded. Ah, those were simple times then, when all you had to worry about was fiends trying to claim you body and soul, and none of this time-travel nonsense.

Nihilus appears beside you, and it seems no one has noticed you thus far. He nudges you and points to the roof of a building that looks down on the circle of fighters below – one which has its own crowd of onlookers watching the fighting from above.

“That seems like a good place to wait to descend on her whenever she makes her move – if indeed she does. I’ll keep up a search of the city in the event that she tries somewhere else instead. Which means I should probably stick close to you so we can move at a moment’s notice. Do you need to do any sort of set-up work to prepare the grounds for these rituals? Or do you think that doing so might risk tipping Marialta off as to our presence?”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

Good-byes are said by both groups, and soon it is only Alons and Rosenberg left that would be traveling to the besieged city. Technically, they would not be traveling alone, however – the caravan master had hired on a number of desperate mercenaries to serve as protectors. But these sorts were not prone to be very talkative, even if they were not scum of the earth. But as night fell completely over the camp, a lone carriage came riding up. Having reached their intended destination, the driver descended from his seat and opened the carriage’s door, allowing its occupant to step out into the night air.

The woman who descended from the carriage was breathtaking, and the journey here did not seem to have taken any of her beauty away. She wore a long-hemmed, multi-layered red dress, the inner folds of the skirt shifting from reds to oranges to yellows, and looking like flames dancing around her legs as she moved. Her golden hair would have likely fallen down to her waist if left loose, but at the moment it barely reached her shoulders, the rest of it gathered at the back of her head in a bun held in place by gold pins. Beyond the wealth of her dress, her poise as she swept her emerald eyes across the assembled crowd suggested that she was of noble birth, which she confirmed a moment later.

“I am the Countess Amelia Ashargrin! I have come here because I was given to understand that this convoy is bound for the city of Amaranth. It is my intention to journey to the besieged city as well. Would any of you like to accompany me as my bodyguards?”

From the crowd of bodyguards, someone calls out.

“Hey, I heard that name ‘fore! Ain’t you the Crippled Countess!?”

A loud guffaw breaks out from the group as Amelia goes very still, her face starting to flush.

“That was a vile rumor spread by those who wished to do me harm. As you can plainly see, there is no truth to such rumors.”

“Can I! How about you accompany me to my bed instead?”

Another heckler called, and the Countess’s face flushed to a new shade of crimson. For a moment it looked as if the Countess was have a reply for that one as well, but then through sheer force of will she seemed to calm herself. Instead, after an exhaled “fine” the Countess whirled and stepped back into her carriage.

“Worthless spoiled bitch. The Liberator’ll topple her soon enough.”

One of the other thugs growled, prompting yet another of the thugs to elicit another round of raucous laughter with a “I’d like to topple her myself!”.

(You are welcome to choose to go over and interact with the Countess or dismiss her as the other mercenaries have done. More importantly, I would like you to describe your preparations for when the caravan sets out tomorrow morning. Are the two of you volunteering to go out front and be the ambush magnet? Hanging back with the main body of the caravan and letting the prawns – er, pawns go first? Enacting some sort of decoy plan of running through the woods and making a bunch of noise to distract the elves from the caravan also passing through? Sipping drinks with the Countess in her carriage and talking about the weather while everyone else dies horribly around you? Tell me what your plans on how to get to the city are. :smallsmile: )

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

At your offer of discussing Ross’s story some time, the former paladin grins.

“Aye, although we’ll need many bottles to last us until the end of that story!”

At this, Ashley’s wrinkles her nose and waves her hand in front of her nose.

“I think you should probably cut back on the drinking, uncle, not more. You are starting to resemble this city’s sewers.”

“Feh, that was only because I was sleeping in them! I can hold my drink pretty well these days lass. You needn’t concern yourself about me.”

This argument put a sour note on the conversation, and it was a few awkward moments before Ashley spoke up again.

“As for the elves, we are unsure of their numbers. They outnumber our contingent certainly, but perhaps not all of this city’s defenders put together. Of course, I wouldn’t put a lot of faith in the city militia’s ability to hold the elves back – most of them are farm hands with very little experience in battle. There’s also the fact that the elves are able to summon a seemingly endless supply of spirits, fire elementals in particular, to bolster their ranks.”

Ashley shrugs.

“So far they haven’t attacked the city directly, seeming to prefer merely keeping it isolated and unable to acquire supplies. They hit many of the surrounding villages first, and those that survived those attacks came here. Perhaps they are hoping that we will tear ourselves apart – certainly unrest is rising as more people grow desperate. I haven’t seen any reports on the elves having siege weaponry, so I certainly don’t know how they would expect to assault the city without it descending into anarchy first. Unfortunately, they have done a good job at killing anyone we send out to scout the surrounding forest, so we have no idea as to the location of their base of operations. We’re safe behind the walls and they’re safe hidden in the forest. It’s a stalemate essentially, and one that we will eventually lose.”

“Hrm. It would sound to me then that the most important things to accomplish are locating the bloody bastards, and bringing some food in. Noctis, what do you feel like doing, and which do ye think will end up for the most elves ending their day crushed beneath my hammer?”

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-10-28, 02:35 PM

Nameless

Nameless bellows out.

"KATRINA! OVER HERE! HELP!"

He immediately turns back to the sinking woman and begins trying to lift her with all his might. Then he gets an idea. She started sinking after she started talking about self-pity. Maybe if he talked her out of it she'd be able to free herself.

"You're not stupid! You didn't let everyone down! C'mon! You're stronger than this, you can redeem yourself! Everyone can! I don't know who you are, but you helped me remember something I'd completely forgotten! That has to count for something! You showed me what I was! I'm one of you! PLEASE! Don't let your grief swallow you!"

He then tries to sing her song as loudly and clearly as possible, his rich baritone voice cutting through the music of the swamps. If Katrina didn't hear his cry for help, she'd probably hear this. It didn't matter if it brought more trouble. He couldn't let this person just die thinking she was worthless.

"The sun shall shine,
Through darkest cloud,
Following blackest night,
Again and again,
To fill the world with the light.

So don’t frown,
And don’t cry,
The Lightbringer smiles
Upon thee, Fear not,
The Sun shall shine."

Baerdog7

2012-10-28, 07:15 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander tries to tune out Hephestia's complaining while he inspects the disturbing new prophecy that decorates his bedroom floor. His distraction would prove tragic, however, as Hephestia's complaints turn to screams as the Stranger's tentacles her through a newly-formed portal.

No! Ander yells as he scrambles toward the rapidly-disappearing Hephestia. No, NO, NO! He dives for the closing portal a second too late, passing through nothing but air as it pops out of existence. Picking himself up, he rushes for the window and watches impotently as Nihlus, Hephestia, and the Stranger pass through another portal and out of his reach.

You ****ing bitch! You said you wouldn't harm her. You promised!

He falls to his knees and turns his despair toward the Heavens. Are you happy now, Miriam?! Is this what you wanted for your daughter?

Even as storm clouds brew in Ander's head, the clouds over Luxien lift and the sun shines triumphantly overhead. Then, carried on the breeze, comes a sound that clears the storms from Ander's mind: trumpets. Paladin trumpets. Confused, Ander once again approaches the window and there, at the edge of the city, he sees the victorious column of the Order of the Star marching into the city with their banners held high and their horns sounding a clarion call.

It looks like reinforcements have arrived, he says, turning to the two remaining paladins in the room. Straighten your uniforms, I want you two to be my honor guard. What are your names? As the two paladins straighten up and introduce themselves, Ander likewise changes out of his shredded tunic and into a fresh one.

Right. On me, then. As he marches down to meet the newcomers, Ander can't help but remember and old hymn that he used to enjoy.

The sun shall shine,
Through darkest cloud,
Following blackest night,
Again and again,
To fill the world with the light.

So don’t frown,
And don’t cry,
The Lightbringer smiles
Upon thee, Fear not,
The Sun shall shine.

GuyFawkes

2012-10-29, 02:35 AM

Lucifuge/Noctis

"That can be arranged," he replied with a smile at Ross' remark on needing lots of bottles.

Upon hearing Ashley's overview of the situation, Noctis nodded. It had been something he expected; he has not heard of any sort of offensive happen in the few weeks he has been in the city. But to hear that they have not even pinpointed the elves' location.

I should have inquired of Aurewlynn such details before I sent her to the fort. Nevertheless...

"For a siege to be effective, one does not need to possess siege weaponry, as is evidenced by the current situation. Isolation and just waiting for the defenses to crumble over time. But for them to have the patience to employ such tactics displays the intent for total domination over your kind."

He paused to think.

"I commend your bravery, Knight-Lieutenant, but perhaps I could do something that would avoid that situation altogether. Or at least try. I will scout the nearby forests to try to locate these elves, and if possible, discuss with their leaders. It will most probably not happen as I would like it, but I think I have something to convince them to listen."

"Nevertheless, please prepare your men. Depending on what happens and what information I gather, a direct assault might be needed. If you could have them able to march by this day, that would be best. An unreasonable request, but if we are to hope for a victory, we would need to strike hard and strike fast."

"Very well, I shall take my leave." He looked at Ashley once again. "Is there any particular part where you think would best to start scouting? Somewhere with a particularly high incidence of attacks, or where you lost most of your previous scouts?"

After hearing Ashley's suggestions (if any), Noctis took his leave of the paladin camp and walked towards the nearest alleyway. After navigating through the side streets and reaching an empty cul de sac, he turned around to make sure no one was watching.

From a small pouch on his belt, he took out a small curious object; a feather. Holding it in his palm, he began chanting arcane words while drawing invisible patterns in the air before him with his other arm.

Upon finishing, it took a few seconds before a noticeable effect happened. Noctis' large human figure began shrinking slowly, his appendages slowly disappearing into his torso. His eyes began to become more circular, his nose and mouth jutted out into a beak, and from out of his skin, brown and white feathers started sprouting. In place of his now non-existent arms, wings sprouted out and his legs shortened into scaly ones, small claws could be seen where his feet should have been.

Above the rooftops of Amaranth, a small bird flew in a small circle before flying out and over the walls and headed for the forests.

daelrog

2012-10-29, 02:52 AM

Alons

"I am beginning to like this land of yours better, friend." He calsped Rosenberg on the shoulder. "I lose a lily only to find a rose." He stood up and stretched his arms and shoulders out.

"Surely this Countess will need a dedicated bodyguard to the city, and as we are headed there I see no reason not be of assistance." He walked over to the carriage to follow the Countess. He did not open the door, but leaned his back against it, as if already acting the part of a bodyguard.

"My Countess, I know nothing of your past neither fair nor foul, for I come from a distant land. However, I can see a true strength and passion within you. It would be my honor to act as your defender until the city, if it pleases you."

He could not help himself, but smile as he spoke, turning his head slightly away from the window so she could not see how much he was enjoying the prospect.

Alons's plan is to stay with the Countess. He will hope is to subtley charm her, but he won't press the matter if she shows no interest in him beyond anything professional. When travelling, he will prefer to stay outside the carriage, moving alongside it so he can have a clear view of his surroundings, staying in the carriage only to eat meals.

Inspectre

2012-10-29, 05:37 AM

(Special DM for Baerdog7, as his post got delayed due to questions about Hephestia, thus preventing him from posting on time. Also, this will let him link up with Kasanip right now.)

Baerdog7

You gather up the two men, who seem to be even more shaken about what just transpired than you. One of them spares a nervous last glance at the writing burned into the floor, and then you all set out to meet the arriving Order of the Star. You manage to make yourself halfway presentable, although given the circumstances the Order's representatives will probably understand if no one is looking at their best. Quietus's soul crystal feels warm in your pocket, reminding you that there is yet one more thing that you shall have to decide what to do today.

On your way out of the room you encounter Ysora.

"My sister is better now but it will take awhile for the scars to heal. Perhaps in a day or two she will be well enough for us to speak with her about her experiences - perhaps she will have learned something we can use. Randall and the others are safe - Tyra should make a full recovery as well. Do you know where Hephestia is? I've been looking for her and wanted to make sure that she is alright before I go with you to greet our arriving guests."

Ysora clearly finds the answer on your faces, as she slumps back against the wall.

"Hephestia is gone. My special sisters . . . Genevieve . . . Marisiel . . . Hephestia . . . they're all gone. They've all been taken from me."

In a surprising flash of anger, Ysora suddenly lashes out, driving her fist through the stone wall. The minor damage that the blow causes to her hand instantly heals. Struggling to control herself, Ysora shakes her head and turns away to move down the hallway.

"I need to be alone right now."

She says, diving out a window and flying off. You soldier on, and as you exit the Council Chambers building you find a delegation approaching the building. Two men and a younger woman (Kasanip) who holds your attention for a moment longer than would be expected. There was just . . . something about her that your finely honed senses were picking up.

The older man speaks up first.

"Hello. You are Ander, I presume? Tyberius, Knight-Commander of the Order of the Star. This is Welkin, Knight-Captain, but I believe you may already know of him."

Tyberius gestures to you.

"And this . . . is Lukina, a very special young girl."

Kasanip

2012-10-29, 08:06 AM

Lukina
Luxien, The Cathedral City

Lukina felt a little more relief as the sunlight returned. How much better it was to have the sunlight, it's comforting and reassuring warmth. Even aching muscles could feel a little rejuvinated.
Even if the scene was horrible to see. Tyberius' words were difficult, and As they walked along, Lukina felt the grimness wearying. She stumbled, but Welkin helped to catch her every time. "Thanks Welkin." Lukina murmured.

Of Tyberius' suggestion, Lukina nodded, and through that weariness that wanted to pull her down, she felt some hope too. And some astonishment.

I actually made it... I made it here to the Speaker...

She hadn't let herself fall into despair, and even in the difficult journey, somehow she had come here. She thought back to her family, and all of the people who had helped her. Burke, the blacksmith who had helped make the armor that had helped save her. Brother Adam's gift of the holy writings... Lukina realized with a small anguish that it had been left behind in the burning village. But the sword he had given had served her heroically. She touched the hilt as she walked beside the paladins, thanking the blade silently. And now Welkin and the paladins had helped her here. It seemed like it had been an age, and she had lived shattered memories of different times at night.

And now, she was here, looking up at the ornate armor and the Church's speaker, Sir Ander... Or Speaker Ander? Lukina honestly didn't know how to address him.

After all of this time with the goal to come, and to explain her story to the Speaker, to ask his help in her goal.

...How should I start?

Lukina was lost. Should she shake hands? Salute? She wasn't a paladin. What would an angel do? But her memories of Genevieve didn't help with that question. She thought to bow, but was afraid the motion would make her dizzy. And to collapse in front of the Speaker would not make it easier to explain.

She took a deep breath and straightened painfully, with an earnest and determined and solemn expression to meet the eyes of the Speaker.

"Nice to meet you. I was hoping for a long time I could meet you, sir. My name is Lukina Marcellis." She paused, awkwardly aware how this must look, as the ruins of the city after a battle. But she couldn't stop now. "It may not be the best time, and I know it is hard to believe. But I was, am, also Genevieve, servant of Our Lady Miriam the Valkyrie. I can remember in my dreams and nightmares some things... But a lot of it is clouded." She fought against the desperate feeling of hope she had. "I know it is difficult to believe. But I am not lying. I hoped that the paladins, who are always faithful and loyal servants of Our Lady, can help me."

She wanted to say more. The words were coming quickly now, and confusing probably.

(Ooc: Sorry it is very quickly many things for Baerdog7, please feel free to interrupt, or such a thing. :smallredface: )

Vegna

2012-10-29, 08:22 AM

Mal Harath

Mal decides that the elf is a slightly more immediate threat, and with him out of the way, the elves might surrender or at least be de-moralised. Plus, he didn't want to find an arrow in his back while he tried to figure out how to fight a wall of fire.

He swings the spear in his hands, flinging it out towards the captain, in an effort to distract his effort to draw his bow. The man charges the elf, trying to keep the fight at close range with a dashing one-two punch, tackling into the captain.

Baerdog7

2012-10-30, 12:20 AM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander can only look on as Ysora flies away to grieve. He could imagine what she was feeling all too well but didn't have time to dwell on it at the moment; there were, after all, newcomers to welcome. Setting his jaw, he heaves open the huge main doors of the Council Building and marches out to greet the approaching delegation.

((Ander is actually not in armor right now. He still hasn't found a suit to replace the one Miriam gave him which was damaged at Narle, but I think I've worked out an idea to get him outfitted again. :smallwink:))

Even unarmored and dirty with blood and battle-grime, the Speaker is an impressive sight. He is broad shouldered and square jawed, though not quite as tall as Lukina imagined. His silver hair and mustache indicate that he is a man of advanced age but his body is sculpted by decades of battle and shows no evidence of frailty. In fact, he seems to be in better physical shape than the two paladins that form his honor guard. Mysterious runes criss-cross all of Ander's visible skin, possibly as a result of some magical ritual or torture. His pants are dirty from battle, but Ander seems to have changed into a fresh white tunic with gold trim before meeting his guests. This silver holy symbol around his neck shines in the sunlight and the breeze plays with the red and gold cape hanging from his shoulders.

Knight-Commander Tyberius, Knight-Captain Welkin...welcome to Luxien. He announces, saluting the paladins. And welcome to you too, Miss Lukina, he says, bowing. I am Ander Windrivver.

"Nice to meet you. I was hoping for a long time I could meet you, sir. My name is Lukina Marcellis." She paused, awkwardly aware how this must look, as the ruins of the city after a battle. But she couldn't stop now. "It may not be the best time, and I know it is hard to believe. But I was, am, also Genevieve, servant of Our Lady Miriam the Valkyrie. I can remember in my dreams and nightmares some things... But a lot of it is clouded." She fought against the desperate feeling of hope she had. "I know it is difficult to believe. But I am not lying. I hoped that the paladins, who are always faithful and loyal servants of Our Lady, can help me."

Ander raises his eyebrows in surprise and his steely blue eyes seem to pierce Lukina as she speaks.

A very special lady indeed. I would love to learn more about you, Lukina. I'm sure Ysora would as well, but that will have to wait. She desires...solitude...at the moment. I would also like to know what good fortune brought the Order of the Star here today. It must have been a long journey to Luxien.

Ander looks away to survey the damage to his city and sighs. I should inspect the damage to the city. Are you all able to walk and talk or would you prefer to find a place to sit and talk about things?

Gorgondantess

2012-10-30, 02:33 AM

Hephestia, unable to do anything effective, spits in your face.

"I hope that whatever you're hoping to gain from this, Zareth tricks you out of it."
She sets Heph down here, not heeding her words or her spit, and looks her in the eyes.
"I understand what he does to his captors. In fact, that is the reason I chose to take you after all. This fiend- Zareth- he has someone very dear to me. So dear that I chose to capture you- against my better judgement- in order to expedite her release. I am sorry- it was not my intention to bring harm to anyone."
She smiles.
"Chin up, though. Zareth might try to cheat me, in which case I'll make sure he won't lay his hands on you out of spite."

"...Unless, of course, you’re having second thoughts."
"Second thoughts? You have not only brought me to hell, but told me the exact location of the one I seek. No, I am not having second thoughts. Not now, not later, not until my business has concluded here.
...I have to ask, though. You do not strike me as a particularly... altruistic individual... and yet you give me such aid, while asking nothing in return. Why? I cannot help but suspect there might be some ulterior motive here."
Regardless, she has little choice but to accept Nihilus' aid and hope he's on the level.
"Anyways... you mentioned something about a task you'd have me do. I can imagine one who can create portals at will would be a useful companion, so speak- what is it you would have me do?"

"...He might also appreciate having a show put on for him - this is Hephestia the Adjudicator after all, not a sack of grain that you are delivering.”
"Hmmm... I will see what I can do."
She takes Heph aside, creating suitable vessel and ornamentation for such a prize. As she works she has a subtle smile on her face, seeming content, and even tries speaking to Heph. "Tell me- have you ever met an angel by the name of Maurice?"
It takes scant minutes to finish, but the contrast is startling.
For Hephestia, she adorns her in vestments of vibrant, colourful feathers: reds, blues, purples and greens, with feathered bangles on her wrists and ornaments in her hair. She even gives her a pair of wings, matching the colour scheme of course. On her neck is a golden collar, connecting to a golden chain, connecting to a golden cage. A birdcage. The cage is all made of gold filigree, each bar a different and unique, infinitely delicate, impossible pattern of spirals and spindles. It comes to a domed top, from which extends a point of glistening diamond. Within the cage Heph sits on a perch suspended from the ceiling, too cramped to take any other position.
A pretty little cage for a pretty little bird.

Dorizzit

2012-10-30, 06:43 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram hits the ground somewhat unsteadily after Miranda's focus shifts to the other angel. Landing in a kneeling position, Korram rises to his feet and dusts himself off. He looks up from his work to see Melissan's critical gaze and extended hand. Hurriedly, he accepts the hand and shakes.

"Just Korram, please."

Before he can say anything else, the angels engage in a brief but heated argument, ending with all three looking to him for his opinion.

"The invaders were acting out of desperation. I don't know if they all had the same reasons, but the leader of the group I talked to was only there because it would spare his family from being tortured. If I had to guess, I wouldn't be surprised if there were others who were offered relief for themselves...or volunteered in order to curry favor."

Korram wrinkles his nose momentarily at the last thought.

Tae

2012-10-30, 11:17 PM

Yet more Modest Mouse (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbYq4-nh1b8) ((I didn't post a video with lyrics because I'm pretty sure no one can agree what the hell he's saying. It's more just the feel of the song that I like.))

“Dirge’s withered balls,” Brambled murmured. Her squadmates, old and new, were looking at her. She hated being looked to for anything other than a good time.

“Hey, hey Bramble, I can help!” chirruped Mouse.

“Aye, ye can. Go pop into their vision – quick-like – and keep popping in and out farther and farther away. They’ll most likely follow you.” At least I hope they will.

“Really?!”

“Don’t make me repeat m’self”, Bramble growled.

Malarkey’s thick hand reached around apparent thin air near Bramble’s shoulder, eliciting a squeak from the imp.

“DO NOT GET CAUGHT.”

Small, deep scratches appeared on Malarkey’s hand as Mouse struggled to get free of his grip.

Bramble eyed the uniformed humans ahead of her. They were seconds away from fully taking in the scene. She pulled from her vest a table dagger pilfered from the cultists’ lair and passed it up to Mouse.

“If you’re caught, Mouse, go home. Do you understand me?”

The squad heard a gulp, and then a sigh from Mouse as Malarkey returned his bloodied hand to his side.

“Yeah Bramble, got it.”

“Good, now go!”

Mouse’s weight left Bramble’s shoulder, and seconds later, the guards and nobility began shouting.

“What was that?!”

“I don’t know.”

“LOOK! There it is again!”

One of the guards pulled his sword from its scabbard and pointed. “That way!”

The guards and nobility turned and hurried after what was presumably a disappearing, reappearing imp with a dagger.

The cultist gave a chill smile. “Good to see you’ve no sentimentality when it comes to your comrades-in-arms, sapper. Do you think he can lead them on a merry little chase forever?”

Bramble sidled closer to the cultist and leaned down to put her nose inches from his. Her lips curved in a cold grin of her own, and exhaled sulfurous breath through clenched, pointed teeth.

“Mouse has his instructions. If he’s caught, he’ll go home. Your people will bring him back. No harm done.” Bramble’s grin took on a malignly cheerful aspect. “’Sides, you haven’t seen part two.”

“Bramble, no…” Catbox groaned.

“Oh, yes.”

Bramble looked around the alleyway. The cobbles beneath her burlap-sacked hooves. The painfully bright sky above her horns. The feeling of deja-vu washed over her again, poorly articulated, an irritant. She rubbed her hands down her face, trying to push it away.

Without warning, she shoved two clawed fingers down her throat, bent over, and began coughing.

The cultist’s face became a mask of shock and disgust.

“What is wrong with her?” he exclaimed.

“The bitch has no gag reflex left.” Malarkey chuckled, grabbed Bramble by the back of the neck and repeatedly shoved his fist into her belly.

The cultist jumped back from the fiends as vomit splattered the cobbles. Bramble knelt down and began scooping it into her yet-to-be-relinquished mug.

“We can obtain more beer for you if you require it, Master Bramble.”

“Nah, I just needed what was in my gut.”

Bramble raked a finger through her teeth, drawing blood, and allowed it to drip into the mug. Finally, she scraped some dirt and gravel from the road and packed the mug solidly with it, shaking it up violently until it was a compacted mix of vomit, blood, and gravel, solid enough not to spill easily. She looked at Catbox.

“I need a cap.”

“You should have brought some.”

Bramble frowned. “That’s your job. You can’t do what I do, so you bring the caps.”

“Yeah, well, after we get into this shop, I won’t need you to do what you do. In fact, I won’t need you at all. You think you’re better than me, but you’re not, Bramble.”

“Really?” Bramble’s voice became soft, dripping poison honey. “You won’t need me Kitty-Catbox?”

“No,” said Catbox, drawing herself up to her full height. “You never did nothin’ for me anyway. It was always ‘Catbox, where’s the caps?’ ‘Catbox, where’s the firestarter?’. I’m not your Ix. I’m just as smart as you are. Smarter, anyway. Wasn’t me that had to make enemies outta the whole squad was it?” Catbox’s eyes glinted with sudden malice.

“You’re right Cat’. You’re not my Ix. But ‘til ye met me, you was everyone elses’.” Bramble’s voice took on a rasping, seductive quality. Like a whore with a sharp knife hidden between her thighs. “Keep pushing and you’ll find out ‘xactly what it’d be like to be my Ix. I been looking for a way to test my new designs.”

Catbox smirked. “You can’t fight, Bramble. Stop acting tough, it ain’t you. In fact, keep it up, and I’ll remind you just how tough you ain’t.”

Bramble moved in close to Catbox, dropped her voice even lower, and whispered in her ear. “I know ‘bout your hatchlings Cat’. You know, those three little Ix’s yer tryin’ t’ protect. Tryin’ t’ keep ‘em from actin’ as weak as you did I guess? All I need’s a word t’ Skullcruncher…hells, even Turbine might make nice with me if I told him ‘bout those. Then not only would YOU be my Ix. I’d be blowin’ up yer little ones too. Now hand me a cap, and aye, the damn firestarter too.”

Clawed hand shaking, Catbox reached inside her robe for the cap and starter. Fumbling, she dropped them to the ground. As she bent to pick them up, Malarkey noticed something hot and wet sizzle against the cobbles. The look she gave Bramble was a mixture of fear, jealousy, and something else.

A promise of revenge.

Bramble sighed, pushing away more deja-vu, equally annoying albeit more easily understood. Another friend made enemy in the rat-race of the hells. She rolled her shoulders and neck, trying to release some of the tension of the past few hours. It was, of course, pointless. Things were bad and getting worse. As usual.

The cultist frowned. “Whatever ARE you doing?”

“What I’m good at, human. Making a bomb.”

Bramble shoved the cap down into the mixture in her mug, lit the fuse and handed it silently to Malarkey, who was looking at her thoughtfully. Catbox wasn’t a fiend easily cowed. He was deeply curious as to what Bramble’d said to drag acid from the big demon’s eyes. He’d grown used to thinking of the skinny red sapper as nothing more than an oddity, a devil that also happened to be full of explosives. Apparently, he’d have to watch her more carefully.

Thinking all that, he threw the mug hard in the direction opposite the one Mouse had gone. Some distance away a viscous cloud of smoke appeared. Moments later, the sound of the detonation reached them.

Bramble grinned. “Great! Now they’ll be running in both directions. Can we go look at my new toys now?” She shouldered past Catbox without a glance and took the cultist’s arm.

WhiteKnight777

2012-10-31, 12:09 PM

Umber

The former Lord of Blood gave Nihilus a grin as he stepped through the portal. "Just lately, it seems like dead isn't sticking so well. You know, in my day, when I killed somebody, they stayed dead unless I damn well told them to get up again." He paused. "Mostly. And even then, it was just a damned zombie. Although I suppose this is my day, come to think about it. This day, of all days." He sniggered nastily at the thought, remembering his youth with a mixture of fondness and irritation for how... short-sighted he'd been. He really had failed to take into account one crucial fact: Nothing was forever, even immortality. In the end, you fought death not because you were alive, and because raging against the dying of the light was what made life worth living. Well, that and Fianna. And sex, and crushing your enemies beneath your heel. Oh, and good books and good wine. And there was always...

He shook his head. More damn digressions. He didn't seem to be able to stop himself getting lost in his own head these days. The price of too many memories. "Anyway, yes. what I have in mind should do allow us to neutralize her. Of course, Kartul will probably notice that they're missing. Bugger the corpse-humping bastard with a holy symbol." Umber said with casual contempt.

Umber noted the observation point that Nihilus had pointed out, and made his way over to it, carrying the ritual items. Luckily, he didn't need to have the sapphire out yet, and the other stuff shouldn't attract too much attention given how occupied the crowd was. As he ascended into a position overlooking the event, he casually slipped the forced bone rod into his sleeve, like a man intending to cheat at cards securing his hidden ace. Although in point of fact Umber rarely cheated at cards, and usually did so only when it was an expected part of the game, as was the case in some of the more low-rent places he'd been in his long and eventful life.. Cheating at games had always struck Umber as missing the point. It was life you were supposed to cheat at.

With his first weapon-of choice in place, he looked at Nihilus and shook his head "I'm as prepared as can be, given the circumstances. Just a word of advice, though - if you see me about to open the flask, do make sure you aren't in front of me. Actually, being well away from me would be the best option at that point." There was a merry glimmer in Umber's eye as he said it, but one look at the expression on his stolen face told you it was the sort of joke that was always on someone else.

He turned, watching Gilgeam. Umber was surprised at the complexity of his own emotions. Despite all that he knew the man was a traitorous bastard who coveted Umber's beloved, he was also a friend. And what's more, a friend who had lost his own lady-love in no small part because of Umber's actions. For a moment, there was a temptation there to intercede and change the track of Fate. Not to push, but to nudge... to encourage Gilgeam down a slightly different path. Perhaps a road where the ship did not burn, and where Gilgeam and Marialta could go together down that long and wending path through the ages. But... this was not the place, nor the time. He would find a moment where he could make his change, aye, but his earlier experience with his younger self had showed Umber that time or Fate or whatever force ruled this strange shadow of a past did not brook interference lightly. He would have to find the right moment, or make it for himself.

OverWilliam

2012-10-31, 06:17 PM

~Tare

Tare should not have been at all surprised by Videle's violent reaction-- he certainly wasn't caught off guard by her pure strength --but the suddenness of her attack went straight through his every thought of defense. Before he could think to call upon lightning to counter-attack, Videle had poleaxed him against the wall-- and then, with spooky comprehension of his new body's apparent function, Tare was rendered paralyzed.

Under the next onslaught of threats, violence dripping from every word, Tare found that they had the opposite effect of that which had seemingly been intended; like metal hardened in the hottest corner of the fire, Videle's vitriol only steeled his determination to rise above her-- to not become her as half of his soul now desperately craved to do.

You are pathetic and you are wrong. You won't break me. Some day someone might-- but it's not going to be you.

These thoughts brought an infuriating calm to Tare's face as he stared down the demoness without the slightest concession to fear.

And he was even able to hold it until she left the room. Just barely.

Tare's trip through the Screaming Dark Estate further cemented in Tare's mind the horrors that Videle embodied. The place was almost home-y with Vylethar in charge; highly narcissistic, but comfortable enough anyway.

Speaking of the Devil...

“Hahaha . . ugh . . . hah! So good to see you again!”

Tare bristled within his metal and rope bindings. Of course it was the one person he wanted to see the least.

“So . . . still planning on torturing me for eternity? Or is this . . . ugh! . . . painful enough for you already?”

The powerful words of his oath to bring torment upon Vylethar came back to Tare's mind. "It's a start." In the back of his mind, the little demon only wished that he could claim authorship of the succubus' torture. Being able to witness it would have to do for now, though. "I said what I did out of ignorance. From what little I've learned in the time intervening, it would almost seem that unmaking you would be doing you a favor."

Tare began probing the inside of his personal prison once more, trying to decide on the best way to proceed. "You shouldn't have touched her, Vylethar. That was your only real mistake. Until that point, you never did a thing against me personally-- and what you did could almost have been considered part of your duty. Your responsibility as the Slave that you really are. Truly, until that moment I'd done more to offend you than you'd ever done to me-- until you laid a finger on that little girl. Now, knowing how little choice you've ever had, I'm almost sorry that it has to be done. But I have to destroy you. It's not a matter of scores to settle or personal vendettas-- she simply won't be safe as long as you continue to exist. So I'm going to make sure that you don't." Tare's tone never drifted toward the intimidating, never held a tinge of anger or revenge. Only fact.

And I'm not going to accomplish that by sitting in this bell. What have I got to lose, really?

Tare took a deep breath, focused his thoughts, and began summoning the lightning...

(( Tare is going to essentially use an explosion of lightning to cleave the bell in half (or more pieces, if possible), starting with neutralizing the guillotine blade at his neck. ))

Kasanip

2012-11-01, 09:47 AM

Lukina

As the Speaker bowed, Lukina hurriedly returned the greeting. Looking into the eyes of the Speaker was electrifying. She shivered, seeing something remarkable, the experience and power... It felt nostalgically comforting, but difficult to approach.

The name Ysora, however, was a traumatic feeling for her, as it resonated deeply in her mind. Lukina felt faint, and had to support herself on Welkin for the moment. She swallowed and urged her legs to hold.
"I would very much like to meet Ysora...." She recovered.

Ander looks away to survey the damage to his city and sighs. I should inspect the damage to the city. Are you all able to walk and talk or would you prefer to find a place to sit and talk about things?

"I can walk." She wanted to reassure with a determined expression. She looked to Tyberius and Welkin. she also didn't know the reasons for the Order of the Star's coming.

OOC: I think Ysora's name would be important for Genevieve, but I'm not sure how much I should explain of old memories or [flashback] because that time history is better known by Inspectre, so I leave it for you. :smallredface:

Iethloc

2012-11-03, 05:38 AM

Sohssal

Sohssal chuckled a bit at Nihilus' remark – it wasn't often there was decent banter down here. Still, he was very unsure about the deal that was offered. He never tested whether his incorporeal form was vulnerable to capture in such a crystal. He wasn't planning on letting such a test happen, either. ”Being a soul myself, for the most part, I am reluctant to mess with things that have the potential to imprison me forever, especially since I don't have a host to insulate me from them... Sohssal started to explain, but then trailed off.

”Actually, I could do this with less risk to myself, if you would allow me to add another party to the deal. I'll need some time to arrange things. Will I be able to contact you in the same way when the deed is done, or if there's a complication?” he asked.

An incorporeal demon thing might be at risk handling a soul crystal, but Seraph, being made of meat, was safe as long as he didn't die. Using him as a host wouldn't be any more harmful to him than being in the Hells already was (conversely, his angelic nature shouldn't bother Sohssal down here), and it would serve to defend Sohssal against all sorts of nasty things that would exploit his own partly-demonic nature. A second pair of eyes never hurt, either. Once he was done with Nihilus, he would have to go check on Seraph again.

The_Snark

2012-11-03, 06:20 AM

Mar

"I used to know how to use a sword," Mar said. "I don't know if I'd still be any good with one."

Then the fey came, and there was no more time for talking. She felt a spike of involuntary fear as Wulfric grabbed her—an eerie sense of nostalgia as he took her by the hand and ran—

—and then they were away. More or less. For a few minutes, at least. She listened, and couldn't hear any hoofbeats pursuing them. The hostage threat had worked, absurd as that seemed. She felt sure that Titania would not care a whit if her throat was cut; it was lucky the centaur had not been as certain.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the offered fur after only a moment's hesitation. She hated to leave Wulfric without anything to warm himself, but on the other hand, she'd been shivering since before Istomilo dragged her into Phaedra. It was almost enough to make her miss the heat of her funeral pyre.

"She was in the throne room, last I saw. With the queen. I don't think it's a good idea to go there." Mar glanced around, hoping to recognize something from her memories of the old palace. No such luck. "I... Sorry. This place is almost like somewhere I've been, but I don't think it's exactly the same as the palace I remember. I don't see anything that looks familiar."

That was a problem, but it could wait a few minutes longer. Mar wrapped the cloak around herself more tightly, starting to shiver as her body warmed up enough to recall how cold it was. No, she didn't feel ready to leave quite yet. To pass the time, and because she was curious, she glanced sidelong at Wulfric. "If I can ask... What is she to you?"

Lonna

2012-11-03, 09:48 AM

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Jacqueline ducked her head at Titania's final comment. "He will need to see me, sooner or later, or he will suspect a trick," she commented, stalling for time to think. Hearing the angel girl's question, however, it was clear that any more delay would risk giving Titania more information than Jacqueline was ready to reveal. Taking a deep breath, she straightened and spoke, not loudly, but clearly.

"Wulfric, you need to stop running."

Wulfric whirled around, quickly taking in the apparent lack of any newcomers. "This is a ****ing trick! Show yourself!"

Jacqueline sighed and glanced at Titania. "I told Queen Titania that you would not believe it was me without seeing me, but she does not believe that would be wise right now. I have... changed, since coming to Phaedra."

"Yeah? How's that? I saw the . . . hair thing." Wulfric said, sweeping the back wall of the room with his eyes. He takes a few steps off to the left, putting more distance between himself and the girl Titania called Marisiel, cocking his head to listen intently. "What have they done to you?"

"You... saw that already?" Jacqueline faltered and looked at Titania, her whole stance bespeaking confusion in light of this revelation. "I didn't know... Mother, please let me go to him. Surely there can be no harm in it if he has already seen me like this."

Inspectre

2012-11-04, 05:53 PM

Meanwhile . . .

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhQUXASkffE)

Flying up and away from the ravaged city, Ysora’s heart aches as she looks down upon the devastation. But she does not stop, does not swoop down to help the people below struggling to sift through the rubble as she knows she should. She could take no more loss right now, and having to watch the hope die in one paladin’s eyes as he or she found the body of a loved one – or worse, no body at all – would be enough to shatter her entirely. Instead, she sought solace in solitude, where she would be able to sit and think. She had always been the thinker amongst her special group of sisters - the scholar, the impassive observer and teacher.

But she no longer felt impassive as she touched down on the shore of a lake near Luxien that provided the city with abundant water. After all she had been through, it would seem logical that Ysora would not be so deeply affected by Hephestia’s capture. Aboard the Gastly Truth, she had briefly spoken with her sister, and learned the horrid truth that Hephestia had promised to aid Demetrius Gast against the humans. Somehow, as awful as that revelation had been, it had not been as hard to bear as this.

And as she gazed down at her own wavering reflection in the water, Ysora realized why. Nephilium had been there to comfort her. Each time she had lost someone near to her, there were still others left to comfort her, to shelter her. Now, like her reflection in the water, there was no one left. She was alone. That thought was like a blade through her chest, and Ysora felt her legs give out beneath her. Falling to her knees, Ysora banished all conscious thought as she buried her face into her hands, and wept.

Eventually, inevitably, Ysora came out of her grief-fueled fugue. And as she looked down at her puffy-eyed reflection, a wave of self-revulsion washed over her.

“You could have saved him! Why didn’t you save him!?”

She hissed venomously as she clawed at the water, obliterating herself.

“You shouldn’t have listened to him! He deserved to live after what he put himself through for you and the others! He deserved a second chance to tip the scales of his soul! But you just watched him die, just watched and did nothing like you always do! What lesson can you draw from this, oh great Teacher!?”

And like flicking a switch, all that anger suddenly went from being inwardly focused to seeking out external sources.

“And You! What purpose does it serve to damn a repentant man!? What would it take for his lifetime of sins to be outweighed by the good he chose to do!? Would he need to have saved thirty of my sisters instead of two dozen? A hundred!!?”

Ysora challenged the sky.

“And what of us, Your own daughters!? You say we are of Your own flesh and blood, yet You cast us aside! Their fate is no different from that of the murderers, the rapists, and the cultists that willingly fling themselves into the abyss! Genevieve . . . Marisiel . . . and now Hephestia, Your most precious daughters, all gone! We were created to serve, to protect, but is this all we have to look forward to!? To be pawns, sacrificed and forgotten, left to suffer alone in darkness because that’s just how You want the world You created to work!?”

Her initial rage had not dissipated, but had now retracted into a white-hot coal that boiled beneath the surface. And with that burning coal of anger came a bitter sort of determination. Thrusting herself back up onto her feet, Ysora drew her sword and looked down at the exquisite weapon, given to her by Miriam and that had remained at her side for as long as she had been alive. Its name was Sophia, meaning Wisdom.

“I have been known as Ysora the Teacher for as long as I can remember. I have taught the lessons You wanted me to teach, and I thought I understood the world You had created. But I don’t understand any of this, and I’m not sure that I could accept Your answers anymore. If this is the world that You want, then I’ve not been Ysora the Teacher – I’ve been Ysora the Liar. And I will be a liar no more!”

What Ysora did next was painful, as it was casting aside her last “friend”, and almost a part of herself – but it had to be done in order to completely sever ties. Pulling her arm back, Ysora flung Sophia out over the lake, the blade flashing in the light once, twice, three times, before disappearing into the water.

“No longer will I hide behind Your words when the truth is right before my eyes. No longer will I idly sit and watch the good that is in this world be cast aside, while pondering what could be learned from that waste! I will walk my own path from now on, and I refuse to accept that those down in the Hells are lost forever! And if anything that I said was not true, or that You even care, You will need to give me some sort of sign. Until then – I am no daughter of Yours!”

And with that, Ysora wiped the last of the tears off her face and leapt into the air, flying back towards the city at top speed. She had a new mission now, and a new sense of purpose with it. If she was alone now, then that was because she needed to find those she loved, and bring them back. Or join them in eternal damnation, if that’s what it took. Either way, she would not be watching from afar any longer!

*****************************

As Nihilus stepped through the portal into the central chamber of the Black General’s fortress, he knew something was wrong. The Infernal Tactician was not alone – instead he had brought in an audience. Zareth & Fengul were both present, and Nihilus could hear Ruse & Kith snickering to themselves from the dark corners of the room.

“So – what is the occasion? I can’t believe that you have all gathered to greet me upon my triumphant return.”

Nihilus said, earning a slight bob of the Black General’s dark helmet.

“NO, INDEED! WE HAVE INSTEAD ASSEMBLED TO WELCOME SOME OTHER DISTINGUISHED GUESTS. THEY SHOULD BE HERE MOMENTARILY. BUT FIRST, TELL US OF YOUR SUCCESS, NIHILUS. IT’S NOT OFTEN THE DEMON LORDS ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING!”

A fresh round of sniggers went out from the invisible peanut gallery as Nihilus patted the book he was still carrying.

“While the Demon Lords did what they do best – which is to say, make a lot of sound and fury, signifying nothing, I broke into Morganna’s personal chambers. Inside I found this – one of Morganna’s secret journals, detailing every last sordid detail of the Church. This book in particular contains the secrets of their gateways into the Hells – and how to build more.”

“AND YOU NO DOUBT THINK WE CAN REVERSE THE MAGIC TO CREATE GATEWAYS OF OUR OWN, LEADING TO THE MORTAL REALM INSTEAD – CLEVER.”

“Thank you.”

“UNTIL WE ACQUIRE THE NECESSARY RESOURCES, HOWEVER, I THINK IT BEST TO ENSURE THAT THE JOURNAL REMAINS . . . SAFE. I WILL TAKE UP THIS BURDEN. GIVE IT TO ME.”

Unbidden, Zareth and Fengul settled into fightning stances, their intent clear should Nihilus refuse the order. They could not react fast enough to stop him from leaving – but this was a golden opportunity for a lesson.

“As you wish, oh blackest of generals. Here.”

Nihilus heaved the book in an underhand toss to drop it at the Devil Lord’s feet. Landing on its spine, the book flew open – and promptly burst into flames as the ink on the pages came into contact with the befouled air.

“WHAT!?”

The Black General howled, hurling himself back away from the disintegrating book before he realized that the book’s self-destruction was of no danger to him. The cackling from the darkness reached new heights as the Black General’s eyes burned with fury.

“YOU INSOLENT IX-SPAWN! I WILL MAKE YOUR CRIES SO LOUD THAT THEY SHALL BE HEARD ON THE MASTER’S VERY DOORSTEP, SO THAT EVERY DAMNED SOUL SHALL KNOW OF YOUR FOLLY!”

“Templer, templer, “Tactician”. As I suspected, we’ve been outmaneuvered by our now-dead nemesis. Morganna wrote her journals in a mixture that contained her own blood, so that should any of us steal one of them, the book would destroy itself down in the Hells and those secrets would be lost forever. Fortunately, I had the foresight to copy the relevant passages onto this ordinary piece of paper using ordinary ink.”

Nihilus explained as he drew a folded sheet of paper from beneathi his cloak. Before anyone could make further demands Nihilus held up a single finger from his other hand, miniature arcs of lightning crackling from the tip.

“Now then. I gave you your copy – this one is mine. And should anyone try to take what is mine, I will instead destroy it rather than give it up. And so, since it would appear that I am the only one with a copy of these notes remaining, I will be the one to oversee the construction of the gateways. I will be in contact with each of you to acquire the resources that I need to complete this project. Rest assured that I will take no more than what is fair, but that I will expect contributions to be made by anyone wishing to . . . reap the benefits. Which means that you won’t be able to cut out your fellow fiends just yet, even if they are near-mindless demons.”

The assembled Devil Lords were fuming about this foiled attempt to get a leg up on their more destructive brethren – brethren who had paid a terrible price in order to earn this opportunity. It was time to turn their attention away from himself and back onto an enemy that would only unite them all further – out of fear if nothing else.

“You really shouldn’t be so eager to exclude your fellows from the spoils after it was only through their efforts that I was able to succeed. And their sacrifice – I regret to inform you all that Quietus is Dead, and he won’t be coming back. Ander destroyed his soul during the battle. So now the spoils will only be divided twenty ways, yes?”

“WHAT!!?!”

Zareth growled, finally speaking as he clenched his rust-colored (and coated) hands in rage. Fengul was also quick to express his own disbelief, his voice rasping through the iron maiden locked around his head.

“He cannot do that! To destroy a soul is anathema to all of the Valkyrie’s weak followers! Morganna would have destroyed us all if she could, but that weakness forced her to imprison us instead!”

“I believe that is precisely why Ander destroyed Quietus’s soul. There will be no mercy this time, no chance to escape, no future existence should he win. I believe I warned you about the stakes before, but perhaps now you will understand the consequences of failure.”

Nihilus pressed on, feeling just a slight tremor of unease at the Black General’s sudden calm at this news. The slight tremor turned into a tumultuous earthquake as the Infernal Tactician spoke up.

“HOW FORTUITOUS IT IS THEN, THAT WE HAVE ALSO BEEN BUSY WHILE YOU FED OUR DEMONIC BRETHREN INTO THE MAELSTROM. WHILE THE GATEWAYS ARE SURE TO PROVE USEFUL FOR LONG-TERM CONQUEST, I HAVE CONDUCTED MY OWN STUDIES INTO METHODS TO EXPAND OUR INFLUENCE. THUS FAR, WE HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO CREATE PORTALS THAT LAST FOR ANY SIGNIFICANT LENGTH OF TIME, AND THE COST TO OPEN EVEN THOSE PORTALS IS . . . PROHIBITIVE. NONETHELESS, I AM PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE THAT THANKS TO OUR WINDFALL HARVEST OF THE VALKYRIE’S DAUGHTERS, WE HAVE SUCCEEDED IN OPENING PORTALS FROM HERE DIRECTLY TO THE HEAVENS.”

For a moment the chamber was thrown in confusion as all of the other Devil Lords started shouting and shrieking at once, Nihilus staring at the Black General in mute shock while the Infernal Tactician simply basked in the aftermath of the shocking announcement. Then, he held up one gauntleted arm, and equally surprisingly, the room immediately fell silent at his command.

“WE HAVE NEVER CONSIDERED ATTACKING THE HEAVENS DIRECTLY BECAUSE IT IS AS INIMICAL TO US AS THE HELLS ARE TO THE ANGELS. NONETHELESS, THAT BALANCE IS CHANGING – MORGANNA’S FAILED PROJECT ANGELUS IS PROOF THAT IT IS POSSIBLE. I’M SURE NIHILUS WILL BE PLEASED TO HEAR THAT I HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH DAZ’KICK THE FORGEMASTER TO DEVISE OUR OWN SOLUTION, BUT FOR NOW WE CAN SIDE-STEP THE ISSUE ENTIRELY BY USING HUMAN PROXIES. WE HAVE A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF HUMANS AVAILABLE TO BE PRESSED INTO SERVICE, AND WHILE MOST ARE WORTHLESS FODDER A FEW SHOW PROMISE. I HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH OMI AND SLEVIR TO FORGE THOSE INTO A SPECIAL TASKS UNIT TO SPEARHEAD OUR ASSAULTS AGAINST THE HEAVENS.”

