Meanwhile . . .

Theme Music - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Kjka...eature=related

Looking over the ritual preparations one last time, the Initiate of the Third Circle suppressed a smile of satisfaction. They had been working around the clock to complete the preparations on time. Lord Nihilus would undoubtedly be pleased if the ritual went according to plan, even if no one present would ever receive a commendation.

“Let us begin!”

The Initiate announced as his group of acolytes clustered around the altar. For a moment, the Initiate suppressed a grimace as he looked upon the faces of his students. So many of them were quite young, arguably too young for this sort of work. But then, they were performing this ritual in the basement of a confiscated bakery instead of their own temple. Curse the Canticles and their blighted warlock hunt! But hopefully now the tide would begin to turn, and the Canticles could enjoy a hundred years of cowering in the dark corners of the world!

“Valk Nadak Karakoom!” The Initiate hissed in the ancient tongue of fiends as he drew a rune-inscribed dagger and ran the point down his arm, leaving a thick red line behind. The blood flowed swiftly down his arm, collecting in his palm and from there dripping down onto the floor. In response, the bloody runes carefully painted onto the floor, walls, and ceiling pulsed with a malevolent light.

Following his example, the assembled acolytes drew their own daggers, repeating the chant as they opened their own veins. The room steadily grew brighter as the runes pulsed more slowly, glowing with an ever brighter and constant light. Despite his training with incantations, the Initiate struggled to repeat the words he had drilled into his head over hours of study. They were unquestionably the most complex he had ever seen, despite the usual simplicity of the fiend tongue.

When they could, the acolytes repeated the words, although most remained silent, for they had been warned not to risk misspeaking the words for fear of ruining the ritual. Which meant that it was all up to the Initiate, but he was used to working under pressure . . . just not quite so much at once.

Sweat began to bead on his brow as the chanting entered the next phase, a continuous stream of profane utterances fired off in rapid succession. The first of the acolytes collapsed, a young girl the Initiate had found a few years ago. No one moved to help her, and she silently faded into unconsciousness as her blood continued to flow out of her delicate wrist.

More acolytes collapsed, one by one as their lifeblood flowed out to cover the scrawlings on the floor. Even through the thick carpet of blood, the glowing radiance of the activated runes persisted. The ground began to shake violently under their feet as the Initiate entered the final phase, struggling to remain conscious and focused. Crying out with all the strength he could muster, the Initiate shrieked out his curses against the Canticles, the gods, and the universe itself. The ground began to split apart and crack, and up through the rifts came the angry cries of devils in answer. And Hell Itself rushed forth.

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

The Baron allowed himself a slight smile as he stepped inside one of the cavernous bays of the Gastly Truth, which had been converted into a training area for his Hands. Despite some minor disruptions to his plans, everything was falling into place as exactly as he had painstakingly planned it to. Of course, now were the crucial moments which would decide success or confirm that this was a complete waste of time. There could be no further disruptions, which was one of the many reasons why the Baron had decided to accelerate training for this particular batch of Hands. With any luck, at least one of them would prove competent enough to be inducted in the Baron’s secretive cadre of elite assassins.

A piercing scream cut through the room as the Baron quietly slipped in behind the cluster of cloaked figures grouped behind a dark red line painted on the deck. One hundred feet away, an angel was chained spread-eagled and immobile to a wooden backdrop. From this distance, a slim throwing dagger was just visible, protruding from her shoulder. Without a word, the GHAST standing guard nearby walked over and tore the weapon out of her shoulder, allowing the wound to begin healing. Judging from the slow rate at which the wound resealed and the fact that the angel was covered in half-healed scars, the Hands in training had been at this for several hours.

“Ghood work.” A heavily accented, lilting voice mocked from all around the trainees. “You managed ta hit da target ah least. Though not where I told you, nor evan fatally. Were dis little bitch na completely ah your mercy, your head would now be missing fra your shoulders. Alright, I think she ready for ahnother throw. Who is next? How about you, Numba Ninety-Three?”

