Flight From Ironheart IC

[Dorizzit]

Korram the Purifier

"I don't care."

Korram gets the Baron's measure in their first exchange of blows. He was skilled, but also looked for every opportunity to fight dirty. Korram is hardly above low blows, but the Baron took dirty fighting to a whole knew level. The Baron soon gains the advantage, as Korram is still exhausted and weakened, while the Baron is fresh and taking full advantage of Korram's vulnerability. Still, he had forgotten one thing. Korram winds one arm up and conjures a fireball.

"Back off."

Korram hurls the flames directly into the Baron, then smirks in satisfaction, only to be shocked as the Baron strides confidently out of the flames.

Wonderful.

The irony of the next few moments is not lost on Korram. He is now facing a physically modified human with elemental powers. Now Korram knows how all of his opponents felt. Irritating. He manages to deflect the worst of the Baron's flurry of opportunistic attacks, then wipes the blood out of his eyes and surveys the situation. Noting the Countess' peril, Korram takes the opportunity provided by Katrina to generate an explosion in the air near Amelia, powerful enough to hurl her onto the roof. It might be painful, but it wouldn't be enough to meaningfully harm her.

Korram then turns his full attention back to the Baron. He looks aside at Katrina, then charges in at the same time as her. The two launch a blistering assault of physical blows on the Baron, but his regeneration quickly heals any injuries he receives. In exchange, he manages to land a few hits of his own back; Korram is unharmed due to his own regeneration, but Katrina feels her injuries. Eventually, Korram is knocked back by a lucky punch from the Baron. While he is still reeling, the Baron focuses his full attention on Katrina. He grabs her wrist when she tries to stab him, then forces her to drop the knife and knees her in the stomach. Before she can react, he hurls her into the far wall. She slumps to the ground, briefly stunned but not badly wounded. Before the Baron can take advantage of this to finish her off, Korram recovers and charges him.

"Don't touch her!"

Korram drives the Baron back from sheer fury, but his rage inhibits him and the Baron lands a number of hits before lifting him from his feet and then slamming him into the ground before kicking him away. Korram rolls to a stop and rises unsteadily. He grasps for ideas; fire doesn't work, and he has no chance in a straight fight in his current state. Then a plan comes to him.

As the Baron approaches, Korram turns his flames inward, igniting the inside of his body as he had once done in Ironheart. While it had once caused him excruciating pain, in his augmented body it was merely uncomfortable. The Baron lashes out, but Korram's hand flashes out and grabs his foe's fist before it can impact.

"Enough."

Now easily stronger than the Baron, Korram squeezes until he feels the bones in the Baron's fist shatter, the strikes up with his knee and breaks the arm at the elbow. Grabbing the Baron's arm with both of his, Korram swings him into the alley's wall hard enough to break completely through it. Korram follows in, preventing the Baron from regaining his footing. He headbutts the Baron hard enough to break his nose, then grabs his remaining uninjured arm. With concern, he notes that the other injuries he had inflicted were already nearly healed.

"You think I've 'overdone' fire? Fine."

Korram draws his free hand back, then morphs it into a jagged obsidian blade, as Purifier had explained before. With a bestial growl, he rams it through the Baron's stomach.

"No more fire."

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal was glad that Arlan seemed to be reasonable so far. Perhaps they could have been allies had the Sages not imprisoned him. That was not something he would be willing to forgive, even if they were technically on the same side. Sadly, revenge had to wait because of the threat of Miriam.

Indeed, revenge was not particularly high on Sohssal's list of priorities when Miriam got a hold of him. Instead, he focused on the defiance his demonic essence allowed (the fact it could even react differently than the part he still thought of as himself was disquieting) to ignore her divine commands and that patronizing illusion. He did not find that alternate life very compelling. The respect of one's peers can be lost, but immortality was, by definition, forever...and he would not let forever end now!

Without hesitation or regret, he cast the quickened teleport. Getting teleported into a wall or a pool of lava is not harmful to an incorporeal being. Even if he ended up near something that could harm incorporeal things, what's the chance that it could stop him from teleporting out if it couldn't stop him from getting in? But as far as completely random destinations go, a frozen wasteland was pretty good.


Sohssal floated away from his point of arrival while thinking about where to go next (there was no reason to make it easier for anyone to trace him). Getting right back to the Baron – and thus away from the clutches of Miriam – was tempting. He wanted to try getting back in touch with his old friend Seymour. He did not seem repelled by Sohssal's demonic nature, but he was surrounded by those who were, so he made a mental note to get back to him when he had the energy to guarantee discretion. For now, he wanted to get back to Omega and Shanks. They were the people he could come closest to trusting.

Once again, he cast the teleportation with the coordinates given to him, and this time he used more conventional (and less energetic) means of concealing his teleport, scattering several sets of false coordinates among the traces of the spell. When he arrived at his destination, he stilled his mind in order to look for the ever-reliable mental link with Omega.

I've finished my little side trip – I almost got killed by Miriam. But now it's time to gather up what resources we have left, and then have a talk with the Baron about what, exactly, we're expected to do. Also, have you learned anything about that GHAST? he tried to mentally relay to Omega.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

Isera frowned as she read the document about the Hellrazers. The fact that the cult leader used the phrase that was a motto of the Hellrazers was unexpected. It was not a comforting feeling, because it meant that there was closer relationship of the Hellrazers and this cult than she hoped.

Well, or the traitor knew of this motto.

The rest of the document was more and more troubling. A rogue wizard, the warlock escaped from their trap. Ember Montiguard had been killed by Acute Cystic Mana Enervation.

Isera stopped there.
There was something important with that. Her mother had died from it, and now Cerise's mother was dying of it.
Isera's gaze sharpened.
It wasn't a disease. Or if it was a condition, it was bigger than coincidence chance. Both women who were there died from it. And Cerise's mother had contact with Cerise's father, who was there.
It wasn't good.

The rest of the evidence was harder than this.
Cerise's urgent calls didn't help Isera calm down.
Her father had signed out the documents.

Isera sat down on the table, feeling weak.

"No...It can't be my father. It doesn't make sense! Who was the rogue warlock?" Isera whispered to herself.

"It can't be right. If anything, my father isn't stupid enough to leave such an easy to follow trail." She denied again. But Cerise could probably see the look of horror on her face.

"There was another. The rogue wizard they were chasing... I have to find out who that was." She looked at Cerise. "I need your help. I need you to find out who that was. But I have to go to my father.

I..." She stopped. "I have to find out who had access to his office. But...that's going to be impossible." She realizes with a groan. It was a month ago, and it was possible anyone from the Canticles could have come seen him on business.

She had to confront him about it directly then. If he checked out the documents, then she had to know why. If he really was a traitor, he could break her heart there.

She stood up swiftly and handed the book back to Cerise. She was full of focus and determination now. She started away quickly.

"Please Cerise, don't tell anyone yet. I have to go speak to my father. Now." She said, hurrying almost to a run.

[Lonna]

[[OOC: Sorry for the long wait for this post. Three times I started it, twice I nearly finished it, only to get kicked off by the library computer before I could save it. It's mostly reactions, but I felt they were important enough to not just fast forward with another DM.]]

Pyrene

“I don’t know what the Hells you were thinking, running off again like that! No, of course you don’t think when your sister is involved. Did you at least get proof of her existence this time? Do you even know who that old geezer is!? That was Duke Volesin – father of the men you killed in your Escape from Ironheart – and a downright shifty bastard if the rumors I heard about him as a boy are true! What’s an old geezer like him doing with you dressed up like this!? Gods!”

Pyrene flinched from his growled reproach, pulling her hand away from his as she stammered out the only response that occurred to her: "It w-w-was Ariella's f-f-favorite s-s-story."

“What the hells happened to your neck!?” He growls a moment later, gently prodding the makeshift bandage still wrapped around your throat and helping keep your dress intact.

“Honestly Jacqueline, I have no idea how the Hells you manage to get yourself into these situations. Or how you manage to survive them, for that matter. You aren’t going to keep getting lucky, and I’m getting a little tired of having to play the white knight only for you to throw yourself head-long into danger again.”

Before Pyrene could formulate a response, Wulfric was gone, swallowed in the fighting that seemed to have blossomed out of the very air around them. And then Duke Volesin was there, her mother's killer, alive and angry.

“I am quickly running out of patience. Come with me right now, or your little sister is dead. First thing when I get home!”

Pyrene let out a piercing shriek as the Duke and Wulfric fought, leading to Volesin's merciless beating of Wulfric. Still, either the panic she had absorbed was wearing off, or she was getting more used to working through it, because she had the presence of mind to make it wordless, rather than shouting Wulfric's name.

Then Argan spoke, and Volesin broke off the beating in favor of preventing the assassin's interference, grabbing Pyrene and dragging her behind him. Unaware of the silent tears streaming down her face, Pyrene turned away from Wulfric and followed Volesin with no more resistance than she had shown when the men's situation was reversed.

[The_Snark]

Mar

Branches beat at her arms and wings as she fled through the trees, lashing her with ice and needles. Mar paid them no heed, too caught up with the hurt inside her to care about outside.

That look! That look he'd given her! Shock, horror, a little bit of disgust. She knew Jacob didn't hate her. Not really. (Surely not?) It was telling him about what happened to Caroline that had done, it, probably. Mar could tell she'd caught him utterly by surprise; he'd started to think of her as normal, and then she told him what she really was... No. Stop thinking like that. He doesn't hate me. But she also knew he could become very angry even with people he lo- liked, and she didn't want him to be angry with her. Would he be mad that she'd kept Caroline's fate a secret?

That wasn't really why she was running, though. He'd hurt her, and she'd learned she didn't have to stay and let herself be hurt. Just run away! So easy. Nobody could hurt you as long as you kept running, as long as you were willing to let everything go.

No, that wasn't it either. The real reason she was running was that she wasn't Caroline.

And that was that. No matter how much she wanted it, no matter how many of Caroline's memories she shared, she wasn't going to be able to step into the dead woman's shoes. Caroline the Younger might see her as a sort of mother, and maybe William did too, and that had fooled her into hoping that Jacob saw her the same way. Clearly he didn't. How did he think of her, she wondered?

I used to know this girl. I think she would have adored you.

A daughter, maybe.

Oh.

Mar stopped and sat down in the snow, hugging her knees to her chest and wrapping her wings around herself for warmth. She couldn't hear Jacob's voice calling her anymore, much less coming after her, so it was probably safe to stop. Her thoughts wandered back to the dream, recalling Marisiel's disaster with Istomilo. I am really not very good at this, am I, she thought, leaning wearily against a tree.

What was she going to do now?

She could keep running, of course. That was the easy way, and it would work. But it would hurt. It would hurt to remember what she'd left behind, and it would hurt even more to forget it all. It was like having a barbed knife stuck in you: there just wasn't a good way to get it out without hurting. Evidently, there were some things you couldn't run from.

But she didn't see how she could go back, either. Mar imagined trying to go back and live under the same roof as Jacob, facing that horrible paralyzing awkwardness every time she looked his way. She shivered. She was very much afraid she'd poisoned her new home with hurt and shame. Couldn't go back, couldn't keep running... She couldn't stay here, either, she realized; she was cold. Very cold, actually. Mar rose, wrapping her cloak and wings around herself more tightly. She'd walk a little, just to keep warm. Maybe it would distract her from thinking so much.

But before long she found the trees in front of her thinning. Wooden buildings loomed ahead of her, quiet in the early morning chill. She hadn't realized she was so close to the town. That was all right, she supposed. She wasn't likely to run into Jacob here.

It was curiosity—that, and the desire to lose herself in something else—that led her to ask an old woman just emerging from her house where she might find Julian. Asking a stranger for directions would have been intimidating once. Now it seemed trivial. She mumbled a thank-you, drifted through the snowbound streets until she found the place, hesitated before knocking. But he had asked her to visit.

She knocked.

[Gorgondantess]

As soon as Augustus started merging with her, sinking into the floor was unnecessary. She shrieked, leaping up and across the room like a startled cat. Backing herself into a corner in the room, she stands there, eyes wide, terrified of the man across the room from her.
"What... What the fuck..."
She tenses, and flexes, not sure of what to do. She lifts up a table and smashes it against the wall, shattering it into dozens of pieces. But still, no matter how she raged, Augustus was there.
Untouchable.
She regards him, thoughts flying wildly, wondering how to beat him. And then it struck her: her sword.
Drawing the blade, she holds it at arm's length at him, menacing. She never absorbed it: it should be immune to his powers. And he bled like a human... with her blade, she could kill him. Of course she didn't think about it before, it not being a part of her.
...It wasn't a part of her.
...It wasn't her sword.
It's Maurice's. If she slew him with the blade, it wouldn't be her killing him, it wouldn't be her power: it would be artifice. And she would have to live with that for the rest of her existence.
She drops the sword, and falls to the floor, unwilling to even look at Augustus. She's broken.
"Just go... Leave. Tell them that I was vanquished, and forget about me. And hopefully, one day, I'll forget about you too."

[Inspectre]

Cathedral City

Archpaladin Zousha

At your explanation for Morganna’s actions, Tyra’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs slightly agape. It is several seconds before she can speak again.

“Morganna . . . an angel?”

She breathes, and then throws her head back and laughs bitterly.

“Of course. It explains so much about her, but only in hindsight. I never would have guessed, nor would anyone else I wager. I take it this was not under Miriam’s orders, Morganna is acting on her own? No wonder Miriam is so insistent on destroying the Church then!”

At your offer of (temporary) freedom in exchange for Ander’s, Tyra nods.

“Naturally. I have no further quarrel with either of you, although I wouldn’t be surprised if Ander is less than pleased with our arrangement. Not that I would blame him after what we put him through. All these years . . . do what you have to in order to save our Church, Lord General. Whatever I can do to aid you in that goal, I will do. You have my word, for whatever such a thing is worth in these dark days.”

Your deal struck, you summon Tyra’s escorts back and have them give you the key to her shackles. Then you personally remove them, to the surprised muttering of the re-assembling paladins.

“Fret not, this is only a temporary respite. I have agreed to cooperate with the Lord General for the purpose of convincing the Reliquary Guard to stand down. Afterwards, I will willingly return to imprisonment until the date of my trial. I accept the full consequences for my actions. Justice will be done.”

This explanation seems to mollify the crowd somewhat, and Belroar returns to your side. He looks strangely worried, an unusual state for the dour dwarf.

“Hondshioh, I’ve just got word from our scouts by the Council Chambers. They said loud sounds of fighting are coming from within. But . . . none of our men have breached into the building yet – in fact, we are just starting now to organize the assault squads!”

“Crane.”

Tyra spits.

“He has to be behind this. He was particularly vehement at our emergency session last night, but his various suggestions were all voted down. He must have arranged some sort of coup, and then left the Chambers to get clear of the fighting.”

“Whatever the reason, the Chambers’ defenders are distracted by all this in-fighting. If we strike now, we should be able to seize the advantage with only the handful of men we have ready. I imagine you’ll want to be at the forefront, despite the slim possibility this is some sort of elaborate trap.”

Belroar sighed. Katashiko cracks her knuckles loudly from her position off to the side.

“Of course! Some big swirling free-for-all sounds like great fun!”

“I’ll keep an eye on the Exarch, just in case. Unless you’d rather me come with you lad.” Belroar offers, shooting a suspicious glance in Tyra’s direction. The former Exarch of the Church stared at the dwarf evenly.

“Whatever you decide, I suggest you move quickly Lord General. Crane is up to something, and if we’re going to stop him we need to move quickly.”

(Feel free to deligate Katashiko or Belroar, or someone else to babysitting Tyra. As well as choosing whoever you want to accompany you on the assault into the Council Chambers.)

With your decisions made, the group splits up to put an end to this schism within the Church. True to Belroar’s report, the Council Chambers defenders are completely distracted by the battle already taking place within its walls. Upon smashing through the doors that Tyra left through, you found only a pair of guards awaiting you. The personal guard of the Speaker is well known for its fanatical loyalty to the office, and these two are no exception as they bravely thrown themselves forward to try and hold your strike force back. They are both swiftly cut down before you press deeper into the structure, more squads moving in behind you to secure side hallways and keep your back safe.

Your destination is the actual meeting chambers of the Council, where Tyra said that Morganna was waiting to make her final stand. Shortly inside the building, you begin to come across evidence of this in-fighting – some force had arrived ahead of you from a different entrance, but their destination was the same. You follow a trail of broken bodies, all of them wearing the insignia of the Speaker Guard . . . unless Crane had found a way to subvert Morganna’s personal guards, his own men must be extremely powerful to avoid any casualties of their own. With deepening dread you continue to follow the bloody trail, hurrying on to the meeting chamber. Approaching it, you hear the sounds of battle within, which quickly fade to be replaced with intense conversation. Quietly walking up to the ajar double doors, you peer inside to find a confusing sight.

The last of Morganna’s guards lie dead, along with Exarches Damont and Logan. The Speaker stands alone amongst the carnage, still unbowed in the face on annihilation. Facing her down is a dozen tattooed angels . . . and Ander.

Theme Music

Lyrics:

Spoiler

Show

Flesh and blood
Hates and love make up this human
My mistakes
And my sins; what have I done?
But I won't die
'Till I have cleared the name of Light...

I made you in my image
I built your heart
I gave you eyes
I gave you power
A sense of justice beyond any compare
I gave you hands, a child's face
I gave you hair
ROBOTIC HAIR
But the burning in your heart I did not put there.

Latex and steel
Zeroes and ones make up my son
The world gave me
No child so I built one
Now I will cry
For fear that he may lose this fight

I made you in my image
I built your heart
I gave you eyes
I gave you power
A sense of justice beyond any compare
I gave you hands, a child's face
I gave you hair
ROBOTIC HAIR
But the burning in your heart I did not put there.

They call you hero
I call you my son
They call you hero
I call you my son

Bones will break
Skin will burn
On this human
Lives will end
Fear will rule
If nothing is done
My sins... you'll fight
The wrongs that I made you will make right...
This is the message... From Dr. Light.

I made you in my image
I built your heart
I gave you eyes
I gave you power
A sense of justice beyond any compare
I gave you hands, a child's face
I gave you hair
ROBOTIC HAIR
But the burning in your heart I did not put there.

“So, it has come to this after all. I suppose the will of Miriam cannot be denied forever. She sent you forth to kill me, and now here we stand, face to face at last. I regret it has come to this between us, but I apologize for nothing I have done! One day, Miriam will have to answer for Her own sins.”

With a flourish, Morganna draws her own sword and shifts into her angelic form, wings stretching out behind her. Raising the blade to her forehead, she salutes Ander.

“Better remember everything I taught you, boy! Keep your guard up!”

In response Ander raises his own blade, but remains silent. A moment later, Morganna rushes forward, blade held at the ready. As she nears Ander, Morganna leaps up into the air and descends from above. As she reaches her opponent, however, Morganna sweeps her blade aside, deliberately leaving herself open as she impales herself on Ander’s blade. The enchanted angel bane weapon snarls hungrily as it buries itself in her chest, the impact pushing it all the way through and out her back. Blood spews from Morgana’s mouth as she gasps, her weapon tumbling from her fingers.

“My . . . last . . . sacrifice . . . for you!”

Morganna wheezes.

“I . . . could never . . . harm . . . you . . . the son . . . I never . . . had!”

Coldly, Ander lays his free hand on Morganna’s face, and shoves her back off his blade. She collapses in a crumpled heap at his feet, staring up in rejected shock.

“Ander . . .” She breathes, sinking back onto the floor as it becomes soaked with her blood. A moment later, and she falls completely still. Speaker Morganna, Architect of the Church and its Chief Despoiler, is dead.

For a moment, the chamber is silent, and then from a dark corner comes a slow clapping. The shadows around him dancing as they peel away his invisibility spell, Crane emerges into sight with an bemused smile.

“You did her cold, Ander. Most impressive . . . for a puppet.”

Ander clenches his fists, and raises his sword – but only halfway before he lowers it again, every muscle trembling. The strain causes dark runes to burst into being on his body . . . brands previously concealed by the same magic Crane had used to hide himself. He was no more in control of himself than the dozen angels are, all of them bearing mute testimony as Crane boldly walks over to Morganna’s corpse. The bastard Exarch is insufferably pleased with himself as he gives the former Speaker and Church founder a kick, and then rolls her over onto her side.

“And now, since the Speaker is dead and I am the sole remaining Exarch to draw breath, I nominate myself for the position of Speaker! I second that motion – all in favor? Aye!”

Crane giggles like a delighted child as he strips the mantle of authority from Morganna’s body and lays it about his own shoulders. And then as he stands back up, he looks towards the doors and sees you standing there. His grin only widens as he points at you.

“Ander . . . we have guests. As my first official decree as Speaker, I command you to KILL THEM ALL!!!”

Ander whirls with a frustrated snarl as Crane waves at you.

“Unfortunately, I have other business to attend to. Ta-ta!”

He calls over his shoulder as he turns and runs out through the set of doors on the far side of the room, closely accompanied by the dozen angels. Leaving Ander alone to face you.

Theme Music (Originally this was going to be another character’s battle theme, but I now feel it is more appropriate here. )

Lyrics

Spoiler

Show

Megaman: I will not fight you. (Protoman: You have no choice.)
I'll stand beside you. (I stand alone.)
You're still their hero. (Then they are fools.)
This cannot be the only way. (You will see.)
They don't deserve this. (When this is through,)
Now more than ever, (Mankind will fall.)
We are their hope. (They would not stand.)
They know no better. (They would not fight.)
They are not ready. (They never will.)
Even now there is hope for man. (My father's words!)
Your father loved you. (He still believes?)
His heart was broken. (His only weakness.)
His greatest strength. (Now we shall see)
You are not evil. (if they will stand)
You are not broken. (beside their hero)
We both know they'll never fight!

Protoman: You finally get it.
There are no heroes.
Mankind is doomed.

You will never have another Hero. You will never have another chance. You
will fall because you never tried to stand for yourselves!

Human Choir: Destroy him!
You can save us!
Destroy him!
You can save us!
Destroy him!
You're our only hope!

KILL PROTOMAN!!!

No man saw the blow. The light was blinding. The crash was deafening. The
two brothers stood feet apart. Both in pain. Only Protoman fell. His knees
hit the ground. His weapon followed. Before he could fall any further
Megaman was at his side. The brothers, the Sons of Light, embraced. Protoman
was dying. Nothing could stop that now. Protoman looked up through strained
eyes and tried to speak. At first nothing came. Summoning all his remaining
strength, Protoman whispered these words into his brother's ear:

Protoman: If these people...tell this story...to their children...as they
sleep...then maybe someday...they'll see a Hero...is just a man...who knows
he's free.

Protoman was dead.

The crowd seemed pleased.

Megaman finally understood.

There are no Heroes left in man.


Human Choir: He could not save himself.
How could he save us?
For all the blood he shed, (Megaman: As I live)
Your brother failed us. (There is no evil that will stand.)
There's nothing you could do. (I will finish)
You had no choice. (what was started:)
Why do you cry for him? (The fight of Protoman.)
You are our hero.
You are our hero!

Megaman: You are the dead.

The fallen body of his brother at his feet, Megaman removed his helmet
and began to walk away from the fortress. The remaining robots looked at
their broken leader, then at Megaman. Without orders, they would neither
advance nor retreat. With eyes full of rage, Megaman looked over the whole
of Mankind, turned his eyes back to the robot army and lowered his head.
Slowly, he loosened his grip on his battle-scarred helmet, letting is drop
from his hand to the ground. The robots immediately turned from Megaman and
cast their eyes towards the fortress. Dr. Wily stood high above the robots,
high above the crowd of men, high above their broken heroes. With a wave of
his hand, the robot army had their orders. They advanced on the crowd to
punish them for their thoughts of rebellion. Men fell in waves. Those most
eager to watch the bloodshed were the first victims of the slaughter. The
sound of Machines marching into a screaming mass did not cause Megaman to
turn. The sound of children crying for their mothers would not pull his gaze
from the far edge of the city. The sound that finally caused Megaman to
pause long enough to look back on the burning city was the voices raised
over the din, chanting almost in unison:

Human Choir: We are the dead.

The former Lord General begins to slowly walk towards you, fighting with himself every step as he approaches. But still he comes, blade held at the ready.

“Hondshioh . . .” Ander grunts.

“I cannot . . . control myself. Run!”

And at that word, the Lord General breaks into a run himself, charging at you, his body eager for battle to be joined even if his heart and mind are not.

(Regrettably due to time constraints, we will only be able to spend this post on the duel between Hondshioh and Ander. You are free to narrate it at will as a result – make it look good. Also of note, like the angel before him, Ander is susceptible to being talked down. So it is possible to free him with a rousing speech rather than cutting him to ribbons. I leave Ander’s fate in your hands – like all former PCs whose players have departed, he has been NPC-ified. That being said, there’s currently no known way to remove the brands so Ander might well be better off dead, rather than continuing to suffer as a puppet for whoever jerks his strings.)

Stonefall

The_Snark

As you wander through town, you find your previous concerns about Jacob and his family drifting to the back of your mind. Instead, you find yourself filled with a growing disquiet. There was something . . . wrong with the town now, some indecipherable air of different about it when compared to your previous visits.

There was nothing you could really point to though. People still chattered to each other merrily in the streets. But as you passed you could feel their eyes on you, watching you intently whenever they thought you weren’t looking. Did they know about your encounter with Firkas out in the woods, was that it? Oh, maybe that was it. Firkas had seen your wings, he knew now that you weren’t just some normal girl. Maybe now the whole town knew about you . . . and your otherworldly nature.

That thought, along with the general unease you felt, was almost enough to propel you back out into the woods. But that still left you with nowhere else to go, and you already had enough of the woods’ cold chill for one day. Eventually you manage to work up the courage to ask an old woman for directions. She thinks a moment, and then smiles to reveal a gap-toothed grin. With her fingers and one-word directions, she gives you a course to follow to get to where Julian was staying, apparently with the family who had found him out in the snow.

As you follow the instructions, you nearly trip over an old man lying sound asleep in front of a doorway. The foul reek of alcohol wafting up from him suggested why he had chosen his current bed, and why he seemed undisturbed by the cold. After a quick glance at his face, you recognize him! This sorry excuse for a man was Caroline’s father, an even more pathetic figure here in front of you years later than he was in Caroline’s memories. Sensing someone nearby, he starts awake and looks at you with a befuddled expression through half-open eyes.

“Yeah? Help you?” He grunts, clearly hoping that you were just going to walk on by and allow him to return to sleep.

(You wanted to meet Caroline’s father – well here he is. I will assume that the interaction is brief enough not to disrupt Mar’s meeting with Julian. )

Moving on past Caroline’s father, you cross the main village square. As you go, you take note of several men working together to drive a thick wooden pillar down into the still half-frozen earth. You have no idea why this project was being undertaken, as erecting the single pillar seems to be the sole goal of the men. For some reason the sight of this fills you with even more dread, but nothing immediately threatening appears and so you continue on past it, trying to put the disturbing sight out of your mind.

Finally you reach the residence where you had been told Julian could be found. You knock on the door, and a few moments later it is opened not by Julian, but by a sickly young boy, scarcely six years old. At the sight of you the boy wheezes in alarm and stumbles back, allowing the door to swing open wider. From deeper within the house comes a feminine voice.

“Lars? Well, who is it dear? What’s wrong!?”

Then you hear Julian’s voice.

“I’ll go take a look.”

A moment later, Julian appears in the doorway. Lars, the sickly child who is deathly afraid of you, takes this as his opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, disappearing into the house. Again you consider just turning and running at this bizarre behavior, although you had to admit that it was rare that someone ran away from you. Then Julian gives you a welcoming smile, and the desire to run fades slightly, although it still lingers in the back of your mind. Your unease does have the benefit of giving you a sharp awareness of your surroundings, and you note that Julian looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes. Still, they hold the familiar twinkle they held even in the darkest moments you shared within Ironheart.

“Hello Mar! I was just sitting down for lunch with Ms. Hatchaw and her nephew Lars. Ms. Hatchaw is the one who has been taking care of me since I stumbled into town. Would you like to join us or are you just stopping by?”

Julian pauses a moment, and then leans in as if his next words are only for you.

“I’m glad you remembered I had something to give you. If you just want that, I can go and get it for you if you’d rather be on your way.”

Pwenet

At your sudden change of heart, the Baron stops whatever he is doing immediately. Slowly, he leans back down over you, entering your field of vision from the direction of your forehead. Despite the upside down position of his face, you can see that the Baron’s expression would be best classified as dumbfounded – his eyes staring down at you unblinking and his jaw hinged open just a tad. After a few moments, he shakes himself with a whoop of laughter.

“You almost had me there, Incom, I must admit! You, willingly joining me!? Ridiculous!”