The Black General paused for a moment, savoring the absolute attention he had from everyone present, and then delivered his final stroke.

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72dNF9LEhDE)

“AS A PROOF OF CONCEPT, I ORDERED A BRIEF ASSAULT AGAINST THE HEAVENS, BOTH TO TEST THE PORTAL RITUAL AND OUR NEW HELLGARDE. AS COULD BE PREDICTED, THE SLAVE FODDER WAS A DISMAL FAILURE AS AN EFFECTIVE INVASION FORCE, BUT SERVED AS AN EXCELLENT DISTRACTION. WHILE WHAT WAS LEFT OF HEAVENS’ DEFENDERS SCRAMBLED TO DEAL WITH THE FODDER, THE HELLGARDE CONDUCTED A SUCCESSFUL PINPOINT STRIKE AGAINST THE REAL TARGET. ALLOW ME NOW TO DELIVER UPON THE PROMISE I USED TO ENTICE ALL OF YOU HERE, AND PRESENT TO YOU CAITLYN AND GERALD . . . WINDRIVVER!”

At that moment, the doors to the chamber burst open, allowing four heavily armored members of the newly-created Hellgarde to drag a fiercely struggling woman and teenaged boy into the room. Nihilus’s blood ran cold as he looked upon the latest way Fate flung unintended consequences into his face. As he had learned long ago to do, he covered his surprise with bluster.

“You Infernal Fool! As a side note to my trip, I tried to convince Ander to just give up and retire! Do you think there’s even the vaguest hint of a whiff that he’s going to do that now that you kidnapped his wife and son!!?”

Before The Black General could respond, Zareth joined in, his tone uncharacteristically just a note shy of foaming at mouth.

“Hah! You think Ander’s going to give up just because he’s feeling a little bad!? I watched him jam my machines with the bodies of his own men! He won’t stop until all of us are dead! But if he wants to kill fiends . . . then let’s give him a couple more!”

Zareth twisted the base of his staff, causing a blade to spring out of the other end. Before anyone could stop him, the enraged Devil Lord lunged towards Caitlyn. Anyone except Nihilus, who could have stopped him. Time slowed to a crawl around Nihilus as he pondered whether or not he should intervene, Zareth leaping across the room in painfully slow motion. But sacrifices were necessary for any plan to succeed, and any interference here would only spawn more unwanted consequences. And so Nihilus watched as time sped back up and Zareth’s spear entered Caitlyn’s chest and burst out the other side soaked in gore.

Grinning, the Devil Lord hoisted the dying woman up into the air, until she slumped, and then melted away into ash, to eventually reform elsewhere as the Hells’ newest inhabitant. The young man, although had he lived a full life would actually be in his forties now, screamed in rage and actually managed to break free of his escorts. He charged towards Zareth, as the Devil Lord twirled his staff and turned to face him, but Gerald never got there. Fengul charged in from behind, snatching the boy up by the neck with one beefy hand.

“Now for the boy!”

Fengul rasped in obvious pleasure at the thought of executing the would-be boy. Hoisted off of his feet by the bare-chested giant, Gerald nonetheless did not give up. Twisting in the Executioner of Innocence’s grasp, the boy turned and delivered a hard kick to the front of Fengul’s mask-like iron maiden helmet. The Devil Lord actually staggered back a step in surprise, and then with a roar slammed Gerald down into the floor. While Ander’s son laid there in a daze, Fengul drew the massive two-handed axe from his back. But as he brought the weapon down, someone else chose to intervene as an equally large two-handed mace blocked the killing stroke.

“I DID NOT BRING THEM HERE TO GIVE YOU THE CHEAP SATISFACTION OF KILLING THEM!”

The Black General roared, shoving Fengul back a step. But the Devil Lord dug in his heels and stood his ground, hunkering down into a low fighting stance as he hefted his axe menacingly.

“The boy should join his mother in waiting for his father! They can tear him apart together!”

“NO. I HAVE OTHER PLANS!”

And with that, the matter was settled as Fengul raised his axe and took a swing at the Black General. It would be a duel to the death now, with the winner getting to decide the boy’s fate. While the two squared off against each other for a no-holds barred brawl, Zareth approached the boy and raised his spear-staff.

“Say hello to your mother when you see her!”

Zareth hissed, but before he could deliver on the threat Nihilus decided that *now*, in fact, was a good time to intervene. In an instant he was in front of Zareth, in between him and the boy. With his one hand he slapped the spear head aside as it came down, again in painfully slow motion from Nihilus’s perspective. At the same time Nihilus thrust his other hand up at Zareth’s chest, fingers extended. They plunged into Zareth’s chest as easily as if it were water, and when they were deep enough Nihilus reformed them and dragged them across Zareth’s chest, creating a precise incision through the flesh. The severed muscles automatically spasmed, and when combined with the slap to the extended blade, Zareth’s staff began to tumble from his hand. As time sped back up, to an outside observer, it looked like Nihilus had teleported, with his extended hand reforming inside of Zareth’s chest. Zareth howled as his chest suddenly blossomed with pain, and he looked down at his bloody chest with a mixture of confusion and outrage.

“What is this – I don’t even - how dare you –“

Zareth sputtered, reflexively reaching for a tool hanging from his vest with his good hand. Nihilus leaned forward and hissed into his ear.

“Forget about the boy and I’ll introduce you to someone that is looking to sell a very old . . . “friend” of yours into an eternity of torment and unimaginable pain. I’m sure you remember Hephestia?”

Zareth instantly went still, looking at Nihilus as if he could discern the truth just by staring at Nihilus’s shrouded face. Then the Devil Lord relaxed, took a step back, and retrieved his staff with his remaining good hand. Tucking the staff under his arm, Zareth twisted the base of the staff again, retracting the blade back into inside.

“We have a deal – but don’t keep me waiting.”

Zareth hissed, turning and immediately moving to leave the chamber. No doubt he wanted to get back and make himself presentable for his humiliated enemy’s arrival. Nihilus allowed himself just the smallest sigh of relief as he turned back to watch the Black General sidestep Fengul’s latest blow, and then bring his mace down onto the Executioner’s iron maiden encased head, smashing a large part of the outer structure inward. Fengul collapsed, clearly beaten, but the Black General had no mercy as he rained blows down upon his helpless opponent until he was nothing more than another pile of ash on the floor to join Caitlyn. As he slung the heavy weapon back over his shoulder, the Black General glared into the darkness, and then swept his gaze over to Nihilus.

“ANYONE ELSE DARE TO ENDANGER MY PLANS?”

Nihilus shrugged and stepped back away from the boy, who was still down on the floor while watching the two visible Fiend Lords warily. Taking this as the signal to move in, the four Hellgarde present surged forward and dragged Gerald back up onto his feet.

“TAKE HIM AWAY. I BELIEVE HE HAS A DATE WITH OMI – THE TWO WILL HAVE MUCH TO TALK ABOUT.”

The Black General ordered, watching the Hellgarde drag the teen out of the chamber before turning back to Nihilus.

“KEEP YOUR GATEWAYS TO YOURSELF, THEN, WRITER OF HISTORY. MEANWHILE, I SHALL MAKE HISTORY BY DISPOSING OF OUR GREATEST ENEMY ONCE AND FOR ALL!”

“Keep telling yourself that. It’ll make the inevitable seem like a surprise.”

Nihilus muttered to himself as he turned to go, opening a portal to depart through. There was nothing else to be done here, and he had a lot more places to be.

*************************
Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTZvrPEjiEA&feature=related)

On the shoreline of a distant continent far removed from the recent world-changing events, an armada of crudely-made boats stands ready to set sail. Despite their rough construction, however, the boats were sturdy enough to survive a trip across the ocean that currently isolated them. The ships’ crews were unfamiliar with navigating on the open seas, but that daunted them no more than anything else did – which was to say, not at all. They were orcs, and they would master the sea, and then break her!

Although an uncommon sight, a portal opening to disgorge a cloaked figure onto the deck of their flagship did not alarm the orcs nearby at the time. They had been told that the Stranger would be coming back, and so they did not hack him to pieces with the massive blades slung across their backs. Yet. One orc did roar out a message upon seeing the newcomer, and a few moments later the cabin door swung open to allow the orcs’ leader to step out onto the deck. The ancient scarred orc looked the scrawny figure up and down warily for a moment, and then held out one beefy hand.

Reaching into his cloak, Nihilus pulled out several sealed ivory tubes, placing them into the orc’s hand one at a time.

“Here are the sea maps that you will need to reach your destination.”

Nihilus spat in the orcs’ guttural tongue.

“When you arrive, I will return with further directions for you to locate that which you seek.”

The ancient orc closed his hand around the series of tubes, all of them fitting there with ease. He gave the stranger a slight nod, and then turned away to roar orders at those under his command. The orcish war fleet would set sail tonight! And their destination would be this new land that they had heard so much about from the stranger. A rich, fertile land begging to be placed under the yoke and used however the orcs saw fit. But most important of all, a land that held within it the means for the orcs to reign supreme!

***************************************

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUeW4bBOpwU)

Out in the middle of the ocean that the orcs were about to cross, Quadramus perches atop a narrow spike of rock that juts straight up out of the water. This unnatural finger of rock was not his creation, but another’s, to serve as a discrete beacon for when the time was right. And there would never be a better time than now.

“Hello, old friend. Our time draws near at last! The power of the Dusk Wardens is shattered, destroyed by their own ally.”

Quadramus whispered to the ocean beneath him. In response, the water rippled. Quadramus continued as if he were holding an actual conversation.

“Yes, first we shall have our revenge. And then we shall fulfill our purpose, and usher in the Certain King upon a wave of ash and terror!”

The waters below began to churn violently now, as something from far below began to rise up to the surface. Quadramus spread his arms wide and cried out to the waves.

“Come forth, my brother! I summon you, oh great Worm of Chaos, to once more slither through the bowels of this world! And to devour it from within!”

The water erupts in all directions as multiple serpentine heads burst up through the surface, and continue to rise up until they tower over Quadramus’s spire. An undulating, piercing trill fills the air as an ancient monster once again looks upon the face of the world it would destroy. The Devourers have returned!

*********************************

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KW0RX02SeQw)

Down at the very bottommost layer of the Hells stood the Citadel of Night, Azguloth’s own personal domain. No fiends walked through its halls or atop its battlements, for none dared approach their absent Master’s home. It had remained empty since His imprisonment beneath Ironheart, and perhaps it had always been empty, for no fiend could recall ever stepping foot inside of it. The Herald of Azguloth was the sole exception, but of course he was scattered across the barren fields of the Hells in a million pieces, his fragmented soul trapped in pieces of crystal from the Baron’s airship no larger than a grain of sand.

The Citadel was not, of course, completely empty for it was believed that Azguloth had left some manner of keeping those unwelcome out of His home. Theories abounded as to what that something could be, however, from hideous constructs to twisted creations that made His Herald seem tame.

Far beneath that empty fortress, however, was an occupied chamber. Its sole occupant laid there in endless slumber, with chains crisscrossing Its massive form to hold It there should sleep fail. Since the Master’s imprisonment, the occupant has lain immobile within Its prison. But now something has begun to change, and from Its horrid dreams, the Beast begins to stir.

************

Surrounding the Screaming Dark Estate is a thick forest of dead trees, their canopy a tight scraggle of interlocking branches. Patrols of devils constantly roam throughout the forest, hunting for the occasional Ix that they release into the forest for sport. Despite this, there are a few safe areas within the forest, places where the devils don’t check. From one of those safe places, a pair of angels observe the Screaming Dark Estate through gaps in the canopy.

“While I agree with the sentiment, I am unsure exactly how you intend to accomplish this. With the return of a Fiend Lord, the Estate is swarming with devils. We could wait until some of the devils leave with their . . . purchases, hope to get lucky?”

Nephilium suggested, only for Melcara to shake her head.

“No. She’ll only sell what she’s willing to lose. The angels and her other special captives will never leave that place, not in one piece. And once she figures out who exactly Tare is in love with, things will only get worse. Hang on Tare, I’m coming.”

“I’m afraid that I can’t let you do that, my dear.”

A voice calmly stated behind them. Nihilus impassively watched the two of them as they whirled around to confront him. He continued to impassively watch them as they split up and began to circle around him.

“Listen, let’s just do this the easy way. You both come with me, and neither of you will get hurt. Well, I can’t promise what Videle will do, but I imagine that it will be unpleasant. Still, might as well get it over with!”

On an unspoken signal, the two fallen angels leapt towards the Fiend Lord from opposite sides. Nihilus merely sighed in irritation.

“Fine.”

Theme Song - Melcara vs. Nihilus
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMsRVBhG14k

Although his reborn body did not possess the speed and strength of his former one, Nephilium was still a blur of arms and legs as he moved in. Nihilus blocked every single one of his blows and countered with rapid punches to Nephilium’s torso and arms, eventually kicking the legs out from under him and throwing the former half-angel down to the ground. Then Melcara was there, and her attacks Nihilus didn’t block, but instead dodged, seeming to stutter in and out of existence to leave her hitting only empty air. After one set of missed punches, Nihilus appeared behind her, hissing in her ear.

“Come on, just give up. You can’t hit me, but I could if I wished. Just take the easy way out for once?”

Whirling, Melcara slashed at the suddenly empty air as Nihilus appeared behind her again. Nephilium lunged up from his position on the ground, only for his face to meet Nihilus’s boot. Melcara whirled again, but this time instead of punching at the air in front of her, she threw one arm behind her. She only struck a glancing blow on Nihilus’s chest, but the force of it was still enough to send him flying back forward. Striking the ground, Nihilus rolled until his progress was stopped by the trunk of a large tree. Wheezing and clutching his chest, Nihilus pushed himself back up to his feet and glared at the fallen angel as he adjusted his cowl.

“Nobody ever *gasp* wants to *wheeze* take the easy way if I *huff* give them a choice. Fine, *gasp* fine! Hard way it is!”

Melcara braced herself as Nihilus recovered and raced back into the battle, but nothing could prepare her for suddenly having a set of manacles locked around her wrists. She tested the chain between her wrists, and silently cursed as she found that it was adamantite. Nephilium likewise finds his wrists suddenly locked together, and gets a boot in the side from Nihilus for good measure.

“Run!”

Melcara hissed, the first thing she had said since the battle began. Taking her own advice, she leaped up into the air – and promptly fell flat on her face as her wings were suddenly immobilized by a web of leather. Nephilium pushed himself up and took off running as Nihilus circled around to the front of the fallen angel.

“Had enough yet? Or am I going to have to put you back in Silverton’s coffin to get you to behave?”

For a moment Melcara paused, and then she hung her head in defeat. Nihilus turned away from her to look around the suddenly emptier clearing.

“Hey, where did the other one – urf!”

While Nihilus’s back was turned, Melcara leapt up, tackling him from behind. As they went down, Melcara wrapped the chain between her wrists around Nihilus’s right leg. Fast as he was, he wouldn’t be able to get away from her now, and – time seemed to skip a beat as the two of them hit the ground. It must have, for instead of being down on the ground, Melcara suddenly found herself standing up again, bound up against a tree with numerous lengths of chain. Nihilus stepped back to admire his handiwork, and raised one hand up in preparation of delivering a backhand before he stopped himself and lowered the hand again. Melcara glared at him as Nihilus turned away and strode off into the forest.

“Don’t go anywhere, my dear. I’ll be right back!”

Aware that he could run into a patrol of devils at any instant, Nephilium nonetheless weaves amongst the barren trees as fast as his legs could take him. He hoped that his new ally was alright, but it seemed likely given his previously displayed speed that their opponent would catch one of them, and –

Nephilium’s train of thought crashed to an end as Nihilus suddenly stepped out from a tree right in front of him to deliver a hellacious punch to his jaw, dropping the son of the Baron in one hit. Breathing a sigh of relief, Nihilus sagged back against the tree as he probed his wounded side gingerly. At least a couple ribs broken – great. Nihilus pulled the scarf obscuring most of his face down, spitting a wad of blood out onto the ground.

“Note to self. When kidnapping someone, don’t give them a choice of the easy way or the hard way.”

*************************

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adWB1VrJn28&feature=related)

Appearing in the woods outside of Ironheart, Aurewlynn knew that it was only a matter of time before she was found by the patrols. So she simply sat down on the ground where she was, and waited. Sure enough, with a few minutes she was surrounded by a half dozen elves pointing nocked arrows at her. Slowly pushing herself up to her feet, Aurewlynn made no threatening motions, but nonetheless pulled herself up to her full height, giving off an air of authority.

“You will take me to see Tur Villid immediately. Tell him that Aurewlynn wishes to speak with him.”

The patrol leader lowered his bow, but quirked an eyebrow at the demands.

“If you are Aurewlynn, then surely you remember what we did last year at the Midsummer’s Festival.”

A smile quirked across Aurewlynn’s lips.

“I might, but I’m fairly certain that you don’t Estril. You were passed out under a tree from drinking too much Flowermead!”

The impromptu test passed, the patrol leader grins at the memory and nods.

“Aye. I suppose it’s only natural that you would change your appearance for your mission. I had to be sure that it was you. Welcome back, Sava Aurewlynn.”

“Good to be back. Now can we go see my father?”

The patrol of elves escorted Aurewlynn back to the fortress, not as captors but as an honor guard. The elven infiltrator was disturbed to find that the fortress was not as she left it, however. Humans wandered about the fortress grounds unsupervised, their skin covered in mystical brands. Spirits and elementals likewise were scattered about the elven ranks, in far greater numbers than they had been when the elves first came to the human fortress.

Finally, Aurewlynn found herself in the office at the top of the fortress’s central spire, one wall nothing but open space to allow a dizzying view down onto the entire rest of the fortress. Getting up from his chair immediately, the elderly elf moved around the desk to come forward and embrace his daughter. That was the only affection, shown, however before Tur Villid stood back and Aurewlynn stood at attention.

“Your report on the defenses of the human city, Sava?”

“They are beginning to crumble. If we continue to pressure them, they will inevitably tear themselves apart from desperation and hunger. I . . . I am not sure how much longer they will last – the humans are stubborn. They will never surrender.”

“Well, that is because we have made it clear to them that we are not interested in their surrender. I’m not sure we will wait for them to make up their minds to give up and die, however. Did you find any ways for us to slip into the city?”

“Um, yes. The sewers beneath the city are open in a few places. It will not be pleasant or fast, but a band could infiltrate into the city from there.”

“Excellent! I will forward that news on to the attack force that we are assembling even now. You have made me proud, Aurewlynn.”

“I am glad father, but . . . there was something else. I . . . was caught by the humans. They did not discover my true purpose, but my mere existence was enough to incite them into a murderous rage. I . . . would not be here to deliver this report were it not for the interference of another human – he is the reason why I am disguised by this illusion. He . . . told me that there was . . . an ancient evil beneath Ironheart. One of the human’s dark gods, and that servants of that god may come here to try and release it.”

“I see. And did he happen to tell you what this dark god’s opinion on elves was? Would we be able to –“

“No, father! He was very clear that this god of the humans was a wicked and malevolent force, hostile to all life! You can’t control it the way you control the Spirit Queen’s servants!”

Tur Villid flinched at the vehemence of her words, but he nonetheless nodded.

“I know you don’t approve of their presence here either, Aurewlynn. But they are a necessary evil for now. You were not at the destruction of the human’s capital. You did not see the destruction that they are capable of wreaking. The Spirit Queen’s servants are the only ones who can fight such power of its own terms. And while it is perhaps even less wise to unleash this “god” of theirs, I would like to learn more of it so that I can better prepare against it. Hrm . . . do you suppose you could arrange a meeting with this rescuer of yours? This scholar of the dark god?”

“I . . . yes. Actually, he expects me to return to him within the next day. I am to read from this scroll he gave me, and then he will come to find me.”

“Excellent. Now here is what I want you to do . . .”

************************

Seated across the table from Rose, Elsa Gast stares at Amelia’s reflection within the communication crystal and sighs, fingering the ornate necklace that held a finger-size crystal up against her neck.

“I understand that you want to help those poor people in Amaranth, Amelia. But how is your presence there going to help them? You could do a lot more good here, helping us organize efforts to gather resources!”

Elsa implored, wincing as Amelia’s face flushed with anger yet again. The Countess had been just as frustrated as they were at the slow progress of the kingdom in mobilizing to defend itself, but since her miraculous recovery she had been so much more irritable. Elsa could only assume that it stemmed from a desire to actually help others now that she was better, a desire that had been constantly thwarted until now.
“Someone has to do *something*, Elsa, and the other “nobles” that are left lack a spine among them! I’m done waiting for others to decide my fate –“

Amelia ranted, only to be cut short as Rose turned the communication crystal off. The Duchess Volesin raised a finger to her lips as she closed her eye, listening intently.

“Did you hear that?”

Rose asked, and when Elsa shook her head in confusion the duchess pushed herself up to her feet and went over to the door.

“I’m going to go investigate. Stay here!”

Rose commanded, and then slipped out of the room. Elsa considered it for a moment, and then slipped out of her own chair and followed. Dimly, she was aware of the time she had spent without a soul, listlessly staring out into space while others fought and died on her behalf. Her father . . . her husband . . . they were both gone now, a terrible way to greet her return to the ranks of the truly alive. She might not be able to fight, but Elsa would not simply sit and wait while others fought on her behalf.

She might come to regret that sentiment, for as she stepped out into the hallway the front doors of the manor boomed open. Running down the hallway, Elsa reached the balcony looking down onto the front foyer just in time to watch armed men pour inside, dragging the dead bodies of the manor’s guards with them! Behind the front ranks of the invaders came a tall muscular man, the lower half of his face concealed by a scarlet bandana. He looked up at Elsa, and her blood ran cold as their eyes met.

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWyB447vNjg&feature=fvwrel)

“Elsa Gast? You are hereby found guilty of crimes against the people of Narle. The punishment is Death! The sentence to be carried out immediately!”

The scarlet-masked leader announced, and Elsa screamed as she turned and ran. The man’s ragged followers surged up the stairs leading from the foyer up to the balcony with an equally ragged cry of bloodlust. That cry died on their lips as a plume of smoke suddenly erupted from the top of the steps, and a black-cloaked figure emerged to kick the lead rebel in the chest, sending him tumbling back into his fellows and causing them to all tumble back down the stairs.

“No one dies today!”

The newcomer announced, prompting a scoff from Liberator.

“Everyone dies someday. What makes this day so special that one of the parasites feasting on the rotting carcass of this kingdom should be spared? It is the will of the people that she has oppressed for so long that she face justice this night! And so she shall, along with anyone who dares to protect her!”

Another wave of Liberator’s men enter the manor, this group armed with crossbows. At a gesture from their leader they level those weapons at the balcony and unleash a volley. The dark-cloaked newcomer responds by erecting another wall of smoke and disappearing, vanishing before the bolts are able to find their target. Liberator merely shrugs as the smoke clears to reveal an empty balcony peppered with crossbow bolts. More of his men enter the manor a few moments later, these carrying large barrels of lantern oil.

“Split up and drag the rats out of whatever bolt-holes they try to hide in! I want Elsa Gast, Rose Volesin, Ariella Volesin, and Amelia Ashargrin brought before me before we burn this symbol of decadence and corruption down around their heads!”

Inspectre

2012-11-04, 05:54 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

After your explanation, Melissan nods at you.

“Thank you, Korram. I find it interesting that these humans are doing it to spare others, rather than themselves or in a futile attempt to gain power. And if they came here, then they obviously were still human, and not newly damned souls. The very air of the Heavens is poison to fiends.”

“What does it matter why they did this!? Humans can come up with all sorts of explanations to justify their behavior!”

Maya says with a scowl in your general direction. Evidentially she has had poor experiences on the mortal realm. Melissan holds up a hand and then turns to Miranda.

“That is true, but this sounds more like an attack born out of desperation rather than madness. I remember seeing the fiends dragging a number of humans off during the Battle. Perhaps they are the ones that the fiends are putting to work? Miranda, what do you think? Did the fiends capture enough live humans to organize an attack such as this?”

Miranda seems to be starring off into space again, perhaps once again mentally back in the middle of that horrific battle. She shakes herself after a moment and frowns.

“Um, sorry. Yes, the fiends seemed especially interested in capturing as many live victims as possible. Given the devastation that had been inflicted on the city before their arrival, they were not as many as there could have been, but the ones that the fiends did find were easy – the humans’ resistance had long since been broken.”

Melissan nods again.

“That was my assessment as well. So we know why the humans are doing this, and we know how the fiends got the humans under their thrall. What we need to know now is how the fiends opened those portals, and what did they hope to gain from this attack?”

“That should be obvious! They wanted to intimidate us, to show that they could attack us, even here! That they are just as capable of using the humans to attack our home as we have used them in the past!”

Maya rants, and Melissan shakes her head.

“That does seem like the obvious explanation, but why stop then? These humans they set loose on our city appeared randomly through a handful of portals, grabbing anyone who was nearby and then attempting to drag them back through the portal. If they wanted to terrorize us, why such a limited attack?”

“Maybe they needed to make sure it would actually work? Maybe this is just the beginning? Maybe they don’t have enough humans yet to launch a full-scale invasion? What are you trying to get at!?”

Maya sneers, as Melissan appears to drift off into deep thought. She looks up sharply a moment later.

“The placement of the portals appeared to be random, suggesting that the fiends either didn’t know or didn’t care where they entered the City. But were there any other portals that were more deliberately placed? Something to suggest that they were going after someone or something specific rather than just terror?”

“No, from what I’ve seen the portals were opened up completely at random inside of the City.”

Miranda reported, and then suddenly it was Maya who looked concerned.

“Actually, that may be true of inside the City, but . . . I heard something before coming here, about one portal appearing in the midst of a human domain out in the Fields.”

Now it was Maya’s turn to have all eyes on her.

“Oh? Which one?”

Melissan pressed, and Maya closed her eyes to focus.

“I’m not sure . . . but I can still feel the lingering taint of the Hells. I can feel it even out beyond the walls of the City . . . there. The portal opened in some human domain known as the Windrivver farmstead. Is that important?”

“Ander!”

Melissan breathed, and immediately leapt up into air and flew off in direction of the City’s walls. Maya and Miranda move to follow, your new friend pausing to snatch you up in her arms to bring you along. Together, the four of you fly out into the Fields, passing into the brightly-lit mists that delineate everyone’s personal domain. You emerge from those mists to find a scene of devastation before you – the Windrivver Farmstead has been clearly attacked.

Small fires are still burning out in the farm fields, remnants of the portal’s emergence – it’s fairly clear that was where the portal opened. The destruction wasn’t limited to the fields, of course – even from this distance you could see that the front door to the large manor house had been splintered inward. The barn nearby had received even worse treatment, a gaping hole torn through one wall. The angels look around at the violated paradise in a mixture of shock and regret. Finally, Melissan speaks up.

“Split up . . . let’s see if we can find anyone who wasn’t . . . taken.”

Everyone begins moving to separate corners of the farmstead, leaving you alone for the moment. Looking around yourself, you don’t see how the invaders could have missed anywhere that Ander’s family could have used to hide. But the sight of movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you turn to see a dog lying a short distance away in the midst of some trampled crops. The animal is badly wounded with a cut running from its neck down the length of its side, and despite its struggling efforts to stand it is unable to do so.

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

At your words the woman falls silent, listening intently. For a moment her vision seems to clear as her eyes drift towards your face rather than staring blankly up at the sky.

“H-hello? Is someone there?”

She calls out, and then sighs.

“I’m so alone here. C-cold . . .”

Her eyes start to drift back up towards the sky as she reflexively shivers. You could swear that you hear the violin playing become louder. In response, you begin singing the passage that you remember the woman singing, those two verses over and over. Just after you start, Katrina appears in the doorway, looking at you and then the woman in confusion.

“What are you doing? I was worried that I had lost - ARGH!”

The violin’s volume suddenly spikes, a sharp sound that cuts directly through your ears into your brain. You reflexively stop singing as you grunt in pain, and Katrina screams again, clasping her hands over her ears as the sound stabs into your minds a second time. From her position down in the muck, tears pour down the woman’s face as she is clearly affected as well. There is no doubt now that you are engaged in a war for this woman’s soul.

“ARGH! Enough of this ****ing music!”

Katrina cries out, slapping at the dark water in impotent fury. She suddenly seems to get an idea, and plunges her hand down up to the elbow into the murk. For a moment you fear that she is about to become as stuck as the woman seems to be, but that doesn’t happen as a moment later Katrina brings her hand back up out of the water. Clasped in her hand is a slimy, blood-colored mass of mud. With a shudder of revulsion Katrina slaps the mud-encrusted hand up against her ear, using her finger to push some of the mud inside. She repeats the process with her other ear, and straightens with a cagey smile.

“It’s gone!”

She says, although you are not as convinced – the violin has dropped back to its low persistent murmur now that it has thwarted your efforts to rouse the woman. Katrina approaches you with her still muddy hands, offering them to you.

“You want to try it!?”

She says, a little too loud on account of her self-inflicted deafness, and then nods at the woman.

“Do you think we should put some in her ears as well!? Maybe if the music goes away she’ll start to feel better!? I know it’s giving me a headache!!”

It occurs to you that while that may block out the music, it will also block out other sounds. You may not be able to communicate with the woman further, and you likely won’t be able to hear any of the swamp’s inhabitants sneaking up behind you in the fog. An alarming prospect, but one that may be necessary given that the music seems to be aware of your interference already.

(Assume that you can pantomime commands and make hand signals, but you won’t be able to speak to anyone who has the mud clogging their ears. Likewise, you won’t be able to hear anyone or anything while the mud is present in your own ears . . . for the moment. For the sake of moving things along, I will also tell you that clogging the paladin’s ears will cause her to relax, but remain stuck in the mire where she is for the moment. You can continue to try to rouse her – she’ll not be quite as out of it as she was while the music was playing, and thus will see *you*, but will still need inspiration of some sort to start breaking free. Alternatively, you can set off in search of the music’s source, leaving the woman in a state of limbo but relatively out of danger (for being trapped in the Hells) for the moment.)

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

Nihilus paused a moment, as if deep in thought. Then he shrugged.

“I suppose that is acceptable, although I would caution you as to the others that you bring in on this deal. A lot of beings would promise the sun and stars in return for a release from the Hells – but very few of them would be able or willing to pay up when the time comes. And yes, I suppose the same method of contacting me should work. It may take me longer to respond next time, however, as I suspect that I’m about to become very, very busy.”

Nihilus casually tears open another portal in front of him, but pauses at the mouth of it.

“Was there anything else before I go? If not I will depart for now, and trust that you can handle the details of your end of the bargain well enough without interference. You are welcome to contact me should you need assistance, although keep in mind that being seen together probably should not become a regular occurrence. Best of luck to you.”

And then, assuming you have no further questions for him, Nihilus departs through the portal, the gateway to somewhere else in the Hells immediately sealing shut behind him. Aware that having a host body to insulate you from the soul crystals would be prudent regardless of whether or not you could actually trap yourself accidentally, you go to check on Seraph. The Baron’s son is where you left him, undisturbed but unconscious, fast asleep. Although judging from the expressions flickering over his face and the occasional moan, the sleep is not a particularly restful one. But then, what could one expect while down in the Hells?

It occurs to you that there are essentially two ways you could make use of Seraph’s body. You could use it merely as a shelter, emerging from his physical form whenever your particular skills are needed. Or, you could possess his body entirely as you had with Roger’s , assuming full control of it – only you would make sure that you could leave it as desired. The second way would offer you full protection from anyone attempting to harm your soul, although it would likewise require some preparation – runes being painted or burned onto Seraph’s body, for instance. Seraph might not also appreciate having his body being stolen from him, either, but given all of the other, much worse alternatives he could be enduring right now you would expect a little gratitude from him as well!

Getting yourself a new body or at least an ally to take shelter in was only one step, however. If you were going to invade Istomilo’s laboratory for information, it may also be prudent to prepare your available resources. Minions to throw into traps and/or drain energy from to sustain yourself, for example. Given that the laboratory was on land nominally controlled by Zareth, you should theoretically also request permission from him to be there. Or not and simply take what you want, as that seemed to be the way of things here, but invading the property of another Fiend Lord seemed likely to lead to the sort of confrontation you had been trying to avoid thus far. Although what fallout you personally would have to deal with might be minimal, given that you would hopefully be gone by the time Zareth learned of your trespass. You could also call Nihilus back up as well and have him ask on your behalf – if he wanted this done right, he should have to help you further after all.

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

“Eh . . . this existence – ugh! – has its good and bad days.”

Vylethar said with forced nonchalance as the saw mechanically continued working its way towards bisecting the fiend entirely. While you continue talking to him, you start working the other half of your mind towards escape. There was absolutely no give in your bindings – your time in Ironheart if nothing else had turned you into an amateur escape artist, but Videle had been doing this for much longer than you. You might be able to use some of the spikes within the iron maiden to eventually saw through a few of the ropes, giving you a bit of slack to work with. But that would take time, and it sounded like Videle was going to be down right after she was doing talking with this Nihilus fellow. It seemed likely that once she got down here, you would be going up on one of the devices scattered about the room, to suffer a similar or even worse fate than Vylethar.

“You’re going to destroy me – ugh! – are you? Good luck with that. I used to try to do that – ugh! – back in my earlier days. Didn’t take, obviously.”

At that moment, the saw seemed to reach a preset height, as it slowly backed its way out of Vylethar’s midst, lowering itself all the way down to his feet. More gears turned, causing a dark liquid to begin to flow down out of a large jar full of the stuff up by Vylethar’s head. The liquid flowed down into a tube, which was pushed out by mechanical arms to hang directly over Vylethar. Holes in the tube allowed the liquid to begin to drip down into Vylethar’s gaping wound.

“Oh, I love this part. You probably will too!”

Vylethar sneered, and then he began screaming as the liquid made contact with his ruined flesh, hissing and steaming on contact. Within a few minutes, the flow of liquid stops, revealing that Vylethar’s body was once again intact. Again with the relentlessness of a machine, the tube swung aside and the saw started working its way up towards Vylethar’s nether regions.

“So, we have a few minutes to talk honestly here, both before She arrives and I’m not in a great deal of pain. Touching that girl of yours – yeah, you’re probably right that it was out of line. But she looked so tender . . . so sweet and innocent and – I’m not really helping, am I? Anyway, I just wanted to let you know despite the theatrics . . . and the whole killing you and those old people in front of her – what is she to you, anyway? Sister? Anyway, I wasn’t going to do anything to her that she didn’t want done to her – I swear!”

Vylethar shakes his head – at least, as much as his restraints allow him to.

“You don’t have to believe me. I know what I am, but I also know what I wanted. It took a while for me to figure it out after She no longer had Her claws in me, but eventually I realized this whole torture and damnation thing was overrated. Consent was where it was at! Er, I just wanted to create a place where everyone was as safe and as happy as was possible down here. Believe what you want, but the ladies were pretty happy. Crx was happy because he still had some slaves to bitch-slap around. And the guys – okay, fine, the guys weren’t very happy, but trust me – breaking up some rocks down in a pit was a lot better than what She used to do with them!”

You supposed that Vylethar was attempting to spit at you, but all he actually managed to accomplish was drool all over himself.

“It was all going so good until you came along! Everything was honky dory until you, that elven whore, and your pet Markash showed up! You started this feud by coming in and pissing all over everything, so **** you buddy! Now She’s back, and it’s all going back to the way it was, only this time I’m on Her short **** list!”

Figuring that the only way you were not going to have to listen to Vylethar’s ranting any more was escape, you decide to risk summoning the lightning. It works . . . after a fashion. Only instead of blasting straight through the metal bell surrounding you, it is instead reflected inward, back into you! You can dimly hear yourself screaming over the sound of 100,000 volts of electricity pouring into your body, and then you manage to think the command to stop the magic, allowing you to slump in merciful agony as the stench of cooked meat assaults your nostrils. The only good news is that you have burned the ropes along with everything else inside the metal bell, freeing yourself. Most of the metal spikes have also been melted into slag, allowing you a bit more freedom of movement on top of that. The sound of Vylethar laughing at you is the next thing that reaches your brain.

“Oh man, do that again! I loved that! Yeah, see you’re not going to be able to walk all over Her the way you did me. The first thing She did after Crx brought you in was interrogate me as to your abilities. I told Her everything – willingly, I might add! She ordered that special from the Forgemaster – your lightning isn’t even going to touch it! And don’t even think about summoning those doubles of yourself either – I’m pretty sure there’s another nasty surprise waiting for you if you do!”

Of course Videle was already aware of what you were capable of, and had made preparations to keep you captive. Although clearly her knowledge isn’t perfect – Vylethar hadn’t seen everything you were capable of. Like, for example, your ability to pick locks. The padlocks holding the bell shut were nothing special, and you could probably pick them if you had a tool and a way to get a hand on the outside of the bell.

The rim of the bell that allowed your head to stick up out of it was a fairly tight fit, and the guillotine blade pressed against your throat was a strong incentive not to wiggle too much. On the other hand, the blade doesn’t seem to be triggered by your movements on the inside, but likely some switch on the outside of the bell – otherwise your lightning-induced fit would have undoubtedly set it off.

There was also your rescue of Melcara that came to mind. You had gone through a solid metal coffin that had likewise resisted your attempts to smash through it. Could you do that again, and just walk through the bell to freedom? There wasn’t any easy connections to be made with another world down here though, now that you were back in the other world.

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

Your newest opponent is a fairly skilled combatant, as he is able to use his bow to deflect the spear as it flies towards him, swatting it aside. This does mean that he can’t shoot you full of arrows as you rush him, however, and then that threat is gone altogether as you crash into him, sending the bow flying. Your first punch is the one that tears the bow out of the elf’s grasp, while your second connects with his face, snapping his head back and sending you both toppling as you plow into him. As you fall, the elf grabs hold of you and brings his leg up against your chest, flipping you over his head as he hits the ground with his back. As soon as you hit the ground he’s coming for you, drawing a dagger from his belt and lunging toward you from his own spot on the ground. You roll aside at the last instant, leaving the elf to rake his dagger through the soil, too fast for you to bury it. Warily, you both get to your feet, circling around each other with the elf attempting to keep you between him and the fire elemental.

Concerned about getting flanked, either by the fire elemental or some more of the elves, you risk a glance around. The fire elemental, for its impressive size and heat, seems to be little more than a lumbering brute, emphasis on the lumbering. Perhaps the elves were more focused on summoning something impressive rather than effective, but for the moment so long as you could keep out of its reach you would be safe. There was also the important fact that the fire elemental was still the sole source of light in the clearing – without him you would be blind save for your earth sight, a disadvantage that the elves do not seem to share.

Meanwhile, more boulders come rolling into the clearing, only taking out one or two elves this time as they are far more spread out. A few moment later and Val’Tosh is charging out of the darkness, twirling a fallen tree trunk over his head. Given a target at last to fire upon, the elves unleash a hail of arrows at him. For an awful moment it seems certain that your friend was about to die, but suddenly a cloud of dust whips up. The swirling stones and dirt both obscure Val’Tosh from sight and also deflect the arrows, causing the first elven volley to go wild. Then the cloud of debris explodes outward, lashing into the elves and temporarily blinding them – and giving Val’Tosh a few moments to put that tree trunk to good use in sending several broken elves flying. Earth elementals pour into the clearing, and although they are still outnumbered by the elves it still draws a significant number of them away from you and Val’Tosh. Then the elves get desperate, as the elven commander roars out, “Nika Donee!”

You don’t speak elven, but then you don’t need to in order to understand what that order was as one of the elves nearest to the prisoners whirls and puts an arrow through a man’s head. If the elves can’t have their slaves and sacrifices, then they would massacre them instead!

“No! Veka Quiddiches!”

Elise shouts, emerging from the shadows to leap at two elves likewise turning to fire on the captives. She brings one end of her staff smashing down on the head of one elf, and uses the other end to swipe the feet out from under the second. But there’s only so much the three of you can do, and rather than fight now all of the elves are turning towards the captives to send a volley of arrows their way. It’s at this point that the ground near to them heaves up, bursting open to allow Master Vork to tumble into sight.

“This way, quickly!”

He shouts, dragging people to their feet and bodily hurling them down into the tunnel. He gestures, and summons another cloud of dust up around the townfolks, momentarily protecting them from the elves’ arrows. Several of the more fanatical ones draw blades and charge into the dust storm.

Meanwhile, you have new problems to deal with. The wizened old elf has decided that the giant fire elemental and elven commander aren’t enough for you to deal with. Pulling a handful of grains out of a pouch on his belt, he holds them in his outstretched palm and blows. The grains fly off of his hand, and in mid-air transform into a small swarm of stinging and bites insects, which swoop down towards you with an angry buzz. Naturally, while you’re desperately swatting at yourself the elf commander attempts to exploit the advantage, grasping his dagger in both hands and lunging towards you again. And naturally, the bugs don’t seem to bother him one bit.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip/Baerdog7

“If Lukina wishes to walk, then let us go observe what the fiends have left us with.”

Tyberius suggests with grim determination. The small group sets out for a tour of the city, Ander with his two escorts, and Lukina/Genevieve with her two. As they go, the name Ysora resonates with Lukina, dredging up bittersweet memories.

[spoiler]
At the name, you recall the archangel – your sisiter’s – face, her brow furrowing in confusion. The scene that plays out in your mind is seen through your own eyes, as if you were a participant rather than a third-party observer.

“I’m not sure I understand. Our Lady wishes you to travel to the mortal realm with the intent of providing us with a vessel that She can inhabit, in order to counter the Forger of Oblivion’s own mortal avatar? I had thought it was not possible for our Lady to merge with us?”

Indeed Ysora was correct, and that had not been your Lady’s intent. In order to manifest in the mortal realm, Miriam would need a mortal body to inhabit. But humans were not strong enough to endure the presence of a god. It was believed that Azguloth had created his mortal avatar by having his Herald sire a child, half-fiend and half-human. Your Lady hoped that the reverse would be true, and asked you to serve as the mother to a half-angel, half-human child. It was not an order, but you nonetheless felt compelled to do it regardless how you felt about it. You were Her Champion, and there was no one else who would do the task if you did not.

“I did not think we could have children as the humans do.”

Ysora said after you explained, her nose wrinkling slightly in distaste.

“I know that our Lady knows what must be done, but I don’t know if I could accomplish this task. There are some of our sisters now who do not know if the humans are worth saving. Perhaps this is meant to be a symbolic gesture as well – you leading us down the right path as you always do.”

Ysora forces a smile on her face as she embraces you.

“I wish you the best of fortune on your mission, Genevieve. I hope that you will be willing to share your experiences with me upon your return.”

Although you lack the memories to support this, somehow you are aware that you never get the opportunity to do that. This is the last time that you see Ysora before you depart for the mortal realm, to birth the saviors of the world, and then die in their defense. It would seem now that you have the opportunity to fulfill that promise.
[/spoilter]

As Lukina reflects on her past experiences, the small group makes its way down one of the main thoroughfares through the city. Some of the buildings have been completely smashed, but most will be able to be repaired in time. Virtually nowhere in the city has escaped some level of devastation, although much of it is concentrated in two areas – around the Council Chambers, and the makeshift refugee camp that had been set up amongst the ruins of the Reliquary. It was obvious why the fiends had concentrated on the Council Chambers, and it was likewise immediately clear why the fiends had attacked the refugee camp. The few paladins in the area who survived reported a number of the demons breaking off to grab humans and carry them down into the sewers beneath the city, which was where the fiends had all come form in the first place.

Thankfully, preliminary investigations into the tunnels snaking beneath Luxien reveal that the fiends did not establish any permanent portals or summoning circles. But given Nihilus’s displayed ability to casually tear open portals leading down into the Hells, it seemed likely that was how the fiends had departed.

“It was indeed a long journey here, but clearly our presence is needed. Our Grandmaster received a letter from then-Speaker Morganna, indicating that the future of the Church was in grave danger. Given the evangelical nature of our order, it is difficult for us to mobilize on short-notice. But the Grandmaster did feel that an expeditionary force was warranted, and so here we are. I was hoping that you could fill me in on recent events – I trust that while fiends invading are a grave threat to the future of the Church, it is not a common occurrence here?”

Gorgondantess

“Really? No harm – no, I suppose Zareth will do that for you, leaving your hands completely unsoiled of this!”

Hephestia squawked, turning away from you to look at Zareth’s towering, er . . . monument. She wraps her arms around herself and shivers. Although you still don’t always understand their motivations, you have developed a good understanding of human emotions. And so as Hephestia turns back to look at you, you can tell that underneath the anger, indignation, and bluster there is only one singular emotion: fear. Hephestia is utterly terrified at the prospect of being in the clutches of this Zareth fellow, to the point it’s actually impressive that she is still full of bravado and capable of anything other than madly screaming. Judging from her expression, the thought of simply giving in and screaming non-stop has occurred to her.

“I understand that this person is important to you, and that they are likely suffering terribly. But there have to be other ways for you to get this person back than making a deal with this devil lord! Other ways than handing me over to him!”

Hephestia pauses a second, grimacing, and then she actually drops down onto her knees before you.

“Only your own conscience can stop you now. If there is any speck of goodness or nobility in you, you won’t do this. I’m begging you not to do this. Please.”

At that exact moment, Nihilus steps through the portal, and Hephestia leaps back up to her feet. The fiend lord barely even spares her a look as he questions your devotion to this course. You give him a firm answer, and then question his own motivations for helping you in this way – and what he hopes to gain from this alliance. Nihilus answers you with a shrug, his tone one of amusement.

“And having a being that can create virtually anything through sheer force of will is not a useful ally to have? But you are right, there are a few favors I would appreciate in return for my own assistance. For introducing you to Zareth, I would like you to introduce me in turn to your own friends – I believe you know them as the Dusk Wardens? And in return for using my unique skills to get you here – and ferry you home – I would like you to use your unique skills to build me something. We can discuss the exact details of what that “something” is before you leave – but I’d really prefer for us to discuss that in private.”

Nihilus explains, nodding at Hephestia. He then uses that as a launching point to point out there should be some performance to bringing Zareth is new prize, and you quickly set to work. As you try to absorb the blasted soil beneath your feet for raw materials, however, you find that something pushes back! There is . . . Will would perhaps be too strong a word, for that implies sentience, but a sort of inertia that resists your efforts to change the status quo. Ultimately, you prove yourself to be stronger, and manage to absorb enough material to meet your designs without having to sacrifice from your own body mass. But you have never in your admittedly short awareness of your own existence ever encountered something like this.

More disconcerting than the presence of this existential inertia is the fact that there is currently no explanation for it – neither Nihilus nor Hephestia would have any idea what you are talking about, and there’s certainly no one else you could really ask. You suppose the best explanation for now is that this is a different plane of existence, and so that different rules apply . . . which is also a bit disturbing as it leaves one to wonder what other rules might no longer apply – or have been added. Moving on to the matter at hand, you start to decorate Hephestia, and as you do so bring up Maurice – the first time that you’ve actually used your love’s name (I think?).

“Maurice?”

Hephestia chirps, for the first time since you grabbed her looking anything other than frigthtened.

“Of course I have. The Heavens suffered a terrible loss when she chose to stay behind and study the humans rather than return. I guess now I know how well that worked out for her. For her sake . . . p-perhaps some good will come out of this after all. Assuming Zareth doesn’t cheat you yet.”

“He won’t. Or he will come to understand regret.”

Nihilus promises. You swiftly dress Hephestia up in her feathery costume, and imprison her in an intricate golden cage. She is clearly uncomfortable in her cramped position on the perch, and as she realizes exactly what she is in her indignation momentarily boils over. She begins to flail and feebly kick at the bars, although she doesn’t have enough room or strength to really damage them.

“I am Hephestia the Adjudicator, not some exotic bird damnit!”

The former archangel screeches, stopping her struggles when they cause her to slip from her perch, nearly strangling herself with the collar connecting her to the cage. She manages to pull herself back up onto her perch without assistance, however, and then merely sits sullenly on her perch. Nihilus chuckles as he sets out for the tower, the two of you following along after. (I will assume that the Spirit is either capable of carrying the bird cage, Hephestia and all, or she adds some wheels to the bottom – whatever!)

“I could just transport us directly into Zareth’s throne room, but I suspect that would not put him in a negotiating mood. Fortunately with our bargaining chip, I don’t think Zareth will risk us going somewhere else.”

You arrive at the base of Zareth’s tower, and now up close you can see a number of details that weren’t apparent from a distance. First, the sound of ticking overwhelms all, drowning out even the sound of screams and turning of gears.
Second, hanging from the side of the tower are several – well, you suppose at one point they were human – victims, perhaps serving as a welcoming service. They are all connected to devices that cut or crush or impale they periodically to the turnings of the nearby gears. One of them dies as you watch, crumbling away into a foul ash that swirls away in the wind. The empty device flips around to the interior of the tower, to be replaced with a new device and a fresh victim. Hephestia shudders and looks away, starring down at her feet and trying unsuccessfully to hum some sort of song to drown out the cacophony of misery.