The emblazoned white number on the back of his cloak was the only thing of note about the black-clad man who stepped up to the red line next. Drawing a dagger from the belt wrapped across his chest, the man adopted a loose throwing stance – although even from his position the Baron could see a few places where the man was out of alignment.

The angel crossed her eyes in a silent, unheard prayer as the voice barked, “Right earlobe! THROW!”

At the sudden crack of the instructor’s voice, the man’s body tensed slightly, just as he began to pull his arm back to the throw the dagger. This, combined with the slight misalignment of his joints, caused the dagger to sink into the wood two inches to the right of the angel’s head.

“USELESS!” The voice hissed angrily. “Completely useless ahnd incapable of learning anyting! Da price of failure is death!”

From the crowd, a dark shadow swept out as one of the cloaked figures burst into action. There was the flash of a blade, and then the long slender knife was embedded in the side of the trainee’s neck. Without a word he fell off the narrow blade onto the floor, the blood bubbling out of his throat to stain his cloak and mask an even darker shade. With a single smooth motion, the assassin’s assassin flicked the blood off the blade and resheathed it.

“Not evan worth drinking!” The instructor spat, turning to gaze at the silent assembled crowd with her milky, dead eyes. Without fanfare, two more GHASTs stepped forward to drag the man’s body away, his blood streaking on the dark red line, widening it slightly. The two automatons deposited the man’s body on the pile of black-clad corpses that had been growing steadily since morning.

“You cannot tink, you must KNOW!” The ebon-skinned woman lectured, side-stepping smoothly up to just behind the freshly-wettened red line. “You cannot aim from dis distance with knives. You must instead visualize your target, and know your blade will go where you tell it to! Your body will follow where your mind lead.”

Turning to fully face the angel, the Hands’ instructor paused for a moment, and then called out, “Left ring finger!” A slender throwing knife, the same make as that used by the trainees, appeared in her hand a moment later. A moment and snap of the wrist after that, the angel was biting back a scream as a dagger protruded from the wood where her left ring finger had been pinioned. The severed appendage lay on the floor at her feet, and the nearby GHAST attendant began to stomp forward to retrieve both it and the dagger. At a subtle motion from the instructor, the construct stopped and stepped back.

“Right ear lobe! Right wing tip!” The instructor called out, continuing the demonstration with another two rapid-fire throws which each exactingly connected.

“Heart.” The instructor hissed, as with a final throw she ended the angel’s suffering. Instead of simply dissolving away, however, the angel’s body remained hanging limply from the backdrop, as the GHAST stepped forward to remove it and add it to the significantly smaller pile of angel bodies at the far end of the bay.

Turning back to the group with a disdainful sneer, the instructor waved the trainees off.

“Go. Sleep. You have three hours. Be back here not a second later, or you fail.”

A vicious smile split the woman’s dark lips as the trainees scattered, hustling out of the bay back to their bunks. All of them would be sure to have nightmares. A few might never wake up, having forgotten to set their internal clocks to wake them up in less than three hours.

Now that they were alone, the Baron quirked an eyebrow at his prime Hand.

“So will any of them prove useful? Or am I wasting your time?”

“Possibly.” Came the answer with a shrug. “A few still show promise, but it will be slow. How long do I have?”

“No time at all, I’m afraid. I have need of my greatest assassin elsewhere.”

“Oh? It will be ghood to get out, stop raising dese babies. But why do I feel that I will not like dis job?”

The Baron favored her with a genuine smile.

“Oh, I think you will. I need you to check up on an old friend of yours.”

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

The bloodcurdling scream echoing through the docks was cut short by a loud meaty slap. The young girl stayed down where she had been sent sprawling on the rough cobblestone, although she continued to beg quietly with the two men who had accosted her.

“P-please don’t hurt me.”

