Flight From Ironheart IC

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

Looking down at Sara Incom considers the paths available to him, oddly at ease with the fact he just mouthed off to the goddess of the world. Sara's safety is his primary concern however both paths were dangerous. It would be near impossible to hide himself in the lands of Gast which would invite attack.

Yet in his past life he was a soldier from a simple farming family. He was used to living off the land when needed. The thoughts of his past slip through his mind like slimy eels however he remembers the skills of his past. Yet Sara was simply clad, with no equipment needed for a long journey through forests and the wilds.

"I would prefer to go through the wilds to keep you hidden from prying eyes. However we do not have the gear needed for you. As such we will go through your fathers lands, or at least until the point where we can obtain what you would need to survive in the wilds at which point we will get off the beaten road. What do you think?"

Assuming that Sara agreed with the plan Incom leans to pick her up. It could be a while until they reached civilization and the less energy she had to use the better. Concerns over his own appearance bored him but the course was set and nothing was left other than to move on forward.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Hold off the mermen as long as you can. Priority is surviving – there's no damage they can do to my lab that hasn't already been done, but I doubt that's true for any of you who aren't named Roger. I am going to seal off their entrance route and then I'll come clean up. he responded mentally.

Sohssal moved directly down towards the flooded sections of his lab, passing through the floors and walls. He ignored any of the mermen he passed along the way. Cutting off their reinforcements would be more important than engaging them immediately.

When he reached the flooded chamber, he immediately cast his boulder levitation spell, ripping chunks of stone from the floor (it could always be replaced later). He rammed them into anything that got in his way, and then placed them against the cracks in the wall. Then he used a simple heating spell, taken much farther than usual by his skill and sheer power, melting the edges of the boulder until they became pillow lava, and then waited for it to cool and seal the entrance.

The mermen were second priority even then, as unless one of them could suddenly affected the incorporeal wizard, Sohssal would focus on sealing the other cracks in a similar manner. Then he would fly back to his companions to continue the fight there - he had invested significant resources in them even if he considered the lab to be more important.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent
Dark Falls

Isera's eyes hardened as she looked back at Carlain with both of them. There was still hope for him, but she might have to beat it back into him.
Strange. She didn't catch the irony of that kind of lesson giving. She was rather angry and stressed herself right now. But Carlain hadn't fallen yet. That was the scary part.

Why was it scary?

Because it was up to her to save him? She wasn't afraid of doing a job, or being in danger. But she needed to quickly figure out a way to get Carlain out of this mindset, and then them out of the danger. It was scary because she didn't want Carlain to be in the danger he was in. He was like a little brother to her, and she now, as listening to him, understood the pain he was in from his mother.

A mother who had taken care of Isera a lot. Because her mother had died when she was young.
"Carlain, you don't believe those lies. There were warlocks around long before the Canticles. You know that. You've read the history books! There have always been people after power!
They're using you. You want to save your mother, and they're manipulating you!" Isera said.

"Maybe there is another way to save her. But the only way the warlocks will help you is with misery and death. You saw what Dark Falls looked like! You saw the ones in the basement, all dead!"

And you recognized them, or at least were more familiar than you let on. Isera thought grimly.

"Look in this room Carlain." She lowered her voice a little. "There are imps in here. This whole place is set up to prepare for a giant sacrifice. Do you really think they even know how to help your mother? Your mom would be ashamed to find out you are doing this... You're betraying your whole family Carlain... Even if all of these lies the cult is telling you are true, and they save your mother WITHOUT taking your soul to hell... No one will ever trust you again. You won't have a family ever again. You will have completely given away everything you wanted to protect, to try to protect it.

Crimes in this world always have their karma." Isera says with a bitter voice. Her eye is a testament to this, is her silent thought.

"And that's with the hopelessly optimistic critique of this situation." Isera said with a sigh. "I'll talk." She says, nodding at the knife, knowing that if she hurt or tried to confuse Carlain more, then he might just be driven away.

"I'll tell you what you want to know Carlain- I've tried to be honest and open with you this whole time, and then you stabbed me in the heart like this.
About Cynthia, I really don't know much. I heard the name some when I was younger- before I left. You remember that, right? When I 'wasn't allowed' to come anymore?" Isera looked down a little. Of course, being a sixteen years old self, she looked pretty much the same as that same time anyway. "Anyway, after I came back I did hear about some of the other members, but I never visited her here. Always seemed like a nice person- I never knew she was a traitor.

Apparently she was bad or went bad during Ironheart... But that's the problem Carlain. Ironheart is a bad place- and the Baron of Gast is a really dangerous man. Not because he's a warlock- or at least, I don't think he is.
But you saw the Perist residence. There are some dark and disturbing things- dangerous things that could rip our world apart. Maybe even more dangerous things than whatever the grand warlock here is planning.

There is a saying in the Autumn canticle:"

Isera lowered her voice more and more, leaning forward as she could and looking like she was suspicious of the imps and room.
"Wind and Dreams float one above eagerly like a sun- Hopefully Carlain would lean in eagerly too, and if he got close enough, she would bump her head into his softly.
"three dreams and a place loved once should pass, a foot fairly walking twice"

A teleport psalmic chant. The distance already thanks to her own inability would be short. Having two people would make it even more difficult. Isera felt the nauseating feeling. But her aim was not far. Actually she hoped it would make it outside to a barn, or something not within a wall somewhere in the neighborhood. Hopefully not within a tree, or a rock, or something that would be very painful and hard to get out of.

[Lonna]

Pyrene stared in shock at the greasy ashes that were all that was left of her unfortunate double. She had thought she was prepared for the flames, ready to draw them off, but they worked so much faster than they had on herself... Pyrene's legs buckled and she fell to her knees, trying to take in what had just happened.

“What . . . what the Hells is going on!?” Wulfric stammers, his face going pale at this display of dark magic. His eyes meet yours, a mixture of fear and anger clouding them. “TELL ME!”

Pyrene looked up at Wulfric, not really seeing him. "I... That man's fiance looks a twin to me. She magicked me, and I guess those girls, to delay him. My own power protected me... more than I knew." Her eyes came into focus and with a visible effort she regained her self-control, forcing her face into a mask of calm indifference as she climbed to her feet. As she opened her mouth to continue, her evil twin's fiance interrupted.

"I'm afraid we've passed the point where I can afford to be considerate. The woman I love is about to do something very rash. And I will save her, or else I will join her. I reccomend you hold still."

Umber reached down into the well of his soul, drawing for his power. His hands weaved a complex webwork of red light in the in the air around Lonna, mystic incantations rippling off his tongue in a smooth, liquid language. Streamers of light coalesced about her, working the mystic bridge between two linked souls, forming a strange, twisted little cherub out of mystic energy - an unthinking construct designed to lead Umber to his long-lost love.

Pyrene spun to face the enchanter as his magic enveloped her. He was ignoring her, using her, just like so many others. It was too much - Pyrene snapped.

"NO!" she shouted at him. The white flame she had been maintaining all this time suddenly lengthened into a spear which flew at the slowly forming construct before shattering and growing into a wall of fire between herself and this stranger. "I have had enough of this! she blazed. "I am done being used! You, your bitch of a fiance, the Baron - and let's not forget Titania, even though she claims she's my mother! Nearly every damn person I meet tries to use me! And the ones that don't get hurt by the ones that do! I'm sick of it! I refuse to let it continue!"

[[OOC: Pyrene's at the end of her strength physically, mentally, and emotionally, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if she just passes out from over-exerting herself magically as well. However, if she does not pass out, she'll try her hardest to fight whatever spells Umber throws at her and/or Wulfric.]]

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

The Lord of Blood's eyes flashed. He stared at Pyrene for a moment, clenching his hands at his sides. Rage boiled over in him, and his blood raced through his veins. Fianna was about to kill herself. The woman he loved, the only person he had ever loved, his soulmate, was about to kill herself. And this wretched little slip of a girl was going to get in his way?

No.

He snarled at her, weaving his hands in a complex pattern. He spoke as he wove, his voice resonant with the force of magic, so loud that it hammered at Pyrene and Wulfric in a solid wave?

"Allow!? How dare you. You have power, I will give you that. But I am Umber, Lord of Blood, and I will not be denied. If you continue to refuse me I will reduce you and this entire wretched city to cinder and ash, if I must. If you do not understand what I do, girl, then you have never been in love." For a moment, his rage-twisted features were haunted by something else, a ghost of pain and loss millenia in the making.

The girl was good, he gave her that. And she was fueled by her anger, her frustration. In another situation, he would have empathized with her. But now... well, now he would not be denied.

A part of his mind was still cold and calculating. He would need his own energy for the duel with Fianna. But they were in the middle of a city. There Were other options.

Twisting thought tendrils lashed out, using an old technique - one of Kartul's earlier experiments, before he had perfected the secrets of soul-theft. This one merely drew upon the energy that sustained life, rather than the more potent energy of the raw soul - but it also did not doom a person to oblivion. Even now, Umber was not yet that desperate. Throughout the city, animals fell dead, their hearts stopped and their bodies cooling, and citizens collapsed, unconcious, barely alive as Umber tore free the gathered life-force. The rush was exhilirating - all that pure, living energy flooding his body.

It would have been too much for a lesser mage. But Umber had refined his craft for thousands of years, making do with ritual magic and borrowed power. His fine control was sublime. He wielded the energy like a razor, shredding the girl's fiery defense with pinpoint accuracy. Umber's hands crackled with blue-white energy, dancing like living lightning. He made a sweeping gesture, and Wulfric found himself pinned to the ground. With another, he re-established the bridge between Fianna and the construct, the tiny, twisted cherub beginning to recompose itself from the dissipating shards. Umber gestured a third time, and more tendrils of energy swept out, seeking to bind Pyrene hand and foot, and gag her as well.

By this time, Umber was a frightening sight. More blue-white energy danced around him, and the paving stones beneath his feet had cracked, as if from titanic hammerblows. His hair danced lazily above his head, as if he were floating, and his feet hovered a few inches above the earth. Around him, a corona of power pulsed, the stolen life-energy filling the air around him as it overflowed his body's ability to contain it.

[Lonna]

Pyrene? Jacqueline?

Pyrene gasped as Umber's spells shattered her wall of flame. He was a fearsome sight, suddenly glowing blue-white with what even Pyrene could tell was raw magic. A detatched part of her mind commented that she was in over her head - clearly this man had far more experience than her pitiful week of experimentation. A tendril of doubt snaked through her thoughts and she considered simply trying to run away, futile though it probably was.

And then Umber's first move with his newly revealed power was to lash out at Wulfric.

Wulfric, who had remembered her fondly for years.

Wulfric, who had saved her from the Baron of Gast.

Wulfric, who hunted down half a dozen doubles looking for her.

Wulfric, who had stayed with her despite everything.

Wulfric, who called her by her childhood name.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" she screamed furiously, ignoring the reforming construct as she tried to position herself between her opponent and her companion. Finding herself pinned by Umber's magical bonds, she didn't try to physically fight them, but merely glared at the mage. She was unaware that her eyes were literally blazing as she instinctively called on the hunger of a roaring fire, trying to siphon off some of the power overflowing from his body for her own use.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber spoke through clenched and gritted teeth, his voice still the otherworldly, magically-enhanced cacophany. "I'm not hurting him you stupid child. I'm keeping him still so I don't have to hurt him, just like you, and so that he doesn't blunder into the weaving and hurt himself."

Umber continued to work, his hands shaping the stolen energy into a mighty working, a tracking spell that would speed him like an arrow to Fianna's side. He felt Pyrene pulling in tendrils of power that overflowed his spell. Straining and sweating with the effort of concentrating on the working, he mumbled another string of minor incantations, altering the aspect of the magic she was drawing into her fiery eyes - from pure energy to water-aspected magic, hoping the two would counteract each other and distract the girl while he worked.

[Inspectre]

Cathedral City

Archpaladin Zousha

“Ander, huh? Hmm . . . I wonder. No surprise for one holy man to know another, I suppose.” Katashiko mused quietly to herself, while you worked on the communication crystal. Unfortunately, it seemed the wards were too strong for such communication even here, as all you got back in return was static. While you continue to fiddle with the blasted magical artifact in the hopes of achieving something more than just more static, Katashiko kneels down and touches the floor again. Her fingers absently trace patterns on the stone, and then a minute later her head snaps back.

“Ohh . . .” She murmurs, rapidly blinking her eyes as if to clear them. “That is quite a strong ward. Oh well, had to run into that sort of thing sooner or later.” She stands, turning to face you once more. “I can get us down two levels – I assume that’s where your defenses end and the chambers for holding all your pets begin.”

That sounded about right. Although very secretive, even you knew that the Reliquary guards had a maze of defensive tunnels stretching beneath the main facility, which any intruder would have to fight through to get down to the imprisoning chambers. At least, any intruder that did not have a Mistress of the Earth, who could bend stone to her every whim.

“Okay, we should be able to drop down to the first level here, go a little ways down the corridor, and then drop down to the second level. This isn’t going to be very subtle, unless you think these idiots find holes in the ceilings and floors a common occurance.” Katashiko announces, pacing a few feet across the room to a very specific spot on the floor. She bends down to touch the stone one last time, looking over at you. “Be ready to get very bloody.”

And then she pull a fist back and slams it down into the floor. This seems to have considerable impact on the nearby stones, as they collapse as one, leaving a gaping hole in the floor as Katashiko crashes down to the next floor below with them. You hear the sounds of fighting coming up from the hole immediately, and drop down to find her engaged with a group of paladins – evidentially a patrol. Although caught off-guard, the group of five paladins seems to give as good as they get, fighting as a unit, attacking in unison and shielding each other from Katashiko’s blows. In the end, it is not nearly enough, and the last one crumples to the ground as Katashiko grins, scratched and winded but not seriously wounded.

“Now . . . that’s more like it!” She breathed, pushing on down the corridor until she suddenly stopped and kneeled again. You began to hear shouts of alarm from further down the corridor behind you – another patrol. Meanwhile, Katashiko slams her fist into the floor, again creating a perfect hole for you to drop down through to follow her. As you move to do so, however, one of the “fallen” paladins suddenly stirs to life, lashing out to snag hold of your ankle and send you tumbling. A weight crashes down on your back a moment later as the paladin leaps on top of you. You just manage to twist around far enough to fling out one hand, catching the wrist that was already descending towards your head, a dagger clutched within the hand attached to that wrist.