The Baron laughs some more, but then his laughter slows as the idea rolls around in his head. The hook was set, and it had found flesh. Still, the Baron tried to cast off the idea, his face contorting in suspicion as he looked back down at you.

“No, no. This is your idea of a clever trick, isn’t it Incom? Some sort of last desperate attempt to squirm out from under my thumb?”

As you had mentioned, as a GHAST your face was permanently frozen in an immobile blank expression. As such, you couldn’t argue your case with facial expressions, and likewise the Baron couldn’t get any sort of read on you. The Baron pulls himself back out of your line of sight, but judging by the changing direction of his voice, he’s now pacing around and around you in circles.

“Well . . . what if you are telling the truth? I had not anticipated this possibility, but that does not render it impossible. I suppose I should have simply told you the truth long ago to earn your cooperation instead of attempting to break your will, although I suppose then you would not have made such an effective mole. And really, telling the truth or not, it makes little difference as I can always reassert control later. The point that you make regarding effectiveness is true, and I already have an army of idiot drones. Best not to take any chances with Miriam, and ensure that I have as many functional and effective warriors as possible – of which you’ve proven to be one of my most effective, albeit unwittingly.”

The Baron stops his unending circuit around your bench, and leans back down into your sight again with a savage smile.

“Fair enough brother. The Morgan brothers shall stand united against the Valkyrie, and afterwards we shall see who will rise and who will fall. I will release you from the grip of the Cassandra Protocol. But, be warned – a single word from me and you will find yourself back to being little more than a giant, immobile, metal statue. So if you do plan a betrayal, either out of vengeance or an unrepentant desire to do “good”, I suggest you plan it out very, very carefully.”

The Baron moves back around to the vicinity of your head and resumes his work. A minute later, and you feel the barrier between your mind and body lifted, your soul freed from its cage. Likewise the cage around the demonic sara falls apart, and the shackles locked around angelic Katashiko snap open. A moment later, and the Baron appears beside you, and offers you a hand up. As you place his hand in yours, the Baron lays a hand on your shoulder and smiles wickedly.

“My name is Demetrius, Incom. It is not the name our parents gave me – I chose it for myself. Perhaps a similar gesture on your part would be a way for you to begin to forge your own fate. But first, we have many important matters to attend to. I think a gesture of loyalty would be a good start.”

The Baron reaches over with his other hand to tap on your breastplate.

“While sifting through your systems I noticed that you had lifted the barriers around your dual power cores. I trust you are already aware of their demonic and angelic natures . . . and more than likely that they have . . . shall we say, a mind of their own? Hence the reason for the barriers in the first place – just in case. So, why don’t we make sure that you won’t be subject to undue influence at an inopportune moment. Re-establish the barriers – seal them both back up. And then we can move along with our plans – just you, and me.”

Within your mind, the projection of Sara snarls, brandishing her fingers like claws.

“JUST TRY IT!!!” She shrieks in a voice that is anything but human.

The angelic Katashiko, previously brutalized and broken, has the opposite reaction. She falls to her knees and extends her hands beseechingly towards you, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes.

“No . . . please . . .”

She begs, the sight of it filling you with pitying disgust. Or disgusted pity, you aren’t sure which. Regardless, you know that you are in control here. With a thought from you, the two souls and minds will once again be bound in their crystals, separated and alone, locked helplessly in a little iron box. You knew exactly how that felt, but it was hard to feel regret for either of them.

You had never really cared for the demon, the damn thing constantly taunting and threatening you, to say nothing of its endless attempts to usurp control of your body. And the angel was just pathetic, too broken to even emerge from its prison until you had dragged it kicking and screaming into the light and forcibly put it back together. Before their insertion into your metal body, they had both been servants of their respective gods, tempting and punishing confused and tormented mortals just like yourself. **** them both.

Iethloc

After spending a few moments to decide your course of action, you teleport to the Baron’s airship. You appear in the skies above the capital, the massive bulk of the Baron’s vessel only a short distance from you. Immediately you are swarmed by GHASTs, but they evidently recognize you as they allow you to pass, even forming up a sort of honor guard for your journey to the Gastly Truth. The walls of the Baron’s airship are constructed from the same material as Ironheart’s walls, thus making it impossible to teleport or pass incorporeally through them. As such, you end up entering the ship through a docking bay, to find Omega and Shanks waiting for you.

Apparently they had not been waiting too long, as Victoria was there speaking with Shanks. There is no sight of Arlan or his lackeys, as they have apparently already left, taking the samples of your plague with them. As Shanks relays some sort of pirate story to her, Victoria bursts into laughter while Omega turns her attention to you.

Most impressive. The fact that you were able to elude destruction bodes well for the inevitable second confrontation with Her. I confirmed that the GHAST was indeed the prisoner in the dragon suit of armor who died beneath Ironehart. Regrettably, he has no desire for our help, and even threatened me with informing the Baron of our intentions. I don’t think he will follow through on that threat, but the point was made that he wishes to be left alone. We have nothing to offer him that could convince him to serve us instead of the Baron.

Still chuckling over Shanks’s story, Victoria turns her attention to you as well.

“The Baron apologizes for not being present to greet you personally. However, he has other matters to attend to at the moment. In his stead, I am here to show you to your quarters and the work area that has been provided for you.”

And with that, Victoria sets off across the cavernous interior of the docking bay, Shanks right beside her and continuing to relay stories that only held any amusement for the two of them. You quickly learned to tune the two of them out as you traveled further into the ship, except when Victoria had some important information to relay about the Baron’s pet project. Having no desire to get lost or otherwise trapped within the airship, you make sure to maintain a detailed mental map of all the hallways that you see, and how they link up together. It seems the airship’s cargo bays are primarily near the back of the ship, while the crew quarters are further ahead, with the most luxurious quarters being housed near the very front of the airship. Frankly, you didn’t care about such nonsense at all, having no need for a place to sleep. As it turned out, the Baron had anticipated such a sentiment, as about halfway between the cargo bays and sleeping quarters Victoria leads you down a side hallway.

“And down this corridor is where your private lab will be located, Sohssal. The Baron has anticipated that you will be spending most of your time there, and as such arrangements have already been made. You should be able to start work nearly immediately if you wish. If you have need of any further equipment or the use of assistants, please let myself or Arlan know immediately.”

Victoria touches a control on one side of the door and then steps aside, allowing you access. Within you find a crude replica of your own laboratory at your island manor. There are even a few scaled down elemental imprisonment coils, although none of them feature the improvements you had designed after discovering what happened to your manor in your absence.

“I will be going to show Omega and Shanks to their individual quarters now. Please make yourself comfortable – the Baron will meet you here as soon as he is able.”

And with that Victoria departs with your associates in tow. It had been a long and harrowing day already, and you could tell that they were both tired. You, of course, had no need for such rest and so could busy yourself with work until they had recovered. That is, assuming this was not some sort of clever trap on the part of the Baron. A few minutes of studying the various pieces of equipment reveals everything is in order however – there does not seem to be anything amiss. You do note the presence of a scrying window in one corner of the room, however – evidentially the Baron wished to be able to look in on you whenever he pleased.

(You are welcome to describe what Sohssal does to settle in, and whether he dispels the scrying window or not, now that he knows where it is.)

Sometime later, although you couldn’t tell if it was several hours or a day, the doors to your laboratory slide open again, revealing the Baron himself. He favors you with a slight nod, and remains in the corridor outside.

“Mind if I come in, Sohssal? We have business to discuss, and I think you will be most interested in participating.”

Without waiting for your permission, the Baron steps inside and allows the doors to slide shut behind him.

“First I was hoping we could discuss your encounter with the Valkyrie – what abilities she displayed, how you managed to escape, things of that nature. Perhaps we will be able to devise some stratagems for our upcoming confrontation. Second and more importantly, I would like to discuss the future testing of your plague. Now, due to the rather . . . sensitive nature of what I’m about to tell you, I would appreciate it if this could remain between us. I’ve been thinking about your plague, and while it shows considerable promise I think there’s been a gap in your testing. There is no mention of the effect that it has on those capable of performing magic. I already have a solution in mind, one that I think you will like.”

The Baron gives you a tight-lipped smile, and then presses onward.

“I’ve recently become concerned about Arlan’s behavior. I have reason to believe that he may be a spy sent by one meddlesome secret society of mages or another. That part and what he has told his masters is irrelevant. What is important is that he be disposed of. And seeing as how you require a test subject for your plague’s effects, I naturally thought of him. Assuming you have no objections, I will arrange for him to be brought here and you can administer a dose of the plague that I’ve already got brewing. That way we can test the effects and make sure that our attempts to copy your work is successful. What do you think about that, Sohssal?”

Outside the Capital

Kasanip

At your request Cherise started to form the word “No”, but then stopped as she saw the look in your eye. With a sigh, she nodded.

“Damnit Is . . . be careful, alright? I’ll keep looking through the records here, see if I can dig any more information up. Maybe someone else has stumbled across this warlock since the Hellrazers. If I don’t hear from you in a couple hours though, I’m rallying the Adjudicators and barging into your house!”

With a final, half-hearted wave good-bye, Cherise bids you good luck. You barely even hear her as you rush out of the Archives back towards home. You still have no idea how this all fits together, and it was incredibly frustrating. Just like a complex ritual, there was some piece you were missing, something that would likely bring everything into sharp context. But until you found that piece you were left with nothing. Nothing except the idea that your father was a traitor for some godsforsaken reason.

Arriving back at your home you are greeted by the family butler Walters, who immediately stands aside after catching sight of the hardened mask your face had become.

“Your father is in his study!”

Walters calls after you, anticipating the reason for your visit. True to the butler’s word, you find your father in his study, pouring over a set of documents. He looks up with a concerned frown.

“Yes Isera, is there something I can help you with?”

Fishtown, The Fishiest Place on Earth that Never Fished

Gorgondantess

As you brandish your sword at him, Augustus tenses, clearly preparing himself for violence. As soon as you abandon that threat and slump to the floor, he relaxes again. At your words, he slowly nods.

“I will do as you ask. For whatever it is worth, I am truly sorry. For everything. If there was a way to undo what has been done to you, and to your people . . .”

Augustus trails off, and then clears his throat, drawing himself up to his full (and not very impressive) height.

“I hope that you will be able to find peace. Good-bye.”

And then Augustus backs away to the door, not quite trusting you enough to take his eyes off of you. Reaching around behind him, he twists the door open and steps back through it. He spares you one last glance, and then he shuts the door, removing him from your sight. You are alone.

(You are welcome to describe however the Spirit reacts to all this now that it has the freedom to be alone. I’m going to assume that after that, however, it returns back to Maurice and Omnicron.)

You return to find Maurice and Omnicron as you left them, sitting across the table from each other . . . waiting. They both favor you with relieved smiles upon seeing you, although you note that Maurice’s is tinged with the hint of something else. Having swiftly grown accustomed to her mannerisms, you would most likely put this “something else” as “troubled concern”.

“Well, you aren’t dead after all! I hope that means your meeting was amicable after all, and not some sort of surprise bloodbath!”

Ignoring Omnicron, Maurice pushes her chair back and leaps up to her feet.

“Would it be possible for us to speak – privately?”

She says, shooting a glance at Omnicron.

“I . . . I would like to talk about what you said, just before you left. Among other important things I’ve just become aware of.”

Shooting first Maurice and then you an exasperated look, Omnicron pushes himself up out of his chair with a sigh and hurries out of the room. Maurice watches him go and then turns back to you, indicating the seat across the table form her that Omnicron had been occupied moments ago.

“First, tell me about your meeting with Augustus. I take it that it did not go nearly as badly as you feared. And then I would like to know what you meant by that comment, just before you left for your meeting with him. Is that . . . is that what you really feel for me? Love?”

The Capital

Vegna

(Welcome to Ironheart! )

At your slow retreat the gaggle of thugs cackle amongst themselves and press forward eagerly. This bunch were just low-lives, scum who thrived on the pain of those weaker than themselves. Any sign of weakness in front of them drove them into a feeding frenzy . . . which made them absolutely predictable.

As you taunt them and turn to run, their leader shouts “Get him!” again. The gaggle rushes towards you now, right onto the patch of ground that was suddenly much softer than it should be. One of them went down with a cry, his flailing limbs getting caught on another man. Then you are out of the alley, and see no more as you stop looking back over your shoulder to concentrate on getting away.

Stretching out your senses, you scan the area ahead of you through the cobblestones and your connection to them. In the slums of such a large city, there was any number of side streets, but many were clogged – by trash, by people, or some sort of cart pulled up to be unloaded nearby. With your acute senses, you were able to determine which of these streets was clear, or mostly clear, ahead of time.

On and on you raced, ducking down narrow alleys and choosing streets which were open, but only just. Despite plenty of opportunities to do so, you don’t pull down any of the merchant stands lining the streets to block your path more fully. That would be wrong, and you had no desire to make these poor bastards’ day even worse with destruction. That didn’t stop more than one of the clumsy thugs chasing you from crashing into a stand at full speed after taking a corner too loosely however. Which again benefited you as the owners of those destroyed stands were most displeased, and held the gang up until intimidated by them into peace once more.

Eventually, the sound of their cries fade behind you, until they cease entirely. They had given up – you got away clean. Or perhaps not, for as you come out of an alleyway you stop as one lone man appears out of the shadows to block your path. He is an older man, dressed in simple clothing but oddly well-groomed. He doesn’t seem particularly threatening, but you had long ago learned such appearances could be deceptive. More disturbingly, he greets you with a soft, slow clapping on his hands.

“Most impressive, young man. I can see you have the potential. As such I would like to extend to you the opportunity to prove it.”

The man holds up his hands in a non-threatening gesture.

“I want to offer you a truly priceless opportunity. My name is not important at the moment - know only that I was sent to find skilled men such as yourself. What I have to offer you is an invitation to a very selective martial competition . . . a . . . tournament, you might say. It is held only once a century, so you could say that it is the chance of a lifetime. Legend has it that the winner receives whatever it is that his heart most desires.”

The elderly man smiles, and although meant to be reassuring the expression turns your blood cold for some reason.

“So, what do you say young man. Are you willing to compete?”

[Inspectre]

The Wedding of Amelia Ashargrin and Cheran Gast

Lonna

As you get further away from the fighting and closer to the air carriage, Volesin seems to relax again. He does not, however, relinquish his steely grip on your wrist, continuing to drag you along behind him.

“I must apologize for my conduct back there. I did not mean to alarm you.”

Volesin grunts, continuing to move on down the hallway and not sparring you a single look.

“Sometimes an ignoble dog must be taught its place, however. The threat to my daughter did no favor to my temper, either. Regardless, that is behind us all now. You have fulfilled your part of our bargain, and we shall now return to my manor in the city. Tomorrow, we will set out for my actual estate, and after a few short days of travel, you will be reunited with your little sister. Exactly as I promised you.”

His explanation complete, Volesin falls silent as you return to the intersection where you were so recently ambushed by Wulfric and company. You hurry on through the intersection this time without delay, stepping around the dead bodies of the guards which are still present. As you step out into the courtyard and begin to walk towards the air carriage, you suddenly stumble as a wave of intense fear washes over you. And then like a stick pushed too far, the magic suddenly snaps, and you feel all emotion leave you once more.

Still oblivious to your behavior, Volesin guides you over to the waiting air carriage and pulls the door open. He helps you inside and then clamors in after you.

“I will go tell the pilot our destination. Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

The duke then heads into the pilot’s cabin, leaving you alone. Memories of your last air carriage ride, and the considerably unpleasant events surrounding that fill your mind as you look around to find this one eerily similar in construction to that one. Still, the memories stir almost nothing within you, save the faint deserve that wherever she is now, Countess Amelia is safe and whole. And that Cheran is burning merrily in the Hells.

As you sit down and look out the window, however, you notice a most alarming sight – or what should be alarming, at least. Arms flung over each other’s backs, Wulfric and his sleazy associate come hobbling into sight. After his beating at Volesin’s hands, the proud warrior looks like the Hells, but somehow he’s back up and moving again. Both of them are heading directly for the air carriage, breaking into a desperate shuffle as the griffons begin to beat their wings and the carriage slowly lifts up into the air. From the pilot’s chamber you hear Volesin’s voice as he begins to re-enter the cabin, apparently unaware of the two men now racing towards you.

“I suggest that you strap yourself in, Pyrene. Although our ride will be a short one, these sorts of trips can get more than a little bumpy.”

Almost certainly if he were to look out the window, Duke Volesin would notice the two of them. And given his previous violent actions towards them, it seemed unlikely that he would peacefully wave them good-bye, particularly if they tried to yank open a door and climb inside. But how could you warn them the cabin was occupied while at the same time keeping Volesin distracted? Suddenly a series of tiny pinpricks run down the width of your shoulder – Garthax had returned, although the imp was being surprisingly quiet for once.

WhiteKnight777

Theme Song (Just for the lulz)

Safe and secreted within the cave, you allow yourself the peace of fulfilling the promise you made to Fianna at the altar. For a time, all the concerns of the world slip away, as your world shrinks down to just the two of you entwined. Even after so many millennia apart, you both find yourself slipping into familiar old patterns, and that is a cause for joy as well. This small cave was certainly no mighty castle, but with Fianna here, it felt like you had finally come home.

Afterwards, however much time later – although you could see the first strands of light starting to drift across the cave mouth – you allow yourself to drift back to the present. And back in the present, you begin to consider what to do. Before your scheming can begin to take too many details into its shape, however, Fianna clears her throat.

“Umber . . .”

She whispers, lolling her head around to look at you with a faint smile.

“Words cannot describe . . . how much I’ve missed you.”

Although her eyes were filled with a longing that almost sent you back into that timeless moment of bliss, there was a cautionary note in her voice that held you back. Fianna’s eyes dart away from your face and she sighs before continuing.

“I . . . I don’t want to be separated again. I know you want to usurp the Baron. Certainly, his very existence seems to be Fate’s way of spitting in your eye. But . . . he has Shiakti by his side, and his own skills are close to yours. I fear what a confrontation could bring.”

Fianna closes her eyes, and then after a moment gives voice to her fear.

“I don’t want to lose you again! Certainly not to what is essentially a Fate-ordained self-flagellation!”

Opening her eyes again, Fianna favors you with a weak smile as she sweeps a lock of hair out of your face with her finger.

“Please. You know that I will stand beside you wherever you go. But, might I suggest that we just go away from here? Forget our destiny, our immortality, just find a quiet beach somewhere and live, just the two of us.”

Pain at the memory flashes through Fianna’s eyes, but she gives voice to the thought.

“Unless you’d like to try having children? I know it’s not much, retiring to some small corner of the world to grow old – “

At the word old, even Fianna’s nose wrinkles in distaste, centuries of living in an eternally youthful body making the thought of age nearly inconceivable.

“ – together, but would you settle for it? For me?”

A thought passes through Fianna’s mind, and a familiar mischievous smile flickers across her face.

“Or maybe not forever. Just for a little while – long enough for the Baron and Miriam to kill each other! Then we can return and finish off the diminished victor if you want! Just so we’re not caught in the middle of it . . .”

It was a tempting thought, and one that under normal circumstances you would give a serious thought to. But . . . reborn in this mortal body, you are once again sensitive to the quiet plucking of Fate at the strings of Destiny. You can feel the threads beginning to rise up into a crescendo, both within yourself and the world at large. This battle between the Baron and Miriam, when it did occur, was going to be earth-shatteringly important. It was quite possibly the greatest battle to be waged since the apocalyptic crash between gods that saw Azguloth imprisoned beneath Ironheart as its aftermath. Kartul would undoubtedly be there, and quite likely some other familiar faces would be present as well, drawn in by the cunning webs of Fate.

No, you could feel that this would be the moment. Either you would stand in the heart of the maelstrom and seize control of your destiny back from the Baron’s steaming corpse, or you would turn your back on Fate’s grand design for you forevermore. And the loss of that control didn’t bode well for the man who had been twice offered the reins of his fortune, and both times turned away.

There were also practical considerations to be pondered. Although perhaps weakened by this great battle, whoever emerged on top of the mountain of corpses in the end would be all powerful. Victorious in this battle against all challengers, the winner would reap the spoils, and at this level the spoils could very well be the entire world.

Although you hate to admit it, the Hierarch taught you the painful but necessary lesson that there are still beings in this world that are far stronger than you. And as a full-fledged goddess, however She manages to appear, Miriam is undoubtedly far stronger than the Hierarch. Even so the Baron seemed confident in his ability to oppose her, and you knew well that the fight isn’t always won by the strongest. The most skilled, the luckiest, or the combatant most willing to do whatever it took to win could all come out victorious in a contest of arms.

If Miriam won, that would be a bit of a black eye to humanity, but things would likely continue as they are. If, however, the Baron won instead things could go very differently. Despite his rants against the gods and his outright refusal to your question beneath Ironheart, suppose the Baron succumbed to temptation and indeed sought godhood? Even with Miriam only trapped and bound to his will, that would elevate the Baron to a position unassailable by you – or anyone else for that matter. The thought of that petty tyrant being elevated to god-emperor was most disquieting. Yet it was one possible outcome in a whole slew of unpleasantries that could occur without your guiding hand present.

And then there was Kartul. Somehow the crafty bastard had survived your attempt to put him down, just as you had suspected. Ross seemed to be actually scared of him during his admittedly brief report on his resurgence, and that certainly didn’t bode well. You suppose being the one technically responsible for unleashing the immortal corpse-licker upon the world, you were technically the one responsible for burying him yet again. Those sorts of responsibility arguments had never held much meaning for you before now . . . still, you hardly wanted Kartul, of all people, to somehow end up as the one with the fate of the world in his hands. You had already learned what sort of world Kartul would create, and it was one you wanted no part of.

So . . . that was it then. Deny yourself and Fianna the opportunity to live out a peaceful, quiet life in exchange for throwing your name into the hat for who would be the one to determine the fate of the world after the dust settled. Was that even really a choice!?

Dorizzit

The Baron grunts in surprise as you skewer him with your obsidian hand blade. And then he laughs, the sound distorted and wrong through his broken nose.

“Good!”

The Baron shouts, and then returns your headbutt with one of his own. The Baron takes advantage of the momentary delay that blow gives him, slamming his broken arm down onto your blade hand, still embedded in his stomach. At the same time he brings his knee up, flinching at the pain such a movement brings, and strikes your blade hand from below. The dual blow catches your hand between them, and smoothly snaps it off at the wrist.

“One broken arm deserves another!”

He calls, twisting his caught arm within your iron grip. Angling the position of his arm so that his hand points towards your bicep, the Baron isn’t able to break out of your grip, but he doesn’t need to. A moment later, he twiddles his finger in a peculiar way, and with a jab of his pointer finger sends an icy blast shooting into your arm. The intense blast of cold causes the muscles in your arm to reflexively spasm, and the Baron pulls his arm free of your suddenly open hand.

Not quite done, the Baron opens his mouth and screams into your face. The magically empowered blast of sound hurls you away from him, back out the hole you had created and into the wall on the far side of the alley. The only good news was that this bout of magical assault had cost the Baron as well.

Dropping to one knee, the Baron groans in pain as he reaches a hand down to his wounded side, gingerly extracting the shattered remnants of your transformed hand from the wound. As he finishes the wound is likewise almost fully resealed, and with a grimace he resets his broken arm and flexes it a few times, testing it. Slowly, he pushes himself back up to his feet, wiping the last of the blood away from his side. You can feel him weaving another spell as he advances back out into the alley.

“You want to play with fire Korram, I will indulge you. You want to play with blades Korram? I will indulge you!”

With a final gesture, the Baron’s spell completes. The blood covering the hand he had used to treat the wound suddenly expands and crystalizes, forming a long jagged blade extending over a foot past his fingertips. He proves that the weapon is not just for show a moment later as he emerges from the hole you had made.

Katrina, having pressed herself against the wall by the hole to lie in wait, leaps out at the Baron as he steps out into the alley. Her latest set of daggers flash through the air, a deadly weave of strikes that the Baron manages to parry nonetheless. The blood blade rings faintly with each strike, but remains intact with each impact. Seeing an opening, the Baron steps in, using his other fist to catch Katrina’s left wrist as it comes in for another stab. The impact of the punch causes her to drop the dagger in that hand with a curse, and after the Baron parries another attack from her other hand Katrina is wide open. A skilled fighter, Katrina realizes this immediately and attempts to back away but is no match for the Baron’s speed as he twists inside her defense, spinning around to deliver a powerful horizontal slash. The blow catches her across the chest and she screams as she crumples to the ground.

The Baron turns back to face you with a grin, his blood blade suddenly missing from his hand. Only then do you notice that it has re-liquidified, crawling around underneath Katrina like an ooze, mingling with her blood and beginning to force itself into her wound.

“When I’m finished with you Korram, you will kneel at my feet, a broken husk of a man. But I’m not entirely without mercy – I’ll spare your daughter the same fate and merely damn her to the Hells. I’m sure some incubus will find some sort of deviant use for her!”

And then the Baron begins to chant, his words in some sort of fiendish dialect, although he quickly switches back to a language you can understand – no doubt for your own benefit.

“Dark ones, as per the ancient pact I offer you sacrifice. Let the innocent be damned as the wicked!”

A short distance down the alley, a crack appears in the earth. As the Baron continues it widens, opening into a hellish maw from which comes a malevolent glow and screaming voices.

“I condemn this one to your merciless care. May her feeble cries sustain you!”

The remnants of the blood blade curl around Katrina now, and eagerly begin to flow towards the hellish rift, dragging her along. Katrina screams in terror and flails around weakly, too wounded to accomplish much more than digging her fingers into the ground, bruising and tearing them open as they are dragged across the rough cobblestones.

“KORRAM!!!!”

The Baron doesn’t even attempt to block your way to Katrina. That is accomplished by some sort of magical barrier, holding you back from reaching Katrina to help her no matter how you rage against it. And when you turn back to the Baron to make him stop this, he simply evades your attacks, chanting all the way. He no longer tries to fight you, he doesn’t have to. He just has to dodge this way and that away from you, staying out of your grasp and keeping you back with the occasional pinpoint strike, all the while your daughter grows closer to being sucked into the Hells.

“Let divine injustice be done! Feast upon her soul as you ravage her body!”

Theme Song

Katrina is at the edge of the rift now. From within comes cackles of frenzied delight now, as shadow hands reach up out of the right to caress and pull at her. Katrina gives one last desperate scream, and suddenly a dark figure detaches itself from a roof above the alleyway. Like a dark bolt from the Heavens, the figure twirls silently down from above the Baron, pirouetting in mid-air to drive a foot into the back of his head. The impact causes the Baron to stumble forward, directly into your grasp. You tear into him with the sort of savagery only an enraged father could display, feeling at least two ribs and a couple teeth give way beneath your flurry of blows. Then the Baron spits out another magical curse word, and he blinks out of existence to reappear several feet away further down the alleyway.

On the plus side, with his concentration broken the Baron’s damnation spell winks out of existence. The rift disappears as quickly as it had arrived, leaving Katrina safe but shivering and sobbing at what had nearly just happened. Moving to stand beside you, Argan nods in greeting and then gestures at the rope he had rapidly descended from.

“Your friend is up there, badly hurt. Take your daughter, take her, and go. Leave the Baron to me, I’ll hold him off. You need to go on – you’re the only one left that can beat him. But not tonight.”

Argan says urgently, and in the back of your mind Purifier enthusiastically agrees with him. Although you had hurt the Baron, he had hurt you plenty in return and you were once again nearing the limits of your ability to regenerate. Perhaps if you had gone into the fight fresh things would have gone differently, but as of right now you weren’t going to survive this. Neither would Katrina, and as the Baron had just demonstrated, there were far worse things he could do than just kill you.

“Argan . . . I was wondering when you would show up. I’ve got something special planned for you!”

The Baron growls as he begins to advance again, once more fully recovered from his injuries. Oh how you longed to wipe that arrogant smile off his face! Having to retreat from him like a coward was like acid in your veins, but it was the only sensible choice. The only question was whether or not what was left of your rational mind would be able to conquer your rampaging emotions.

OverWilliam

As Karami tearfully relates her tale, a desperate plan begins churning in your mind. Everything that the Baron had told you was true, although apparently not even he had expected the master assassin Limier to be beaten by an old preacher with his own dark past. How fortunate then that you had requested his help in dealing with Inquisitor Silverton, although said help hadn’t materialized just yet. Ulrich can see the wheels turning behind your eyes, however, and he scowls at the sight.

“Lad, please tell me that you aren’t trying to come up with some sort of mad plan to go and break them out! It’s impossible, the whole place will be crawling with inquisitors and you’ll just get yourself killed. Now, hopefully, after some time they’ll find that Karami’s parents did nothing wrong and let them go. But your so-called friend . . . I shudder to think what they’re going to do to her. There’s a reason even the fiends are scared of the Inquisitors.”