“Oh, we aren’t going to hurt ya, lass. In fact, this could go quite pleasant for ya, if ye cooperate.” The lead man grunted, the look in his eyes telling the girl more than she wanted to know. The one in the rear was even more disturbing, his eyes cold and his voice completely lacking any passion at all.

“Why are you out so late, girl? The docks aren’t safe at night.”

“My f-father. He’s s-sick, and we ran out of medicine. The Dock’s apothecary doesn’t close at night. Please, let me go! My father might die if I don’t get back soon!”

The two thieves share a look, and the second nods slightly at the first. The first thief’s grin widens as he advances on the girl.

“Well then, we should get this over with quickly!”

“Medicine can be quite valuable. Make sure to get it off her before you start.”

“Oh, I’ll get it off her, heehee.”

Before the confrontation could escalate to its inevitable conclusion, a thunderous splash of water interrupts. All eyes turn towards the nearby pier in time to see a waterlogged man climb unsteadily to his feet. The man was certainly a curious sight, with his wet dark hair hanging down messily in front of his face, and strands of kelp still clinging to his legs. Most of his body was covered by a long shimmering cloak made up of thousands of tiny fish scales, although here and there hints of golden plate armor peek out. Completing the ensemble was a crown of coral perched on top of the man’s disorderly mane of hair, which he was beginning to brush out of his face, revealing his piercing red eyes.

“Where is this and who are you?” The strange newcomer growls, earning a snort of derision from both thieves.

“We are part of this dock’s financial redistribution office, and this is where you get out of here unless you want to get cut.”

The apparent leader of the pair growls, brandishing a knife, clearly disturbed by the newcomer but choosing to react with irritation rather than fear. In response, the strange man only laughs as he takes a step forward.

“And if you cut me, what makes you think I’ll bleed?” The man asks, a clear challenge as he continues forward until he is only a few paces away. In reply, the thief simply snarls in rage and lunges forward to deliver a quick stab to the newcomer’s chest. To everyone’s surprise, excepting the newcomer himself, the thief’s thrust is stopped short as the newcomer brings his own hand up, catching his attacker’s wrist in his own beefy hand.

“Bottom feeders.” The man grunts in disdain as a loud crunching sound is heard, and the thief squeals as he drops the knife. “You should have stayed down in the muck, out of sight. Too late now.” Swinging his head back, the newcomer slams his coral-adorned forehead into the thief’s face, creating another loud crack as the man’s face collapses. Releasing his hold on the thief to allow him to crumple to the pier a bleeding, moaning wreck, the man approaches the second thief.

In a fit of desperation, the man lunches for the girl. Grabbing hold of her arm, he pulls her back up onto her feet while using his other hand to hold a knife to her throat.

“Stay back or the girl gets it! I dunno who or w-what you are, but I know she’ll still bleed!”

The man pauses a moment before shrugging and advancing towards the pair.

“I don’t know her. She means nothing to me. You and your partner, however, have annoyed me. You can either spend the last few seconds of your waste of a life condemning another to share your fate, or you can attempt to flee and outrun your fate. Choose quickly.”

What little scrap of courage he had left completely gone, the thief shoves the girl towards the man and turns to run with an exclamation of “Oh gods!”

Stumbling forward, the girl is surprised as this strange man momentarily pauses to catch her, steadying her with his arm. As he does so, she notices that he does, in fact, only have one arm. The man pauses to study her for a moment, and then seeing she has regained her footing, leaves to chase after the man. To call it a chase would likely be generous, as the overweight thief had scarcely gone more than a dozen steps before his cloak was snagged by the newcomer’s single hand.

Crying out, the thief whirls, slashing with his dagger. The same bemused expression still on his face, the man lets go of the thief’s cloak at the precise moment he is off-balance from his fast turn, causing the thief to tumble back to the ground in a heap.

“Stay back!” The thief shouts, holding his weapon up defensively in front of him while trying to crawl away. The man falls with a predatory grin.