Third, there is no obvious entrance point into the tower – no door or gate or even a hole to crawl through. There is, however, what looks like a flower made out of metal (it’s one of those old-style phonograph heads) sticking out of the wall next to a lever, set at about eye-level. Nihilus goes over to it, speaking to the metal flower as if it were a person while turning the lever.

“Zareth! I’m here as promised . . . and I’ve got my seller with me. Let’s not play any games here – neither my seller nor myself are in the mood for them.”

From the metal flower, a voice responded.

Well, you certainly got here quickly! After what you’ve done I’m not much in the mood for games either. Let’s conclude our business so that you can be gone! Stand back.

Nihilus steps away from the wall as it begins to shift, retracting into the section next to it to reveal a small platform.

Stand on it! I will see you momentarily.

Shrugging at you, Nihilus moves to stand on the platform, and you follow suit, bringing Hephestia and her cage with you. After you all stand on it, the wall slides back into place, sealing you in. Then the floor shudders beneath your feet, and you can feel yourselves beginning to rise, faster and faster. Even so, it is several long minutes before the wall behind you slides aside, and you find yourself standing on top of the tower.
Above you is open air, dark clouds crackling with lightning that are almost close enough to touch. Around you are exposed gears, pistons, and a field of the metal flowers, out of which comes a chorus of screams and pleas for mercy. And over it all is the ceaseless sound of ticking, ticking, ticking.

On the far side of the tower a massive clock face rises, its hands ever so slowly grinding towards midnight. And seated on a throne built just beneath the clock face is a fiend that could only be Zareth. After the freak show that was the assortment of Fiend Lords that came with Nihilus to attack Luxien, Zareth was almost a disappointment.

He was of man size and shape, with crimson-colored skin and metal-grey eyes. He was dressed in a simple vest and breeches, both of which were adorned with tools, scraps of metal, and what looked to be more fleshy and grisly trophies. Attached to his horns was an array of eyepieces, presumably ready to swing down over one eye or the other to improve his ability to see what he was doing. And cradled in his hands was a metal stave of intricate construction, seemingly formed out of numerous pieces all melded together somehow. A pair of metal arms are currently extending out of his throne, busy at work stitching shut a gaping hole in Zareth’s muscular chest, allowing the Fiend Lord to direct his full attention at the three of you.

Nihilus swept his arm towards the Fiend Lord on his throne.

“Seller, meet buyer. Zareth, meet the seller I told you about. And now that introductions are out of the way, I will let you get to haggling.”

Zareth is quick to start.

“Pah! You told me that I would have the opportunity to acquire Hephestia the Adjudicator! All I see here is a mere human! No matter how attractive you make her appear, she is still nothing more than that! Is this another one of your tricks, Nihilus!?”

Phaedra

The_Snark/Lonna (Again, hopefully with better results! :smalltongue: )

Before Wulfric can answer Mar’s question about his relationship with Jacqueline/Pyria, the princess’s voice whispers throughout the room.

"Wulfric, you need to stop running."

Wulfric whirled around, quickly taking in the apparent lack of any newcomers. "This is a ****ing trick! Show yourself!"

Jacqueline sighed and glanced at Titania. "I told Queen Titania that you would not believe it was me without seeing me, but she does not believe that would be wise right now. I have... changed, since coming to Phaedra."

"Yeah? How's that? I saw the . . . hair thing." Wulfric said, sweeping the back wall of the room with his eyes. He takes a few steps off to the left, putting more distance between himself and the girl Titania called Marisiel, cocking his head to listen intently. "What have they done to you?"

"You... saw that already?" Jacqueline faltered and looked at Titania, her whole stance bespeaking confusion in light of this revelation. "I didn't know... Mother, please let me go to him. Surely there can be no harm in it if he has already seen me like this."

“Yeah, and it scared me pretty good, but it’s not like weird **** hasn’t happened around you before now!”

Wulfric’s eyes scan the wall in front of him, and focus in on a section of ice that appears like any other – but is exactly the spot behind which Titania and her daughter are standing. The proud warrior slams a fist against the ice, and it cracks in response. Which only inspires him to pull his fist back for another blow. A blow which never lands as Titania gestures and the ice wall explodes outward, into the room and throwing Wulfric back onto the floor, now sporting several shallow cuts from the ice shards. Stepping out into the room beyond their hidden alcove, Titania gestures again and bands of ice rise up out of the floor to form around Wulfric’s wrists and ankles, holding him down. Mar is likewise held immobile, ice flowing up around her feet to encase them and keep her literally frozen in place. Unfortunately Wulfric’s cloak doesn’t cover her feet, although it likely matters little as she lost all feeling in her frostbitten and split open feet long ago.

“Idiot human. Is violence your solution to everything!?”

Titania demands, before sweeping her cold-fury gaze over to Mar.

“I would have expected you, at least, to better know your place, whore! I suppose you will need an abject lesson in – OOF!”

The fey queen rants, only to be cut off when Wulfric suddenly breaks free of his ice bonds through sheer stubborn strength and then lunges up from the floor to tackle her. They both go down, and Wulfric has the icicle dagger in his hand, plunging it down towards Titania’s face. She catches the blow with her own hand, and this time Wulfric does cry out in pain as his arm begins to frost over, causing his hand to spasm open and drop the makeshift weapon. With almost a casual air, Titania rolls the man off of her, still holding onto his arm.

“An impressive display, but a meaningless one as I was just saying. Let this be your own abject lesson!”

Titania growls, reaching down with her other hand to lay it on Wulfric’s face. He gasps and opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out as his head begins to freeze solid. Titania grits her teeth in savage glee as Wulfric continues to freeze, and while he may or may not be able to die in this place, being frozen solid was certainly not going to be a pleasant way to spend any amount of time. It takes Jacqueline’s interference to make Titania stop short of rendering that fate. (Lonna, feel free to decide how Pyrene interferes, whether verbally, physically, or magically).

Releasing Wulfric, Titania stalks over to Mar while Pyrene helps Wulfric recover.

“Your f-f-family . . . really . . . sucks!”

Wulfric chatters into Pyrene’s ear, while Titania pulls his cloak off of Mar’s shoulder, tossing it over to them.

“I don’t recall your kind ever taking prisoners, Marisiel – unless you want to count your attempt to steal my soul!”

Titania hissed, circling menacingly around the unfortunate archangel yet again.

“But if you did, what do you think would be an appropriate punishment for said prisoners trying to escape, hmm? Shall I render you into an ice sculpture?”

Titania bent down to whisper into Mar’s ear, her cold breath chilling the back of Mar’s neck.

“You didn’t really expect to escape my domain with this fool, did you Marisiel? So why then, did you try to escape? What were you hoping to gain? Were you hoping to seduce him and turn him against my daughter the same way you seduced my husband and turned him against me!?”

“Woah . . . what the Hells did we wander into, anyway?”

Wulfric murmurs to Jacqueline, although it seems likely that Marisiel and Titania both heard it as well.

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

Nihilus looks you up and down after the flask comment.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Keep your tools at the ready – I’ll go scout out the area from the ground level. You’ll know when to put those to good use, and on who.”

And with that, Nihilus is gone, leaving you to watch down on Gilgaem as he beats more challengers to a pulp. It was true that his true colors were that of a traitor, but you had done what would be marked in others’ book as equally despicable for the sake of love. Which showed just how much those others knew – but you digress. Again. Was is simple nostalgia at being back in this time that was causing your mind to wander so much?

But yes . . . Gilgaem. He had been a good and reliable friend before his discorporation and return. A little too stubborn for his own good with a love for testing the bounds of your authority and patience, but a stout ally to have nonetheless. The temptation was certainly there to try and divert his fate from what he would become . . . but if you were to believe Nihilus, that simple act could irrevocably change everything that followed. Perhaps it would be for the better? Given his performance so far, Nihilus struck you as somehow who had lucked into his successes thus far, rather than demanding them of the universe. You would certainly be far less timid about altering the passage of events to suit you, Fate be damned!

Some activity stirred up below, as a guy approached Gilgaem, his hands held up by his head. Rather than fighting, which was clearly disappointing to Gilgaem, the man had instead come to talk. Things got even more unusual when the man pointed straight up at you and said something, leading Gilgaem to also look up directly at you.

“Hey, you! Coward on the rooftops!”

Gilgaem roared, drunkenness and bloodlust slurring his words slightly.

“I was just told you said some disparaging words about my ancestry! Why don’t you come down here and repeat them to me, like a man instead of a breast-less woman!”

Gilgaem had never managed to quite grasp the concept of a clever taunt, or perhaps he never saw the point when staring at someone for too long tended to result in bloodshed from where he was from. Unfortunately, you never got the chance to respond either verbally or physically to Gilgaem’s own insults, because a man suddenly stepped out of the crowd, snatching up Gilgaem’s axe from where it was resting against the side of a building, and ran back into the crowd.

“That’s not Marialta.”

Nihilus said, suddenly appearing beside you.s

“But he might lead us to her.”

Clever of her to hire someone desperate enough to do the dirty work of retrieving the key for her. But it does leave open the question as to why? Was she merely aware of your interference now and wanted to take extra steps for prudence’s sake? Or had she foreseen your preparations thanks to Kartul’s unwitting help, and knew that revealing herself again would be disastrous? And if she had foreseen all that, why was she trying for this key regardless, instead of simply going for another one while you dallied here waiting for an attempt that would never come?

Those sort of questions filled your thoughts as you and Nihilus followed the man from above, jumping from one rooftop to another, or Nihilus rapidly opening up portals across distances too great to easily jump. Meanwhile, Gilgaem kept up his own pursuit in the streets below, a good deal noisier and a great deal angrier. The man continued running, now for his very life, only to suddenly hand the weapon off to another desperate man waiting at the mouth of a side street.

“Not Marialta either. What is she playing at?”

Nihilus growls, as the pursuit switches over to the newest participate, and then yet again. As you being to approach the next rooftop to leap from, Nihilus begins to slow.

“Marialta is not going after this key. It’s a diversion – she’s going after Shiakti’s!”

Nihilus said with sudden conviction, opening a portal at the end of the roof in your path. Evidentially your new ally had gotten some sudden insight to make this deduction, although its origins were questionable in nature. And there was also a grim sense of paranoia that tried to set its icy claws in your gut. Marialta would only need a moment with the weapon to extract the key. Even as the noose inevitably closed around this band of thieves, Marialta could possess any one of them for just a moment, and then be gone with the key. She had clearly foreseen your interference here, but had still set up this elaborate game to keep your interest. Who’s to say that this sudden thought Marialta was going after Shiakti was not yet another distraction, and that she wouldn’t in reality be lurking one more hand-off away, knowing that you would abandon the chase just in time? Or that all of this was a big distraction, and she was going after someone else’s key entirely, like Kartul’s? How much could you trust this enigmatic, bumbling meddler and his supposed plan for the world?

Inspectre

2012-11-04, 05:55 PM

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

Pandemonium reigns in the nearby street after your bomb goes off. No screams though, which was both disappointing and a good thing. Noise and smoke draws a crowd’s attention, but spilled blood had a tendency to inspire them to seek more blood to spill. Right now you wanted them too busy trying to figure out what just happened rather than trying to find who was responsible.

Pretending to look like more onlookers moving in to investigate the strange plume of smoke now rising into the air, your small group walked rapidly down the street in the general direction of the disturbance. As soon as you were free to duck into the alleyway right next to the alchemist’s shop, however, you did so, leaving around right behind the gathering crowd’s backs. A crowd that included a few more city guardsmen – seems like this place was thick with the Law at the moment, although that was hardly surprising if it was in danger from these Elf creatures. No doubt the humans would have no qualms, however, about sending a couple fiends screaming back home in failure if you were discovered. Which meant that you wouldn’t get caught.

Thankfully, there was a side entrance to the shop in the alleyway, an iron-barred door where deliveries could be dropped off – or purchases picked up discretely. The cultist leader had the foresight to bring the key with him, which meant no need for more explosives to blast the door down. A minute later and you are all inside the shop’s dusty storeroom, the only light provided by the small ventilation slots up near the ceiling. That was just fine – your eyes worked better in the dark anyway.

For just a moment, the faint tang of long-ago spilled chemicals fills your nose, and you feel at home. You aren’t sure why you feel so at home here, although being surrounded by a lot of useful unstable compounds that didn’t have to come from you was always a plus. Who knows, maybe at some point far back in forgotten history, you were an alchemist yourself, back when you had been a weak human. You do know that as far back as you could remember, even in the mostly-repressed memories of your Ix days, that the smell of sulfur and brimstone had never bothered you.

Beside you Catbox gives a delighted cackle, pushing past you to stare at the assembled stored goods in unabashed glee. For a few moments at least, all animosity towards you was forgotten as Catbox bounds from shelf to shelf.

“Look at all this saltpeter, Bramble! And this sulfur, look at how pure it is!”

So saying, Catbox picks up a hunk of the bright-yellow rock and licks it, giggling like a disgusting human child. Malarky is not as impressed by the arsenal that has just been placed in your hands, although that is hardly surprising.

“So are you two going to be able to make that bomb Skullcruncher wants or not?”

“Bomb!? You dumbass! There’s enough here to make ten bombs! Twenty, maybe, if we cut corners!”

Catbox flashes an excited grin at you.

“We could probably level a good chunk of this whole damn city if we wanted, right Bramble!?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

The cultist leader huffed, closed the door behind him as he squeezes in behind Malarky and starting to look uncomfortable again in such close quarters with three devils, at least one of which was practically bouncing up and down and off the walls. And then Malarky showed that for all his stupidity, he wasn’t a complete dumbass either.

“So how are we getting all this stuff back home with us, huh? None of its going to come with us if we take the Suicide Express back.”

All eyes turn naturally to the cultist leader, and now the human looks especially nervous.

“Back? Nobody told me anything about needing to send anything back to the Hells! I just assumed you’d dismiss yourselves once whatever you needed to accomplish up here was finished!”

And just like that, the temporary truce was broken, as Catbox threw the chunk of sulfur at your head, the soft rock breaking apart into smaller chunks as it crashed directly into your forehead.

“Bramble, you stupid bitch! You ****ed us good agreeing to this stupid job! How in the Heavens are we gonna get our explosives back after we make them, huh!? And if we don’t come back with them, Skullcruncher is gonna make us ALL his private Ixs!”

“Maybe we can work on that after you make the explosives? Somewhere else?”

The cultist leader suggested helpfully, but unwisely as now he was butting in where he was unwelcome. Malarky explained that to him by headbutting the man, driving his bony forehead into the man’s own, sending him crashing to the floor.

“Shut up mortal. I’ll make you squeal when I want to hear anything out of you!”

“**** you Bramble! And **** this! I ain’t going back if it just means I’m crawling back up onto the Cleaver’s hooks! I’ll take my chances up here in the mortal realm!”

The situation was, as always, explosive and likely about to get far, far worse. It was times like these that you almost wanted to be an Ix again – sure it was agony and humiliation and oppression all in one nasty package, but at least you didn’t get splitting headaches from constantly scheming how to keep yourself from falling back down there, while every single ******* around you kept kicking you back down the pile. And right on cue, the ventilation slots creaked and moaned, as something small and invisible forced its way inside.

“Hey, I lost those stupid humans about five blocks away, and figured I should come back and see how you’re doing! What’s going on?”

Mouse cried out, breaking into a coughing fit as the crumbled sulfur reached his nose.

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

Approaching the carriage, Alons isn’t able to see much of the interior in the dim firelight. Not that he would have much chance to see much as the traveler quickly sets himself up with his back against the carriage, playing the part of the bodyguard already. Countess Amelia is clearly present inside as Alons can hear her speaking to someone, her tone that of mild annoyance.

“Someone has to do *something*, Elsa, and the other “nobles” that are left lack a spine among them! I’m done waiting for others to decide my fate and that of my kingdom! . . . Elsa? Elsa, are you there!? Tch, typical. Useless airhead.”

A moment later and the Countess’s face becomes visible in the carriage’s window. This close, Alons can see even in the dim firelight that one half of the Countess’s face is covered with faint scars. The markings are faint, like an ancient injury, but still present enough for Alons to discern that the scarring follows a geometric pattern, like the brands and tattoos that the orcs often adorned themselves with. This does not appear to have been caused by an orcish brand, however, the lines too delicate and complex to have been done by their hand even if they weren’t across an ocean from here. Although her expression matches her irritated tone, she quickly forces a smile on her face at the sight of Alons, distorting the faint brand into a mess of lines.

“Hello. I’m sorry, I did not hear what you were saying. Would you mind repeating yourself, good sir?”

(I’m just going to assume that Alons is willing to repeat himself.)

At Alons’ offer of serving as his bodyguard, the Countess looks him up and down, and then nods slightly as her smile turns genuine.

“It pleases me to know that there is at least someone still helpful in this world, even if they are not from this land. I must apologize for the state of my own kingdom – things are not as they should be. But perhaps with your help, I can set a few things right. I would be glad to have use of your services, Mister -?”

The assembled group soon goes to sleep, the Countess opting to sleep in her carriage, with Alons camped just outside, equipped with a fine blanket from within the carriage that prompts more than one jealous look from the assembled unhelpful mercenaries. Early in the morning the caravan sets out for Amaranth, with the hope that by moving fast they will be able to reach the city with two days. Although Countess Amelia would prefer for her carriage to lead the way, the caravan master ultimately succeeds in convincing her to take up a position just forward of the middle of the caravan.

The first day’s travel is surprisingly uneventful, with not even a half-hearted attack from the elves in the middle of the night. But the second day quickly shapes up to make up for it, as the caravan slows to a halt after the lead wagon goes around a bend in the road winding through the forest.

“Fallen trees across the road ahead!”

Someone shouts back from the lead wagon, and then predictably arrows start flying out from the forest lining the road up and down the length of the caravan. Anticipating this and owing to his good eyesight, Alons notices movement in the undergrowth nearby. As the elf springs up from his camouflaged pit and brings his bow up, Alons is already letting an arrow fly, taking the elf in the shoulder and pitching him back down into the pit, out of sight. Behind him, the carriage door opens and Amelia steps out, drawing a rapier from its sheath before tossing the sheath back inside the carriage.

“We need to clear those trees out of the way!”

She commands, ducking down beside the carriage as a barrage of arrows flies narrowly overhead from the far side of the road. Getting there would be problem number one – clearing them out of the way while under fire from the elves would be the next problem, and likely an even more difficult one.

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

“Fhah! Good luck with that, lad! I was there at that cluster**** of a battle at the capital – the elves want us all dead or enslaved. I don’t know what’s caused them to lose their isolationist minds, but it’s going to take a lot more than words to get their heads straight again.”

Ross answers for Ashley, patting his warhammer for emphasis. Ashley frowns, but nods slightly.

“Indeed, we don’t know what their motivations are, but they seem rather committed to their apparent goal of killing every human they possibly can. The Church has tried on several occasions to discern and redress the elves’ grievances, only to be rebuffed – often with arrows. Regrettably, we may need to be prepared to fight to the death – ours or theirs.”

“It’ll be theirs then!”

Ross growls fiercely, clenching his hands into tight fists for a moment before deliberately taking a calming breath. Ashley looks you appraisingly, and then sighs as she walks over to the desk and sorts through the papers.

“It would appear to me that you are committed to this course of action, regardless of the chances of success. I can respect that, and pray for your success, no matter how slim it may be. We know that while the elves have a strong presence at Ironheart, they do have a forward camp from which they are launching their siege against Amaranth. Before we were forced to pull back entirely to the city, we encountered elven patrols here, here, and here.”

Ashley explains, pointing to sections of a hand-drawn map. Her finger circles a spot on the map marked “Ruins of Callaway”.

“For a time we thought that the elves had set up in the ruins of Callaway, a small village deep in the forest that was destroyed a number of years ago. But the entire village was leveled, the land burned and salted so that nothing would grow there for generations. It would not make a suitable camping site, given the elves worship of Nature. However, the highest occurrence of encounters with the elves is near to those ruins, so I would guess their base is near to the town . . . somewhere.”

With nothing more to offer you, you bid farewell to the two paladins and head out. On your way out the door Ross shouts after you, “Kill a few of the thick-headed bastards for me if they won’t listen to reason!”. Once you are away from the paladin camp and out of sight of any other observer, you transform into a small bird and take flight. From the sky, it doesn’t take long to locate the proximate spot where Callaway once stood within the forest . . . nor did it take long to find a point of interest nearby. A short distance away from the former town there was a . . . significant clearing, the forest burned away to ashen ground. Your sharp eyes are able to discern movement within that barren clearing, but before you are able to move to investigate further the sound of battle reaches you.

Nearby – almost below you in fact – battle cries and the clash of steel reach your ears through the trees. Here the forest canopy blocks most of your sight, although you are able to make out figures darting around trees, attacking other figures clustered around a number of wagons. It would seem that yet another supply caravan was attempting to battle its way through the elven-held forest to Amaranth. Given the state of the city’s defenders and the elves, it seems much more likely that the elves will have their ranks reinforced – and there are more than enough elves within the forest to swarm the caravan’s defenders under, no matter how many men there are. Men and one ancient dragon, however, may be more than the elves are prepared to deal with, at least in time to stop the caravan from reaching its intended destination.

TechnOkami

2012-11-04, 06:48 PM

Rosenberg

Rosenberg merely raises an eyebrow to Alons' more lecherous comment about the lilies and roses, then proceeds to follow him, standing with his scythe rather than leaning against the carriage.

Two days later, on their way to Amaranth, they are blocked by the elves and fallen trees. Luckily, Rosenberg is a druid. He has ways to deal with these things.

The first thing Rosenberg did was run over to the fallen trees, where he procured his scythe from his hand. Raising it into the air, he uttered incantations of death and rot. The green vines which grew so carelessly on the curved blade he wielded soon turned a dull, sickly olive green hue, and the roses themselves a shade of midnight black. He put his back into the blow, and drove the blade deep into the tree trunk. After a few seconds, the wood where the blade had cut through began rotting away, and the vines and roses began branching out from his blade, slowly rotting away the cellulose hunk of wood blocking their path and speeding up the decomposition.

Lifting the blade back out of the wood was easy, since there was no resistance to keep him from raising it out again. He turned around, most likely met by elves who sought for his blood. But he's fought the elves before. They've stabbed him with their swords, pierced him with their arrows, burned him with their fire elementals, and yet he would not fall.

He will not fall.

Not today, at least.

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-11-04, 09:05 PM

Nameless

"It's not gone, Katrina," he says slowly so she can read his lips. "Come on, we've got to help her."

He turns back to the woman and shakes her a bit.

"You're not alone. We can help you."

daelrog

2012-11-04, 09:27 PM

Alons Sift

The feint scars were intriguing to Alons, and if anything only added onto her beauty. Alons had no issue with taking the fine blanket, and was more than pleased at the others' jealousy. He smiled an shrugged his shoulders, and if was pressed, merely responded by saying, "It always pays to be a gentleman, good sirs."

When the attack came, Alons held an arm in front of her in case she decided to lead the charge. "Unless your scars possess powers I do not know of, let others deal with the trees. Your rapier is no axe." It was then that Rosenberg charged out to quickly clear the trees.

Alons fired his arrows as fast as he could, letting his aim slip to get off as many as he could, hoping to keep the enemy archers distracted. He let out a wild whoop, one not heard in these nations, hoping that the elves would focus on him, and not Rosenberg.

GuyFawkes

2012-11-05, 03:17 AM

Lucifuge

Such resilience and tenacity. A little sparkle underneath the grime of greed and belligerence.

The little bird made a circular descent over the battlefield, slowing down and maneuvering its way through the leaves and branches. It flew around right below the canopy, between the trees, sweeping through the general area, observing the movements of both the attackers and defenders. Resting on a high branch, it continued to observe.

And wait.

Lonna

2012-11-07, 08:36 PM

Wulfric’s eyes scan the wall in front of him, and focus in on a section of ice that appears like any other – but is exactly the spot behind which Titania and her daughter are standing. The proud warrior slams a fist against the ice, and it cracks in response. Which only inspires him to pull his fist back for another blow. A blow which never lands as Titania gestures and the ice wall explodes outward, into the room and throwing Wulfric back onto the floor, now sporting several shallow cuts from the ice shards. Stepping out into the room beyond their hidden alcove, Titania gestures again and bands of ice rise up out of the floor to form around Wulfric’s wrists and ankles, holding him down. Mar is likewise held immobile, ice flowing up around her feet to encase them and keep her literally frozen in place. Unfortunately Wulfric’s cloak doesn’t cover her feet, although it likely matters little as she lost all feeling in her frostbitten and split open feet long ago.

Hesitantly, Jacqueline followed the Ice Queen, her gaze darting anxiously from one figure to another. "Mother..."

“Idiot human. Is violence your solution to everything!?”

Titania demands, ignoring her daughter, before sweeping her cold-fury gaze over to Mar.

“I would have expected you, at least, to better know your place, whore! I suppose you will need an object lesson in – OOF!”

The fey queen rants, only to be cut off when Wulfric suddenly breaks free of his ice bonds through sheer stubborn strength and then lunges up from the floor to tackle her. They both go down, and Wulfric has the icicle dagger in his hand, plunging it down towards Titania’s face. She catches the blow with her own hand, and this time Wulfric does cry out in pain as his arm begins to frost over, causing his hand to spasm open and drop the makeshift weapon. With almost a casual air, Titania rolls the man off of her, still holding onto his arm.

"Mother." Jacqueline's voice was stronger now, a hint of warning in her tone, but Titania paid no heed.

“An impressive display, but a meaningless one as I was just saying. Let this be your own object lesson!”

Titania growls, reaching down with her other hand to lay it on Wulfric’s face. He gasps and opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out as his head begins to freeze solid. Titania grits her teeth in savage glee as Wulfric continues to freeze, and while he may or may not be able to die in this place, being frozen solid was certainly not going to be a pleasant way to spend any amount of time.

"NO!" Jacqueline's shriek echoed oddly in the ice chamber, crackling like flames as a wave of heat slammed the air around her. Just as quickly, the flames that now made up her hair lengthened and stretched out to caress warmth into Wulfric's frozen flesh, heedless of anything (or anyone) in the way.

Releasing Wulfric, Titania stalks over to Mar while Pyrene helps Wulfric recover.

“Your f-f-family . . . really . . . sucks!”

Wulfric chatters into Pyrene’s ear, while Titania pulls his cloak off of Mar’s shoulder, tossing it over to them.

“I don’t recall your kind ever taking prisoners, Marisiel – unless you want to count your attempt to steal my soul!”

Titania hissed, circling menacingly around the unfortunate archangel yet again.

“But if you did, what do you think would be an appropriate punishment for said prisoners trying to escape, hmm? Shall I render you into an ice sculpture?”

Titania bent down to whisper into Mar’s ear, her cold breath chilling the back of Mar’s neck.

“You didn’t really expect to escape my domain with this fool, did you Marisiel? So why then, did you try to escape? What were you hoping to gain? Were you hoping to seduce him and turn him against my daughter the same way you seduced my husband and turned him against me!?”

“Woah . . . what the Hells did we wander into, anyway?”

Wulfric murmurs to Jacqueline, although it seems likely that Marisiel and Titania both heard it as well.

"I'll explain later. I only partially understand it myself," she whispered back.

Dorizzit

2012-11-07, 11:07 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram simply watches the conversation between the angels impassively, deciding not to speak unless spoken to. His presence here was already a matter of debate, and he sees no reason to push his luck unnecessarily. He listens intently, but begins to drift out as he forms his own theories about the attack.

Despite this, Korram's focus snaps back as he hears a familiar name brought up in the conversation. Ander. Mentally reviewing the last few seconds of the conversation, Korram quickly realizes that Ander's family has been attacked. Now used to the procedure, Korram allows himself to be carried to the Windrivver farmstead.

As the group arrives and the other angels split off to search, Korram looks grimly around in anger, deciding to look around his immediate area. The attack had been an abomination. Horrible. And most likely, the first of many.

His eyes catching on the injured dog, Korram dashes over to it, sliding into a kneeling position next to it. Wasting no time, he pulls his shirt off and presses it gently but firmly against the wound, simultaneously trying to stop the bleeding and hold the dog still to make sure it didn't worsen its injuries. Once he is satisfied the situation isn't going to immediately change, Korram turns his head back and shouts.

"Hey, I found something! I don't know if this helps, but their dog is still here!"

OverWilliam

2012-11-08, 01:08 PM

~Tare

At Vylethar's almost flippant attitude, both toward their own circumstances and the topic of Karami, Tare had to swallow the low growl that wanted to start spilling up from his throat. It felt inhuman and Tare resisted it on that grounds alone.

"She is Protected," was his only reply to Vylethar's question concerning Karami's identity. "Sooner or later that's going to mean as much to your ilk as it does to me."

Vylethar's side rant about his intentions and his seeming fear at his own mistress' return gave Tare pause for thought. It sounded genuine, but how was he to know? Did it even matter? Vylethar was a devil, an embodiment of evil. Was he even capable of genuine candor toward other beings?

If he wasn't, where did that leave Tare himself?

So for the time being, Tare had to believe that Fate was not sealed, that What one found himself to be did not dictate Who he was to be. He didn't have a basis for such a thing, but believing the alternative was simply not helpful. If it was true, that he had no choice any longer, then such would prove itself regardless of what Tare believed. He really had nothing to lose by hoping against hope that somehow his Will was still a factor in who he would soon become. It was the only escape from the growing dread of what being a Fiend truly entailed.

In that case, I have to believe that there's a chance that Vylethar is being genuine. That he doesn't want to hurt anyone if he doesn't have to, that he would prefer to keep to himself and his own... frankly disgusting... ways. Not that the supernatural seduction schtick is especially Good, but it's hardly Evil. But how could I possibly know?! How can I even be sure that Videle didn't put me in the same room with him specifically so that he could feed me these exact lies?

Tare decided to figure that out after extracting himself from the bell.

Were that only so easy.

The residual after-buzzing in his teeth alone was more agony than he was mentally prepared to deal with at that moment. The shock and confusion of having discovered that he was a) Dead, b) Transmuted into a Fiend, and c) Captured, or worse Enslaved, by a raving, sado-masochistic head-mistress pimp of the damned formed a triple-threat of stress and confusion in his brain up until that second.

So it was almost a relief when the abrupt and somewhat prolonged jump-start left his brain stunned into silence.

Tare was not mentally present enough to register Vylethar's jeers, or to understand what was meant by them. For several long, long minutes he simply sat, stunned.

Kasanip

2012-11-09, 02:36 AM

Lukina

The memory played out again, so real that she had to blink and check her hand to make sure she had returned from it. The memory was vivid, more real than her other dreams had been, except for the first, when she had [awakened]. But it was a painful and bittersweet memory, even more than the wonder of the beauty of an angel, or the warmth of an embrace, and sadness of leaving. Lukina felt these emotions over her own tiredness, and followed along, only with a little awareness of the conversation of Tyberius, Welkin, and Ander.

And with the emotions, there was that small feeling of homesickness too. Seeing Ysora in the memory, Ander's words of meeting, the nauseating feeling again that she had died, and the strange sensation of having wings and then returning to exhaustion and the smell of burning and the broken city of Luxien.
Lukina took a deep breath and tried to focus.

I'm so close. Even if the answers aren't here, I am close. Lady Miriam, hear my prayer to you for wisdom and patience. She prayed silently, as they examined the city.

"I also don't understand what is happening." She reluctantly asked after Tyberius asked his question to Ander. "You said Ysora is here. But why would she be here, in the mortal world? And the demons too..." Apart from Genevieve's memories, which couldn't help now, Lukina had heard only some of the rumors about there being great trouble in Narle. That was back when she had [awakened]. But now it was the elves that were the trouble, right?
Lukina waited to learn, but she also looked around, as if she hoped to see an angel.

WhiteKnight777

2012-11-09, 04:01 PM

Umber

Umber had to force calm back into his heart. In recent... well, no, what had been recent times... No, what would be recent times...

Buggering time travel. The grammatical issues it caused were probably the pettiest problem imaginable when considering the disruption to the very weave of time, but they were also somehow the most vexing. The point was, after he had regained his mortality in what he still thought of as the "present," he had been forced to deal with real, visceral emotion once again. Oh, during his centuries upon centuries of perpetual vagabondage, he'd been able to feel just fine. He hadn't made Fianna's sacrifice, after all. But an undead body lacked certain physical responses that made the experience of emotion a really present thing. Emotions in his long years as a true Lord of Blood had been purely mental states. He hadn't noticed until he'd started living again how much raw emotional weight all the other organs had when they ganged up on your brain in a dark alley.

This body, on the other hand, was somewhere between the two. It was alive, yes, but only because he was inhabiting it, and he'd whipped it like a rented mule until it got up and started strolling around. So it was a trifle easier to assert pure reason and actually think about his situation. Although he almost wished he hadn't, once he actually tabulated up the results.

Nihilus. How was he supposed to deal with the man? He felt instinctual dislike for the man mounting up in his skull... and then paused, concerned. He searched his own thoughts carefully, making sure that they were, in fact, his own. There was reason to doubt him, yes, but Umber was also painfully aware that Marialta could be in any body at all. What if she tried to hide herself behind another stolen soul?

Umber shook his head after a moment of almost literal introspection, then turned to Nihilus. "What's she's doing is sowing chaos and confusion. And there's only two of us. Too many keys." Umber chewed his lip for a moment, feeling surprised by how thin and drawn it felt. Every time he thought he was getting used to this borrowed body, he was reminded again that it was not his own. It was like wearing a suit that was ill-fitted in a hundred subtle ways.

"I'm staying with this key. You watch Shiakti's. If she makes a play for it, yank me through. If she goes for neither, we'll know whe's going for Kartul's. Unless you can watch more than one at a time, it's the best plan we've got."

Baerdog7

2012-11-10, 02:56 AM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander leads the others through his city, giving aid to the wounded and direction to the paladins that he passes. Each damaged building they passed, every ruined street, fills him with a grim determination. Nihlus had gravely erred by coming to Luxien. Before, Ander had been spinning his wheels trying to put out the fires and clean up the mess that Baron Ghast left behind. Now...now he had a goal, a singular enemy to pursue.

The "grave danger" Morganna spoke of could very well have been me, Commander...

Ander then briefs his companions on the events that lead to his capture by the corrupt Council, the battle beneath Ironheart, his crusade against the Council, the Baron's usurpation of the throne, and the Battle of Narle.

((Ander will describe these events to the best of his knowledge based on his own experiences and the interviews he has conducted with others. I don't really think I need to rehash everything here.))

((Background Music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glKV0emNma8&feature=BFa&list=PL1FB9B666F4695296)))

Since the Battle of Narle, the Church has been spread incredibly thin. My paladin orders have been nearly exhausted and more...ambitious clergy in outlying regions have begun preaching a new Athelion-centric doctrine. That's not to mention the elven armies running rampant through the southern counties while nobles play politics and suck their thumbs, leaving my men as the only force in the region keeping the elves from staking every last refugee.

He sighs.

And that leads us to today's attack. Since Adamus Crane destroyed the Reliquary, I have worried that the Fiend Lords would unite to release Azguloth once and for all. I miscalculated. The threat right now doesn't seem to be Azguloth but Nihlus, who is apparently working for some other enigmatic power. He almost made it seem like he was an agent of Fate itself. Somehow he convinced the demonic fiend lords to cooperate long enough for today's attack but it didn't sound like a long-term alliance.

As the only fiend lord to have never been captured, Nihlus has had centuries to play a long game. We don't have that kind of time. According to him, whatever he has planned will reach its climax soon and all of existence could be at stake.

Ander stops, now standing at the edge of the great chasm where the Reliquary once stood. He gazes across the pit, his cloak flapping in the wind.

I can't fight this battle alone. I'll need a team.

He turns to the two paladins of his makeshift honor guard.

You two, go find the other Council members. I'm calling a meeting at sundown in the Speakers Aerie and I will be bringing guests. Until then, they should attend to their various departments and be prepared to deliver status reports. You three, he says, turning to Tyberius, Welkin, and Lukina. Rest up and do what you must to prepare for the Council Meeting tonight. I expect all of you to be present and punctual. Dismissed.

With that, Ander marches off to his chambers to clean up and prepare for his meeting. Perhaps he could find out which journal Nihlus took and what information it contained, which could give a clue as to the shape of his plans. Ander will also search Morganna's journals for any mention of the Certain King prophecy.

Vegna

2012-11-10, 12:47 PM

Mal Harath

He takes a deep breath, as the earth becomes sludge beneath his feet, sucking Mal and his assailant into the watery ground. The noise is muffled and he dared not open his eyes surrounded by the filthy water, but at least the bugs couldn't follow him.

The slush moves against him as the elf grasps for a hand hold, trying to get out. Mal's fingers close around the elf's clothes, pulling the foe down to try and push himself above the surface line. His lips taste the chill of air, and Mal reverses the magic, trapping himself and the elf within the ground, but unsure of the state of his enemy as he shakes his head to clear his eyes.

Gorgondantess

2012-11-10, 04:37 PM

“I understand that this person is important to you, and that they are likely suffering terribly. But there have to be other ways for you to get this person back than making a deal with this devil lord! Other ways than handing me over to him!”

Hephestia pauses a second, grimacing, and then she actually drops down onto her knees before you.

“Only your own conscience can stop you now. If there is any speck of goodness or nobility in you, you won’t do this...

She scoffs and looks away, unwilling- or unable- to meet Heph's eyes. She's silent for a moment.
"...Well. I guess that answers that."
At that moment, Nihilus steps in.

"...But you are right, there are a few favors I would appreciate in return for my own assistance. For introducing you to Zareth, I would like you to introduce me in turn to your own friends – I believe you know them as the Dusk Wardens? And in return for using my unique skills to get you here – and ferry you home – I would like you to use your unique skills to build me something. We can discuss the exact details of what that “something” is before you leave – but I’d really prefer for us to discuss that in private.”

"I have one condition: I will not lead you to the Dusk Wardens if you intend to do them harm. They are under my protection, and I will not have any ill that befalls them on my head. In fact, I intend to shadow any dealings you have with them. As for your device... well, I can tentatively agree to that. If it happens to be something absurd or destructive, I may be forced to refuse, but I fully intend to repay my debts. I'll not cheat you, so long as you show me the same courtesy."

Ultimately the cage she makes is not much larger than a human, and she's able to carry it easily enough by simply adding a foot to her height, bringing herself up to a good 8 feet or so.

“Pah! You told me that I would have the opportunity to acquire Hephestia the Adjudicator! All I see here is a mere human! No matter how attractive you make her appear, she is still nothing more than that! Is this another one of your tricks, Nihilus!?”
She glares. "The human claims to be- or at least, have been- Hephestia, but she could simply be... prevaricating, as humans are wont to do."
She wrinkles her nose, and shoots a glance at Nihilus.
"Well, you said you would vouch for me. Vouch."
Nihilus steps forward, and speaks. ""If she isn't the real Hephestia, then you let me stick my hand through your chest for nothing."
She quirks an eyebrow, and continues. "Well, there you have it. You have good evidence that she is indeed Hephestia. She may not be... but I think for the price, you'll find it worth the risk."
She raises a finger.
"One angel. Just one- but a specific one at that. Bring to me the angel Maurice, and Hephestia will be yours. And bring her to me now."

Iethloc

2012-11-10, 10:25 PM

Sohssal

Sohssal let Nihilus go without further questioning. He didn't think he'd encounter anything he couldn't figure out on his own. He was also a little eager to have a willing host again – having to cast spells to affect the physical world in any real way can get a little old.

When he returned to Seraph, he put a little more thought into how he'd pull this off. The runes (or whatever substitute he could make) were a good idea, but he didn't want to wait for Seraph to recover enough for them, not to mention how long it might take to apply them correctly. More immediately, Seraph was still asleep. He didn't have physical arms to shake him out of it, but a small wind spell to the face would do the job.

”New plan, Seraph. We might have an easy way out of the Hells, but it involves raiding one of Istomilo's old workshops. I'll need to possess you to protect myself from certain dangers that may pop up. Don't worry, I can't override your will without specialized tattoos or the like,” Sohssal explained after Seraph awoke. If he wasn't ready to leave very soon, that meant he might still catch Xerxes before they left. He was reconsidering leaving Xerxes out of this, given that he might have familiarity with the area.

The_Snark

2012-11-11, 06:20 PM

Mar

Mar tensed involuntarily as the voice echoed throughout the room. Only the princess, not the queen, but if one followed... For a moment she was in Ironheart again, fleeing an all-seeing father yet knowing deep down that it was futile. No escaping his eye.

Only a bad memory, but as premonitions go it proved all too accurate. Mar went very still as Titania revealed herself, eyes flicking to the door as if gauging her chances of making it that far. Futile, as the ice beneath her feet twisted to snare her. Even if she could break free like Wulfric, the walls and floors of the palace would no doubt obey the queen's commands, too. Really, why had she bothered...?

Wulfric's brief struggle—and the princess's intervention—and kept her from dwelling on her own plight too much. So. Wulfric hadn't gotten the chance to answer her question, but whatever lay between them went both ways...

Then her respite was over.

"I never..." she began, a flash of indignation cutting through fear and fatigue, but then changed tacks. "What was I supposed to do? Sit meekly in my cell until you got tired of waiting and decided to hurt me? I - I'm done with that. I d-don't care what you threaten me with; you were g-going to do it all anyway, eventually." Oh, how she hated her voice for breaking like that. Marisiel never stuttered in her life. Marisiel would have faced Titania calm, yet defiant, refusing to bend an inch. Just as she had in Ironheart.

Of course, she'd died in Ironheart. Remembering that took the wind out of Mar's sails. Standing up for herself was all very well, but she really didn't want to make the queen angrier than she already was.

"We wouldn't hurt anyone just for trying to escape," she said—whispered, really. Tired. "We didn't even want to imprison you, but destroying you would have been worse, and just killing you meant the Hells... We thought it might even be a mercy. I'm sorry." She shook her head. "But I said that already, didn't I? You don't care."

Kasanip

2012-11-11, 06:31 PM

Lukina

The story of Ander was incredible, and Lukina, even if she wanted to think it was a lie, knew that Ander wouldn't lie. It could be said, she trusted him, like that. The terrible battle at Narle was also terrifying. Or it would have been terrifying, except Lukina had just seen the battle of Luxien. It was uneasy. Clearly things were changing and moving far beyond what Lukina could imagine. Certainly she hadn't thought about this at her home.

"Yes sir." She responded to Ander. As he left, she felt the exhaustion return. No answers yet. Somehow she had thought that coming to Luxien would have made things easier. But now it felt like it was only the beginning.

Hopefully the meeting would help. And maybe she would see Ysora there, too. That was a comfort.

Tae

2012-11-12, 01:53 AM

BRAMBLE

Bramble turned a cool gaze in Catbox’s direction, allowing her annoyance and frustration to manifest across her features as sheer contempt, even as she brushed bits of sulfur off her face.

“Skullcruncher never said we had to bring the bomb back. In fact, the only things I ‘member is that we needed to make as big an’ strong a bomb as a human could carry, and not let Malarkey eat anyone while we did it. So take that ‘**** you and **** this’ and go **** yourself with it Catbox.”

Mouse flitted back into the fiends’ vision as he settled down on a barrel near a blacked out window. “Looks like you might want this Bramble,” he chirruped, tossing the knife end over end in the sapper’s direction. It clattered to a halt on the floor at her burlap covered hooves. The imp showed a mouthful of needle-teeth in a wide grin, anticipating bloodshed between Bramble and Catbox even though he had no idea why.

Bramble picked up the knife with a flourish and a snarl, lunging at Catbox. Catbox stumbled backwards a few steps before losing her balance and crashing to the floor. She flinched as Bramble slashed at her.

Maniacal giggles filled the shop from both sappers as Bramble cut the cords binding the cloth around Catbox’s cloven hooves before freeing her own.

Malarkey and Mouse both sighed; the former in annoyance at the typical shenanigans, and the latter in annoyance at the lack of fresh blood.

Bramble began plundering the shelves, stuffing anything that even resembled a useful material into the burlap sacks that once covered her hooves. Catbox quickly followed suit.

“Do you see what I mean about the saltpeter Bramble?”

“I seen better,” Bramble mumbled.

“Where?”

“…I…I don’t know.” Bramble shrugged, awash in yet another wave of vague memory. She slid the knife over to Malarkey, who began cutting the ties to his own burlap-sack leggings.

“So what’re we doing Bramble?” Malarkey impatiently handed her the sacks and knife. “You say we don’t have to bring this bomb home, but how’re we supposed to get it to Molerat and Skullcruncher if we don’t? What, are we gonna have the cultists summon them up here?”

In the meantime, Mouse had crouched over the form of the head cultist and began lapping blood from the dent Malarkey’s skull had made in his. “I don’t think that’s really an option anymore Mal. This blood is getting cold.”

Bramble, Catbox, and Malarkey whirled around to stare down at the imp and the cultist. It seemed Malarkey had done more than knock the cultist out. Blood and a thick, clear fluid pooled around his head. The cultist’s body was contorted painfully by his final convulsions – back and limbs arched so hard they lifted from the ground.

“Beljabo’s rancid breath.”

“Hammer of Daz’kick”

“Mother of monsters.”

Bramble, Catbox, and Malarkey each swore to their favored fiend lord as revelation swept over them. They were on their own up here. No way out but a painful death that would only lead to an even more painful punishment for failure. No human companion to help them blend in. No idea how to succeed on this mission, or even whether they were meant to succeed, or if this was all an elaborate scheme to knock them even further down the hierarchy of fiends.

“Slevir raping an angel. Why are we all so worried?” Mouse nibbled experimentally at the cultist’s nose as red, black, and murky gray eyes met above his head.

Inspectre

2012-11-18, 04:51 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

Racing over to the badly injured animal, you take your shirt off and press it against the wound. Either intelligent enough to realize you were trying to help or too wounded to fight, the dog merely lies still, giving out only a soft whine and wagging his tail weakly. Close now by, you can see that the dog’s muzzle is stained red with blood – he managed to get ahold of somebody’s leg, which likely precipitated the near-fatal slash. On the ground near its head, you also find a torn scrap of black cloth, what appears to be the lower half of a tabard similar to those that the paladins liked to wear over their armor. Emblazoned on it is a sword broken in half, undoubtedly a mockery of a common paladin design depicting the shining sword of justice.

Hearing your shout, Maya and Miranda converge on your location. Maya is immediately concerned for the dog, shoving you none too gently out of the way as she kneels down beside it.

“You poor thing – here. Let me help you.”

She whispers to the animal, reaching down to lay a glowing hand down onto the dog’s wounded side. When the angel lifts your blood-soaked shirt away, the wound underneath is gone, replaced by new flesh – although the remains of the wound are still visible due to the still-present gap in the dog’s fur. Rolling up onto its feet, the dog gives a happy bark and tries to jump up onto the angel to lick her face – which Maya actually permits for a moment before brushing the dog off with a gentle pat on the head.

While her sister focuses entirely on the dog, Miranda notices the tattered cloth and picks it up, holding it to look at it a moment before turning to you.

“Do you recognize this design, Korram? I know of a few sigils that the fiends like to use, but I don’t recognize this one. I can only assume that it’s from the Hells, although as I’m sure Melissan would say we have no evidence that these humans are actually direct servants of the Hells. Do you know if Ander had any human enemies that could do something like this?”

Immediately your thoughts turn to the Baron, naturally, although he was dead. That didn’t rule him out entirely given that there was a Hellish force behind these attacks, and your dreams. On the other hand, it wasn’t nearly ostentatious enough for the Baron – he’d have had the dog crucified out on the front porch, at the very least. At least when you had been alive, you were able to blame everything on the Baron – it seemed like everything was a great deal more complicated in the afterlife. Fortunately before you were tempted to admit that, Melissan returned, flying in to lightly touch down in front of you.

“I checked the other nearby domains. The rest of Ander’s family is safe – only his own personal home was violated by . . . this. Unfortunately, his wife Caitlyn and his son Gerald were likely here at the time of the attack. Which means that they’ve been taken.”

“What can we do?”

Miranda asked, prompting a sigh from Maya.

“There is nothing *to* do, sister. They are gone, just like the other humans who were successfully captured in the attack.”

“So we do *nothing*?”

Miranda said, bristling until Melissan holds up a hand yet again.

“We need to inform Ander, he deserves to know. He also needs to know that his solution to curing my affliction, while . . . unorthodox, was successful and can be repeated to return the remaining victims of Morganna’s madness to the Heavens unharmed. I will make the necessary arrangements to communicate with him. Maya, please take Seymour over to the elder Windrivver estate, and then go back to the city and collect a census to determine how many were actually taken into the Hells. Miranda, please escort Korram back home. I would imagine that he has had enough excitement for one day.”

“But –“

Miranda and Maya both begin, only to be silenced once again by Melissan’s upraised hand.

“Now.”