At mention of her parents and you potentially getting killed trying to save them, Karami’s sobs reach a howling pitch. Ulrich frowns in guilt as he realizes that his words are to blame for the young girl’s latest outpouring of tears, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, uncertain what to do. After another round of reassuring talk, which calms her somewhat, you turn to note that Jim is starting to wander away. Figuring that he made the mess, so now he could clean it up, you pass Karami over to Ulrich, and leave him to continue comforting her while you go intercept Jim. The man looks up at you, startled in his usual flighty way by your sudden appearance, and then he manages a weak smile.

“I was on my way out of town when I ran across that girl. Figured I’d repay your trust in me, and give you somebody new to protect. I didn’t realize you actually knew her at the time.”

Jim manages a slight guffaw, and then falls silent as a shadow passes across his face.

“I didn’t touch her, Tare. Not a hair. But I wanted to. Oh gods, I so wanted too. She was exactly the kind I used to go for. It would have been so easy . . .”

Jim clenches his hands into fists, and then releases them, starring down at his feet. Then he looks back up at you, for once looking directly into your eyes.

“Keep her away from me. And you take good care of her – she deserves to be happy.”

And with that, Jim sets off down the road. He does not look back.

You are just joining back up with Ulrich to discuss what to do next when a carriage pulls up to the intersection a block away. Carriages are not an uncommon sight in the slums, although they almost never come to a stop the way this one was. A minute later, and the driver dismounts from his seat atop the carriage to open the cabin door. From within a woman emerges, clad in the immaculate white garments of a church priestess. Her face is concealed by the cowl that covers her head as part of her garments. She bows demurely to the driver and offers him a gold piece for his troubles, and then waves him off. The driver, clearly unused to dropping and leaving clients in the middle of the slums tries to argue with her, but is quickly silenced by a wagging finger from the priestess.

“Ah, that must be the representative from the Church, here to investigate the burning of my chapel. I didn’t think they would react so quickly though . . .”

Ulrich observes, a note of caution coming into his voice. Meanwhile, the driver hops back up onto his carriage and rides away, eager to be out of the slums as quickly as possible. Her head still bowed and hands folded in front of her, the priestess turns to you and walks over to join you. When she gets near, she looks up, finally allowing you a look at her face. Even with only a set of orange-tinted spectacles on her nose, you recognize the face. It is a face you have seen fully revealed once before, down in the Hells. Limier has returned. Beside you, Ulrich tenses, and he seems about ready to start calling for help, trying to get someone, anyone’s attention.

“Don’t go screaming my name, Ulrich. Everyone here knows who I am, and I’d like that information to stay within this tight little circle.” Limier hisses, somehow managing to look menacing even without her elaborate disguise.

“It would seem that the Baron has seen fit to reassign me.” Limier explains further with an exasperated sigh.

“I am now to render whatever aid I can to you Tare. Something about storming a castle full of angry Inquisitors, or some nonsense? Oddly enough, for once my roles are reversed – I’m supposed to keep you alive, rather than the opposite.”

Limier smiles grimly, although the grin quickly fades as she resumes her previously dour expression.

“Now then, if you would like my help in planning this madness, say so. Otherwise, I’d be only too happy to go back home and indulge myself with a stiff drink before passing out for the night. I have a headache and my ribs are still sore from where Ulrich took a candelabra to them!”

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Still entangled with Fianna, her hair spread out like flames caught in gossamer, Umber pondered her words carefully, letting all the implications thereof play out. He had a sharp wit, and a great deal of experience using it, and this was the single most important choice he had made since the consumation of his desire for immortality those many millenia ago. He did not rush to answer, and he bided in a sweet, comfortable sort of intimate silence he'd never had with anyone else. It had been century upon century since he and Fianna had been entwined like this - and yet it felt as natural now as it ever had. He had rediscovered that strange and wonderful sort of intimacy wherein you can talk to someone as easily as you talk to yourself in the silence of your own head - and perhaps even moreso. He didn't like seeing that fear in her eye - fear wasn't an expression that looked natural on her. It made her look older, like the specter of mortality that now belonged to both of them - and there was something familiar that he could have done without.

At last, he smiled at her - it was a somewhat pained expression, and they both knew what was coming. "No." He said simply. It lingered in the air for a moment, so much of moment contained in a singly syllable. Then he began to elaborate, still smiling that sad little smile.

"But you knew that when you mentioned it . Still, it needed to be dressed, like cleaning a wound before you sew it up. As to why... well, there's a number of reasons. First, we both know that there's a significant chance the Baron could win. If he does, we will likely face fates worse than death." Umber's tone was neutral as he said this, but even he had to shudder. The Baron, he was sure, had a twisted imagination even by Umber's own standards. He didn't want to see what might happen to them if they were exposed to what lurked at the bottom of it.

"Second, and closely related - this is just too important to stand by. Whatever happens, this is another of those turning points in the fate of the world. I don't feel any particular responsibility for everyone else, but there's too much we could gain from participating, and too much we could lose by hiding ourselves away. Whoever wins this conflict, things will change - and if we want to live in peace in the aftermath, we're going to need to shape those changes. We can't afford to let the Baron, or that idiot Kartul, or any other such powers that might be lurking - Azguloth's minions, perhaps - do something... inimical." He actually did shudder a little at that.

"Finally... the Baron is me, love. Through a mirror darkly. Moreover, he is my enemy. I would not be the man I am if I allowed him to live after all he has done to me, and more importantly to you." He said this last without any trace of embellishment or sentiment. It was simply the truth. "He is too much a threat to us to be ignored, and I have never prided myself on hiding from such conflict. I am going to annihilate him. I can accept no other outcome. I - no, we must seize our destiny. The last time we let things slip, it ruined us, and separated us for more years than most could count. I will not let that happen again. Whatever road we walk from here out, I want us to walk with pride - and to walk together." He kissed her softly on the lips, once, and looked at her. Then that old infectious grin ran over his face. "Besides. There's always the chance that we can usurp his plan and become gods ourselves. And wouldn't that be interesting?" He said - and it said something about Umber that he wasn't really joking when he spoke the words.

His grin widened, showing his teeth - deadly, practical, efficient. He felt that old, slow roll, like being in the seat of some vast, sleek engine of destruction. Power sublimated to will, that's what it was - his power, and his will. He realized that he was gathering his sorceries to him. He was getting stronger - and the workout he had put himself through at the wedding had helped immensely. Which was good - he would need everything he could muster to survive, let alone triumph. He stood up from the roll he shared with Fianna, already helping her to her feet. They had a great deal to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A letter from Al-sirran bin Sabbar, Caliph of the city-state of Sabba on the coast of the southern sea to his cousin Jaman bin Bagdheir, Sultan of Baghdesh.

Jaman,

Honored Kinsman - May the Lady of Light bless and keep you, and her thousand angels watch over your children while they sleep.

I am writing to consult with you upon the matter of which you spoke in your last message. Conditions are much the same here in wondrous Sabba as they are in your own blessed Baghdesh - and their have been additional developements which rumor tells me you have seen mirrored in your own lands. The wild tribes of the desert have always been a mixed blessing for us as well as for you - their trade is welcome, but the blades and bothers they bring are less so. Like you, however, we noticed a change in them in the last fortnight. Only a few of them were in evidence in the marketplace, and these were of the youngest and meanest sort. Of their chieftans and elders we have seen nothing. At first, we were deeply troubled - Such absences have, in times past, been a sign that a war was imminent, and that some warlord had arisen among them with the strength and cunning to cow the rest into submission, to raise the banners high and come down upon the cities of the coast like a sandstorm. While they have always broken upon the walls, they devastate the farmlands and smallholds, and bring ruin and famine as surely as any other disaster of nature.

This time, though, I fear it might be something even worse.

It was only yesterday evening that we found out the truth of the matter. A dozen riders approached the city gates, surrounding a single figure. At first, I thought my fears confirmed, though whenever a horde-chief has arisen among the nomad tribes, it has not been their custom to parlay with us. But the man in the middle was no tribesman - he was too tall, too fair of face and feature. Looking at him, I was struck as if I had seen a ghost - and I am still not convinced he was not a djinn or a demon - because in his features I saw the faintest echoes of our own. He resembled in part some of the oldest of our revered ancestors - those whose statues in the Hall of Remembrance in Baghdesh are nothing more than worn nubs of stone.

In any case, he spoke fairly with me, and his request was strange, not in its nature but in its magnitude. He came, he said, to purchase slaves. When I laughed, still somewhat nervous, and told him that I was Caliph, not a back-market flesh peddler, he smiled at me - And Ah! By the Lady of Light, I swear I saw a demon dancing in that smile. He did not, he say, want to buy one or two or a dozen. This madman wanted every slave in Sabba! I laughed again, feeling more keenly the same nervousness that had gripped me before, but he only smiled on - and then he brought up the chests.

There were a dozen of them, huge and requiring four men to lift - more like sarcophagi than chests, really - and each was filled to the brim with gold and jewels. There was more in those dozen chests than in my own treasury. He offered them to me and said in that same even voice, that these were mine if I would bring him every slave in the city before sundown - every piece of owned flesh from the lowest cut-tongue dock-slave to the flowers of my own harem.

You can imagine my shock... but something told me it would be unwise to refuse. It made me sick, for I could see nothing wholesome possible in this demon's desires - and I was made more nervous by the way the tribesmen looked to him. They did not treat him as a war-chief. They looked at him as if he were a god - and when I returned hours later with what he had purchased, I took another start, for my thoughts were confirmed - his honor guard were all chiefs themselves! But among the riders of the sands, a man who takes up the sword of the body-guard gives up all that he has. These men were not following him for a war-season. They had offered up their lives. Who is this man, if man he is?

I feel tainted cousin, I cannot lie - I feel as if I have made a deal with the Unspoken One himself. I beg for your council, and if this djinn has not yet made you his offer, I urge you to refuse, should he come to your own gates. I would not have your soul stained as I feel mine has been.

Pray for my soul,
Al-sirran

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Hondshioh arranges for Belroar to accompany Tyra, with the clear statement that she was not to be harmed. Upon receiving word of the commotion in the Council Chambers, he calls Katashiko to him.

"I wouldn't want to face the end of this without my best friend by my side."

When he enters and sees Morganna throw herself on Ander's blade, his expression changes from determination to abject horror.

"NO!"

Then he sees the dark runes of Project Angelus appear and his heart is filled with incalculable rage.

"CRANE! You monster! There's no other word for it! When I started this, I thought it was just a few monks taking ill-gained wealth, opulence in the hallowed places while the poor starve. What I learned was horrible, that holy servants of the gods were being perverted to fulfill a rogue angel's vendetta. But this. This goes beyond all that is good and pure. You have no cause for which to fight except yourself. You're WORSE than the demons you worked with. They are what they are, and do not pretend to be anything else. YOU wear the mantle of holiness and abuse the gifts Miriam herself gave you! And now to use the horrors you all too happily command on a human being, one of the best men in the world. You are truly beyond saving. DO YOU HEAR ME, FALSE EXARCH! I WILL DEFEAT YOU!"

As Ander approaches, unable to control his own body, Hondshioh turns to Katashiko.

"Bind them."

"What?! You can't be serious! Remember what happened last time you did that? Didn't work! And the stones are warded! I'm not..."

"You ARE strong enough, Katashiko! When we first met I had my suspicions of you, that you were a murderer and a liar seeking her own selfish goals. But you have stood beside me when you had plenty of chances to kill me or run away. You restrained your own impulses when I didn't ask you to. You have proven to me, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that you are a good person, and a good friend. You claim to be the Mistress of the Earth? Commander of a force that's all around us? That bears us all? PROVE IT!"

Katashiko's about to protest, but when she hears the direct challenge, she gets a wicked smirk on her face. She turns to face the oncoming group, and focuses. Harder than she ever has before. The warded stones of the Chambers shudder and spark, resisting her call, but Hondshioh's words only goad her to push harder, to use every last ounce of the strength she had. Even Hondshioh can feel a wierd magnetic pull in his stone-giant blood. And just when it looks like Katashiko's about to give out, great stone hands burst from the ground, the walls and the cieling, grasping the twisted angels in midair, and rooting Ander to the floor.

Katashiko grins weakly at Hondshioh.

"Proof enough for ya?"

"More than enough. Hold them as long as you can."

He walks right up to Ander and stares at him. The man seems so small now, standing before the giant-born General.

"There's nothing I can say that you probably haven't already thought yourself, Ander. You sacrificed yourself to cover our escape, only to be twisted into the very thing you tried to stop. Your greatest enemy using you as a puppet to torture and destroy the last hopes of this Church. But you fight still. And that is why they cannot hold you. You are Lord General Ander. The greatest of Miriam's paladins. The one who united us all against the corruption. The one mortal whom the Valkyrie trusts more than any other. These runes may shackle your body, but your will is your own. And I have never met a man with a stronger will than yours. So I say to you, Ander. Resist. Fight. Fight as you always have. With conviction and honor. And I say to you, angels, poor abused beings, to do the same. Remember the purpose for which you were created. We all swore an oath, Ander. You ARE that oath. A living embodiment of it. Repeat it, and remember:

I here swear fealty and do homage to Miriam the Valkyrie; to ever be a good knight and true, reverent and generous, shield of the weak, obedient to my Goddess, foremost in battle, honorable at all times, champion of the right and the good. THUS! SWEAR! I!"

As he speaks the words of the Oath, a strange, floating feeling begins to fill the room, and all can see a light in Hondshioh's features. As he continues, the light gets brighter, and all feel its cold, clean radiance. When he speaks the last words, the light is almost blinding, and the sense of rightness, of sanctity, swells to a triumphant pitch!

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

At the sight of the clapping man, both arms fly up into a reflexive guard, preparing against this unknown figure.

"Who, on earth, are you?"

Mal tries to reduce his tension, deciding either this elderly man is too old to be a threat or so old that he could stop any martial artist his junior. Either way, being defensive wasn't a nice or smart idea.

His thoughts reach back to his old teacher, Master Vork. The dwarf was old even by his own races' standards, but until Mal was fifteen, the teacher would beat his student to the ground with only a single hand. There's nothing quite like a centurial fist breaking through your every guard and attack, to make you learn respect for your elders. But afterwards, that same hand would always offer to help him back up again, with the same warm smile behind it.

The wanderer shakes his head of the memories, looking back at the much darker smile. He relaxes on the brick wall of the alley, resting his back against it.

"My heart's desire is a pretty big prize. I'd have to be an idiot to not be tempted."

Mal was very tempted, after all this time searching, all these years moving from place to place, he might finally get some clear info on those killers. If he won, he could find them and stop them from murdering ever again. Also, if luck was on his side, another Terra Style practitioner might be there and be willing to help him finish his training. But . . . something about this guy was off, something much worse than the gang he had just escaped.

He moves to scratch his neck, as he ponders the offer.

"But, I'd have to be an even bigger idiot to not ask, what happens if I lose?"

(His reply depend on the response to Mal's question. If he just gets to leave after losing, or is told along those lines, then reply A. If it's closer to saying losers become cut price plant fertiliser or worse, reply B.)

(Reply A)

Despite the feeling from this guy, Mal didn't see much wrong with the offer. Finally, just a few fights to get through and he'd possibly be a huge leap closer to both of his goals.

He nods with a faint smile, as he replies,

"Okay. You've got your latest competitor, sir. Just point me towards the arena kitchen and you'll get to see me fight at my best."

(Reply B)

Mal's expression hardened at the man's statement.

"You people are sick. I don't care about my heart's desire if people will die because of it. You take your tournament offer, and stick it."

The martial artist raises his arms to guard again, as he backs away from the old man.

[Pwenet]

Bad Ash*cough*Incom Morgan

Feeling his body coming back under control Incom makes an exaggerated sighing sound. Seeing the Baron offering his hand Incom reaches out and takes it as he sits up. Part of him found it odd that the Baron was able to help sit up his heavy GHAST form, but that was something to note for another day.

”MUCH Better brother! I was getting awfully stiff there, not being able to do anything. Maybe you should have come by sooner, or hells, even tried talking to me one you found out about us? What made you decide to take on Miriam however if you don't mind me asking, that seems a little extreme from trying to find the family that abandoned you?

However I digress, you are right, I really should get my house in order here. Back in a minute. Afterwards can we talk about changing my paint job here, especially if I'm suppose to be one of your most efficient warriors.”

Falling within his mind Incom smiles down at the sweet little demonic Sara, her eye squinted in rage with fingers of claws. The angelic Katashiko meanwhile promptly crashes down in a fit of terror. Deciding that she can wait until later Incom snickers and approaches demonic Sara.

"”What’s the matter kitty? Going to scratch me?”

Fingernails flash out, yet with a jerk of his head Incom avoids them. Chuckling Incom leans forward.

”You have been a real pain in the ass, you know that? Forcing me to constantly fight you? You do realize that a lot of this is your fault, if ou didn't keep me busy we might be on a distant beach somewhere enjoying unprecedented peace. Oh who am I killing, I’m really looking forward to this!”

Another blur of motion as demonic Sara attacks once again, yet this time Incom grabs her arm, twists and uses her momentum to turn her around until he is pressed against her back, her arm twisted almost to the breaking point. She twists her head to hiss angrily at him and spits at his face.

”And to dress up like Sara? Oh wait, was that me? I can’t tell, I think I’m just plain crazy. What was the saying, the one-eye’s man is a king in the land of the blind? I guess I should make you a citizen!”

Leaning forward Incom bares his teeth and takes a bite. Ripping away he snaps demonic Sara’s arm for good measure before stepping back, spitting out her eye onto his hand. With his free hand he sees her former home within the mental landscape of the GHAST, the doors waiting her presence. Throwing her in he slams the mental doors shut. Turning back towards the angelic Katashiko, Incom waves the eyeball in front of her face.

”You are pathetic. I mean, I built you back up from the ground up, and this is what happens when I betray you? What did you think was going to happen? That Miriam was coming to save you? She can't save anyone? I mean, she couldn't even look at me with her goddess vision to tell me I was a walking trap? Talk about a pitiful excuse for a god. I wonder though, you and demons are different sides of the same coin, what do you see when you look in the eyes of a demon? Can you tell me now? What if I gave you this eye, but whatever would I do with your spare?”

Needless to say the predictable reaction occurs, and the angelic Katashiko stumbles away screaming. Taking several steps forward Incom kicks her in the stomach, sending her flying back into her former home. Slaming shut the mental door he feels his mind calming. Looking at the eyeball he shrugs and throws it into the cage.

”Don’t want you to feel alone, have some fun with your new playmate. It’s time to make my mark on this world, after long last!”

Eyes blinking out and back on, Incom turns towards his brother.

”There we go, you want to do any checking on them? They are scared enough that they don’t want to do anything anymore. Anything else you want me to do to prove myself? Slaughter some innocents? Burn a village down? Play patty-cake with Akor? If we are done what is your plan so that we can get ready to end the world as we know it?”

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

As Ulrich pleaded the cause of reason and sanity, Tare's face darkened as though a literal shadow had passed over his features, blocking them from sight. Especially when he mentioned Melcara. So he knew then; Tare didn't know much about the clergy or what manner of perks might come along with faithful service, but it seemed to make sense that Ulrich would develop a sense for such things. "...Ulrich. I'm going to need you to tell me everything you know about Inquisitors."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tare felt a stabbing in his chest in reaction to Karami's pain. He pulled Karami close and stroked her hair as she cried into his shoulder. "Easy, kiddo." He soothed, wiping a tear off of her cheek with a thumb. "Y'know, there's a lot of things I've never told you. Things a little girl shouldn't have to know. You're growing up so fast," He said, a burst of regret choking his voice as he thought about the time he'd lost in Ironheart. "...But there's a lot you still don't know. About Hanna and Jonas, for example. Those two are really something else, kid. They taught me more than they'll ever know, and they're tougher than granite. I know they'll be ok." This was not said merely to comfort Karami-- Tare also said it out loud to reassure himself. But he didn't have to lie, to either himself or Karami. There was a lot he himself didn't know about that couple, but one thing he was absolutely assured of was that it would take more Inquisitors than there existed to permanently damage either one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tare didn't say anything at first, and instead let Jim speak his mind. Sometimes silence is more effective than questioning. When Jim got to the end of his explanation, Tare nodded.

"...Jim." He stopped the man as he began walking away. "I believe you. And be glad I do, because that one is special. She doesn't belong to me, but there's a piece of me that will always belong to her. There is nothing that I cannot imagine myself not doing to keep her safe, and nothing I can think of that I would hesitate one second to do to anyone who hurt her. A part of me would break, do you understand? I would no longer be a reasoning being, I would be a human animal. You don't know how close to a fate worse than Hell you came when you found her. ...And you made the right choice." Jim didn't turn around.

"Do you remember that conversation we had? About having a chance to atone? ...I think there's hope for you, Jim. I'm no preacher, you'll have to ask Ulrich about that. But you know better than I do what it's like to die, and what happens after. ...I don't know what there is that I could ever do for you, but if I get the chance I'll remember this. I'll put in a good word with whomever it might make a difference with for you. If you find trouble for yourself in this world, see if you can find me. You don't know how valuable what you did for her is, Jim, but I know."

"Thank you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karami detached herself from Ulrich and returned to Tare's side as he walked back over to the pair. He smiled and let her latch onto an arm, but turned to Ulrich to continue their conversation about Inquisitors-- but was interrupted by the 'new' arrival. Something seemed odd even before the carriage stopped, as Ulrich's assumed explanation didn't quite satisfy.

Before the representative had even moved close Tare was already suspecting the Baron's involvement somewhere. But he certainly didn't expect to see a familiar face-- that is to say, a face without its familiar mask.

Tare recovered faster than Ulrich did. He offered a bow for the benefit of anyone who may have been paying attention, saluting the office that Limier was apparently pretending to fill. "I wish there was somewhere more private where we could speak," Tare said, keeping most of the hostility out of his voice.

Tare gave Limier a moment to introduce herself, also taking a moment to factor Limier's assistance into the plan that was slowly piecing itself together in his mind. "I need to know what you're bringing to the table. What do you know about Inquisitors? I assume you're one of those people that would find it easier to count the types of opponents you havn't killed before. What do you know about them? I have no strategy for dealing with them. Do they have any need-to-know blind spots or vulnerabilities? Anything you can tell me will help. I really don't know that much about them at all." Tare paused to hear Limier out. "The Head Inquisitor that we'll be confronting is Albert Silverton. Have you heard the name?"

"Second... I need help with my combat ability. I don't expect to be your equal, not by a long shot and certainly not in the amount of time we have, but if this is going to work I need to be able to pull my own share. As outnumbered as we're going to be, I need to be able to pull well more than my own share. You've told me secrets about yourself before, not out of fondness, but out of necessity. It would seem that the roles are reversed now, in that regard. If you'll agree to it, I want to show you some skills that I've kept hidden from a lot of people for a very long time. I need your experience, your instincts. I need you to show me how to use them."

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent
[Harvent Residence]

Isera threw open the doors to her family house. It had been a long time since she had been home, but this was no time for anything like that. This wasn't home.

Walters was a good butler. He was getting old now, but he had always been smart and a kind man. So Isera was not surprised when he, when seeing Isera, knew who she was coming to see.

She managed a single nod of her head. "Thank you. Now lock the door. No visitors allowed for now Walters." Isera said. She continued into the house before he could respond. She didn't want a conflict there. She was angry. Very upset. But it wasn't Walters fault.
Or was it?
Isera couldn't be certain. But there was a name that was given to her. Her father.

When she came to the study, she opened the door immediately, and closed it behind her. Then she locked it. Before she answered her father, she searched the room quickly with her eye. If there was any signs of magical spying. Or defense wards.

Then she stepped up to the desk and put her hands on the table, and sharply looked at her father.

"Right now father, the traitor is looking like you. You know of the documents that I captured from the cult? They were from our archive, and the one who had them last...was you."

She hit the table with her fake hand. The sound was loud enough to be noticeable.
"Not only that, but mother died from the same thing as Ember Montiguard, and now Cerise's mother is too. And all of them are connected to the Hellrazers, and you."

She glared sharply at him.

"I don't know what happened, but I want to know right now. And I want you to tell me everything about Victoria in omnis res rei. Because the cult leader also uses that saying."

[Gorgondantess]

After Augustus leaves, she simply sits on the floor for a time, feeling a particular numbness. Shock. For the first time, there was something greater than her. Maybe.
Finally, she gets up, and stumbles out of the shack back to Maurice and Omnicron.
She nods as Maurice asks for privacy.

"Is that what I really feel...? But of course. Was that not clear? Why else would I have gone to such great lengths to bring you with me, to always have you by my side?"
She sweeps across the room and beside Maurice.
"Love. What an apt word. What else could describe this feeling... that with every word you say... something amazing could happen."
With each word, she leans in closer to Maurice, her arms at her shoulders and drawing in.
"Something amazing. Every word so intoxicating... And my own words... whatever I say... whatever I do... it's never enough. Say the word, my love, and I'll tell you what you want to hear, give you what you want to have."
She holds her hand before Maurice's face, and there various coins and gems appear.
"Gold? Jewels? With these I could win the heart of any mortal without a second thought. And have. But not you... you're different. You were the first. And for that, I love you."
Reabsorbing her treasures, she envelops Maurice in her arms, slowly rubbing her head against her and silencing any protestation.
"Don't say it. Because... I already know. Of course, these feelings aren't reciprocated. Hardly. But, you see, I've realized something...
Eternity is a long time. Yes, eternity. We two, we immortal two... never in a million years, you say? Why, then I'll ask you if you love me in a million-and-one! And until then, I'll never let you out of my sight. Not for eternity..."

***
Once that business is resolved, on Augustus:

"Not as badly as I'd guessed?... Only by an order of magnitude. Indeed, Augustus came here to devour me, being a human infused with my powers. He's done so to many of my kind before me, in fact. He was receptive to my pleas of peace, however, and if all goes according to plan, he and his will be on their way, away for both of us to live our lives as we may.
I'm just... not sure I can allow that."
She gets up, resolved, but with a haunted look about her.
"Before I said it was as I thought, only a magnitude lesser. You see, he's already had his piece. Those knives... those accursed knives... they don't actually harm me, as I am. Rather, they are something of an... extension of his appetite. When I was stabbed... it transferred a portion of my being to him. Right now, a portion of my... soul, if you will... is within him. Fueling him. And he hungers for more. He had to forcibly keep himself from attacking me."
She clenches and unclenches her fist.
"And I... I hunger too. The one to have that power... should be me. That power IS mine. More than his! I may not have his raw energies, but he wears it like a suit of armor, clamoring about... unnatural... This power is what I AM, not the bastard of some human ritual!"
She growls, seething.
"I'm not sure if either of us can live while the other does as well. Our existences are at odds with one another. Something will have to give... and it might be me."

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

It might be a good idea to keep an eye on Incom after you rest up, Sohssal mentally responded to Omega. He was relieved that the teleportation, for once, went exactly as planned. Maybe this day could be salvaged, but for now he followed Victoria to his new quarters.

Sohssal inspected his new lab eagerly. It wasn't as big as his old manor, but it had the advantage in that it wasn't falling apart. The spires were smaller and obsolete, but he saw that more as an opportunity than anything else. He had actual support now, so designing the spires to function despite prolonged neglect was no longer a priority. They could be tuned for greater output, or any other number of specializations. The only thing that wasn't satisfactory was that scrying window, which he promptly dispelled. If the Baron wanted to stay up to date on Sohssal's experiments, he could just read the notes.

For now, Sohssal was content to recharge from the spires, as well as draw up future plans. First he made a list of supplies he'd need to retrieve from his old manor, not the least of which were the old spires (he wouldn't want anyone else getting at them). He also planned out a few demonology experiments, but more importantly, he drew up the ritual to summon the soul of Omega's “father”, to be completed at a later date. In her current state, Omega would be dependent on Sohssal, but if he did extract the knowledge to repair her, she'd most likely become more powerful, and thus more useful.

His thoughts were interrupted when the Baron entered. Then realized he had completely lost track of time. Even inside his island manor, Sohssal still had the dull roar of the tides to note the passage of time, not to mention actual day and night when he was upstairs where the windows were. He'd have to set up some sort of timepiece here as soon as he could.

But that inconvenience didn't make him any less eager at the prospect of eliminating Arlan. Two Sages down, and two more to go!

”Yes, I had been wondering what would happen to infected spellcasters myself. Sadly, Arlan has already been vaccinated. I'd either have to develop a new strain of the plague – and later adapt the vaccination spell accordingly – or find a way to weaken Arlan's immune system. The latter would be the safer bet, but that's a little outside my specialty. No doubt you have access to some obscure, nonlethal poison that could do the trick,” Sohssal explained.