You are now able to see your surprise attacker’s face, and to your surprise you recognize it. It is Mario Daguchi, a fellow trainee from Dawn’s Hope. Mario was just finishing his training when you arrived in Dawn’s Hope, but he had been happy to act as your mentor and guide those first few weeks. You hadn’t realized he had been joined the Reliquary Guard – although few paladins who did join ever mentioned it to another outside their elite circle.

“Hondshioh!?” Mario grunted, shifting his weight off of you with a pained grunt. “What are you doing here?”

The shouts, although still distant, are rapidly growing closer, grimly reminding you that you were short on time for this reunion. Still, Mario had always seemed an honorable man, and perhaps you could convince him to abandon his post in favor for aiding you. Then again, Mario had always seemed a stubborn man, and paladins who joined the Reliquary Guard tended to their duties with fanatical zeal. They had to, lest the constant tempting whispers of the demons and devils drove them mad.

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

As you anticipated, the merman attempted to stop you, but there was pitifully little they could do to an incorporeal opponent. That being said, there was still a significant number of them within the flooded portion of your mansion even after you were finished with sealing the cracks. Dealing with them should be easy, if somewhat time consuming and draining to your magical reserves. On the plus side, each of them seems to have been endowed with that same magical effect in their tissues – if you could figure out how to isolate the effect and extract it, you could manage a very small amount of energy per merman. Perhaps even enough to make up for the energy you would expend killing them all when that time came.

For now, however, they seemed content to begin setting up a defensive position, even if there was no possible defense against you. At least they seemed to be learning that, as they didn’t even bother trying to skewer you with their primitive weapons as you raced back through their ranks, seeking the surface.

Perhaps it was your efforts in sealing off their means of entrance and exit into your manor, or simply that the merman had learned a ghost, a powerful telekinetic demon, and a pirate were not to be trifled with any more than an incorporeal demon mage was. Whatever the reason, you arrived back at you associates to find them all in good health, even if Shanks was alternatingly taking a swig from a flask and pouring its contents onto a strip of cloth tightly wound around his leg just below the knee. The floor around them was slick with the bluish-green blood of the merman, and no less than two dozen of their corpses lay stretched out here and there on the floor in various states of death. All of them have another interesting feature in addition to death, you note – all of them possessed two humanoid legs instead of a central fin. Looking more closely at it, you are able to deduce that this is the source of the odd magic you’ve noted infusing all of their bodies.

Apparently, a powerful mage was somewhere amongst their ranks, and had developed this spell to grant the merman the ability to walk on solid land. A pity that the magic seemed to fade from their bodies upon death – you would have to absorb the magic from their bodies before killing them, it seemed.

Lifting himself back up to attention, Shanks nods at you.

“Kill the rest of those buggers down there, Cap’n?” He says, apparently now viewing you as the authority figure in his life. Turning, he absently glances out the window when something catches his attention. Cursing like only a pirate can, he hobbles over to the window and stares out of it, the color draining from his face.

“By Nepture’s salty beard! Sohssal, come look at this!”

Floating over beside him, you see that a full tropical storm as engulfed the island, harsh winds slamming thick sheets of rain into side of your home. You had anticipated such things when constructing this place, and so the storm itself was not a threat. However, through the light provided by the occasional flash of lightning, you are able to look down onto the beach. There, you can see the pirate ship already conquered, swarming with merman stomping about, tying up the pirates who were foolish enough to surrender. And on the beach before the ship, looking up at your manor, rank upon rank of merman infantry, ready to put their new legs to use in storming your home.

Outside the Capital

Pwenet

“I think that’s a sound plan.” Sara agrees, throwing her arms around your neck in an attempt to maintain a better balance and make it easier to carry her. She was just a mere slip of a girl – you could have carried her with ease (or snapped her literally in half, as the demon was screaming at you to do) regardless of how you choose to carry her. Still, this way seemed to be the most comfortable for Sara, and she was soon nodding off into sleep at your rhythmic footfalls through the forest. Incapable of tiring, you held Sara in your arms for hours, simply walking and walking. Flying would be quicker, but much more noticeable, and it was likely that at least a few of the Barons’ pets were still combing the forest looking for you.

As night began to fall across the forest, you could begin to see stars peeking down through the thinning trees. You had come to the edge of the forest at last, and for better or worse, you could see a small farmstead just ahead through the last screen of trees. In that building would be supplies, both to disguise yourself and keep Sara in good health. Her bandages would likely need changing, and any sort of medicinal supplies this farmstead kept might help ensure her wound did not grow infected. The only problem would be the people undoubtedly living inside the well-lit interior. Could you trust them to keep your passage safe? Would they be willing to share their goods with a metal monster and its ward? Would you steal from them instead if they refused to give? Were you willing to play the monster instead of the hero and kill these presumably innocent people if necessary? Or would you slink on into the night, going elsewhere to acquire the supplies you needed?

Dark Falls

Kasanip

Although it had been many years and Carlain was now a (clearly) troubled teenager, your words still carried weight. You could tell, because the struggle was right on his face. But then his jaw suddenly tightened.

“But you are so WRONG!” Carlain shrieked, clenching the knife in his fist hard enough for the knuckles of his hand to go white. He seemed to regain control of himself a moment later as he continued, but his tone was still furious. Bitter.

“Do you know what my mother is afflicted with? Acute Cystic Mana Enervation! It’s a relatively rare malady that primarily afflicts female mages.”

Carlain moved to approach you, lowering his head so that his face was only inches away from yours.

“Did you know that it’s the same degenerative condition that killed your mother? I checked. The records are sealed, but I have friends now who can get that information for me.”

Carlain grins, obviously enjoying this. Not so much sharing information that would be painful to you, but clearly thrilled at the idea he knew something you didn’t.

“Did you know that there is a cure?” He continues, staring into your eyes, his voice low but still full of rage and hatred. “But the most effective cure requires demon blood. The Canticles would never allow the summoning of a demon, even for so righteous a purpose! The alternative cures they’ve tried to come up with are worthless! So this –“

Carlain steps back, gesturing at the dark room and swarm of imps now clustered around him.

“Is the ONLY way I can save my mother! I already have most of the blood I need. Just another few imps. And then I will *show* the Canticles how foolish they were to exile the warlocks all those centuries ago! *We* will . . . or did you think it was only Cynthia and I that are secretly warlocks within the Canticles?”

Carlain gives you a chilling smile.

“Even the grand warlock is a member of the Canticle. No one even suspects! Maybe if any of you ever spent time looking at yourselves, instead of looking out at the world and judging it, you would have seen this coming. But it’s too late now! Now, let’s talk about you for a little while, shall we?”

For someone who was a member of a secret society plotting to undermine another secret society, Carlain wasn’t too bright, having already divulged much more valuable information than he had received from you. Or perhaps he was merely inexperienced. Whatever the case, it was time for you to make your escape from here.

In desperation, you begin whispering the psalmic chant for teleportation, hoping to draw Carlain closer. And indeed, he comes in close again, leaning down to hear what you are saying. Unfortunately, a curious imp also approaches, hopping up on your right knee, its talons digging painfully through your clothes and into the flesh beneath. But you had forced yourself to use magic in even more dangerous situations than these, and so your work continued.

Carlain began to feel the magic take hold, and started to step back in surprise, opening his mouth to cry out a warning, but too late. Suddenly, you were somewhere else. Cries of shock race through the air, and you hear bodies being forcibly displaced a moment before you can look around and deduce that you are standing in the middle of the town square. The teleportation magic had forced several people away from your point of entry, sending them tumbling, and now they were rapidly picking themselves up.

“What the hell is going on here?” “Who are those people!?” “What are you doing to that woman, young man!?” “AAAUGH!! IS THAT AN IMP!!?” These shouts and more race through the people now surrounding you, and a thick crowd immediately began to gather around your small assembly. The imp squawks loudly in alarm, beating its wings furiously as it prepares to take flight out of this situation. Carlain, unable to so easily escape a confrontation, brandishes his knife, taking several wild swipes at the nearby crowd members. He conjures a ball of fire into his free hand, holding it up threateningly.

“Back! Back you filthy peasants! Or I’ll kill you all, starting with the girl!”

Carlain pauses in his theatrics to look back at you with a manic grin, apparently enjoying his suddenly star role as a kidnapping villain. This proves to be his undoing, as Theressa suddenly muscles her way through the crowd, stepping into the rapidly widening empty space between the edges of the crowd and you. Reaching up, she clamps her hand down around Carlain’s raised palm, smothering the fireball as their fingers lock together. You hear several dry cracks in rapid succession, and Carlain falls to his knees, screaming in agony. Rallying himself, he blindly thrusts with his other hand, trying to stab Theressa with the knife. She catches his thrust with her other hand easily, and there is another, much louder crack, as Carlain’s hand bends at an unnatural angle and the knife slips from his grasp. Theressa unceremoniously tosses the evil youth aside, apparently confident that with two crippled hands he would be unable to cause further mischief.

Now openly screeching in complete panic, the imp chatters something in demonic and leaps up into the air. Stepping forward Theressa swats it down from the sky, sending it tumbling to the cobblestones below, where she stomps it several times, until nothing but greasy ashes remain. Only then does she turn her attention towards you.

“Have you been injured?” She asks in a neutral tone, beginning to draw her massive sword. “I am going to cut you loose. I suggest not moving, and remaining perfectly still.”

Behind her, Carlain sobs, curled up into a ball, cradling both his ruined hands to his chest.

The Capital

Lonna

It was difficult to ignore that tiny part of you in the back of your mind, screaming a warning as the man displayed increasingly sophisticated magics. You were so far out of your depth the bottom was invisible, but still you resisted however you could. You were tired of being used, and this was the end of it!

When he seemed to move against Wulfric, you instinctively moved to protect him, even though you clearly couldn’t protect even yourself. Why did you do that? Well . . . because you owed him one – more than one, really.

You weren’t sure what to do next – the man had shattered your defenses with barely any effort, and now seemed to be pulling energy from . . . well, somewhere that didn’t encourage dwelling on. Shadowy tendrils had bound your fast, holding you immobile and helpless for whatever he would do next, and his little construct was once again almost operational. Even your efforts to siphon off some of the excess energy were being stifled, as the magic’s nature changed somehow, and was no longer as receptive to you.

At this point, you were shocked to discover Wulfric was somehow suddenly standing beside you. It was impossible – some invisible force had been holding him down at your assailant’s command, and Wulfric was no mage, had no way of breaking that enchantment. And yet here he was, looking back and forth between you and the man. Then he sighs, and you can see that old look enter back into his eyes. There was nothing you could do as he pulled one fist back and then slammed it into your jaw, knocking you out yet again. But when you woke up, *if* you woke up, there would be Hells to pay.

Theme Song: Lies by Evanescence

You were tired of being used, and this was the end of it! Your servants were all dead, soon your people would all be dead or enslaved, and your home was burning to the ground all around you. You had failed your ancestors who had come to this island, seeking freedom and safety from the demonic hordes. By this time tomorrow you would undoubtedly be standing before them for judgment, or far worse.

You couldn’t dwell on the far worse bit just yet, as there was one last thing you had to do before you died. You had to kill the Advisor, the man who had come here several years ago, and during that time had wormed his way into a position powerful enough to allow him to betray you all. You should have listened to your initial feelings about the man, warning you to kill him immediately, but the gifts he offered were too great. And in time, he had earned your trust, even becoming a sort of father figure to you. Only your guilt and rage outweighed your sense of betrayal, and of these the greatest was rage, burning in your chest like the very mouth of the Hells.

You knew where to find him – he would want a vantage point where he could look out upon the destruction he had wrought. That suggested the observatory roof of the castle’s highest tower – and you could feel waves of incredible power washing out from that point as you began your ascent, drawing you onward. The Advisor had appointed fiendish lackeys to guard the steps, of course. On any other day you would have trembled in fear before the least of them, but today you now commanded a power that had eluded you before now. Now, with the power of magic at your command, you tore them all apart with minimal effort. The remaining rational part of your mind was still terrified – only directed at yourself now, rather than the horrors surrounding you. Was this too, the Advisor’s doing? Or had today’s events somehow awakened this power that had previously been slumbering dormant inside you?

Lifting the last two devils up into the air and then commanding them to burn, consuming them from the inside out in twin fireballs, you throw open the door to the roof and step out. You find the Advisor waiting for you, standing in the middle of a large circle of runes painted onto the stones with what appears to be blood. Beyond your city burns, dark shapes cackling as their dart about the large plumes of smoke rising up into the sky. Far below, large rents have appeared in the earth throughout the city, and seem to be growing wider with each passing second.

Not bothering with words, you step towards the Advisor, whose back was as yet still to you. He seemed to be focusing on some sort of spell, dark words tumbling out of his mouth as he slowly gestured over the runes surrounding him. As soon as your foot crosses the ring of runes, however, an electric shock passes through you, throwing you back and leaving you a twitching mess on the floor when you come to a moment later.

“Ah, so good to see you have survived, Queen Valeria. Although I must admit I am surprised to see you alone – my associates must have wandered off. Demons are such a difficult lot to control.”

“They’re all dead. You’ll join them soon enough.” You growl, forcing yourself back up onto your feet despite your wounded joints protesting. You hesitate to try and step over that barrier surrounding the Advisor again – and you can now see that it is indeed a barrier rising up from the ring of runes surrounding him. A crackling and swirling field of protective energy, the pattern of its slight expanding and contracting almost like breathing.

“I would advise you not to try and step through the barrier again, “my Queen”. It is strong enough to repel an angel, let alone a foolish girl.” The advisor taunts from within his bubble, not even bothering to turn and face you. “Now please keep your meaningless babble down, I must concentrate in order to complete my mission here.”

“And what mission is that?” You ask bitterly, beginning to circle around the ring, trying to see if there are any weak points, any safe point at which you can cross through. There are none.

“To repay certain debts I have owed for far too long. The Hells don’t just want your people crushed, they want an example made. They want Vallon itself, the entire city! Down in their domain for all time – and so I am going to plunge this entire city down into the Hells Itself. Your understanding of agony is about to increase a thousandfold!”

So that was what this ritual was currently for – your blood turns to ice at the very thought of it. All those people down there – men, women, children . . . not just slaves to the demons but forced to live in their domain for all eternity as playthings, until they too become one with their captors. You would not allow this to happen!

Wincing reflexively, you step forward into the barrier, attempting to break through. Instantly the magic is upon you, coursing through your body, attempting to push you back. But this time you are ready for it, and grit your teeth, biting back a scream as you take the energy into yourself. You didn’t really understand this whole magic thing, but you had gained new insight this day. Trusting those new instincts, you twist and pull at the enchantments, harnessing the very energy of the barrier to use it against itself. Suddenly, the barrier gives way, and there is a blinding flash of light as the entire thing collapses, the circle of runes bursting into flame before crumbling away into dust.