Maya gives the dog a last pat before gently picking him up and leaping up into the air. Miranda likewise reluctantly obeys, scooping you up and flying you back to your own, still-intact farm (which was another reason why the Baron likely wasn’t involved). She sets you down at your front door and turns to go, but then stops, clearly torn about something. Not turning around to face you, she quietly speaks.

“Thank you for your aid, Korram. Both in rescuing those people, and . . . before that. I can’t believe that Ander’s family was taken, and we’re just going to do nothing. I’m not even sure that’s anything we *can* do, but . . . how do you cope with it? Failing to protect those you swore to shield?”

Unbidden, the image of Katrina cradled in your arms, her eyes closing for the last time flashes through your mind. You had thrown yourself into harm’s way immediately thereafter, and died for it. Then you found yourself in the Heavens, and despite yourself there was a strong temptation to give Katrina and Sarah up for lost, and slip away into the unchanging ease of heavenly bliss. What would you have done if things had happened differently? And what could you afford to tell this wounded angel that wouldn’t sound like a lie or make things even worse?

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

Katrina looks at you intently, squinting as she tries to follow what you are saying by reading your lips. She nods and then turns back to the woman as you lean down to shake her.

“What did you just say to her!?”

Katrina yells, unable to read your lips now that you have turned away to address the woman. She looks down at the woman as well, and an odd glint flashes in her eyes for a moment. Then she reaches down and slaps the woman across the face, leaving a muddy smear on her cheek.

“Snap out of it, bitch!”

Katrina shrieks, pulling her hand back for another slap.

“I’m actually dead, and you don’t see me staring at the sky and crying for my daddy! If you’re weak, you’ll never be anything other than a victim! WAKE UP!”

A second blow is not necessary, as it turns out, as before Katrina can deliver another slap the woman suddenly surges up into a sitting position. Her eyes are still distant, but at least there has been a change . . . so that’s good, right? Concerning, however, is a subtle change in the faint music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOg8Cz9yfWg) that you occasionally hear.

“Father!? Is that you!? I’m coming!”

Splashing a bit in the dark water, the woman manages to mechanically get herself up to her feet. She is soaked and filthy, but other than some dark-colored bruises on her limbs she appears to be uninjured. Without further delay, the woman begins to hurriedly walk out of the ruined hut and into the swamp.

“What happened!? Was it something I said!?”

Katrina shouted, shrugging and looking confused, as if what she just did was normal. She looks after the woman as she starts to disappear into the fog.

“Come on! Let’s follow her!”

Katrina yells, and heads out after the woman through the mists, leaving you with little choice but to follow or be left alone in the swamp. The enchanted woman marches through the swamp as if she knows exactly which way to go, leading you deeper into the swamp. As you go, the stone ruins become more prevalent, and certainly more organized.

“What is this place?”

Katrina loudly asks, her voice just shy of actual yelling now as she nervously looks around the growing stone ruins. Further proof that you are certainly going somewhere appears shortly, as a stone pathway rises out of the swamp, giving your unusual band much more solid ground to walk on. Your journey seems about to come to a sudden halt, however, as you come to a tall stone wall, a wrought iron gate cutting across the stone pathway. Briefly, the mist parts, and beyond the gate you can see a hill rising up out of the swamp, with a large estate sitting atop it. Judging from the brief glimpse you get of the estate, it appears to be in the same sort of condition as the rest of the sunken buildings around you. Unlike the rest of the ruined city around you, however, despite some rust the iron gate appears to be quite intact. Standing in front of it as proof of its capability to keep people out is Volesin, who is experimentally tugging on the iron bars.

“Oh, there you are! I was afraid we had been separated. I was trying to locate the source of this music – and who is this woman?”

Volesin asks as he hears you approach. The woman pushes past him without even seeing him, and pushes the gate open to walk inside, leaving it to begin swinging shut behind her. Volesin steps forward and catches the gate before it can shut, looking at it in befuddlement.

“I was quite sure that this gate was locked. We are going to follow this woman, yes?”

Ahead the swamp estate awaits, and the woman continues walking the narrow path leading up the hill to the estate. From here it is clear that the estate ahead is the source of the violin music, which can now clearly be heard. There’s also another sound that is audible to your ears at the base of the hill – voices. They are muffled by the fog and violin, rendering them indiscernible, but someone else is clearly up at the estate. There’s also the concern that if everyone goes up to the estate, the gate may close – and lock – behind you, and then you will be as trapped inside as Volesin was unable to enter before your guide arrived. On the other hand, leaving someone behind in the fog would mean that you will once again be separated no sooner than you have joined up with your two companions once again.

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

As you blasted Seraph awake with a wind spell, his eyes snapped open and he tensed. Were it not for his restraints, it seemed likely that he would have leapt up to his feet and reached for a weapon. Instead he merely blinked for a moment until his eyes focused on you. When you explained that you were planning on raiding one of Istomilo’s workshops, however, his eyes briefly went wide.

“No offense to you, Sohssal, but I’m unsure that this is a wise course of action. I recognize that name, and unless there is another Istomilo down here, he was a former ally of my father. A very dangerous and paranoid ally that my father inevitably cast aside because Istomilo was completely insane! His workshop will be undoubtedly trapped, and those traps will be extremely lethal. Even you may be in danger from them.”

Seraph frowns and holds up his manacled hands.

“I assume if you are going to possess me to accomplish this, then you will release me from these as well? Additionally, while I can understand that speed may be of the essence, I will not be a very useful . . . host in my current physical state. I need time to rest and for my injuries to heal.”

Thinking about what other resources would be useful to gather in preparation for assaulting this obviously dangerous laboratory, you think of Xerxes. Given the devil’s long existence down here, he might be aware of Istomilo’s workshop and any previously discovered defenses – you surely weren’t the first one to try to break in. In the event that you decide Istomilo’s workshop is too dangerous, you can also have the Baron’s wife as a backup plan to escape.

Checking with one of your servant imps, you discover that Xerxes is still on the estate grounds, and could be summoned back if necessary. There was also the matter of your fiendish servants – they might be inclined to ask too many questions if you brought them along, but they may make useful bait for Istomilo’s traps as well.

(Is Sohssal proceeding to Istomilo’s workshop immediately, or pausing to allow Seraph to rest and recover? Will he bring his borrowed servants with him? And assuming Xerxes can provide him with Isabella’s location in that time, is he going to go for Isabella or Istomilo’s workshop first?)

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

At your threatening tone regarding Karami, Vylethar simply laughed again.

“You just don’t get it, do you!? I’m no longer the greatest threat to her - *you* are! You’re one of us now Tare, and before She is finished you will beg Her for the opportunity to ravish your little friend to death! By that point, you’ll probably even enjoy it – the scent of her fear, the sweetness of her sweat, the sound of her soft little moans – urg!!”

The progress of the saw blade back up through Vylethar’s flesh cut him off, seeming to restore a measure of serenity to the former master of the Screaming Dark Estate.

“My point is that you are a monster Tare, a fiend just like – urg! – me. And if you go anywhere near – urg! – her, it will be by your own hand that she suffers. Accept – urg! – it.”

Then you try to extricate yourself from the bell, and the outside world fades into blurry nothingness for a little while. The sound of the door screeching open brings you back around, and your eyes clear in time to watch Videle enter, accompanied by a cloaked and cowled figure reminiscent of Limier. The newcomer’s garb wasn’t the only thing that seemed familiar to your battered mind, but you couldn’t put your finger on it any further than that. Nor did you have time to dwell on it further, because Videle was gesturing angrily at you.

“There he is . . . oh! What is that wonderful smell?”

The newcomer spoke up, his voice muffled by the cloth over the lower half of his face but the amusement clear.

“I believe the boy electrocuted himself trying to break out. I bet that stung!”

“Well . . . whatever. Take the little disappointment if you want him so badly, and be gone!”

Silently, the newcomer raised one glove-covered hand and jabbed an index finger in Videle’s face. The succubus queen’s eyes focused on the extended digit, and she actually took a step back. Indeed, an emotion you hadn’t seen before, even when she was trying to manipulate you, flickered briefly across her face. Fear. The newcomer lowered his hand, and then spoke again, the hiss of malice in his voice cutting through the cloth covering his face clearly.

“There are far worse places to spend eternity in than a paladin-run prison cell, Videle. You may enjoy suffering, even your own, but you would not enjoy the places I could send you to. Don’t push it. I even gave you an intriguing . . . toy . . . to play with in trade for this one. Whining like this is beneath even you.”

The newcomer said, circling around your iron prison, his orange-tinted eyes periodically locking with your own. Coming around to the front of the iron maiden, the newcomer looked at you for one last long second, and then swept his hand down and around at the padlocks holding the iron maiden shut. His hand cleaved through them as easily as the guillotine blade would have severed your flesh. With a casual air he reached his other hand up and pulled the iron maiden open. As he took a step back, the newcomer beckoned you to step out.

“Come on, boy. It’s time for us to depart, even if we do have a . . . thoughtful hostess.”

The scowl starting to darken Videle’s face immediately brightened into a pleasant but forced smile as your rescuer(?)’s eyes swept back over to her. Walking a short distance back away from you, the figure reaches one hand out and tears a portal through reality open as easily as if ripping a painting down from a wall. He gestures for you to walk through the portal, and then looks back at Videle.

“I’ll stop by again sometime unannounced Videle. Hope I don’t catch you in a compromising position when I do . . . unless it’s an invitation.”

And then you are both through the portal, looking down on the Screaming Dark Estate and the surrounding forest from the top of a high cliff. As the portal you used slides shut behind you, Nihilus gives an exaggerated shiver and shakes his head.

“Ugh! That bitch is a handful! Fortunately, I’ve invested a fair bit of time in training her to be absolutely terrified of me. It’s only fair, really. Still, I’m guessing she hasn’t looked in a mirror while taunting you yet, and put two and two together as to which fallen angel exactly you’ve fallen in love with? That certainly would have made it harder to pry her claws out of you - guess I must have shown up right on time, then!”

Your rescuer says, his tone mercurially more jovial than threatening now. He turns to glance at you one more time, looking you up and down and dismissing you in a second.

“So, boy. I imagine this whole being a fiend thing has got your mind spinning right about now, on top of being dead, confessing your undying *snicker* love to a fallen angel, and being rescued by some random ******* in a cloak and mask that walks all over the scariest and baddest Fiend Lord you’ve met so far! Now because of that, I’m going to keep this next part simple so your battered brain can understand, okay?”

The rescuer pauses a moment, smirking behind his mask.

“You may call me Nihilus, and I’m a Fiend Lord too. But you don’t have to worry about me torturing you – on the contrary, I want to help you. You have a great yet terrible gift, boy, or at least the potential to develop it. You caught the first glimpses of that just before you died, but even now you can develop your unique skills further. Now ordinarily I would just let you be and figure it all out on your own, but, well . . . let’s just say that we’re both running out of time. So I’m here to provide you with training and direction.”

Nihilus turns away from you, staring at the Screaming Dark Estate in the distance.

“You can refuse, of course. But let me assure you that I am the friendliest fiend you will meet by a long shot, and I’m your best hope to ever see the people you cared about again. More importantly, to ever see them again and not be overwhelmed by the desire to rip them apart with your bare hands. So what do you say, boy? Do we have a deal?”

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

You turn the earth beneath your feet into a deep pool of mud as the elven commander lunges for you. The two of you disappear beneath the surface, and for a moment everything is a confusing darkness as the two of you flail at each other beneath the surface. Then you grab hold of him and shove him further down beneath the surface, using him to push yourself up. Once your lips break the surface, you harden the earth again, entombing both yourself and the elf in solid earth. With your feet you can feel him struggling below you, but as the earth hardens his struggles weaken.

Thankfully, the insects have been repulsed by the presence of the mud, although you can dimly hear them buzzing around overhead, unable to locate you. The wizened old elf, however, has no such difficulties, and you watch as he strides towards you, digging into his pouch of dirty tricks. Before he can do anything, however, your ogre friend finally arrives. With a roar, he swings his trunk around, sending the wizened elf flying end over end into the darkness of the forest like a ragdoll. Val’Tosh plunges a hand down into the earth, ignoring the stinging insects as he pulls you up out of the earth like a tuber.

“Come on, quit playing around in the dirt Mal! We have to go!”

Val’Tosh roars, half dragging and half carrying you towards the tunnel Master Vork has created. Elise stands at the mouth of the tunnel, helping the last of the refuges duck into safety and desperately fending off several elves who have drawn blades. They scatter as you and Val’Tosh plow through them, and abandoning the tree trunk Val’Tosh uses his other beefy hand to shove Elise non too gently down into the tunnel. Rolling back up onto her feet, Elise dashes down the tunnel ahead of you, Master Vork having fashioned it to be big enough to accommodate even Val’Tosh. Unfortunately, this design decision meant that similarly large creatures could fit, and suddenly the granddaddy fire elemental appears in the mouth of the tunnel. It roars down the tunnel, moving quickly now as it compresses itself to fill the entire tunnel’s width like a plug of flame.

Dragging his free hand along the wall as he runs, Val’Tosh scrapes out a rapidly growing ball of earth. He drops you down at his feet as he turns and places the boulder down behind him, rapidly summoning earth up to form around the boulder and cause it to grow until it blocks the entire tunnel.

“Hah! Just like that last time we were fleeing for our lives in a tunnel! That seemed like a lifetime ago!”

Val’Tosh announced triumphantly as the last of the tunnel is blocked by the boulder. But you weren’t facing a bunch of earth constructs, made by . . . well, whatever the Tournament Organizer actually was. Fire begins to ooze through the cracks where the boulder meets the tunnel, and the fire elemental begins to come through. Blasted by the intense heat, the earthen boulder also hardens and begins to dry out and crack apart.

“Mal! MAL!! Do something!”

Val’Tosh yells, beginning to back away from the rapidly failing barricade. Hearing the shouts, Elise suddenly appears beside you, gesturing at the barricade before kneeling down into the tunnel and starting to sketch something into the floor.

“Hold it back for just a little longer!”

She shouts, then turning her full attention onto the floor as she sketches out more lines radiating out from the point that she started at.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip

After Ander explains the events leading up to this moment, Tyberius stares in amazement as Welkin nods sagely, due to having been present for these events. With the promise of a meeting coming up this evening, the group breaks up shortly thereafter, everyone going their separate ways. After Ander leaves, Tyberius turns to the two of you.

“So, I will need to supervise the efforts of my expeditionary force integrating into the city, and the clean-up crews. What are your plans until the meeting?”

Welkin sighs and rubs his head for a moment, clearly just as tired as you felt.

“Well, I guess I will go back to my own men and see that the refugees we were escorting get settled in properly and –“

“Wrong answer.”

Tyberius says, placing a firm hand on Welkin’s shoulder and your own.

“Both of you are exhausted, I suspect due to too little sleep on the road. And I suspect we will have need of your strength in the time ahead.”

Tyberius looks around at the destroyed city and sighs.

“Yes, I am sure that we will. But you won’t be able to help anyone further if you collapse from exhaustion. Come, my men are undoubtedly already setting up camp. You can rest there until the meeting starts. *Then* you can help with the efforts to rebuild the city afterwards if you still have youthful energy to burn.”

A short time later, and you find yourself alone in one of the tents that the Radiant Star are setting up a short distance outside the city. Some of them are likely going to be assigned to the refugees, but for tonight you will be sleeping here, along with several other female members of the Order once they are finished with their duties. Since they are all busy helping with getting the refugees resettled after the fiends torn through their shelters within the city, you have the tent to yourself for a moment. It doesn’t feel right to be in here sleeping while everyone else is sifting through the mess that the fiends had left behind, but the strain of the past few days’ march and the battle with Skithiss and Glurdalak leave you too weak for a long argument. As soon as your head touches the ground, you are sound asleep, once more wandering the land of dreams.

Theme Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9SWsTx5R4w)
(And because it’s from a JRPG, here’s a version in Japanese (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtdYFBtWCmU)! :smallbiggrin: )

It is the by-now familiar dream again. You rush out into battle, but you are too exhausted, weakened by the rigors of childbirth. All you can do is fight a desperate delaying action, and in the end your time runs out. You plunge from the skies, crashing to the ground in a broken heap. And the evil that you had been holding back follows you down, laughing as it stomps down on top of you, preventing you from struggling to rise back up onto your feet.

The first time you had had this dream, you had awoken in a cold sweat, and simply lied there shivering until the light of dawn finally banished its specter away. Now what was happening was merely sad, as the evil taunted you before plunging its fangs into your neck. This was the point where you usually awoke, in accordance with the old saying that you always awoke from a nightmare before you died – otherwise the shock of feeling yourself die in the dream actually killed you in the real world. This time you remained in the dream as it continued past its normal stopping point.

As it turned out, the evil didn’t kill you right away, instead taking its time to make you suffer as it tore you apart piece by piece. In a way, even this was a good thing, for the time that it wasted drawing out your death was additional time that you were delaying it from going after those important to you. But the wounds that the beast was inflicted were not just wounds to the body, but the soul as well, and you slowly felt yourself slipping away, falling into an oblivion from which you would never leave.

As the evil delivers its final taunt, however, time suddenly slows, and then freezes, the evil perfectly still, held immobile in the midst of descending for the blow that would wipe you from existence. There is barely enough of you left to realize what is going on, although it is clear that something unexpected has happened – and it’s not just the evil that is frozen, but everything – even the wind has gone still. Well, perhaps not everything has been affected, for a dark, cloaked figure suddenly strides into your narrow field of view. The newcomer sweeps its orange eyes over you for a moment, and then speaks.

“Hello Genevieve. I was wondering if you’d be interested in making a deal right about now.”

And then before the figure can explain, you are shaken awake, the dream shattering apart as your mind awakens to the real world once more.

“Captain Welkin is outside, waiting for you. Apparently you have some sort of meeting to attend?”

The woman who had just awoken you explained.

(Proceed to the joint DM below.)

Baerdog7

After dismissing the three newcomers, you make your way back to your bedroom where Morganna’s secret journals had been gathered. It seems that Nihilus knew exactly where to look, as none of the other journals are disturbed. Looking through them a second time, you realize that the one Nihilus has taken was dedicated to the construction of the gateways that made the Crusade possible by allowing a constant portal to be open into the Hells, allowing men and resources to pour in. The old gateways had been decommissioned at the end of the Crusade, although it seems likely you would be able to locate the salvaged remains and rebuild one in fairly short order.

Upon sitting down at your desk, you also realize that Hephestia must have been in here before Nihilus arrived, as a familiar large warhammer is lying behind the desk. It seems that there have been a few modifications to the weapon, however, as new runes in golden script have been added, and there is a curious slot now sitting along one side of the warhammer’s head. In addition to the warhammer, there is what appears to be a large jewelry box sitting on the floor.

Flipping the clasps open on the box and carefully swinging it open, you find a scroll sitting inside, as well as twenty soul crystals resting inside padded indentations. The scroll seems to have some answers – predictably, it is from Morganna.

Ander,

In the event that the Fiend Lords ever escape, I have prepared Fiendkiller in secret to serve an admittedly blasphemous purpose. The crystals held within this box will be strong enough to hold their souls – that is required is to have one of the crystals placed inside the warhammer’s head when you strike the killing blow. Once you have captured a Fiend Lord in this manner – remove the crystal, set it on the ground, and use the warhammer to smash it. As the crystal shatters, so too will the soul within it – thus ending the threat of that Fiend Lord forever. I write this with horror coiled around my heart, but it is the only way to ensure that the Hells never again are a threat to existence. I have also modified the weapon to boost its effectiveness within the Hells – for a brief period of time, it may even hold enough power within it to force the Hells back. Hold it aloft and shout “Light of the Sacred” to activate this power, although it will likely drain much of the weapon’s power for a time to create this bubble of purity within the sewer of the Hells. I wish there was some way to lift this terrible burden from your shoulders, but I suspect that I will soon be out of time to try.
- With all my love and pride, Morganna

As you are absorbing this information, Quietus’s soul crystal burning in your pocket, Kranmer appears in the doorway. After receiving your acknowledgement, he enters, bearing a small cloth wrapped package. With reverence, he carefully sets the buddle down onto your desk.

“Tyra told me that she had been meaning to give this to you, but there had never seemed to be a good moment. Before she fell asleep, she told me that I should give this to you now, before the moment was once again lost in the chaos of future events. Apparently, this in turn was something that she found in Hondshioh’s things, that he left behind for safe keeping during the Battle of Narle.”

Kranmer undoes the bundle, revealing a faintly glowing blood-red crystal.

“I believe that this is the object that holds Morganna’s soul. Tyra told me that you might like to ensure that it is kept safe personally.”

There were far too many of these things now, but although Winril had discovered a way to (hopefully) circumvent Project Angellus, he had not yet discovered a way to extract souls once they had been imprisoned in the loathsome crystals. If broken now, Morganna would be truly dead forever – and perhaps she had even wanted it that way, unwilling to have herself brought before the Valkyrie for judgment. Given Miriam’s recent behavior, that might have even been for the best.

It isn’t long after all of these discoveries that you find time has flown by, and it is time for the meeting.

(Proceed to the joint DM below).

Kasanip/Baerdog7

As night descends on the city of Luxien, some semblance of order has likewise been established as well. Although it would be a long time before the city was fully rebuilt, most of the rubble had been cleared from the streets and any survivors of the attack gathered and accounted for. High above the city, the spire known as the Speaker’s Aerie offers a full view of the wounded city stretching out below – save for one spot where the window glass has been replaced by wooden boards.

In addition to the members present at the meeting that had just been starting at the time of the attack, Tyberius is there to represent the Order of the Star. And of course, Lukina and Welkin are also present, Welkin looking rather uncomfortable at being around so many high-ranking members of the Church. Even Tyra is present, lying in a cot that several paladins had carried her up here in. Melissan is understandably absent, but curiously Ysora is likewise not present as well. Evidentially she has not yet gotten over the news of her sister’s disappearance, although some claim that they did see her moving about the city during the day, so there is hope that she will eventually arrive at the meeting.

“I call this meeting of the Council – and allies – to order!”

Tyra rasps, wincing as the effort of speaking pulls at her injured throat, and earning a reproving scowl from Kranmer.

“She told me she was going to have someone else call the meeting to order.”

Kranmer grumbles, and then looks down at the sheets of paper he has haphazardly scattered on the desk in front of him.

“Right, er . . . let’s see if I can find our itinerary . . . um . . . I believe Speaker Ander was going to address everyone first, yes?”

Gorgondantess

“That is fair. Since I will need you for the introduction anyway, naturally you will be present for that meeting. And I suppose your presence at any future meetings would not be particularly disruptive either.”

Nihilus says, and then you set out for Zareth’s tower, slinging Hephestia’s cage over one shoulder.

**************

At Nihilus’s comment, Zareth sneers but does not persist in his arguments. He still seems a little uncertain, and then Hephestia suddenly speaks up from within her cage.

“Do you remember what I said to you during the Battle of the Apocalypse, Zareth? Just before I cut you in half?”

Zareth blinks for a moment, and then he actually throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh yes. You said that my flesh was weak, just as my heart was for succumbing to evil, and that was why I would always be inferior. It was what actually led me to begin my studies of machines. I haven’t developed a form yet exquisite enough to replace my “weak” flesh, but that hasn’t stopped me from experimenting. Perhaps after I’m finished with my experiments on you, I will even discover the next step on that path.”

Zareth flashes you all a predatory grin, which fades as you explain what you want in exchange.

“Ah, but she has such a lovely scream. And such spirit – precisely why she made the perfect gift to my new chief torturer. But no matter – now we’ll both have a new toy to play with. I believe he’s working on her now – I’ll have him bring her right up.”

Zareth says, flicking a lever on the side of his throne and tilting one of the metal flowers up to his mouth. From the flower you can hear a calamitous racket, over which you can hear the sound of Maurice screaming. The pounding sound of metal on metal stops abruptly, although you can still hear Maurice moaning and gasping for air in the background. A metallic voice echoes up from the metal flower a moment later.

“Yeah boss, what is it? I’m kinda in the middle of something fun here!”

“Stop what you’re doing immediately. We have someone up here who has come to claim our pretty test subject – and they’re offering someone even better in exchange. Get her put back together and bring her up with you, right now.”

“But –“

“Just do it!”

Zareth growls, and then flicks the lever back off and grins at you, showing a row of yellow rotted teeth.

“She’ll be right up.”

A few minutes later and another elevator opens up on the far side of the tower, allowing a metal construct and an angel to step out. The construct looks like what was once one of the Baron’s GHASTs, although it has certainly seen better days, much of its former silvery plating having been haphazardly replaced by bulky iron panels and skeletal metal rods forming the skeletal framework for one wing. The angel isn’t in much better shape, covered in cuts and bruises and tattered clothing. Her wings have been skewered on metal hooks that are attached to her back by a harness, pinning them immobile. She walks with a limp, but despite the collar around her neck which allows the construct to drag her along she keeps her head held high. This allows you to clearly see the metal plate hanging from one side of her face, not fully secured yet as about only half of the nails have been pounded into place, allowing blood to steadily ooze out from beneath it. Upon noticing you, Maurice’s eyes go wide, and she seems to try to open her mouth to say something, but then winces and thinks better of it. At the same time, both the construct and Hephestia seem to recognize each other.

“Hello . . . Heph!”

The construct says, and Hephestia gives a long wail of despair.

“No no no no no no, oh please gods no.”

Hephestia whimpers, prompting a cold laugh from Zareth.

“It seems you have already met Chief Torturer Cheran, then.”

“Oh yes, we’ve been well acquainted.”

Cheran explained as he stepped into the middle of the platform, dragging Maurice behind him. He examines Hephestia thoughtfully for a moment, and then laughs.

“You’re not even an archangel anymore! Did Miriam give you a new body, even after how naughty you’ve been? It’s a shame I won’t be able to break it in properly anymore, but perhaps Lord Zareth will come up with something. So boss, can we do this deal already? Sooner it’s done, the sooner I can start on figuring out how high of a note Heph here can squeal!”

From his throne, Zareth watches intently, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He pauses for a moment, clearly savoring Hephestia’s dread, and then nods.

“Proceed.”

Cheran drags Maurice over to in front of you and Nihilus, and reaches out for Hephestia’s cage. Before the exchange can fully take place, however, Zareth calls out again.

“Wait. Just a moment. I was hoping that you might indulge my curiosity first, stranger. You asked for this angel by name. Now, I can surmise that Nihilus must have told you that she was here, but that leaves the question of why. Why did you come here for this specific angel? What is she to you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Nihilus shake his head ever so slightly. Cheran was close enough that you could probably shove him aside and grab Maurice. That was dangerous though, because while you could simply fly or fall off the side of the tower to get away, Zareth was still perched on his throne, and who knows what sort of surprises he could trigger there. You could also just lie, although it might be difficult to come up with one that would satisfy Zareth’s curiosity without sounding like a lie, which might be worse than the truth. Truth which, evidentially, Nihilus is warning you against telling – although he could just as easily be lying to you as well (despite the fact that he had told the truth about where Maurice was located).

Phaedra
The_Snark/Lonna

Her concern for Wulfric overriding every other concern, Pyrene sends her flaming hair out to encircle him, melting the frost away. Some strands of the hair brush against Titania, burning her tattered robes and causing puffs of steam to erupt from her skin as she staggers back. Annoyed, she runs her hands along her robes, extinguishing the few flecks of flame that stubbornly cling there. She avoids having to confront her daughter about this sudden confrontation by shifting her focus to Mar.

As Wulfric comes around, he rolls his eyes at Pyrene’s offer to explain – later.

“Heard that before – do I need to buy you dinner first this time?”

Wulfric whispered, forcing a slight smile onto his face. At Titania’s accusation of Mar attempting to seduce him, Wulfric coughed in indigation and shook his head.

“Nothing like that happened!”

Wulfric coughed, wrapping the fur cloak around himself after Titania strips Mar of it. Reaching out of the cloak as he tries to control his shivering, he grabs Pyrene’s arm with desperate strength.

“This isn’t right, Jacqueline.”

Wulfric hisses, shooting a quick glance at Titania – who is thankfully still preoccupied with Mar, although that does not mean she cannot hear him.

“Look at her – at Mar! She’s just a girl! An exhausted, nigh frozen to death, young girl. And your parents are treating her like she’s ****ing Azguloth Himself! You have to do something!”

Looking at Mar again, Pyrene can see that the angelic girl is exhausted, despite her best efforts to remain stout in the face of Titania’s never-ending threats. She is also covered in patches of frostbite, shivering uncontrollably, and it’s amazing she can even walk at all given the condition of her feet. But what catches Pyrene’s attention most sharply is the dark number “2” branded into one pale-white arm. A number, although far lower in count, nonetheless strongly resembles the brand on her own arm. The name Mar suddenly sounds familiar as well, and a memory from what seems like a lifetime ago plays through her mind.

But it’s still a prison, as you pass several patrols of elite guards hustling about as you, Edward, and the guard pass down the hallways. Your most firm reminder that this is a prison, however, is the wild, loud, feminine screaming coming from behind one of the iron doors that you pass. Rolling his eyes, Edwards says, “Oh don’t worry, that’s just little Mar. She must have done something to piss off Brother Corwin again. Of course, he is always looking for ways to punish the little brat – filthy pervert if you ask me. Ah, here we are, my room!” Edward says, brandishing a large brass key with which he opens the door in front of him.

Meanwhile, despite her exhaustion from dodging a number of near-death experiences without rest, and hovering on the brink of her body shutting down from the cold, Mar summons up enough strength to remain defiant in the face of Titania’s accusations. The unexpected defiance catches Titania off-guard, and she simply stares at Mar as the angelic girl goes on to explain why Titania had to be imprisoned. At Mar’s last words, Titania’s face twisted into a scowl, and in a flash of renewed anger she backhands Mar across the face. The angelic girl crumples from the force of the blow, and the fey queen looms over her as she vents her frustration – thankfully, this time with words.

“You don’t think I care!? I cared when I welcomed you as a friend and a mentor, only for you to bewitch my consort, and to do it so effortlessly you didn’t even notice! I cared when you threatened my daughter with complete annihilation after calling her an abomination! I cared when you, the “Protector” of humanity, came back to slaughter my people! I cared when you shoved a sword through my consort’s chest, a man who loved you with unwavering devotion, and shattered his soul before my very eyes! And then you killed me. And now, now you dare come here and try to apologize? Why!? Why should I believe any word that comes out of your lying mouth, you who have broken so many of your precious oaths!? What meaning does an apology have when we both know you would do everything exactly the same, and are incapable of feeling actual remorse!? “I’m sorry” is nothing but empty words coming from your mouth after everything you’ve done Marisiel, and I have no reason to believe that you’re even being sincere!”

Titania screams, glowering down at the battered former archangel. And then the fey queen narrows her eyes, and reaches a hand down to grab Mar in preparation for some new horrid punishment.

“And as far as punishments go, the Hells are going to look like a pleasant resort after I’m finished with you!”

Titania hisses, but is unable to carry out her threat as she suddenly spasms, collapsing to her knees beside Mar and vomiting up a viscous mass of black bile. The fey queen struggles to control herself, but is ultimately is unable to do so as she continues to spew out an unending stream of the foul liquid in a most undignified fashion. Finally, the flow of bile stops, the liquid darkness seeming to seep down through the ice and beginning to disappear as Titania collapses onto the floor next to her nemesis, breathing in ragged gasps.

“Well . . . that was different.”

Wulfric mutters.

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

“Well, unless she’s just there to say hello to Shiakti, then that’s where she’s making her play. So through the portal we go!”

Nihilus grunts, grabbing you and shoving you through another portal that he conjures up directly in front of you. There’s just the briefest sense of vertigo, by now a common sensation associated with Nihilus’s portals, and then the two of you are on the barren plains outside of the city.

A short distance away, a bright bonfire is burning, pushing back the dark and chill of night. Seated in front of it in a cross-legged position, completely naked, is Shiakti, who appeared to be meditating by staring into the fire. Before she can notice you, Nihilus drags you back behind an outcropping of rocks.

“My invisibility isn’t going to work here – she’s too good for that. Hopefully we can deal with Marialta before she even gets close to her. Although I wonder how Marialta intends to get close herself.”

Right on cue, Shiakti scoops up a handful of dust and throws it into the fire, causing it to briefly flicker.

“I bring myself before you to seek your wisdom, spirits!”

Shiakti intones, and Nihilus snorts as he clamps one hand over his mouth to hold the laughter in.

“Of course. As Marialta the Ghost, this won’t even be hard for her.”

The soft scramble of rocks nearby gets your attention, although Shiakti seems absorbed in her ritual enough not to hear it. You whirl around in time to watch a befuddling sight come into view – Nihilus, making his way over the rocks more carefully now.

“Meet my source of information for where Marialta was going to be.”

Nihilus explains dryly, stepping around you to meet his double. The two embrace for a moment, and then the newcomer Nihilus is absorbed into the other, melting away into shadows that sink into Nihilus’s body. The reformed Nihilus turns to face you.

“Being able to split your consciousness multiple times is certainly a useful talent for manipulating the flow of history. Now, “I” . . . er, I last saw Marialta slipping along past that rock outcropping over there. I imagine that she intends to float up to Shiakti from behind, and then pass through her to appear in the midst of the fire. Shiakti tends to swallow her key, yes?”

(Feel free to have Umber set up to ambush Marialta as she approaches the bonfire however you wish. She won’t be surprised, of course, but assume that Umber does manage to get his eyes on the target before Marialta is able to quite reach Shiakti’s location. Although, depending on how flashy of an opening move Umber makes, Shiakti’s location might be changing in fairly short order.)

Inspectre

2012-11-18, 04:52 PM

The City of Amaranth

Tae

“Damnit. Forgot that humans don’t have thick foreheads.”

Malakary grumbled, kicking halfheartedly at the body, which scares Mouse back up onto a shelf of supplies. The imp spits curses as it lands awkwardly, clawing desperately at several nearby stoppered glass vials in an attempt to regain its balance before it falls off its newest perch. This action causes those vials to tumble down off the shelf onto the counter below, where they shatter apart. The shavings and liquids within those broken vials mix together, and predictably given your current string of luck, cause a bright blue flame to burst into being on the countertop. Catbox simply stares wide-eyed the flame for a moment, and then screeches in panic and starts slinging her makeshift sacks across her back.

“What? It’s just a little fire, we can stomp it out.”

Malakary says thoughtfully, his attention drawn from the cultist’s body to the blaze starting to sweep across the entire counter, endangering several more glass vials lined up against the back.

“It’s a chemical fire, you idiot! We have to get out of here now, now now! Before it gets to those other chemicals and we get an even bigger fire!”

Catbox screeches, stumbling over herself in her haste to get outside and nearly scattering the contents of her packs all across the floor. You have gathered enough supplies by this point that, given a bit of time in a quiet place, you could put together the bomb that Skullcruncher wants. So leaving the place to blow up behind you would be alright, and perhaps even beneficial at concealing your presence here. On the other hand . . . you were in an unfamiliar city, and unless you could convince the other cultists to let you back in after coming up with a convincing lie to explain why their leader was no longer with it, you didn’t have any safe haven here either. A fire like this would undoubtedly attract attention, and somebody would undoubtedly see three cloaked figures leaving the place just before it burst into flames, leading to an investigation and hunt for you.

None of that would happen though, if you could get the fire out, and this could perhaps become your new base of operations. Like Catbox pointed out, you couldn’t just use water, but there were substances other than water that were quite effective at putting out fire, even ones created by chemicals. It was simply a matter of whether you would be able to locate them here before the entire place went up, and whether or not you would put on the right chemical to snuff out the flames . . . or a chemical that would just intensify the blaze.

Death if you failed wouldn’t necessarily mean that you would go back up on the Cleaver’s hooks – so long as someone survived to put the bomb together. Only you or possibly Catbox would have the knowledge to extinguish the flames, and if everyone else was outside with the bomb materials the other could still finish the job. You weren’t exactly the self-sacrificing type, so that suggested forcing Catbox to do it, assuming you thought she could pull it off.

On the other hand . . . forcing her to try to put out the fire while discretely setting her up for failure would also be a good way to eliminate your competition. Both Catbox and Malarky weren’t happy with you right now, and Mouse would probably side with them if they let him suck on your wounds after they beat you into a bloody pulp. But if Catbox were out the picture . . . Malarky would have to do whatever you said, on pain of failing the mission, and being permanently added to the Cleaver’s guest roster. After her non-submissive attitude lately, Catbox was in need of a good thumping, although it was debatable whether or not she’d realize you were responsible (and whether or not she’d actually keep her mouth shut next time – if there even was a next time).

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog/GuyFawkes

Unbeknownst to either side, a bird that is so much more watches the battle unfold below. From its perch, the watcher can see the elves moving about in the forest below, flitting from firing perch to firing perch. There are perhaps only two dozen elves present, leaving them actually outnumbered by the caravan’s guards – but surprise, terrain, and training more than make up the numerical difference.

Charging forward to the clear the way, Rosenberg dashes to the front of the caravan and then across the open ground between the front of the caravan and the barricade. Busy mowing down as many humans as they can and setting the wagons on fire with flaming arrows, the elves ignore the druid until he is approaching the barricade – then they switch targets. Three arrows find Rosenberg – one in the left thigh, one in the stomach, and one high in the chest. They are nothing but a minor inconvenience to the werewolf – the impacts cause him to stagger, and the feeling of the shafts in his flesh is hardly pleasant, but it will take much more than that to stop him.

Brining his scythe to bear on the tree comprising the barricade, Rosenberg evaporates them with rot rather than cutting them apart. Without further direction form him, the incredibly fast mold spreads down the length of the fallen trunks, but no further. In another minute, the road will be clear enough for the wagons to move forward again.

Amelia would have moved forward to join Rosenberg at the barricade, but is stopped by Alons’ arm. She looks at the charging druid for a moment, and then at the effectiveness of his efforts, and nods.

“You are right – about my choice of weapon as well as letting him go. However . . . I do have a few skills of my own.”

Staring down at her rapier for a moment, Amelia conjures flames down the length of the blade – which do not seem to weaken the steel nor burn her with the heat. As Alons gives a wild war whoop, he unleashes a barrage of arrows into the trees, keeping several of the elves suppressed and hitting at least one of them. Of course, this also brings the elves’ attention around to him, and several arrows whistle past uncomfortably close. Finding the range, the arrows begin to come closer to finding their mark, at least until Amelia gestures with her sword, tracing an imaginary line in the ground around them. Fire leaps off of her sword, creating a wall of fire that stands between her and Alons, and the forest. As the next volley of arrows fly out of the forest, the flames roar up and consume them utterly, not even leaving ash behind to cross the barrier.

Not done yet, Amelia turns and gestures to the burning wagons with her free hand, sucking the fire off of the wagons and sending it roaring into the woods on one side of the caravan. That side of the road is engulfed in an intense blaze within seconds, forcing the elves on that side back or risk death by suffocation and burning.

That still leaves the elves on the other side of the road to content with, however, and now they deploy their second tactic. The very road beneath the caravan heaves and cracks apart as earth elementals pull themselves up out of the ground in the midst of the caravan, seeking to smash and crush everything nearby.

But the host of elementals suddenly in the caravans’ midst is not the worst horror that the elves have to unleash. Despite there not being a cloud in the sky, a massive thunderbolt suddenly erupts down to strike Rosenberg. The druid is highlighted for a moment with a corona of brilliant energy, and then he collapses in a smoldering, charred (but quickly regenerating) heap. From through the burning section of forest a human branded in a similar fashion to Garret strides out into view.

“Skitter and scramble all you like, insects. Your stings and bites will accomplish nothing but protract your deaths!”

The newcomer announced as those caravan guards that were able unleashed a barrage of crossbow bolts and arrows in his general direction. With as casual of an attitude as he displayed when walking out of the forest, the Fey gestures, surrounding himself in a tight cyclone of wind that knocks all projectiles aside, even Alons’ skillful shots. Amelia summons a torrent of fire to hurl at him, but this too is pulled into the cyclone, and from within the rotating curtain of flame everyone can hear the Fey give a chilling laugh.

A burning tree nearby suddenly tears itself out of the ground, uprooted to hang ominously in the air a moment, before it is sent hurtling towards the Countess and her carriage. Alons is able to throw himself flat to the ground just in time, but Amelia is unprepared for the sudden attack and merely stares at the oncoming tree, dumbfounded. She is directly struck by the tree and disappears beneath it as it continues on to smash into her carriage, flattening it into shards of wood that are likewise ignited by the flames still crackling along the trees’ length. From the wreckage, the two horses that had been pulling the carriage appear, burned and injured and completely terrified, but nonetheless alive as they bolt down the now-cleared road. Of Amelia, there is no sign.

Vegna

2012-11-18, 07:35 PM

Mal Harath

Summoning his remaining strength, Mal shifts the earth on the tunnel's floor into mud, hoping that it would ward the elemental away as before. But as his tired limbs force the act, the fire entity's proximity only seems to bake his efforts, his mud only slowing the flames by a few more seconds at a time.

"Whatever you're doing, do it quickly!"

He urges her, as the heat within their escape passage begins to cook his lungs and choke his throat.

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-11-19, 12:32 AM

Nameless

"Yes, Volesin, we follow. Come on, Katrina."

He drags the two after him as he chases the woman up to the estate.

daelrog

2012-11-19, 02:57 AM

Alons Sift

"Fuer'bog!" Alons curses loudly. A poor bodyguard he was. Tasked with guarding a divinely beautiful woman and she's crushed by a flaming tree. He found no humor in the absurdity of it.

Alons held out his left hand and with a few words of power created an illusion, fuelling it with his anger. The cyclone appeared to be full of dark spirits now, cackling and howling faces that mocked the fey within. Even if the illusions could do the spirit no harm, he hoped they would at least put the fear of death in the monster. He turned his attention to the remaining elves, his contempt for their kind guiding his aim as he aimed to kill, slowly moving closer to the burned carriage to see if beyond hope Amelia yet lived. It was a slim hope, but the woman showed some skill with fire, and was a 'crippled' Countess who could walk.

GuyFawkes

2012-11-19, 03:53 AM

Lucifuge

The little bird watched as the humans made their move to defend themselves from the ambush. After scrambling for a few moments, the defense quickly organized itself, led by the human male carrying a large scythe, the female using her flame magic, and the other human male with his prowess with the bow, Lucifuge noted.

Thinking they were capable of handling themselves, he patiently waited for the elves' retreat when the elementals began sprouting out of the ground. At that point he decided the humans would need his help.

Flapping its tiny wings, it landed on a lower and bigger branch and as soon as it did, it began growing. From the tiny bird, a humanoid form wrapped in a cloak with a host of weapons on his back appeared. He took out two waraxes from his back, and again chanted the familiar arcane words, changing his appearance into the human form he always used. Noting that the elves were quick on their feet, he chanted another string of words to take care of that problem.

Looking down at the elves' movement, he waited for the moment a number of them stayed in close proximity to each other. When he saw his opportunity, he leapt down on one of the elves, with one of the waraxes burying deep between the victim's shoulder and neck. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he charged in a burst of speed that caught even the fleet-footed elves off-guard. The pair of waraxes swung down, sideways and up, finding elf bodies and digging into them as he assaulted the group in a blur.

Dorizzit

2012-11-19, 01:59 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram is so focused on keeping the dog from bleeding out that he doesn't even notice the approaching angels, giving him a rather nasty shock when Maya shoves him out of the way. The impact is strong enough that Korram uses the force to roll into a crouch, but he decides not to say anything out of tact, instead allowing Maya to focus on healing the dog. When Miranda shows him the cloth, he rubs his chin, trying to remember.

"If I recall correctly, Ander had enemies in the church. From everything I heard, he eventually won that fight; I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up in Hell, and it would make sense for one of them to use this symbol. Irony and all that. Or it could be a symbol of some kind of alliance in Hell being made to destroy the church. Or it could be a false trail, intended to throw us off."

Korram thinks for a few more seconds, then shrugs.

"Sorry, that's all I can think of."

Upon Melissan's return, Korram listens to her assignment of tasks to the other two angels. At the inherent dismissal of his presence, he gives a (rather informal) salute to her.

"If there is anything else I can do to help, please let me know. And...please give my condolences to Ander, if you don't mind."

By now used to the procedure, Korram allows Miranda to carry him back to his new dwelling. He waves goodbye to Miranda, but she stops just before flying off.

“Thank you for your aid, Korram. Both in rescuing those people, and . . . before that. I can’t believe that Ander’s family was taken, and we’re just going to do nothing. I’m not even sure that’s anything we *can* do, but . . . how do you cope with it? Failing to protect those you swore to shield?”

Korram freezes in mid-step, then turns around to face Miranda again. He considers his next words very carefully.

"Well, for me, at least, life was just an endless chain of failures."

The words are said nonchalantly, despite their grim nature.

"Take the failure, and grow stronger from it. That's all I can say. It's bitter and it never gets any easier. But the important thing is to stand back up afterwards. If you give up after a single failure, that's far worse than having failed in the first place. With persistence and willpower, any challenge can be overcome."

OverWilliam

2012-11-19, 04:11 PM

~Tare

"I just wanted to be left alone." Tare lamented, after having been pulled through the portal by the cloaked stranger who now introduced himself as "Nihilus." "That's how all this started so very, very long ago. I just wanted me and mine to be able to live in peace. Maybe if I had been a little more dedicated to that goal, instead of trying to save every poor fool to stumble into my path, I'd still be alive and able to enjoy it." Tare shook his head and sat down heavily on a none-too-comfortable slab of rock.

"I suppose I should thank you for getting me out of there." Tare shrugged. "But to be perfectly honest, 'Nihilus', whoever the **** you are, I'm having a hell of a time figuring out why exactly I should give a damn anymore. I can't remember the last time anything I tried to do made an ounce of difference for anybody I cared about. Except, oh yeah, for getting them kidnapped by zealots, attacked by demons, or killed. I had a shot at changing something for the better while I was alive, and that got screwed all to hell. Literally! What exactly am I supposed to do here?" He spat the question with a little more anger and a little less depression than it had originally been given when it was still a thought in his head.

Tare sighed, and tried to reconsider. "...Look, I'm not sure what 'gift' you're talking about, but if you mean the one I think you do, then a damn lot of good it's done me, or anybody, so far. You say I could see them again, but I'm not sure why that would be such a great thing, for either them or for me."

But the anger surged up again. Maybe it was a side-effect of having hellfire running in his veins now. "I am damn sick of getting stepped on. And thrown around. Of the people I care about having to live in worry when I should be strong enough to carve out a little swath of peace for them. You offer me help? Fine. I'll take it, and with no intention of paying it back. If you do help me, then know that I will owe you no debt of kindness. I won't be a puppet on your strings any more than I was about to let myself become a dog on Videle's leash. I'll use whatever strength I can claw together for my own purposes, whether I get it from you or anywhere else. But I have a feeling those were the terms you had in mind already, weren't they?"

TechnOkami

2012-11-19, 06:53 PM

Rosenberg

As the lightning struck his form, the Druid cried out in pain, and was quickly brought to his knees; he could barely hold himself up with arms propped against the ground. Cringing as his charred flesh began regenerating, his eyes shot upwards, looking directly at this new fey-bound man with murderous intent.

Painfully he rose, dragging the scythe behind him until he was underneath the vortex. Lifting the blade, he struck it into the ground, beckoning verdant energies to erupt underneath him as he shoots into the sky. He was now standing on the tip of a quickly growing tree, he and his scythe aimed directly at the fey abomination.

Baerdog7

2012-11-20, 02:02 AM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Memories come rushing back as Ander spies Fiendkiller sitting on his desk. Had it really been sitting there the whole time? He must have completely overlooked it during his confrontation with Nihlus. He lovingly picks up the weapon and turns it in his hands. Every pit in the head, every notch in the handle, every place that had been worn through good use was familiar to him, except where Morganna had modified it. Justice and Sin-Eater had been exquisite weapons but they were never fully his. [i]Fiendkiller[i], however, was more…after decades of use through his greatest victories and most crushing defeats it had become a friend.

Turning to the small box, Ander can't help but be impressed once again by Morganna's forethought. He reads and rereads the letter, committing it to memory, before destroying it. The soul crystals are collected into a sturdy leather pouch which he ties off of his belt.

Ander had just gotten up and had barely begun practicing some of his old fighting forms with Fiendkiller when Archbishop Kranmer enters the room.

“Tyra told me that she had been meaning to give this to you, but there had never seemed to be a good moment. Before she fell asleep, she told me that I should give this to you now, before the moment was once again lost in the chaos of future events. Apparently, this in turn was something that she found in Hondshioh’s things, that he left behind for safe keeping during the Battle of Narle.”

Kranmer undoes the bundle, revealing a faintly glowing blood-red crystal.

“I believe that this is the object that holds Morganna’s soul. Tyra told me that you might like to ensure that it is kept safe personally.”

Thank you, Archbishop, Ander says, reverently taking the soul crystal. I'll make sure to keep it safe. You should prepare for the Council meeting, I'll see you soon.