”Regardless, I should report my encounter with the Valkyrie while it's still fresh in my mind. Miriam was using Sara's body, with golden armor and wings and all that. She can still give divine commands, although my dual nature allowed me to resist. Miriam also displayed skill in illusions. Most importantly, in my opinion, She had a sword capable of severing my demonic essence. No doubt it could do equally nasty things to any other demonic agents you have.

As to how I escaped, I had an anti-magic bomb prepared to erase the traces of my teleport. It went off while She was showing off an illusion of how much better She thought my life would have been without immortality, dispelling it and dazing Her. Unfortunately, She recovered in time to nick me with that sword while I was teleporting. The wound is only a dull ache now, but I wouldn't want to face Her again until I'm finally recharged. And with some backup,” he half-rambled, making sure to give the important details.

[Dorizzit]

Korram

Korram growls in anger and frustration as he is pushed back once more by the Baron, although he is surprised momentarily when the blade of his hand is snapped off. The loss brings no pain; that was interesting, he would have to look at that more later. This distracts him just long enough for the Baron to escape and hurl him from the room with an enhanced scream. Korram knocks into the far wall of the alley with an unpleasant striking noise, then slumps to the ground before pulling himself wearily to his feet, his hand still not finished regenerating. He half-smiles at the Baron's pain, but his face turns back to a concentrated grimace at the appearance of the blade of blood.

Even so, it is Katrina who suffers from the newest spell. Korram, seeing how the fight is going, tries to push himself in closer, but in his weakened and injured state cannot reach them in time before the Baron cuts into her. Korram lunges forward, but trips over a piece of debris and lands just as the Baron begins his next spell.

“When I’m finished with you Korram, you will kneel at my feet, a broken husk of a man. But I’m not entirely without mercy – I’ll spare your daughter the same fate and merely damn her to the Hells. I’m sure some incubus will find some sort of deviant use for her!”

Korram's eyes widen and he sucks in breath, shocked, at the Baron's proclamation.

“Dark ones, as per the ancient pact I offer you sacrifice. Let the innocent be damned as the wicked!”

"No."

“I condemn this one to your merciless care. May her feeble cries sustain you!”

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Screaming in horror, Korram scrambles to his feet and dashes towards Katrina, only to be rebounded by the barrier. Roaring in rage, he pounds both fists into it before turning his fury on the calmer Baron, who easily evades his frenzied strikes.

Argan's attack comes at the worst time for the Baron, as Korram had just entered a grabbing lunge. The Baron is knocked right into Korram, who proceeds to deliver a furious barrage of vicious strikes to his enemy, shattering bones and tearing loose teeth in his rage. The Baron finally escapes, but is much worse for the wear.

As Argan instructs Korram to flee, he shakes his head. Instead of explaining himself, he pushes in front of Argan and rears back, fire erupting from his hands. With a primal scream of fury, Korram thrusts his arms forward and releases an overwhelming torrent of fire at the Baron. While the Baron himself is not burned, the sheer concussive force of the blast is enough to throw him from his feet. Not done yet, Korram lays his hand on one of the buildings nearby, one unconnected to the rope, and launches a stream of fire into it, burning a glowing hole in the wall. Sending the flames down the alley within the building, he detonates them with explosive force next to the Baron, causing a section of the building to collapse directly onto him.

Korram turns to Argan, forcing some of his rage down and breathing heavily.

"Thank you."

He strides over to Katrina, and gently helps her to her feet. He directs her to the rope, then begins climbing up after her. Once they reach the top, he checks on the status of the countess.

[Inspectre]

Meanwhile . . .

Theme Song

The elves were only a few days away from the human capital now. Tur Villid found it impossible to believe that the human defenses were so lax. True, there had been the brutal fight for the Baron’s estate, followed by the springing of a trap that killed many of his best men. But once that objective was secured, again with no information of Prince Teareal’s whereabouts, they had been met with virtually no existence.

Villid kept expecting it to be some clever human ruse to lure him too far into the human lands to retreat. But every day he advanced further, unwilling to let this priceless opportunity go to waste, and every day no trap was sprung. Eventually Villid realized the truth – there was no clever plan. The humans were scattered and disorganized, unable to respond to his bold assault. And now in a few days, he could strike a blow from which the humans might never recover. Which made the arrival of Tur Galadren – and his sizable cavalry force – a mixed blessing.

“How many times must I repeat myself to you before you will listen, Villid!? The King ordered me with his dying breath to find you and command you to return home!”

“Bah! The King was a timid old man even before his body withered with age! He sought to appease the humans, to all but kneel at their feet in the interest of “peaceful co-existance”! And what do we have to show for it? They encroach into our forests like vermin, and they spirit away our prince so that we are left leaderless! I should have done this long ago Aeril – the vaunted human strength is nothing more than mist – cut it and it melts away! We will not have this opportunity to cripple them again!”

“And at what cost, Villid!? How many of our people must die upon the altar of your vanity before you are satisfied!? Our prince is gone, our king is dead! We should be making preparations to elect a successor, not escalating the current situation into a war that will not end until we are all dead! Your warmongering is spiting upon our King’s memory, and is in direct violation of his last order! I cannot imagine even you has fallen so far as to ignore a royal edict.”

“I serve a higher power than a mere king! Titania Herself has commanded me to invade the human lands. Or do the words of a goddess not outweigh those of a dying king?”

For a moment, even Galadren is shocked into silence. Although they communicated with the Great Spirits on a regular basis, answers were few and often indirect.

“So . . . you are saying that Titania Herself contacted you, and in plain words told you to attack the humans? You have gone completely mad, Villid!”

“How dare you! The very fact that we have gotten this far should be proof enough that our gods all stand behind this war!”

“Titania is not the only Great Spirit we seek council from Villid, nor does She speak for the others!”

“Enough of this ceaseless bickering! You wish to return home with your head lowered in defeat before the battle even comes that is your decision Galadren. But neither I nor my men will accompany you. The only way you will fulfill your feeble king’s last gasp is by assuming control of my command – over my dead body!”

For the second time in as many minutes Galadren is shocked to the core. His old friend had surely plummeted to the depths of madness while on this fool’s crusade.

“No, surely you cannot mean –“

“Yes Galadren, I do. A blood duel, our blades locked in battle until one falls, and the other stands triumphant. The victor would clearly be the one most in harmony with the Great Spirits’ wishes, would they not?”

“Villid, you are a century my elder. There is only one way that a blood duel between us could end, and that is with your death! I implore you one last time, on behalf of the friendship we have shared these many years, to listen to reason and abandon this insanity!”

“All things are possible with the Great Spirits’ blessing. If you wish to avert this war, assuming that the humans won’t mobilize to retaliate for the blood already spilled, then this is your only option.”

For a long moment, Galadren sized his old friend up. Once a blood duel was declared, there would be no going back. One of them must die. But in the end, the last order of his king outweighed any other consideration.

“Very well, Villid. I, Tur Galadren, do hereby swear that –“

At that very moment, a young scout burst into the tent, interrupting Galadren’s oath. Both Turs turned to glare at the uninvited newcomer, who had to struggle to gasp in enough breath to explain himself.

“Sincerest apologies, most honorable Turs.”

The scout wheezed, prompting Tur Villid to nod and motion for the scout to continue.

“What is the meaning of this interruption? Tell us immediately!”

“More honorable Turs, sincerest apologies again for interrupting your meeting, but . . . I think you both need to come outside. Right now.”

And with that enigmatic comment, the scout dashes back out of the tent, leaving the two to exchange a warning glance.

“This changes nothing. After we see what your scout has found, I will complete my oath to end you, Villid.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to seize the opportunity to back down now, Galadren.”

Together the two elven generals exit the tent, and find a sight awaiting them that renders them both speechless. Perched on a human horse and surrounded by a hastily assembled honor guard of scouts is Crown Prince Teareal, now King Teareal. His betrothed is even with him, draped comatose over the horse’s flanks. As Teareal dismounts, the entire honor guard kneels, save for the two elves who step forward to pick Teareal’s betrothed up off the horse and carry her to the healer’s tent. Both Tur Villid and Tur Galadren dive for the ground, driving their knees into the soft earth in their haste to pay the proper respect. As Teareal approaches them, he inclines his head, indicating that everyone present may stand. The new elven ruler had no time to stand on reflexive ceremony.

“Tur Villid. Tur Galadren. It is good to see both of you.”

Teareal began, a look of confusion passing across his face as he looked around at the massive camp the two combined elven armies had erected.

“Although I would certainly think that a smaller retinue would be all that is required to escort me home.”

“At word of your capture by the vile humans, King Teareal, I rallied my troops to come to your aid. I am only sorry that I was unable to free you from their clutches, although it relieves me to see that you did not need such assistance after all.”

Tur Villid explained, seizing the opportunity to put his own spin on his actions. At his use of the honorific previously reserved for his father, however, a shadow passed over Teareal’s face.

“King Teareal? So then my father –“

“Yes, I am afraid tragedy has struck in your absence. Your father fell ill shortly after your disappearance. Concerns over your fate only worsened his condition until . . . he joined with the spirits. His last thoughts were of you, and the hope that the humans were not to blame.”

Here, Teareal’s eyes narrow, and his previously light tone hardens to a knife edge.

“I was beaten and tormented by the humans. They locked me away in their fortress turned slaughterhouse, and when that was not enough sent me to their blasphemous afterlife. My beloved was tortured in front of my eyes, and then poisoned, sentenced to die a horrendous death. So my father’s hope was in vain – the humans are very much to blame for this.”

Sensing an opportunity, Tur Villid stepped forward.

“My liege, I brought my force into the human lands first to free you, and later to avenge you. We now stand only a few days’ march to their capital. Thus far, the humans have put up only feeble resistance in the face of our wrath. However, they might gather their resolve to try and drive us out if we tarry. But if we were to strike now, against their precious capital . . .”

“Villid, no!”

Galadren gasped, pressing forward to kneel directly before Teareal and gaze up into his eyes.

“Your father’s last wish was for peace between us and the humans. A peace that you risked yourself to maintain with your visit to the human lands! If we withdraw now there’s still a chance we can save that peace! Surely not all humans are responsible for this calamity that befell you and Adamé! Attacking their capital would surely punish the innocent as well as the guilty!”

Slowly, Teareal lowered his hands, resting them on Galadren’s shoulders. And then he pulls the Tur back up to his feet.

“In my time among the humans, I have met only two innocent of this affront to the elven nation. The rest of them can ALL. BURN.”

Turning to address the assembled elves, Teareal thrusts his fists into the air over his head.

“My kin! The humans have chosen to spit in the face of the elven people! They cry for peace, but long for war! Their dishonorable, disrespectful, and deceitful actions have convinced me that there can be no peace between us! Therefore, as my first official decree as your sovereign, I declare that we shall present to them the true spirit of the elven people! Through our actions, not just in the coming years but in the coming days, they shall learn the magnitude of their error! And it shall be from their knees that they will beg for our mercy and forgiveness! Only then shall we consider the offer of their “peace”! Ready yourselves, my brave warriors, for tomorrow we embark on the first act of our great lesson to the humans! We shall take the seat of their ignoble vanity – their capital – and burn it to the ground!!!”

At that, a chorus of battle cries race out through the crowd, spreading to the far ends of the camp. Tur Galadren looks on in growing horror as he sees a great number of his own men, once firm supporters of his actions in trying to keep the peace, now joining in on the shouts for war. Ever the one to twist the knife, Tur Villid slides up to him to whisper into his ear.

“You asked to see the will of the Great Spirits? Here is our king, returned to us, and eager to repay the humans for their folly with death!”

“I shall serve my new liege as faithfully as my old one.”

Galadren whispered back.

“But do not confuse my support for approval. Even in victory, many of us are now marching towards our deaths.”

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

Theme Song

Again the woman once known as Alya Perist kneels before the icy throne of Titania. Here Alya’s tattoos appear as they truly are – living spirits bound into her flesh. It is these spirits that allow her to practice magic at all, and mark the first step on her path to becoming a full-fledged Phaedran. Or, as the humans now call them, Fae.

“You have failed me, Alya.”

Titania hisses, and in response the spirits strain against Alya’s flesh, momentarily threatening to tear her body apart. The girl screams and collapses in a heap, too dazed by pain to offer excuses as Titania’s cold fury washes over her, chilling her to the bone.

“Yes . . . but your daughter is safe! I lifted her from the Baron’s clutches as you asked!”

Alya finally managed to wheeze, only to be buffeted by another wave of frigid air.

“I asked you to bring her here, not keep her safe! She is of no use to me safe! If you cannot bring her here than you are of no use to me either!”

Feeling the spirits starting to tug against her skin once more, Alya cried out in desperation.

“Wait! Give me another chance!”

Immediately the spirits relaxed as Titania’s wrath faded. In truth, the Fae Queen’s intention had been to always give her newest servant another chance. It was an unfortunate aspect of her situation that she held few servants capable of crossing over to the mortal realm. But there was no reason to allow Alya to feel irreplaceable.

“Very well. ONE more chance. Fail to return with my daughter again, however, and I will see if your sister would be interested in replacing you!”

The ice beneath Alya shimmered and turned translucent, revealing her sister Ruya trapped within, her mouth open in a silent scream. Although the threat was clear, Alya found herself less than moved by it. She had warned her sister to stay away, after all, and if ignoring those warnings had brought her to this place then it was her own fault. Nonetheless, Titania could destroy them both on a whim, and so Alya bowed her head even lower, touching her chin against the ice.

“I will find your daughter, and I will bring her here. But upon my return to the mortal realm, the Baron will have certain expectations for me. He is about to confront . . . your nemesis, after all.”

Alya said, smoothly avoided the use of that name which had so enraged Titania the last time she heard it. Even the indirect mention of Miriam seemed to anger Titania as the temperature in the room dropped another few degrees.

“While I would prefer to put an end to Her myself, I will allow the Baron the satisfaction of the kill. I see no reason to aid him further, however. Whether he is victorious or not, the survivor of the struggle will be greatly weakened. When I am reunited with my daughter. When the path back to the mortal realm has been forged. Then the world shall remember Phaedra, as I return to take my rightful place as its undisputed ruler! After the Baron fights Miriam, there will be no one left with the strength to oppose us. You shall be my sole representative at the battle - other than Villid but he is barely more than a gnat compared to you. Aid the Baron as you see fit, but do not forget your duty to me!”

Alya nods and pushes herself back up, eager to be gone from here. Once she returned to the mortal realm, she would aid the Baron as he expected. But she was no puppet of his as he thought. The spells of obedience he had woven into her body were strong, but Titania had pitted her will against gods! She had little trouble in snapping the threads that tied Alya to the Baron’s will long ago, and now she served only one master. In the coming battle, no doubt he would learn that at a most inopportune moment. And with any luck, she would be beyond his reach by that time, hot on the trail of Titania’s wayward daughter. It was long past time for the royal family of Phaedra to be reunited.

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

Theme Song

Alone in his private quarters within Kartul’s latest floating palace, Helion begins to weave a spell. Given the magical predilections of many of his new “brethren”, no one would likely notice what he was doing or care. But Helion’s existence had always been marked by careful planning, and his newfound immortality was no reason to start slacking now. So first he completed his shielding spell, blocking any possibility of scrying into his room without him noticing. And only then did he begin casting his second spell, beginning to open a portal to an extraspacial location.

He had created this pocket outside of reality as his own personal hidey hole, confident that he would have need of it eventually. And sure enough, it had proven invaluable for keeping his secret weapon safe and away from Kartul’s prying eyes. But now that they were nearing the climactic battle of Kartul against the world, Helion couldn’t count on having a few minutes to himself. And so he would simply have to risk keeping the secret weapon on his person until the right moment presented itself to use it.

With the portal open, Helion simply stuck his hand inside it, ignoring the disquieting sensation of having his hand teleported into nothingness while still able to relay that information back down his arm. His fingers quickly found what they were looking for and Helion pulled his hand back through the portal. There in the palm of his hand were the two vials of blood that Helion had taken from the Hierarch. His secret weapon, and the item that would spell Kartul’s doom.

Secreting one vial into his cloak, Helion held the other vial between thumb and forefinger, and raised it up to his eye. Amazing how profound an effect something as simple as a vial of blood could have. Yet Helion well knew the power of blood now that he craved its coppery taste.

In life he had been a simple hedge mage, a man who squandered his innate gifts on improving his shows of sleight-of-hand tricks, which funded his aimless wandering. His sire had seen the potential within him, however, and with eternity open to him Helion seized the opportunities offered to him with an enthusiasm he had never displayed in life. Now he stood as the scion of a creature that sought to claim divinity amongst the dead. And before he was done he would be known as the one who had arranged the downfall of that fledgling god.

His purpose complete, Helion dismissed the portal and the wards shielding him from sight. He slipped the second vial of blood into his cloak beside the first and moved to stand. Although Kartul had lately been fawning over his newest lackey and his newest acquisition, he would still be expecting to see Helion as they neared the human capital. The battle to come was going to be fierce, even if Kartul and all of his chosen “children” no longer had anything to fear from, well, anything. Careful planning was going to be necessary, and Helion knew all about careful planning.

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

Theme Song

As Miriam flies on towards Her destiny, She considers the path that led Her to this point. Azguloth, Melcara, Titania, Morganna – they had all betrayed Her. But worse, each had led others astray, a single droplet sending ripples of discord racing down across the surface of the world. She was this world’s protector, this world’s guide. It irked Her how readily the humans turned away from Her commandants at the appearance of a false savior.

Now it seemed that Incom was to join the long list of betrayers. He had disappeared during the cleansing of the human village. It seemed impossible that he had been spirited away in the midst of so many angels. No, it was more likely that he had left of his own accord, and the presence of Sohssal confirmed Her suspicions that the Baron’s lackeys had made that escape possible. It was, sadly, one of the many potentials She had seen within him. Was there anything She could have done or said that would have prevented this outcome from being the one that manifested? And yet that would have altered his fate, Her words changing the fate Incom would ultimately choose for himself. Such a thought was anathema to Miriam, who long ago swore not to interfere in human affairs.

The fact that She was currently in a human body, at the head of a great angelic force hurtling on towards a confrontation that would cut many human lives short, spoke of just how badly things had gone. She had directly intervened only once before to put an end to Azguloth’s Evil. But now Her children lie broken, imprisoned or worse, and Her followers almost all hopelessly corrupted. There was no other option left for Her but to take to the field directly, an action that the Baron seemed to be senselessly encouraging with his taunting and mockery. This suicidal desire confused Miriam, for no mortal could stand against a god and live.

And yet in the back of Her mind, a growing disquiet festered. She could not see the outcome of the coming confrontation. Perhaps this was due to interference from his abominable airship, fashioned from plates taken from Ironheart, which were designed to block even a god’s vision. Or perhaps because of Her involvement, Miriam could not see Her own fate. This uncertainty about the outcome left fertile ground for doubt to take root. Perhaps the Baron was not a mere man at all, but the force that would take Her life, and after it the world. The nightmare known as the Certain King.

“Damn You Athelion.”

Miriam whispered to Herself.

“Damn You for leaving Me in this position.”

But it was just as likely that the Baron would pay the price for his vanity than seize the reins of destiny. He was not the first human to shake his fist to the Heavens, nor the first mortal who Miriam feared might be the Certain King. Every last one of them before him had met an unfortunate end, proof that for all their schemes in the end they were just mortal men. The Baron could be no different, for all his success thus far in opposing Her will.

Regardless, this coming battle would be the greatest since Azguloth was defeated – more important than even the protracted war against Titania and the Phaedrans. All of the resources at Miriam’s disposal would need to be utilized. She had already drained the Heavens of every remaining angel, but there were still a few of Her children scattered throughout the mortal plane. It was to these that Miriam now concentrated on reaching out to.

“Hear me, loyal servants. You have stood hidden for countless centuries, as humanity’s silent guardians. But now the time has come to reveal yourselves. Once again humanity has strayed, and once again its course must be corrected. Come forth and join Me now, and together we will set the world aright.”

Miriam could feel several of the scattered presences immediately begin to move, converging on her location. Others hesitated, perhaps because they could not or perhaps because they were in the middle of their own struggles. In any event, the call had gone out. By the time Miriam arrived at the human capital, her remaining forces would be all assembled. And then She would put an end to the Baron and his blasphemous schemes once and for all. Or She would die.

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

Theme Song

Perched on the roof right above the window leading into the room where Augustus was meeting with the Archdemon, Nu listened with ever-mounting horror. He had come here of his own accord, concerned over the High Warden’s safety. He had not been acting at all within the official policy of the Dusk Wardens – which was to engage and kill Archdemons on sight – but as the High Warden that was within his right. Even so, meeting privately with the Archdemon was a risk that Nu was unwilling to allow him to take. So he had taken it upon himself to come here to watch and listen for any sign of treachery on the Archdemon’s part.

And yet it was not the Archdemon who proved treacherous, but the High Warden himself! Nu could scarcely believe the words he was hearing, and yet he could not deny their veracity. There was no reason for Augustus to weave such a complex tale if it was all a pack of lies. No, the only possibility was that it was all true. The High Warden was worse than an Archdemon – he was an entire swarm of them, wrapped in human flesh!!

For several long minutes after their conversation ended, Nu simply lied on the roof, staring up at the stars. They quickly went blurry, and Nu’s face grew hot as the tears flowed freely. He had the utmost respect for the High Warden despite his youth. He had displayed a wisdom beyond his years since taking the office, and Nu’s heart had swelled with pride at being invited to stand at his side in the hunt for the Archdemon. But it was all lies, all of it! How could Nu believe in anything he had ever been taught now?

Slowly, he recited the oath he had sworn at his initiation into the ranks. It had never failed to calm him before, the rock he could always cling to in a sea of doubt. Here too, it did not fail him, and he felt his emotions quieting. And with the serenity came a new sense of conviction. He was a Dusk Warden, trained and hardened for this battle. He would not forsake his cause now. Augustus had lied to him, had lied to all of them. And for that there would be a reckoning.

A plan starting to form in his mind, Nu pushes himself up and quietly climbs down the side of the building. He had to get back to the others before Augustus did. They all deserved to know the truth, them and everyone back home. A new dawn was rising over the Dusk Wardens. For too long had they rested in tradition, traditions that Nu now saw were only lies meant to control them. Well, he would not stand for it!

He would free his brothers with the truth, and then they would truly embrace the oaths that they had sworn. No more lies, no more secretive politics, no more negotiation. They were Dusk Wardens, and they existed to kill Archdemons! Augustus would pay the ultimate price for his treachery. And then the Archdemon would die. Only then could Nu return home with his head held high, as the new High Warden. The TRUE High Warden!

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

Theme Song

In a dimly-lit but well maintained chamber beneath the Chapel of the Inquisition, screams fill the air. Due to the thick chamber walls and sound-absorbing construction, the sound does not travel far beyond the chamber’s confines. Although the Inquisitors saw a use for a place of physical coercion, they had no desire for the sounds to be heard by any save those involved in the act. Currently the chamber is occupied by half a dozen beings – five Inquisitors and one fallen angel.

At a gesture from Albert Silverton, one of the junior inquisitors reaches up and cuts off the flow of holy water slowly dripping down onto the Hell Angel’s face. The damned creature sags down against the table it is chained to, screams replaced with desperate gasps of air as its ruined face slowly heals. With other captured fiends, great care had to be taken not to inadvertently return them home early. With their current captive however, the Inquisitors did not need to hold back – except to give her a few moments to recover now and then. This suited Silverton just fine – getting answers from a creature screaming in non-stop agony was surprisingly difficult.

“Now then my dear. Let’s start over from the beginning. My name is Albert Silverton. Inquisitor Albert Silverton. And you are trespassing in my city. You have come here for some purpose, and you did not come alone. I want you to tell me about your confederates, and what they are planning. Who are they? Why are you here?”

The chains holding the angel down creak slightly as she lifts her head. With her newly reformed eyes, she fixes Silverton with a child-like stare. She sucks in another gulp of air, and then rasps a reply, a slowly closing hole in her cheek giving her words a slight whistle.

“I . . . I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? You’ve been so good at figuring things out on your own thus far!”

At the fallen angel’s continued reticence, Silverton sighs and two other inquisitors slump in disappointment. One of the others reacts with fury, however, driving her head back down into the table with his fist. Reaching down with his other hand to snag a handful of hair to hold her head still, the young inquisitor pulls his fist back for a second blow. It never gets the chance to land, as Silverton snags hold of his wrist. Silverton moves his face to within a few inches of his assistant.

“Get. Out.”

He says, and then shoves the man away from the table, and none too gently.

For a moment the man glares at Silverton in confusion, but then he realizes that his loss of control was a mistake. Shame faced, the man bows his head and flees from the chamber, knocking at the door to inform the guard on the other side to unbolt and open it, allowing him to leave. Meanwhile, his two-word dismissal complete, Silverton returns his attention to his captive.

“We’ve only been at this for a few hours now. But let me assure you that this is just the preliminaries. Due to your nature, we don’t even have to expend physical effort to cause you pain. All we have to do is turn the holy water back on. A few drops all over your body every couple seconds won’t kill you, but it will certainly feel like it. Maybe we’ll just go get some well-deserved rest, and leave you here in the rain . . . for a few days.”

At this, the fallen angel bursts into laughter, leaving the assembled inquisitors to exchange looks. Only Silverton continues to keep his eyes on the prisoner, his scowl slowly deepening.

“Oh, you have the fiends of the Hells terrified of you.”

The hell angel finally replies, still chuckling.

“You don’t want the inquisitors to get ahold of you!”, and other such things. Yes, you’ve built a very impressive reputation for yourselves. But let me ask you something – what is the length of your mayfly existences? Fifty years, seventy? A hundred years at the utmost. I have endured torments that have lasted from the birth of your grandfathers to the death of your grandchildren! And you seek to threaten me with a few days!? Hah!”

The fallen angel snorts and shifts around on the table as much as her restraints allow, getting comfortable. She rests her head back and closes her eyes with a smirk.

“Go ahead and give me a bath even, if you wish. I could use the solitude – your endless blabbering is starting to give me a headache.”

For a moment Silverton clenches his hands into fists, and he closes his eyes before taking a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, he calmly brushes a lock of hair out of his face.

“It sounds like you are no stranger to pain, then. Listen, I do not enjoy this cruelty, this inflicting of pain on others. I am a simple protector, seeking out dangerous influences before they can inflict grievous harm to humanity. In the course of my duties, however, I do what I have to. I know you understand. You were once a noble protector of humanity before you fell into the Hells. You have suffered unimaginable tortures at the hands of the fiends, but they failed to break you. Obviously, or else you would be as insane as your unfortunate sisters who suffered a similar fate. All I want is to know what your keepers are planning – why show the bastards such loyalty? Help me stop them, redeem yourself, we can protect you!”

With a sigh the fallen angel opens her eyes.

“And what good would that do? You have perpetrated this hunt for me. You assumed that I meant harm to the people of “your” city, and destroyed a home full of innocents to accomplish my capture. And now you assume that my presence here can only mean that a conspiracy is afoot. Why should I tell you anything when it will only lead to more innocents suffering? You have found your fiend, Silverton. Punish me, send me screaming back to the Hells, do whatever it is you plan to do to me. But understand that I have no interest in giving you any information that will lead to others’ suffering in your misbegotten crusade!”

Finally losing his temper, Silverton slams his fist down – not into the fallen angel’s face, but into the table next to her head. The impact sends a sharp crack reverberating through the room, and the angel winces at the sound, coming from so close to her ear.

“I am not wrong! There is a conspiracy afoot within the very capital and I will get to the end of it! The black market selling of an angel, a foul air hanging about the capital, whispers of warlocks moving about in the dark! I did not imagine these things! Something very wrong is about to happen to this city, and you expect me to believe that your arrival is not part of the plan!?”

The Hell Angel ponders the question for a moment, and then sighs.

“This will change nothing, but very well. You want the truth so I will tell you. I am Melcara the First – the first angel to leave Miriam’s service, and as far as I know the only one to ever do so willingly. It did not matter to the Hells, and I was tortured alongside my unfortunate sisters. Just like them, I eventually went mad from the torment and the guilt of my choices. Recently I got better – I . . . I was shown the way out of my regrets and sorrow by a very dear friend.”

“I don’t need your life story. Why are you here now!?”

Melcara rolls her eyes for a moment, but then continues.

“I am here now because I escaped from the Hells. I escaped with the help of Tare, a good man who did it not out of some evil desire, but simply because he wanted to help. Whether or not there is a dark conspiracy at work within your city I do not know. But I do know that you are wasting your time chasing an innocent man instead of hunting the real villains. Which is the *only* reason I’ve told you any of this at all. Now get rid of me and move on to hunting the real bastards you’re looking for!”