“Impossible! How could you possibly –“ The Advisor shrieks, now whirling about to confront you. His second shriek of surprise is even louder, and he physically stumbles back away from you.

“No no no . . . t-this can’t be! You can’t be her!” The Advisor again cries, his tone now much different but no less disbelieving.

“Pyria? Is that you?” The Advisor gasps, sinking to his knees. In a single smooth motion, he whips off his heavy cloak, revealing his bare, pale chest. Runes have been carved into his flesh, and fairly recently given the blood still seeping from the cuts here and there. Blood runs freely down both of his arms from long jagged cuts that extend from the inside of his elbows down to the middle of his palms. But most startling of all is the red glowing crystal embedded in his chest – a sight which you had never before seen as the Advisor had always been dressed in numerous layers.

“It’s me, Istomilo. Your father . . . I didn’t know this was your kingdom! I’m sorry!”

You had no idea that the Advisor’s name was Istomilo, as he had never given one. But the name was meaningless to you, except as confirmation that this man had lost it. Fortunately, his clear confusion was to your advantage, as he made no move to defend himself as you stepped towards him, flame igniting down the length of your blade.

“My name is Valeria, and I don’t give a damn!” You cry, lashing out with your sword towards his neck. It was a perfect blow, and would have cleanly severed the man’s head from his shoulder – had it landed. But suddenly he was not there – rather, he was behind you, his arms swiftly moving to envelop you. For a man rapidly bleeding to him, he was incredibly strong, and swiftly managed to twist your blade out of your grasp, while holding you pressed up against him with one arm. He buried his face in your hair, and . . . sniffed!?

“What is this nonsense!? Are you not my Pyria after all, or have you simply forgotten who you are?” The Advisor – Istomilo – mutters into your ear. Whatever sort of mad game he was playing at now, you had no desire to remain in his grasp. Breaking it seemed impossible, for he held you immobile with one arm no matter which way you struggled. But then you recalled that he has suddenly changed positions a moment before, clearly through magical means – perhaps you could do the same?

Although it had only lasted a moment, you had seen the magic involved, and your mind reflexively called upon it now. You willed to be somewhere else, and suddenly you were – standing several feet away, now facing Istomilo. You were starting to get the hang of this magic thing! It seemed that you willed something to happen, and it came true! As an experiment, you extendd your hand, and will your sword to come back into your hand. A moment later, and it lifted off of the ground of its own accord, flying through the air back into your hand!

“You are and you are not my daughter, aren’t you?” Istomilo continues to mutter, seemingly unconcerned with your escape and subsequent rearming. He stares at you a moment longer, and then throws back his head and laughs.

“She got it wrong! All those years of hoping, the Valkyrie’s greatest fear, all for naught! You aren’t immortal at all, merely a closed cycle!”

You were tired of listening to this traitor babble. Reaching out with your growing command of magic, you commanded the floor to ignite, and then sent a solid wave of fire sweeping towards him. The fires obscured his form for only a moment, but when they faded Istomilo was kneeling, bleeding arms crossed in front of him – and completely untouched.

“Does that mean your soul will be trapped when this city and everyone in it falls into the Hells?” He proposed as a look of horror came across his face – pity it was provoked for you, rather than because of you.

“No no no, this will not do! I will *not* sacrifice my only daughter. That was not part of the deal! You must escape immediately!”

Standing up, Istomilo began laying some sort of spell on you – you could feel the magic settling in around your body. You didn’t wait to find out what it would do. He was distracted with his spell – now was your chance!

Shrugging off the effects of his spell through force of will, you teleported in close to him, and thrusted with your sword. You were aiming for the crystal embedded in his chest – you could feel the power radiating from it from here, and it was clearly important to him. You were still a little new to this whole teleporting thing however, and appeared a few inches closer than you had wanted. As such, your thrust was misaimed, taking him just below the throat, instead of in the crystal, roughly positioned where his heart should be.

The blow was still a solid one, however, and your sword sank up to the hilt. Istomilo screamed, and released a solid wave of force in blind retaliation. Suddenly you were flying, no tumbling, through the air, but it was a short ride. You struck the roof painfully hard, and you reflexively start rolling away to minimize the impact’s effect. Unfortunately, you did not know how close to the edge you were, and suddenly you were falling again. Flailing out, you manage to just catch hold of the roof’s lip, hanging precariously out over the abyss.

Suddenly you felt drained, utterly exhausted and completely unable to pull yourself up – was this because of all your recent use of magic? You found yourself unable to use it to save yourself, couldn’t focus properly the way you had been able to earlier. Watching on helplessly, you see Istomilo tear the sword out of his chest with another scream, falling to his knees. He seemed to grin as if remembering some sort of joke, but the expression fades as soon as he turns his head to see you daggling over certain death.

“Pyria! Hang on!” He cries, forcing himself back up onto his feet. But then all of the runes carved into his flesh flash bright red, and he falls back to his knees again with an agonized scream. The demons’ already frenzied cackling cresendos into a feverish pitch, and the air seems to grow even thicker with ash. The ground rumbles, and then heaves, threatening to topple every building in the city, including the one you were currently hanging from. It is clear that the ritual was nearing completion, but you would never live to see its end.

The ground’s heaving causes the tower to shift, violently pitching you from your tenuous grip on the edge. Suddenly you are tumbling through the air again, and this time the sudden stop would not be survivable. In a panic, you will your fall to stop, for you to grow wings, anything! But your efforts are in vain – you are too tired, too inexperienced, and you were out of time. The last thing you see before everything comes to a sudden, briefly agonizing, stop is Istomilo standing at the edge of the tower, looking down at you . . . and an angel, a blazing beacon of holiness in this befouled city. Perhaps . . . your city would be saved after all. You could die happy with that.

WhiteKnight777

The fury with which this miserable little slip of a girl fought your spells was familiar to you. Fianna had been much the same way, using her magic the same way she conducted all her affairs – with fiery passion. The hollowness of her magic now was both a weakness and a strength, for while it seemed weaker to you, neither was it as unstable and bound to Fianna’s mood.

Still, although the girl was strong – and possibly, you are hesitant to admit, stronger than even Fianna – she was not Fianna’s equal. Fianna had at least learned how to channel her emotions, to harness them properly when weaving them into her spells. This impudent brat merely flailed wildly, a child lashing out in anger – no control or precision. Still, it required power to confront power, and you had little to spare right now, just before your confrontation with Fianna.

Reaching out across the city, you drew the power you needed from its inhabitants, and then struck. With pinpoint precision, you shattered the wall of fire between you and the girl, and with it any other magical protections she could manage. Confident you could now deal with whatever further resistance she could manage, you re-established the link between her and the construct, and through her the link between the construct and Fianna. Still, the girl or her mundane companion might persist in this obnoxious resistance, and by now you were angry.

With a gesture you compelled the body of the man to fall to the ground and be still, pinning him in place entirely through magic. For the girl, however, you wanted something a bit more substantial. Conjuring bands out of pure shadow, you command them to bind the girl, and they lash out, entwining themselves around her body. Strangely enough, the girl doesn’t attempt to oppose this, momentarily more concerned about the man than herself. But you can still feel her eyes boring into you, and watch as flashes of fire still dance around her eyes, waiting to lash out once more. In your heightened state, you can even feel her attempting to siphon off some of the excess energy of your own theft. Fascinating, really – the girl was a quick study, at least, even if most of her efforts seemed to be instinctual in nature. A switch to water-based magic seemed somewhat effective, although it did not stop her ability to siphon energy entirely.

But if you had thought this meeting held no more surprises, you could not be more wrong. The man suddenly sits up. Not only that, but he begins to get back up onto his feet, every muscle quaking at the strain, but obeying nonetheless. This should have been impossible, especially for a grain spec among the endless field of humanity. You had met only one man in all your thousands of years of existence who could claim a similar feat, and he was now ash scattered across the ocean floor.

In the back of your mind, you could feel the stirrings of Fate, that fickle bitch – it was uncanny that you would meet not just someone so similar to your love, but also to that man in so short a time. Still, you had little time to ponder the meaning of all this – you had to get to your love before she finished her stated intent. You had dealt with the man before this one handily enough – there was a reason why you were the acknowledged leader amongst the Lords of Blood – and you could deal with this pale reflection easily. But yet again you were surprised.

On quivering legs, the man stomped forward, growing strength as your enchantment lost its hold on him entirely. He moved to stand beside the girl, looking back and forth between you and her.
And then he sighed heavily, before reaching up and slugging the girl in the jaw. The blow dispelled your binding enchantment, but that was alright as it also knocked the girl out. As such, all remaining resistance to your seeking spell faded, and the cherub finally came to full life, ready to guide you to your love. The man shifts his stance to come between you and the girl, in an odd mirror to how she interposed herself a moment earlier.

“Take what you need and go.” The man grunts, still breathing heavily after overcoming your magic through sheer force of will. “But if you hurt her, I swear . . .”

Now this was interesting. Underneath all that concern for her and anger towards you, there was something else, hidden normally from view but brought out enough by this struggle to allow your heightened sense to perceive it – love. So he loved her – and judging by the way she had thrown herself in front of him a moment earlier, she loved him, if unconsciously.

Under normal circumstances, your mind would be fast spinning on how to use this to your advantage – and how exactly these two so strongly mirrored people from your own past. But right now, there was only one point of interest in your mind, one fear blotting out everything else – Fianna. Were you already too late?

Gorgondantess

Although you do not resort to ripping the man apart, it seems your display is enough to intimidate him. The blood drains from his face, leaving it a pale, limp thing, quivering in fear. You are just starting to rethink your initial hesitation in tearing him to pieces when you feel a hand on your arm. Turning, you see that it is not some suicidal bouncer, but rather Maurice – the nerve! Although, looking at her face, you judge her expression to be pleading, rather than warning. Of course the weak-willed superior being would not want to watch any of her precious ants being squashed!

The man winces, making a little whine of fear as you draw your sword from your leg. He relaxes when you make it clear you are showing him the blade, not intending to use it. Although his tone is still suitably subdued.

“I-I’m c-c-certainly no expert on s-s-swords, b-but it looks r-real to me. I don’t k-know who the b-buyer is – nobody does! It’s all m-middlemen, and middlemen of m-middlemen! B-but I’ll pass it up the chain that you d-don’t want games. I c-can’t promise anything though!”

At that, the man scribbles something on a piece of paper, and practically throws it at you as he pushes it across the table.

“Here! Th-those are the directions to who I was told to send you to next! I don’t know if he’s the actual buyer or not! P-please . . . just go?”

At that, Maurice stood up, picking up the piece of paper and handing it to you.

“Guess we’re done here?” She asks hurriedly, clearly afraid that your already short patience would run out entirely, witnesses be damned. You’d just kill them all, and then there would be no witnesses! An entire city of the human ants, squashed, as an abject lesson to them all not to play games with you! But you’d still never get to the bottom of who was wanting an angel if you did that, and so for now you would continue to bide your time.

Taking the lead again, you moved back towards the door, Maurice one step behind. As you neared the door, a large crowd of people suddenly got up from one of the tables, all of them rushing from the door at once. They press in around you on all sides, bumping into you and each other as they all stumble in an attempt to be the first one out the door. It was a disgusting and pathetic display . . . at least until you felt someone gently sticking a hand into your cloak. If you were a normal creature, you likely wouldn’t have even sensed it, but as your cloak was an extension of your being, essentially, you had considerably more awareness of what was going on with it.

Interestingly, this was not someone attempting to take something from you, as you first thought (clearly the folly of humans knew no bounds if someone was willing to risk robbing you after that little display). No – rather, someone was giving you something. A slip of paper, it felt like. You didn’t see which of the people was responsible for this, and they were all out in the street and fanning out in different directions, fleeing at a pace better suited for if the building was on fire.

Examining the paper, you see a short and to the point message was written on it.

Come to Storehouse 11 in two hours, near the docks. Bring the actual angel – will want to verify before payment. The buyer will be there.

It appears that you now had two separate possible destinations. The meeting with Mr. Gentry, the next link in this ridiculous chain, seemed to be set in another tavern several blocks from here. You weren’t familiar enough with this human warren to know how far the docks were from here, but you had seem them while flying in. They seemed to be on the other side of the city. Was this secret message delivered to you by reverse pickpocketing in fact from the buyer, or was there some other faction at work here who was also interested? Curiouser and Curiouser.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram's face remains blank as he Fernard voices the proposal, listening to his old contact's words and weighing his very limited options. He makes a note of two things. One, that the king was dead. That was new information. The other, that someone was smuggling arms into the capital. Fortuitous, perhaps, but also somewhat ominous. There were many different reasons someone would need a large number of weapons in the capital, and few of them were good. Still, that was a concern for another time.

Korram smiles unpleasantly as Fernard mentions the Warlord's Surprise trick. When Fernard finishes explaining the story to Katrina, Korram chuckles at the memory.

"You should have seen the look on his face. Confusion...then I pulled my arm sheath off. He practically wet himself. Yeah, those were the days."

Korram's smile fades, his reminiscence bringing back bad memories with the good. He takes a deep draught of his drink, then shakes his head at Fernard's speculations.

"The arm worked just fine. I just got found. It was her or me."

He jerks his head at Katrina.

"No choice at all. Anyway, long story short, the elemental got free. One series of poorly thought out promises later, I ended up being given a choice between amputation and an ironic death. I don't like irony."

He nods at Fernard's guess about their intentions.

"That's what we're planning. I don't have any money, though. If anyone's buying anything, it's Katrina."

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

The ex-vampire gave a long, searching look over the man who seemed to be Fate's choice to fill Gilgeam's massive boots. He gave him a strange half-smile, nodding at his words and the implied threat, at which Umber showed no fear at all - and he had too much practice to show his surprise.

"I know you didn't do that for me - but I thank you anyway. Good luck with her. If I know her - and I think I might - she's going to be a handful." His eyes were far away, and his thoughts were already focused on Fianna. But he paused for a moment to cast one last look at the two of them, and give Wilhelm a bit of surprisingly tender advice. "I've been where you stood before, or near enough. If you love her, never let her go. Not for death or eternity or all the gods above and demons below. Hold on as tight as you can, and you'll carry each other through the dark. Don't make the mistakes I did."