With the Archbishop gone, it was time to see to his own preparations…

**********

Ander arrives at the Speaker's Aerie just as the others are getting situated with Fiendkiller slung across his back and a large collection of maps, files, and journals under his arms.

“I call this meeting of the Council – and allies – to order!”

Tyra rasps, wincing as the effort of speaking pulls at her injured throat, and earning a reproving scowl from Kranmer.

“She told me she was going to have someone else call the meeting to order.”

Kranmer grumbles, and then looks down at the sheets of paper he has haphazardly scattered on the desk in front of him.

“Right, er . . . let’s see if I can find our itinerary . . . um . . . I believe Speaker Ander was going to address everyone first, yes?”

Thank you, and thank you all for coming. Ander answers, setting the collection of documents on the temporary desk that had been set up in the Aerie. For those of you who have yet to meet our guests, allow me to present Knight-Commander Tyberius and Knight -Captain Welkin of the Order of the Star and Miss Lukina Marcellis. We will be hearing from them later.

Declining to sit, he steps over to the windows to watch the final rays of sunlight disappear beyond the horizon as he addresses the group.

"All things must end, even the reign of the gods. Watch then for these signs that will usher in a new era, the reign of the Certain King.

Those created by the gods and of the gods shall be created to exist in Harmony. But the Harmony will be shattered, broken by One who will lead the heirs of the gods to embrace their destiny. Discord and Inequality will follow, leading to Ambition and Desire, and culminating in the rise of the Certain King.

But before the Certain King sits upon the Throne of Athelion in judgment, the world shall cry out as it is split in twain. As their world is divided, so too shall be the gods and their heirs, both Within and Without. Their Balance Destroyed, the Scales of Fate shall settle anew, leading to only two possible outcomes.

What was driven apart shall try to rejoin, with Violence being the only possible outcome. The Scales of Fate will tip, leading one side to Fall, and the other side to Rise. The Shattered One will be thrown down beneath the Throne, there to remain until the coming of the Certain King.

It is from these seeds that the world’s destruction shall spring. All has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted.

He pauses to let the words sink in before continuing.

Such is the Prophecy of the Certain King. Ladies and gentlemen, today was a wakeup call. Lord Nihlus' attack on Luxien was only his most recent move in a game that he has been playing for centuries. He styles himself as an Agent of Fate, if such a force can even be personified, and I believe he is working to bring the Prophecy of the Certain King to fruition in order to end all existence as we know it. His motives are unclear. He also believes his plan is unstoppable, that no man or god could possibly hope to intervene.

He turns to the Council and levels a steely gaze in their direction.

It is our job to do just that.

The attack today was not intended to destroy Luxien or even the Church, despite what the presence of seven of the Demon Fiend Lords would suggest. They were merely diversions. Nihlus' real objectives was one of Morganna's journals, specifically the journal which describes our process for creating our portals into Hell. It is likely that with this knowledge, he will be able to reverse engineer them and create permanent portals from Hell to the mortal world…or even Heaven.

Ander moves to the center of the room as he continues to speak.

But today was not a total loss. During the battle I was able to successfully remove Melissan's soul crystal and use it to defeat Quietus, he announces, producing the aforementioned soul crystal from his pocket. Here he is, one of Azguloth's chosen servants…currently no more of a threat than a small stone…

He sets the crystal on the floor in the very center of the chamber and unslings Fiendkiller. With an impressive windup he brings down the hammer and shatters it with a thunderous blow. A great feeling of loss permeates the room as Quietus' soul is permanently and utterly destroyed.

…and now no longer a threat, forever.

Once again he looks to the group, locking eyes with each person before moving on to the next.

These are the lengths we must go to if we are to win. The stakes have never been higher. Our resolve must be ironclad. We will have no second chances.

With that, Ander finally walks back to the desk and takes his seat.

Now I would like to hear from Miss Lukina and the representatives of the Order of the Star. After them, I would like to hear from each Council member and then at the end of the meeting I will present my plan of action.

He turns to Lukina and nods.

Miss Lukina, you have the floor. Please tell the Council why you have come to see me.

Lonna

2012-11-20, 11:04 AM

The Woman with Many Names

Despite the tense situation, when Wulfric quipped about buying her dinner, Jacqueline found herself smiling back at him. Then Titania's rant, and Wulfric's whispered exhortation to intervene directed her attention at the angelic child, seeing her closely for the first time. The girl's defiance despite her pitiful condition was enough to stir sympathy in nearly anyone, but it was the stark number 2 branded into the girl's arm, clearly visible as she crumpled under Titania's backhanded blow, that stiffened Jacqueline's spine. Silently, she felt for her magics, effortlessly shaping them in her mind to use when her so-called mother inevitably shifted from tirade to torture. Outwardly, the only sign of her preparations was a slight increase in the light and heat emitted from her hair, and the slight frown and staring eyes in her still face. When Titania reached for Mar, Jacqueline blinked and stepped forward.

"Mother, wait-" But whatever she was going to say was rendered moot as Titania collapsed, coughing and vomiting the same tar-like bile that Jacqueline had noticed in the throne room. Running her hands over her flaming locks, she tossed a double handful of sparks in Mar's direction and then turned her back, kneeling so that her body blocked the angelic girl from Titania's view. The sparks, rather than scattering or disappearing, collected into a ball on the floor, then unrolled to reveal what appeared to be a house cat made of flame. The unnatural animal scampered over to Mar's feet, circling so quickly as to become a blur of flame that melted the ice holding her captive, before running to the far side of her body and pressing up against her thin clothing. Surprisingly, the flame did not scorch the cloth, merely providing a pleasant warmth.

"I know of you, little Mar." The princess' voice was startlingly kind, and, a glance at the woman bending over the Fey Queen would confirm, entirely in Mar's head. "I was in Ironheart for a time, as well. I could not help you then, but I will try now. The animal that has brought this message to you will keep you warm, and can deliver a message to me if you tell it 'Find Jacqueline and tell her' followed by your message. It can also heal your wounds if you touch them to the animal's side, but this will be slow, and use up some of the energy that created it."

Meanwhile, Titania was nearly recovered, and Jacqueline spoke aloud, her voice echoing slightly in the icy chamber. "Come Mother, you have done enough for one day. Your guards are more than capable of keeping this child trapped until you are well. Besides, we never got to finish our conversation earlier."

[[OOC: If Titania is agreeable to this suggestion, Pyrene/Jacqueline/Pyria will try to get Wulfric to precede them up the staircase Titania created earlier, and keep herself between Titania and Mar so that Titania doesn't notice the fire-cat.]]

Kasanip

2012-11-21, 07:06 AM

Lukina (Before the Meeting)

The scariest part about nightmares was, for Lukina, they were real. They had been real. And somehow more than the two fiend lords she had fought, the evil in this nightmare was more terrifying. Everytime she had seen it before, Lukina had wanted it to end and woke up.
But this time she wasn't. Or maybe it was to be too exhausted that she didn't feel like she could. And that was also terrifying. But mesmerizing. An answer was so close. A new discovery. This is when I died. But what happened? How was I saved? Who is that orange eyes figure? But as she tried to listen to the newcomer's explanation, she was shaken awake.

It wasn't different from before. She flinched and gasped for breath, before sitting up and wrapping her arms around herself. She was alive. Her name was Lukina (and Genevieve). The tent, the paladins, the fight, Welkin, Ander, Tyberius. Luxien, the battle. She unwrapped her arms and felt her cheeks burn with some embarrassment. She nodded to the woman.
"Thank you. Sorry, I overslept. Please tell Captain Welkin to wait just a minute while I prepare."

Lukina washed her face by the small, cracked mirror in the tent. And she stared at the reflection that seemed almost like a stranger. She slapped her cheeks and shook her head, focusing.
"Come on, Lukina." She encouraged herself. And when she looked at the mirror again, the reflection had a more confident and energetic look.
She dressed quickly and exited the tent after tying her hair again.
"Sorry Welkin. Captain Welkin." She corrected herself. "I overslept."

I don't know if it is good etiquette to wear armor to such a meeting. Please let Lukina go appropriately!

Lukina at the Council

Lukina took a deep breath and moved to stand before the council.
Why am I nervous now! It's worse than fighting those fiend lords.

...

Maybe not that much.

But it was another battle, in a way. And Lukina, who had grown up on a farm, had never imagined being in this kind of place. She took another breath and rest her arms to her side. She can't fail here.

"Hello, my name is Lukina Marcellis. Not so long ago that I wouldn't be able to answer the question Speaker Ander just asked. I don't know very much about the prophecy, or what the situation is, besides "dire." I don't know about fate, except that I know that I am here because of these forces.

My name is Lukina Marcellis, but that isn't my only name. A long time ago, I was known as Genevieve, the Champion of Lady Miriam. I have memories before..my death, but incomplete. I'm trying to put them together. But I came because I have questions. Why am I here? What is my purpose? Why did I awake now? There must be a reason, that must be connected to everything that is happening. I traveled here because I hoped that the paladins, who are the loyal servants of our goddess Lady Miriam, would be able to help me to reach her. To heavens, if it must take such a journey."

She looked up, to meet the eyes of each council member with determination、blue fire seemed to glow, and she looked much sharper and dangerous, focused completely like the sharpened sword. There was a silent grace as she blinked, but then she was looking at the next council member.

"Listening here, it seems this prophecy is becoming slowly answered. Even if it isn't, all of the history sounds very dark recently. I met Captain Welkin during the elf attack at Woodhall village, and then we came here to Luxien when it was under attack. I fought against the evils Glurdalak and Skithiss, and that has only strengthened my determination.

I don't know if I can answer any of your questions, but I will try. I came looking for answers. If we are going to meet an apocalypse... I hope that you can help me to return to Heavens, or to at least talk to Lady Miriam. Or give me access to records at least that can help. I heard Ysora was here... but she isn't at the moment. I hope to talk with her too. Speaker Ander told me about what has happened, and it cannot be a chance that I [awoke] during the battle of Narle.

I am hoping that I can help, or at least, if I can recover my memories, become complete, then Lukina, Genevieve, myself, I can do everything I can to help. In the meantime, I'll do the best I can." She said, bowing. And as she bowed, it seemed like that blue flame receded a little, leaving the teenager to stand, waiting for questions. Or should she sit down? Lukina wasn't sure.

Gorgondantess

2012-11-22, 04:24 PM

She tenses as she sees Maurice being dragged before her, but manages to suppress her anger. Then she thinks better of it.
"What do you think you're doing? Take your hands off of her!"
She strides towards Cheran and snatches the chain out of his hands.
"I offer you Hephestia the Adjudicator in the most pristine form- and you drag your trade before me like a sack of meat! Battered and torn to pieces, hooks to boot! Butcher! You're nothing more than a child pulling the legs off a spider and watching it writhe!"
She holds Maurice's cheek in her hand, and turns to look down at her, but tears her head away before she can meet her gaze. She gets to work removing the metal bits and doing her best to mend her wounds. She shakes her head, tsking.
"Poor moppet... you should be glad, Zareth, that what I have in store for her does not involve such... crude, physical methods, or I should consider this a used product.
You see... I love her."
As she worked, she altered her leg, storing as much energy there as she could muster, and with that she shoves out one foot like a piston, slamming into Cheran, hopefully sending him flying towards Zareth. As she does so with her strong arm she tears through the (by design) ever so delicate gold filigree of Heph's cage, grabbing its inhabitant. Securing her prize- both of them, the angel and the avian- she leaps off the tower.
All she can hope now is that Nihilus values her aid over Zareth's.

WhiteKnight777

2012-11-22, 08:38 PM

Umber

Umber just had time for the vague, disconnected thought that it would be very useful to find out how Nihilus created all these little portals. It was a technique that would make one almost invincible by itself, never mind what it could do in conjunction with what he already knew. Umber had no time to pursue that line of reasoning, however, as he was swept through the doorway and on to the other side.

Umber almost laughed at Nihilus's comment. Using invisibility against a blind woman, not to mention one with Shiakti's senses? It was ridiculous. An instant later, he recalled that Shiakti wasn't blind, yet. Gods-damned time travel. Besides, she wasn't dead, either, but then Umber hadn't had nearly as much time to get used to that idea.

Umber had time for another brief, bright spark of envy as he kicked his mind into motion. He nodded distractedly at Nihilus. For a few moments, he said nothing - he simply watched events playing out in his mind. Finally, he could sense the approach of Marialta's presence. He moved swiftly, and noted that while his body still felt awkward, at least it was beginning to be a familiar clumsiness, like the wobbly heel on a much-worn boot. Dipping his hand into his robe, he pulled out a small pouch of something he'd pinched back at the market. Umber wasn't normally given to kleptomania, but he'd always had a little trouble with the idea that things could belong to other people, as opposed to just being held until he needed them.

With a single gesture, he cast the tiny cloth pouch into the fire. It flared up, the edges of the flame turning an arcane violet, while the core flared a smokey red. Umber called out in a low, hollow voice. "Beware, Shiakti. A hostile spirit stalks unseen. It comes for your key!"

Umber doubted the ruse would fool Shiatkti for more than a few moments, if at all. But then, that wasn't the point - she'd be alert now, even if she mistrusted the source of the warning. They couldn't catch Marialta by surprise, perhaps, but they could keep Shiakti from being taken unawares. He grinned, slipping out and moving towards Marialta, drawing the bone wand his sleeve like a conjurer's trick. He touched one of the strands of hair he'd stolen earlier and made a whipping gesture. A blob of inky darkness sailed towards Marialta, its amorphous shape shifting between vague, predatory shadows as it sailed unerringly towards her. It was a dark thing, this weapon - A thing designed to shred the soul and leave it ragged and broken. For perhaps the first time in his life, Umber blessed Kartul's propensity for needless sadism. The old bastard might be good for something after all.

The_Snark

2012-11-25, 07:05 AM

Mar

She could only cower as the Queen vented her rage. This, this was why she feared Titania, as she did not fear Istomilo or any of the demons she had fought in the past. Istomilo had settled his accounts when he tortured and murdered her in Ironheart, but Titania... Titania had been wronged in the war, and part of that was Marisiel's fault, and therefore she could not armor her heart against the Queen's barb's and accusations. It made her miserable, and it frightened her because that was how they broke her. Guilt would destroy her in a way that physical pain alone couldn't, because it made her doubt whether she should resist. Maybe you deserve it. Maybe you should give up and accept what they're doing. Try to make it right, atone for all the bad things you've done...

Brother Corwin had broken her that way. Titania could too, if she discovered that weakness. Even now, knowing and fearing what might come of it, Mar couldn't quite convince herself that trying to make up for what she'd done to the Queen was wrong.

She's still dying. And it became clear, as she lay transfixed with pity and horror and fear, why Titania had stayed in Phaedra all these years. Phaedra, where no time passes, where no man dies no matter how grievous his wounds. Or how terrible the pain. How much time did she have left? Hours? Minutes?

Oh yes; pity. But she couldn't bring herself to reach out, not with that last threat lingering in her mind. The Hells are going to look like a pleasant resort after I’m finished with you!

And then warmth licked at her feet, and a voice whispered in her ear. Pyria's voice. Or Jacqueline's voice. Odd to think that she and the princess shared that curious difficulty with names, born of living too many lives. And Ironheart, too. Mar unfroze, wilting slightly at the kind words. And the heat, blessed heat. She scooped up the flame-cat and held it in her lap, curling around it for warmth; it squirmed a little before settling in, just like a true cat would have. She rolled onto her side, lying atop one wing and drawing the other over her like a blanket. It wasn't as good as Wulfric's furs, but feathers were better protection than nothing.

After a little while, the faint crackle of the flame-cat started to resemble purring.

Iethloc

2012-11-25, 06:01 PM

Sohssal

”Well, I might have to march you out of the mansion in chains to keep up appearances, but you won't be wearing them for too much longer. I could still reverse engineer the ritual if things go wrong. But until then, I'll give you some more time to rest. There's a couple more preparations I can make, anyway,” Sohssal said. He had to be careful to not push his only non-fiend company too hard. Seraph's demise certainly wouldn't prevent him from getting out, but perhaps a delay now would be worth having an ally later.

In the meantime, he may as well get more work done. He had one of his borrowed servants call up Xerxes to meet in private, being sure to chase off any eavesdroppers. If they tried that again, he might have to come up with some cruel punishment to keep them from getting too bold. Once Xerxes arrived and he was sure of their privacy, he began explaining his new plan. ”It seems you're not the only one making deals. I've got an easy way out of here if I can get something from Istomilo's workshop, but I'll still summon you into the mortal world if you can get that soul. For now, however, I need any information you have on that place. Seraph will be coming with me, and I'm open to suggestions for any competent minions you know of.”

He might actually be a useful partner until he went off to do whatever in the mortal world, so Sohssal figured he should see how much he could get out of him before that. The imps, on the other hand, had caused enough trouble without any prompting. Sohssal did not think it wise to take them along somewhere both important and dangerous. They might trip the wrong kind of trap and blow them all sky high, or summon something particularly nasty. Discretion would be required and he wasn't sure they were even capable of that.

Inspectre

2012-11-26, 06:52 AM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

At your words, Miranda thinks for a moment, and then nods slowly.

“I suppose that makes sense, although you are right. Failure is a bitter truth to accept. I do not know how we will fight against this new tactic, only that we must not allow the Hells to steal ascended souls with impunity. If . . . if I hear anything about your family, I will let you know. For now rest, and enjoy the reward for your sacrifice.”

And with that, the angel leaps into the air and flies off, leaving you alone – again. You consider what to do with yourself now. For the moment at least, there was once again no danger in your new home. And even if there was, it was clear that the angels did not want your help. This despite the fact that it was equally clear the angels were now too few and unprepared for this new threat. You could go visit one of your siblings, although the lingering adrenaline from the fight against the Hellish conscripts and investigation of Ander’s home left you feeling restless. Sadly, fighting for your life was also much easier than living it – if this blissful existence could even be called a life.

Before you could decide what to do with yourself, the door to your home creaked open of its own accord. That was odd – your siblings did not drop by unannounced, and other than Marius you had not been expecting any other visitors. You approach the now-open door cautiously, but even you are caught off-guard when a figure appears in the doorway within a single blink of the eye.

Theme Song: Nihilus vs Korram (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtC71rNLrx8)

“Korram!! You godsdamn son of a bitch!”

The orange-eyed cloaked figure roared at you as it grabbed you and dragged inside the house before throwing you down at the floor. You tuck into a shoulder roll, breaking your fall and whirling about as you come back up onto your feet. The intruder is already back in your face, delivering a star-summoning punch to your jaw.

“Why can’t you do anything right!?”

The figure growls as he shoves you stumbling back into an interior wall. Instead of allowing yourself to rebound back from the impact against the wall, you hug it and twirl along its length. A second after you leave the section of wall that you had crashed into, the figure drives its foot through the wood paneling. As the figure extracts its leg from the wall with a string of imaginative curses, you get your first real good look at it. Which, given the dense cloak that it was wearing, wasn’t much more.

The intruder was humanoid in size and shape, although as already demonstrated freakishly fast and quite pissed off at you. One interesting new piece of information was a steady plume of smoke rising from the figure’s body, similar to the armor that the Hellish conscripts wore. So it could be surmised that you were dealing with a fiend of some sort. And although muffled the intruder’s voice was masculine. Perhaps the Baron had come for you as in your dreams?

As it regained its balance, the figure hissed in perhaps pain or mere irritation before it came at you again.

“I gave you one simple task, and you still somehow managed to bungle it!”

You block the flurry of punches it throws at you, and then your attacker is suddenly behind you, shoving you face-first into the wall. You grunt in pain as the fiend follows this up with a hard punch to the kidneys, but manage to twist aside to deflect the force of the second punch along your back. You counter with an elbow to the face, which actually manages to connect. This cuts off whatever the intruder was about to say next, and as he staggers back you whirl and grab hold of him by the shoulders in preparation for a knee to the groin. You bring the knee up short when you suddenly no longer have a hold of him. An arm sliding around your neck from behind a split-second later tells you where the intruder went.

“**** this.”

The intruder growls, and then he pulls you back through . . . something that causes your stomach to flip-flop uncontrollably for a moment. And then your senses clear, leaving you to find yourself standing in a small patch of grass that is surrounded by barren earth. In the distance a large outcropping of rocks jabs unevenly into the sky. Was this . . . the capital city of Narle? On the mortal plane!? Releasing you, the intruder walks around to stand in front of you with a sigh of relief.

“There. Much better. Now where were we? Oh yes!”

The figure jabs a finger at the outcropping of rocks.

“That was where you died. That was where you failed to achieve the one simple task I placed in front of you – kill King Demetrius Gast!”

The figure whirls back to face you, hands clenched into fists, and for a moment you thought he was going to resume your physical altercation. Instead, he continues to batter you with words.

“Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass it was to get you there, alive and whole? To line things up just so in order to allow you to have your revenge upon him!? I chose you to be my weapon, Korram – you out of the countless hundreds, thousands that the Baron has crushed under his heel! Without me, you would have just been some meaningless dirt farmer that got in over his head and was left for dead in some field! But no, I arranged for you to get in touch with Eldred. I assured that the guards who tortured you in Ironheart were too sadistic or too afraid of the Baron’s wrath to allow you to die. I convinced Alya to save your worthless ass when you got caught again, and Purifier to join with you so that Cheran didn’t present your severed head to Amelia as his wedding present! I got you in front of Demetrius, his resources spent, his allies dead, and his defenses broken! Gods, Korram, did I need to have given you a signed invitation to take your revenge upon him!? But no, you had to go and be a damn hero, didn’t you!? How did that work out for you?”

The intruder turned away from you and threw his hands out from his sides dramatically.

“Well I hope you’re happy with the outcome because now the world is ****ed. ****ed! You didn’t kill him but Sohssal did, dropped his own airship on his head. And you know what? It didn’t do anything because Sohssal didn’t finish the job! You would have been ruthless, Korram. You would have followed him down through the Gates of Hell itself, torn his soul crystal out of his chest, and smashed it into bits! That was what I had thought you were going to do, but instead at the final moment you choked on sentimentality! Now Demetrius is free, free to come back as the Certain King, release Azguloth, and end the world! How does that selfless act sound to you now!?”

The intruder whirls about to face you once more, jabbing a glove-covered finger at you.

“You’ve damned us all Korram. Worse, you wasted my time! But you’re going to make it up to me. You’re going to make it up to me, because if you don’t . . . “

The figure pauses as he unclenches and reclenches his hands, and then repeats himself.

“Because if you don’t I will see to it that you never, ever find your daughter no matter how hard you look!”

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

Taking your two companions with you, you walk up the path snaking up the hillside to the crumbling stone manor waiting at the top. After the gate swings shut behind the three of you, Volesin tugs it experimentally – the gate has sealed itself once more. Short of scaling the wall, you were trapped in here now. As you climb up the slope, the sound of the violin music continues to grow louder and clearer – you have unmistakably found its source. Although not as constant, the voices also grow louder, to the point that you are able to hear what is being shouted. Part of it seems to be weapon drills – strike left, strike right, etc. but the more interesting part seems to be a sermon.

“You are lost! The Valkyrie has abandoned you! There is no hope of salvation, not for you, and neither for those you care about! The power of the Hells shall sweep across the land and burn all who stand against it! There is only one thing that you can do now, my friends, and that is surrender to it! Embrace your future as a member of the Hellgarde, and you and those important to you will be spared! If you do not, the full weight of the Hells’ horrors shall descend upon everything you hold dear!”

This zealous voice continues its rant, and while you suppose it could be quite effective on someone whose will has already been crushed, you aren’t particularly convinced by its arguments. Nearing the manor itself at the top, the music has by now almost been drowned out by the cacophony of voices in the entry courtyard. Fortunately, there do not appear to be any guards, although that is likely a moot point given you can catch glimpses of at least a dozen figures in heavy black armor practicing martial combat within the courtyard.

Speaking of which, two such menacing figures appear in the crumbled gateway leading into the courtyard to meet the paladin woman. Up close, you can see that they wear tabards of a shattered sword, and despite the twisted design of their armor they appear to be human.

“Looks like we got another one.”

The one black knight said to the other, and then addressed the woman.

“Have you come to reclaim your purpose and swear fealty to the Hellgarde?”

The woman sways on her feet and blinks slowly, clearly as mesmerized by the music as ever.

“I . . . I don’t . . . know?”

The woman answers, and the two knights share a look.

“Close enough. You are fortunate, Sister. Commander Hondshioh will be addressing us all shortly.”

The two black knights move to flank the woman, and half-drag, half-support her in a march into the courtyard. Beside you, Katrina hisses.

“Hondshioh!? He was the leader of the paladins at the Battle! That bitch, he sold out!? Guess it explains how *he* survived, then. Maybe I should have made a deal with the devils myself!”

Katrina growled. You also recognize the name as belonging to the man who was standing over you along with the Black General when you woke into this nightmarish life. The name additionally carries an odd note of recognition to you. Perhaps you knew this man before you both found yourselves down here and he “sold out”? You have little time to reflect, as a moment later Katrina points over to one corner of the complex’s exterior. Following her finger, you see that she is pointing at a third-story window, now little more than a hole in the wall.

“I don’t know about you two, but if we’re going to investigate this place further, walking in the front door isn’t the way to do it. We should be able to get in through there, and from that point circle around the courtyard and poke around inside this place.”

“And why not walk in the front door?”

Volesin interrupts.

“Their security here is atrociously lax, and they’re evidentially expecting people to walk in. Stare straight ahead and fail to make eye-contact, and they’ll probably think we’re just another bunch to wander in from the swamp to join this “Hellgarde” of theirs.”

Katrina points up at her budding horns.

“I don’t know about you, but it looked to me like this Hellgarde is a humans only club. And I’m blatantly no longer human – and neither are you with those meat claws of yours. They take one look at either of us, and they’re going to figure that out pretty quick.”

As one, Katrina and Volesin both look at you, Katrina favoring you with a predatory grin.

“Him, on the other hand, he could pass for human. Hells, he might still *be* human! He’s also the one of us most interested in that woman, so if he wants to keep helping her, walking in the front door is the only way to still remain close.”

“And if she walked off a cliff, would he follow her off it? She is far from the only lost soul down here, and there is no way to save her regardless. From the looks of it, the fiends seem to give some degree of freedom to these Hellgarde so perhaps that is the safest place for her right now.”

“We probably shouldn’t stand around here arguing. The two of us can climb in through the window, while – I’m sorry, what should we call you, anyway goes in through the front. Or the three of us can climb up there – makes no difference to me. Assuming, of course, that the two of you can climb up the side of a crumbling wall? Should be pretty easy – lots of handholds.”

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“Thank you. I’m sure I will be more useful to you that way. One question, if you don’t mind. My father – he’s dead? Are you sure?”

Leaving Seraph to start catching up on his beauty sleep, you manage to catch up to Xerxes before he gets too far away from the manor. After checking that there are no eavesdropping imps nearby, you explain your next objective to him. He hisses momentarily in irritation, but then forces a smile back onto his face.

“Actually, I only needed to make one inquiry before I got the answer that you seek. Isabella is a guest of the Black General – no doubt he is seeking to pry the secrets out of her even as we speak. Or rather, the fiend that was bound into her soul. I can only imagine that the little **** is attempting to hold out for as long as possible to drive its own benefits up. Unfortunate really, because the Black General doesn’t tend to negotiate. I doubt he’ll let her go for any price, and he’ll be anticipating the other Fiend Lords attempting to make off with his prize so she’ll be in the depths of his fortress.”

Xerxes’s forced smile sours into a genuine frown as he continues.

“As for Istomilo’s domain, I should like you to avoid that place. Our relationship is going along so well – it would be a shame for it to come to a premature and permanent end. Zareth provided Istomilo with not just a place to work, but a number of minions and slaves to conduct experiments on. From what I understand, like you he was interested in manipulating the soul. He nearly achieved anything noteworthy from what I understand, at least from Zareth’s perspective – you would have to ask him though. I was not around at the time of their working relationship. After Istomilo failed to bring the city of Vallon down into the Hells, he was cut off from all support. But busy with the Crusade’s paladins, Zareth never got the opportunity to deal with him. If Istomilo continued his experiments, then he did them with those fiends who strayed too close to his workshop. And none of them, not the slaves given to him by Zareth or the foolish explorers ever came back.”

At that point, you notice that an imp has come into the area – foolish beasts! But before you can smite the little bugger, you hear a familiar voice address you.

“Sohssal – we need to talk.”

Incom says.

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

At your rant, Nihilus broke into a loud guffaw.

“Good, good! You’ve already learned your first lesson – you can’t fight Fate! At least, not directly – every person has a destiny, that intentionally or not they run headlong towards, and it almost always ends in an unpleasant fashion. Continue the story long enough, and it always ends in tragedy and death! In the end, boy, everything and everyone in this world from the Heavens down to the Hells will burn. But, until then, there is opportunity to manipulate events just enough in one way or another to make someone’s life a little easier or a little harder. Which brings me to my next, and perhaps most important lesson.”

Nihilus’s orange eyes bore into your own.

“Remember this and remember it well, boy. In order to save everyone, you have to be willing to sacrifice anyone. If you want to rebalance the scales of Fate, it has to come at someone’s expense. If you want to carve out that little zone of safety for those you love, you’re going to have terrible things, horrific things befall others in their stead. You’ve got some level of pragmatism – mercy-killing Limier is proof of that, but this is a whole new level for you. You’re going to have to rip out your precious idealism entirely, and replace it by becoming just as much a monster within as you are on the surface now. That’s the only way you’ll be able to even contemplate some of the ideas that I do.”

Nihilus turns away with a smirk that’s self-evident even through the mask.

“And you are going to have to be able to contemplate them if you want to be my pupil. Which brings me to lesson number three – love nothing, lose nothing. Sentimentality is a weakness, an understandable weakness but one that Fate does not share. You cannot care what happens to those you use, only the results that it will bring. If I told you that by abandoning Melcara to a millennia of suffocating torture within Silverton’s coffin, you and Limier would have avoided death and damnation, would you have consigned her to that fate? What if I told you that the entire battle of Narle could have been avoided by that one decision? Someone always suffers, and you can shed no tears over their sacrifice, nor hesitate to demand it. In order to save everyone, you have to be willing to sacrifice anyone.”

Nihilus shrugs and gestures expansively with both hands.

“You may be wondering, then, what the point is. The truth is that there is none. “All has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted.” Powerful words, and quite true. But they do not change the fact that inaction carries its own price. At least by intervening, we can enact some measure of control over Fate’s cruel designs. And when necessary, remove any needless suffering – as you did with Limier. I have contemplated a similar act for the entire world – does that shock you? No matter, we have fates to arrange and old debts to repay. And for now at least, I think we have talked enough, unless your addled brain requires more in order to understand.”

Nihilus tears open another portal as effortlessly as he did the last time – and this time through it, you can see a rocky beach jutted up against churning waters, beneath an azure sky. Was that – was that the mortal plane!?

“Coming?”

Nihilus asked as he stepped through the portal, and left the Hells altogether.

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

For a few precious seconds that seem to stretch on for minutes, you struggle with the fire elemental. It bakes the mud plug that Val’Tosh has created in the tunnel, forming cracks in the surface, which you smooth over by softening the plug back into mud. It was a struggle that you would ultimately lose, as your skin begins to blister and your mind begins to falter in the heat. But before it comes to that, Elise cries out in victory, and the tunnel’s walls animate. They iris shut, crushing the plug, but more importantly crushing the fire elemental as well, reducing it to a handful of embers that drift through the air for several moments before flickering out.
“Thank you.”

Elise breathes, reaching down to pat the tunnel’s floor as the walls close in entirely, collapsing the tunnel entirely from the fire elemental back to the elf camp. Val’Tosh snorts and pushes his way past his fellow student.

“You’re welcome.”

He grunts, beginning to hurry down the tunnel after the refugees and Master Vork. Elise ignores the ogre and shoots a glance at you as she reaches down to wipe out the runes she had traced into the floor to dismiss the elemental.

“Thank you as well. I understand that you risked your life in place of Master Vork’s to stay the elves’ hand. You have my gratitude, even though your action was foolish. Master Vork could have done the same in your place, although I am uncertain that he would have been able to rescue all of the townsfolk from inside the elf camp.”

And with that, the latest discovered student of Master Vork’s stands up and walks off down the tunnel. You follow, and in another minute find yourself back in the pitch black forest. The majority of the refugees are clustered nearby, whispering amongst themselves. Val’Tosh’s voice cuts over them, even in his best attempt at a whisper, and you go over to join him and Master Vork.

“I do not think that it is safe for us to try to move about through the forest at night. We bloodied the elves a great deal, but they will hunt us all the same. I will create an underground shelter for everyone to hide and rest until morning. But first, I wanted to get this out of the way. That was a very brave thing you did Mal, and you said that you did it for answers. Answers which I promised you, and before anything else happens I would like to keep that promise. I will answer whatever I can – ask.”

You hear Val’Tosh clear his throat, and then stop.

“Well, you did risk your life Mal. Guess that means you should start.”

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip/Baerdog7

(Given that paladins tend to be a pragmatic lot – and ones subject to random enemies crashing in through skylights – to say nothing of the most recent attack – I would say that attending armored and armed is simply prudent! :smallsmile: )

Unlike past meetings Ander has attended in recent history, the assembled group is silent as first Ander and then Lukina speak. Even during the revelation of Lukina’s identity and the destruction of Quietus’s soul crystal, the paladins are silent, although a few wince at Ander’s ultimate act of destruction. When Lukina is finished speaking, Winril pushes himself up into a standing position.

“Thank you Genevie – er, Miss Marcellis. After this meeting, would you consent to an examination by myself? Just a few simple scrying spells, nothing invasive – but perhaps they will be able to validate your claims. As you are no doubt aware, you appear to be a human, not an angel, although after today no one will doubt you have some sort of power. I am curious how you came by this power and these memories, however, particularly since you make it sound like you have only recently developed them. For now, although I do not believe that it is my turn to speak, I would like to briefly speak nonetheless before we move on to other matters. You may sit down now, Miss Marcellis, as with your permission I would like to take the floor.”

As Lukina returns to her seat, Winril hobbles out to in front of the assembled Church leaders. He examines the fragments of Quietus’s soul crystal still scattered across the floor and frowns, idly toeing one shard with his boot. Finally, he looks up with a sigh.

“While I do not like being the sole voice of dissention, I feel that I must in this case. Ander, I do hope you realize that by going to these great lengths, you are intensifying this conflict far beyond anything we have seen thus far. If we threaten the Fiend Lords with utter annihilation, they will undoubtedly respond in kind. They have a great many prisoners, including most of the angelic host. While I think that we all agree eternal damnation is not a much better fate, the obliteration of souls is an abomination. There is a reason why the Divine Couple in their wisdom forbid such an act in the first place, and by defying that Ander you will set the terms of this war to Mutually Inflicted Annihilation! And I am not sure with the Church in its current state that we will be able to win such a war, if such a war could even be won with acceptable losses! That is all. I have said my peace.”

As Winril sat down, Archbishop Kranmer stood up.

“Allow me to begin by saying that Winril is theologically correct, although – and I cannot believe that I am the one saying this – times have changed since these laws were handed down. As Her Speaker, Ander is also free to adjust those laws within reason – and given what the Fiend Lords have already done with their freedom, I agree that we may be looking at an escalation of this conflict regardless. As far as contacting the Heavens, I would be happy to provide my assistance to Miriam’s Champion. However, Genevieve, I have heard that the Palace of the Sun has been closed off, sealed at Miriam’s request. While I would expect the return of Her long-lost daughter would make for an exception, informing Her of this news in the first place may be difficult.”

Kranmer taps his fingers on the table thoughtfully and smiles wistfully.

“As far as the Prophecy of the Certain King goes, well, I must ask where you heard it Ander. I made a study of the Certain King mythos in my youth and I must say that I never heard it before now! Indeed, one could argue that the details of my study were also lacking, but that was not for lack of effort! He seems to be an enigmatic and mythical figure that pops up here and there in poems and legends, but nothing substantial. My conclusion was that he was some famous king in the dark days before the Church’s founding, and verbal stories of his deeds gradually transformed into what we have today. More interestingly, there seems to be another figure in some of the stories – the Uncertain King, who predictably seems to display opposing traits. Perhaps he was an old rival or cautionary tale meant to contrast with the Certain King – as I said firm details to support any theory are virtually non-existent. But I always thought that the Certain King was a legend from the distant past – and now you’re coming forward with a prophecy about him! Very distressing, in addition to the whole “end of the world” scenario depicted within the prophecy itself. Hrm . . . perhaps the divide mentioned in the Prophecy is between the Heavens and the Hells? Or the mortal plane and the two afterlives? The imagery in the prophecy does shar similarities to several religious passages describing the afterlives.”

Kranmer nervously clears his throat.

“Um, I think that’s all I have on that matter. A number of buildings were smashed during the attack, and what’s left of them is not structurally sound enough to do anything other than tear it down as well. We will have to construct new buildings in their places, a process that will take months if not years to complete. Fortunately, that is only in the worst areas – most places only sustained superficial damage that we can repair as soon as we have the resources and manpower to devote to it. Fortunately, we do have a sizable transient workforce here now in the form of the refugees – I could approach them with offers of construction work to give them something to do, assuming that this motion meets with the Speaker’s approval. I would know like to yield the floor to High Inquisitor Randall, as I believe he was scheduled to speak next? . . . Yes.”

Kranmer says after consulting with the disorganized pile of papers in front of him. As he sits, Randall jumps up to his feet.

“Thank you Archbishop. And now before we are assaulted by anymore demons leaping in through windows, I would like to report on the effectiveness of my inquisitors in locating this new blight of heresy within the Church. We – “

At that point, Randall is interrupted, not by fiends crashing into the room, but an archangel coming through the door. Ysora pauses at the doorway to give a gracious bow.

“Forgive my tardiness. I was involved in a difficult round of self-reflection, which I only now have resolved. If possible, I would like to speak at the end of the meeting about what I have decided.”

At that point, Ysora looks back up, and her eyes pan across the assembled group to fall on Lukina. Ysora immediately stops dead still, simply staring at the girl for several long moments. And then finally, a nervous whisper escapes her lips.

“G-Genevieve?”

Gorgondantess

Zareth is indifferent to your outrage.

“If I had known that you wanted that specific angel in advance, perhaps I would have been able to preserve her in a more aesthetically pleasing form . . . in your eyes.”

“Relax, it’s not like anything permanent was done to her yet – I was just getting warmed up!”

Cheran complains, but nonetheless allows you to have control of Maurice’s leash. You swiftly remove the hooks impaling her wings, as well as the rest of the harness, the collar, and the chains locked around her wrists and ankles. Forged from the foul soil of this realm, the metal resists your attempts to manipulate it, but you absorb bits of it anyway, allowing the rest to easily fall free without the bother of using a key. You are also able to patch up the worst of her injuries, although you haven’t practiced the fine manipulation of living flesh much. It was easy enough to convert your own form into whatever you wished, but with other living beings getting the composition exactly right to heal and not cause further harm was still tricky. Given time and the ability to focus entirely on what you are doing, you could do better, but for now stopping the bleeding would have to be enough.

Particularly since you weren’t likely to be welcome here any longer, as you extend your coiled leg, delivering a propelling kick to the chest of Cheran. The already battered chestplate of the construct collapses inward a bit further, and Zareth’s Chief Inquisitor is rocketed directly into his lap. The two become a sputtering, flailing tangle of limbs, and while Zareth is distracted you grab Maurice and Hephestia and leap off the side of the tower. Or at least, you try to – something hard and unyielding unexpectedly collides with your head when you try to hop off the side. The open air shimmers a moment, and then parts momentarily to reveal a metal wall before the illusion restores itself.

“Fool! Did you really think I left myself so vulnerable to attack from the air!?”

Zareth taunts from his throne as he shoves Cheran off of his lap to a crumpled position on the floor. He grins as he flicks a switch on the armrest of his throne.

“But since you wish to fall from my tower so much!”

The floor underneath your feet suddenly gives way, sending you, Maurice, and Hephestia tumbling down through the tower’s interior. You are able to glide down to the bottom of the shaft, but its narrow confines prevent you from fully expanding your wings to actually fly. You could, of course, turn yourself into a living web and anchor yourself to the sides of the shaft, but at the moment this was still an opportunity to put some distance between yourself and the Fiend Lord. As it turned out, you didn’t have far to go down anyway, as the bottom of the shaft opens up to allow you entry into a dimly-lit room.

(You are welcome to ignore the next bit if you intend to somehow stop your fall partway down the shaft. It is mostly solid metal on all sides, with a few small gaps here and there where the disjointed pieces don’t fit together so well. The Spirit could probably tunnel through it with enough time, but that is time it and its “pets” are vulnerable, being in the middle of a vertical shaft with a Fiend Lord and ******* son of the Baron above them.)

Entering the chamber below, the air is filled with the faint grinding of metal on metal and the ticking of Zareth’s doomsday clock. The chamber itself is dominated by a central metal slab that has been stained a rust-color by countless bloodstains. One wall has two glass-protected alcoves, their interiors shrouded in darkness and with an array of switches next to each. Across the room from those two alcoves is a heavy door, held in place by a massive combination lock built into the center of the door.

“I . . . I thought you were dead.”

Maurice rasped, barely able to get that out before falling silent from the pain of her ravaged (but now metal free) face.

“We’re all going to wish we were. Zareth always was a torture and dissection freak – and it looks to me like his tastes have just gotten stranger over the millennia. I imagine Cheran will fit right in here.”

“Yes.”

Maurice says, shivering against you. At that point, from within one of the darkness-obscured alcoves, you hear the clatter of chains and a raspy intake of breath. Your altered and enhanced eyes can make out some sort of disjointed shape hanging within the alcove, but the darkness seems to be a magical effect as well, designed to block whatever was in there from sight, even yours.

“Where do we go?”

Maurice asked, prompting Hephestia to add her own commentary.

“Anywhere but here?”

Phaedra
The_Snark/Lonna

Recovering from her ichor vomiting attack, Titania pushes herself unsteadily back up onto her feet. If she senses Jacqueline’s magical aid to Mar, she gives no outward sign – which would be rather unusual given her behavior thus far.

“You . . . are correct daughter. I . . . I must rest and . . . and conserve my strength.”

Titania wheezed, turning back to face the passage leading back up to the throne room. She takes several faltering steps in that direction before she stops and turns back.

“But . . . on second thought. S-since she is here, perhaps . . . Marisiel should join us. She needs to fully understand what she has done. And if a little warmth will make her a more attentive listener, so be it.”

Wulfric, who had seen Jacqueline’s aid to Mar, stares at them both in open-mouthed shock for a moment at the revelation that nothing escaped Titania’s attention. But when it became clear that the fey queen was going to do nothing more than lead the way back up to the throne room, he relaxed and moved to act as rearguard for the group. Once back up in the throne room, Titania affixed him with a withering stare.

“This information is for Pyria’s ears only – and Marisiel’s because I chose it to be so. If Pyria wishes to share it with you afterwards, then so be it.”

Wulfric shoots a glance at Pyrene, seeking confirmation, and then forces a smile on his face and jabs a thumb at the door.

“I’ll be right outside then. Um, nice to meet you, Miss uh, Jacqueline’s m – Queen Titania.”

After Wulfric steps outside the throne room, Titania sighs as she slumps onto the remains of her icy throne.

“I really don’t know what you see in him, my daughter. He’s a dumb brute, barely one step above a complete barbarian.”

With a gesture, Titania conjures another chair up out of the floor’s ice and motions for Pyrene to sit. She does not repeat the gesture for Mar, and so the angelic girl collapses onto the floor, wrapping her wings around her and cuddling with the flame cat Pyrene has summoned for her. For several moments, silence reigns in the throne room as Titania merely sits on the throne with her eyes closed. Finally, she opens them again and speaks.

“First, allow me to begin with a warning. After we make our return to the mortal plane, you need fear only one man. His name is Dacian, and he lives in a mountain fortress that I believe the mortals now call Ironheart.”

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

At your warning Shiakti stands bolt upright, turning to face the darkness beyond the bonfire while protected by absolutely nothing but the bow that leapt into her hands.

“Spirits of fire and pain, come to my aid! Stand between me and harm!”

Shiakti hisses, holding one arm outstretched towards the bonfire as it erupted into a ring that swept out to encircle Shiakti’s small campsite. The sudden ring of flames also had the added benefit of extending the light they provided. It was almost enough to illuminate the section of rocks you were using to hide, but you are able to move further back into the darkness in time. Still, now warned it would likely only be another minute before Shiakti left the safety of her fire ring and went on the prowl – likely while still stark naked. Concerned therefore about ending this quickly before you altered the timeline and convinced Shiakti to turn into a newt or some other damn thing, you ready the soul-rending magics and approach Marialta’s ghost. Predictably, she has predicted your approach, although she has opted for an unusual defense.

“So, which of Kartul’s black magics have you decided to use, Umber? Are you going to rend my soul, or merely banish me to the darkest depths of Limbo?”

Marialta’s voice whispers, carried to you on the wind, followed by a quiet chuckle.

“You do realize that if you do that, you will never be able to return back to whence you came? Only I know how the magic that brought us back to this moment in time works. In your current condition, you’ll never be able to reverse the effect, and I doubt your current body will last long enough to get back the natural way. You’ve always been an impulsive sort, which is what makes manipulating you so easy. I would ask that before you go ahead with trying to destroy me, you consider what you have to gain by opposing me. Other than the tactless satisfaction of revenge, you gain nothing from aiding the Writer. On the other hand, the Writer has everything to gain from your success – he is after all the one who constructed this fate for us. Who’s to say that the Fate intended for us from the very beginning is any less correct than his chosen outcome?”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog/GuyFawkes

Intended only as a distraction to bog the caravan guards down out in the open, the earth elementals don’t last long. While the remaining guards dispatch the last of these summoned spirits, Rosenberg pulls himself back up to his feet and Alons picks off several of the remaining elves, his arrows striking with deadly accuracy. The sudden arrival of a new combatant in the midst of the elves, hacking and hewing them apart from behind, is enough to finish them. If any elves did survive, they are the broken few who skulk off into the woods, abandoning the battle entirely. The fey is alone now, and yet the creature’s resolve is unbroken, even as Rosenberg summons a tree beneath its feet, shooting both of them high up into the air.

“You and these others, you are the same as I. You hide behind the flesh of a human, but you are not! Why then do you fight for them? These loathsome insects are not worth the blood you shed!”

The fey hisses, changing tactics to a verbal rather than physical confrontation – although violence was likely to resume at any moment. Particularly after Alons moves over to the wreckage of the carriage, and finds Amelia dragging herself out from underneath the tree’s twisted branches. She’s a bruised, bloody mess, with several deep rips in her dress and the flesh underneath from the tree’s scratching branches. One of her legs is bent at an unnatural angle, and what appears to be several of her ribs are sticking out from her chest – and yet the Countess is still alive. Halfway out from underneath the tree, she sees Alons and stops.

“Alons – help me up, help me up!”

Amelia calls out, before coughing up a wad of blood. Looking down at herself with a mixture of concern and disgust, she uses the fingers of one hand to push her ribs back into place underneath her skin. Then she reaches down and realigns her broken leg. By the time Alons has arrived to pull her the rest of the way out and back up onto her feet (just going to assume that Alons will help her), the leg is strong enough to hold her weight. It’s at this point that both of them realize a gnarled piece of root is embedded in her side. With a scream Amelia reaches down and tears the bloody root free, incinerating it in a burst of summoned flame. She presses the still flame-shrouded hand against the wound, cauterizing it shut, even as the flesh there begins to knit itself back together.

“This was my new favorite dress!”

Amelia growls as she staggers free of Alons’ grip, glaring up at the fey as it hunkers down in the tree across from Rosenberg. It would appear that the Countess was not entirely human, as while Alons has seen magical healing before, this miraculous recovery on Amelia’s part more strongly resembled Rosenberg’s ability to regenerate. Whether it would be sufficient to allow her to survive being crushed by another tree was uncertain, however, and unless the group were to aid the fey in slaughtering the rest of the caravan, it seems to be only a matter of time before lightning bolts, trees, and more powerful magic was unleashed once more by the fey.

(Feel free to exterminate the beast in this next round of posting – I think the three of you plus Amelia should be sufficient, now that everyone can concentrate on the fey alone.)

Inspectre

2012-11-26, 06:53 AM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

At your words, Miranda thinks for a moment, and then nods slowly.

“I suppose that makes sense, although you are right. Failure is a bitter truth to accept. I do not know how we will fight against this new tactic, only that we must not allow the Hells to steal ascended souls with impunity. If . . . if I hear anything about your family, I will let you know. For now rest, and enjoy the reward for your sacrifice.”

And with that, the angel leaps into the air and flies off, leaving you alone – again. You consider what to do with yourself now. For the moment at least, there was once again no danger in your new home. And even if there was, it was clear that the angels did not want your help. This despite the fact that it was equally clear the angels were now too few and unprepared for this new threat. You could go visit one of your siblings, although the lingering adrenaline from the fight against the Hellish conscripts and investigation of Ander’s home left you feeling restless. Sadly, fighting for your life was also much easier than living it – if this blissful existence could even be called a life.