“No. Now what?”

“Oh gods.”

“Hmmm. That’s the second time you’ve said that. Which gods are you referring to? I’ve known – and killed – so many in my time.”

“M-miriam. And Athelion.”

“Mmmm. I vaguely recall those names. So they are the dominant force now, are they? Figures. Something to put on the to-do list, I suppose. In any event, they certainly aren’t going to help you. Hmm . . . now what should I do with you?”

“Please sir, have mercy!”

“Mercy?” The man chuckles, although he suddenly pauses, turning back to face the girl.

“You. Girl. This man was attempting to rob you, and likely worse, before I arrived. What would you have me do with him?”

The girl thinks for several long moments, and then nods.

“Umm . . . I think you should let him go.”

This earns her a quirked eyebrow from her rescuer.

“Truly? This man would surely not do the same were your positions reversed.”

“Yes. I . . . I don’t want to hurt anyone. Please . . . I just want to go home.”

The man snorts as he steps back and waves the lucky thief off.

“Very well then. Off with you cretin, and pray we never meet again.”

Muttering his thanks, the thief crawls back up onto his feet and stumbles off while the strange man walks back over to the girl. An odd light enters the man’s eyes as he gazes down at the girl, easily a head shorter than he was.

“T-thank you.” She said, nervously looking away, afraid to meet his eyes. Reaching up to place one finger under her chin, the man directs her gaze back up at him.

“No, thank you.” The man’s lips part in an evil smile, revealing his pointed fangs at last. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a warm meal.”

And then with a sudden motion, the vampire pulls the girl in close, and sinks his fangs into her neck. After spending the past months consuming only the cold blood of the disgusting fish men, the girl’s relatively thin commoner blood was still heavenly.

While the vampire lord was distracted with his meal, the ocean tide bubbled and frothed violently as dozens of fishmen flopped up onto the docks. With a pained groan, they twisted their flippers apart, separating them into two humanoid legs. Although he frequently disdained magic, the vampire lord did have to admit that occasionally it was useful, particularly in the instance of allowing a water-bound people to invade solid land for the first time in their history.

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

In the deepest depths of a necropolis buried in a ruin long since forgotten, a large pool of blood begins to churn. Slowly, a skeletal shape begins to form just beneath the surface, and then suddenly bursts forth with one long, loud explicative. Looking around his secret underground throne room, Kartul curses Umber a second time for good measure.

“Invasion go poorly, sir?” Asked the undead servitor, holding up one of Kartul’s favorite, if moth-eaten and threadbare, robes. Kartul answered by blasting the servitor apart with a bolt of lightning. He would have used fire, but that might have torched the robe, and he wasn’t quite angry enough yet to go about destroying one of his few remaining good robes. He’d piece the miserable sap back together later – getting smashed by his master upon resurrection was part of the job description by this point.

Turning to the sole other occupant in the room as he shrugged into his robe, Kartul felt calm enough to ask, “So, what do you think? Is not immortality exactly what you now possess?”

Smiling, Helion gave a satisfied nod. “Oh yes, most impressive indeed.”

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

Hunched around the viewing globe, the assembled figures debate what they had just seen quietly but urgently.

“There is no question now that what we face is our ancient nemesis! Athelion the Lifebringer, save us all.”

“Hpmh. And yet, look at how clumsily it fought! A single team was nearly enough to dispatch it. Do the ancient texts not contain countless stories of entire armies being sent to fight against such terrors!?”

“I wouldn’t sound so ingrateful. We scarcely have the resources to handle bandits, let alone an archdemon.”

“All the more reason we should attack *now*, with everything we have! It will only grower stronger the longer it walks amongst us. Soon it may be beyond our ability to combat altogether!”

“And what about the Preservers? If they aren’t aware of this incident by now, they surely will be shortly.”

“Bah! Are we really going to worry about some old misguided fools when we have a literal archdemon on the loose?”