He cast Wilhelm another strange smile and a little half-salute as he mounted up on his construct stallion. He spurred it into the air, footprints of burning green flame standing out in the open air. The crimson construct flitted about him, a strange cross between imp and cherub, light refracting through its red, magically constructed substance in strange, glimmering sparks.

"OooH... Yooz in luuuuurve, izn't chu?" It asked in a revoltingly base accent, whirring about him as it led him to Fianna. "How sweeeeet... the big bad man luuuurves the flame-haired one." It cackled madly, and Umber gave it a sour look. No matter how expert one was, magic wasn't always predictable. It continued to cackle madly, dancing around him, but doing its duty well enough, making lewd comments about Fianna that several times tempted Umber to blast it into shards of nonexistence more than once. But he rode on, hair whipping wildly about him.

His heart tensed in his chest, and he bit his lip as great muscles of artificial flesh bunched beneath him, carrying him on. His destiny had been delayed a long, long time - and it seems as if others had stepped into the shoes of the Lords of Blood. But he was going to remind them, one way or another, that he was still wearing his.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

"I've little time to talk, Mario. I'm investigating something here and as you can see, they wouldn't just let me walk through the front door. You know me. I wouldn't do something like this if it weren't for the right reasons. Help Katashiko and me find some place to hide and regroup, and I'll explain everything, I promise."

[Gorgondantess]

As the man stammers, she sinks into the table, dragging her fingers down her face. This was... agony; hellish- was this hell? Was Athelion really a powerful deity, a punisher, and she was sent to be eternally surrounded by stammering fools?
If so, she had to give the Lifebringer credit. No torment could be worse than this. But no- just the humans. Vermin. How could one of them best an angel such as Maurice? It boggled the mind.
She stops once her fingers begin to dig so deep into her face that it begins stripping off the flesh. It heals quickly.
She doesn't even glance at Maurice, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her out of the tavern. Finding the note, she crumples it in her hand, fuming.
"...Do you know where these docks are?"
She heads over to the docks (interrogating passerby if Maurice doesn't know) and ponders on the actions of these humans. Finally, she's pent up enough annoyance at their state to stop, ranting at her captive audience.
"You know, I have a hypothesis on these humans."
She walks up to the brick wall of a building. "Suppose a human would want to find out what's inside this building. Now, really, it would depend on the human. Most would just gather their friends and postulate on the mythical "other side". Perhaps they would walk around the building, to gather more information. A few might create a society of folks who debate and write treatises on the "other side". Maybe a few would check out the roof. All of them... every single one... goes about their fruitless efforts like an insect trapped in a spider's web. And only a few- a select, merciful, beautiful few, simply..." She punches the wall with all her strength, leaving a gaping hole and demolishing her frail, fleshy hand. It heals.
"Only a few wield the power and drive to simply delve in and figure it out, do what needs to be done."
She walks on to the docks, paying no heed to the interior of the building nor Maurice, simply expecting her to follow.
"Well? What do you think of my theory?"

[The_Snark]

Mar

The dream melted away, and suddenly she was just Mar again, not Marisiel the angel. But the overwhelming sense of relief persisted. Her mother had not only indulged her, but listened to her. It was much more than she'd hoped for. Nobody had done much listening during the war; everybody knew what they wanted, and the people who said otherwise were the enemy.

The sense of exhaustion she'd felt was gone, buried beneath a warm fuzzy mountain of sleep. Marisiel might have just been through the most difficult day of her life, but Mar was just awakening from a nap. Nap, yes, that was right; they'd gone to sleep after the trip into town. Mar looked down and saw Caroline nestled against her side, atop one of her wings. She couldn't feel the wing at all. It was odd, but it didn't hurt, and she didn't want to disturb the sleeping girl.

The dream lay fresh in the forefront of her mind, waiting to be looked at more closely, but she let it lie for now. She no longer had much doubt that these were her memories, in some way, but now didn't seem like the right time to think about what it meant. The setting sun cast a comfortable orange glow across the ceiling, and Caroline was curled up next to her, and she felt happy. Unhappy memories could wait til later.

It was some time before sounds from outside began to penetrate her sleepy contentment. She tensed before realizing that they were familiar sounds: the clank of metal pots, the cracking of a fire, occasional footsteps. There was a smell wafting through the house that made her mouth water. Jacob—or maybe William, but probably not because his leg was still bad—must be cooking.

Carefully, she tried to ease her wing out from beneath Caroline. She'd become aware recently that food did not just appear (like it had back in Ironheart); someone had to work to make it, and it didn't feel right to make Jacob do all the work for her. But her wing turned out to be firmly pinned under Caroline's body, and it was hard to move it without also moving Caroline.

After several minutes, she thought she had it—but then Caroline stirred, mumbled something, and opened her eyes, gazing sleepily upwards at Mar. For once the ever-talkative girl was quiet, and it fell to Mar to break the silence.

"Hi," she said softly, so as not to jar Caroline awake any further. "Do you want to come help Jacob and me make dinner?"

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

As soon as he caught sight of that face from his past, Tare let a weary breath escape his lungs as he closed his eyes to bring all the distracted concerns still humming like lightning up and down his spine into calm, cold focus. Tare had learned a thing or two about life since last he and Brock had met, and a thing or two about death. He'd also learned a thing or two about magic-- though really, it had been the same lesson. Tare had once thought that he lived by luck and wit, by taking full advantage of the good luck when it came and dodging his way out of the bad, sometimes by the skin of his teeth.

Ironheart had been an unorthodox teacher, but Tare had learned volumes from its cruelty. There was little on this earth (or, Tare reflected, beneath it) that could be considered worse luck than the circumstances that Tare had been landed in, and he had discovered something that had rendered Luck all but irrelevant. The Demons had it while the Harem Girls and Slaves who served them lacked it. Limier's was battered and abused, but she had hardened it to the diamond point of a knife, to the point that it could now do little else than cut. Melcara's had been shattered, demolished piece by piece, yet when Tare shared but a little of his own he had watched as she came back from the dead. It was not magic, but it had a magic about it all its own-- Vylethar's had been so potent as to be physically sickening (for him, at least). Jim's lack of it had dictated his actions almost without his conscious control; his was so weak to begin with that when evil had whispered to him, he heeled like an obedient dog. And when his path and Tare's crossed, Jim's first instinct was not to think for himself, but to follow that which was stronger than him. Tare's own had allowed him to carve open a portal out of the hells themselves, a task that he suspected was even more remarkable than it seemed. It was this that Magic was fueled by, Tare finally understood, and if not fueled then empowered by. And it had a name: Will. It was Will that refused to be tossed around by the dictates of fate, but instead drove a straight path right through the waves come what may. It was Will that set the man before him apart from the nameless minions that followed his every command.

The emptiness in his chest that he had felt after unleashing the spear of magic during their escape that had turned stone to power and demons to ash was not the emptiness of a drained bowl, but the echo of a massive, hollow cavern. And now that cavern was refilled to the brim and was waiting on him to unleash it.

Did he have enough Will to do this?

Enough, and more besides.

Without so much as a word of greeting, Tare conjured the now-familiar warp of Speed around himself. He refined it, purified it and concentrated it, pushing the world around himself slower and himself faster than he ever had before. The cavernous reserves of his will that he now felt was his expanded potential for magic barely flinched. Tare pushed it further.

Tare balled his weapon hand into a fist, bringing his will to bear with the sharpness of one of Limier's daggers. When he snapped the fist open a crack like lightning accompanied the bolt of electricity that screamed like a bird of prey from his shoulder and down his arm to land in his outstretched palm. Tare felt his muscles coiling beneath him as a sheet of shrieking lightning encased his hand. Without further preamble, Tare shot forward out of his chair, swinging the magical weapon his hand had become straight forward. The table between Brock and himself splintered and shattered as the blade of lightning just barely touched it, failing to so much as slow Tare's lunge in the slightest. With eyes as cold and hard as polished marble, Tare drove the wedge of ice-cold energy straight toward Brock's throat--

Or rather, mere milimeters to one side of Brock's throat. The shrieking energy opened a gash along Brock's startled grimace and froze just off his left ear. A few hours later, the guards that Brock had brought along got around to reacting. "That was you, dead." Tare hissed beneath the crackling of the lightning. "From here on out, you're living on borrowed time." Tare glanced at the bodyguards. "Call them off."

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal was intrigued by the nature and purpose of the magic these merfolk bore. But that didn't mean he also couldn't be annoyed by their tenacity. He also couldn't say he was pleasantly surprised at Shanks calling him “Cap'n”. At least he'd been useful so far. "There are still mermen down in the flooded parts of the lab, but they are cut off. Considering what you lot have done here, we won't have much trouble with them," he responded.

When he looked out the window, it became another moment where his lack of a face for expressions became very dissonant with his mood. ”There are a LOT more of them than I thought. It's more of an invasion than an infestation now,” he said, trying his best to not betray his anger. He did not give many outward signs as he thought deeply for a few moments.

”I may have to entirely drain my current stock of elementals. I'd have to start from scratch again, but I need every bit of energy I can get now. Omega, please prepare to collapse passageways so we can isolate or crush invading parties whenever necessary. Everyone else...just do what you feel is necessary,” he said. Then he went to do as he said. He could not find the enthusiasm to drain the elementals very quickly, but at least the entirety of the magical energy they were made of would provide a very good recharge.

[Inspectre]

Cathedral City

Archpaladin Zousha

You see the conflict play out on Mario’s face rapidly, as he stands back up. Then, he offers a hand down to you.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I know it must be for a good reason. I will give you one chance to explain yourself, and if it is not to my satisfaction I will try to fulfill my sworn duty to kill any and all intruders.”

The uncertainty on Mario’s face likely comes both from the weird situation of helping an intruder, and from the fact that he has already felt Katashiko’s wrath once. Him killing you and Katashiko is a highly unlikely outcome in a second fight.

“Unfortunately, I cannot stop the alarms. I can, however, suggest a place where we can momentarily hide in order to discuss things further.”

So saying, Mario pushes past you after helping you up, dropping down the hole that Katashiko has made in the floor. By the time you drop down there, the guards she had been fighting were all dead, although Katashiko is now examining a long gash running down her arm. The stone hisses and bubbles wherever her blood falls.

“These paladins of yours are starting to become a problem.” Katashiko grunts, turning to face you and Mario. She jabs a finger at Mario.

“Are we taking prisoners now, or should I be snapping his neck? Apparently a blow to the chest didn’t do it.”

Mario pauses a moment to glare at her, and then beckons as he strides down the hallway in the opposite direction.

“Follow me. Quickly!”

Katashiko glances at you, shrugs, and then falls into step behind your old friend.

“You pick up more strays than I would expect from a holy man. So where are we going, exactly? I thought the goal was to get down to the bottom?”

Stopping at an ornate stone door, Mario pushes it open and steps aside to allow you and Katashiko to enter.

“In here. Hurry!”

You step through the door, and immediately feel a wave of pure evil assault your senses. The strength of it fails utterly to mesh with what your other senses are telling you. Beyond the doorway is a richly appointed room, complete with a bookcase and bed. An elegantly curved bottle holds some sort of dark liquid, kept company by several wooden goblets perched on a nightstand by the bed. And seated in a padded chair in one corner of the room is an old, withered man dressed in some sort of ancient uniform. Slowly, the old man raises his head up from the book cradled in his lap, and his blood red eyes lock with yours. A slow smile stretches the leathery skin of his face.

“Well, it has been quite some time since I’ve had visitors.” The man chuckles.

“This is the Black General. The foot patrols won’t check in here just yet, so we have some time.” Mario says, pulling the door shut behind him. The old man frowns, and slams his book shut.

“So. Not visitors, but intruders. Your security is getting sloppy, child.”

You recall from history lessons that the Black General was the first lord of the fiends to be captured. He personally thwarted a number of the Crusade’s initial forays into the Hells, until the current Lord General challenged him to a duel. The Lord General won that duel, but died shortly thereafter, his soul regrettably lost to the Hells forever. Odd, however, that you see no overt signs of binding keeping the devil lord here – the Reliquary did not tell anyone who its various charges were kept, for fear of someone developing a means to release them. But this certainly seemed more like deluxe accommodations, rather than a prison cell.

Stonefall

The_Snark

Silently, the little girl nods, and the two of you get up to head into the delicious-smelling common/dining room of your small home. You enter to find Jacob setting the table, while William stands by the fireplace, slowly stirring a large bubbling pot.

“Well, I had hoped the smells of fresh stew would rouse you two sleepyheads.” Jacbo said with a slight smile, gesturing at the half-ready table. “Help me finish up here? The stew’s almost ready, isn’t it William?”

From his place by the fireplace, William nods, leaning forward to stir the contents of the pot vigorously with a long spoon. “It’s thickening up nicely, father!”

With your help and Caroline’s customary enthusiastic if not particularly effective help, Jacob finishes setting the table and takes over William’s position by the fire. As William carefully lowers himself into his seat, Jacob begins transferring the contents of the pot into a number of bowls. He also picks up a loaf of bread that had been left on the hearth to warm, and then conveys this feast to the table over several trips.

“Well, let’s eat!” Jacob says after he has taken his seat, and everyone immediately follows his suggestion. The stew is quite rich, consisting of a number of ingredients that you couldn’t identify, having never had them before now, but that you suspected were purchased during your earlier trip into town. After everyone has taken the edge off their hunger, conversation starts up, with the family discussing how their days went, with no detail too minor. It was peaceful and relaxing, a sharp contrast to how your previous post-meal experiences generally went. At least, until a certain point in the conversation.

“Hey father, did you hear about the new seer in town!?” William asks.

“Oh? When was this?” Jacob asks, his tone neutral, which was a jarringly change from his previous jovial one.

“I think you were out cutting wood at the time. I was sitting at the door, practicing my whittling.” William explains, looking sheepishly down at his leg. “Anyway, I hear a commotion down in town – fanfare, shouting – it was like there was some kind of parade! And someone was announcing that the great seer and healer Maya Weyborn would be in town for the next couple days.”

“I see.” Jacob says tersely, his face twisting into a sneer. “I suppose you want to go see her, don’t you?”

Jacob pauses a beat while William smiles and nods enthusiastically. And then he brings the hammer of his voice down.

“Well I absolutely forbid it!”

“Aw, but –“

“I forbid it!” Jacob repeats, slamming his hand down onto the table. “I’ve seen more than my share of charlatans in my day, so believe me when I say this – this Maya Weyborn is nothing more than a fraud!”

“But . . . but maybe she could heal my leg?” William says quietly. Jacob snorts in reply.