Before you could decide what to do with yourself, the door to your home creaked open of its own accord. That was odd – your siblings did not drop by unannounced, and other than Marius you had not been expecting any other visitors. You approach the now-open door cautiously, but even you are caught off-guard when a figure appears in the doorway within a single blink of the eye.

Theme Song: Nihilus vs Korram (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtC71rNLrx8)

“Korram!! You godsdamn son of a bitch!”

The orange-eyed cloaked figure roared at you as it grabbed you and dragged inside the house before throwing you down at the floor. You tuck into a shoulder roll, breaking your fall and whirling about as you come back up onto your feet. The intruder is already back in your face, delivering a star-summoning punch to your jaw.

“Why can’t you do anything right!?”

The figure growls as he shoves you stumbling back into an interior wall. Instead of allowing yourself to rebound back from the impact against the wall, you hug it and twirl along its length. A second after you leave the section of wall that you had crashed into, the figure drives its foot through the wood paneling. As the figure extracts its leg from the wall with a string of imaginative curses, you get your first real good look at it. Which, given the dense cloak that it was wearing, wasn’t much more.

The intruder was humanoid in size and shape, although as already demonstrated freakishly fast and quite pissed off at you. One interesting new piece of information was a steady plume of smoke rising from the figure’s body, similar to the armor that the Hellish conscripts wore. So it could be surmised that you were dealing with a fiend of some sort. And although muffled the intruder’s voice was masculine. Perhaps the Baron had come for you as in your dreams?

As it regained its balance, the figure hissed in perhaps pain or mere irritation before it came at you again.

“I gave you one simple task, and you still somehow managed to bungle it!”

You block the flurry of punches it throws at you, and then your attacker is suddenly behind you, shoving you face-first into the wall. You grunt in pain as the fiend follows this up with a hard punch to the kidneys, but manage to twist aside to deflect the force of the second punch along your back. You counter with an elbow to the face, which actually manages to connect. This cuts off whatever the intruder was about to say next, and as he staggers back you whirl and grab hold of him by the shoulders in preparation for a knee to the groin. You bring the knee up short when you suddenly no longer have a hold of him. An arm sliding around your neck from behind a split-second later tells you where the intruder went.

“**** this.”

The intruder growls, and then he pulls you back through . . . something that causes your stomach to flip-flop uncontrollably for a moment. And then your senses clear, leaving you to find yourself standing in a small patch of grass that is surrounded by barren earth. In the distance a large outcropping of rocks jabs unevenly into the sky. Was this . . . the capital city of Narle? On the mortal plane!? Releasing you, the intruder walks around to stand in front of you with a sigh of relief.

“There. Much better. Now where were we? Oh yes!”

The figure jabs a finger at the outcropping of rocks.

“That was where you died. That was where you failed to achieve the one simple task I placed in front of you – kill King Demetrius Gast!”

The figure whirls back to face you, hands clenched into fists, and for a moment you thought he was going to resume your physical altercation. Instead, he continues to batter you with words.

“Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass it was to get you there, alive and whole? To line things up just so in order to allow you to have your revenge upon him!? I chose you to be my weapon, Korram – you out of the countless hundreds, thousands that the Baron has crushed under his heel! Without me, you would have just been some meaningless dirt farmer that got in over his head and was left for dead in some field! But no, I arranged for you to get in touch with Eldred. I assured that the guards who tortured you in Ironheart were too sadistic or too afraid of the Baron’s wrath to allow you to die. I convinced Alya to save your worthless ass when you got caught again, and Purifier to join with you so that Cheran didn’t present your severed head to Amelia as his wedding present! I got you in front of Demetrius, his resources spent, his allies dead, and his defenses broken! Gods, Korram, did I need to have given you a signed invitation to take your revenge upon him!? But no, you had to go and be a damn hero, didn’t you!? How did that work out for you?”

The intruder turned away from you and threw his hands out from his sides dramatically.

“Well I hope you’re happy with the outcome because now the world is ****ed. ****ed! You didn’t kill him but Sohssal did, dropped his own airship on his head. And you know what? It didn’t do anything because Sohssal didn’t finish the job! You would have been ruthless, Korram. You would have followed him down through the Gates of Hell itself, torn his soul crystal out of his chest, and smashed it into bits! That was what I had thought you were going to do, but instead at the final moment you choked on sentimentality! Now Demetrius is free, free to come back as the Certain King, release Azguloth, and end the world! How does that selfless act sound to you now!?”

The intruder whirls about to face you once more, jabbing a glove-covered finger at you.

“You’ve damned us all Korram. Worse, you wasted my time! But you’re going to make it up to me. You’re going to make it up to me, because if you don’t . . . “

The figure pauses as he unclenches and reclenches his hands, and then repeats himself.

“Because if you don’t I will see to it that you never, ever find your daughter no matter how hard you look!”

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

Taking your two companions with you, you walk up the path snaking up the hillside to the crumbling stone manor waiting at the top. After the gate swings shut behind the three of you, Volesin tugs it experimentally – the gate has sealed itself once more. Short of scaling the wall, you were trapped in here now. As you climb up the slope, the sound of the violin music continues to grow louder and clearer – you have unmistakably found its source. Although not as constant, the voices also grow louder, to the point that you are able to hear what is being shouted. Part of it seems to be weapon drills – strike left, strike right, etc. but the more interesting part seems to be a sermon.

“You are lost! The Valkyrie has abandoned you! There is no hope of salvation, not for you, and neither for those you care about! The power of the Hells shall sweep across the land and burn all who stand against it! There is only one thing that you can do now, my friends, and that is surrender to it! Embrace your future as a member of the Hellgarde, and you and those important to you will be spared! If you do not, the full weight of the Hells’ horrors shall descend upon everything you hold dear!”

This zealous voice continues its rant, and while you suppose it could be quite effective on someone whose will has already been crushed, you aren’t particularly convinced by its arguments. Nearing the manor itself at the top, the music has by now almost been drowned out by the cacophony of voices in the entry courtyard. Fortunately, there do not appear to be any guards, although that is likely a moot point given you can catch glimpses of at least a dozen figures in heavy black armor practicing martial combat within the courtyard.

Speaking of which, two such menacing figures appear in the crumbled gateway leading into the courtyard to meet the paladin woman. Up close, you can see that they wear tabards of a shattered sword, and despite the twisted design of their armor they appear to be human.

“Looks like we got another one.”

The one black knight said to the other, and then addressed the woman.

“Have you come to reclaim your purpose and swear fealty to the Hellgarde?”

The woman sways on her feet and blinks slowly, clearly as mesmerized by the music as ever.

“I . . . I don’t . . . know?”

The woman answers, and the two knights share a look.

“Close enough. You are fortunate, Sister. Commander Hondshioh will be addressing us all shortly.”

The two black knights move to flank the woman, and half-drag, half-support her in a march into the courtyard. Beside you, Katrina hisses.

“Hondshioh!? He was the leader of the paladins at the Battle! That bitch, he sold out!? Guess it explains how *he* survived, then. Maybe I should have made a deal with the devils myself!”

Katrina growled. You also recognize the name as belonging to the man who was standing over you along with the Black General when you woke into this nightmarish life. The name additionally carries an odd note of recognition to you. Perhaps you knew this man before you both found yourselves down here and he “sold out”? You have little time to reflect, as a moment later Katrina points over to one corner of the complex’s exterior. Following her finger, you see that she is pointing at a third-story window, now little more than a hole in the wall.

“I don’t know about you two, but if we’re going to investigate this place further, walking in the front door isn’t the way to do it. We should be able to get in through there, and from that point circle around the courtyard and poke around inside this place.”

“And why not walk in the front door?”

Volesin interrupts.

“Their security here is atrociously lax, and they’re evidentially expecting people to walk in. Stare straight ahead and fail to make eye-contact, and they’ll probably think we’re just another bunch to wander in from the swamp to join this “Hellgarde” of theirs.”

Katrina points up at her budding horns.

“I don’t know about you, but it looked to me like this Hellgarde is a humans only club. And I’m blatantly no longer human – and neither are you with those meat claws of yours. They take one look at either of us, and they’re going to figure that out pretty quick.”

As one, Katrina and Volesin both look at you, Katrina favoring you with a predatory grin.

“Him, on the other hand, he could pass for human. Hells, he might still *be* human! He’s also the one of us most interested in that woman, so if he wants to keep helping her, walking in the front door is the only way to still remain close.”

“And if she walked off a cliff, would he follow her off it? She is far from the only lost soul down here, and there is no way to save her regardless. From the looks of it, the fiends seem to give some degree of freedom to these Hellgarde so perhaps that is the safest place for her right now.”

“We probably shouldn’t stand around here arguing. The two of us can climb in through the window, while – I’m sorry, what should we call you, anyway goes in through the front. Or the three of us can climb up there – makes no difference to me. Assuming, of course, that the two of you can climb up the side of a crumbling wall? Should be pretty easy – lots of handholds.”

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“Thank you. I’m sure I will be more useful to you that way. One question, if you don’t mind. My father – he’s dead? Are you sure?”

Leaving Seraph to start catching up on his beauty sleep, you manage to catch up to Xerxes before he gets too far away from the manor. After checking that there are no eavesdropping imps nearby, you explain your next objective to him. He hisses momentarily in irritation, but then forces a smile back onto his face.

“Actually, I only needed to make one inquiry before I got the answer that you seek. Isabella is a guest of the Black General – no doubt he is seeking to pry the secrets out of her even as we speak. Or rather, the fiend that was bound into her soul. I can only imagine that the little **** is attempting to hold out for as long as possible to drive its own benefits up. Unfortunate really, because the Black General doesn’t tend to negotiate. I doubt he’ll let her go for any price, and he’ll be anticipating the other Fiend Lords attempting to make off with his prize so she’ll be in the depths of his fortress.”

Xerxes’s forced smile sours into a genuine frown as he continues.

“As for Istomilo’s domain, I should like you to avoid that place. Our relationship is going along so well – it would be a shame for it to come to a premature and permanent end. Zareth provided Istomilo with not just a place to work, but a number of minions and slaves to conduct experiments on. From what I understand, like you he was interested in manipulating the soul. He never achieved anything noteworthy from what I understand, at least from Zareth’s perspective – you would have to ask him for the specifics though as I was not around at the time of their working relationship. After Istomilo failed to bring the city of Vallon down into the Hells, he was cut off from all support. But busy with the Crusade’s paladins, Zareth never got the opportunity to deal with him. If Istomilo continued his experiments, then he did them with those fiends who strayed too close to his workshop. And none of them, not the slaves given to him by Zareth or the foolish explorers ever came back. One can only assume he trapped their souls somehow - perhaps in one of those delightful soul crystals I've heard rumors of the Baron putting to use?"

Xerxes runs a clawed digit along his jawline thoughtfully.

"I might be able to locate a few competent minions for you if you insist on going in there. Call it an investment in our continued business relationship - after all, if you are trapped forever, I'll never get onto the mortal plane!"

At that point, you notice that an imp has come into the area – foolish beasts! But before you can smite the little bugger, you hear a familiar voice address you.

“Sohssal – we need to talk.”

The patch of invisbility magic says, in the voice of Incom Morgan, brother and enemy of the Baron, former fellow prisoner of Ironheart, and admitedly someone who Fate evidentally couldn't get enough of grinding down into the dust.

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

At your rant, Nihilus broke into a loud guffaw.

“Good, good! You’ve already learned your first lesson – you can’t fight Fate! At least, not directly – every person has a destiny, that intentionally or not they run headlong towards, and it almost always ends in an unpleasant fashion. Continue the story long enough, and it always ends in tragedy and death! In the end, boy, everything and everyone in this world from the Heavens down to the Hells will burn. But, until then, there is opportunity to manipulate events just enough in one way or another to make someone’s life a little easier or a little harder. Which brings me to my next, and perhaps most important lesson.”

Nihilus’s orange eyes bore into your own.

“Remember this and remember it well, boy. In order to save everyone, you have to be willing to sacrifice anyone. If you want to rebalance the scales of Fate, it has to come at someone’s expense. If you want to carve out that little zone of safety for those you love, you’re going to have terrible things, horrific things befall others in their stead. You’ve got some level of pragmatism – mercy-killing Limier is proof of that, but this is a whole new level for you. You’re going to have to rip out your precious idealism entirely, and replace it by becoming just as much a monster within as you are on the surface now. That’s the only way you’ll be able to even contemplate some of the ideas that I do.”

Nihilus turns away with a smirk that’s self-evident even through the mask.

“And you are going to have to be able to contemplate them if you want to be my pupil. Which brings me to lesson number three – love nothing, lose nothing. Sentimentality is a weakness, an understandable weakness but one that Fate does not share. You cannot care what happens to those you use, only the results that it will bring. If I told you that by abandoning Melcara to a millennia of suffocating torture within Silverton’s coffin, you and Limier would have avoided death and damnation, would you have consigned her to that fate? What if I told you that the entire battle of Narle could have been avoided by that one decision? Someone always suffers, and you can shed no tears over their sacrifice, nor hesitate to demand it. In order to save everyone, you have to be willing to sacrifice anyone.”

Nihilus shrugs and gestures expansively with both hands.

“You may be wondering, then, what the point is. The truth is that there is none. “All has been foreseen. Nothing can be averted.” Powerful words, and quite true. But they do not change the fact that inaction carries its own price. At least by intervening, we can enact some measure of control over Fate’s cruel designs. And when necessary, remove any needless suffering – as you did with Limier. I have contemplated a similar act for the entire world – does that shock you? No matter, we have fates to arrange and old debts to repay. And for now at least, I think we have talked enough, unless your addled brain requires more in order to understand.”

Nihilus tears open another portal as effortlessly as he did the last time – and this time through it, you can see a rocky beach jutted up against churning waters, beneath an azure sky. Was that – was that the mortal plane!?

“Coming?”

Nihilus asked as he stepped through the portal, and left the Hells altogether.

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

For a few precious seconds that seem to stretch on for minutes, you struggle with the fire elemental. It bakes the mud plug that Val’Tosh has created in the tunnel, forming cracks in the surface, which you smooth over by softening the plug back into mud. It was a struggle that you would ultimately lose, as your skin begins to blister and your mind begins to falter in the heat. But before it comes to that, Elise cries out in victory, and the tunnel’s walls animate. They iris shut, crushing the plug, but more importantly crushing the fire elemental as well, reducing it to a handful of embers that drift through the air for several moments before flickering out.
“Thank you.”

Elise breathes, reaching down to pat the tunnel’s floor as the walls close in entirely, collapsing the tunnel entirely from the fire elemental back to the elf camp. Val’Tosh snorts and pushes his way past his fellow student.

“You’re welcome.”

He grunts, beginning to hurry down the tunnel after the refugees and Master Vork. Elise ignores the ogre and shoots a glance at you as she reaches down to wipe out the runes she had traced into the floor to dismiss the elemental.

“Thank you as well. I understand that you risked your life in place of Master Vork’s to stay the elves’ hand. You have my gratitude, even though your action was foolish. Master Vork could have done the same in your place, although I am uncertain that he would have been able to rescue all of the townsfolk from inside the elf camp.”

And with that, the latest discovered student of Master Vork’s stands up and walks off down the tunnel. You follow, and in another minute find yourself back in the pitch black forest. The majority of the refugees are clustered nearby, whispering amongst themselves. Val’Tosh’s voice cuts over them, even in his best attempt at a whisper, and you go over to join him and Master Vork.

“I do not think that it is safe for us to try to move about through the forest at night. We bloodied the elves a great deal, but they will hunt us all the same. I will create an underground shelter for everyone to hide and rest until morning. But first, I wanted to get this out of the way. That was a very brave thing you did Mal, and you said that you did it for answers. Answers which I promised you, and before anything else happens I would like to keep that promise. I will answer whatever I can – ask.”

You hear Val’Tosh clear his throat, and then stop.

“Well, you did risk your life Mal. Guess that means you should start.”

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip/Baerdog7

(Given that paladins tend to be a pragmatic lot – and ones subject to random enemies crashing in through skylights – to say nothing of the most recent attack – I would say that attending armored and armed is simply prudent! :smallsmile: )

Unlike past meetings Ander has attended in recent history, the assembled group is silent as first Ander and then Lukina speak. Even during the revelation of Lukina’s identity and the destruction of Quietus’s soul crystal, the paladins are silent, although a few wince at Ander’s ultimate act of destruction. When Lukina is finished speaking, Winril pushes himself up into a standing position.

“Thank you Genevie – er, Miss Marcellis. After this meeting, would you consent to an examination by myself? Just a few simple scrying spells, nothing invasive – but perhaps they will be able to validate your claims. As you are no doubt aware, you appear to be a human, not an angel, although after today no one will doubt you have some sort of power. I am curious how you came by this power and these memories, however, particularly since you make it sound like you have only recently developed them. For now, although I do not believe that it is my turn to speak, I would like to briefly speak nonetheless before we move on to other matters. You may sit down now, Miss Marcellis, as with your permission I would like to take the floor.”

As Lukina returns to her seat, Winril hobbles out to in front of the assembled Church leaders. He examines the fragments of Quietus’s soul crystal still scattered across the floor and frowns, idly toeing one shard with his boot. Finally, he looks up with a sigh.

“While I do not like being the sole voice of dissention, I feel that I must in this case. Ander, I do hope you realize that by going to these great lengths, you are intensifying this conflict far beyond anything we have seen thus far. If we threaten the Fiend Lords with utter annihilation, they will undoubtedly respond in kind. They have a great many prisoners, including most of the angelic host. While I think that we all agree eternal damnation is not a much better fate, the obliteration of souls is an abomination. There is a reason why the Divine Couple in their wisdom forbid such an act in the first place, and by defying that Ander you will set the terms of this war to Mutually Inflicted Annihilation! And I am not sure with the Church in its current state that we will be able to win such a war, if such a war could even be won with acceptable losses! That is all. I have said my peace.”

As Winril sat down, Archbishop Kranmer stood up.

“Allow me to begin by saying that Winril is theologically correct, although – and I cannot believe that I am the one saying this – times have changed since these laws were handed down. As Her Speaker, Ander is also free to adjust those laws within reason – and given what the Fiend Lords have already done with their freedom, I agree that we may be looking at an escalation of this conflict regardless. As far as contacting the Heavens, I would be happy to provide my assistance to Miriam’s Champion. However, Genevieve, I have heard that the Palace of the Sun has been closed off, sealed at Miriam’s request. While I would expect the return of Her long-lost daughter would make for an exception, informing Her of this news in the first place may be difficult.”

Kranmer taps his fingers on the table thoughtfully and smiles wistfully.

“As far as the Prophecy of the Certain King goes, well, I must ask where you heard it Ander. I made a study of the Certain King mythos in my youth and I must say that I never heard it before now! Indeed, one could argue that the details of my study were also lacking, but that was not for lack of effort! He seems to be an enigmatic and mythical figure that pops up here and there in poems and legends, but nothing substantial. My conclusion was that he was some famous king in the dark days before the Church’s founding, and verbal stories of his deeds gradually transformed into what we have today. More interestingly, there seems to be another figure in some of the stories – the Uncertain King, who predictably seems to display opposing traits. Perhaps he was an old rival or cautionary tale meant to contrast with the Certain King – as I said firm details to support any theory are virtually non-existent. But I always thought that the Certain King was a legend from the distant past – and now you’re coming forward with a prophecy about him! Very distressing, in addition to the whole “end of the world” scenario depicted within the prophecy itself. Hrm . . . perhaps the divide mentioned in the Prophecy is between the Heavens and the Hells? Or the mortal plane and the two afterlives? The imagery in the prophecy does shar similarities to several religious passages describing the afterlives.”

Kranmer nervously clears his throat.

“Um, I think that’s all I have on that matter. A number of buildings were smashed during the attack, and what’s left of them is not structurally sound enough to do anything other than tear it down as well. We will have to construct new buildings in their places, a process that will take months if not years to complete. Fortunately, that is only in the worst areas – most places only sustained superficial damage that we can repair as soon as we have the resources and manpower to devote to it. Fortunately, we do have a sizable transient workforce here now in the form of the refugees – I could approach them with offers of construction work to give them something to do, assuming that this motion meets with the Speaker’s approval. I would know like to yield the floor to High Inquisitor Randall, as I believe he was scheduled to speak next? . . . Yes.”

Kranmer says after consulting with the disorganized pile of papers in front of him. As he sits, Randall jumps up to his feet.

“Thank you Archbishop. And now before we are assaulted by anymore demons leaping in through windows, I would like to report on the effectiveness of my inquisitors in locating this new blight of heresy within the Church. We – “

At that point, Randall is interrupted, not by fiends crashing into the room, but an archangel coming through the door. Ysora pauses at the doorway to give a gracious bow.

“Forgive my tardiness. I was involved in a difficult round of self-reflection, which I only now have resolved. If possible, I would like to speak at the end of the meeting about what I have decided.”

At that point, Ysora looks back up, and her eyes pan across the assembled group to fall on Lukina. Ysora immediately stops dead still, simply staring at the girl for several long moments. And then finally, a nervous whisper escapes her lips.

“G-Genevieve?”

Inspectre

2012-11-26, 06:55 AM

Gorgondantess

Zareth is indifferent to your outrage.

“If I had known that you wanted that specific angel in advance, perhaps I would have been able to preserve her in a more aesthetically pleasing form . . . in your eyes.”

“Relax, it’s not like anything permanent was done to her yet – I was just getting warmed up!”

Cheran complains, but nonetheless allows you to have control of Maurice’s leash. You swiftly remove the hooks impaling her wings, as well as the rest of the harness, the collar, and the chains locked around her wrists and ankles. Forged from the foul soil of this realm, the metal resists your attempts to manipulate it, but you absorb bits of it anyway, allowing the rest to easily fall free without the bother of using a key. You are also able to patch up the worst of her injuries, although you haven’t practiced the fine manipulation of living flesh much. It was easy enough to convert your own form into whatever you wished, but with other living beings getting the composition exactly right to heal and not cause further harm was still tricky. Given time and the ability to focus entirely on what you are doing, you could do better, but for now stopping the bleeding would have to be enough.

Particularly since you weren’t likely to be welcome here any longer, as you extend your coiled leg, delivering a propelling kick to the chest of Cheran. The already battered chestplate of the construct collapses inward a bit further, and Zareth’s Chief Inquisitor is rocketed directly into his lap. The two become a sputtering, flailing tangle of limbs, and while Zareth is distracted you grab Maurice and Hephestia and leap off the side of the tower. Or at least, you try to – something hard and unyielding unexpectedly collides with your head when you try to hop off the side. The open air shimmers a moment, and then parts momentarily to reveal a metal wall before the illusion restores itself.

“Fool! Did you really think I left myself so vulnerable to attack from the air!?”

Zareth taunts from his throne as he shoves Cheran off of his lap to a crumpled position on the floor. He grins as he flicks a switch on the armrest of his throne.

“But since you wish to fall from my tower so much!”

The floor underneath your feet suddenly gives way, sending you, Maurice, and Hephestia tumbling down through the tower’s interior. You are able to glide down to the bottom of the shaft, but its narrow confines prevent you from fully expanding your wings to actually fly. You could, of course, turn yourself into a living web and anchor yourself to the sides of the shaft, but at the moment this was still an opportunity to put some distance between yourself and the Fiend Lord. As it turned out, you didn’t have far to go down anyway, as the bottom of the shaft opens up to allow you entry into a dimly-lit room.

(You are welcome to ignore the next bit if you intend to somehow stop your fall partway down the shaft. It is mostly solid metal on all sides, with a few small gaps here and there where the disjointed pieces don’t fit together so well. The Spirit could probably tunnel through it with enough time, but that is time it and its “pets” are vulnerable, being in the middle of a vertical shaft with a Fiend Lord and ******* son of the Baron above them.)

Entering the chamber below, the air is filled with the faint grinding of metal on metal and the ticking of Zareth’s doomsday clock. The chamber itself is dominated by a central metal slab that has been stained a rust-color by countless bloodstains. One wall has two glass-protected alcoves, their interiors shrouded in darkness and with an array of switches next to each. Across the room from those two alcoves is a heavy door, held in place by a massive combination lock built into the center of the door.

“I . . . I thought you were dead.”

Maurice rasped, barely able to get that out before falling silent from the pain of her ravaged (but now metal free) face.

“We’re all going to wish we were. Zareth always was a torture and dissection freak – and it looks to me like his tastes have just gotten stranger over the millennia. I imagine Cheran will fit right in here.”

“Yes.”

Maurice says, shivering against you. At that point, from within one of the darkness-obscured alcoves, you hear the clatter of chains and a raspy intake of breath. Your altered and enhanced eyes can make out some sort of disjointed shape hanging within the alcove, but the darkness seems to be a magical effect as well, designed to block whatever was in there from sight, even yours.

“Where do we go?”

Maurice asked, prompting Hephestia to add her own commentary.

“Anywhere but here?”

Phaedra
The_Snark/Lonna

Recovering from her ichor vomiting attack, Titania pushes herself unsteadily back up onto her feet. If she senses Jacqueline’s magical aid to Mar, she gives no outward sign – which would be rather unusual given her behavior thus far.

“You . . . are correct daughter. I . . . I must rest and . . . and conserve my strength.”

Titania wheezed, turning back to face the passage leading back up to the throne room. She takes several faltering steps in that direction before she stops and turns back.

“But . . . on second thought. S-since she is here, perhaps . . . Marisiel should join us. She needs to fully understand what she has done. And if a little warmth will make her a more attentive listener, so be it.”

Wulfric, who had seen Jacqueline’s aid to Mar, stares at them both in open-mouthed shock for a moment at the revelation that nothing escaped Titania’s attention. But when it became clear that the fey queen was going to do nothing more than lead the way back up to the throne room, he relaxed and moved to act as rearguard for the group. Once back up in the throne room, Titania affixed him with a withering stare.

“This information is for Pyria’s ears only – and Marisiel’s because I chose it to be so. If Pyria wishes to share it with you afterwards, then so be it.”

Wulfric shoots a glance at Pyrene, seeking confirmation, and then forces a smile on his face and jabs a thumb at the door.

“I’ll be right outside then. Um, nice to meet you, Miss uh, Jacqueline’s m – Queen Titania.”

After Wulfric steps outside the throne room, Titania sighs as she slumps onto the remains of her icy throne.

“I really don’t know what you see in him, my daughter. He’s a dumb brute, barely one step above a complete barbarian.”

With a gesture, Titania conjures another chair up out of the floor’s ice and motions for Pyrene to sit. She does not repeat the gesture for Mar, and so the angelic girl collapses onto the floor, wrapping her wings around her and cuddling with the flame cat Pyrene has summoned for her. For several moments, silence reigns in the throne room as Titania merely sits on the throne with her eyes closed. Finally, she opens them again and speaks.

“First, allow me to begin with a warning. After we make our return to the mortal plane, you need fear only one man. His name is Dacian, and he lives in a mountain fortress that I believe the mortals now call Ironheart.”

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

At your warning Shiakti stands bolt upright, turning to face the darkness beyond the bonfire while protected by absolutely nothing but the bow that leapt into her hands.

“Spirits of fire and pain, come to my aid! Stand between me and harm!”

Shiakti hisses, holding one arm outstretched towards the bonfire as it erupted into a ring that swept out to encircle Shiakti’s small campsite. The sudden ring of flames also had the added benefit of extending the light they provided. It was almost enough to illuminate the section of rocks you were using to hide, but you are able to move further back into the darkness in time. Still, now warned it would likely only be another minute before Shiakti left the safety of her fire ring and went on the prowl – likely while still stark naked. Concerned therefore about ending this quickly before you altered the timeline and convinced Shiakti to turn into a newt or some other damn thing, you ready the soul-rending magics and approach Marialta’s ghost. Predictably, she has predicted your approach, although she has opted for an unusual defense.

“So, which of Kartul’s black magics have you decided to use, Umber? Are you going to rend my soul, or merely banish me to the darkest depths of Limbo?”

Marialta’s voice whispers, carried to you on the wind, followed by a quiet chuckle.

“You do realize that if you do that, you will never be able to return back to whence you came? Only I know how the magic that brought us back to this moment in time works. In your current condition, you’ll never be able to reverse the effect, and I doubt your current body will last long enough to get back the natural way. You’ve always been an impulsive sort, which is what makes manipulating you so easy. I would ask that before you go ahead with trying to destroy me, you consider what you have to gain by opposing me. Other than the tactless satisfaction of revenge, you gain nothing from aiding the Writer. On the other hand, the Writer has everything to gain from your success – he is after all the one who constructed this fate for us. Who’s to say that the Fate intended for us from the very beginning is any less correct than his chosen outcome?”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog/GuyFawkes

Intended only as a distraction to bog the caravan guards down out in the open, the earth elementals don’t last long. While the remaining guards dispatch the last of these summoned spirits, Rosenberg pulls himself back up to his feet and Alons picks off several of the remaining elves, his arrows striking with deadly accuracy. The sudden arrival of a new combatant in the midst of the elves, hacking and hewing them apart from behind, is enough to finish them. If any elves did survive, they are the broken few who skulk off into the woods, abandoning the battle entirely. The fey is alone now, and yet the creature’s resolve is unbroken, even as Rosenberg summons a tree beneath its feet, shooting both of them high up into the air.

“You and these others, you are the same as I. You hide behind the flesh of a human, but you are not! Why then do you fight for them? These loathsome insects are not worth the blood you shed!”

The fey hisses, changing tactics to a verbal rather than physical confrontation – although violence was likely to resume at any moment. Particularly after Alons moves over to the wreckage of the carriage, and finds Amelia dragging herself out from underneath the tree’s twisted branches. She’s a bruised, bloody mess, with several deep rips in her dress and the flesh underneath from the tree’s scratching branches. One of her legs is bent at an unnatural angle, and what appears to be several of her ribs are sticking out from her chest – and yet the Countess is still alive. Halfway out from underneath the tree, she sees Alons and stops.

“Alons – help me up, help me up!”

Amelia calls out, before coughing up a wad of blood. Looking down at herself with a mixture of concern and disgust, she uses the fingers of one hand to push her ribs back into place underneath her skin. Then she reaches down and realigns her broken leg. By the time Alons has arrived to pull her the rest of the way out and back up onto her feet (just going to assume that Alons will help her), the leg is strong enough to hold her weight. It’s at this point that both of them realize a gnarled piece of root is embedded in her side. With a scream Amelia reaches down and tears the bloody root free, incinerating it in a burst of summoned flame. She presses the still flame-shrouded hand against the wound, cauterizing it shut, even as the flesh there begins to knit itself back together.

“This was my new favorite dress!”

Amelia growls as she staggers free of Alons’ grip, glaring up at the fey as it hunkers down in the tree across from Rosenberg. It would appear that the Countess was not entirely human, as while Alons has seen magical healing before, this miraculous recovery on Amelia’s part more strongly resembled Rosenberg’s ability to regenerate. Whether it would be sufficient to allow her to survive being crushed by another tree was uncertain, however, and unless the group were to aid the fey in slaughtering the rest of the caravan, it seems to be only a matter of time before lightning bolts, trees, and more powerful magic was unleashed once more by the fey.

(Feel free to exterminate the beast in this next round of posting – I think the three of you plus Amelia should be sufficient, now that everyone can concentrate on the fey alone.)

daelrog

2012-11-26, 07:21 AM

Alons, Rosenberg, Lucifuge

yes, I think it's been established that Alons is one for the ladies.
And :smallmad: for leaving my speechless in the OOC Techno, my kingdom to have had a pithy thing half as clever to say back!

"A rose indeed." He wouldn't decide if the flower was worth such deadly thorns, but he could certainly decide on that later. Then again, he could feel the smile on his face. "Shall we avenge your dress dearest Amelia?"

His hand reached out towards the fey again. Alons spoke a word of power back from his homeland. "Umbrastis." In front of the fey's eyes appeared an illusion of darkness, blinding the creature to whatever was coming at it.

In the land of Fairlyle, far across the sea, the rangers were expected to not only know bow and arrow, but sword, druidic magic, and the arcane. These men and women were to be able to adjust to almost any situation. He could only ponder on who the newcomer was, as he focused on maintaining the illusion, trying to make it move along with the fey's eyes.

GuyFawkes

2012-11-26, 10:48 AM

Alons, Rosenberg, Lucifuge

Surveying the battlefield, the black dragon saw that the group had taken care of the attackers, save the fey. It looked a bit capable, but the man, or creature, that was hit by the lightning it threw earlier seemed to have brushed it off, so he could say the humans could take care of the last obstacle themselves and turned around to look for the fleeing elves. After two steps, he stopped and turned back.

...just to be sure... he thought.

Focusing on the fey, he spoke a few arcane words and in an instant, the fey's lower half was encased in ice.

Turning around again, he sped forward, with the magical quickening still affecting him, in a blur. It didn't take long for him to catch up to the fleeing elves, wounded as they were, and once he had a fix on their scent, he slowed down and stalked them.

TechnOkami

2012-11-26, 06:57 PM

Rosenberg & Co.

I love you too daelrog. :smallwink:

Also, dammit Inspectre, that Chevelle song is really good, I like it.

As the maelstrom of Alons' shadows twisted around them, it only heightened the ominousness of the fact that before this air elemental was a pissed off werewolf with death's tool in his hands.

"Is being human such a burden? Is having only such a degree of power truly that terrible?"

The scythe in Rosenberg's hands began to drip with deathly energies.

"Why must those with power seek to dominate who they see beneath themselves? Certainly I am stronger than the majority of the men and women here, but I don't feel the need to piss on them to prove that point."

The very thorns themselves turn a dark, sickly green, and the roses themselves begin to change to an ebon shade of night.

"And I do not hide behind this flesh- I embrace it!"

Rosenberg's scythe, wrapped malevolently in the natural energies of death, is suddenly found beneath the neck of the air elemental.

"Say what you want, fey. My heart is human, no matter what becomes of my mind or body. Nothing will change that!"

With one deft stroke, Rosenberg's dripping black scythe cut through the fey-human thing's neck like a hot knife through butter. Black thorny vines erupted from the blade, consuming all of the body which had been slain, leaving nary a trace of its existence. Even as the faded remains of this new plant fodder began to disappear entirely, Rosenberg continued to speak.

"Even if I didn't stop you, after you wiped through humanity, you would tear this world asunder to make it all the more comfortable for your ilk, and destroy all that I love and hold dear. I would die before I allowed that to pass."

The black inky blade began to regress to its familiar silver-steel sheen, the roses shifting back to a deep crimson, the vines a succulent shade of green. Rosenberg, still standing on top of the tree, dropped the scythe, letting it hit the ground. He called verdant energies to himself, his form bursting and shrinking into a tuft of feathers until his visage was that of a hawk. He flew from the tree, slowly gliding down until his newly clawed feet sat firmly upon the hilt of his scythe. The head was firmly struck into the ground by the fall, and he had yet to feel the need to shift forms just yet. For now, he was content to stay how he appeared, until he needed to change.

Kasanip

2012-11-27, 02:56 AM

Lukina

At that point, Randall is interrupted, not by fiends crashing into the room, but an archangel coming through the door. Ysora pauses at the doorway to give a gracious bow.

“Forgive my tardiness. I was involved in a difficult round of self-reflection, which I only now have resolved. If possible, I would like to speak at the end of the meeting about what I have decided.”

At that point, Ysora looks back up, and her eyes pan across the assembled group to fall on Lukina. Ysora immediately stops dead still, simply staring at the girl for several long moments. And then finally, a nervous whisper escapes her lips.

“G-Genevieve?”

Lukina looked up when the door open, and the sight of Ysora was electrifying. A sickening feeling like deja vu, but it wasn't deja vu. Lukina had seen Ysora in her dreams. It had been a memory across thousands of years. And at the same time, it was an archangel who walked through the door, for Lukina who was only seeing one for the first time. That was nauseous. Meeting a sister one has never met, and yet a reunion across thousands of years... Emotions of awe and relief and wonder and joy. Lukina was speechless, as she met eyes with Ysora.
No matter how Ysora might have changed over the years, Lukina surely had changed more. Or had she? Unconsciously Lukina stood up and walked across the room to Ysora. Somehow this magnetic moment, a real connection to her past, was more important than reports.

"Ysora?" She managed to whisper. "It's been a long time. It's good to see you."

Dorizzit

2012-11-30, 04:56 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram finishes up with Miranda, then waves a farewell to her as she flies off to continue her work with the other angels. Sighing, Korram folds his arms in frustration and kicks at a loose rock in the ground. Despite his best efforts, the angels (Miranda excepted) clearly had no interest in getting help from humans, even if they were too few to effectively defend the Heavens. Things were already bad, and they would only get worse. Even without his own problems, Korram is very concerned for the future.

Shaking his head, Korram turns back to his home and begins to walk towards it, but the door opening suddenly puts him on guard. Despite this, he is not prepared for the sudden assault, as a hand snaps out of his house and drags him inside.

What in the-

The last month has left Korram a bit rusty, and his new opponent is a far cry from the disorganized, untrained peasants he had effortlessly defeated earlier. The first few seconds of the altercation see Korram totally on the defensive, outmaneuvered and still recovering from his surprise and confused by the cryptic rantings of the attacker, even preventing Korram's usual propensity for banter. As he gets a better sense of his opponent's capabilities, however, Korram begins to effectively counterattack, and manages to obtain the upper hand momentarily before being forced into a new location.

The Mortal Plane.

What. That's...how?

It takes Korram a few seconds to overcome the queasiness caused by his sudden trip, and by this time it becomes clear that his assailant has finished (physically) venting. Korram, after a brief analysis, determines that the odds of him winning another fight were far more up in the air than he might like with the playing field leveled, and decides not to pursue further conflict. Instead, he folds his arms and listens.

“That was where you died. That was where you failed to achieve the one simple task I placed in front of you – kill King Demetrius Gast!”

Who is this guy?

“Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass it was to get you there, alive and whole? To line things up just so in order to allow you to have your revenge upon him!? I chose you to be my weapon, Korram – you out of the countless hundreds, thousands that the Baron has crushed under his heel! Without me, you would have just been some meaningless dirt farmer that got in over his head and was left for dead in some field! But no, I arranged for you to get in touch with Eldred. I assured that the guards who tortured you in Ironheart were too sadistic or too afraid of the Baron’s wrath to allow you to die. I convinced Alya to save your worthless ass when you got caught again, and Purifier to join with you so that Cheran didn’t present your severed head to Amelia as his wedding present! I got you in front of Demetrius, his resources spent, his allies dead, and his defenses broken! Gods, Korram, did I need to have given you a signed invitation to take your revenge upon him!? But no, you had to go and be a damn hero, didn’t you!? How did that work out for you?”

What... It is at this moment that something breaks inside Korram. Ever since his wife's kidnapping, Korram's life had been built on the hard earned victories, few though they were, he had achieved over the Baron. To find out that everything, from beginning to end, was no more than a puppet show, his survival guaranteed, is too much for Korram. Unable to deal with the revelation, he shoves it from his mind and focuses on the present.

“Well I hope you’re happy with the outcome because now the world is ****ed. ****ed! You didn’t kill him but Sohssal did, dropped his own airship on his head. And you know what? It didn’t do anything because Sohssal didn’t finish the job! You would have been ruthless, Korram. You would have followed him down through the Gates of Hell itself, torn his soul crystal out of his chest, and smashed it into bits! That was what I had thought you were going to do, but instead at the final moment you choked on sentimentality! Now Demetrius is free, free to come back as the Certain King, release Azguloth, and end the world! How does that selfless act sound to you now!?”

No conscious thought forms in response to this revelation, but as always, Korram feels a surge of hatred at the mention of the Baron, a reaction he does little to conceal.

“You’ve damned us all Korram. Worse, you wasted my time! But you’re going to make it up to me. You’re going to make it up to me, because if you don’t . . . Because if you don’t I will see to it that you never, ever find your daughter no matter how hard you look!”

Now that Nihlus has finally finished unloading on Korram, the man blinks once, then twice as he processes.

"Alright. Let's just put everything aside for a moment and assume that I believe everything you just said. Who the f*** are you?"

Korram unfolds his arms and rubs at his head.

"No, never mind. That's not the only issue. Why me? How did you do everything you claimed? What are you, besides a fiend?"

Finishing his outburst of questions, Korram recovers his composure and takes a step forward.

"And most importantly, what do you know about my daughter?"

WhiteKnight777

2012-12-01, 01:05 AM

Umber

Umber gave Marialta a coolly amused look. "I'm a bit surprised that the gaping irony of you talking to anyone about the pettiness of revenge didn't open a hole in reality to swallow you, Marialta. " Said Umber, making a sweeping gesture with one hand while palming something with the other. "What is all this, your ridiculous submission to fate, your sad, puling attempt at betrayal, if not some misguided form of revenge? Oh, I have no doubt you'd justify yourself with some other motive. Perhaps you even believe it yourself. But in the end, you are a small, hollow thing." He sighed, shaking his head. Despite the vitriol of his words, Umber's tone was full of pity.

"And why do I fight, Marialta?" He laughed. "You said it yourself, Marialta. I am predictable. I fight for the reasons I have always fought: For myself. For survival. For the woman I love. I fight because I want to live - because if fate succeeds, if the past changes... well, then the Umber that is me, the sum product of all the events that have made me into the man that stands here today in this borrowed body... that man will never come to pass. Will that unmake me? Will I wink out, consigned to an oblivion of never-was? Or will I linger here like an echo of a ghost, until I at last fade away? Perhaps neither. But I am not willing to risk it. And I am stubborn, oh crippled 'Hand of Fate.' But you know me all too well. I am afraid that-"

But Umber never finished his sentence. The precise moment the preparations were complete, he moved. He was good at letting his mouth run, and he'd been doing it so long that it did so without much discussion with his brain. He triggered Kartul's weapons, objects flying from his cloak in a dizzying burst of speed.

First, dark darts of energy traced out odd, geometric patterns in the air - like a host of fireflies swarming around her. These strange, spiraling whipporwhils wove a net designed to prevent movement between realms and places - to keep Marialta from simple escape. Next, a bolt of seeking power, guided by the bone wand, blasted forth from his sleeve, tearing a smoking hole in the cloth. It screamed towards Marialta's stolen flesh - a killing spell to force her from that borrowed body.

And then, out came the jar. Umber whipped the cork from it, and a great and terrible silence yawned within. It was deeper than outer night, and that empty silence poured out, drinking without slaking its thirst, consuming without being filled. It was a vortex jar - an awful thing indeed, and even Kartul had found this tool... disturbing. It's aching maw would pull in Marialta's soul and trap it within the enchanted glass, if she did not remain in her stolen body to die. Let her choose, then. Let her manipulate the strands of fate, when there were no roads left to walk save those he had lain before her.

Gorgondantess

2012-12-01, 02:47 AM

As they plummet, she grasps tightly onto Maurice, falling with her back down and ensuring that she won't be further damaged by the fall. She makes sure Heph doesn't die, too.
At the bottom, she rights Maurice, standing her before her with her arms on her shoulders, barely keeping her composure.
"I told you Maurice... I told you I can't die. And I told you, way back when, that if you ever left- that if I ever lost you- that I would hunt you down. That I would use every power at my disposal to find you, that I... I..."
She lifts Maurice into the air and holds her tightly- but gently- breaking down entirely and wailing, "I-I thought I'd lost you! That I might never find you again!"
She buries her face into Maurice's shoulder, body wracked with sobs, even though no tears can come. It's not graceful, or pretty. In fact, it's rather pathetic, but in this moment of vulnerability she's lost what little self-consciousness she had.
She finally lets Maurice go after the moment has gone on far too long, shaking her head. "I'm sorry... that wasn't right. I need to be vigilant. There will be time for tears once we are out of this place."
An eye kept on Maurice at all times- literally, for such things are a trifle to one such as her- she first checks the alcove with the rattle and rasp for any potential dangers, swiftly and violently disposing of whatever lies there if it proves to be a threat.

Iethloc

2012-12-01, 02:59 AM

Sohssal

”I dropped the Gastly Truth on him while we were fighting down here, so he'd better be dead!” Sohssal responded to Seraph before leaving for his other business.

”I'm not surprised the workshop is dangerous, but I doubt that the Black Fortress will be much safer. And I might have to go to the Black Fortress alone, if I go at all. Any minions I bring might get captured and squeal. I am at least powerful enough to have a chance to complete the mission even if I'm seen. Or I could possess one of his servants to get close to Isabella and that bound fiend.

As for the workshop, I anticipated being vulnerable to soul crystals and similar things; I'm bringing along Seraph as a mobile shelter of sorts. But who knows...I can still cast spells while possessing an object, maybe getting trapped in a crystal won't slow me down. I won't be testing that any time soon, though,” he explained to Xerxes.

When Incom spoke up, Sohssal would have made an annoyed expression if his current form had been capable of it. He made do with a frustrated sigh. ”I can't seem to escape my past, can I? But if you went through all the trouble of finding me in Hell, I may as well hear you out,” he said.

OverWilliam

2012-12-01, 12:21 PM

~Tare

At Nihlus' words, Tare blinked. 'Fate'? What is 'Fate'? It was a word Tare felt he had heard before, perhaps even used, but in that moment, when Nihlus began speaking about it in a way Tare had never heard before, it occurred to him that he didn't have a clear definition of it.

As Nihlus continued, though, it started defining itself from context. The 'Scales of Fate.' Tare didn't for a second believe that this "Nihlus" person had all the answers-- no one is always right about everything. But that part made some sense. It connected, on a purely gut level, with the way Tare understood how things worked.

"Look, I get what you're saying-- you don't have to lecture me on give and take. I'm a thief. You seem to act like you know so much about me-- Did you think it had never occurred to me that you can't steal, even for charity, without someone losing the same amount, maybe more sometimes? The difference is that as a thief I get to decide whom I steal from and whom I give to. If you can't even control that, then it doesn't matter if you're playing with a few bits of gold like I used to or people's lives, or entire civilizations if you want to-- if you have no choice then you're as powerless and foolish as I am." Tare pondered for a moment.

"But you don't seem to be either one of those. So there is Choice. And when it comes down to it, that means I have Choice. And when the time comes, I will Choose based on my own self. You may not like my Choice, but don't be surprised when I make it."

Tare was momentarily surprised when Nihlus mentioned mercy-killing the world-- both the thought that such a thing was possible (Tare wasn't convinced it was), but even more so that Nihlus thought himself powerful enough to enact it (that Tare didn't question nearly so much). A few seconds of chill crawled up Tare's spine as some perspective of whom he was speaking with worked its way into his brain. But that chill just solidified into resolve. Good. Let me learn from those who have something to teach.

As Nihlus stepped through the portal, Tare approached it quietly. The mysterious man's words still rang in his ears.

“You’re going to have to rip out your precious idealism entirely, and replace it by becoming just as much a monster within as you are on the surface now. That’s the only way you’ll be able to even contemplate some of the ideas that I do.”

It wasn't a completely foreign idea to Tare-- in fact, if he thought back, he thought he could remember having done something like this before. Taking a step through a door that he could never take back. If he remembered, and he would never forget, he'd taken a new name at that moment and laid the old one to rest forever in a sea of spinning memories that might have never been real. It occurred to him that this was another of those times, when the person he had been would not be able to walk through this door. And so he would have to let that person pass into peaceful memory. Not dead, forever asleep. At rest. At peace.

Very well, then. If a fiend I am, then a fiend I shall be.

And so Tamerlane made peace with Tare. And left the name behind.

Tamerlane stepped through the portal before him.

Vegna

2012-12-01, 09:15 PM

Mal Harath

His mouth spills forth a torrent of built-up questions, the dam of the past age breaking and tumbling from his mouth.

"Master, who is the man who has been trying to kill us all? Will you be able to continue our training? Why did you teach us so differently? How have you survived so long? Why didn't you talk to me if you were okay?"

But Mal's final question hung heavy in his heart. The confusion at their appearance, the repeated deaths, evidence from the tournament organiser's own constructs. He tightens his fists as he takes the plunge into the question.

"Are you the real Master Vork, Master? Val'Tosh and I both saw you die, yet you then met us in the tournament trap, sending us here, which you seemed surprised at our arrival? Has any of us known the real Master Vork or have we all been taught by his identical elemental clones?"

Baerdog7

2012-12-02, 02:08 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander listens attentively to Winril and Kranmer, allowing them to speak without interruption. A momentary look of irritation flashes across his face as Ysora's tardy entrance interrupts Randall Luxford's report.

Thank you for coming, Ysora. We were just about to hear from High Inquisitor Luxford.

At her and Lukina's shared moment of recognition, Ander's irritation softens. Well, I think this might be all the confirmation we need of Ms. Marcellis' story. Ysora, this is Lukina Marcellis. She arrived today in the company of the Order of the Star and, as you can see, she shares Genevieve the Champion's soul. I'm sure you two would appreciate some time to reconnect after the meeting. We still have many other things to discuss.