“He does have a point. The Preservers will undoubtedly get in our way. And that’s not even mentioning the other traitors who have abandoned our sacred duty. They too, will undoubtedly flock to the archdemon once word of its existence spreads.”

“What do you propose we do, then?”

“We wait. We watch. And we prepare, as we have always done. When the time is right, we strike. That is how the Dusk Wardens have always handled these . . . *creatures* when they appear. And that is how we have always wrestled the world from their grasp.”

“Victory through vigilance!”

“Victory through vigilance!”

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

With Titania’s blessing, Tur Villid wastes no time in moving his troops in a position to attack. The night after receiving Titania’s permission, the leading edges of his force arrive at the Baron of Gast’s estate. Although inhabited, the scouts report encountering far fewer guards than expected, although they do not engage as per their orders – Tur Villid wants the first strike to be unexpected and decisive.

Upon hearing the news that the estate was only lightly defended, the Tur begins to consider that the Baron may have already evacuated. Even so, he would have to take the Baron’s estate, in the vain hope that the Baron had left Pyrene behind. Titania would demand no less than a complete search of the estate grounds. When finished, the Tur would burn it to the ground, and march onward to continue torching his way deeper into the human lands.

A few of his commanders advise caution, citing that no elven force had ever crossed so far into human lands before – they did not know the land very well, and their maps were highly inaccurate. But no commander dared contradict Titania’s orders, and it was entirely possible that if Pyrene was being held in the estate, she would be executed if the assault dragged on.

Selecting two of his best infiltration units, the Tur sent them on ahead of his main force, with orders to slip into the estate and attempt a rescue operation while the main force led a diversionary frontal assault. As reported by the scouts, the infiltration forces met only token resistance in their efforts to penetrate the grounds. When the main force showed up and the alarm was raised, however, the remaining guards put up a surprising amount of resistance.

Using guerilla tactics combined with the impressive fortifications worked into the manicured estate grounds, the relative handful of guards were able to rack up an impressive amount of elven casualties. Still, compared to the potential casualties a fully garrisoned estate could have inflicted, the Tur considered himself lucky.

As the battle worn on, the Baron’s guards continued to fall back deeper in to the estate, forcing the Tur to send several units into the manor after them. Meanwhile, the infiltration units had met up in the manor’s well-appointed kitchen and discovered the stairs leading down to the basement. A quick search of the dungeon area was conducted, and while they did not find Pyrene down there they did discover that the basement level was far larger than initially believed.

Meanwhile upstairs, the last of the Baron’s guards had fallen back to a panic room near the center of the manor. Thanks to a number of well-positioned murder holes, the guards were able to still threaten several rooms, but were otherwise contained. Bringing up more troops to guard the area and prevent a breakout, the remainder went down into the basement to join the infiltration teams in their search.

It is unknown what the exact cause was, but eventually someone triggered a trap down in the basement. This in turn triggered the dozens of bundles of explosives seeded through the manor, and together in one massive explosion the entire manor was demolished. In addition to the dozens of elves trapped inside, shards of wood and stone thrown outwards by the explosion wounded or killed dozens more. In return for not having to destroy the manor himself, the Tur lost two teams of his best infiltrators, and nearly a hundred troops besides. It was not nearly enough to stop the invasion force, and indeed spurned many to swear blood oaths upon the humans for their cowardly act, but it was the first significant loss the elves had felt since advancing on Ironheart.

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

With a deep sigh, Royal Healer Fenrick reached up to close the eyes of the man he had been struggling – and failing – to keep alive for several weeks now. Although the news had been kept as much of a secret as possible, Fenrick was certain word had spread outside the palace. And now, all ambiguity about what had been taking place would be wiped away. King Tallon IV, ruler of the Kingdom of Narle, had been deathly ill. And now he was dead. Dead without an heir. Considering how divisive the nobles could be even with a firm hand on the reins, it would almost certainly be civil war.