“Oh, she might give you some sort of “cure” for it, aye! But it’ll be nothing but mud at best, and something that’ll make your leg infected at worst! And she’ll rob you blind for the privilege, make no mistake! The answer is no, and that’s final!”

From the expression on Jacob’s face, he was very angry. Your mind is reflexively drawn back to your own “father” – and this would be about the point where he would bind you and inflict some horrible form of suffering upon you as “punishment”. No such thing seemed forthcoming here, however, and in fact you noted that Jacob didn’t seem angry *at* William. He seemed angry in general, or perhaps about the subject matter – it didn’t seem directed at Willaim specifically, as far as you could tell. Even more interesting was the fact that William didn’t seem terrified by his father’s anger – if anything, he seemed more determined to resist, setting his youth jaw in defiance.

“Alright.” Is all William says, and although Jacob doesn’t seem convinced, he lets the matter dropped – Caroline, still too young to grasp the conversation beyond her father was yelling, was on the verge of tears. Unfortunately, the brief fight between father and son shattered the peacefulness of the evening, and despite a few half-hearted attempts to restart conversation, silence reigned over the room. Eventually, everyone was finished, and Jacob pushed himself up.

“Marion, why don’t you put William and Caroline to bed. I’ll clean up here.”

So saying, he began scooping up the dishes, clearing the table.

(From here, you can pass on into the next day, or have Mar come back out and talk with Jacob, about why he so crazy. )

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

You have some sort of plan for dealing with an army? Maybe a doomsday device in the basement? Don’t you demon mages always have some sort of self-destruct device for your entire island?

His taunt finished, Roger abandons his female body, sliding into one of the merman. A broken crossbow bolt protrudes from its chest.

Ick, all cold and slimy in here. Still, maybe I could, like, I dunno, sound an all clear and convince them all to leave?

Apparently, Roger has not yet realized that possession does not grant him the knowledge of what he’s currently possessing – in particular, a command of the merfolk’s language. It seemed likely they would realize something is wrong as soon as the one Roger is impersonating speaks to them in the human tongue.

“You got any more bolts around here, Cap’n?” Shakes asks, unaware of your dislike of that particular moniker. Still, you needed your remaining pirate “ally” focused on killing as many of the cold-blooded fish people attempting to conquer your island as possible. And refilling his dwindling supply of bolts would likely help with that. You might have some stored away somewhere, but if not you would need to conjure more magically – which would eat into your reserves. Again.

In any event, your first concern was to refill your magical powers to the brim. Going back down into your lab, you drain dry the elemental containment units you had just finished rebuilding and filling. You could always build more later, *after* you personally gutted every last one of these fish men for ruining your evening. For their part, the remaining fish men down in the watery depths of your laboratory seemed to be gearing up. They were clearly in communication with the ones outside, and it seemed likely they would attempt a two-pronged assault from within and without shortly.

Coming back up, you check the windows to find that the army has abandoned the shore, and is beginning to clamber up the narrow pathways leading up the cliffs your manor is built on. Still, they seemed to be holding back, as if waiting for something – even more reinforcements, maybe? Or perhaps ones who had some meager understanding of magic, given the surviving ones in the basement had seen your powers, and doubtlessly reported it to their superiors.

So you had a little bit more time to prepare, then. You could attempt to strengthen your defenses, assault the ones outside or the ones down in the basement before they could both attack, or even just abandon your laboratory to them for now, and return later for revenge. It was hard to determine which course was the most favorable, although none of them were particularly pleasing. Still better than walking up in your cursed body inside Ironheart, caught in the reflection of a dozen foul silver mirrors!

Outside the Capital

Dorizzit

At your comments, Fernard looks between you and Katrina, a look of understanding coming into his eyes.

“Well, you’re certainly a lot different from how old Korram described you. I guess children have to grow up sometime!” Fernard says, laughing into his mug of ale. Katrina shoots you a dirty look.

“Y’know Korram, I’m sure you’re happy to be reunited with your daughter at last. But I’ve worked awfully hard at maintaining my secret identity, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share your joy with everyone we meet! Not that it matters now that the damn Baron knows, I suppose.” Katrina grouses, stopping only to take a sip of ale. “Also, do you remember that fat sack of money I dug out of the ground? The sack of money that we lost when Cheran caught both of us? Yeah, that was my only savings. So, I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for money.”

At this news Fernard frowns in disappointment.

“Well, that’s going to be tricky, doing this without money.”

Fernard scratches his chin thoughtfully.

“Still, you’ve been a good customer in the past, Korram. I suppose you’ll stop being a customer once the Baron is done with, or he’s done with you. But, maybe you can put in a good word for me somewhere. On account of that, and our old relationship – plus the whole arm debacle – I suppose . . . I can consider this pro bono work. You just make sure you remember your old pal Fernard when your money purse is jingling again!”

Katrina shakes her head and downs the last of her ale. It’s her third since hearing about the exact plan to smuggle you into the capital.

“Fantastic. Let’s get to it, then!” She slurs, slamming the mug back onto the table and stumbling up to her feet.

“I have a shipment going out tonight, actually.” Fernard says, rising as well. “Come with me, and we’ll get you prepped.”

The two of you follow Fernard out of the tavern and down the street, heading for a small warehouse. Several burly men are set up outside, in a failed attempt to appear merely drunk locals rather than alert guards. One of them stands up and salutes Fernard as the three of you approach.

“I rent this place out. Sorry if it’s not up to my usual standards.” Fernard says with a slight smile, pulling a ring of keys out of his pocket to open the doors. He then leaves you and the guards in the entry room, almost completely filled with crates of various sizes. He returns a couple minutes later with a pair of vials, filled with some sort of green liquid.

“Believe it or not, I’ve actually made a business out of this now, so I think you’ll find the ride a bit smoother this time. In no small part thanks to these.” Fernard says, waving the pair of vials around.

“They’ll knock you out for a couple hours, so you don’t go crazy during the ride. Also helps cut down on the messy and suspicious holes we have to drill in the crates so you can breathe.”

“Perfect! You’ve read my mind!” Katrina says, reaching forward to snatch one of the vials from Fernard’s hand. She immediately uncorks the vial and chugs the thick mixture inside.

“Blagh, that tastes awful! So when –“

Katrina’s eyes roll up into her head in mid-sentence, and she collapses back, caught at the last second by one of the guards. Fernard gestures, and another guard comes forward to pick her up and carry her into the next room. Fernard offers the other vial to you.

“Well, I know you’ve done this before without the drug, but I really recommend it. You should wake up just after we get into the capital and drop the crates off. Hopefully, before the buyer even comes to collect them. It’s perfectly safe.”

Dark Falls

The Capital

Lonna

As you come out of your dream, you find yourself lying flat on your back in the street. But, you aren’t hurt (except your jaw was throbbing again), the sky isn’t filled with angry demons, and Wulfric is nearby.

“He’s gone. Sorry about that – I’ll try not to make it a habit.” He grunts, sitting down beside you. Nearby, the city seems to be recovering from the bizarre sights, and business is returning to usual.

WhiteKnight777

As if in challenge to your last statement that the reigns of destiny were firmly back in your hand, the ponderous bulk of the The Gastly Truth suddenly reveals itself through the clouds. The massive personal airship of the Baron of Gast seems to be just arriving in the capital now. No doubt things were about to get very interesting around here, but you had little time to discover the specifics. Onward through the sky your little construct led you, making impressively crass suggestions on how to “cure” Fianna once you found her. A few made you want to wring the little ****’s neck in insulted fury, and others had you baffled as to how to accomplish what it was suggesting. Magic, perhaps, but otherwise . . . it did not bear thinking about where the little cretin’s supposed understanding of anatomy came from.

Eventually it led you straight down, back to ground level. It stomped at the cobblestone street in a most annoyed fashion.

“She’s below, in the dirt! Filthy, filthy whore!” The construct rasps, cackling. For a moment you didn’t understand and wonder if it was implying that Fianna had already passed. Then, of course, the obvious sprung into your increasingly frantic mind – the sewers, of course! With a swift gesture you rip a nearby manhole out of place, snatching up the construct and hurling it down before jumping in after it. You land in a small pool of stagnant, foul smelling water, but barely even notice as the construct picks itself up and trundles off down a tunnel, still chortling.

This seems to be a different section of the sewers from what you had investigated before, although you had no doubt it linked up with the ancient sections that Fianna called home at some point. As before, the construct led you on unerringly – and quite surprisingly, not into traps of any sort. Either Fianna was confident in your inability to find her, or believed that it no longer mattered.

And soon enough, you stepped out of a passageway into some sort of dank chamber, and there she was. Still dressed in the same elegant red dress as her doubles, kneeling on the floor in a meditative pose. She opens her eyes and looks up upon hearing you enter. Her expression, as always, is completely neutral.

“So, you have eluded all my attempts to evade or destroy you. Your reward will be getting to watch me die. My executioner is already on his way, I am sure. So, do you have any last words for me to carry into the void?”

For just a moment, Fianna’s eyes shine, and she seems like her old self, if in a venomous mood. But the poisonous words she spits out are clearly just a calculated attempt to surprise and crush you.

“Any words you wish me to pass on to our child that we murdered?”

OverWilliam

Brock was fast – you didn’t live long in your line of work if you weren’t fleet of foot and able to react even faster. But he was so surprised at your sudden display of power, and your magic was so strong, that it looked as if he was barely moving at all. In slow motion his feet pushed out, kicking against the ground and sending his chair, him with it, tumbling back away from you. From your perspective, you merely stepped forward and lazily reached out, clawing a gash along the side of his face. Then time sped back up again, although you could recall the speed at a moment’s thought.

It was only now that Brock’s cadre of bodyguards, distracted by drinks and unused to reacting quickly, finally noticed the calamity and stood up. For her part, Melcara also stood up from the destroyed table, simply staring at you and the fallen Brock. Then, she seemed to remember her role, and raised one hand up to her mouth and looked away, too “horrified” to watch. Meanwhile, her other hand went to rest loosely on the back of her chair – where she could use her tremendous strength to pick it up and turn it into a missile at a moment’s notice. Brock had tipped over his chair in an attempt to get away from you – and although he had now rolled clear of the chair, he was still flat on his back. Standing over him, he was completely at your mercy, and more than one part of you screamed at you to finish it. But . . . for now, you needed Brock, and it was clear you had proven your point to him.

“Well Tare, if you had said you wanted to fight, I’d have brought an army!” Brock says in his usual boisterous tone, laughing. But you could see his eyes – they told you it was all bravado, as he reached up gingerly to his bleeding cheek. With his other hand, he waved at the guards, and they all sat back down again. For what good it would do them, they were now watching you closely, and in shock that was considerably less concealed than Brock had shown.

“So – I’m not dead yet, so I assume you want to talk after all. Is this about your buddy Ulrich? Or maybe those strays you brought in to mingle with the rest of his flock?”

Brock gives a shrewd smile, clearly pleased with himself, although it seems he doesn’t know the whole story. This was good, if he knew the “strays” were elves, and one of them was deathly ill from a unique poison, your newly-gained leverage over him would be lessened. And Brock was quite good at slipping free of loose nooses.

“So, if we’re going to talk, do you mind if we return to our previous arrangement – seated at a table, with some pints of ale before us?” Brock offers you one of his hands. “Help an old man up?”

Gorgondantess

At your theory, Maurice gives a musical laugh.

“Yes! Yes, now you begin to understand! Although I would have put it in . . . somewhat more favorable terms. You should also take into account that once those brave few individuals come back from the depths of the house and say “Behold, I have found a way to the other side!”, there will be a stampede for the door. Or . . . if another such individual decides no one needs to ever know what exists there on the other side, they can whip the crowd into a frenzy and burn the house to the ground. What decides which path the individual will take? What separates these individuals from the masses? I have studied the humans for eons, and I still cannot tell you. Some seem born to it, others are forged by events – or even by their own stubborn will! – and some who seem destined for a simple life suddenly are thrust into greatness.”

Rounding a corner, you suddenly come into a small clearing of sorts, a place where the buildings are not quite so thrust together. And when you look up into the now unblocked sky, you see a peculiar sight. Emerging from a bank of clouds like a dagger slicing through flesh, a large metallic thing drifts towards the city. Although it appears small compared to the rest of the sky, up close you are sure the thing is massive, far larger than any human dwelling you have ever seen.

“If that is who I think it is, there is a prime example of someone who would rather burn the house down than share what’s inside.” Maurice says quietly, actually shivering beside you. She doesn’t say anymore as she steps out onto the street, although she immediately stops when she realizes that you are not coming. Instead, you remain fixed to your spot, staring up at the floating object. Maurice seems to think a human was responsible for this, but that is hard for you to grasp, surrounded by the unwashed filth of humanity. How could any one of these pathetic beings possibly rise to create such a structure? Left to your own devices, you might well have assumed that this was the “Heavens” that the humans speak of in such awe, and that you would find Athelion the Doomed cradled somewhere inside.

“We will need to hurry if we wish to make our rendezvous with my buyer.” Maurice says quietly, clearly hoping you would acquiesce and continue on your path to the docks. And indeed, after being forced to walk there instead of fly – and forced to ask for directions, some of which were dead wrong (you think one ******* human had even given you the wrong directions on purpose – an action that sealed his fate if you ever saw him again), you were behind schedule. If you hurried to the docks, which was apparently nearby if the tang of salt, instead of filth, in the air was any indication, you would make the meeting with the buyer. Alternatively . . . you could go investigate the sort of man that held enough power to fly around in a sky palace, even though the thought seemed to terrify Maurice. Which might be another point in the man’s favor, if even angels cowered before him – that would be exactly the sort of ally you’d like to have for tearing down Athelion the Doomed.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

"I'll speak quickly, Mario. Shortly after you left Dawn's Hope, we were approached by Ander, the renegade general. Before I was told of his arrival, I was visited by an angel who appeared to be pierced and chained in horrible ways. She claimed to be a holy messenger and demanded I bring her to Ander, who was in talks trying to convince Dawn's Hope to stand against the Council with him. The angel-like thing attacked Ander and mercilessly slew good people of Dawn's Hope, our friends Mario, in attempting to destroy Ander. I'd been decieved by that...creature, and I immediately aided Ander in killing it before it killed others. We examined it and it was a holy angel that had somehow been...twisted. Corrupted and changed by blasphemous means. Dawn's Hope sided with Ander at once, and then we ended up destroying the rebel Karth, whom Ander had been trying to stop from sacrificing innocent lives in his mad quest to destroy the entire Church. I knew then that Ander was a sincerely good man. He's not the traitor the Council has made him out to be. I volunteered to find a way into the Reliquary to see if the Council had anything to do with this horrible thing done to the divine servants of Miriam and Athelion. Since I'd likely be stonewalled if I tried investigating through official channels, breaking in was the only option. Along the way here, I met Katashiko here, who has proven a loyal friend, despite her seemingly psychotic manner. And the rest you know. We ended up making quite a ruckus and you happened upon us. I know this looks incredibly suspicious, Mario, and you've no reason to trust me, but something VERY wrong is happening, and I want to make sure that the Council is not involved. I have to see it with my own eyes. You're a paladin like me, Mario. We both spoke the words when we swore our oaths, and we both meant them. If you won't help me, then please stand aside. I don't want you to suffer for the actions of whatever foul thing tortured and ruined one of the Gods' most beautiful and perfect servants."