With that, he turns back to Randall. Please continue, High Inquisitor. Once we have heard from you and anyone else who still has to deliver a report, I will present my own plan of how I think we should proceed against Nihlus. First though, let's make sure all other business has been taken care of.

Inspectre

2012-12-09, 04:26 PM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

At your step forward, your assailant shows no signs of backing down and takes his own step forward, leaving you standing only a few inches apart, nose to nose. You stare into his orange-eyes, and he stares back, the rest of his face concealed by cowl and concealing wraps of cloth.

“I’m the Writer of History – you may call me Nihilus. Perhaps you’ve even heard of me before, as I understand that the Baron occasionally liked to claim to alternatively work for or even *be* Nihilus. I allowed him to do that, because it helped make him think that he was in control. Which, in turn, helped me lead him to the slaughter. Only I guess I wasn’t so smart after all, but he got off the hook and now the whole world is going to inevitably pay the price!”

Breaking the stare down, Nihilus whirled away from you and walked several paces away. His back still to you, he shrugs.

“As for your daughter, she’s in the Hells, somewhere. Given she’s a newcomer and I have seen what the fiends do to newcomers, I imagine one imp or another is making her its Ix right about now. That’s what they call newly damned souls: Ix. It means slave, plaything, food, or even less pleasant things depending on the connotation. She doesn’t have a name anymore, Korram – just Ix. And sooner rather than later . . . she’ll be too battered and broken to realize that her name is anything other than Ix.”

Nihilus pauses dramatically, and then continues, his tone almost conversational now.

“So! That’s why it’s a very bad idea to allow her to stay down there for very long. I know you well enough Korram to know that you’re already planning some ill-advised and ill-conceived rescue, regardless of whether or not you become an Ix right alongside her. Despite my disappointment in you, I’m willing to help you make sure that doesn’t happen. I know where she is, I can take you there, and I can get you both back out to go hide in some quiet corner of the mortal world.”

Nihilus whirls back and spreads his arms.

“All I want in return is for you to go back into the Heavens and break into the Palace of the Sun for me! See!? A simple enough request, is it not?”

(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

The Hells

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

At your explanations, Xerxes shrugs.

“I am unfamiliar with how Istomilo’s magic works, so I cannot tell you how likely you will be able to fight back if you do get caught inside a soul crystal. I can tell you though that the Black General has isolated Isabella within the dungeons of his fortress – no one but him is allowed into her cell. I would assume that he has taken some precautions to ensure that only he can get in as well. But, you are a master magician – thwarting a lock, no matter how complex, should not be too difficult for you. Getting back out might be the trickier part, actually. The Black General is also not an enemy I would wish to make, but then at least he can only capture and torture you. Istomilo will likely wipe you out of existence if he can.”

At that point, Incom interrupts your meeting, in a manner that by-now has unfortunately become familiar (interruptions, always interruptions!). As you address him, and show you aren’t yet going to respond to his presence with violence, Incom reveals himself. As you suspected by his invisibility, Incom is now an imp, although one separated from the others by the fact that he has a finger-sized crystal jutting out of his chest.

“I don’t know how I can repay you for any aid you give me, and I don’t expect this information to count, but I thought you should know anyway – my brother is alive. He’s just an imp, like me now, but he’s still out there. I gave him a thrashing, but before I could finish him off for good he fell into a narrow crevice. The area was unstable, and the crevice collapsed in on itself before I was able to follow him. But he’s still alive – I can feel it.”

“Your brother? So . . . the Baron is your brother, is he? And he’s still alive? Interesting.”

Xerxes remarks, clearly pondering what his old employer’s continued existence meant for his bottom line. Ignoring your newest untrustworthy ally, Incom continues.

“Figured you should know so you can watch your back. When my brother resurfaces, he’s going to do it after he’s consolidated some sort of power. And given you were the one that sent him here, he’s probably coming for you first. Unfortunately, I have other debts to pay. Isabella . . . I have to find her, help her somehow. I heard you talking you two talking about her when I came in, so I’m guessing you know where she is down here. And you’re planning on raiding some other place too?”

Incom swings his barbed tail back and forth in agitation a moment, and then sighs.

“How about a trade? I help you with wherever you’re going, and you help me get Isabella out of there?”

“You!?”

Xerxes scoffs.

“You’re just an imp! Which is arguably an impressive transformation given how little time has passed since your death, but you are still just an imp! Sohssal is a master of the arcane – what can you do with those little useless claws of yours and your parlor-trick invisibility?”

Incom bars his fangs in response.

“Sohssal is well-aware of what I’m capable of, buddy! I’ve already helped foil two apocalyptic plots, and I’m betting I could make your life a whole lot more, well, Hells-like if I put my mind to it! So what do you say, Sohssal – partners? Or do I need to go find this Black General myself?”

(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

At your argument Nihilus threw his masked head back and laughed.

“Oh yes, I’m sure it has. And perhaps you’re even right – maybe even I am powerless. Maybe this is all a waste of time, that “Nothing can be averted”, and that my “choices” only make things worse in the end for everyone. But I refuse to accept that. I can’t.”

Nihilus rants, his voice growing more shrill as desperate as he continues. For just a moment, you caught a familiar strained note, that sense of desperate need you yourself felt when you had struggled to keep both the elves and Melcara safe. No matter the cost – perhaps the two of you were not so different after all. But that did not mean you were going to just be his little puppet copy, either, and you made sure that he knew it. Nihilus merely shrugs as he steps through the portal.

“Fair enough. After all, if you follow in my footsteps exactly, then you’re doing it wrong.”

Theme II: Tamerlane Carries On (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsI9l6yyXuU)

Then Nihilus is gone, having crossed through the portal to the other side. You move to follow but then stop to reflect for a moment. As you had experienced before, you somehow knew that this moment and the others that would follow would redefine you. Tare could not follow Nihilus, down whatever dark path he beckoned. But Tamerlane, the fiend that Videle had named, possibly could. You still weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to owe the succubus queen anything, but then again what was in a name anyway? Everything and nothing. For now, “Tamerlane” would have to do.

You step through the portal, and – suddenly find yourself on that rocky shore, the waves crashing and throwing droplets of sea water into the air and giving it that tangy taste. The mortal plane – you were back, and in the depths of your bones you could feel that this was not a trick – you were actually back! Nihilus stood a short distance away, just out of reach of the wave’s grip, which were violent enough that you could see one of them knocking him down if they hit, and then dragging him out into the frothing sea. He points out across that violent mess to a jagged rock, its tip just visible over the top of the waves, and even that was swiftly sinking.

“High tide is coming in. Within a few minutes that pillar out there is going to be completely under the water and inaccessible. Built into the base of that pillar is a secret compartment that I constructed to keep its contents hidden and safe. Let’s see how good of a mastery over your current skills that you have – retrieve the contents and bring them back here. Try not to die from being ground up against the rocks, if you please – I’d prefer not to have to go retrieve you again. And just to make things interesting . . .”

As if on cue, although Nihilus did not create this one, a portal opened out over the water. A moment after its formation, a young girl perhaps twelve years old flew out of it and fell down into the frothing water. It wasn’t Karami, but the girl did bear a striking resemblance to how she looked a few years ago. Confused already and patently not strong enough to fight the whirling currents, she would undoubtedly be ground to pieces against the rocks within seconds, just as Nihilus had warned you about.

“Begin!”

(Just to get this out of the way now, speed boosts will enable Tare/Tamerlane to swim/run on top of the water out to the pillar without being smashed to pieces. It likely won’t, however, be enough to allow him to both retrieve the item from the pillar and save the girl – not enough time as they’re too far apart. If he goes for the girl, Nihilus will likewise interfere, appearing on tops of nearby rocks and knocking him back while lecturing about ignoring distractions. This is not to say that accomplishing both is impossible, but it will be difficult and Tare/Tamerlane will need to take those factors into account if you’re going to go for some sort of third option rather than doing one or the other. :smallbiggrin: )

(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

At your questions, Master Vork holds up his hands and gives an uneasy laugh.

“One question at a time! But, I suppose you could say that they all have a common answer, albeit a long one. Allow me to begin by saying that you are most insightful, Mal. You are unfortunately right when you say that I am not the “real” Master Vork.”

As a demonstration, Master Vork’s skin rippled, suddenly gaining an earthly consistency, his eyes changing into rounded pebbles. Elise gasps and staggers back in horror, while Val’Tosh slaps his knees.

“I knew it all along! Well . . . I did! Sorta.”

Val’Tosh exclaimed, his confidence evaporating after Elise quirks an eyebrow at him. “Master Vork” shakes its head sadly.

“I am sorry for this long-standing deception, but it was necessary. Long ago, I made a foolish mistake due to hubris. As I did with each of you, I took only one student at a time to train in the ways of Terra style. But I grew dissatisfied, both with my prospective students and with the time that it took to train each one.”

Master Vork shook his head again, his body returning to its flesh-and-blood appearance.

“Terra style is based around three disciplines, uniting its practitioner to the Earth.”

“Body.”

Vork nods at you.

“Mind.”

Vork nods at Val’Tosh.

“And Soul.”

Vork nods at Elise.

“Each one has its own uses, but it is only by combining all of them together that the true power of Terra style can be utilized. It’s ultimate technique, you could say – the ability to create life itself. Not just an elemental spirit bound into the earth, its form shaped and molded, but a new being with its own will. It is a dangerous technique, and I regret to say that I did not heed the warnings of my own master well enough! I chose to use this ultimate technique to create my own student, a creature that could master Terra style through its innate connection to the powers that birthed it in the first place. I called him Terra, not a terribly original name I grant you, but one that I felt was appropriate – and he was perfect.”

Master Vork sighed.

“Terra exceeded my every expectation, and there was every indication that he would surpass even me. He would have made a fine new bearer for the Terra style to live on through, or so I thought. And yet . . . there was a hunger inside of him, a bottomless emptiness that I recognized only just before it was too late. I did not teach him the ultimate technique, for I feared what he would do with it, and he nearly killed me in his rage. I fled, and have been fleeing ever since.”

Master Vork gave a short bark of a laugh.

“That was a long, long time ago. Seeking to preserve some part of the Terra style, I took on new, flesh and blood, students once more. But Terra was always hunting, relentlessly pursuing in search of the Ultimate Technique. I decided to develop strength in numbers, and so created copies of myself from the earth, imbuing them with copies of my memories rather than a new spark of life. Each “Master Vork” set out to find new students, but the danger of repeating my mistakes were too great. And so I only taught each student part of my teachings, hoping that by keeping the information separate the ultimate technique would never be put to use again, by anyone. Perhaps that was another mistake, as it has left you all unprepared to confront Terra, even if it is only me that he has any interest in. I can only assume that is why you are here now, Mal and Little One – Terra found those copies of myself, and I was forced to take drastic measures to ensure that he could not learn the secrets of the ultimate technique.”

Master Vork hangs his head.

“And so that it all I have to offer as an explanation. I am sorry that it has to be this way, but gathered together like this you are all in terrible danger. It may be best if we were to separate again, lest Terra find us all and put an end to the style altogether if he cannot master it! Are there any other questions?”

(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip/Baerdog7

“Genevieve!”

Ysora repeated, stepping forward to embrace Lukina in a crushing hug with a sound somewhere between a joyous laugh and an agonized sob. If she was still an archangel, “Genevieve” would have been fine but Lukina was still human. Ysora’s embrace therefore, was rather painful as the archangel clung with desperate strength and Lukina’s ribs started to sharply ache in warning. There were a few moments were it looked as if Lukina’s story would come to an ironic end before Ander’s words registered and Ysora relinquished her grip (jerk, trying to hold a serious meeting amidst a family reunion! :smallamused: ).

“We will talk after the meeting, then. I am very interested to know how you returned to us. Ander is right. You are . . . different.”

Ysora promised Lukina, her eyes studying the girl’s face intently before they flick skyward and Ysora whispers faintly “thank you”.

As the two archangels take their seats, Randall clears his throat and looks around warily.

“So, allow me to begin for the third time now. I shall endeavor to speak quickly, lest my findings bring us yet another surprise.”

A few nervous chuckles go around the table, prompting a slight smile from Randall, and then he returns to business.

“As I was going to report this morning, my inquisitors located one of the heretics spreading this false dogma. They took him into custody yesterday, and have been since . . . questioning him as to the nature and extent of his conspiracy. I regret to report that he was a well-respected member of our own clergy, rather than a layman, a Brother Thomas.”

Randall lets that information hang in the air for a moment, and then continues.

“Regrettably, despite his existence proving that this heresy is being spread by some of our own, we have not yet acquired much information from Brother Thomas. He claims that he was inspired to his actions by a manifesto that was secretly delivered to his chapel one day, a manifesto that he burned after reading it. This likewise proves that there is an organized conspiracy at work, one that is clearly targeting the leaders of our Church in the hopes of trickling all the way down to the smallest child. It is possible that Brother Thomas is telling us the truth, but as he has already shared this blasphemy with the members of his congregation it is entirely possible he has shared it with others, whom he is lying to protect. With your permission, Speaker, I will have my inquisitors push him to the brink of death, and beyond if necessary, to ensure that we acquire the names of every last member of this conspiracy that he *is* aware of. I would also like to begin screening the members of Church for this blasphemy, starting with this Council and working my way down.”

“While I “enjoy” a good burning at the stake as much as anyone, Randall, isn’t this all a little extreme? As I understand it this blasphemy is calling for worship of Athelion alone, rather than the traditional focus of the Divine Couple together. Inappropriate, yes, but surely not to the level of heresy worthy of purging the entire Church in a massive witch hunt? The people have already endured one great schism – I do not know if they will tolerate another.”

Kranmer says, eyeing Randall nervously as the High Inquisitor stares at him.

“Which is all the more reason to conduct this screening now, before the conspiracy gathers enough supporters to *cause* another schism! I also question the timing of this event – it could very well be an effort on the part of agents belonging to the old corrupt Council seeking to bring the Church to its knees! We cannot afford weakness right now!”

Randall presses, slapping his hands loudly down onto the table and causing Kranmer to wince as the High Inquisitor leans forward.

“Although you’ve always shown reluctance to get your hands dirty, Kranmer, you seem to think that we should be awfully lenient towards these heretics. Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

With a tired sigh, Winril pushes himself up to his feet.

“Enough of this. There will be no need of a purge, Randall, nor do you need to torment poor Thomas any further in your search for your blasphemous mastermind. He stands here before you now. I wrote the manifesto.”

“You!?”

Randall and Kranmer blurt out simultaneously, and for a moment all present simply stare at the wizened Exarch before he nods and continues.

“Yes, me. I wrote it, hoping to guard against the possibility of this Church being led to its destruction by the man who claims to have saved it.”

Winril turns to Ander, and hangs his head.

“Forgive me, old friend, but you are not the man I once knew. Miriam sent you back to cleanse Her Church, but now that I know of Her true nature I cannot help but fear that cleansing will ultimately involve a holocaust far beyond what even Karth accomplished. You are Her champion, and in the end you will always follow Her orders, even if those orders were to kill us all.”

“Miriam would never do that!”

Ysora shouted, and Winril threw up a hand dismissively.

“With all due respect, “Teacher”, you are likewise nothing more than a creation of the Queen of the Heavens, a pawn that can only move according to Her whims! Your opinions are naturally biased, and therefore meaningless! But – even if you are correct, that does not mean Miriam would not give an order that would be just as destructive. An order such as the resumption of the Crusades, at a time when the Church has all but expended every single one of its paladins, and all of humanity is threated by extinction from an external threat that does not, for once, stem from the Hells. This very Council has contemplated that exact idea, and while it was discarded for the moment it was only with great reluctance! In his new convenient position as Speaker, Ander could reverse that decision at any moment – or even force it over the objections of this Council!”

Winril uses one of his fingers to trace one of the whirls on the table’s surface, and then continues, his voice barely a whisper now.

“I couldn’t bare that possibility, and so I sought a way to counterbalance Miriam’s influence. I am not yet convinced that She will not seek to destroy us all, especially after the tragedy that befell so many of Her daughters, all caused by the hands of a man. The only solution that I could think of was to petition Athelion to stay Her hand. Likewise, I could try to temper Miriam’s influence on this Church by encouraging the growth of a greater focus on that half of the Divine Couple – something which this Church does sadly lack at times! And so I wrote a manifesto, and sent it out to those priests who I thought would be receptive to its ideals. We have no interest in causing another schism within the Church, nor do we harbor any ill will in our hearts. We merely wish to direct the focus of the Church towards rebuilding and repairing the rifts that recent events have torn in it. But we do oppose the idea of throwing yet more resources and lives away in a fruitless war against the Hells!”

Winril collapsed into his seat, holding his head in his hands.

“At least, we did. The fact that the Fiend Lords brazenly attacked this city today changes things. I had hoped that they would seek to enjoy their freedom and give the Church time to grow strong again. Instead, it seems that they too wish to bring about our immediate destruction . . . and I do not know how this Church can survive being crushed both from above and below.”

Lowering his hands, Winril looks up at Ander, and although his tone is pleading, his eyes are hard.

“I have always had only the best intentions for this Church. If my actions have made me an enemy Ander, then you are free to strike me down now. But I will die before I give anything that your attack dog can use to hunt down those who agree with me.”

“You’d be surprised how long Death can be staved off.”

Randall whispers menacingly, but then looks towards Ander for some sign as to whether he should remain at his spot or move to seize the self-confessed heretic. Before this latest betrayal could be punished or forgiven, however, or any other matters of business discussed, the doors to the Aerie flew open yet again. Another angel bursts into the room, Melissan, quite different in appearance to those who had only ever seen her branded and twisted by Project Angellus.

“Ander! I have terrible news!”

Melissan announces, but the pendant hanging from her one hand is all that needs to be said. Ander recognizes it immediately – it was the pendant he had given to his wife on their wedding day so long ago. It was merely a replica, of course, the original destroyed during the fateful demonic attack on the farmstead – but his wife had created a replacement once in the Heavens. She never took it off – and yet, here it was, clenched in Melissan’s trembling fist.

(I’m pretty sure from my end, the only other matter of business not addressed yet is the state of Amaranth. So unless you can think of anything else, Ander is pretty much free to launch into his plan – assuming, of course, he can even remember it after getting his turn as the DM Chewtoy! :xykon: )
(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

Gorgondantess

At your tearful embrace, Maurice gasps in surprise, and then pats your back reassuringly, uncertainly at first but with growing confidence.

“Shh. It’s alright. We are here now, together again.”

Hephestia makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a retch, muttering to herself as she dusts herself off.

“Yes, everything is just fine now, isn’t it sister? We’re all trapped in the Hells, within Zareth’s very tower. I’m sure he’ll be very interested in keeping us all together, so we can watch what he does to us!”

As if in response, the rasping comes from the alcoves again, leading you to go and investigate while keeping one eye (literally) watching Maurice. The alcoves are protected with a thick sheet of glass, and are shielded by magical darkness that thwarts even the wide range of senses that you are able to able to bring to bear. But that’s not a concern for much longer, as the darkness is suddenly dispelled, replaced by painfully bright light that starkly illuminates each alcoves’ interior. Within each is a metal statue, posed provocatively and held in place by chains.

No, not statues – angels, mutilated and encased in shells of iron plating! Here and there gaps in the plating allowed glimpses at the butchered captive within – a slot in the head of one statue allowed you to see one bloodshot eye madly rolling around, desperately seeking a means of escape. The other statue had no plating over the mouth, but the angel’s jaw had been removed, leaving her tongue to hang down exposed to rasp against her iron collar.

Maurice shrieked and moved around behind you, sobbing as she touched her own ravaged face where the metal plate had once been.

“My poor sisters! W-was . . . was this what he was going to do to me!?”

Hepehstia’s reaction is even more blunt, as she falls to her knees, retching until the contents of her stomach splash out across the metal floor. Unfortunately, while you were unsure what you could do for these unfortunate sisters of Maurice to save them, you might just get a chance to put them out of their misery. The glass panels suddenly retract up into the ceiling, and the metal chains begin to snap free, allowing the metal-encased angels to move again. You also catch glimpses behind the angels of gears turning, twisting some sort of metal key built into the backs of their twisted suits of armor.

“Go forth my pets, and destroy them!”

Zareth roars, his voice coming through one of the metal flowers hanging in one corner of the ceiling. In response, the two freed angels stagger out from their alcoves towards you, metal blades extending from their gauntlets of their own accord. You can also detect, through vibrations in the air and the floor/walls, that other creatures are crawling on metal limbs towards you from somewhere beyond the walls – maybe other angels, or maybe other freakish victims of Zareth’s designs.

“I don’t suppose you could conjure up some more cages for them? How about some weapons for us to defend ourselves!”

Hephestia shrieks as she crab-walks back away from the two angels as they advance into the room. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately given that you were the only one more-or-less invulnerable here, the angels didn’t seem to be in control of their actions. Instead, the constructs encasing them seem to be dumbly attacking whatever was closest to them – which could be you, or could be Hephestia or Maurice. And with creatures approaching from all direction beyond the walls, and without any way to know where or how the walls would shift to allow them entry, you couldn’t just push the two of them in a corner either. It was definitely time to get out of here, although the door would likely take some effort to force open – perhaps one of these levers that Zareth so seems to favor would allow you to get out of here? Assuming, of course, said levers weren’t rigged to fill the room with poison gas or flames or some other damn thing – this was apparently a death trap Zareth had designed to deal with unwelcome guests, after all.

(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

“And that is why the world is doomed. Not because you can’t change, but that you won’t. I have seen the future, Umber, and it made me weep. There was a time when I thought as the Writer, that Fate could be bent, that what was written could be washed away. But the chains cannot be broken. Nothing can be averted. And any attempt only makes it worse.”

It was at that point your body announced that it was ready, and you sprang into action. You wove a spatial net around Marialta, preventing any easy escape, and then you blasted her appropriated body with the wand you had appropriated from Kartul. Finally, you unleashed the void flask, seeking to trap Marialta’s soul – you suppose that the end result was similar to those soul crystals that the Baron liked so much, although the process was likely considerably more agonizing, and the container considerably more fragile. Perhaps anticipating her own fate, Marialta simply stands there, the blast from the wand tearing through her body’s chest. The ghostly form of Marialta slips out as the body collapses, directly into the path of the readied flask. She struggles against the flask’s pull for a moment, pieces of her soul being torn free and sucked in – there would be no escape, but she hangs on for a moment. Her whispers are raw and ragged now, the echoes of an echo.

“I do this not as revenge against you, but as revenge against him. Even if Fate could be changed, people do not. The Writer’s unnatural manipulations bring only further sorrow to everyone he touches. We don’t believe in apologies – but I do this to spare you further pain.”

And with one final drawn-out scream, Marialta is sucked into the flask. A moment later and Nihilus appears by the flask, stomping down on it and shattering it into shards of glass. This would not free Marialta’s soul – unlike common magics to trap the soul, also like the Baron’s crystals Kartul’s void flask binds the trapped soul into the material. Whatever was left of Marialta’s soul after being trapped in the flask was now as shattered as the flask itself – she was as gone as the other Lords of Blood now.

“There! Now she can’t possible come back to haunt us! Although . . . hmmm . . . that seemed . . . a little too easy?”

Nihilus grunted, and then whirled as the circle of fire surrounding Shiakti surged toward you both. Shiakti is forced to stop, however, as one of Nihilus’s clones makes an appearance on the opposite side of her. The clone races towards her, flailing its arms and whooping loudly. In one snake-quick motion, Shiakti whirls and puts three arrows in the clone, causing it to collapse face down into the dirt before melting away into nothing but fading shadows. Nihilus clutches his chest where one of the arrows had struck his clone and grunts in pain a moment, but reaches out with his other hand to tear open yet another portal.

“Time to go!”
He grunts, stooping to snatch up two of the larger hagged pieces of Marialta’s soul flask, pocketing them as he ducks through the portal. Nihilus was probably right that it was time to go, but you found it hard to believe it was over, simple as that. No tricks, no clever plans inspired by foresight to escape? Marialta simply died – was it really that simple? Or was there some wheels-within-wheels detail that you were missing here? She was undoubtedly dead, and could never come back now, with her soul shattered and scattered thanks to Nihilus. For the moment, unless you wished to deal with Shiakti alone and with no good defense against a master huntress, it was time to leave this place.

(Going to assume that Umber is going to follow Nihilus, rather than risk Shiakti stalking him.)

You step through the portal to find Nihilus waiting for you. He nods at you and claps his gloved hands together in mock applause.

“Well! That seems to be the end of Marialta, if not her plans. What do you make of her effective surrender to her fate? Could she have some sort of contingency plan ready, some sort of co-conspirator that would carry on for her? Surely she wouldn’t just die if it wasn’t part of the plan, so what’s her game now? Pity we can’t ask her.”

(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

Whatever the fey’s reply would be, it does not get a chance to speak. Alons’ magic momentarily obscures its sight, it is buffeted by flames from Amelia, it’s lower half in encased in ice (where did that come from?), and then Rosenberg slices off the head of its host. As the host melts away into nothing more than fertilizer, Rosenberg’s scythe embeds itself in the ground, and the druid comes down to perch on top of it in the form of a hawk. And as simple as that, the battle is over.

There had been a fairly high price to be paid, but the caravan itself was still intact – Amaranth would get the much needed supplies. A short distance away, the group finds the two draft horses that had been pulling Amelia’s carriage, and while not typically used as mounts, after checking them for injuries and equipping them with spare saddles from the caravan’s supplies, they served as mounts for Amelia and Alons the rest of the way to the city nonetheless.

“Alons . . . I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention my, er . . . recovery to anyone. Let them think I was merely pinned under the tree rather than, ah . . . impaled?”

Amelia whispers to Alons as the caravan finishes preparations to move out again. This would not be a hard promise to keep, as predictably the surviving members of the caravan, both guards and traders, were more interested in getting to the city alive than what their companions were capable of. It also suggested that Amelia might not be particularly interested in explaining her ability to regenerate, either, even in private – although as her bodyguard Alons might have some right to know what exactly why he was needed to protect her.

As the city’s walls come into sight through the trees several hours later, the surviving guards give out a ragged cheer. There is a brief moment of tension as the caravan approaches the walls and is ordered to halt, but as soon as it becomes clear that the caravan’s members are human the gates are opened.

“As far as anyone knows, elves do not try to recruit human infiltrators – they’d rather see us all dead. I’d imagine that would be why they’re not questioning our arrival.”

Amelia explains.

That being said, the city’s defenders were not entirely without caution. Meeting the caravan just inside the gates was a detachment of paladins, one and all heavily armed and armored. Their apparent leader, a young woman who looked barely on the cusp of adulthood even if her eyes told a different story, stepped forward and examined the motley caravan in silence a moment before speaking up. One step behind her was a mountain of human flesh and hair, his armor straining at the seams. Despite looking (and smelling!) like he had spent every night for the past month sleeping in a drunken stupor in back-alleys, his eyes also held hidden, and unsettling, depths to them. For a moment, the man’s eyes lock with Rosenberg’s, and his nostrils flare, but he says nothing as the young woman starts to speak.

(For TechnOkami)

The man accompanying Ashley, the baby-faced young woman leading the paladins, is a werewolf. And it’s clear that he is aware you are a werewolf as well.

“Welcome to Amaranth, ladies and gentlemen. Apologies for not being able to give you as warm of a welcome as you deserve – assuming those supplies are meant for the people of this city, which are sorely needed.”

“They are. Naturally, the traders responsible for bringing these supplies into the city will be fairly compensated – I will see to that personally.”

Amelia says, taking responsibility for the caravan even as the caravan master stares daggers into her back (clearly he had intended on selling the supplies at a less-than-fair price). Amelia barely even spares the trader a glance as she dismounts from her makeshift mount and walks up to the two paladins, hand extended.

“Countess Amelia Ashargrin. I am here on behalf of the Triumvirate of Narle to ensure that this city does not fall.”

“Um – Knight-Lieutenant Ashley Harrington. I am in charge of the Church’s detachment of paladins here to defend the city. This is Alexander Ross, my unc – my advisor. I would introduce you to the leader of the city guard, but frankly I’m a little unsure who is in charge at the moment.”

Ashley stammers as she takes Amelia’s slender hand into her gauntlet, clearly thrown off-guard by Amelia’s forwardness. Something which Amelia clearly enjoys as she smiles and gestures with her other hand at the city sprawling out in front of the caravan.

“Well, why don’t we go find him then? I would also like to hear the current state of the city’s defenses directly from those who should know them best.”

“Uh, I don’t know if that’s appropriate. Wouldn’t you like to rest after your undoubtedly harrowing journey here, Countess? Perhaps a change of attire as well?”

Amelia looks down at her soot-stained and torn dress, a far cry from the example of exquisite tailoring it once was, and for a moment her eyes flash as smoke begins to rise from the gauntleted-fist Ashley has wrapped around Amelia’s own. Then Amelia throws her head back and laughs, extracting her hand from Ashley’s grip and using it to cover her mouth to hold the laughter back.

“Of course, you’re right! I had forgotten how taxing the road here was, particularly on my dress! I shall have to find some sort of replacement – perhaps we could instead discuss the state of the city over dinner tonight? That should be enough time for me to locate new attire.”

“S-sure.”

Ashley mutters, staring at her gauntlet in a mixture of confusion, horror, and discomfort as the last wisps of smoke drift up from it. As if that had been the plan all along, Amelia fixes everyone with a pleasant smile, and then steps around past Ashley.

“Splendid! I’m sure distributing the supplies to those who are in dire need of them will keep you quite busy, so I will leave you to it. See you tonight, Knight-Lieutenant. Alons, I would appreciate your escort – I’m sure some parts of the city have fallen into disarray during the siege. Rosenberg, you are welcome to accompany us if you wish – otherwise you are welcome to attend this dinner as well.”

And with that the Countess sets off into the city, leaving Ashley staring after a moment in lingering befuddlement before she snaps back to attention. She gestures for the paladins to step back, allowing the wagons to pull into the streets. From there the area around the gates becomes a swarming hire of activity as people close in from all directions to unload the wagons – and even tear them apart for spare planks of wood in some cases.

(At this point, you guys are welcome to go wherever you’d like within the city. Ashley and Ross are both there at the gates, Amelia is setting off into the city, and there’s bound to be all sorts of trouble to be found in the city should you go look for it. Lots of trouble outside it, too, if you’re dumb enough to go back out there where the elves are waiting to avenge their latest failure. :smalltongue: Also, please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy!)

GuyFawkes

After casting one last spell to aid the caravan’s defenders, you dash off into the woods after the fleeing elves. Given the short period of time they had to flee and your superior speed, it doesn’t take long to find the survivors. From there you stalk them, keeping your distance as the elves possessed keen senses. The few stragglers quickly found each other and grouped up into a loosely-arranged formation. They did not, however, tend to either their own wounds or each other’s, focused solely at this time on escape. Neither did they tolerate the slowness of the wounded – when one elf with a badly twisted leg began to fall too far behind, one of his companions turned around and fired an arrow into his head, killing him instantly. Judging by the lack of concern from the other elves as the murderer continued running, this was standard procedure.

When they finally felt that they were far enough away, the group stopped. In silence they hastily bandaged their wounds, while one of them produced a horn. When the elf blew into it, however, no sound was produced. Instead a hissing wind raced out of the horn, forming into a small cyclone that pirouetted in front of its summoner. The elf bowed and then whispered several rapid phrases in her language to the air elemental. Given your unfamiliarity with the elven language and the speed at which it was delivered, you unfortunately don’t understand any of it. The intent, however, was relatively clear – the elves were reporting their failure back to the main camp.

As the messenger speeds off into the forest, the elves gather themselves up and set off again in a different direction at a slower pace. Unlike their previous haste and grace, the elves’ movements are almost clumsy now, breaking twigs and leaving an obvious trail. No doubt they are not traveling in the direction of their base any longer, but instead are seeking to lead any pursuers away in the wrong direction. If you were able to follow it, the air elemental would likely lead you to somewhere important however – but how would you follow little more than a gust of wind blowing through the tree-tops?

(Please check the OOC thread for a player survey, which you can choose to answer or not. Whatever makes you happy! )

Archpaladin Zousha

2012-12-10, 12:16 AM

Nobody

Hearing the name of Hondshioh stirred feelings that made him angry, but also confused. WHY did he feel angry? Was it this "selling out?" Selling out from what? And what was a paladin?

"Katrina's plan was a good one. I will enter posing as a supplicant while the two of you sneak in. That way we may be able to see things we wouldn't had we just taken one route."

He pauses when Katrina asks his name.

"As far as I know...I don't think I have one. I suppose you can call me Nobody. It is who I am for now, and it may fool the more dimwitted creatures down here. I have only one last question before we enter. What IS a paladin? That title sounds so familiar."

GuyFawkes

2012-12-10, 05:16 AM

Lucifuge

They sure are very elusive, Lucifuge thought to himself as he saw what the elves were doing.

How troublesome.

Jumping up a tree, he began to transform again, this time taking the form of a faster-flying bird, a hawk. As soon as he finished his transformation, he flapped his wings and sped towards the direction he last saw the air elemental head to. Opening his senses to its utmost limit, he focused on the distinct sound the elemental's movement made, hoping to be able to catch up to it.

TechnOkami

2012-12-10, 06:31 AM

Rosenberg

Rosenberg's own senses detect the familiar smell of a lycanthrope, but not his own scent for a change. He looks around briefly until his own eyes lock with that of another man, the open eyes of a sleeping beast beneath the skin, a werewolf akin to himself, even if he seems to have a rather disheveled lesser control over it; appearances can be deceiving, however. While their eyes remain in contact for that brief moment, Rosenberg simply acknowledges the fact that he knows what the other is, and vice versa, with a simple partial nod and bow of his head. His attention too turns to the conversation between the Countess and the Knight-Lieutenant.

After the brief talk between the two, Rosenberg also has a small side chat with the Countess, walking beside her temporarily.

"I believe that Alons is more than capable of escorting you around the town, Miss. I myself am not so... partial to cities, and I have business here as well, with whoever may be in charge. I will continue to act as a bodyguard for you, however, until more pressing issues arise. For now though, I believe you are in good hands. If you don't mind, I would like to peruse what wares the merchants in this settlement have. My particular robes of choice were destroyed, and I would at the very least prefer a semblance to what I was wearing. Afterwards I'll wait wherever you would have settled until this dinner, and I shall more properly resume my bodyguard duties. Is that alright with you, Countess?"

Dorizzit

2012-12-10, 08:06 PM

Korram Alstan

Korram never breaks eye contact nor does he flinch as Nihilus makes his grand introduction. Despite maintaining a cool exterior, inside he is shocked by the revelation of his assailants identity.

One of the lords of hell? He actually has the power to back up what he said. This is...bad. He isn't some two-bit conjurer; he might be even more dangerous than the Herald if I tick him off.

As Nihilus turns his back on Korram and continues speaking, Korram decides against trying to take him by surprise, and instead folds his arms and listens to the rest of the fiend's speech, his face impassive. Even at Nihilus' almost impossible command, Korram provides no visible reaction. After the full deal has been outlined, Korram closes his eyes in thought, considering deeply.

This might be...no this will be my best opportunity to rescue Katrina. I had already considered breaking into the Palace of the Sun...it was stupid, but not something I wouldn't do. The deal is reasonable, and the task worth the payment. I could rescue Katrina, and we could exit the stage and be safe. No more pain. No more struggles. No more fear for my daughter.

Still making his mind, Korram opens his eyes and smiles. Then he begins speaking, giving voice to his thoughts in an easy, conversational tone.

"It's funny; I've made so many deals in the last few months. My deal with the Baron gave me freedom. My deal with Calcifer gave me absolution. My deal with the shadow woman gave me a second chance. My deal with Purifier gave me power."

Korram's smile fades, and he turns his head to look off in the distance.

"But there's always a cost. My deal with the Baron cost me my conviction. My deal with Calcifer cost me my arm. My deal with the shadow woman cost me my pride, my confidence. My deal with Purifier cost me my daughter. And somehow, the consequences of my actions always seem to hurt the people around me instead of myself. My presence has meant death or misfortune for anyone who stands at my side, and every deal came with hidden costs."

He looks back, turning his gaze to Nihilus once more.

"But that won't matter now, will it? Part of the deal is that my daughter and I can go free. We're not important enough for anyone to pursue."

He sighs and looks down at his feet.

"I am a simple man. I just want to rescue my daughter. I guess all I can do..."

His hands ball into fists, and his eyes lock onto Nihilus' own orange gaze. Korram is obviously fighting an internal battle, at war with himself for what he is about to do.

"...Is tell you to go f*** yourself, you condescending son of a b****. I never asked for your help, and I don't owe you anything. I don't need you, and I don't care what you think the odds are. My daughter is far more stubborn than you give her credit for. I'm done making shady deals, and I'm done with surprise costs. The Korram Alstan who cared only about himself and his family died with Katrina."

Korram becomes more confident as he speaks, gaining in conviction.

"I'll rescue my daughter. I'll kill the Baron, since apparently no one else has what it takes. And whatever the forces of Hell do next, I'll help fight that too. And I'll do it with my own strength. If I fail, I fail, and I'll take the pain that results. But no one else will ever suffer for my actions."

Kasanip

2012-12-11, 05:00 AM

Lukina

Lukina also stepped forward to embrace Ysora, before being overwhelmed in the crushing hug. Ysora's sound of joyous laugh and an agonized sob was the same as Lukina, but maybe the reason was different.

“We will talk after the meeting, then. I am very interested to know how you returned to us. Ander is right. You are . . . different.” Ysora promised Lukina, her eyes studying the girl’s face intently before they flick skyward and Ysora whispers faintly “thank you”.
And that was a difference. The [deja vu] to see Ysora in the dream before. They had hugged together, but now was same and different. Before they were the same height, and now Lukina looked up. Of course the strength was different now too. Painfully in this way, it was clear what she had lost, even when she had found so much too. But it was the embrace of a sister she had been separated from for a very long time. And for Lukina, also it was the embrace of a sister she had never had. And an Archangel! Lukina had seen in her dreams, when she relived her past. But somehow still breathtaking and wonderful to see Ysora, too.
Isn't crushing pain can be love?

Lukina squeezed Ysora's hand as she managed to breathe again, with an awkward smile. She nodded with agreement.
"Of course. I can't wait." She was able to say while breathing hard.

The awkward moment of Winril revealing this was uncomfortable for Lukina. She wanted to voice her support with Ysora immediately, but Lukina was... well, she was Genevieve. But she was Lukina too. And she wasn't sure that this was really ok for her to interfere with this. Ysora was the Teacher, after all. Lukina took a deep breath to stand and speak, but Melissan entered.

WhiteKnight777

2012-12-13, 08:19 AM

Umber

No doubt Marialta, fool that she had become, was hoping for despair. What she brought for instead was rage.

Doom? Despair? He nearly spat with anger. It was worse than a personal betrayal - it was a betrayal of ideal, and of principle. She had given up everything they had ever believed in, every truth they had ever espoused. She had submitted, she had been broken, she had turned her back on freedom and strength and love and everything that made life worth living...

And she had been his wife's sister, and his friend.

Umber chewed his lower lip. He couldn't meet Nihilus' eyes at first, and he held his hand up to shade his own. He drew a deep, ragged breath into his stolen lungs, then let it out. When he spoke, he was relieved to hear that his voice was steady. That was good. It wouldn't do to show weakness in front of an ally like Nihilus.

"I have no doubt there was a plan of some sort involved. She said that she did this to "spare me further pain." Therefore, I'm assuming this was either a suicide attack, or a very curious ruse."

Umber looked up at Nihilus. "Actually... what I'm particularly curious about is her commentary about you. She said that you bring suffering to everyone you touch with your alterations. And as much as I'm loathe to agree with her, I have noticed that fate tends to react poorly to meddling. Is there truth to that statement?" His tone was mild, inoffensive - curiosity, rather than accusation. "We need to ensure that things go... as they should. Or are supposed to. But I'm not sure what that means... not yet. I need more information. About you, Writer. About exactly who you are and why you do what you do. And I need to know everything you do about the potential futures. About what will happen, depending on whether or not the ritual succeeds."

daelrog

2012-12-13, 08:12 PM

Alons Sift

Alons played his role well, chatting amiably with Amelia, talking of some of the differences between his culture and the one here. In Fairlyle they ate with their hands, and their castles were built wider, but not as tall. He also exclaimed that the women dress very similarly to the men whereas here one could pinpoint what gender someone was a mile away... unless someone chose to disguise themselves, of course.

However, once the tension in the air was gone, he finally brought up something he had been wishing to say. "Countess, I will not pry into why you can do what other people cannot, but I would know what my role is. I believe I am here to give the illusion of you being vulnerable, because we both certainly know you are capable of handling yourself. Then again, I suppose you can't simply burn any common villain who steps in your way." He said the last more as a jest, though he realized there was some truth to it as he said it. "I would hear it from your lips though. What am I doing here?"

OverWilliam

2012-12-13, 08:59 PM

~Tamerlane

Tamerlane stepped through the portal and was momentarily shocked by the sudden blast of sensation-- not just light, but sound, smell, and feel. The grounds about the Screaming Dark Estate were hollow and brooding, nearly as dark as midnight and bland in every possible way. Compared to that, the rocky beach was erupting with life and sound. The crash of the ocean alone was, at least for the first few seconds, overwhelming-- and it was beautiful. He could taste salt spray. The wind whipped at the blackened cloth that was his only clothing.

Tamerlane adjusted quickly, though, as a matter of survival instinct. The first thing to really earn his attention was the feeling of rough rock against his bare feet. It wasn't quite comfortable, but it was so very, very real. Tamerlane had to smile.

At Nihlus' indication, Tamerlane let the smile break into a fierce grin. A challenge, eh? He sized up the distance and the waves in between. Challenge accepted.

And then the portal opened.

Tamerlane's new eyes, though apparently somewhat sensitive to bright light, must have been sharper than those of his mortal body, because in the mere instants that she was in the air before dropping into the spray, seemingly unhindered by the distance between them, Tamerlane could clearly see the expression of near-mute horror on her face as she plunged into the ocean.

Even as he exploded into motion, Tamerlane shot Nihlus a withering glare. What do you have to gain by pulling this stunt? What do you think you'll prove? A life is a life, and even one I don't know is more valuable than a stupid test. Leaping forward, Tamerlane bounded from rock to rock, pausing once for an especially fierce wave to crash around him before continuing on. As he went, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that his physical strength was at, or even slightly above the peak that it had ever reached in life. Perhaps it was merely that this body had not been abused for years, the way his old one had, but Tamerlane suspected this was not the only explanation.

Once he'd traveled as far as the rocky outcroppings would let him, he hesitated for half a second. Strength be damned, I can't outswim these waves. ...But maybe if I'm fast enough, I won't even have time to sink. Keying the once-familiar speed boost, Tamerlane was pleased to find that the magic came as readily as it ever had. The waves slowed as Tamerlane leapt out over them, to the point that he could anticipate his landing. Tamerlane hit the wave running, allowing himself a moment of fierce satisfaction as his feet padded smoothly across the billowing curtains of water right beneath them.

Running up one side and then down the other of the constantly shifting concave ramps of water was demanding physically, but Tamerlane was certain that he was making better progress than any other means. As he neared the very nearly drowning girl, he slowed to consider how he would extract her from the water. At his current speed, it would be like pulling her up out of a bowl of stiff jelly. But cancelling the rush of speed would only cause him to sink right next to her.

Tamerlane "skidded" to an almost-stop right above her, the barest flickers of surprise beginning to enter her expression as her eyes just barely tracked his position. Hoping it would be enough to solve the problem, Tamerlane relaxed the speed boost only part way, feeling his ankles immediately start sinking into the surf. Reaching down, Tamerlane snaked an arm around her shoulders and tried to get a firm hold around her shoulders. Then it was just a matter of sheer muscle lifting her from the water. Tamerlane surged energy back into the speed boost as soon as he felt like she would follow him, by which point he had already sunk to his knees. It was not a trifling task to climb back out of the syrup that had coalesced around his lower limbs. Yet, with a final burst of effort, he pulled the drenched and exhausted figure close to his chest, supporting her with both arms, and poured on the steam. In a few steps he was able to leap back up onto the surface of the water, and with a rush of hopeful adrenaline, he began sprinting back toward safety, daring to hope that he was nearly home free...!

Baerdog7

2012-12-15, 05:39 PM

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Before Melissan could say anything more, Ander knew exactly what had happened. The Aerie, the Council, everything around him disappears as his world is reduced to a single point. Wordlessly, he accepts the pendant from Melissan and stares at it vacantly while the rest of the Council falls into silence around him.

While outwardly stoic and unmoving, inwardly Ander was struggling to contain the myriad of emotions that boiled inside of him. Anger, grief, disbelief…fear. History was repeating itself but this time the enemy could strike the heart of Heaven itself. Slowly, Ander begins to untangle his thoughts and file away his emotions for later. This was neither the time nor the place for selfish displays of emotional irrationality. He was a leader, a Speaker, and he had to act like it. Finally, deliberately, he speaks.

That will be quite enough, Randall. You will release Brother Thomas and any other conspirators you have captured. Winril's concerns are legitimate, although it saddens me that he did not feel like he could discuss them with me. However Winril, I must ask you to cease the distribution of your manifesto. Wouldn't it be more productive to discuss how to implement more theological emphasis on Athelion with Archbishop Kranmer? Perhaps a diet could be convened so clergy from all over the kingdom could join the discussion. It would lend your cause legitimacy and we can avoid inquisitions and schisms! I will leave the two of you to organize it.

Believe me, even for as long as I've faithfully served Miriam I share many of Exarch Milner's concerns. I quarreled with her after I escaped from Ironheart and resumed my mission to cleanse the Church of its corruption. Miriam had wanted me to burn the entire organization to the ground…and I refused. She spoke openly to me about her desire to wipe the world clean and start afresh…and I protested. I swore that I would fight anyone who tried to destroy this world, including her if it came to that.

With this last statement, he looks up and meets the eye of everybody in the room.

We are priests and paladins of the Church of Light. We live by codes of honor and righteousness to serve as examples for other people to look up to. Our faith and our steel make us strong and because of that, it is our responsibility to protect those who cannot protect themselves. That duty is more important to me than blindly following the orders of an angry and vengeful goddess.

If you really want a heretic to burn at the stake, Randall, you will have to start with me.

Ander stares down the High Inquisitor, silently daring him to make a move. When Randall finally averts his gaze, Ander continues.

Good. Now we can return to the matter at hand.

If today's attack made me realize one thing, it's that I cannot battle the Fiend Lords by myself. In Ironheart, there were many of us who fought together against the Hierarch and it is to my deep regret that we parted ways shortly after. Perhaps if we had stayed in contact with each other, we could have more effectively battled the Baron of Gast at Narle…

I won't make the same mistake with Nihlus. Since I cannot take a Crusade into Hell, I've compiled dossiers on remaining known Ironheart veterans who can help with that endeavor.

He picks up the stack of files in front of him and thumps on the table for emphasis as he describes each of his potential recruits.

First, we have Korram Alstan, also known as Korram the Firebrand. A former resistance leader against the Baron of Gast, Korram wielded the elemental power of fire to fight a guerilla campaign against the Baron's tyranny. He was eventually captured and sent to Ironheart and he was last seen on board the Ghastly Truth giving his life to protect Miriam from the Herald of Azguloth. His likely whereabouts, then, is Heaven. He glances at Melissan for confirmation before continuing.

Next is Alexander Ross, a werewolf and member of the Paladins Errant. A skilled warrior, he spent many years in Ironheart as the personal jailer of Umber, a powerful vampire and alleged "Lord of Blood." His whereabouts after Ironheart are sketchy but he was reportedly last seen in the vicinity of Amaranth.

Katashiko, Mistress of Earth, is a young woman with elemental control over earth, rock, and stone. She is one of several sisters, each one with control over a different element. She developed a relationship with Lord General Hondshioh after her escape from Ironheart who shielded her from her other sisters. While bloodthirsty and generally not one to fight for a higher cause, I'm sure she could be persuaded to come to Hell for the promise of a good fight and a chance to find the Lord General. She was last seen headed west from Narle and should be approached with caution.

Finally, we have the dragon Akor. Formerly bound to the soul of Incom Morgan, Akor was freed after Incom's death and had his soul installed in a body of living stone by the Baron of Ghast. He proved to be a wild card during the Battle of Narle, originally fighting for the Baron but switching allegiances halfway through. He has demonstrated a profound desire to protect and extend his own life and the end of existence would certainly mean the end of him. He is an ace I want up my sleeve if not to use in Hell, to use in any battle against Nihlus that takes place in the mortal world. Extreme caution should be used in any encounter with Akor.

I will head to Heaven personally to speak to Korram and take care of some unfinished business. Randall, I want you to have your spies find the locations of Ross, Katashiko, and Akor and make preparations for me to speak with them upon my return. I would also like you to find a wizard or sorcerer, someone skilled in the arcane arts, to round out the team. Sohssal, the demon mage who fought against the Hierarch with us, was reportedly cast into Hell with the Ghastly Truth and therefore out of our reach for the time being. Whoever you find should be familiar with fiends and willing to step out of their tower and get their hands dirty.