Silverton stands in silent contemplation for a moment, and then he snarls, slamming his other fist down onto the other side of Melcara’s head. Leaning down on his fists, he leans down over her and leers at her.

“You expect me to believe this nonsense story!? From you, a fiend of the Hells!? What a perfect sad little story you’ve told me – the exact sort of web you’d try to weave to cover my eyes! Well your attempt to divert my attention has failed! I already know about Tare – we’ll find him soon enough. But until then, you are going to tell me about the other members of your conspiracy and what they are planning!”

“Oh, for the love of . . .”

Melcara shakes her head and sighs.

“I told you at the beginning of all this that you wouldn’t listen, and you didn’t. Fanatics can never accept the truth even when it is staring them right in the face. Well fine then! You want me to talk? I’ve only got two words left for you – **** and You!”

And then forming a wad of spittle, Melcara spat upwards into Silverton’s face. Anticipating it as the start of an attack despite the fact that she was still securely chained to the table, the three remaining junior inquisitors draw weapons as Silverton staggered back. Recovering quickly, Silverton glared at his three assistants as he absently wiped at his face.

“Well she’s right about one thing. We really don’t have the time for this.”

Silverton says. He clenches his hands into fists a moment more before breaking into a sadistic smile.

“We’re done here. Get her up and moved to the Moratorium. I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, Silverton turned away and left while his three assistants carefully worked at removing her from the table. Melcara noticed that he left by a different door than by his dismissed associate – and that this door was not locked or barred in any way. The three junior inquisitors worked swiftly and efficiently in releasing her from the table, although they were careful to leave only one limb free at a time. Even so Melcara could have fought back, broken a few bones, perhaps even killed one of them. But that would have accomplished nothing more than to cut one of their lives short and confirm their view that she was a monster. So she meekly cooperated with them as before – this farce was apparently almost over, and after they killed her she would be back in the Hells. She would need all of her strength then – there would be no more kind-hearted thieves waiting to show her the way out this time. Melcara could only hope that Tare had gotten far away from here, beyond Silverton’s reach. If not, perhaps she would be seeing him again one day soon.

Once they got her free of the table, her three jailors made absolutely sure she would be of no threat. Her arms were bound across her chest and held there by loops of chain and a dozen locks. Her wings were tightly pinioned together against her back by a mesh of enchanted leather that was pulled painfully tight. Her legs were locked together with coils of chain that wound their way up from her ankles to her waist. The only way she could be a threat now was if she managed to thrash wildly around and bite someone.

This was how the Inquisitors had brought her into this room. But apparently their prior effort was no longer satisfactory. More chains, shackles, and straps were added, connecting her previous restraints and restricting her freedom even further. If they had been made of simple iron, she might have eventually managed to twist them apart even so, as she had done down in the Hells. But these chains were forged of adamantite, and the leather some sort of enchanted dragonhide, and all of it was adorned with sacred runes that sapped her strength and left her feeling light-headed. There was no possible way Melcara would ever get free of her own accord. And still the inquisitors continued to add redundant strands to her imprisoning cocoon, tightening and adjusting as they went. Finally they slid the last lock into place, and at last seemed satisfied with their work.

Melcara was by now quite alarmed at the excessiveness of it all. What was the point of all this if they were just going to execute her now? The only possible answer to that question left a pit of dread gnawing its way through her stomach as the inquisitors hefted her up with some difficulty and loaded her onto a cart. One leading the way, one pushing the cart, and one watching her like a hawk for the slightest free twitch, the inquisitors dragged her through the door Silverton had used to exit the torture chamber.

Further down beneath the chapel they traveled, until at last they arrived in another circular chamber to find Silverton and two more inquisitors waiting. Dominating the entire middle of the chamber was a massive metal box, similarly forged out of adamantite. The metal coffin confirmed Melcara’s worst fear – not execution then. Imprisonment. But after catching the look on Silverton’s face, Melcara’s spirits sank further as she recognized that a fate even worse than eternal imprisonment awaited.

“Ah good, you’re finally here. Well Melcara, I took your plight to heart. It would be cruel to send you back to the Hells for another eternity of suffering, and we’ve already established that you would prefer some time to spend in peaceful solitude. Luckily we have the perfect solution already prepared!”

Silverton says with a fake grin as the other inquisitors wheel the cart over to sit beside the coffin. Together, all five of the inquisitors move forward to lift her out, standing her up beside the coffin so she can look down inside as Silverton continues.

“You see, we’ve long since known that killing the fiends is a pointless exercise – we are, after all, merely giving them a free ride home. So the Church developed the Reliquary, a place where all the demon and devil lords we could catch would be permanently stored where they would be of no more threat to anyone. But unfortunately there’s a damn lot of fiends, and so space within the Reliquary is at a premium. As you might imagine, that leaves us with a bit of a problem as there’s certainly more mid-level and lower fiends than the ones who have clawed their way to the very top of the hierarchy. So the Inquisitors came up with a solution to that problem.”

Silverton gestures down into the coffin.

“Entombment. Now that we have no further use for you, we’ve going to stick you inside this coffin. And then we’re going to stick this coffin in the ground. It’ll be much like a human funeral, actually, we even have a grave in our cemetery set aside for you. Now obviously for most fiends we don’t go to such lengths, but since you’re the “first” fallen angel we’ve spared no expense!”

Silverton rapped his knuckles lightly against the side of the coffin, producing a faint hollow ringing.

“Solid adamantite. It ought to last you a few thousand years, at least! And since you don’t need to breathe, eat, drink, or sleep you ought to be able to enjoy every last second of that solitude you so desperately crave. The Inquisitors keep no records of your coffin’s location, so only those who bury you will ever know where you went. In what, fifty? Seventy? A hundred years at the utmost, and then they will all be dead. No trace of you left then. Short of some unlucky treasure hunters digging you up centuries from now after the capital has collapsed into ruins, there will be no interruption of your rest. Wouldn’t that be a surprise for them, hah!”

Silverton pauses a moment, savoring it as he allowed the full weight of Melcara’s fate to sink in.

“Now before you get too worried about those treasure hunters taking advantage of you in your helplessness, let me explain the most impressive feature. After we lock and seal you in, the coffin’s execution mechanism is armed. The next time that the seal is breached, whether by corrosion or anyone deliberately opening it back up, a series of blades erupt from the sides and bottom! Death should be instantaneous, or perhaps not quite so if you’ve managed to twist around into a weird position. So after enjoying your stay here on the mortal plane, we’ve made arrangements to send you straight back home! Aren’t we thoughtful?”

Leaning over the side of the coffin, Silverton carefully reaches down inside, making sure to keep his body from blocking Melcara’s sight. He clearly wanted her to watch this.

“And just in case you get bored down there, we’ve got one last surprise for you. You see, in the event you go a little crazy and start thrashing around inside, we’ve got just the thing to help you calm down.”

Silverton raps on a precise spot on the coffin’s left side, pushing a small panel in by perhaps an inch. Immediately a slot opens below the panel, allowing a spring-loaded blade to erupt out into the coffin’s interior.

“Pressure sensitive plates. We’ll also be chaining you down into the coffin and connecting a few of them to some very delicate levers. All of them are connected to spring-loaded, blessed silver blades. I’ve never had the pleasure, but I’ve been told that they hurt like the Hells going in. I’d be careful when deciding to activate them though, since once they’re in they’re going to stay in for the duration of your stay. Oh, and while they are all keyed in to the execution mechanism, none of them are angled in such a way that they will be fatal, so don’t think you can use them to check out early!”

Silverton carefully pushes the blade back into the slot, resetting it. He then leaves the coffin to stand directly in front of Melcara, staring into her eyes.

“Now then. Is there anything you would like to say before we permanently part ways? Perhaps now that you’ve seen our preparations for your extended stay here on the mortal plane, something has shaken lose in that beautiful head of yours?”

Melcara felt sick, and was certain she would have collapsed if the five other inquisitors weren’t holding her up. She could feel herself starting to shiver, her mind locked into a looping prediction of what her life, if it could be called that, would be like. How long would she be able to hold on to her sanity alone in the silent darkness beneath the earth?

“I . . . I am Melcara the First.”

Melcara whispered, pausing to lick her lips. It was a struggle to keep her voice even, and Silverton clearly knew it. He smiled.

“I am here now because I escaped from the Hells. I escaped with the help of Tare, a good man who did it not out of some evil desire, but simply because he wanted to help. Whether or not there is a dark conspiracy at work within your city I do not know.”

Melcara repeated, and Silverton sighed.

“Stubborn to the last I see. Very well then.”

He motioned to the other inquisitors, who picked her up and began to carry her over to the coffin. Desperately she began to struggle against them, but in her current state she didn’t even manage to slow them down.

“What do you want!? I told you the truth! What do I have to do to make you see it!!!?”

Melcara shouted, and Silverton simply shrugged.

“Nothing. I don’t believe you are telling me the truth, although I admire your steadfastness. But perhaps when I find Tare, and I extract the same information from him, I will consider the possibility. That will make me very sad, but it would not change your fate in the slightest. As I said, I’m done with you. And this is how I dispose of fiends such as you!”

“I thought you said that you did not enjoy cruelty!? And yet what cruelty could be worse than this!?”

As the inquisitors carefully lower Melcara down into the coffin, she catches one last glimpse of her chief tormentor as he shrugs.

“A half-truth, actually. I despise cruelty, but only against those who have not earned it! My one regret is that I have not yet found a worse punishment for your kind! But I am not a complete monster. Normally we gag those we entomb, just to ensure that the sound of screaming is never heard aboveground, which could attract outsiders! Fortunately for you, the adamantite of your coffin is thick enough to block almost all sound. Feel free to scream until your lungs give out!”

Melcara takes Silverton’s advice to heart as she screams non-stop as the inquisitors chain her into the coffin. She is still screaming as they lower the lid down onto it, locking and barring it into place. As the interior is plunged into darkness, the adamantite serves as Silverton promised. Only if one pressed an ear against the now-closed lid could they still hear Melcara as she screamed and screamed and screamed.

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

Theme Song

Activating the communication crystal he had taken great pains to keep hidden, the grand warlock knelt down as the image of his master appeared on-screen.

“Report. Will you be able to keep the damn Canticles off my back?”

The Baron of Gast demanded, prompting a confident smile from the grand warlock.

“Oh yes. I have them jumping at their own shadows now, imagining warlock infiltrators hiding in every shadow. It is a pity that Cynthia was eliminated during her discovery – her own trial would have sent the flames of paranoia leaping! Although that does save me the trouble of eliminating her myself – she knew far too much to live.”

“Good. You have done well my pupil. Will you require any further assistance from me or will you be able to handle matters on your own?”

“I should be able to put an end to the Canticles by myself, which is how I’ve always wanted it. If necessary I might be able to convince Carlain to help out, although he has been compromised. Getting him into a position where he could help may carry too much risk of exposure. I’ve already got a plan in place, however, and should have no trouble carrying it out alone. Mark my words – this is the end of the Canticles.”

Slowly, the Baron nods and favors his associate with a tight-lipped smile.

“That is excellent news. One less thing for me to worry about then. The last batch of your students should be arriving tomorrow. That is cutting it closer than I would have liked, but all should be ready by the time Miriam arrives. Our plans stand on the cusp of their respective fruition. Don’t fail now.”

The grand warlock’s eyes narrow, although that is more of a reaction to the conversation’s subject rather than the Baron’s words.

“I have waited over twenty years for this moment. I will not fail you. I will have my revenge! Against the Canticles, and against Jean Harvent!”

And then after that, against you. The grand warlock added silently. The Baron examined his associate for a few moments, and then nodded.

“Given the risks of our respective projects, I think it is safe to assume that we will not need to contact each other again. You should destroy this communication crystal immediately.”

Because you think that I am on a suicide mission. How disappointing it will be for you when you learn otherwise!

The grand warlock silently observed, but he forced his head to nod forward.

“Of course. Is there anything else you require?”

“No. You have been a most useful servant. You will be remembered in the world to come.”

Gee, thanks. *******.

“You honor me with your praise, master. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

And then the communication crystal darkened as the connection was broken. As the Baron suggested, the grand warlock immediately slammed the communication crystal against the wall, shattered it into a hundred slivers. And then just to be on the safe side, he scooped all those fragments up with a whirlwind and vaporized them with a blast of fire.

Pushing himself up off the floor, the grand warlock went to get ready. He had to make sure he looked his best for the trial. It was sure to be one that would be remembered – assuming anyone survived to do the remembering. The grand warlock promised to himself that he, at least, would do so. Which meant that he was going to have to find someone to die in his place. The grand warlock had just the girl in mind.

[Inspectre]

Meanwhile . . .

Theme Song

(Actually Argan’s theme song, but who’s counting?)

Argan watched, impressed as Korram buried the Baron beneath a heap of rubble. He doubted it had put an end to the Baron’s evil, but it did buy them valuable time. Argan allowed Korram and Katrina to begin ascending the rope ahead of him, and then began his own ascent. They’ve only begun their ascent before the Baron reappears, walking up at the crest of the rubble mound from the far side. He cackles and shakes his head as he looks up at the small group hanging mid-way up the building.

“That wasn’t very nice Korram. If I didn’t know how to teleport, I might have been crushed! And where do you think you’re going!!?”

Already Argan knew what he had to do. The same sacrifice he had been prepared to make a moment ago would still have to be paid. Letting go of the rope, Argan began to descend, kicking off against the wall periodically to slow his fall. As he fell, he shot one last glance back up at Korram and his daughter.

“Keep going! I got this!”

He shouts, and then a moment later he is down on the ground. Drawing a set of daggers from beneath his cloak, he hurls them both at the Baron. The Baron manages to get off one spell, and then turns his attention towards Argan. He catches one dagger and twists aside to dodge the other.

“You’ve always been a disappointment Argan! A waste of my time, and I’m going to leave your destruction now to others!”

Argan sensed rather than heard the sound of someone approaching from behind. Whirling, he saw a patch of shadows move and leaped aside, narrowly avoiding the figure as it lunged forward, daggers in front. A new set of knives flashed into Argan’s hands, and there was a flash of steel between the two as they exchanged slashes and parries. Breaking away, Argan sized the newcomer up and shot a concerned glance at the Baron.

Although he had not been wounded in their exchange, Argan could tell that his opponent was roughly his equal. Which meant there was no possible way he’d survive trying to disengage and make a run for the Baron. Which in turn meant that the Baron was free to continue his pursuit of Korram and Katrina, just now struggling to pull themselves up onto the building’s roof. Just then, another and more welcome newcomer entered the fight. From behind the Baron Martin came running up into view!

His clothing was singed and torn in places, but there was still plenty of fight left in the former guardsman as he raised his sword high. Unfortunately, running up a pile of unstable rubble was not conductive to a silent approach. As he neared the Baron twisted away from the blow, throwing an elbow blindly behind him into Martin’s chest. The former guardsman was too skilled a fighter to crumple from a single blow, rolling with the impact and allowing himself to stagger back. He nearly slips on the loose rocks, catches his balance, and lashes out with his sword a second time, forcing the Baron to hop back.

“You’ll not touch a hair on his head ever again, monster!”

Martin cries, pressing the attack and forcing the Baron to switch his attention from the distant Korram to the angry man right in front of him. Despite his bravado, however, Martain was badly outmatched and could not keep the Baron distracted for long. Unfortunately Argan was not going to be able to help him, as his own attacker moves in for another exchange of rapid attacks. This was clearly another one of the Baron’s Hands, although the savagery with which the attacks were delivered was uncommon for such a disciplined assassin.

“I don’t know who you are.”

Argan grunts as he narrowly parries a thrust and then ripostes, forcing his opponent back.

“But the Baron is just using you. I can help you escape from his grasp, become something more than a disposable tool!”

At this, Argan’s attacker laughs, the pitch identifying the attacker as female, although the sound was off somehow. More guttural, a rough sound that distorted the laugh to more of a growl.

“The Baron has given me a priceless opportunity, and now here you are!”

The strange woman hisses as she advances yet again, this time weaving rapid-fire kicks into her knife movements.

“All I want is to watch you die!!!”

Again Argan manages to fend off the attacks, and now that his offer has been rejected he begins to strike back in earnest. One of his blades manages to slip past the woman’s defenses, tearing into her cloak, but the blade finds only cloth as the woman twists away from the blow. Continuing the motion into a spin, the woman swings her foot up and around, and Argan temporarily sees stars as the kick finds his head. The blow throws him against the wall, and he forces himself to move, dancing aside on instinct as the woman lunges forward, her blades scraping against the brickwork he had been pressed against a second before. Counterattacking, Argan lashes out with a snap kick to the woman’s face, throwing her head back and sending her stumbling back.

As the woman rights herself, the cowl covering her head fell away. This was clearly the woman who had been guarding the Baron at the wedding, foiling his assassination attempt with the crossbow. Now up close, Argan got a good look at her face in the moonlight. She seemed familiar somehow . . . no! An icy chill settles over Argan as his mind takes the woman’s features and peels away the years, picturing her as she was as a child. His attacker was none other than Aedra, his sister! That explained everything, including her aggression – she had always blamed him for the torture the Baron’s men had subjected her to with every failure of his. Perhaps she was even correct in placing that blame at his feet – if he had refused the Baron’s offer all those years ago, he and his sister would be dead, but at least they would have been free.

With a snarl, Aedra leaps forward again, continuing to press the assault. Now Argan was totally on the defensive, because he would not harm his sister. This cost him as Aedra’s blades flashed past his defenses at last, scouring a line along his side. The wound burned with the sting of poison, although Argan did not fear for his health. As a Hand, he had developed an immunity to all of the common toxins as part of his training. That did not prevent the wound from hurting as Argan retreated down the alleyway, Aedra continuing to relentlessly press the attack. Behind him, Martin cried out in pain as the Baron twisted his sword out of his grasp, breaking his arm in the process. Neither of them would last much longer at this rate, and Argan had no idea how much longer they would have to hold out.

Fortunately the situation suddenly changed again, this time for the better as Korram flew down from the top of the building. In his arms he carried the Countess Amelia Ashargrin, definitely looking the worse for wear, and Katrina who clung grimly to his waist. Although injured, the younger Alstan still moved to stand on her own feet as she looked around the alleyway. She pointed at one of the gaping holes Korram had made in the nearby buildings.

“There! The entrance is in there!”

She cries, and Korram starts moving. The thought that perhaps he could escape his imminent death was a tempting one. Although he felt guilt over the Baron forcing Aedra to follow in his footsteps, in an instant Argan decided that this failure was not one that merited death. With the option to escape and survive to take his revenge on the Baron some other day once more a possibility, Argan had no choice but to continue the struggle. Dodging another of Aedra’s lightning-fast slashes, he steps in past her outstretched arm, mentally apologizing to her as he drove his palm into her chin. As she reeled back he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled, flipping her over his shoulder and sending her flying into the nearby wall. As Aedra recovered and gathered herself up off the ground, Argan turned away and dashed after the Alstans.

At that moment, with a cry of triumph the Baron drove Martin to his knees with a final blow. And then reached up to firmly grab his hands around his head, the Baron snapped Martin’s neck. Argan’s growing hope at the possibility of surviving for another chance turned to ashes as he watched his childhood guardian’s lifeless body slump onto the rubble. No matter what he did, the Baron would always win, and those around him would pay the price for his defiance. With a final mental apology to his friend, Argan dashed into the building, seeking to make good his escape before the Baron, Aedra, or anyone else could move to stop him. For Martin’s sake, for Aedra’s . . . the Baron would pay for his crimes!

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

Theme Song

(Yeah okay, nobody is really sad that Cheran is dead. )

Several hours after the attack at the cathedral, Celestan is finally back aboard the Gastly Truth. The last of the nobles who had survived was now back home for the evening, having been given a personal escort there by Celestan and several GHASTs. After the embarrassment of having many of his guests and even his own son murdered due to inadequate security, the Baron was doing everything he could to reassure the remaining nobles that the situation was under control. Having personally had to listen to the nobles bleating for the past several hours, and having been prohibited from silencing any of them with a crushed windpipe, Celestan was doubtful their goodwill could be salvaged. Even so, Celestan was confident his father had a contingency plan waiting to be enacted.

Upon arrival Celestan connected to Fury and found the Baron’s newest orders waiting for him. His father and mother were already in the process of reviving Cheran, and he had left strict orders not to be disturbed. Instead Celestan was to report to Angelo, who Fury listed as currently being in his quarters instead of on the Bridge. Suspecting the reason for Angelo’s unexpected location, Celestan prepared himself for more obnoxious bleating. He was not disappointed, as the moment he arrived at the door to Angelo’s quarters, it slid open to reveal his brother slumped against his bed, an empty bottle in hand.

“WHOOO!”

Angelo cried as he hurled the empty bottle into the nearby wall, causing it to shatter and shower him with glass. The Baron’s second son giggled drunkenly as he brushed himself off and pulled out another bottle from underneath the bed.

“Hey! Bro! Come on in!”

Angelo said, waving for Celestan to enter before using his fingers to rip the cork out of his newest bottle. Celestan silently counseled himself against delivering a disciplinary beating as he entered. It was only natural for his younger brothers to struggle with the shock of Cheran’s sudden demise. No doubt it made them question the mortality of their own flesh and blood. Celestan no longer had to worry about such things, and Cheran’s death meant nothing to him. There was only duty, obedience, and sacrifice.

I was instructed to report to you that the last of our guests has been safely escorted home. I was not, however, made aware that you are currently off-duty.

Celestan said, carefully framing the question hidden in that last statement. The answer was not surprising, although it was concerning.

“Shhh! I’m not!”

Angelo said with another giggle.

“I snuck away for some quality me time. Well, just me and four bottles of Donovale, heehee. Oh, and don’t get that look on your face – not that your metal face isn’t frozen in a permanent glower, of course. You and I both know that the effects of this alcohol will wear off in less than an hour, and Father will be busy for at least another two putting Cheran back together. I sober up, put on a fresh change of clothes, and nobody will be the wiser. You wanna share this one?”

Angelo offers, holding up the bottle. Celestan reminds himself of his earlier decision, and simply stares at the bottle until Angelo pulls it away with a shrug.

“Suit yourself. Ahem!”

Angelo clears his throat, and then holds the bottle up over his head.

“A toast! To my bastard bother Cheran! May you be roasting in some dark corner of the Hells for the next several hours, you sick son of a bitch!”

Angelo takes a deep swig from the bottle of poison as Celestan moves to stand over him. A lesser man might be intimidated at his imposing form, but the inebriated Angelo did not seem to care.

Our brother’s soul was caught within the soul crystal he had been implanted with at the moment of his death. I doubt he is roasting anywhere right now.

At this, Angelo rolls his eyes.

“A man can dream, can’t he? Alright, fine. Another toast to that prick! May you enjoy your new body, brother! Complete with lack of sensation, lack of “equipment” that you valued so much, and judging from my brother here, a lack of a sense of humor as well. Hope you enjoy impressing the ladies with your wit and charm from now on!”

Angelo raises the bottle towards his lips again, only to be stopped as Celestan reaches down to grab his wrist.

I believe you have had enough, brother.

Angelo struggles a moment, and then shrugs and drops his arm, emptying part of the bottle’s contents onto the carpeted floor.

“I’m not really sad he’s dead, y’know.”

I can tell.

“No . . . no what I’m really concerned about is ending up like him. Like you – trapped in a metal body, just another drone with only duty to sustain me.”

The alternative is death and torture within the Hells.

“Oh, of course. And certainly, Father won’t let any of us rest until this is finished, so it’s a moot point. But I don’t have to like it.”

In a single rapid motion, Angelo brought the bottle up to his lips and took another big swig from the bottle. Lowering it again, he looked up at Celestan and stuck his tongue out in a juvenile display of defiance. Somehow, that brought back memories of his younger brother’s past troublemaking as they were growing up. And with it, an irrational spark of anger, which Celestan expressed by slapping the bottle out of Angelo’s hand, leaving it to smash itself open against the wall.

Your behavior is disgraceful and a stain upon our father’s legacy!

Celestan braced himself for a fight, but instead of growing angry Angelo just laughed.

“My behavior? Well, maybe. But I’m not the only one failing to think clearly then. Did you see how Father reacted? He went and got into a bare-chested brawl with Korram! Alone!”

I was there. He ordered everyone to stay back. He was confident in his ability to dispatch the Alstans alone.

“But he didn’t, die he? And when have you ever seen Father engage in a fair fight when he didn’t have to?”

Here, the drunk Angelo finally made a valid point. Their Father never arranged an even fight when he could overwhelm, never approached an enemy head-on when a knife in the back would suffice.

A momentary lapse in judgment. Understandable given tonight’s circumstances.

“Yeah? Well if Father can have a “momentary lapse in judgment”, then so can I! I was just happily drinking myself into a momentary oblivion until you showed up. Now you’ve smashed my last bottle and so it’s time to get back to work. You want to report in? Fine, you’ve reported in. Now go survey the cannon emplacements and make sure they’re all operating at peak efficiency or something.”

The dismissal clear, Celestan turned to go, but stopped as Angelo clumsily pushed himself up off the floor.

Where do you think you’re going?

“I’m going to go get some exercise. Might help me burn some of this haze off.”

Very well, but be careful not to be seen. If word of your drinking gets back to Father, he will be most displeased. And you might find yourself joining me and Cheran in eternity.

Pleased that his warning got a slight shiver from Angelo, Celestan turned and departed. After this brother left, Angelo busied himself with cleaning up the mess as best he could. The countless glass shards were a pain in the ass to clean up, but plucking them up from the carpet one tiny fragment at a time helped focus his mind. The stains that the spilled wine had left in the carpet were a more difficult challenge, and one that would have to be addressed later. For now, Angelo simply shifted his bed to cover them in the event anyone entered his quarters. Then he went and changed into a fresh uniform, already starting to feel his alcohol-fogged brain starting to clear.

Not yet confident in his ability to appear sharp while still fighting off inebriation, Angelo avoided the Bridge and instead went to get some exercise as he had told Celestan. He always found undergoing a practice workout with the sparring dummies – some of which could be quite deadly – always managed to clear his head right up.

To his surprise, even at this hour he found the exercise room occupied. The room’s current sole occupant was furiously engaged with all of the sparring dummies at once, a truly dangerous proposition given one injury could throw off your stride, resulting in a missed block that equaled another injury, in a rapid downward spiral. In this case, it was the dummies who were hard-pressed to survive as their opponent hammered them, pirouetting around each in turn in a furious dance. Not wishing to be the cause of her injury, Angelo watched silently as Aedra continued to slaughter her way through an army of opponents. Given the sweat pouring off her, she had been at this for some time.

Slowly, Aedra’s furious dance slowed, and then stopped as the sparring dummies fell motionless one by one, no longer driven to retaliate by Aedra’s blows. Impressed at the performance, Angelo gave a slow clap as the mortal woman sunk to her knees, finally allowing herself to feel exhaustion. Using one end of her already soaked scarf to dab at her face, Aedra turned and glared at him.

“This was not for you.”

She spat, and Angelo laughed at her poorly concealed scorn.

“Apologies. I was merely trying to show respect for such an impressive display of skill. Even I can be hard pressed to engage all of those dummies at once. Working out some aggression, I take it?”

“Yes.”

Came the one-word reply, and Angelo immediately switched tactics to try to pry more words of the ever-elusive woman.

“I’m surprised. I would have thought you’d be happy with Cheran dead. Y’know, after what he did –“

“The death of one of those I swore to protect and serve does not please me. I feel nothing. I am nothing. Just a tool in the Baron’s Hand.”

“Oh? And what about him? The boy in black – I understand he was here tonight. How do you feel about him?”

For just a moment, a flicker of surprise flashes across Aedra’s face, but then the implacable mask goes back on.

“I feel nothing.”

Aedra says, too quickly, and she frowns as the lie grows too bitter even for her. She pushes herself back up to her feet as Angelo reaches the outer ring of dummies.

“No. I am disappointed. I had the opportunity to have my revenge and it slipped through my fingers! I have been made a fool of yet again, humiliated right in front of the Baron! I will never be free of him!”

“Yeah, I know exactly how that feels. Brothers can be a real pain in the ass. That is, after all, what he is – your brother.”

This last comment was a calculated gamble, as Angelo had no idea how Aedra would react to the news, and the girl had already proven herself quite unpredictable. To his great surprise though, she didn’t react at all – which meant that she already knew.

“I’ve known that since I was a child!”

She retorted, reading the question in Angelo’s eyes. With a sneer, she turned away from him and moved back towards a sparring dummy.

“That did not stop me from hating him with every fiber of my being. He clearly hated me just as much! Why else would he have me tortured in front of him, over and over? I know he was a Hand before me – cruelty is something we are taught to enjoy!”