[Baerdog7]

Lord General Ander Windrivver

Ander frowns as the communication crystal returns nothing but static.

Hondshioh, can you hear me? I am in the city with two other Grandmasters and need to get into the Reliquary beneath the Cathedral. Have you found anything?

He turns to Chandler and Rickster. I'm getting a lot of static on the crystal which means my lieutenant may already be underneath the Cathedral. We need to get down there but going through the front would be...counterproductive, to say the least.

Ander leads the other grandmasters and their mounts around the city walls until they are near the Church Quarter. They hitch their mounts in a small copse of trees not far from the walls and with the help of Ander's magic chains are able to climb over them and into the city.

Oldak, you probably know the Cathedral better than Rickster or I. Do you know of any way to get into the catacombs from the sewers? If we can get into the catacombs undetected we should be able to work our way down into the Reliquary.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber stared at Fianna, for a moment almost unable to believe that he had finally reached the confrontation that had eluded him for so long. He had half-convinced himself that the irritating little construct would only lead him into another trap. With a curt gesture, he cut off the thing's rude commentary and series of incredibly vulgar motions, reabsorbing most of the energy he had poured into it. The whole time, his eyes never left Fianna - he stared at her as if taking his eyes away would allow her to vanish once more. Her executioner? Who? But her next sentence drove that thought from his mind.

The words about their son - a child he had never had the chance to know, a life of his blood snuffed out before it could come to fruition. He looked away for just a moment, blinking away something that might have been tears. But he was Umber, damnit, and he had not come this far to be distracted by anything. Not at this juncture.

"What do you expect me to say, love?" He asked, his voice sharp. "Do you expect remorse? Regret? I have done some few things I regret - and what happened to you, and my failure to help you is the greatest of all. But trying to beat death? I will not repent what was my life's work, and yours too. What we did was wrong - not morally, but magically. The ritual was flawed - and some of us gave too much. But that does not mean that we erred in what we tried to do, only how we went about it.

I have come to fix that mistake, Fianna. I have found a way to reverse what we did - to make us mortal again, and bound once more to our fates. I ask you to let me help you, Fianna - to make you the woman you once were. If you let me help you, it will be no less an end to your suffering than oblivion - with the added bonus of continued existence."

He paused, looking her in the eye, trying to appeal to the cold logic that was her only driving force. "And if, when I am done you decide you still wish to die, I will end you, and myself thereafter. I made the mistake of losing you once, Fianna. I will not do so again."

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

”I AM the doomsday device, Roger, and I'm not very eager to blow up my lab. It took decades of work to build and stock it the first time around. And the merfolk would probably notice you can't speak their language,” Sohssal replied before departing to refill his magical reserves.

”Now, then. There was the occasional adventurer who thought himself able to defeat me, and some of them had crossbows. Their equipment might still be stored deeper in the lab. Take Roger or Omega with you if you want to search for them. I have to go take care of the merfolk still in the basement. If you don't find any bolts, I can conjure some, but I'd rather save my energy,” he explained.

With that, he went back to the basement. He stood at the water's edge, preparing for another expenditure. He decided the most efficient way to take them out was a large lightning spell. Sohssal took his time to make sure there were no mistakes in the spell – it's not like they could disrupt the spell by hurting him. Soon, electricity flashed into the water and filled most of the flooded pool before him. If his estimations were correct, this should incapacitate or kill most of them. There'd still be a lot less to worry about later, regardless, and so he departed.


”I suspect the ones that were in the basement were in communication with the ones outside. Probably mages among their ranks. I should have enough energy to deal with them,” he said to anyone still there he reached the gathering spot.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

The mix of emotions that Isera had felt in the room were torn and wrapped with disorientation, nausea, and fatigue. But she had a small feeling of relief they had not teleported into some wall or person, and not into a worse situation.
Though the people of the town certainly would disagree. Maybe it was a worse situation. But those consequences she could deal with. Somehow. She'd figure out how. After the headache, and after the moment.

Carlain's incredible fast rise to villainy was just as fast as his fall from villainy. Isera could only watch as Theressa had won. Broken hands, both of them. But as a consequence for what he had done, it was lucky, Isera thought. Not that she enjoyed the pain he was in...but she remembered her own crime, and the punishment for it.

The Canticles would never allow the summoning of a demon. Isera and Carlain had just SEEN what happens when that is allowed. There was no just purpose to allow such a thing. This world was painful, miserable, cold and harsh. That was the world the Canticle lived in and resigned itself to precisely so that others would live without that fate. Isera certainly didn't agree with them all of the time. But she had lived on this line for long enough to have decided for herself what was right and wrong.

She could see Carlain's pain, and she felt pity for him. She had lost her own mother. And Carlain's mother had helped to raise Isera too, so knew. She knew.
No...it was not fair. It was not. But she had committed her own sin when she was about his age. The age that she appeared now. She had suffered for that...and so Carlain now also had his mark.

Isera wanted to make a smile, or something to Theressa to acknowledge her with spirit, but she couldn't. The emotional journey wasn't finished, it was still dangerous, they still had to do something, and she was tired too. Isera nodded.
"I'm not injured." She replied. Obediently she sat still as Theressa cut the bonds on her with incredible skill. Isera stood up slowly, and stretched her arms as she could, to make sure they worked.
"We were betrayed." She said quietly to Theressa. "More of the cult is here, and planning something. And then Carlain... Is a traitor."

The word caught her painfully. Very much more painfully than she thought. She walked carefully over to Carlain and knelt down next to him.
No, there was no way he could come with her now.
But if she sent him back, that would be it. He would be punished terribly. They would find out who the other traitors were, and there would be a struggle. There would be disorder. And Cerise would lose two people in her family.

Isera bit her lip. No, she couldn't do that. She wasn't heartless like her father, who had thrown her to the wild. She rebelled against that thought.
She had to tell someone of the danger. She would have to tell her father about Cynthia at least, and the cult. With that warning and lead they might be able to do something to prevent it.
She looked back at Theressa earnestly.
"Thank you for saving me." She said, humbly and gratefully. "I-" She paused. "I know I'm asking a big favor from you. But I need help to get out of here, with him if it is possible."

[Gorgondantess]

She ponders the implications of Maurice's words for a time, nodding. "So I was right then- for the most part, that is. Most of these humans are senseless chattel, and it is the rare exception who acts with drive and power." She nods, resolved by this hypothesis. It worked well enough for her... and did fine to explain this sight.
"A... human? They're even stronger than I thought. How... It's..."
Magnificent. The word escaped her, however, and for a moment she was struck by just what their accomplishment. So this is why they were capable of such a grandiose feat as this city- this was why they were capable of becoming such a dominant force on the planet. This sight was all she needed to see- to dominate the skies and be absolved of the restraints of a flightless form, she knew to respect humanity- not humans, they were for the most part worth less than dirt, but humanity- those who took it by the reigns and steered it.
For a moment, she forgot about the buyer, wanting to just fly up there and touch it, explore it, meet the human responsible for such an accomplishment... but then Maurice's words broke her out of her reverie.
She lowers her head, face set.
"Yes. We will go to this buyer, and quickly now, come." She sets off at a rapid pace, letting Maurice catch up to her. While the allure of the airship was almost too much to resist, this terran objective was pressing- the airship would be dealt with in due time.
"You seem to be familiar with the human who commands this object. Tell me of her, all you know as we walk. She might be a worthy ally in my quest."

[The_Snark]

Mar

'Stew' was another new and fascinating experience for Mar, and she savored every spoonful. Like the porridge she'd eaten this morning, it was almost hot enough to scorch her mouth, but it left a pleasantly warm sensation in her stomach. In flavor, it was quite different, a blend of tastes richer than anything else she could remember eating.

It was a shame, then, that Jacob's shout startled her into spilling some of it. She quickly cleaned the spoonful of stew off her dress, glad to have something to distract her from the argument. It hadn't come as a complete surprise; Mar was very good at detecting the telltale warning signs of anger. She just wasn't good at doing anything about it.

Fortunately, Jacob was not one of the guards at Ironheart, and his anger spent itself without any lasting consequences. Unless, of course, you counted his restriction on going to see this seer. Mar did not particularly mind that; she didn't think she wanted to talk to a person who might be able to see what she really was. Of course, she might turn out to be a fraud, like Jacob thought, and then it would be harmless. But if that were true, she wouldn't be able to heal William's leg. Either way she did not much like the idea.

She stayed quiet for the rest of the meal, feeling oppressed by the silence. Although neither of them was saying or doing anything, she got the feeling that both Jacob and William were still angry. That was another new thing for her: in Mar's experience, anger meant imminent pain, but by the time her (or, occasionally, someone else's) punishment was over, the anger was gone. That was just about the only good thing about being punished. This lingering anger was not nearly as bad as that, but it was very uncomfortable nonetheless.

She nodded at Jacob's request, though she wasn't quite sure what he meant; neither William nor Caroline really needed her help going to bed. Caroline seemed to like having her there, though, and started speaking up again as she changed into her sleeping clothes. It was a little while before Mar realized that at this point, she was probably keeping Caroline up by staying with her, not helping put her to bed, and another little while before she managed to escape.

She closed the door to their room softly, and found Jacob still tidying up in the main room. The silence had lost most of its oppressive heaviness while she was gone. This wasn't an angry silence, he was just being quiet so as not to disturb his (allegedly) sleeping children.

She joined him. Stew, it turned out, made an awful mess, and that kept them both busy for the next few minutes, but eventually she ventured, "I think you scared Caroline." And me, she added silently. She didn't think Jacob would ever hurt her, but it was hard not to be nervous when people were shouting. "Is there something wrong with seers besides what you said?"

[Inspectre]

Cathedral City

Baerdog7

“I see that you are mad after all, Ander. There’s no secret way into the Reliquary – that would defeat the whole point of it!” Odlak scoffs, but then slows to a stop as a thought occurs to him. “No . . . surely you don’t believe those old stories, Ander. About the Reaper . . .”

Although paladins were a disciplined lot, they were still human, and humans loved to tell stories. The Church’s history is a long and rich one, and part of that tradition is the stories, passed down from generation to generation. You had heard most of them at one point or another, and so understood what Odlak was referring to now.

The Reaper – an enigmatic figure featured in a number of the Church’s stories, but with no more real substance than the boogeyman. Who and what he was changed depending on who was telling the story – demon, vampire, cursed paladin – he took all those forms and more. His role within the Church likewise changed, from personal assassin of the Council to an escaped prisoner from the Reliquary.

What Odlak was referring to were those stories in which the Reaper was an escaped Reliquary prisoner, who forged a network of tunnels beneath the Central Cathedral itself. Down there, he ruled, and he could travel to anywhere in the city he wished – as could anyone who dared face his wrath. Obviously Odlak thought of those stories as mere fiction, as did you . . . but you knew something from your time as Lord General that Odlak did not – the Reaper was real.

You knew because during your time as Lord General, you became embroiled in a protracted siege on the Sixth level. Here the fighting was some of the fiercest you had ever seen, with the devils having the advantage of reinforced fortress walls to lurk behind. You were forced to request reinforcements from other layers several times, which threatened to leave your supply lines unguarded. Finally the then Speaker at the time sent you a personal sealed letter. It said simply “Pull your men back and wait one day after you read this letter. The Reaper shall come.”

You had no real idea what this cryptic letter meant exactly, but you were used to obeying orders from the Council back then. So you pulled your men back and waited, painfully aware that doing so gave the devils an opportunity to acquire reinforcements of their own. But you waited the one day as proscribed, and when you returned you found the fortress completely empty. The devils were simply gone, with no trace of them left. The Reaper had come.

Beside you, Ricster coughs loudly.

“Well, I don’t know of any secret passages into the Reliquary, but I certainly know the Council has all manner of tunnels winding about under the city. I’ve discovered a few of them myself – always meant to see where they all led, but I had . . . ah . . . other concerns on my mind at the time. Follow me.”

Leaving you and Odlak to exchange curious glances about Ricster’s sudden revelation, the Grandmaster of the Wings of Righteousness starts heading down the street. He leads you down several more back alleys, until he comes to a darkened door. He raps smartly on it twice, and the door opens, flooding the alleyway in light and rowdy shouts from within.

“It’s me – brought a couple of friends.” Ricster said to the burly man who appeared in the doorway a moment later. The man’s swarthy pinches up into a grin a moment later, although he looks curiously at you and Odlak.

“So I see – well, any friend of yours is welcome here . . .” The man says, his voice trailing off at the end. He steps back into the room beyond, allowing you all access. Beyond you can see a crowded tavern, filled with gambling, drinking, and a few other things that are most definitely out of place in a city run by paladins.

Looking quite comfortable here, Ricster immediately starts making his way through the carousing crowd towards a door on the other side of the room, the doorman following close behind, with you and Odlak drifting along behind.

“I’ll be taking my private accommodations, as usual.” Ricster calls back over his shoulder, causing the doorman to nod again.

“Aye, sir! When shall I have the bottle of Donovale brought down?”

Ricster nearly trips as he turns around to stare at the doorman in open mouth shock, but he recovers quickly.

“No need for that tonight.” He sternly informs the doorman. “My friends and I won’t be staying long.”

The doorman quirks an eyebrow, but shrugs and then separates from your group. “Call if you require anything else, sir.”

“You seem rather familiar with this place Ricster – and the doorman seems quite familiar with you. Bring many friends here?” Odlak bellows over the din as you reach the door. Ricster pretends not to hear him as he twists the door open and steps inside to what appears to be a closet. At least, until he knocks on one wall very precisely, tripping a hidden switch and swinging a concealed door open.