He hands the stack of dossiers to Randall and pins a map of the kingdom to the wooden panels covering the Aerie's broken window. The map is marked with the most current known troop movements of both human and elven forces in the South as well as several curious circles placed near major settlements across the kingdom.

My team and I will travel to hell Hell in order to sow chaos in the Fiend Lords' ranks, do whatever we can to disrupt Nihlus' operations, and liberate what survivors we encounter. While it is easy enough for us to take a portal to Hell, getting out of Hell is more challenging. For those present who are too young to remember, during the Crusades our armies utilized a network of Hellgates to move men and materiel to and from Hell. A permanent gateway would be constructed on the mortal side which could generate a stable, permanent portal to a corresponding gateway in Hell or a more temporary portal to any location through the use of a command scepter keyed to each gate. I don't need to explain the great tactical advantage this gave us during our campaigns.

After the Crusades, however, most of the Hellgates were dismantled to protect against any possible invasion from the Hell side. Three gates, however, were mothballed and kept ready to re-commission in case of an emergency. Hellgate Alpha here in Luxien was destroyed with the Reliquary. Hellgate Bravo in the Capital City is presumed destroyed after the Baron's ritual plunged the city into Hell. Hellgate Charlie, however, lays safe and dormant…deep underneath the Amaranth Cathedral.

My team can carry a command scepter keyed to Hellgate Charlie with us, but in order to send any survivors back, or even to return ourselves, the gate must be manually reactivated on this side.

This brings me to the next part of my plan. The Order of the Star's timely arrival has provided us with the manpower to not only relieve our battered units but to put pressure on the elves for the first time since the Siege of Amaranth began. Knight-Commander Tyberius, I want you to coordinate with our defenders inside the city and plan a counter-attack against the elves.

He turns to Exarch Tyra.

Of course, I don't expect the Order of the Star to bear the full brunt of the offensive. The nobles in this kingdom have sat on their laurels for far too long. Amaranth is a Narlish city and the Narlish nobles had better do their part in its liberation. Tyra, I want you to focus on getting the Tribunal to lend their aid to this campaign. Men, materiel, money…they must contribute whatever they can. If the Tribunal cannot act due to opposition, find out who their opponents are and beg them, buy them, or bury them. Randall can help you.

Archbishop Kranmer, I believe you are best suited to manage the stream of refugees still coming from the south. Let the fortress-monasteries of our Paladin Orders be bastions for those who have lost their homes. Their shelter shall be paid for by their help with the war effort. All able-bodied refugees should help build fortifications, tend the fields, create war supplies, or be trained as militia as according to their abilities. Coordinate with the garrison commanders of each monastery to make sure they understand and are managing their refugees effectively.

Winril, I have a few tasks for you. I'll need to have the rest of the Project Angelus brands applied before I go down to Hell. Make sure the appropriate preparations are made for that. Second, I want you to create a team to remove the soul crystals from our branded angels and return them to Heaven. Priority should be given to those least well off, so they may have the most time to recover in the light of their Lady. I also want you to coordinate with Knight-Commander Tyberius and Amaranth to prepare a team to activate Hellgate Charlie.

Ysora…perhaps your time right now would best be spent with Miss Lukina. I think it would be good for her to learn more about Genevieve, and perhaps you could help her hone her fighting skills.

Ander stands and moves back over to the map. He knows his next topic won't be popular, so he takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

Retaking Amaranth is important for another reason. Even with the Order of the Star and the nobles' armies, we may still not have the forces to defend against a full-bore demonic invasion of the mortal plane. In Morganna's journals, I came across a contingency plan that she created should the Church be unable to defend against such an invasion. She worked on it in private, keeping it secret from everybody but Zariel. She called it "Project Revenant" and the core ritual involved is an evolution of the ritual used in Project Angelus to capture angels from Heaven.

Ander points to the various circles drawn on the map as he continues.

These circles represent the locations of a network of teleportation circles that she and Zariel created to quickly move throughout the kingdom. However, they also serve another purpose.

As some of you can probably see, he nods in Winril's direction, the placement of these circles is no accident. According to Morganna, each circle is placed at a convergence of ley lines, known as a ley nexus, and their arrangement serves to create what is essentially a huge, kingdom-wide ritual circle. When activated, this circle serves as a giant lens to collect and focus an enormous amount of divine energy to a singular focal point...a focal point like Hellgate Charlie.

He pauses for effect, letting the Council absorb this information before dropping the final bombshell.

Morganna believed this ritual could be used to summon paladin souls from Heaven to fight on the mortal plane in corporeal bodies. With a ritual circle the size of an entire kingdom, entire legions of souls could be summoned and funneled through Hellgate Charlie to our world.

Project Revanent was Morganna's final contingency plan to create an army to defend against the end of the world. The thought of summoning so many souls from Heaven horrified her, but the necessity of such a plan drove her to continue. The only thing she hadn't accomplished before her death was the reactivation of Hellgate Charlie.

Ander takes his seat once again and sighs heavily, holding up his hand for silence before the Council can erupt in protest.

I will not make the same mistakes the last Council made with Project Angelus by using unwilling subjects. When I return to Heaven, I will begin laying the groundwork to recruit only those souls who are willing to participate in the ritual. Melissan, I would like you to assist me in this and remain in Heaven to continue the recruitment effort with our late Grandmasters.

I will depart for Heaven tomorrow morning. Upon my return, I expect to know the locations of each of my potential recruits and to be able to have the rest of the Angelus brands applied.

I believe that is all from me. If there is no other business to take care of, you are dismissed. Get some sleep.

As the others begin to file out of the room, Ander calls back to Melissan. Melissan, wait. Please tell me about everything that has been happening in Heaven. Who took my family and how were they able to get to them?

The_Snark

2012-12-15, 06:36 PM

Mar

She knew. Mar tensed for the blow to fall (literally or metaphorically). It didn't. The queen's voice was terribly weary; Mar couldn't help but wonder how long she had been trapped here, timeless and wracked by infirmity. Was it even possible to rest properly in Phaedra?

She pulled herself to her feet and hobbled after the Queen, lest she be dragged along more forcefully. Her feet hurt. She hadn't slept in... too long. When they reached the throne room she collapsed onto the icy floor gratefully, hardly caring that it was the coldest room in the palace and she was the only one without a chair. She curled up around the fire-cat and made a nest of her wings before looking up, just in time to see Titania sprawl onto her seat. What a pair we make.

She listened, quiet, until...

Dacian.

Memory washed over her like cold water. Betrayal. Chains in the dark. A careless voice. She recalled Ironheart with more clarity than she would have liked—Istomilo's gift had seared her past lives into her soul—but there just wasn't much to remember here. Only that something had gone terribly wrong with Dacian.

The princess was silent; perhaps she didn't recognize the name? After a minute, Mar licked her lips and mustered the courage to ask, "What happened to him?"

Inspectre

2012-12-16, 04:21 AM

The Heavens

Dorizzit

“No one else will ever suffer for my actions?”

Nihilus repeats, and then laughs maniacally.

“You’ve damned the whole world to destruction, and then you have the gall to say that!? Fine. I know how stubborn you can be, Korram. I won’t waste anymore of my precious time trying to convince you. I will find someone else, or some other way to acquire what I seek. But as for you . . .”

Nihilus takes a menacing step forward, as if planning on restarting your frustratingly one-sided brawl. Then he flings his arms wide and laughs again.

“I will leave you here, before the monument of your failure! The Hells are a big place, Korram, and you haven’t much time regardless of how equally stubborn your daughter is. Tear the Hells apart if you wish, but do not presume that the preservation of your soul will mean anything before the end of the world!”

Nihilus turns and begins to walk away, pausing after a moment and reaching down. From the muddy ground he pulls out an exquisitely-crafted sword. You think it might even have been one of the ones that Miriam was wielding at the Battle. Shaking the mud off of the weapon, Nihilus slings the weapon over his shoulder and with his other hand rips open another portal in reality. He steps through it, and the portal seals shut behind him a moment later, leaving you alone.

You had . . . won? With a soft wind caressing your face, it certainly felt like it. You were back on the mortal plane, evidentially to stay (until you died again?) – that was halfway to your goal of the Hells. Unfortunately, reality was quick to reassert itself. You are clad in simple cloth tunic and breeches, having no need for ornamentation or any further protection against the elements in the Heavens. Nor shoes – that was going to make for unpleasant walking through the muddy and body-strewn remains of this battle. You aren’t sure how far you were going to have to walk before finding another living soul, either.

(Figure I’ll just take the liberty of having Korram investigate this so we can move on to his travels. Feel free to describe the investigation from Korram’s own perspective, however!)

Taking your first step towards whatever your ultimate destination will be, your eyes are attracted to an unusual sight. A short distance away is a spot of vibrant green grass sprinkled with colorful flowers. Against the mire that is the ground surrounding the former capital, this small patch of healthy ground starkly stands out. As you move closer to the small patch of vegetation, you realize that there is a body lying in the middle of it. It is amazingly well-preserved for a body lying out in the open for – well, however much time has passed since the Battle. As such, you are able to identify the body as Sara, the Baron’s daughter and avatar of Miriam who you saved from the Herald.

It is disheartening to find that although you had saved Miriam, Her avatar was not as lucky. The glint of something reflecting in the sunlight draws your attention to her one hand, lying outstretched on the ground. Resting in the palm of that hand is a finger-long red crystal that seems to glow with its own inner light.

(Let me know where Korram is headed and what he’s plotting in regards to moving on to achieving his goals. )

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

“You don’t know what a paladin is? Boy, you must have taken one hard hit to the head if you’ve never heard of them.”

Katrina grumbles, looking at you as if you had just started spouting poetry at her. Evidentially she still wasn’t used to the idea that you had forgotten literally everything from before the time you woke up in your cell. Volesin was more helpful.

“They’re holy warriors, mortal servants of Miriam the Valkyrie. They fight against the fiends of the Hells, opposing them and doing their best to keep humanity safe. Given that I believe that woman we’ve been following was a paladin, I suspect that those efforts haven’t been going so well. I suspect they would also kill Katrina and myself on sight – possibly you as well, given the fact you’ve now been “tainted” by your time here in the Hells.”

“Yeah well, they’ve got a lot more problems than us right now, seems like. So what is this place then? Some clinic in the Hells where the fiends give depressed paladins their own unique form of therapy?”

“I suspect it may well be something like that. Paladins are highly trained, but in the end they’re still just human. The fiends have had millennia of practice with corrupting fallen souls into fiends. I imagine given enough time they can also convince paladins to abandon their oaths.”

“Pansies! They throw away everything they believed in, just like that!?”

“There may not have even been a conscious choice involved. Given the young lady’s condition, I doubt she was entirely in her right mind. That being said, more unpleasantness may await within – and given that they seem to be expecting paladins, are you sure you want to try this? If you don’t even know what a paladin is, you may not be able to answer any specific questions they have.”

“Just give them a blank-faced stare and say you don’t remember. That’s true enough isn’t it and you’ve already got experience with that answer!”

Katrina says with a smirk as she walks towards to the pile of rubble that would allow her to scramble up to the window. Volesin gives you one last pat on the back, not entirely reassuring given his claw-like hands, and then moves over to join Katrina in her climb. Alone, you make your way up to the gates where the two armored guards await.

“So, another one already? Hail, brother! Have you come to join the ranks of the Hellgarde, and spare yourself?”

The lead guard muttered to his partner, and then addressed you. His partner is a bit more cautious, keeping one eye slit on you while he whispers to his partner – a futile effort given the echoing effect of his helmet.

“Uh, are you sure this guy is one of ours? Look at him - he doesn’t look like a paladin.”

“Who else would be coming up here? Besides, even if he isn’t, he’s big and strong. He’ll be a natural at it.”

The first guard echoed back, and then turned to beckon you forward. Evidentially, you might not even have to try to convince them you’re a former paladin.

“Welcome, brother! Here you will find new purpose, and be made whole again. Those inside will direct you to where you need to go.”

The two guards escort you to just inside the gates, and then resume their positions. As promised, immediately inside the courtyard is another armored figure who silently directs you by pointing to what was once a cobblestone walkway. Now the walkway is overgrown with many of the stones missing, but there’s enough left to hint at a pathway winding around the outside of the courtyard.

As you suspected from the sounds of battle, the interior of the courtyard is defined by a number of sparring circles. Within each one a pair of black-armored figures do battle with a variety of weapons, although as you watch it seems sparring practice is beginning to wind down. On the far side of the courtyard, several more armored figures work to finish constructing a raised dais and podium. From the looks of things, it seems that Hondshioh would be giving that promised speech very shortly – and it occurs to you that if you can remember his face, he likely can remember yours as well. Getting your face concealed by one of these black helmets seemed like a good priority.

Or, perhaps, getting out of sight altogether. Ahead a little and off to your left, a partially crumbled doorway yawns open into darkness. It seems that this was an entrance to some kind of gatehouse connected to the gates you just passed through. From inside, you might be able to either get up on top of the walls, or even directly into the manor proper. No one seemed to be paying much attention to you at the moment – it would be easy enough to duck inside as you walk past the doorway.

What stops you from immediately doing that is the sight of the woman you had been trying to help a bit farther ahead along the walkway. Naturally, having arrived right behind her it only makes sense that you would be directly behind her in-line for whatever process they put new recruits through. The next step in the process seems to involve entering some sort of makeshift wooden outhouse, which is connected to a second outhouse. The structures are not, of course, outhouses, but that is the first word that comes to mind to describe the tall, narrow structures, the interiors of which are obscured by moth-eaten curtains.

As you watch, one of the curtains parts, and a thin, pale-faced man steps out. There is a certain hard edge to his smile as he holds the curtain back to allow your newest friend to enter.

“Prepare yourself, sister. He will explain all of your sins, and then the world shall never look the same.”

The pale-faced man promises, and the woman reluctantly steps inside and pulls the curtain shut behind her. The man walks off, his back straight and his head held high, continuing to follow the path further around the courtyard to what appears to be a smithy. Something about that exchange triggers another word to bubble up into your mind from the hidden recesses of your stolen memory – confessional. A place where a paladin could go to admit his/her mortal failings to a representative of the gods, and find forgiveness. Only no representative of the gods would be found here, you are certain of that.

So now the choice was before you – do you duck aside and hopefully begin to explore the manor, or do you continue to follow the woman, even though it will mean going into this “confessional” after her turn inside? Although, theoretically at least, you could probably avoid going inside yourself if you wished – and the curtains were not so thick that you would be unable to hear what was being said inside if you moved closer. You might have to do some explaining, however, if you were seen while doing that – getting caught ducking inside the doorway, at least, could be explained by claiming to be lost. They would merely think you too stupid to follow a clear path, rather than someone who is awfully curious for being depressed enough to join your previously mortal enemies.

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

You leap from rock outcropping to rock outcropping, and then from wave to wave after you activate your hyper-speed, each step bringing you closer to the girl. For a moment you have to pause to figure out how to rescue her without dragging her from sinking down beneath the surface to rocketing around at your speed – something that may injure or even kill her unprepared. You settle for slowing yourself down for just a moment, just long enough to scoop the child up in your arms, speeding her up gradually with you as you stagger back up onto the top of the waves. Continuing to literally run on water, you turn and make your way back to the shore.

Nihilus is waiting for you, watching your progress impassively, arms folded across his chest – and he seems to have no trouble with following even your impossibly fast movements. As you approach, he unfolds his arms and greets you with a single, unmotivated clap of his hands. Ignoring him for a moment, you step back onto solid ground and slow back down, allowing the panicked girl to suck in several panicked breathes of air. She struggles in your grip, her movements panicked, but even the strength of desperation is no match for you now.

In that primeval evil part of your brain, the girl’s struggles begin to excite you. You imagine yourself making her scream, how sweet that sound must be, before you mercilessly silence her with rapid and repeated dunks back into the swirling cold water. Even worse temptations dance in the darkest corners of your mind, straining to come to the fore and be made real. You force them all back through sheer force of will, concentrating instead on what Nihilus has to say, the girl still futilely flailing in your arms, ignored for the moment.

“Congratulations. You saved one squalling brat from a swift albeit unpleasant death. Now what? I suppose, unless you intend on keeping her as your personal plaything – and I can see how much that thought excites you – we should send her back home.”

With the casual air he has always displayed thus far, Nihilus reaches out and tears open a portal, leading to what you presume is the girl’s home village. Only it can’t be, for the scene beyond the portal rivals that of the Hells for the chaos, brutality, and senselessness that it depicts. The village is in flames, and silhouetted against that are bodies, held aloft by the spears which impale them. At the sight, the girl in your arms goes limp and gives the most charming wail, leading to another surge in depraved thoughts that you narrowly manage to force back yet again. Nihilus’s voice is dispassionate as he narrates.

“Oh, but wait – her village is in the midst of being burned to the ground by blood-mad elves. Sending her back now would leave her with the same fate as she had before I attempted to drown her just now. Which is to say, she will be captured and enslaved by the elves. She will be dragged back to their forest home, and forced to serve her new masters in the most demeaning, filthy, and unpleasant jobs imaginable. Any mistake or attempt to defy or escape her captors will be met with humiliation and torture. And it will not end, for she will be one of the lost ones, and her torment will continue until either the world ends, or she grows into a broken young woman, finally ripe enough for an elven shaman to pluck and use to fuel one of their spiritual divinations with her last breath!”

Nihilus shrugs and closes the portal before immediately opening a new one, this one looking on another pastoral village, this one a picture of serenity, not yet touched by war.

“Or perhaps we should set her up in a quiet village far from danger? Assuming the world doesn’t end, that would let her grow up, and take up the destiny of her previous incarnation, which was denied her by the elves invading several decades “early”. Only instead of her children, she will go on to avenge her parents, becoming a vengeful hunter who haunts the elven lands for years. The adult elves she butchers, but their children she merely mutilates, leaving them crippled and blind, mewling for their now-dead parents. The variations are infinite, but the end is always the same, boy – someone always suffers!”

Nihilus clenches his fist, and the second portal closes. Like a maestro, Nihilus gestures with a flourish, and suddenly a familiar dagger is clenched in one hand – one of Ulrich’s Fangs! Nihilus twirls it around, and then present the blade to you hilt first. His voice is no longer as impassive as it was a few moments ago, suggesting that he was getting excited by presenting this array of unpleasant options to you.

“But of course, there’s always the much-vaunted third option! I took the liberty of retrieving Ulrich’s daggers for you – it seemed like such a waste for such exquisite weapons to be lost. You could use this blade to put the girl out of everyone’s misery – hers and her future victims! For now, her soul is unblemished – she would go to the Heavens, for as long as it lasts anyway. Just like you put Limier out of her misery – one cut, fast and hard across the throat, and her misery is over! That is . . . assuming you can manage only one cut.”

The thought of carving into the girl with the offered dagger fills you with ecstasy. But not one cut across the throat, no, that would be too quick! You had to draw it out first, savor it as you cut one little piece off her at a time, drink in her terror and anguish, and the gradual realization that very soon, after all this pain, she would feel nothing at all!

You could control this hungering beast inside you, but it would be so easy to let it off its leash. So gratifying . . . even with the false promise that it would go back into its cage after you were done, and not leave you with the craving for more.

The offered dagger trembles in your vision, just within reach, begging to be put to use.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip/Baerdog7

“I . . . you are more generous than I thought you would be, Ander. I am sorry that I thought so ill of you. I agree that all members of the Church must stand united against the Fiend Lords, regardless of differences in our beliefs. I would be happy to work with Kranmer, assuming he is willing to make such arrangements.”

“Of course!”

Kranmer says, perhaps a little too quickly but understandable given that he clearly does not want to be the center of attention on this matter. That just leaves Randall, who does not try to argue with Ander – a welcome relief against the nigh-endless struggle to convince the Church that its Council was horribly corrupt.

“I and my Inquisitors are as a blade in your hands, Speaker. You need only say the word, and it will be done. If you consider this incident to not be heresy, then so be it. I will make sure that Thomas and the others are released immediately.”

Randall says, looking away and sitting back down a moment later. With the question of Winril’s indiscretion therefore handled, and Melissan’s interruption understood by all but not explained, direction of the meeting turned back to Ander. At the mention of Korram Alstan, Melissan smiled and nodded.

“I met him, briefly, before returning here. He helped repel some of the invaders, and saved several souls from damnation. An excellent choice, although he is now at peace in the Heavens – I am not sure it is fair to deprive him of that after the sacrifices he has already made.”

Ysora nods at that assertion, angelic nature winning out over pragmatism.

“I can confirm that Alexander Ross is in Amaranth. Although the last report I have from the Knight-Captain there was dated a week ago, and it stated that Ross spent as much time in his cups as he did sleeping it off in squalid alleys.”

Tyra rasped from her bed. That was less than hopeful, but Ander had worked with worse before.

“No one has seen either Katashiko nor Akor after the Battle of Narle. One of my inquisitors was following Katashiko at a distance, but she disappeared and he was unable to reacquire contact.”

Randall reported, and then reflexively winced as if he had just swallowed something unpleasant.

“I . . . might also know where we can acquire a skilled mage and demonologist. I will have to investigate into that matter before I can offer any further details, however.”

At Ander’s mention of the Order of the Star’s involvement in filling the massive gaps in the Church’s armies, Tyberius merely gives a silent nod. He had been mostly impassive throughout the meeting, watching the proceedings intently but otherwise keeping his opinions to himself – and off of his face, an impressive feat given some of the surprises that had been revealed already tonight. The mention of the Hellgates, and the fact that there was still an operational if deactivated Hellgate *did* cause his eyes to widen a bit, however.

“I believe you are referring to the Triumvirate, as they call themselves. I’m sure you remember them, just as I’m sure they’re doing all they can already. It’s Rose Volesin-Gast, Elsa Mercer-Gast, and Amelia Ashargrin-Gast. As you can imagine, however, the fact that they were all married to a son of the now despised King Demetrius Gast is hurting rather than helping their influence.”

Tyra rasped from her bed, managing a slight smile at the revelation of who the members of the Triumvirate were.

“Other than them, however, there’s no real power structure to talk to. Virtually all of Narle’s ranking nobility was at Narle during the Battle, and died there. The kingdom has since been thrown into complete chaos as they try to work out the proper succession and keep their own lands safe from the elves. I’ll do what I can, but each noble is buried in their own problems, and even if they can be convinced we will have to do it one by one.”

Tyra winced as all the talking pulls at her injured throat, and the Exarch decides to end her contributions to the conversation there. At the mention of the refugees, Kranmer nods.

“I have already started organizing several such programs. After fleeing from the elves, I’ve heard a number of the refugees were despondent and didn’t want to work. Perhaps seeing the fiends of the Hells appear before them will drive the Sloth out of them!”

Winril nods in agreement at each of your points, but freezes as Ysora speaks up.

“I want you to apply the Angelus brands to me as well, Winril. I will be going with the team that ventures into the Hells.”

For a moment, it is deathly silent within the Council Chamber, all eyes simply staring at the archangel. Tyberius’s mouth hangs open a few inches for a moment before he closes it. Ysora stares at Ander, her mouth drawn into a determined frown.

“I have made up my mind about this. I have to do this.”

But it turns out that Ysora’s announcement was not the most shocking. Ander’s revelation of Morganna’s deepest secret had the opposite effect of the previous admissions, and the room was thrown temporarily into complete pandemonium.

“Unacceptable!”

Ysora and Melissan both declared, almost simultaneously, horror and revulsion battling for control of their faces. Kranmer and Winril likewise paled, voicing their opinions loudly.

“Ander . . . that is . . . I mean . . . it is unprecedented.”

Kranmer stammers, as Winril pounds the tables with his fists.

“Damnit, Ander! No sooner have you convinced me that you don’t intend to throw us all to the fiends in some mad crusade, than you pull out something like this! Dragging out souls of those who escaped damnation the first time for another roll of the dice!”

“You cannot do this, Ander!”

Melissan cried, interrupting Winril’s rant.

“You must not.”

Ysora pressed.

“The honored souls of the dead do not belong on the mortal plane. You are the sole exception, at the behest of Miriam Herself! Those who are in the Heavens have earned their eternal reward, and to ask them to risk that, whether they are willing to do so or not . . .”

Ysora shakes her head, while Melissan pauses and chews her lip thoughtfully.

“That reward may no longer be certain.”

Melissan says finally, indicating the pendant still clutched in Ander’s hand. This seems to end the discussion for the moment, although it is certain that there will be further debate on this matter should the time come that it is necessary. And with that, the meeting is adjourned, with Ander requesting Melissan to stay.

(Separate DMs below)

Baerdog7

“I . . . am not sure. On both accounts I am afraid. Oh, the fiends opened up portals directly into the Heavens, sending humans through to do their dirty work. But *how*, how they accomplished such a thing that should be absolutely impossible! That . . . that I do not know. As for who is behind this . . . pick a Fiend Lord? We did find one troubling thing that was left behind – Seymour had bitten one of his attackers, and tore this free.”

Melissan throws a tattered piece of black cloth onto the table. Although only a ragged strip of cloth, it is enough to be identifiable as coming from a tabard. Emblazoned on the scrap of cloth is a broken sword, a clear mockery of the Church’s own common symbol of a shining sword.

“Do you recognize that symbol? I do not.”

You do not either, and with an encyclopedic knowledge of the fiends’ various servants, that means that this is something new. Another of Nihilus’s games?

“Ander, I . . .”

Melissan begins, her voice too trembling with emotion to continue. When she finally centers herself a few moments later, she continues.

“If I could trade myself for your son, or your wife, I would do it without hesitation. This is . . . inconceivable. But, I am not sure I can do what you ask. You do not understand, because you are human. My sisters and I, from the moment of our creation . . . we serve our Lady, but we were created to protect Humanity. To take a soul that has earned its place within the Heavens and cast it back out into the merciless world of the mortal plane . . . it is anathema to us! And now the fiends can do it seemingly at will, and we are helpless to stop it. But is the only solution for us to do the same with those willing to go? It is monstrous Ander, and I fear that in the end, we will be no different than the fiends if we start down this path. I . . . I am afraid. Even more so than I was when I was captured and forced to endure Project Angelus.”

(If you would like to move on to the next morning, you are welcome to do so.)

Kasanip

As the meeting adjourns, you and Ysora walk out side-by-side. Your sister is clearly deeply troubled by some of the meeting’s last revelations, although she still remembers to smile whenever she looks at you. The two of you walk down the winding stairs from the Aerie, and then through the hallways, and finally out onto a balcony, the sleeping city below you and the countless stars above. Even before you reach the balcony, the two of you are talking.

“I have so many questions for you, dear sister. But I suppose many of them are inconsequential, at least compared to the one that I’m going to ask. How does it feel to be back!?”

Ysora finally asked with a giggle after a dramatic pause.

When you finally do reach the balcony, you find a mysterious package sitting on the ledge waiting for you both. The package is a long, narrow box, wrapped shut with several strands of bright ribbon. A slip of paper is tied to the box by the ribbon, and even from a distance you can plainly read – “For Genevieve” on the side that is face up.

“Wh-what is that!?”

Ysora asks, looking at the strange package and then back at you.

“Who else knows about your return? I can’t imagine any of the paladins just leaving a package sitting out for you like this. And even if they did, how would they know we were going to come out here? I don’t like this, sister.”

Phaedra

The_Snark/Lonna

(Ran out of room for this post. So I moved the entire thing down to just above the next set of DMs. You can find it here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=14422304&postcount=256).

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

“Me!?”

Nihilus says, clearly surprised – no doubt Marialta’s last words had been sent to you alone. At your revelation of what she had told you in her last moments, Nihilus shrugs.

“It’s true enough, from a certain perspective, I suppose. But someone always suffers, don’t they? Hmm . . . I like that, it’s catchy. But yes, Fate’s own currency seems to be misery, and when you’re trying to rebalance the scales, it follows that those involved in that process get more suffering than they otherwise would have gotten. I’m not above indulging in some good old-fashioned sadism now and again, but I’m not doing this for kicks Umber. I’m doing this because if I don’t the world ends. Period.”

At your requests for more information, however, Nihilus takes a step back and holds up a warning finger.

“That’s privileged information, friend! Dangerous information in the wrong hands, and no offense, but your hands are most definitely in the wrong column. I got burned more than once trusting you before now, so you’ll have to excuse me for being less than enthusiastic about sharing my life story with you.”

Nihilus ***** his head at you thoughtfully.

“Something about this whole thing really just doesn’t add up. You clearly just proved that you were able to put a stop to Marialta’s plans by killing her dead – so why would she tolerate your interference in the first place? If she could see what the future holds, why not just lie in wait over the body you appropriated and eliminate you as a threat from the very start? How exactly did you get back here to this time again, anyway?”

Nihilus ponders the question in silence for a few long moments, and then throws his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, fine! I’ll give you a little information in the hopes you can come up with some angle I’m not seeing here. But I swear to the gods Umber, if you try to use it for your own personal gain I will spend the next several incarnations making your life an unending trip through the Hells, consequences for meddling with you be damned!”

Nihilus sighs, clearly not relishing this thought.

“Alright, so a little of the big picture stuff first. There are countless variations, but the end results are always the same - the Certain King frees Azguloth from His prison, and the world ends as a result of that. Until I can figure out a way to stop it, the Certain King tends to be the Baron, although now and again you’re only too happy to step in as well. As such the “Certain King” tends to be almost like a role rather than a specific person, although Fate definitely considers the two of you, and presumably your potentially inevitable successor, to be the only ones worthy. One way or another, Fate tries to push you both along the path that ends with you releasing Azguloth. I, naturally, try like the Hells to alter those roads to lead to some other end destination – with admittedly limited success.”

Nihilus rubs his cowled head for a moment, seeming to hold yet another inner debate before he sighs again.

“I suppose it’s only fair to also mention this little caveat. Technically, you and the Baron aren’t the only ones Fate is willing to consider the Certain King. Although he’s really more of a defining archetype, I guess you could say, rather than an actual candidate – in most cases, at least. Which I guess means that you aren’t actually the first of the potential Certain Kings that I have to keep juggling. Anyway, I’m pretty sure you know who I’m talking about, having already met him. Does the name Dacian ring any bells? Although he doesn’t tend to use his name much by the time you come onto the scene, preferring instead to go by his self-styled title – the Hierarch.”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

“Of course, Rosenberg! You are free to come and go as you please. I’m not sure where I will be staying for the night, unfortunately. Usually a visiting noble makes arrangements ahead of time with the mayor or noble owning the city. In this case, that wasn’t possible so . . . I guess . . . I’m sure I can find an inn or something. I will leave word with the paladins for you as to where the dinner will be and where I will be staying once I know myself. Until then!”

And with that cheery dismissal, Amelia moves to rejoin Alons and continue walking off down the street with him. Leaving you to go find a tailor or merchant dealing in cloth and furs so that you can replace your current outfit with something more . . . suitable. Unfortunately, cloth seems to be at a premium right now, with even the most prized silks making excellent bandages. Furs are not quite as heavily used towards the war effort, however, and so you are able to find everything you want with relative ease. You also locate a merchant who has a few bolts of suitable cloth left, and who is willing to part for them for something less than a king’s ransom . . . in return for a favor.

“Uhh . . . no offense to ye, sir, but you seem like the sort of person who likes the outdoors. I was wondering, therefore, if you knew any outdoorsy tricks for dealing with rats. I can’t stand the buggers personally, and with the, ah, lack of focus on anything not directly tied to keeping the elves out, sanitation is starting to become a problem. Which means it’s a good day to be a rat, and not so good of a day to be me! Just between you and me, I want to close up shop and leave this hellish city behind the first time the siege is lifted! Getting rid of these bolts of cloth would free me from trying to take them with me, but I’d really like not to have to fear awaking some night to the pain of some fetid teeth gnawing on my toes!”

Rats. Seriously? Well, this is certainly a problem you could probably handle easily enough if you wanted to. And while they are a part of nature, it is true that in conditions such as these, vermin tend to spread like blight. Yet one more mark against living in a city.

(Once again, this is not Dnd. These are not scary rats, magical rats, nor wererats. As such, you can just post Rosenberg dealing with the pets in whatever way you wish, and assume he is successful without cost or trouble. Assuming, of course, that he actually does want to deal with them and not just let the little bastards run amok. And to give you something else to do with your post . . .)

As you are leaving the merchant district behind with the components necessary to assemble your new outfit, you come across another sort of vermin – a group of thugs mugging a merchant who had closed up shop to go home a little too early tonight. Things take an unusual turn, however, when a stocky cloaked figure emerges from the darkness, brandishing a wand menacingly at the thug.

“Stop this immediately! Or, uh . . . I will turn you all into toads!”

The short interloper declares in a voice crackling with the onset of puberty. The thugs don’t seem to take the threat particularly seriously, at least not until the boy uses the wand to blast a scorched hole into the cobblestones. That sets them all running, at which point the young vigilante turns to you.

“Sir, do you mind? This man needs help getting to a healer and I can’t carry him alone!”

daelrog

After dismissing Rosenberg, Amelia wanders through the city with you, chatting as you go. You start with idle talk, describing your homeland to her, and eventually lead in to your real question. Amelia ponders your question for a moment, emotions flickering across her face as she seems to have an intense inner debate. Finally she sighs, choosing to answer.

“I . . . have acquired my ability to “burn any common villain who steps in my way”, as you put it, only recently. I’m therefore unsure what I can and cannot do. Truth be told, I thought I was dead when I was hit by that tree . . . instead it was merely . . . unpleasant . . .”

Amelia drifts off for a moment, idly sliding her finger into the gaping hole that the tree branch had left in her dress. Fortunately due to its crimson color, the copious bloodstain surrounding the hole is not immediately noticeable.

“And I am well aware that no matter how formidable my abilities prove to be, I am still just one person. To save my kingdom will require an army. I had hoped that I would convince others to stand with me by joining up with that caravan, but at least you and Rosenberg were the most capable of the lot.”

Amelia’s voice softens, and she smiles as she glances at you.

“And actually, when you came over to my carriage that night instead of joining in the others’ laughter, you reminded me of someone. Someone I used to know . . . and very dear to me. He was noble like that, always quick to help no matter the cost.”

You had been around long enough to recognize that tone in her voice. Her heart belonged to another man – although one no longer in this world given the way she used past tense. That could be a mark against your chances or for them depending on just how close the two of them had been before their ways were parted. And just as quickly, Amelia put you on the defensive.

“Did you have someone like that back in your homeland, Alons? Someone who made you feel that even through the blackest night, the sun would still rise in the morning? And if you did, why did you leave to come here?”

The two of you check out several clothing merchants, where the answer was the same – virtually all of the cloth had already been put to use in making bandages or otherwise confiscated or sold. There were a few tailors who were willing to examine the dress and try to stitch up the holes, something Amelia was understandably leery of given the fact that most of those rents in the dress were surrounded by bloodstains that would undoubtedly be noticed during the stitching.

As you are exiting one such shop, Amelia suddenly ***** her head to one side, listening intently as if hearing a voice carried on the breeze. Then she spoke, addressing that imaginary voice.

“Really, that could work!? Oh, fabulous!”

Amelia seemed like she might have said more, but then she realized that she was no longer alone, and looked at you with a sheepish grin as her cheeks began to flush a lovely shade that almost matched her dress. She does not explain her sudden one-sided conversation, however, instead setting off down the street at a determined pace. She goes into the first inn that she can locate, a reasonably-upscale establishment located in the merchant’s district – that has since had its associated tavern taken over by the city militia. Which means that there are a great deal of sullen looking soldiers eyeing both you and Amelia incredulously as you enter – almost all of them fixated on Amelia. Almost all of them – you’re pretty sure at least one or two of them are starring pointedly at you. Amelia does not seem to notice the attention that the two of you are drawing, and marches right up to the combination bar and desk.

“We’d like a room, please. And a candle.”

There are a few raucous calls from the nearest patrons who overhear this request, prompting a wave of jealous looks from the assembled militiamen. The innkeep is nonchalant, however, perhaps on account of being grateful that he has some normal paying clients for once. Although her carriage was destroyed, Amelia still has a few coins in the pockets of her dress, slapping them down onto the table and eagerly grabbing the candle and key out of the innkeep’s hands. She practically runs up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor, pausing only briefly to light the candle from the one lantern providing light to the hallway. She unlocks the door and steps inside, and then turns back.

“Stay outside and make absolutely sure that I am not disturbed. I will be back out when I’m done.”

Amelia announces mysteriously, and then slams the door shut in your face. Apparently you would be earning your keep as Amelia’s bodyguard, although the duty was hardly taxing given you didn’t think most of these rooms were occupied, except perhaps by militiamen who had appropriated inn rooms like they had made themselves at home downstairs.

A few minutes pass in relative silence, and then you hear the rumblings of conversation downstairs quiet down suddenly. In its place comes the familiar strumming of a lute, and a man with a passably melodic voice calling out.

“Good evening, noble protectors of this fine city! I have come once again to ease your woes and soothe your wounds with the power of music! What song would you like me to begin with this fine eve?”

The chorus was unanimous – “The Ballad of Korram Alstan!”

As the would-be bard begins to strum the rhythm of a carefree drinking song, you hear Amelia’s voice through the door.

“Alons? What’s going on down there? Did – did someone say Korram Alstan?”

GuyFawkes

Between your faster form and the lingering effects of the speed-boosting magic, you are able to catch up with the air elemental weaving its way through the trees. A simple-minded creature, it was thankfully wholly focused on its destination and thus either didn’t notice or ignored you. Of course, the sight of a hawk flying through trees in a forest was not an uncommon sight, either. Your animal form may not be an expected sight for much longer, however, as the bitter tang of smoke reaches your beak.
A short distance ahead, there is no more forest. In its place is a scorched wasteland, the charred remains of trees trusting up into the sky. Elves move about in this barren place, blatantly exposed with no undergrowth to hide in. Their mouths are covered in an effort to protect against the smoke still wafting up here and there from smoldering piles of debris. Intermingled with them are dozens, hundreds of fire elementals.

Although it is just barely visible from your position at the edge of this wasteland, you can see a shimmering portal surrounded by a corona of dancing fire hanging just above the ground near the center. It is there that the elves seem to be concentrated, huddled around a few flame-proof tents made out of soaked hides. It seems blatantly obvious that you have located the elven encampment. If you are matching up your current location to the map properly, you are near to the Ruins of Callaway, just as Ashley theorized.

Undaunted by the smoke and uncomfortably hot air, the air elemental swoops down towards the portal waiting at the center of the wasteland. If you continue to follow, you will undoubtedly be spotted – and there was no chance that a hawk flying around in this place would not be considered remarkable.

You do learn one important thing even from your current position just outside the camp proper, however. The bustle of activity amongst the elves is not normal – they seem to be packing up their camp and making preparations to leave. It is doubtful that the elves are planning to give up on their siege, which leaves only the opposite theory – that Amaranth is about to come under a serious attack.

It’s at this point that a pulse races through your body, a sensation that you had been expecting. Aurewlynn has broken the seal, signaling that she is ready to meet back up with you. Locating her in the forest surrounding Amaranth should be a relatively simple effort, although it will call you away from your investigation here. An investigation that may already be at an end now that you can’t go any further without risking discovery, but one that would reap much more important benefits now that the elves were planning on moving in force. The details of how exactly they plan to attack the human city might be crucial to its survival.

TechnOkami

2012-12-16, 06:07 AM

Rosenberg

With a respectful, "Lady.", the Countess and Alons made off to wherever they would end up. Meanwhile, Rosenberg had some shopping to do. After trudging through the mud-hewn roads for a few minutes, he luckily found the materials he needed: leather, fur, antlers, wolves teeth, feathers, and all that was missing was cloth and thread... which presented its own problems in the form of rats.

"Rats? Well, to be frank they're not much of an issue in the wild, since there at least they have natural prey. In a city it would be a little more... complicated. I would suggest either buying a cat with a taste for the rodents, make sure that you keep this shop clean and food free, and potentially removing the nests entirely. The food is so they no longer have a reason to stay, unless they're getting it from a different source. The cat is self-explanatory, and the nest is so they won't be able to breed. That's all I could suggest to you, but thank you for the cloth."

Unless the Merchant was more persistent, he would rather not deal with rodents himself. In the woods or in a city, rats are usually a nasty business. And then of course, with all the raw materials in his arms, suddenly a young wizard vigilante was requesting his immediate aid. What an odd day... amusingly, the wizard found his arms suddenly full of all the goods Rosenberg was going to use for his new robes.

"Hold these."

He then lifts up the unconscious body, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Where do you want him?"

GuyFawkes

2012-12-16, 11:35 AM

Lucifuge

The brown hawk landed on a high perch at the edge of the trees. Its pair of eyes swept through clearing, observing the movements and the little details. It did not take long to come up with this conclusion: the elves will begin their attack on Amaranth.

How inconvenient. I may have to do some intervention...

Just as it tried to open its wings, a familiar pulsating sensation ran through its body.

She is back...best not make her wait then.

The hawk finished opening its wings and put its weight forward, falling off the branch and glided towards the direction of the clearing. Before reaching the ground, the hawk began to grow into a humanoid form and by the time it reached the ground, two large booted feet hit the ashen ground instead.

Now in his normal humanoid form, complete with his weapons and gear, he pulled his hood low and walked towards the elves with his hands raised at his sides, then spoke.

"I wish to speak with your leader."

OverWilliam

2012-12-16, 12:58 PM

~Tamerlane

Tamerlane, surprised and confused, struggled to keep from dropping the girl as she fought to scramble out of his arms. What's wrong?? You're safe! No one is going to hurt yo-- And in a flash of realization, at the same moment that the inhuman urges began playing havoc through his mind, he realized that his appearance was a good match for them. The angry orange glow to his eyes. The shredded skin, exposing pointed teeth and fiend-hide underneath. He probably looked mostly human when viewed from only one side, but it would be clear to any 12-year-old's eyes that he was a monster to be feared.

Tamerlane's feelings were almost hurt, until the hunger stirring in his belly made it clear that of the two of them the girl probably had the better grasp of reality.

When the first portal opened and the girl's screams spiked abruptly in both urgency and pain in reaction to what was presumably her home, Tamerlane reacted without thinking. "No-- hey, Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh..." He adjusted her almost insignificant weight to one arm while bringing his other hand to touch her lightly on the forehead. "Peace... peace..." He said, his voice lulling and a new magic springing from his fingertips. He laid the power as a weight on the girl's eyelids, drawing the mere tips of his fingers down across her feather-soft eyelashes, and reached through them to her consciousness, slowly building the weight of the magic on her mind until the already exhausted little girl had little choice but to buckle beneath it.

He had to choke down the grim fantasy of plucking out those feathery eyelashes five or six at a time, and then plucking out the pure, innocent eyes behind them, with the same twisted glee that a spoiled child might indulge in tearing the wings off of a trapped insect.

She went limp in his arms, sleeping a blank, dreamless (and more importantly nightmare-less) sleep.

Tamerlane tried to glare at Nihlus over her shoulder, but could not muster the ire. Mostly because Nihlus was completely right. How much headache and trouble had Tare taken upon himself in life, trying to play the Good Samaritan for every wandering soul to stumble and fall across his path? And how arrogant was it to presume the wisdom to determine this poor child's future for her? Because whether he liked it or not, that was already exactly what he'd done. Left alone, she would've drowned, a brief moment of complete horror followed by merely drifting into the next life unharmed. Or perhaps she would've been swept against the rocks. That wasn't without a certain amount of intrigue that Tamerlane's mind dwelt on for entirely too long, but either way she would've been at peace thereafter. But now that he had forced a future upon her, had he not just added to the tribulations that the poor (completely defenseless, Tamerlane's brain added helpfully) thing would have to suffer from that point on?

When the second portal opened, Tamerlane immediately decided that this was the better option. The best option. But nothing could be so simple. He considered the pain that, even here, this girl would suffer, the nightmares that she would likely endure (some being of him, he realized with a sinking heart), and the memories of home and family that would always keep her from being at peace. He considered the options that she would have before her, beneath the onslaught wrought on her emotions and mind for decades by her own pain and loss; grow cold and hard enough to withstand it, or break. She would need someone beside her, someone to help her understand and overcome the wounds in her heart-- someone who had gone through it before, he realized, in a weird leap of logic that he couldn't quite explain at that moment. But he certainly could not stay behind and shepherd her into a peaceful, unburdened life. For one thing, he was clearly a monster, and neither she nor the villagers themselves would accept him-- and they'd clearly be fools to do so, he considered, as the flames from the first portal began popping up in his imagination as he stared through the portal at this, the second.

Tamerlane banished the monster from his thoughts for a few moments, not without effort, and considered the picture Nihlus had painted for him, of an avenging huntress seeking blood for blood, and finding it. Did those elves deserve to die? Who was he to make that decision?

There isn't enough wisdom in the world to try and do what I've just done. What is "right"? What is "good"? Who am I to decide that for anyone?

And then the dagger appeared in Nihlus' hand. Tamerlane's heart sped up and his breathing was forced to match pace. Hormones and endorphins hit his system in a simultaneous cacophony of impulses and fell desires. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the cheek laying against his bare shoulder, of the little body pressed against his chest. He didn't want to hurt her-- he just wanted to see her bleed. It didn't have to be painful, if he cut her right. Or maybe it did have to be. Maybe he needed to make sure that it was. He tried to drag his eyes away, as though that might help the temptation to fade, but he could just see her pale, white back, stripped bare of clothing, left with a dozen shallow lines drawn from side to side. And then another one, just an inch or two below the last, drawn slowly, painstakingly open with delicate precision...

And in a sudden flash of awareness, Tamerlane could feel the tendrils of fiendish influence closing their grip on his mind, like a spiked glove sinking pointed claws into his thoughts. He realized abruptly that his mind was in pain, only he couldn't feel it. Tamerlane found the thoughts that had been implanted into his mind by his new nature, and started following them back to where they'd come from. Gradually two of them converged into the same root thought, and then two others, and then two roots converged, until he found the source of where they'd all come from. ...No, not the source, but as close to it as he could track right now. Tamerlane applied pressure, a force of will, trying to clamp it off like one might put a tourniquet on a gangrenous limb--

And the temptation disintegrated like a tree limb struck suddenly into ash and blown away by the ocean wind, that same wind that brought Tamerlane's thoughts back to the present. He found, with some shock, that he was holding the girl very, very close. And that his pointed teeth were laying against the skin where her neck met her shoulder, just where her ocean-drenched clothes stopped and bare flesh started. Just a little more pressure and he'd have tasted her life on his tongue, and his lips, running down his neck on the outside and his throat on the inside...

Tamerlane pulled away and blinked his fiendish eyes several times in disoriented shock.

...And I don't even know this girl's name. Tamerlane glanced up at Nihlus to find that the fiend lord was still standing there, impassively offering him the weapon. Would that be even stronger with someone I care about? Karami. ...Or someone I actually love?

Tamerlane flung out a hand toward the waiting Serpent's Fang, and uttered a single word in his mind's voice that equated to, COME. And the dagger, the beautiful, beautiful dagger, leapt out of Nihlus' hand and sailed cleanly into Tamerlane's. He considered it for a moment, testing himself. The thoughts did not come again-- though he could feel them stir just the slightest bit against the back of his brain. They would come again, he was sure.

In his arms, the girl began to shiver against the cold of her soaked clothing, even in her sleep. Tamerlane realized that, though he was not shivering, that his lack of clothes matched with the salty spray had made his skin like ice as well. He spared a glance for the pillar that Nihlus had pointed out when they'd first emerged from the portal. The tide had come in already, and the base of it was almost a dozen feet under water. He'd failed at that test, it seemed, but tides came and went. Perhaps he could return another time. For now, though, Tamerlane's thoughts turned to survival.

He turned away from the ocean and began walking. It was not far until he reached what he was looking for; the components needed to construct a small fire. Tamerlane laid the girl down carefully, and then set about the busy work of putting a fire together. In mere minutes he'd gathered dry wood, cleared a spot, and used a flint rock against the steel of the Serpent's Fang to spark a small blaze. He almost felt guilty using such a masterfully crafted weapon as a mere flint and steel, but the blade was of such superior craftsmanship that it seemed like the blade did not even notice. Looking back to the girl, he frowned in thought. And then thought out loud. "I need to know more about you. I'd like to know your name, but that's less important. When you wake up, I doubt you'll be in the mood for conversation-- not with me. But I need to know what kind of person you are, or some hint of who you'll someday try to be. I need to understand better if I'm to make a decision that will determine the rest of your life. And I only know one way to find out, at this point." Tamerlane took a deep breath. "I hope you don't mind, but I do this because I want to help you."

Tamerlane closed his eyes and gathered his will and his senses. It did not take long before he could sense where the girl was without even looking-- and so he sent his thoughts questing toward her, inquiring as to what he might see about her through his mind's eye...