As she moves forward to strike the sparring dummy and begin her dance of death anew, Angelo interposes himself, deflecting the blow.

“I think you’ve had enough fighting with your brother’s ghost for tonight.”

He said in what he hoped was he most smoothing voice. He got a punch to the jaw for his troubles. As quick as Aedra was, Angelo was faster. He could have dodged or blocked, but something in him advised to let the blow pass. And so he took Aedra’s first punch on the chin, literally, staggering back and nearly getting impaled on one of the sparring dummy’s blades for his trouble. When Aedra pulled her fist back for a second blow, however, Angelo decided enough was enough and easily caught the punch in his fist.

“I didn’t come down here to get in a fist fight with you.”

Angelo admonished, holding her fist captive in the event the crazy bitch still wanted to fight. Aedra merely quirked an eyebrow at him and then reached over with her free hand to being undoing the clasps holding her tunic shut.

“So you came down here to break your father’s command instead? I hope you can come up with a good excuse for this amorous rendezvous then.”

Angelo wasn’t sure if it was his concern that slightly inebriated he wouldn’t be able to properly accept Aedra’s offer, the look in her eyes, or the spectre of his damn brother that motivated him now. But he reached out and put his other hand over hers, stopping her.

“Not that the thought of ravishing you amongst all these deadly implements isn’t attractive, but no. I didn’t come here for that . . . how about . . . we just talk instead?”

Immediately after the words leave his mouth Angelo curses his alcohol-addled brain. Aedra actually laughs in his face, contempt dripping from every word.

“Talk about what!?”

The nobleman’s son and the woman hammered into nothing more than a weapon. They had nothing in common, and yet that hadn’t stopped Angelo from – from what? Falling in love with her? Yes, that was as good a word as any to describe his infatuation with her. But it didn’t change the fact that there really was nothing to talk about. At least, nothing that wouldn’t rub salt into the emotional wounds they were both struggling with right now. After several seconds of standing there dumbfounded, a word popped into his head, and in his desperation Angelo gamely went with it.

“Dancing!”

He said, shifting his grip on Aedra’s hands to a looser one as he pulled her away from the sparring dummies and towards an empty section of the room.

“Dancing?”

Aedra repeated, her curiosity taking some of the venom out of her voice. His brain still struggling to comprehend what he had just gotten himself into, Angelo nodded dumbly.

“Yes, dancing. Specifically, I was thinking I could teach you how to dance. We already know you’ve got the, uh, flexibility for it, so it would just be a matter of teaching you the steps.”

Frowning suspiciously, Aedra cocked an eyebrow, cynicism overriding curiosity.

“And what possible use would I ever have for such a skill?”

“Well, it could be fun –“

“Hands are tools of the Baron. There is no place for fun.”

“Or perhaps one day while after a target, you’ll have to pose as a guest to a party and –“

“Hands infiltrate and strike from the shadows. There will be no need to pretend.”

“Fine. We can either do this, or I can take you up on your earlier offer. And after I get done savaging you so badly that you’ll be barely recognizable as a person, I will drag your broken body down to a cargo bay and cram it into the smallest box I can find so Father will never find out I broke his precious command.”

At the exasperated threat, Aedra actually smirked.

“Self-preservation is a permitted endeavor. You may continue with your lesson.”

Angelo did his best not to visibly sag with relief that he didn’t have to scramble for an excuse not to carry out his threat. But now, he faced the difficult task of drudging up the old memories of his own dance lessons, back from when he was a mere boy.

“Alright. So you take your partner’s one hand in your own like so, and place your other on their back like this.”

Angelo explained, moving Aedra’s hands into the proper position. It took her only a few seconds to realize the fundamental problem with Angelo’s instructions.

“You’re teaching me how to dance like a man, aren’t you.”

“Well, um – yes, yes I am. I wasn’t exactly taught the other half of the dances since . . . y’know. I was never going to need it. Until now, apparently.”

“So if we’re each doing the same half of the dance, how is that going to work?”

Angelo was about to attempt a feverish brainstorm to figure out that exact answer when he caught the twinkle of mirth in Aedra’s eyes.

“We’ll take turns, and the other will just do whatever!”

Angelo said, embracing the absurdity of the whole situation and being rewarded with a genuine smile from his partner.

“Well then. I guess you had better teach me well if only one of us is going to have any idea what they’re doing at any given moment.”

And so for the next hour their concentration was on figuring out how to make half a dance work, and not on the horror and sorrow pressing in from all sides.

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

Theme Song

(Well, this was one of my new planned theme songs for Seraph. But since Dorizzit went and shot that plan all to the Hells I guess you can just listen and be glad Seraph is not doomed to become an emo emu (any more than he already is). )

In the hours following Korram’s attack on Cheran’s wedding, Seraphan and Rose retired to their joint quarters. Seraphan supposed he should be helping his brothers with rallying the troops or checking the cargo bays or some other such nonsense. But he found that he couldn’t care about any of that right now. All that mattered right now was Rose – all that had ever mattered was Rose, but in his rush to protect her since Ironheart he had forgotten to look at her as a person, with needs beyond just safety.

Now they simply lied together in bed, Seraphan doing his best to comfort her after her latest near death experience. They weren’t intimate, hadn’t been since before Rose was sent to Ironheart, but this felt like the closest to each other they’ve been for a long time. It made Seraphan only more acutely aware of how desperately he needed this brave woman at his side.

They had been lying there silently for some time, just enjoying each other’s company, and the comfort that the other’s presence offered as all the repressed grief bubbled up to the surface in each of them. Eventually however, Rose pulls slightly away so that she can look directly at him before clearing her throat to speak.

“What happened to Korram? He seemed different . . . darker.”

Unspoken there was the fact that Korram had tried to kill her, only at the last possible moment deflecting the fire blast. Seraphan had told him to make it look good, and certainly the threat against Rose had given him a plausible excuse to break off pursuit. But the suddenness of the attack, the casualness Korram had exhibited when he sent the fire lashing out at her . . . to say nothing of the savage glee he had expressed at Cheran’s death – well, maybe not that part. But something was very wrong with the man that Seraph had thought of as a friend after their joint struggles in Ironheart.

“I don’t know. He found some way of channeling fire again, maybe that’s played a part. Or maybe he’s finally accepted that the only way to defeat my father is to become an even worse monster.”

Beside him, Rose shivered.

“I don’t like that idea. I can’t imagine someone like Korram just giving up like that, but . . . maybe. People change, and Korram has suffered terribly.”

“I know.”

Seraph replied, guilt causing his face to burn as he considered all of his own contributions to Korram’s tragedies. Those seemed like a lifetime ago, and Seraph himself was proof of how people could change under the right conditions. But would he ever be able to atone for the evil he had done in his youth? Would Korram if he continued to plunge down into the abyss after the Baron?

“I want you to help him. We both know Korram will try again, probably while your father is distracted by Miriam. I want you to keep him from doing anything he’ll regret after all this is over.”

Rose said suddenly, shocking Serpah and amazing him yet again at her concern for others. The man had tried to kill her, and here she was worrying about his sanity!

“Rose, I . . . no. No, I don’t think we should be here at all on that day. We could sneak off the ship, run far away from here, and make a new life somewhere else. I’ve been thinking, and I suspect that your father would help us if you asked him.”

Now it was Rose’s turn to be shocked and amazed at her husband’s sudden willingness to abandon his duty and risk everything.

“Seraph! I . . . no. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I know I’ve suggested the exact same idea myself. But you were right then that your father is a monster, and he will never stop hunting us. Has tonight really affected you so much that you now want to reverse that decision?”

“Yes. I couldn’t bear to lose you Rose, and I nearly just did. Whatever happens a few days from now, it’s going to be bad. I can’t protect you from that. I don’t know if anyone can, but my father is probably our only chance.”

Reaching a hand up to caress her love’s face, Rose forced a smile.

“You haven’t lost me yet. If you honestly think staying is our best chance then I trust your judgment. But when the fighting starts I want you to follow your heart, and not your fear. Don’t let your father use your concern for my safety to turn you back into his slave.”

“How can I do that when he’s holding your life over my head now?”

“Well . . . why don’t we come up with a compromise then, and come up with a plan to hide me away when the fighting starts. Then you can do whatever needs to be done, and come back to me after it’s over. But you better come back to me!”

Rose gives Seraphan a playful shove, and for the first time in a long time, he actually gives a genuine smile.

“Alright. I think that’s a plan we can agree on. Although we’re going to have to figure out every last detail on how to do that exactly. Father’s going to be distracted with the last of the preparations for the battle, but he doesn’t trust me anymore. If the slightest word of this gets to him . . .”

Seraphan lets the threat hang in the air, and for a little while the two lapse back into silence. Then Rose suddenly shifts in bed, getting up. For a moment Seraph thinks she is moving to leave, but instead she rolls over on top of him, straddling him. A strange look is in her remaining eye as she looks down into his own eyes.

“Seraph . . . do you love me?”

“With everything that I am, and want to be.”

Seraph answered truthfully and immediately, earning a slight smirk from Rose.

“Then show me.”

She answered, and then leaned in to kiss him on the lips. As their lips touched, the longing in Seraph’s chest burst forth, and then he could think of nothing else but doing as she suggested. For a time afterwards, their world receded to just each other, and they momentarily forgot the onrushing doom.

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

Theme Song

“This is all your fault!”

Isabella hisses with surprising vehemence. Standing across the workbench from her, the Baron looks up from the metal body he was working on and quirked an eyebrow at her.

“One would think that Korram had at least a small part in our son’s death.”

“No. This one’s all on you! You just had to keep him around to gloat, didn’t you!? You could have killed him the day you took his wife, just to be on the safe side. You could have killed him at any point over the past eight years while he was in Ironheart!”

“You seem to have already forgotten the reason why I locked up a whole lot of do-gooder saps together in Ironheart.”

The Baron snapped, his own patience worn thin, but Isabella continued her verbal assault.

“Alright then. What about when you had him at your mercy at the manor? You could have cut his throat right then and there, him and his daughter! Instead you invite them both to dinner so you could gloat some more!”

“Again, I point out that I had Korram scheduled for execution the next morning. He only escaped because of our idiot son’s betrayal. And Katrina escaped because of Cheran’s own stupidity and arrogance!”

“No! You don’t get to wash your hands of it this time, Demetrius! You could have killed him any number of times, but you stayed your hand each time because you wanted to gloat. It wasn’t enough for you to simply dispose of him without hesitation, as you’ve done to hundreds of others who stood in your way over the years! You wanted to watch him squirm and acknowledge your superiority for your own arrogant gratification! Well now it’s cost you one of our sons!”

“ENOUGH!!”

The Baron shouted back, sweeping a nearby table clear of tools, causing them to rain down onto the floor in a clattering cacophony. The two heads of the Gast household glared at each other from across the occupied workbench.

“For the last time. I expected there to be trouble at our son’s wedding. Crashing the wedding would be too perfect of an insult for Korram to pass up. So I made preparations to turn the wedding into a trap. But what I didn’t take into account was the idea that he would have the ability to use fire again, plus the aid of an angry mob, a shapeshifter, one of my former Hands, and GODSDAMNED UMBER!”

Taking a steadying breath, the Baron forces his anger back down. He had been lacking in his usually ironclad self-control today, and it was time for that to stop. Focusing his attention back on the matter at hand, he returns to working on the GHAST body in front of him.

“Nothing of any real import was destroyed. Although the loss of all those nobles is an embarrassment, it does give the empty-headed survivors first-hand knowledge of the threats facing us now. They’ll be eager to save their own skins now, and may well be even more compliant to my demand now. Our son is about to live again, perhaps with an important lesson about his own arrogance. Seraphan seems less inclined to cooperate with Korram now that he almost killed Rose. A pity that he didn’t, we could have held her own resurrection over his head to inspire greater loyalty.”

With a loud bang, Isabella drops the tool she had just been picking up. Her anger once again flaring, she glares at Demetrius.

“You have learned nothing after all these years of interfering in our children’s lives, have you!? If we had to revive Rose, it would reveal that we’ve implanted soul crystals not just in our sons, but in their spouses as well! And that in turn would lead them to question just how long we’ve had those in place!”

The Baron stands there for a moment, blinking at his wife in confusion. And then his eyes narrow.

“This is about Elsa, isn’t it? You’ve never approved of how we handled that!”

Isabella responds by slamming a fist down onto the workbench, denting it.

“I never approved because I thought your plan was stupid!! I managed to save Elsa’s life with a great deal of effort, and then you turn around and get rid of her!”

The Baron pounds on his own side of the table in response.

“She was a bad influence on Nephilium! Giving him someone to protect managed to focus him like nothing else, but it carried with it the risk that he would become *too* protective! Besides, you never approved of the fact that our son married a merchant’s wench anyway!”

“That may be true but it doesn’t change the fact that we *didn’t* get rid of her! If you were concerned about her we could have simply let her die in childbirth, as we told Nephilium! Instead you enact this convoluted scheme to separate her soul and body, send her soulless body to be hidden away in Ironheart, and then tell Nephilium that she died! Why!?”

“Because while she was a danger to Nephilium, the loss of her might have been even worse! You know how badly the loss of his family crippled Celestan! I wanted to remove Elsa’s influence over him, but keep open the possibility of bringing her back should he have collapsed! After that didn’t happen, there was still the danger he would find out what we had done! So I had her hidden away where he’d never find out about it, while still leaving the possibility open of bringing her back if needed!”

“Oh, such a brilliant plan! How long do you think it will be until this one comes back to bite you in the ass!?”

“It won’t unless Nephilium ever finds out about it! He hasn’t suspected anything of the sort thus far, and he’ll have no reason to so long as you keep your mouth shut!”

“Oh? And what of the fact that Elsa’s body is no longer in Ironheart? She didn’t perish during the battle with the Hierarch. And that angry mob you mentioned? The GHASTs found her father, Sal Mercer, leading the charge!!”

For a moment the two continued to glare at each other, and then Demetrius looked away.

“Let’s just get our son up and around. I’ve got a lot of things to finish taking care of.”

In angry silence then the two continued to work until it was time to begin the awakening ritual. As with any other GHAST, the Baroness worked her magic while the Baron chanted.

““I’m the conjuror of demons! I bring forth this ancient evil, I control its every breath! AWAKEN!”

With a harsh cry, the Baron stabbed his crystal down into the chestplate of the GHAST. Then it was the Baronness’s turn, as she lifted her own crystal.

“I’m the summoner of angels! I bring forth this ancient good, I control its every breath! AWAKEN!”

She plunges the other crystal into its chest, and then together both of them picked up the swirling green crystal that was all that was left of their son.

“We instigate your misfortune! We command you to rise, rise, rise! AWAKEN!”

The two of them cried out as they plunged this third and final crystal into the GHAST. A moment later its eyes snapped open with a pale green light. The machine immediately bolted upright, its harsh cry echoing through the room.

“****!!!!”

The machine looked down at itself and cursed again as it saw its new body.

“That ****ing bitch killed me!!!! I’m gonna KILL HER!! KORRAM TOO!!!!!!!”

“Welcome back, Cheran.”

The Baron observed dryly.

[Inspectre]

Meanwhile . . .

Theme Song

With his duties for the moment completed, Nephilium returned to his quarters to rest. He found that he was unable to sleep, however, and so flitted about his quarters restlessly. Recent events left him pondering the nature of death, and what meaning it held for one such as himself. He found that he was unable to make himself care about Cheran’s untimely end. His brother was a bastard and Nephilium felt no sympathy for him, nor did his feelings matter one bit. In a few hours, Cheran would be back among the living, albeit trapped in a metal shell like Celestan.

No, what disturbed Nephilium now was thinking about his own wife. He had been thinking about her all day, memories of his own wedding bubbling to the surface thanks to Cheran’s. It had been a great deal simpler of an affair, the event barely even acknowledged by his own parents. No one wanted to attend the wedding of a nobleman to a lowborn merchant’s daughter. His parents had tried to talk him out of it several times, but for once in his life Nephilium was steadfast. He knew that Elsa was the right woman for him, and he saw in her things that his parents did not. And then she had tried to give him a child the same as Celestan’s wife, and paid the same price.

Unlike Celestan, however, by then Father and Mother had perfected their methods of soul transference and storage. They could have saved Elsa, or her soul at least, and then Nephilium would not be alone. He would not have seen her ghost in an archangel’s face, and not been so sorely tempted to stand with her against his parents, something he had never even considered before. But for some reason they had not, and Elsa’s soul had passed into the afterlife, lost to him forever or at least for however long that Father had need of him. On the other hand, Nephilium would not have liked seeing her stomping around in a metal body like Cheran, another drone in Father’s army of GHASTs, and neither would she. Perhaps then things had worked out for the best, no matter how painful.

Suddenly, the communication crystal on Nephilium’s desk came to life as Fury announced, “Incoming transmission.” He had not activated it, but as he looked towards it he figured someone was trying to get in touch with him. As he peered into the crystal to see Father and Mother arguing over Cheran’s new body, however, he realized that no one had contacted him deliberately. Figuring that it was some sort of malfunction, Nephilium moved to shut the crystal off when what Father and Mother were saying caught his ear.

“This is about Elsa, isn’t it? You’ve never approved of how we handled that!”

Blinking in confusion, Nephilium felt his brow furrow as he drew his hand back. He knew he should not be hearing this as he was not privy to their conversation, but he found himself unable to look away. His confusion turned to disbelief as the scene continued to play out.

“I never approved because I thought your plan was stupid!! I managed to save Elsa’s life with a great deal of effort, and then you turn around and get rid of her!”

“She was a bad influence on Nephilium! Giving him someone to protect managed to focus him like nothing else, but it carried with it the risk that he would become *too* protective! Besides, you never approved of the fact that our son married a merchant’s wench anyway!”

Mother had managed to save Elsa? An icy knot began to form in Nephilium’s stomach as disbelief gave way to horror. And still the scene continued to play out, the Baron explaining his whole plan, unaware that his son was listening in.

“That may be true but it doesn’t change the fact that we *didn’t* get rid of her! If you were concerned about her we could have simply let her die in childbirth, as we told Nephilium! Instead you enact this convoluted scheme to separate her soul and body, send her soulless body to be hidden away in Ironheart, and then tell Nephilium that she died! Why!?”

“Because while she was a danger to Nephilium, the loss of her might have been even worse! You know how badly the loss of his family crippled Celestan! I wanted to remove Elsa’s influence over him, but keep open the possibility of bringing her back should he have collapsed! After that didn’t happen, there was still the danger he would find out what we had done! So I had her hidden away where he’d never find out about it, while still leaving the possibility open of bringing her back if needed!”

Unable to hear anymore, Nephilium shut the awful crystal off and collapsed back on to his bed. Elsa had survived . . . she was still alive! But Father had decided that Nephilium was better off without her, and he took her away from him. Not Death, but Father was responsible for his loss! All this time, all those lies to comfort him, the false pity! Grief turned to rage then, a mindless boiling fury pushing everything else out of his mind. With a howl Nephilium leaped up from his bed and seized it. Lifting it up off the floor, he vented his rage by using the bed as a club, smashing it into the side of his wall with another wordless cry of outrage. The blow shattered his bed, and left a dent in the bulkhead, an impressive feat given the durability of the black metal taken from Ironheart and used in its construction. Like a whirlwind Nephilium crashed through his room, venting his rage on everything in his reach.

Finally he collapsed onto the floor in the midst of the wreckage, grief once again replacing rage. And then he wept bitter tears for the false loss of his wife, and all the time he wasted believing that lie. To himself he vowed that there would be a reckoning for this. Father would fix this, or he would pay the price for betraying his own blood!

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

Theme Song

Now alone again, the Baron directed his attention to rallying the troops, as it were. He had recovered a number of potential allies from Ironheart, and with the finale drawing near it was time to establish their loyalties one way or the other.

First, he ventured to his own laboratory where his permanent summoning circle was set up. There he conducted the ritual to summon an angel for destruction as he had done hundreds of times before. He was a little disappointed, but not surprised, when the spell fizzled. So the Heavens had been emptied by Miriam for this upcoming battle. Good. That meant that when he put her and the rest of her Markash down, that would be the end of it. It also meant that he would be able to craft any more GHASTs, but that was alright. He already had plenty of those, now he would just have to construct some more fodder to throw away without care.

Deciding to take care of that next, the Baron went down to one of the cargo bays, or rather the walkway overlooking it. Below, a few hundred iron soldiers stood in silent ranks, waiting to be activated. Not GHASTs, these metal golems would have few of the advantages that their more advanced brothers enjoyed. Nonetheless, they would be soldiers incapable of feeling pain, and bound by the magic of their new bodies to obey the Baron’s every command. All that was missing from them now was an animating force – a mind and a soul. Approaching the large red stone set into the ceiling overhead, the Baron planned to provide just that.

“Good afternoon Judge Adrianna, Judge Arlan. Or should I simply call you jointly the Judge? That is the moniker you went by in Ironheart, I believe.”

The surface of the large crystal shimmers for a moment, and then an image of the two entwined prisoners-turned-wardens appears.

What do you want?

Comes a faint ringing voice, emerging from a communication crystal magically connected to its larger cousin, rather than the voice coming from the prison crystal itself. After a moment, the voice adds another word, wisely thinking better of provoking the Baron.

. . . Master?

“I want you to release all of the prisoners you have trapped inside your little domain. One at a time, onto that platform over there. I’ll take care of the rest.”

As he explained, the Baron moved over to a set of controls, activating it and readying the machinery for the influx in parts. Unfortunately, instead of a steady stream of prisoners teleporting out of the crystal, he got a challenge.

And if we don’t comply with your demand?

The voice said, sounding strained – no doubt the result of Arlan forcing his opinion to the fore over that of his more reasonable sister. The Baron simply smirked and shook his head at the foolish display of defiance.

“Then I break the crystal. Cracking it open will destroy the magic holding all those people inside its extra-spatial confines. And then because you forced me to destroy a useful magical artifact that might never be created again, I will drag you both out of the crystal’s remains and punish you accordingly. I’ll give you a minute to consider your options.”

Negotiations finished, the Baron crossed his arms and waited. As the end of the minute approached, he reached down to grab a hammer he had placed on the walkway earlier specifically for this purpose. He gave a few dramatic, exaggerated practice swings just for effect, and then called out, “Time’s up!” A moment later, and the crystal flashed, a beam of red light reaching out towards the platform. There was a bright flash, and then a man wrapped in chains was lying there, no doubt considerably confused as to where he was.

Before he could figure any of that out, a set of mechanical arms descended from the ceiling. They attached a soul crystal to his chest, and then picked him up and bodily hurled him off the walkway. With a muffled scream, the man fell to his death, messily splattering onto the deck of the cargo bay below. Waiting against a nearby wall, a GHAST activated and walked over to the remains. It plucked the intact soul crystal out of the mess, and then slotted it into the chest of the iron golem. As a protective breastplate slid into place over the crystal, the iron golem stirred to life. As its first action, the golem began to clean up the remains of its former body. Meanwhile, another prisoner was transported out of the prison crystal, fitted with a soul crystal, and flung to his death. Any prisoner that managed to survive the fall was immediately executed by the roaming patrol of GHASTs, completing the involuntary transfer of their soul. Trusting that the automated process was operating smoothly, the Baron stepped back and paused to admired the efficiency of his solution. And then he was gone, moving on to his next objective. As it turned out, it was rather similar to this.

Suspended in the middle of a cell converted out of a forward cargo bay, the former Warden of Ironheart lifted his battered head to regard the Baron as he entered. The Baron gave his treacherous servant a tight-lipped smile as he stepped into the room.

“Still hanging around, I see. I trust the accommodations have been satisfactory, the entertainment not too crass?”

Holding his head up with some effort as he tracked the Baron’s progress across the room, the Warden opened his mouth to speak in a rasping whisper.

“You have killed me a hundred and fifty one times since my capture, in a variety of unique and painful ways. Each time I have come back from the dead. If you are here to see if my one hundred and fifty-second death will be the last, you will leave disappointed.”

At this, the Baron laughs.

“No, I imagine you will be the one who is disappointed for not having the release of death. I imagine when you made your pact with the Hierarch, you did not expect immortality to be such an unpleasant experience.”

“Not really, no. But then, it was to be you in this position, and my hand holding the knife that cut into your eternal soul.”

At this the Baron laughed.

“You were a fool to choose that ancient moron over me, although I can see what he had to offer was quite attractive. To be fair, the Hierarch did have some impressive tricks at his command, including your own immortality. I must admit studying it through your many deaths has been quite informative. And I believe that I am ready to share my theory for how the Hierarch managed to accomplish your gift.”

By now the Baron had moved to stand just off to one side of the Warden, and he had to strain his neck to turn his head far enough to see him. He watched as the Baron reached until his pocket and pulled out a soul crystal.

“My theory is that the Hierarch blessed you with an incredibly powerful regeneration spell. And then he tied that magic to your soul, simultaneously binding your soul such that it cannot travel to the afterlife. This suggests a very interesting relation between the body and the soul, and I now wonder if it would be possible to anchor the soul into the body, and if that would prevent death. But that is an experiment for another place and time. Right now, I just want to find out what happens to you without your soul!”

Reaching up, the Baron shoves the crystal into the Warden’s mouth, breaking several teeth in the process. Forcing the Warden’s mouth closed to prevent him from spitting out the crystal, the Baron grips his chin firmly, and then places his other hand on top of the Warden’s head. With a savage twist, he snaps the Warden’s neck, and then continues twisting until he has ripped the Warden’s head completely off of its body. This time, no magic resurrection happens – the corpse remains hanging from the ceiling, headless. Prying the Warden’s mouth open again, the Baron pulls out the now glowing soul crystal and then tosses the head aside.

“Ah, just as I thought then. Trapping the soul breaks the cycle. So much for the immortal, invincible Warden.”

The Baron announces, grinding the soul crystal to powder between his fingers. With his purpose here fulfilled, and with new ideas to test now that his hypothesis has been confirmed, the Baron leaves. As he goes he makes a mental note to have someone come in and clean up the Warden’s remains.

Next, the Baron moves on to the next modified cargo bay, this one holding a mound of living stone. The head, carved in a draconic shape, raises itself as the Baron enters.

“So the mighty Baron has finally deigned to grace me with his presence.”

The last dragon rumbles, his voice booming throughout the cramped quarters of the room. The beast’s stony form moves to raise, but the chains woven around and through its body hold it fast to the ground.

“Excuse me if I don’t get up.”

“Ah, Akorilastroxaz. I apologize for captivity, but it was necessary to ensure that you didn’t fly off before we got the chance to speak. I have what I think you will find a most interesting offer.”

For a moment, the dragon’s glowing eyes narrow and a loud rumble fills the room as the stone dragon growls.

“I owe my continued existence to you, and that is the only reason I have not killed you already. SPEAK!”

Not deterred by the dragon’s bravado, the Baron brushes a lock of hair out of his face and then makes his offer.

“I’ve been given to understand that you believe you have a great destiny to fulfill. That is what motivated you to find magical ways of sustaining your aging body, and when those eventually failed, to possess a human host. In the near future, I will be engaging Miriam the Valkyrie in mortal combat. I was wondering if you’d like to participate in the slaying of a goddess, surely a great destiny of any creature!”

For a moment the dragon simply looked down at its human captor, and then the room boomed with the sound of its laughter.

“You, a mortal man, slaying the creator goddess!? Hah, I am impressed by your arrogance! Nonetheless, accomplishing that would be a great destiny indeed! Perhaps that is even what I have always felt compelled to accomplish before leaving this mortal coil! Very well human, you will have my aid in the battle to come!”

“Excellent. Some of my men will be by shortly to release you. I would appreciate it if you remained in this cargo bay for the moment however, despite its cramped nature. I would like your arrival upon the field of battle to be a surprise.”

Their pact made, the Baron left, wondering just how far he could trust the dragon. They were notoriously capricious and prideful creatures, despite their creation at Miriam’s hand. Nonetheless, hopefully the idea was grandiose enough, and Akor angry enough at his species’ extinction, to stand with him in battle. If not, the runes now adorning his body, carved there by Alya, would be simply enough for her to remove. And then Akor, last of the dragons, would at last perish.

Expectant that the occupant of the chamber below Akor’s had heard every word, the Baron went to pay the Herald of Azguloth a visit. He found the creature waiting for him as expected, perched on a pile of bones. The Herald made a show of gnawing on a bone from his pile, already long since scoured clean, as the Baron entered.

“So, chief, how about some more food? I’ve been getting bored down here and playing with my food helps take the edge off!”

At that, the Herald threw the bone through the air, sending it twirling to land right at the Baron’s feet. Securely chained to the back wall, it was the only threatening gesture he could make. Acutely aware of just how much reach the Herald’s chains gave him, the Baron advanced into the room.