“Everybody has secrets, often dirty ones. We here to talk about mine, or the Council’s?” Ricster snaps after you are all crammed inside. Picking up a lantern hanging from a peg just inside the secret door, he lights it, revealing the tunnel slopping down into the unknown. Following it leads into a small chamber, which seems to have been converted into a makeshift bedchamber judging from the mattress in one corner. Stepping over to the mattress, Ricster kicks it and the associates sheets aside, and begins running his hand along the wall, just above the floor.

“I discovered this one by uh, accident one night. Mmm . . .that was an interesting night.” He says, nearly falling into the hole that suddenly appears after a small panel gives way beneath his hand.

“There we are!” He says, kneeling down to lower the lantern down into the hole. A low-ceiling tunnel is revealed by the pale light, stretching off into darkness. “I’m afraid this next part is going to be a bit of a squeeze, especially with us in armor. But if my memory is correct, it should widen out in a bit, and then we’ll have a choice of which way we go. Never explored the tunnels though, so your guess is as good as mine which one we want.”

“This is absurd!” Odlak growls. “We should forget all this foolish scampering around in dark tunnels and deal with the problem directly. I am a Grandmaster, it is within my rights to go request an inspection tour of the Reliquary!”

“Oh? And do you think the Council will have added a section labeled “Ander’s irrefutable proof of the Council’s wrongdoing” since your last inspection? There are some places in there even Grandmasters aren’t allowed and you know it! It’s the perfect place for them to hide something, really.”

“And you think that scurrying blindly about in dark tunnels like some sort of rat will accomplish anything more!?” Odlak smirks. “Although it seems fornicating like one appeals to you.”

“What did you just say!?” Ricster snarls, leaping back up to his feet. The two men glare at each other in the dim illumination still provided by the lantern. Although tactless as usual, Odlak still had a point – you had the tunnels, apparently, but no way of knowing how to find your way through them, let alone how to follow them into the Reaper’s legendary tunnels (which may or may not exist even if he/she/it most certainly does).

Archpaladin Zousha

Mario listens to your story intently, although it seems he is not the only one – from his perch on the chair, the wizened figure of the Black General also listens, a bemused smile splitting his face. For a long few moments after you finish your story Mario is silent, but then he slowly shakes his head.

“I believe you Hondshioh, but I still don’t see why this has led you to break into the Reliquary. This is a dark place, yes, but it is a place where Evil is contained, not conducted!”

“Hmph. How like a paladin, to see Evil everywhere except where he refuses to look. Are you really so sure of what you just said child, or have you merely convinced yourself it must be true?” The Black General chortles from his padded throne. Mario glares at him a moment, and begins to speak, but stops as a look of horror slowly settles over his face.

“No . . . it is not possible. Argh, how could I not see it!?” Mario reaches up and tugs on his hair, a nervous habit he had occasionally displayed as a cadet. “There is new construction work being done on the lowest level! We were all informed about it, but advised to keep out except for specialized teams. Supposedly they are building new cells down there in preparation for a renewed Crusade, and didn’t want anyone down there for fear of accidentally disturbing the existing cells.”

“And of course you all believed them, because why would they ever lie to you.” The Black General adds, his voice dripping with contempt.

Mario looks at you sadly, his shoulders slumped.

“If they’re doing anything here in the Reliquary, it’s down there. But it doesn’t matter now. The whole Reliquary will be in lockdown in another five minutes, and this new area is six floors down. We can’t fight out way through that many guards, and I don’t have the authority to clear us a path.”

Katashiko quirks an eyebrow at you.

“No offense, but I think six floors of angry paladins is a little much, even for me. We may want to start thinking about an exit strategy here.”

Mario snorts. “You aren’t getting out the same way you came in, that’s for sure. The entire reserve force is probably mobilizing now, and they’ll come flooding in from the ground floor and start working their way down, clearing each and every cell as they go. Every non-passive ward should be activated by now, preventing most magical means of egress as well. We aren’t trapped yet, but they’ll find us sooner or later.”

From his chair, the Black General chuckles, and then stands with an exaggerated groan.

“Well, this is certainly amusing – a couple paladins and their charming associate requiring the assistance of a devil lord.”

Mario glares at the devil-in-old-man’s clothing.

“We will make no deals with you, fiend!”

The Black General merely chortles again.

“Oh really? Well, how fortunate then that I’m offering this assistance completely free of charge. Most of your fellow idiots don’t realize this, child, but I am held here merely by my own will. I swore an oath to remain in this prison, and I will uphold that oath until such time as your Speaker releases me from it.”

The old man grins, his cracked lips parting to reveal an array of dark fangs.

“However . . . I never said I would not help others to leave my cell.”

Stretching, the Black General reaches out and casually rakes the air with one gnarled hand. It is as if he is tearing a hole in reality itself, as his hand leaves behind a dark portal quivering in the air.

“Step through that, and you will find yourselves at the bottom of this facility, only a handful of steps away from the door leading to – well, whatever exactly it is the Council is up to.”

“And why exactly, are you wanting to help us?” Katashiko asks, quirking an eyebrow. The Black General shrugs.

“Perhaps because I feel like it. Perhaps because I’m lying, and this portal actually leads nowhere except the middle of a rock formation, where I will get to hear the breath explosively crushed from your lungs as you materialize in the middle of a thousand tons of stone.”

The Black General shrugs and locks eyes with you, a clear challenge in them.

“An existence without risk is a boring one, wouldn’t you say? Of course, if you would rather take your chances with the rest of the Reliquary Guard, the door is right over there.”

Stonefall

The_Snark

At your words, Jacob grimaces and sighs.

“I know. I’ll figure out some way to make it up to them – both of them. I lost my temper and I shouldn’t have – I just remembered my own experiences and saw red.”

Jacob sinks heavily into a chair by the table, and motions for you to join him.

“I believe I told you I used to know a girl. Brave, caring, kind . . . she was all those things and more. I loved her, but then – she disappeared. No, she was taken, seized by the Baron’s men and dragged away for gods’ know what. For a long time, I thought I could find her, save her. Oh, I was young and foolish back then. I thought I knew everything there was to know about the world, and there were those who saw that naiveté. Exploited it for their own gain. Charlatans one and all, promised they knew where to find her, that they had seen it in visions, dreams, crystal balls – whatever. And for a few gold, they could probe deeper for more information. They got it and more – everything I owned, in fact. Eventually I made my way back here, penniless and heartbroken. It was a hard lesson for a boy my age to learn, but I learned it well. And I’d rather not William learn it in the same way.”

Jacob sighs heavily, looking down sadly at his hands.

“I never forgot her, but I gave up trying to find her and assumed she was dead. I married, had a child, had an affair, had another child, and have been here ever since, trying to raise them both. Caroline’s named for her, actually. They look nothing alike really, but in another few years, I hope she will be like her namesake in spirit.”

Images of Caroline – a girl whose memories you had – flash through your mind. She (you?) was everything Jacob said, and Caroline never forgot him either. At least, not until Daddy inevitably broke her, tearing apart her mind just as he had done with her body, until all that was left was a frightened, subdued mess. And then he had cut her heart out shortly thereafter, and nailed her body to the wall like a perverse trophy.

What *were* you? Why did you have all these memories? Your own, Caroline’s, countless other girls . . . and the woman – no, the angel Marisiel’s. They had all suffered the same fate – tortured horribly by Daddy, before he killed him. You had avoided that end . . . somehow . . . but couldn’t remember how at all. Why couldn’t you remember that part, the dark gap between entering the hall of trophies and awakening in the cold snow outside the village? The uncomfortable twisting of your stomach warned that you would not like the answer, if you ever did remember.

The Island of Dr(?) Sohssal

Iethloc

Electrifying the water seems to do the trick, and most of the merfolks slump down and drift to the floor, either dead or unconscious. You should not have to worry about an attack from behind at this point. Going back to the rendezvous point, you find Roger, now back in his female body, and Shanks working on several crossbows.

“Not the best gear after being left to rot all these time, but these’ll do.” Shanks said, expertly disassembling several crossbows, apparently getting parts to re-assemble into more reliable weapons. Several quivers full of bolts sit piled next to them, although like the crossbows not all of the bolts were in serviceable condition. No matter, they would do well enough to keep the two of them busy while you dealt with the majority of the army.

Speaking of the army of merfolk, it would appear that the vanguard was here, as the first ranks clambered up over the top of the cliff. They began to form up again, doing their best to stay spread out now that they were aware a powerful mage was amongst their enemies. It would do them little good, but it amused you to see that they were already beginning to fear you.

Unexpectedly, they did not launch an attack against your home. Instead, one of them came forward a short distance from the others, cradling a conch shell. Raising it up to its face, the creature spoke into it, its voice booming through the conch shell somehow.

“Denizens of island! The Lord of the Sea wishes to parley with you! Send one of your number outside to speak! You will not be harmed unless you threaten harm!”

The Lord of the Sea? Who the hell is that?

Presumably the master of these merfolk.

Omega responds from her location, somewhere else within the manor – evidently she had found her own spot to take in preparation for the defense.

“Oh, I should have known! Tis Davy Johns Himself that be wishing to speak with us!” Shanks cries, making a warding sign with one hand. “I dunno if this is a good or bad sign, but ye best not piss Him off! He’ll sink the whole island on us!”

Dark Falls

Kasanip

At your explanation, Theresea nods.

“I knew I saw something dark in him!” She growls, looking back to glare at the fallen teenager. “Do you want me to finish it? Out of respect of your connection to him, I’m willing to make it quick.”

As you stood, stretching the ache out of your muscles and regarding Carlain, you wondered if that would be a better fate. The punishment for his crimes might well be death, or life imprisonment in some sort of secret jail – although given what you had recently learned, Ironheart was probably not the best place to put him. There were lesser punishments, of course, but the Canticle took a very dim view of association with demons in any form. When this got out, and Carlain was exposed as a traitor and a warlock, his life would be over, in one way or another. The news would hurt Cerise terribly.

Trying to figure out what to do with Carlain, you turn back to Theresea, thanking her and asking her to help get you both out of here. Theresea quirks an eyebrow in surprise.

“Both of you? If you do not want me to deal with the worm myself, why not leave him for the constabulary? I doubt he will be a threat they can’t handle with his broken hands, and most sensible people know what to do with a warlock.”

Indeed, that was one of the reasons why you wanted both yourself and Carlain out of sight as soon as possible. Now that the threat and surprise was gone, the assembled crowd was beginning to grow in anger. If there was a rabble-rouser nearby, it would not take the crowd long to get whipped up into a murderous frenzy, and then Carlain would be burned at the stake on the spot.

That fear seemed to be diminished as a man in chainmail and wielding a club pushed his way through the crowd to you.

“I’m Constable Jonas.” The man introduces himself, looking at you, Theresea, and Carlain interchangeably. “I was hoping you would be able to explain to me what is going on here?”

“We gots a witch!” Someone in the crowd shouted, followed by another, “Yeah, a he-witch! Burn him!”

Scowling, the constable turned away from you.

“Show’s over folks! You are to disperse immediately! Anyone who doesn’t will get a day in the stocks as a lesson!”

This caused a few of the more foolish or simply agitated members of the crowd to start booing and hissing, and the constable had his hands full getting the stubborn crowd to obey his commands for a couple minutes, long enough for you and Theresea to disappear (with Carlain), if that was your wish.

(You can split town immediately with Carlain, stay and talk to the constable about what’s going on/alert him to Cynthia’s kidnapping and sacrifice spree, or leave with Carlain and Theresea in tow and go back to confront Cynthia. Or find a quiet spot to contact the Canticles. I think those are most of your options at present, but there could always be something that I missed. )

The Capital

WhiteKnight777

Although she listens impassively (damn her lack of emotions making it impossible to tell if you were getting through to her), Fianna shakes her head slowly after you are finished.

“Ah Umber, always so stubborn. It is what has gotten you this far, and one of the things I used to love about you. But that stubbornness has also blinded you to the truth. We all worked so hard to achieve eternal life, but for what purpose? So we could live eternally? What an empty, meaningless cycle – we live because we live. At least in a natural existence, Death would come eventually to end our pointless existence. In the end, all things die Umber. But you couldn’t accept that, could you? You filled all our heads with the idea that our existence didn’t have to end, that we could bend the world to our will – force it to allow us to continue in our own endless paradise.”

Fianna spreads her hands wide.

“I think we can both agree that this is most certainly not a paradise. But in your stubbornness you have failed to learn the lesson. Do you really think our technique was so flawed? There will always be some sacrifice necessary, some blood that must be spilled for eternal life. And setting aside the fact that you have already abandoned your eternal life in favor of returning things to the way they once were, let’s talk about this supposed future of yours. Even if you are able to acquire eternal life a second time, what are you going to do with it? The same thing you’ve done with your last one – squander it on meaningless endeavors? Can you name even one thing that you’ve done in all these thousands of years Umber, just one thing that has had true meaning? That has had any permanent impact on the world? That can refute my claim that the only thing you’ve managed to accomplish is stretch your meaningless existence from the course of decades to millennia?”

Fianna pauses a moment, and then shakes her head.

“I thought not. And so let us come to your final argument, my dear Umber. You believe that this “cure” of yours will end my suffering? You are a fool – my suffering ended the moment I put that chalice to my lips. I am incapable of remorse, or despair, or the thousand other words mankind has developed to define the fickle mental dysfunctions known as “emotions”. In that same moment, I felt the child growing within me die. I had only suspected its existence up to that moment, and in that awful moment I realized fully what I had done before the comforting numbness shot through me. In a sense, I died in that moment, but it is only now that Oblivion comes to finish the job.”

Fianna pushes herself up to her feet, and then extends a hand towards you, complete with accusing finger.

“So tell me, Umber. What could possibly motivate you to hate me so much that you wish to inflict upon me all that suffering that Death sparred me from? To make me feel all the anguish of losing our unborn child, all these thousands of years later, as if it were yesterday? Furthermore, under what delusion do you suffer that you would think my agony would not harden into cold hatred of you? You, the man who murdered our child – and for no other reason than the fact that he simply didn’t want to grow old and die, like every other creature in existence? Who was arrogant enough to believe he was worthy of eternal life, even when he did nothing, neither to deserve it nor with it once he had it.”

Throughout this entire tirade, Fianna’s voice never once wavered, nor rose or lowered in pitch. Truly, her lack of emotions was a blessing in this case, for by your judgment the real Fianna would have attacked by now. Instead she simply stood there, waiting for your next argument to pass the time while her executioner continued to make his way ever nearer.