“I’m afraid that we’re all out of angels. You really should have savored your food more if you’re still hungry.”

“Feh, I left the last one you gave me crippled and blind for a week. Eventually her endless sobbing got on my nerves. Guess I’ll just have to satisfy my hunger with you!”

Pushing himself up from the pile of bones, the Herald leapt across the room, awkwardly twitching in mid-flight as he was reminded that his wings were bound useless to his back. Even so, he managed to clear most of the room in that single leap, landing a few feet in front of the Baron. He lunged, claws outstretched, before the chains pulled taut and stopped him less than a foot away from the Baron. He simply smiled at the Herald’s failure.

“It will be difficult to accomplish that in your current circumstances. Unlike your previous master, I am not a moron! But I didn’t come down here to taunt you any more than I did to feed you. I trust you heard the conversation I had with Akorilastroxaz above?”

Slowly, the Herald dropped back into a less threatening pose, although the tenseness in his muscles suggested that he was ready to try his luck again if the Baron moved even an inch closer.

“Yeah. I figured you were blowing smoke up the dragon’s butt to get him to cooperate. They tend to like that.”

With a tight-lipped smile, the Baron shook his head.

“Oh no, I was quite serious. Miriam the Valkyrie has assumed physical form, possessing my daughter so that she can come here and kill us all. I believe you may have met my daughter during the battle beneath Ironheart – she was the one who slew your former master, after all. I was hoping I could convince you to use your considerable skills to help me dispose of them.”

Proof that thinking was not the Herald’s strong suit – he was much like Cheran in that way – it takes the beast a few moments to understand.

“So . . . you’re offering me the chance to do them both?”

The Baron kept all sarcasm from his voice as he nodded.

“Yes, basically. I don’t want to risk Miriam escaping if you kill her host, but I have a plan for that. Even so, you will get to beat her, humiliate her, and then finish what you tried and failed to do so long ago. Miriam will be defeated and suffer a similar fate to your own god. And then if there’s anything left of my daughter after that, you can have what’s left to do with as you wish.”

Again, it took the Herald a few seconds to sift through everything the Baron told him. Then the beasts grins, revealing a shark’s mouth of fangs.

“You got a deal! Put ‘er there?”

The Herald offers, extending one hand. The trap was quite obvious, and so the Baron just gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Why don’t we just keep it to a verbal agreement for now. You’ll remain here until we are ready for you, and then you will be released. You’ll even have your scythe returned to you – I imagine having your weapon in hand will make it that much easier for you to avenge yourself upon Miriam. In the meantime I will see if there is anyone else available to send down as food – perhaps a few crewmen who have been remiss in their duties.”

The Baron turned to go, but then the Herald showed he was not a complete idiot.

“Ysora.”

He said.

“Give me Ysora. I know you’ve got her locked away too. A reunion between us would be so . . . delicious.”

“Mmm . . . no. I already have other plans in mind for Ysora. After all, what kind of trap is one without bait?”

Leaving the Herald to stupidly puzzle through his last comment, the Baron departs the makeshift prison. He had just one last stop to make now.

Traveling further into the bowels of his airship, the Baron arrives at a sealed adamantite door. Two GHASTs stand guard outside, but remain at their posts as the Baron steps up to the door and turns a lever, sliding the bolts holding it shut out of place. Other than the heavy security door and GHASTs, however, there were no additional security measures. Nor is the occupant inside held in any sort of restraints. This one, although still not entirely trusted, was more of a partner now than a prisoner.

Entering the chamber, the Baron remained silent as he regarded the winged woman kneeling in the middle of the room, her massive spear balanced carefully across her knees. Meditating, or perhaps even praying, the figure is silent for a full minute, and the Baron indulges her. As she rises smoothly to her feet and begins twirling the spear around her in a series of movements practiced over millennia, she finally gives him permission to speak.

“What is it?”

She asks, prompting a smirk from the Baron.

“Hello to you too, Hephestia.”

“Polite greetings are reserved for friends. Angry ones for enemies. And you are neither.”

The archangel replies, continuing the practice of her own unique form.

“I thought you would be interested to know that your imprisonment is about to end. Miriam is coming here now.”

At this piece of news, Hephestia stops and turns to face him for a moment. Her face shifts between surprise, hope, and anger, before it finally returns to its default state of “stern”. Hephestia resumes her practice.

“As I told you before, I will not fight against my sisters.”

“But any human you meet will die.”

The Baron said, finishing her previously sworn oath.

“Yes. Release me and I will slaughter your mortal enemies. But it won’t matter – Miriam will kill you and destroy everything you have built.”

“So you’ve said many times. Why don’t you let me worry about that and just focus on your part. Humor me – if Miriam kills me, you’ll be free, and I doubt you’ll cry any tears over my fate.”

“Mmm.”

Hephestia grunts, quite possibly fantasizing about that very possibility as she launches into a series of free-flowing thrusts.

“You will have my aid against your mortal enemies, as I promised to you. Was there something else you wanted, or did you just come down here to irritate me?”

“No. Just making sure that you plan to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Pointedly stopping her practice, Hephestia turned to glare at him.

“You may enjoy deceit, but my word is pure. I said I would destroy your enemies and I will. When the time comes, release me!”

Satisfied, the Baron nods.

“Very well. We shall see how well you hold up your word then when the time comes. Until then, Hephestia the Adjudicator.”

Not quite trusting the archangel enough to turn his back on her, the Baron slowly backed out of the room. He slammed the door shut and resealed it, and then he was on his way. His forces were ready. All he needed now was to make one last arrangement to the board.

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

Theme Song

The next day, the Baron stood on the bridge of the Gastly Truth. Assembled before him was the entire remaining nobility of Narle via communication crystal. He gave them all a tight-lipped smile and then began.

“Lords and ladies. I apologize for the disastrous wedding that most of you attended last evening. However, I hope that your own experiences lend credence to what I am about to tell you. Today we all stand on the brink of annihilation! The attack last night was only the first strike by our enemies who are numerous and powerful!”

The Baron waited for the assembled sheep to stop their alarmed bleating before he continued.

“The leader of that assault was a man known as Korram Alstan, a dangerous rebel and terrorist who has menaced the people of Gast for many years. However, he is the least of our worries.”

Standing aside, the Baron reveals a view screen whose images change as the Baron describes them.

“My scouts report that a massive army of elves has penetrated our borders and is heading directly here, no doubt with the intent to resume their bloody war against us. From a different direction, an even larger swarm of undead. Their exact motivation is unknown at this time, but suffice to say I doubt that their intentions towards us are good either. But most disturbing of all, is the fact that Miriam the Valkyrie has possessed my innocent daughter, and is leading a force of angels here. Let me be clear – they are *not* coming to help us. Quite the opposite in fact.”

The view screen changed again, this time showing the memory that Incom recorded, suitably modified. The Baron hadn’t needed to change much.

“Cleanse this village immediately!”

The Miriam-possessed Sara said, as two angels moved to cut down a swarm of unarmed peasants.

“This entire village must be purified!”

The image freezes and centers on Sara, her face contorted in rage and her sword held high.

“That was a tiny village within the Barony of Gast. Since then, the angelic host has made a beeline for the capital as well, no doubt “purifying” anyone they come across. It should be clear that the Valkyrie has tired of us, and means to cleanse humanity itself from the world!!!”

Again, the nobles bleat in alarm, even louder this time, and eventually the Baron has to hold up his hands and shout to still them.

“Our backs are up against the wall! We are leaderless, disorganized, and virtually defenseless! If we do not unite immediately, then we shall be torn apart, and it won’t matter if it’s the elves, or the undead, or the damned Valkyrie! We will all be dead! We need to elect a strong leader who is willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure our survival! If we do not, and do it right now, today while there is still time then we are all lost!!”

“Elect a leader? Madness! The king is chosen by the gods Themselves and –“

One noble yells out, and the Baron jabs an accusatory finger at him.

“And the gods themselves have abandoned us! Do you think our king’s illness was a mere coincidence!? No, the gods revoked Tallon IV’s privilege to rule, along with his life, as a prelude to attack! They knew that we would be lost and divided, sheep to the slaughter to come! Well I say that we are NOT sheep! We are NOT weak! We can stand up for ourselves, and choose our own leader to represent us! To rule with the consent of Man, and not the gods who have turned against us!”

“Are we to fight against the gods Themselves then!? How can we possibly oppose them!? No, there has been some sort of mistake! There has to be –“

Thankfully, this self-righteous fool was now shouted down by the others, swayed by fear and their own pride. The Baron would have to remember to thank him later for taking the initiative to represent those nobles who truly did feel that way. Thanks to his excellent set up, the Baron drove his point home as he turned to jab a finger at his own daughter.

“There has been no mistake!! The gods have made their decision, and they have decided to kill us all! Do you think all the peasants in that tiny village were guilty of any real crimes!? Does it look like they were able to beg for forgiveness to be spared!? No!! If the Valkyrie will not forgive them, then none of *us* will ever be forgiven! We may all die in an unwinnable battle, but at least we will not go quietly, waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall on hands and knees! I refuse to willingly place my head on the chopping block, and I will fight the Valkyrie with every man at my disposal, every weapon I possess, every fiber of my being!! Which of you is willing to do the same!!?”

Now there was shouting, but it was a rallying cry rather than terrified bleating. The sheep were being whipped up into a frenzy.

“Now, let us choose one amongst our number to serve as Narle’s new king! One chosen not by the mandate of the gods, but by the mandate of Man!!”

“And who do you propose? Yourself?”

Came a soft voice. Sweeping his eyes towards the source, the Baron’s eyes narrowed as he saw that it was the Viscount Damont, a mere boy who had managed to grow quickly into a man after his father had crossed the Baron one too many times. Unfortunately having the second Damont suffer an inconvenient accident would have looked too suspicious.

“Well, I do have a majority of my forces already here in the capital. They could serve as an excellent backbone for whatever defensive army we can manage to piece together in the few days we have before our enemies arrive. They are used to following my orders, however, and it would be easiest if they did not have to report to a new authority.”

Before the young Damont could continue to force the issue and force the Baron to continue offering reasons for his election, Duke Volesin finally spoke up.

“I second the notion that the Baron of Gast become our new king. He is an excellent leader and has shown himself well capable of handling any crisis.”

From there it was all downhill for anyone wishing to oppose the motion. In the end it was put to a vote, and save for a few holdouts such as the damn Viscount Damont, the decision was unanimous. Baron Demetrius Gast would henceforth be known as King Demetrius Gast (the First).

[The_Snark]

Mar

It was almost a relief to feel the townpeople's wary eyes on her. Not that Mar enjoyed being shunned, exactly... but at least she didn't feel like an impostor anymore. Visiting Stonebridge had always made her vaguely uneasy, because everybody had accepted her as an ordinary person—a stranger, but still someone who belonged in their world—and inside, she knew she wasn't. She didn't belong here at all, and the strain of hiding that otherness had worn on her. Now she was done hiding and worrying; the wait was over, the worst had happened, and the proper order of things was restored once more.

Mar did not exactly like being shunned and cast out, but it was familiar, and familiar things were comfortable.

She stopped as a face tugged at her memory: an old unwashed man, lying in a doorway just barely out of the snow. She knew that face. She remembered looking up at it as she sat on his knee and listened to him tell stories; she remembered it red and flecked with spittle as he roared insults at her, at her mother, at the world; she remembered washing bits of vomit off it and tucking it into a proper bed. (Apparently, there was nobody to do that for him anymore, because here he was without a proper bed. He'd freeze to death one of these winters if he kept up like this.) Mar felt like she ought to feel something, looking at that face. Pity, maybe: look where selling his daughter had gotten him. Anger. Love. Hadn't Caroline always loved her father, regardless of what he said or did?

But she didn't feel anything at all for him; just heartsick and cold. She wasn't Caroline.

Mar gave in, and allowed herself to admit that. It hurt. She'd known it for a while, of course; she'd even told Jacob, out of fairness. But it still hurt to say it to herself. She had so wanted to be Caroline, and for a little while she had persuaded herself that she could be.

But it was time to let go of that. Sometimes, you had to give up on hope. Where would she be if she'd clung to the hope that Daddy had really loved her? Pinned to a wall with her heart cut out, that's where. Hope and love could hurt you very badly if you held on too tight. It didn't feel right to Mar, but that was how it was.

THUNK

THUNK

THUNK

The sound of a mallet pulled Mar out of her melancholy thoughts. She paused in the town square to watch men hammering a heavy wooden stake into the ground, feeling unaccountably uneasy; as if she were watching them try to drive a spear into the earth's still-living heart. They weren't, of course. She couldn't think of a reason why the sight of the thing should make her gut knot up. It just did.

Move on. Let go. This time, it didn't hurt at all to move on. She drifted away from the square, following the old woman's directions.

But for all her resignation, Mar found she was immensely relieved to see Julian greet her with the same enthusiasm he had always showed. She practically wilted, nodding when he asked her if she wanted the thing he was supposed to give her because yes, she wanted to be inside and alone with somebody who didn't look at her like something that should be in a cage. In fact, she'd almost forgotten about his gift. She certainly didn't want to leave as soon as she had it. She wanted to sit down and possibly cry a little. But it was easier to just nod than to try and say all of that.

[Lonna]

Pyrene the Calculating

When the magic broke, leaving Pyrene's emotions once again dulled, she focused on regaining control of her breathing and heart rate, still following Duke Volesin without question. There would be enough time to take revenge for her mother when she had him alone.

The carriage was unexpected, but Pyrene did not have to waste time being suprised or fighting off the emotions of old memories. This was the perfect opportunity, Volesin unwittingly playing directly into her hands. As he spoke to the pilot she quickly considered the pros and cons. Volesin was hurt and tired, and alone with her except for the pilot. She could see Wulfric outside, Garthax was in the carriage with her, and Volesin didn't expect aggression from her. There was a slim chance he might have ordered Ariella's death if he did not return on time, but why risk losing his best, if not only, bargaining chip if he truly wanted Pyrene's cooperation? No this was going to be Pyrene's best and perhaps only opportunity to avenge her mother's brutal death. Looking at the straps on the seats she smiled out of reflex rather than emotion. This wasn't even going to be difficult.

As Volesin went to take his seat, indicating again that she should do the same, Pyrene spoke, no hint of anger in her voice, though that feeling managed to burn in her despite her the general dullness of her emotions. "I must apologize, Duke Volesin. The spell I cast to aid your daughter is not one I have used before, and I was not fully prepared for the consequences. I would not have left you had I been in my right mind."

Raising her hand, she beckoned as if inviting Volesin to her side of the carriage. Before he could react, however, the restraining straps on his seat swarmed to life, binding and gagging him firmly as Pyrene allowed her muted rage and grief to twist her features. "If I had been in my right mind, I would have made sure you were dead before I left, just reward for your brutal murder of my mother all those years ago."

Opening the carriage door, Pyrene looked back over her shoulder at the pinned Duke. "Should you happen to meet my mother, tell her that whores aren't the only ones who all go to the Hells!"

Patting Garthax's invisible foot reassuringly, she carefully climbed down from the carriage, waving off Wulfric's astonished questions as she watched the griffon-borne vehicle rise over the courtyard. When it had gained enough height to satisfy her, she spoke in a language the human tongue was never meant to bear, the language of flame and ember. Instantly the carriage burst into white-hot fire, the heat beating on them even at this distance. Pyrene poured all the power she could muster into the blaze, wanting nothing but ash to survive her vengeance. She stopped only when she saw grey begin to rim her vision, then turned to meet Wulfric's shocked gaze.

"He killed my mother," she said simply. And then her world went black.

[Inspectre]

Cathedral City

Archpaladin Zousha

At your challenging words, Crane merely smirks and offers you the timeless hand gesture of defiance before turning away and leaving Ander to his task. At your support and goading, Katashiko reaches out to the warded stone walls, and in the end proves that the Church’s wards are insufficient. As you speak to him, you can see Ander’s body straining against the stone bands holding him back. But in his eyes, you can see the spark of defiance, glowing brighter with every word. As you speak the Oath, Ander slowly begins to repeat it, the words grating off his teeth but gradually becoming clearer and louder. He practically shouts the last word, and then adds his last words as his body finally breaks free of his stone hand.

“I! WILL BE! A SLAVE! TO NO ONE!!!!”

A pulse of magic races through the room, and you can feel it push and dissipate against your chest like a hot wind. Ander falls to his knees, blood suddenly pouring out of his nose and seeming to seep out of the runes burned into his skin. But then he looks up at you and smiles.

“Crane’s foul magic is broken – for now.”

Ander says, looking down at the runes on his arms and frowning. The dark runes were still as visible as ever, and clearly Ander had just as much idea as you did whether or not they would compel him to obey should Crane ask again. Slowly, Ander cut tiny strips of cloth from his cloak and shoved them into his ears.

“He won’t command me again!”

Ander said, a little too loudly suggested that his idea of plugging his ears was working for the moment. Unfortunately the magic of Project Angelus seemed to grip the angels more strongly – perhaps because the runes had been calibrated for them, or the strength of the human spirit helped Ander, or just the random perversity of magic.

Seven of them fought back against Crane’s command, and broke free of his will at the cost of their lives. Screaming, they thrashed helplessly in the grip of the stone hands keeping their trapped, until at last they slumped back, lifeless. One broke free of the stone hands holding her, and then in a final act of defiance, turned her sword on herself and impaled herself on it, choosing death over continued obedience. One survived as Ander did, leaking blood from her nose, mouth, and eyes, but free for the moment. With surprising reverence for someone with a professed disdain for your oaths, Katashiko gestured, directing the stone hand to gently lay the angel on the floor. She simply lied there, too weak and dazed to do anything. The last three however, remained compliant to Crane’s demands, shrieking in rage as they struggled to free themselves.

“Should I crush them?”

Katashiko huffed, clearly struggling just to maintain the stone bands currently wrapped around the three remaining angels. Before you can answer, yet another newcomer arrives on the scene. The room seems to darken for a minute, and then from the shadows leaps the Reaper. At the sight of Morganna lying dead, his mouth opens in a silent scream and he races towards you. Ander raises his sword to defend himself, but stays his hand after glancing at you. Dropping to his knees, the Reaper slides the last few feet, coming to rest directly next to Morganna. He scoops the angel’s body up in his arms, tears starting to silently fall down his face as he leans down to press his forehead against hers.

“Who is this?”

Ander says, at a normal tone instead of a whisper as he inclines his head towards the Reaper. Before you can explain Ander holds up a hand and shakes his head.

“Never mind, it’ll take too long to explain! We have to go after Crane! He thought it was smart to gloat to me on the way here! Now that he’s assumed the Mantle of Speaker he’s going to activate the Reliquary’s self-destruct! He must be headed to the Speaker’s Aerie, it’s the only place in the city where he can do it!”

In the event of an emergency, the Reliquary could be set to be consumed in a massive explosion. It was a feature never to be used because doing so would release every imprisoned fiend back into the Hells along with killing everyone inside. But, even that was preferable to the alternative of every devil and demon lord breaking out and running amok in the heart of the Church’s main city. Only the Speaker could authorize that action, and even then from only one place – the Speaker’s Aerie, the singular tower stretching up out of the Council Chambers to be the highest point in the city, looking down on it in its entirety. With Crane’s head-start, he was probably almost there already.

With a curse, Katashiko suddenly cried out as the angels finally strained their stone bonds past the breaking point. Released, the three angels moved into a defensive stance, forming up to block the door Crane had gone through. Determined, Ander tightened his grip on his angel-slaying blade and began to walk towards them. Katashiko curses again.

“You don’t have time to play with them if you’re going to stop this Crane guy! Allow me!”

With another burst of effort, Katashiko reaches out to the stone again. Perhaps the wards were already shattered or Katashiko had figured out how to bypass them, but she didn’t seem quite as strained this time. The floor beneath the angels suddenly burst upwards, throwing them clear of the door. Continuing to rise, the stone expanded outward in all directions, forming a long narrow tunnel that lead directly to the door from the middle of the room. Revealing that the effort had taken something out of her, Katashiko sinks to her knees after it’s done.

“Go . . . I’ll hold . . . them off!”

She wheezes, struggling to push herself back up. Thankfully at that moment more reinforcements arrive, in the form of Emma in her full angelic glory.

“You mean we will hold them off!”

She cries, moving to stand beside the Mistress of Earth and offering her a hand up. Encouraged by the thought of not having to fight three angels alone, Katashiko smiles and tosses a pebble into the back of Zariel’s head.

“Hey! Reaper! We’ve got some things that need killing! Why don’t you help us out!?”

His mask a mask of sorrow and rage, Zariel smoothly rises to his feet, a set of blades suddenly twirling about in his hands. With the odds now even, you suspected that the angels would have their hands full. Ander turns to you with a grim smile and gestures at the tunnel Katashiko had made.

“Are you ready to finish this with me, Hondshioh!? LET’S GO!”

He shouts, clearly intending his volume this time as he charges down the tunnel towards the door.

Theme Song

Lyrics

Spoiler

Show

Joe:
This city's sleeping like a soldier
trapped inside of an iron lung.
Machines can keep you breathing
but what happens when you find a new war's begun?
Flip a switch and turn it off, you won't be able to breathe.
So either way you're a casualty.

I've got this burning like my veins are filled
with nothing but gasoline.
And with a spark,
it's gonna be the biggest fire they've ever seen.
Cut me down or let me run,
either way it's all gonna burn...
The only way that they'll ever learn

We've got to turn it off,

Flip a switch.

Light up the night!

There is a city that this darkness can't hide.
There are the embers of a fire that's gone out,
But I can still feel the heat on my skin
This mess we're in, well you and I,
maybe you and I,
We can still make it right.

Maybe we can bring back the light.

Tom:
At the heart of the city there is a building that looks down over all there is.
And the man in the tower controls it all without raising a single fist.
It's like they gathered up the city, they sold it to the devil, and now
It's gone to hell and they wonder how.

Well, a friend once told me:
Men, they would follow any man who would turn the wheels.
Now the wheels are spinning out of control; what would they do if we held them still?
If you destroy the working parts, what you'll get is a broken machine.
A beacon of light from a burning screen.

Light it up.
Light up the night.

Together:
There is a city that this darkness can't hide.
There are the embers of a fire that's gone out,
But I can still feel the heat on my skin.
This mess we're in, well you and I,
maybe you and I,
We can light up the night.

They made their plans carefully. Spending hours on the details. If Joe could reach the main telescreen on top of the tower in the center of the city - Wily's tower - he could take out the central transmitter. He could stop the broadcasts going out to the satellite screens. He could stop the broadcasts going out to the machines. He could take out Albert's eyes.

With Wily blinded, Light could reenter the city undetected. He could complete the task that he had obsessed over for more than twenty years. He could kill Albert Wily. A prisoner caged on the edge of the city, this was Light's chance. His chance not only at freedom, but to exact revenge. To kill his judge, his warden, and the man who'd built his prison. To destroy the man who'd taken everything from him - his life's work, his name, his love.

Together:
There is a city that this darkness can't hide.
There are the embers of a fire that's gone out,
But I can still feel the heat on my skin.
This mess we're in, well you and I,
maybe you and I,
We can light up the night.

There is a city that this darkness can't hide
There is a fire that will burn through the streets of the city, and we will stand in the light.
We will stand in the light,
you and I.
You and I.
We can bring back the light.

With Wily's assassin out of the way, they had a small and rapidly closing window. The sniper robot would soon be missed. Their plan finally secure, Light locked the green helmet under Joe's chin and handed him the bag of explosives. "Go!" he shouted.

Bursting through the door you find yourself in another well-furnished hallway. These were the hallways leading to the private quarters of the Exarchs, and to the Speaker’s Aerie. You had only heard about these places as they were not open to any save the Exarchs and the Speaker’s Guard. Ander, however, seemed to have an idea where to go, perhaps having privileged knowledge from having served as Lord General for a number of years before his retirement, as opposed to your few days.

Too focused on moving quickly to speak, the two of you nonetheless moved in perfect sync as you dashed down hallways. Here and there guards stood at sharp attention, and as you approached they moved to engage you with the same fanatical zeal others of the Speaker’s Guard had shown. But these were just mere men, not angels, and you and Ander cleaved through them like Miriam’s own righteous sword, killing or sparing as you saw fit. Finally you reached the entry point to the Aerie, a spiraling stone staircase that had been the only way to ascend for centuries. You and Ander took the stairs two at a time, having to move in single file up the narrow stairway. At the top two more guards stood waiting, and were cut down as Ander lunged for one and you went for the other.

With this last obstacle cleared, you and Ander stood in front of an ornate wooden door, bound with gold. The door was barred from the other side, and in the room beyond you could hear voices – Crane was speaking to someone, although shouting at them might have been a more accurate description.

“What do you mean, you don’t have any aid to extend at this time!!?”

With a mighty joint kick, you and Ander smash the door open and race inside. The room beyond is richly furnished, the walls all solid glass and offering a breathtaking view of the city below. In the center of the room stands Crane, an open bottle of wine in one hand and a communication crystal in the other. At the sound of the door caving in, Crane stops shouting at the image of a man reflected in the communication crystal and turns with a grimace. He is definitely not happy to see you, and hurriedly takes a swig from the bottle of wine. Upon seeing Ander is with you, his frown only deepens.

“I thought I told you to KILL HIM, Ander!! Ander!!?”

With his anger turning to panic as Ander advances into the room, Crane backs away towards one of the glass walls, his voice growing increasingly desperate.

“Ander!? KILL HIM! I GAVE YOU AN ORDER! KILL HIM!! OH ****!!”

With a battlecry, Ander breaks into a run, charging across the run towards the false Speaker. Thinking quickly, Crane drops the bottle of wine and communication crystal from his hands, spreading his arms out wide from his body.

“I SURRENDER! I SURREN-HRK!!!’

Unfortunately for Crane, the same self-imposed deafness that rendered Ander unable to hear his commands also left him unable to hear Crane’s offer of surrender. Upon reaching his arch-nemesis, Ander runs him through with the angel-slaying blade, and then bodily picks him up off the floor. Now carrying Crane on his blade, Ander dashes towards the back glass wall, and upon reaching it hurls Crane off his blade with all his might. The false Speaker hits the wall, for a moment it holds, and then with an explosive crack the glass gives way before him. Crane has just an instant to let out a gurgling scream before he falls backward out of sight, plummeting all the way down to the street. At long last, the Church of Light was cleansed of its corruption.

A cold wind now howling through the open room, you nonetheless manage to hear the faint sound of clapping. Looking down at the floor where Crane’s spilled bottle of wine has left a mess, you see that the communication crystal he had been using was still activated. Reflected in the crystal is an image of a man you don’t recognize. He is dressed in fine clothing, and he seems more amused than concerned as he regards you with his piercing green eyes.

“Bravo! You saved me the trouble of having to dispose of him myself. As I knew you would.”

Moving over to join you, Ander scowls down at the crystal as he reaches up to remove the cloth from his ears.

“You’re next, Baron Gast!”

Ander growls. So this, then, was the looming figure known as the Baron of Gast. The man simply gives you both a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, it’s King Gast now. And I’m not sure you’re going to have the time for me in your busy schedule, Ander. I imagine you’ll be too busy picking up the shattered pieces of your Church . . . and your Reliquary. You do realize Crane activated the Reliquary’s self-destruct five minutes ago, right? Which means . . .”

The newly elected King Gast pauses dramatically, and a moment later a bright flash bursts into being across one entire wall, temporarily blinding you. There is a deafening BOOM! that rattles the remaining glass walls ferociously, and as you look out in that direction you can see only a crater where the Reliquary once stood. Within the communication crystal the evil mastermind raises a wine glass in toast.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. A fitting metaphor for the end of your Church, don’t you think?”

“The Church isn’t broken so easily. We’re coming for you!”

Ander growled, which only seemed to amuse King Gast further.

“Well, you had better hurry. Your goddess is already on her way here. Yes that’s right, Miriam is now manifest – oooh! Doesn’t that thought just send shivers up your spine!? Anyway, once I get done killing her, as my first official act as King I’m going to outlaw the Church. Then I’m going to come for you, and I’m going to stamp out the last remnants of the gods influence! In a hundred years no one will even remember that there ever were gods, and humanity will be at last free to forge its own fate!”

“Your madness is only outweighed by your arrogance! We’ll be there to help Miriam wipe out every last trace of your evil!”

The new king claps his hands again.

“Good! Excellent! I’ll be expecting you and all your friends then, Ander.”

King Gast shoots a sideways glance, followed by a smirk, at you.

“You and your hunch-backed, half-breed sidekick, I guess I should say.”

The King moves as it to deactivate the communication crystal, but then pauses as a thought obviously occurs to him.