Gorgondantess

“Him, actually – the Baron of Gast.” Maurice corrects, sneaking another nervous glance up at the airship. “I have never had any direct dealings with him, thank the gods, but I have heard many rumors. The stories the humans tell each other are numerous, but they are all disturbing. For the last forty years he has ruled his Barony with an iron fist, growing in power like a cancer. I have always wondered why the king and other nobles did not remove him from power, but I assumed it was politics of some sort that stayed their hand, allowing him to reach this point.”

Maurice inclines her head up at the airship.

“I have never heard of him to reveal his full power so openly, however, so I can only imagine something has changed. I heard that the king is now dead, without leaving any heirs behind. Perhaps the Baron wishes to become a King, and is here to stake his claim to the throne with an impressive show of force to quiet any rivals.”

Maurice shakes her head, and then continues, her tone almost pleading.

“Please don’t go to him. I do not know everything about that man, but I have heard a few stories involving angels. If those are true, then he is an enemy of the gods, and will come into conflict with them sooner or later. But while that might make him interested in an alliance with you, he is everything you claim to want – power at all costs. Even if the two of you together conquer the entire world, and the Heavens above and the Hells below, it will never be enough. One of you will turn on the other – and I shudder to think what he would do to you if he was the victor.”

Perhaps embarrassed by this request, or merely cowed by your growing impatience, Maurice remains silent the rest of the way to the docks. A number of ships are tied up at the docks – a few of good size, but none anywhere near the enormity of the one now hanging in the sky above the city. A number of sailors move about, alternatively working on their ships and gawking up at the Baron’s personal transportation. Down here, efficiency seems to be key, and as such everything is clearly labeled. Thus it is a simple matter to locate Storehouse 11, which seems oddly deserted compared to the hustle and bustle in the rest of the docks.

There is a man standing by the door, however, who nods as you approach.

“Buyer’s inside. Is this the merchandise?” The man asks Maurice, eyeing you up and down incredously.

“Um . . . no. I am.” Maurice says quietly, stepping up beside you. The man blinks in confusion a moment, and then shrugs.

“If you say so. You certainly don’t look like an angel to me.” The man grouses, pounding twice on the door before opening it. “Go on inside.”

You make it a few feet inside before a voice calls from somewhere behind a stack of crates, “Alright, that’s far enough. I want to see this angel for myself right now – and call me crazy, but I seem to remember angels having wings.”

Maurice glances at you, clearly asking permission to reveal herself.

[Gorgondantess]

"Maurice... you've been spending too much time among these humans.
Power doesn't mean rulership. I have no desire to become a queen, to dictate the lives of humans- that is beneath me. If one needs a throng to be powerful, then they aren't really that powerful, now, are they? Power exists regardless of external beings. It isn't politics- it is knowledge, intellect, skill, capability- all of these things comprise power. It is... the ability to react well to various circumstances. Perfectly, that is. And it is the inability to fail.
Besides, I do not desire power- I am power. You have seen it yourself- standing in the church, I acquired hundreds of devoted followers with a few choice words and a flick of the wrist. I don't need a kingdom, so long as I know I am capable of obtaining one.
Thus, this Baron is of no danger. Either he truly believes he needs these chattel to become powerful, and thus poses no threat, or he is powerful, and simply desires rulership for whatever human reason. And thus we have a bargaining chip. I can give help him obtain the power he seeks, and so he'll not harm me, for I would not harm his position.
Of course you forget, Maurice. I cannot die. I will go to this man, and I will bring you with me, as I always have. He will prove to be a valuable ally, and I'll not turn down a resource that is handed to me so readily. Now come- we have a buyer to deal with."
At the docks, she silences Maurice before she answers the guard. "Of course."
Inside the building, she responds to Maurice's look with a wink- a delightful human gesture- and concentrates for a moment, transforming. She grows brilliant white wings, growing tall and strong, a facsimile of her current form as Maurice's angel form was a facsimile of her human form. White skin, glowing, she looked quite the angel. She glances at Maurice, clearly saying "improvise".

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Hondshioh takes in the words of his friend and the devil lord. This certainly wasn't something he could extricate himself from easily. Not without breaking his promises. But a fiend couldn't possibly be trusted. and yet...

"If an angel can lie about serving a holy cause, when her real purpose is the murder of a good man...then who is to say that a devil lord wouldn't tell the truth? Besides, whatever lies you may tell could not be worse than the truth I fear lies below. And even if you chose to betray us and bury us under rock, Katashiko is a mistress of the Earth and I have the blood of stone giants in my veins. Mere stone would not kill us. We will use your portal, Black General. After all, what choice do we have? Mario, will you accompany us? I won't hold it against you if you choose to stay behind."

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber threw back his head, and he laughed. Despite all that had happened - all the pain, all the loss, all the trials and tribulations he had gone through, everything he had suffered from Ironheart to here, and despite the fact that the person he loved most in the world was standing here telling him, in effect, that neither of them were worthy of living, he laughed at her series of questions. When he had finished, he was doubled over, clutching his knees and momentarily cursing that newly rediscovered necessity of "breathing." He straightened up, wiping tears from each eye with the back of his hand as aftershocks of mirth tumbled from his lips. He shook his head and signed.

"Ah, Fianna, my love... your sacrifice was the unwisest of all, I think - and it's as much my fault for not spotting it as for you. You carved out the best part of yourself in return for eternal life - but life is nothing without feelings. I wish you'd seen that, and I wish that I had, too - we should have found another option for you."

He looked at her directly a strange little smile on his features. "Did you think your questions would be new to me? That I had not considered, in all my thousands of years, what worth my continued existence held? I have. And every time I asked myself, in the dark hours before the dawn, if my life was worth living, I answered yes."

"You say my life lacks meaning, that I have squandered it. Foolishness. Purpose is not something that can be given, and it need not be something great or grand. The purpose of life can be something as simple as living itself - one can find meaning in the simplest of things. A good meal. The sight of the eastern steppes rolling out beyond the horizon, or the view from a mountaintop at sunrise. Strolling through the quiet towers of dreaming Celephaïs as dusk rolls down the streets and pains the buildings with sunset-shadows. Or, most of all, in the touch of the person one loves most." Umber smiled, a little sadly.

"I'm sure to you, that seems stupid. It seems saccharine. It seems like something a simpering poet would say, or else a sybarite trying to justify their own lackadaisical indulgence of base pleasures. But it's true all the same. Of course, that is not the only thing that gives life meaning - it can be lived for grander purposes, too: To spread one's faith to the four corners of the earth. To change the world, for good or for ill. To conquer a kingdom with one's own two bloodied hands, or to sway it by strength of will and word. The only thing that holds true is that purpose is perception - it exists wherever an individual finds it. Life needs no justification for itself - only a person puts that sort of weight on their actions and thoughts. Like everything, purpose is subjective."

He shrugged and continued. "Of course, your argument was not without merit - to believe that we could lock the worlds or ourselves in stasis without repercussion was ill-conceived. People change, and the world changes - that is the only constant. Not in all ways, and not all the time - but change happens. The next time we find a way to hold death at bay, we will need to be a bit... flexible."

He chewed his lip, looking at Fianna speculatively. "And you may be right that I have squandered my immortality. I certainly should have sought out you ages ago, and tried to aid you. I was hurt, I suppose, by your coldness, and your rejection, and I was childish and petulant without understanding it. I should have helped you, one way or another. I can only hope you will give me time to make amends for our mistakes - because we can change, Fianna. And we can make the world something better, if we so choose. We have the strength, and we have the will - we failed once, and were rejected. But just because we choose a poor place and poor methods to enact our will does not mean that it cannot be done."

He smiled at her, taking a small step forward, his hands extended and his palms up, a mirror of Fianna's own gesture. "Give me this chance, Fianna - this chance to make things right between us. If I cannot - if I cannot restore your emotions, or, if after I have done so and a little time is passed you cannot see at least some merit in what I say, then I swear I will join you in death - that is how much I believe in my words. Life need not be perfect to be sweet, my love - and if it is the loss of our son that so torments you, than we will find a way to fix that, too. I do not mean some vile necromatic ritual as Kartul would perform - but we will find a way to bring back our baby boy. Only let me help you for a little while, Fianna - you have very little to lose, and everything to gain."

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram remains terse for the next few hours, speaking only when directly addressed, and even then usually with monosyllabic responses. He keeps an eye on the intoxicated Katrina, but she avoids injuring herself and he is content to leave it at that, despite his growing apprehension at her ability to go through with the plan.

He is thus relieved when Fernard offers them the potions. He sighs gently as Katrina immediately consumes one, and slides forward to help catch her before she falls. He lets the guard take her into the next room before turning back to Fernard and the other proffered.

"Yeah, thanks."

He accepts the vial.

"I'll take it once I'm in the crate. Which one do I get?"

Spoiler

Show

Note: Korram isn't actually planning to drink from the vial.

[Lonna]

Pyrene the Dreamer

Valeria fell, eyes fixed on the beacon of hope above her.

Madeline cursed silently as the muffled thud of her landing echoed through the sea cave. The last thing she wanted to do was alert Cassandra and whatever companions she still had to the fact that they were being followed. Of course, it could very well be just Cassandra at this point - the periodic camps full of deceased treasure hunters made that bitch's trail an easy one to follow. Speaking of which...

Madeline approached the body lying a few feet further into the cave cautiously, but soon relaxed. As she had suspected, the man's face bore the tell-tale marks of Cassandra's favorite poison: greenish skin and swollen purple mouth. It was her favorite because it took several hours to begin affecting the victim, which was plenty of time to take the antidote after poisoning a shared dish or drink, but it killed within minutes of the symptoms appearing. Shaking her head, Madeline stood up and continued into the cave.

There was never any question of which way Cassandra had gone - slain lackeys were strewn liberally along the path. Some had clearly been tricked into triggering traps, their bodies then used to jam the mechanisms. Others had succumbed to the poison and were left to lie where they had fallen. By the time she reached the final chamber, she had passed nearly a dozen poor sods foolish enough to follow her traitorous former-friend to the Vainglory Cache.

And what a cache it was: Mounds of gold, jewels, and other valuables, heaped carelessly toward the ceiling. It was truly everything Cassandra had promised and more. A thin trail of clear space wound through the piles nearest the doors, effectively blocking the view of whatever treasures were further within, and muffling the voices- wait, voices? Madeline spared a split second to be surprised that anyone was left alive before softly creeping closer to try and make out what was being said. One voice was arrogant and gloating, the other weak and pleading - probably the last grunt begging for his life, finally realizing what had happened to his companions was no accident or mistake. Well, he was about to get a second chance at survival, assuming he didn't do anything stupid once she dealt with Cassandra. Readying a crossbow, Madeline stepped carefully around the treasure heaps toward the voices.

"Don't you think it's a bit premature to be..." The rest of the sentence trailed away as Madeline took in the scene before her. Cassandra was tightly bound with her arms behind her, skirts torn and crumpled round her waist, and tears welling from eyes that were in the process of swelling shut. Her apparent captor and assailant was a mere boy, no more than fifteen summers. Madeline vaguely remembered that he had joined the treasure hunters with an expert lockpick, who had used him primarily to fetch and carry. He had always seemed rather useless to Madeline. He also now had a blade poised over Cassandra's heart.

While clearly surprised by her appearance, the youth collected himself quickly and leaned on the sword a bit, eliciting a whimper from Cassandra. "You don't want to come any closer," he said forcefully. "I've already gotten everything I want here, I don't mind killing your friend."

Madeline laughed out loud at that, making the boy jump. "You clearly don't understand the situation. I came here to kill that traitorous bitch. Having you kill her instead is only a slightly less desirable outcome. Do it, or let me do it, and we'll split the treasure, you and I."

For a long moment the youth looked back and forth between the two women, taking in the bloodthirsty look in Madeline's eyes and crossbow held easily in her hands. Slowly he stepped back and nodded for Madeline to take his place in front of Cassandra. "All right. She's all yours."

Cassandra's eyes had widened in shock at Madeline's words, and now she babbled pleadingly. "No! Maddy, please, it wasn't my fault, it was Demetrius' idea, you don't understand! He- gods, he hurt me, he'll turn on you too, please, don't trust-"

"Shut up Cass," Madeline snarled, planting herself directly in front of her disheveled former friend. "You double-crossed your best friends; you deserve whatever suffering you've had and more. Consider it a mercy that I'm sending you to Hell with Donallo's crossbow now." Point made, Madeline ignored the rest of Cassandra's squealing as she carefully lined up the crossbow bolt on the traitor's heart-

and then looked down dumbfounded at the sword that sprouted from her stomach and impaled Cassandra. Behind her she could hear the boy, Demetrius, panting from the effort of thrusting the blade through them both. Then the pain struck, and she could barely hear his triumphant words as she collapsed down the steel onto her childhood companion.

"Sorry, but you really should have listened to your friend. I don't like to share, and I don't like to leave loose ends."

Madeline closed her eyes, feeling her life fade even as the bastard's gloating laughter did.

Pyrene opened her eyes and listened to Wulfric's hurried apology. Gingerly she raised a hand to her sore jaw, then dropped it to her chest. "I guess you thought it was right thing to do." Left unspoken was the more accurate statement: With Umber gone and Wulfric and herself unharmed, it seemed that it had been the right thing to do.
Dismissing that line of thought, Pyrene lay still, contemplating the sky and the series of bizzarre dreams that had plagued her since the discovery of her magic. Except that they didn't, strictly speaking, seem to be dreams. Some of them seemed to be related to each other, and there was the one of Wulfric... that one was a memory. So were they all memories? But how can that be? They would have to be the memories of a dozen different people! And a couple of them...
"Oh... oh gods!" Pyrene sat up suddenly, her fair skin going even paler as she suddenly remembered two very specific dream-visions. "He was Umber... and he called my mirror image Fianna. I've dreamed those names. I've seen him, through her eyes. And not just them - I've seen through a dozen eyes or more." Thoroughly spooked, Pyrene stared at Wulfric, trying to wrap her head around the idea that these were not merely dreams. "What in all the Heavens and Hells am I?"

[Baerdog7]

Lord General Ander Windrivver

The Reaper...I know he's real, but will he help us?

Ander follows Ricster as he leads them through the back alleys and into his small private room.

Whoa, take it easy you two, Ander interjects, gently pushing Oldak and Ricster apart. Ricster's right, the Council won't just allow you into the deepest sections of the Reliquary. These tunnels are our best option. Besides, he turns to Oldak and smiles wryly, you don't fear the Reaper do you?

Ander summons a trio of his holy orbs which settle into a lazy orbit around him as he squeezes into the tunnel, taking the lead. He shuffles down until the tunnel widens. So Ricster, how deep into these tunnels have you explored?