“You know, I’m really going to miss not having Morganna here for the ending. She was always a good partner – in fact, I owe this whole crusade against the gods to her! Now let’s see here . . . oh, it must have been over forty years ago that I first met her. I was this young, foolish warlock looking to make some demonic pacts in return for answers to some questions I had.”

At your side, Ander stiffens, as if anticipating what King Gast is going to say next.

“So I come across this simple homestead, housing a lovely little extended family and I think to myself that it’s just perfect for my needs. So I summon a bunch of demons and tell them to have fun, and lo and behold, in the middle of their fun some angel descends from on high and butchers the whole lot of them. Right before they would have made off with the family’s souls and returned to answer my damn questions! That was when I knew the gods couldn’t be allowed to continue meddling in human affairs. Now that I think of it though, I believe that homestead belonged to a family by the name of Windrivver. Why, that’s *your* last name, isn’t it Ander!?”

Here the King leaned forward towards the communication crystal, filling it with his face as his eyes narrowed in hate.

“You should have died with your family. Now I’m going to finish –“

Whatever taunt the Baron was about to deliver, he didn’t get to finish it as Ander drove his sword down into the communication crystal, shattering it. Then alone at the top of the world with you, Ander sinks to his knees and drops his sword, leaving them free to hold his head. The former Lord General looked like the picture of weariness, his shoulders slumped, but you could see that his back was still straight. At length, he seemed to collect himself, and pushed himself back up to his feet.

“Hondshioh, I’m going to leave you in overall command. I’m not sure what these runes have done to me, and I don’t want to lead if there is the slightest possibility I can be compromised again. We need to rally everyone we can find and march for the capital immediately. Miriam is going to need our help against this bastard, I can feel it.”

(I really wished we could have had some time for interaction between the Baron and Hondshioh. Unfortunately we’re in a bit of a time crunch now so it’s sort of cutscene spam time until we can get to the Finale. On the bright side, Hondshioh is likely to meet the Baron in battle during the Finale, so there will be plenty more time for them to diss each other then. If you have any ideas of things to do or questions to ask before the finale, now would be the time for them.)

Stonefall

The_Snark

At your nod, Julian grins widely and nods.

“Okay! I’ll go get it. You just wait right here. Well, inside I mean, it’s cold outside and wasteful to keep the door open!”

Julian waves you forward into the house, and reaches around you to pull the door shut behind you. From a nearby table, a woman on the other side of middle-age watches you, her curiosity plain on her face. The small child who had answered the door initially – you think he was called Lars – continued staring at you wide-eyed from his seat at the table. It almost seemed as if he was considering ducking underneath the table itself, seeking shelter from you. You still couldn’t fathom the cause of the child’s bizarre unease around you, but it quickly becomes unnecessary to figure out.

Julian comes back, his hand closed around something, and an eager smile on his face. He holds out his closed hand to you.

“Here you go! Here’s what I’ve been wanting to give to you. What I was told to give you!”

He adds at the last moment, but you have no time to ponder that mysterious turn of phrase. Julian places something smooth and cold in your hands, and then opens his fingers and releases the object. Sitting in your palm is an elegantly crafted crystalline flower. You had seen this before, in your dreams – it was an exact match for the glass rose Istomilo had crafted for Marisiel out of his wineglass. A shock races through you at the sight of this object, and your hands suddenly go numb. The glass flower tumbles out of your hand, shimmering as it catches the light as it falls slowly . . . down . . . down . . . down.

Suddenly, you are no longer standing in someone’s home in the peaceful village of Stonefall. You are back in your home. Ironheart. This was just like your previous dreams, although those had required you to be asleep. This was different, duller somehow, as if your mind was less willing to accept what it was seeing here. But the memory, if memory this was, is being forced upon your mind all the same. Just like all the others.

It is you in the dream memory this time, the real you. It starts with the last bit you can remember before your awareness suddenly leaps to being out in the middle of a snow-covered forest. You can only assume you had suppressed this memory for some reason.

You are starting in the midst of that awful room, your past selves skewered to the walls like macabre decorations. From above the guiding sing-song voice continues to taunt you.

“Can never save yourself! Never, ever, ever! Welcome to your next ending, Marisiel the Protector!!”

You feel a slight breeze in front of your face, and then some sort of . . . creature, all teeth and beady yellow eyes and leathery wings is right in front of you!

“BOO! AHAHAHA!”

The imp cackles in your face, causing you to recoil backward, crashing painfully into the sealed door behind you. Exhausted and frightened from everything you had endured thus far, this was just too much. You sink to your knees and raise your hands defensively in front of yourself as the imp swoops down to claw at your face.

“Yes, that’s it! Kneel before me! Kneel before Sirax, you who used to stand so high above him! Filthy, nasty Markash!”

From behind you, something slams into the door with a loud roar. The door holds, but the sound coming from directly behind you startles you into action. You blindly flail out at the imp, and despite being so lowly, you are still far stronger than Sirax. You swat him aside, and then rapidly crawl away from the door, which you thought could give way at any moment and let that horrible porcine BEAST that had been chasing you inside. The imp curses, chattering furiously at you as it swoops back up towards the ceiling. You keep crawling until you hit one of the walls, looking up and shuddering as you find yourself directly beneath one of the pinned bodies.

“That is enough, Sirax!”

A familiar voice calls as the doors at the far side of the room swing open. From the room beyond, Daddy emerges, looking considerably the worse for wear. Nonetheless, despite the rents in his robes and the bruises and minor cuts adorning his figure, his eyes still burn with malice. He glares at you as he advances towards you, forcing you to crawl back along the wall until you find yourself trapped in a corner.

“You have been a very, VERY, naughty girl today Mar. Or should I say Marisiel? Pah, I might as well refer to a gecko as a dragon, not that you understand the reference! You’re just a very STUPID little girl.”

Daddy stops in front of you, towering over you.

“The only thing of any value to you is your blood! But I’ve run out of patience with you! Now you’re going to join the stupid bitches up on these wall as my newest reminder of how godsdamned useless you are, and I’ll start anew with a different daughter!”

Furious, Daddy reaches down and snags hold of you by the wrist. His grip is crushing, amazingly strong for a man his age. He lifts you up to your feet, and then turns you around and grabs your other wrist, holding your arms against your chest and your back against his, lifting you up off the floor. You struggle, pumping your legs in the air futilely and awkwardly flapping your wings about. You feel one of the wings actually flap up to swat Daddy in the face, but that only seems to make him angrier as he carries you towards the door and your death beyond.

“The Baron assigned me to bleed you dry, down to the last drop, over and over again! But he’s not the only one who’s been partaking in the power of your blood, you little slut! I’ve been skimming a little off the top for years now! You wanna know how I manage that? Here, let me show you!”

Daddy hisses into your ear, his tone at its most vindictive you’ve ever heard. He carries you into the next room despite your desperate struggles. The room beyond is small and functional. Its center is taken up by a large stone altar, angled slightly and with a large basin set into the floor on the lowest side. A small table full of unpleasant looking cutting implements stands next to the altar. Lighting is provided by four of the strangely burning torches set into the walls.

Dragging you over to the altar, Daddy lifts you up and slams you down onto it. As you struggle to push yourself up and scramble off of it, Daddy pulls a fist back and strikes you across the jaw. You momentarily see stars as you go limp, allowing Daddy to do whatever he wants with you.

Grabbing your arms one at a time, he stretches them up over your head and then snaps manacles around them, holding them fast to the top of the altar. Then he grabs your legs and pulls them towards the bottom, pulling your entire body taut before he snaps a set of fetters around your ankles, holding your legs in place. Finally he bends each of your wings double, wrapping leather straps around them to hold them down and out of the way. By the time you come out of your daze, you have been rendered totally helpless.

Snatching up a wickedly sharp-looking curved blade from the stand nearby, Daddy leers down at you as he holds it up to the light, allowing you to see the edge glint.

“You see, when one of my daughters disappoints me too much Mar, I kill her by cutting out her heart. Then I drain the rest of her blood out of her body and ship that to the Baron. But I keep the heart for myself, and I manage to wring a little bit of your precious blood out of it.”

Daddy stops as another loud bang comes from the door in the entry room. Fainter than that come the sound of angry roars, and more banging as the creature seems to get into a fight with something. Eventually, Daddy returns his full attention to you, lowering the knife down to hover over your face.

“But it looks like you’re going to be the last of my daughters. This whole place is going to the Hells, and even if I was to escape I doubt the Baron would let me live. I know too much to be allowed to live. But I’m not going out alone!”

Removing the blade from in front of your face, Daddy suddenly jabs it into your left side, about three inches down from your armpit. That hurts quite a little bit, but it’s nothing compared to when Daddy jams his thumb and forefinger into the wound! His forefinger scrapes against something hard and angular inside your chest, causing it to wiggle slightly, provoking another wave of incredible pain to wash through you.

“Do you feel that, you little whore!? That’s your soul I’m touching! Nothing more than a rock, a pretty little bauble I jam into worthless little girls like you to make them valuable! After I cut out your heart, your soul is going back in there. And then I’m going to pluck it out and grind it into powder! It’ll be like you never even existed!”

The knife in Daddy’s hand flashed through the air again, scouring a sharp line of pain down your face, from the bottom of your eye all the way down to your chin. Pain blossomed in that side of your face, accompanied by a spreading warmness as your lifeblood bubbled up out of the slash. Daddy had cut all the way down to your cheekbone, the blade sharp enough to accomplish that in a single motion. Daddy continues as he tucks the bloody dagger into his belt, and rummages around the set of tools.

“Normally this is all just business, and I just cut out the little whore’s heart and show it to her before she expires. But since this is going to be the very last few minutes of your existence, I thought we ought to make it special. So I’m going to cut you apart, piece by agonizing piece, until I risk killing you before getting the chance to show you your own heart. I think I’ll start with your wings – damn things always heralding the end of your current body’s usefulness!”

Daddy picks up a heavy saw, and with his other hand grabs hold your right wing and setting the edge of the blade against it. He then pauses and looks over to you.

“I imagine you’ll soon be in so much pain that the only thing I can get out of you is meaningless screaming. So before we go any further, talk to me “daughter”. Marisiel. These are the last minutes of your life. Have you any last words? Any impressive insight to share with the world before you are snuffed out of existence – this time for good?”


(Since this dream sequence and the following scene are so long, and we still have one post before the finale, I figure we might as well split it up into two pieces. As with all the dream sequences, feel free to add your own spin to things on how Mar/Marisiel acts. If Mar has nothing to say save terrified screams and hopeless sobbing, that’s fine too. )

Outside the Capital

Kasanip

At your directive Walters nods, too experienced a butler to ask questions. A sweep of the study reveals no out-of-place sources of magic in the room. Jean stares at you quietly while you angrily reveal your findings. He is silent for a long minute, and then he shakes his head.

“You suspect me of being involved with the warlocks? Well, I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense. But only to a madman – if I was a warlock, why didn’t I simply summon a demon and use its blood to heal my wife!? Why would I arrange for you to go investigating the warlocks when I knew it would lead you to Cynthia and in turn back to me!?”

Jean shakes his head angrily.

“No, there’s enough circumstantial evidence here for the Adjudicators to arrest me, but not enough to prove my guilt. Someone is trying to frame me, Isera! It may even have been a contingency plan the real warlocks put into place to divert suspicion if one of their number was discovered.”

A thought suddenly occurs to Jean, and his face falls flat as his anger gives way to horror.

“Someone’s targeting the Hellrazers. Ember died shortly after our confrontation with the rogue wizard, her symptoms very similar to an advanced case of Acute Cystic Mana Enervation. But it wasn’t the disease, merely a poison that she had been exposed to after the rogue wizard stabbed her with an envenomed blade. The Hellrazers were disbanded after that, and the rogue wizard got away.”

Jean steeples his fingers in front of him.

“But someone’s kept a grudge, even after all these years. A number of years after the Hellrazers disbanding, your mother fell ill. It was an agonizing, months-long descent. There was no reason to suspect anything but the disease, but now . . . now, I have to wonder. Consider if this warlock infiltration was not a recent event, but that this “grand warlock” has been operating within the Canticles for years. If he had access to that poison, he could have administered very small doses of it to replicate the slow descent of the disease. It would require having regular access to the victim, but there was no reason for anyone to suspect! Which means it wasn’t an unfortunate event, but a murder. No!”

In a rare fit of anger, Jean slammed his hands onto the table, and then used those hands to sweep the desk clear, sending the neatly stacked pile of documents he had been reading through toppling into a messy pile on the floor.

“I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it.”

Jean said, his voice thick with agony.

“I had always regretted not catching that rogue wizard we had blindly chased after. I even sent Cynthia into the Barony of Gast to go looking for him, a discrete effort to continue the hunt on my own. But it never occurred to me that we had traitors in our own midst! I don’t know if that same rogue wizard is responsible for all this or not. But somebody, somebody within the Canticles itself, is targeting the Hellrazers.”

Jean rakes a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I get why your mother was targeted. Undoubtedly the grand warlock is using our old motto – Victoria in omnis res rei, or Victory in all things – either as part of the effort to frame me or simply as a taunt. But why poison Selvi in the same way? It could be the actual disease, but it seems too much of a coincidence to me. But if I’m right and it is poison, why risk discovery by doing the same thing? Why target Selvi at all – she wasn’t even a member of the Hellrazers! And if it is a targeted attack on the Hellrazers, why have Alfred and myself been spared this long?”

At this point, there was a firm knock at the door, and then Walters called through the door.

“Excuse me sir, but there is a contingent of Adjudicators at the door. Duncan and Cherise are with them. Should I claim that you are not at home, sir?”

Loyal to the last, Walters was willing to give his master a chance to get away. Nonetheless, Jean shakes his head and calls back.

“No Walters, show them in and escort them here. There’s no reason to add additional reasons for them to suspect me.”

As Walters goes, Jean turns back to you as he stands up and comes out from behind his desk.

“Well Isera, it appears that we have less time to figure out what’s going on than expected. I need you to continue your investigation, and hopefully find evidence to clear my name. Figuring out how my signature ended up in the log books at the Archives could be useful, as I’m sure that wasn’t easily done. Since it’s starting to look like this grand warlock and the person attacking the Hellrazers is one and the same, you might also look into if Selvi is being poisoned, and if so how. I don’t know what other advice I can give you. You’ve grown into a capable investigator in your own right, and I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. With any luck the Adjudicators will dismiss whatever charges they’re bringing against me after they find there’s not enough hard evidence.”

Then to your surprise, Jean comes over and hugs you fiercely.

“I love you.”

He says, and then after he breaks off the embrace he goes over and unlocks the study door. A moment later and it swings open to reveal half a dozen Adjudicators ready for battle, Walters, Cherise, and Duncan standing behind them. Cherise shoots you a helpless look and shrugs.

“Hello Benedict. Is there a reason you felt it necessary to come visit me with your fellow Adjudicators?”

The leader of the Adjudicators frowns as he steps forward.

“I’m sorry to do this Jean. But I have to place you under arrest, on the charge of treason. It seems some evidence has come to light that you might be part of this warlock conspiracy everyone is whispering about.”

“A ridiculous accusation, considering it was my own daughter’s investigation that discovered the possibility. An investigation that I started her on.”

“That may be true, but I am not allowed to determine your innocence or guilt. Only a jury of your peers can do that, assuming this even goes that far. Regardless, my duty is to take you into custody. Now please come with us Jean. I don’t want this to get anymore unpleasant than necessary.”

“Very well Benedict. Note that I am surrendering myself without compliant.”

“I will be sure to note that in my report.”

At this point another Adjudicator stepped forward, snapping a set of manacles around Jean’s wrists and a mage collar around his neck, preventing even the possibility of his escape after they exit the house. Then the group of Adjudicators lead your father away, leaving you standing alone with Walters, Duncan, and Cherise.

“A terrible mistake. I am sure Master Harvent will be cleared of any wrongdoing.”

Walters says, no doubt in an attempt to reassure you.

“I’ll go with them to make sure that your father is treated with the respect he deserves.”

Duncan says, moving to follow after the group. Cherise comes to you with tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry Is. I was going to wait, but then Duncan showed up. He demanded that we go report to the Adjudicators immediately. They had a squad of men together in less than ten minutes, and we all headed straight here. What are you going to do now?”

(At this point, you have several days to investigate and make preparations. After that, the finale will consist of Jean’s trial and hopefully, Isera coming in to prove his innocence. Or figure out a way to get him convicted, but somehow I doubt Isera will try for that option after their recent emotional progress. )

Fishtown, The Fishiest Place on Earth that Never Fished

Gorgondantess

Maurice makes various protesting sounds as you explain your feelings to her. Eventually she falls into awkward silence as you continue rubbing your forehead against hers. Finally, she gently but firmly pulls away.

"I don't know if I will ever be able to return these feelings for you. I don't know if I'm literally capable of it. Certainly, angels are gifted with a full range of emotions - joy, anger, sorrow - but love is something different. I suppose I feel "love" towards humanity, but it is a protective, generalized feeling. I have no experience with romantic love."

Maurice shakes her head, refusing to be quieted as she presses on.

"In all our long history, I can only think of one angel who has experienced that sort of love - and even then, the start of that relationship was almost ordained by Miriam Herself! It is not an easy thing - perhaps one of the reasons is because humans and angels are so different, so capable of greatness and yet often so infantile."

Maurice holds up a hand.

"But before you claim that you are similar to me, we are not. I admit that there is a certain curiosity that I feel towards you. But I don't know if it could ever change into love. Comraderies certainly, but love?"

Maurice hangs her head, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I just don't think I"m capable of it. I don't have any experience with that sort of emotion, so I doubt I would recognize it even if I was capable."

Maurice looks up into your eyes, her voice hardening a little.

"I don't think what you're feeling is love, either. Obsession maybe, but not love. In time your feelings for me will fade, after you find someone else to hold your attention. Hopefully, that someone will be able to reciprocate those feelings."

Maurice pauses a moment, and then makes a decision.

“Actually, there’s the other thing I wanted to talk with you about.”

Maurice sighs, suddenly seeming nervous.

“Miriam is here, on the mortal plane. I don’t know how, only that my Lady is here and preparing to engage the Baron. She has issued a call to all angels present on the mortal plane to join Her. I have to go. I don’t expect you to understand, but this is something that I need to do.”

Maurice takes one of your hands into both of hers, her eyes pleading.

“Please, if you truly do love me then you will let me go. I will return after the battle, if I can. I give you my word, and you already know how seriously I take that.”

Maurice lets go of your hand and crosses her arms across her chest, turning away from you. She takes a few steps away and then sighs.

“I don't think you should come with me. You've already vowed vengeance against the gods, and I don't think Miriam would approve of that. I . . . I don't want to be torn between obeying my Lady and continuing to help you. Perhaps Miriam would accept your aid - you are after all not a real demon - but your involvement might be seen as unwanted interference."

Maurice pauses another moment, and then stretches her hands out towards you.

"If you cannot grant me this request, then lock me up again. Treat me as the prisoner I truly am, instead of the beloved equal you claim that I am to you. It is the only way you will be able to keep me here when my Lady needs me elsewhere.”

Maurice pauses a moment and then turns back to you, a thoughtful look on her face.

“As for your conflict with Augustus and his followers – I can understand your anger. I cannot imagine how awful that sort of violation would be. But sounds like Augustus is sincere in his desire for peace. If he leaves, you would be safe. Perhaps only for as long as he lives, as his successor might reverse the decision, but Augustus is young. This peace could last for decades, and that could be enough time to come to peace with what was done to you.”

Maurice shakes her head sadly.

“If you throw away this chance of peace, however, you might never know it. You and the Dusk Wardens will be committed to a war without end. You might think that this is a war you can win, but you would be wrong. The servants of Miriam have always been at war with the servants of Azguloth. Sometimes the fighting is intense, sometimes the battle is quiet, but the war is always ongoing. It is a war that has to be fought, but . . . I take no pleasure in it. After decades, or centuries, of pointless fighting with no end in sight, you may come to feel the same.”

Maurice sighs.

“That is, of course, assuming that they don’t kill you shortly after you dispatch Augustus. Or do you have a plan for negating their significant advantage in numbers?”

(If there’s anything you want to discuss with anyone, now would be the time to do it.)

The Capital

OverWilliam

At your question, Ulrich scratched his head, dredging up old information.

“They are their own self-governed branch of the Church, tasked with hunting down diabolic infiltrators and heretics. Most members of the clergy rarely have any dealings with them, but everyone knows to stay out of their way. Tare, I still think –“

Ulrich is interrupted by the arrival of Limier. Her answers are rather terse, but somewhat more relevant than Ulrich’s.

“They’re just people. Stab them in the heart or the neck and they’ll die easily enough.”

Limier explained with a shrug.

“They’re highly trained, very disciplined, although more used to operating alone or in tight-knit groups than armies. Most of their training and gear is specialized for fighting demons – useless against mortals like us. Your little invisibility trick won’t work well against them – they’re used to fighting things they can’t see, although it’ll still give them some trouble. Silverton is the Inquisitors’ best agent, at least in and around the capital. He’s ruthless and driven, attributes which serve him well in hunting down prey. He’s been making the Baron nervous actually with all his latest snooping around – I suspect there’s something in the capital he doesn’t want Silverton to find. Fortunately for him, Silverton went and fixated on you as the next step in his investigation. Unfortunately for you, that means he won’t stop until you’re dead or in his custody – I’ve heard he’s got agents out combing the city for you already. You’d rather be dead than in his custody – the torture Inquisitors inflict on their captives is legendary.”

That didn’t bode well for Karami’s parents, doubly so for Melcara.

“As for teaching you . . .”

Limier folded her arms across her chest and frowned.

“I don’t like sharing my secrets, Tare. But the Baron has ordered me to help you, and I’m not going to drag you along unprepared. So I guess I’ll just have to get used to the idea. Come on, I have a safehouse nearby – that’s where I was patching myself up when I got told I had to come back here.”

With Limier leading the way, Karami clinging to you, and Ulrich uncertainly bringing up the rear, your tiny group made its way through the streets. You’ve only traveled a few blocks when Limier ducks into an alleyway. She delivers a peculiar series of knocks to the door, and only then produces a key.

“There, that should have disabled all the booby traps I have on the door. . . . Unless that was the wrong sequence. Care to try your hand at opening the door, Tare?”

Limier says sweetly, offering you the key. She chuckles after a moment and turns back to the door, unlocking it.

“My, someone’s not in a very humorous mood this evening. Sometimes you’ve got to make the best of an unpleasant situation - like me!”

Apparently Limier had used the correct sequence, as no death traps were activated as she swung the door open and stepped inside. Thanks to her spectacles, Limier could see in the dark room beyond, and quickly moved about lighting lanterns. Once brightly lit, the interior was vaguely more welcoming. The décor was sparse, but what was there matched well enough to be aesthetically pleasing.

“I wasn’t expecting guests, so there’s only one bed. And I’ll be sleeping in that – alone – so the rest of you will just have to make do with the floor. I do believe I have some spare blankets, however. Go check the supply closet on the left while I change out of these tacky robes.”

Sneering in disgust, Limier started to strip out of her robes as she ducked into a side room and closed the door to what was presumably the bedroom. Looking around, it seemed that there was the antechamber where you were currently located, a bedroom, two side rooms that seemed to serve as supply closets, and finally a larger room with several training dummies. A few minutes later, Limier returned, still wearing her spectacles and now clad in a flowing red silk robe. She probed experimentally at her side, wincing at the action, and then nods.

“Alright, I’m still not in the best of shape thanks to Ulrich, and I’m sure we can all use a good night’s sleep before we go on some fool’s errand. Honestly I don’t have a plan for breaking into the Inquisitors’ main base of operations, spiriting away their prized captives, and then getting out alive. I need a couple days to plan this, and you need some training so you don’t get us all killed. Of course we can’t take so long that the Inquisitors squeeze everything out of them, either, otherwise we’ll just be rescuing corpses. For now get some rest – you’re going to need it for tomorrow when we start your training Tare.”

(You now have a couple of days to take care of any unfinished business/write up a training montage for Tare. I imagine it’ll go something like this. )

Vegna

“If you lose, the price is your immortal soul!”

The man says, and then throws his head back and laughs. Only it’s not the sort of deranged laughter you’d expect, but rather one of genuine mirth. As you turn to go, he holds up his hand.

“Wait! Wait . . .”

He says, struggling to control himself. Still chuckling, he continues.

“No, no, no. It’s nothing like that, I was only fooling. You should have seen your face though! I’m sorry, it’s a poor joke I do to all the initiates. Hah!”

Composing himself again, the man shakes his head.

“The tournament is held once a century, so losing means it is unlikely you will participate in another. I won’t lie – this is not a simple series of sparring matches. Fights continue until one of the two combatants cannot fight, will not fight, or is forcibly removed from the arena. With such a valuable prize on the line, some people are . . . aggressive in their pursuit of it. We will have healers ready to treat any injuries you sustain, but sometimes it isn’t enough. We have had instances of crippling injuries, even a few fatalities, in the tournament’s long history. It will be dangerous to participate, but no more so than interfering with a gang collecting protection money.”

The man spreads his hands and bows.

“I will give you some time to think it over. If you would like to accept my offer, meet me at the Crossroads Inn in two days’ time. You can find it just outside the city, heading west. From there we will travel to the tournament grounds. Good day.”
And with that, the man turns and swiftly walks away. The offer still sounds too good to be true, although you don’t think the man would joke about it if this was some sort of death trap. On the other hand, it sounds like you can bow out if things get too ugly, assuming he wasn’t lying about that too. And the chance to find out more about your master’s killer – your “heart’s desire” in this case – was an awfully tempting prize. It sounded like there were going to be tougher opponents than a bunch of street thugs standing in your way though, so you had better make sure you are in top shape. Two days was a lot of time to prepare.

(If there’s anything you want to do or investigate in the capital before going to meet the tournament organizer (Montage? ) – assuming you are going to the tournament after all – take care of it in the next post. Then we’ll head to the tournament/I’ll find you something else to do if you decide against it. )

[Inspectre]

The Gastly Truth

Pwenet

You are able to easily force the two back into their cages, and return to see your brother looking at you thoughtfully.

“Hmm. No need – I can tell that the power sources are contained again. As for testing your loyalty further – well, I could do that but I suspect it would quickly grow tiresome for both of us. You can prove your loyalty by continuing to serve me faithfully.”

The Baron turns to leave and beckons you to follow.

“Now, in answer to your earlier question. While I was searching for answers to my mystery family, I turned to making fiendish pacts. The right devil or demon tends to know anything you could possibly ever want to know. Of course, there’s a price for that information, and it’s better if you can get someone else to pay. So one night, I summoned a bunch of demons near a farmstead and offered them the family within in return for the information I wanted. They gave me some of what I wanted, and then insisted that they be allowed to consume the family first before they offered any additional information. Rather than haggle with them, I agreed.”

The Baron barks out a laugh as he exits the room, you following closely behind him.

“Before they could finish with the family, an angel arrived and dispatched all of them. Which left me with nothing to do but disappear back into the bushes and figure out some other way to get the information. I was understandably angry at her interference, but it was only later that I realized it was a microcosm of the world’s situation. Miriam will never allow humanity to do as it wishes. Therefore, she must be eliminated if humanity is to blossom into its full destiny!”

At a nearby intersection, the Baron stopped and turned back to face you.

“Unfortunately I am quite busy with making arrangements for the coming battle. After I alter that memory I took from you so that it is suitably alarming, I will show it to the sheep that form Narle’s nobility. They will undoubtedly seek a strong leader to protect them from Miriam and the other dangers closing in. They will undoubtedly choose me to be Narle’s new king. Assuming we survive the battle with Miriam, I will be able to use my new influence to lead humanity into a new era of prosperity! I already have more than a few ideas of where to begin.”

The Baron looks up at the ceiling for a moment, and then shrugs.

“I have a few minutes to spare. Allow me to take you on a guided tour of the Gastly Truth, certainly my finest creation and hopefully a sign of things to come. Although the idea of trapping souls, and likewise the idea of using souls as a power source, are not new, I was the first to develop a way to properly harness the soul’s power. Personally, I have found angel souls to provide the consistently largest amount of power, although that is hardly a surprise given all of the benefits that angels enjoy over other creatures. After this I suspect we shall have to turn to other sources to provide the necessary souls . . .”

And so it went, the Baron taking you on a whirlwind tour of the GHAST manufactory, the angel processing chambers (now empty of anything to process), the airship’s cannon arrays – upscale versions of your own wing cannons – and finally the engine room. You didn’t understand most of what he was saying, having no background in sorcery, but what you did understand or what he bothered to clarify in simpler language was enough to paint a chilling picture.

If allowed to rule unopposed, the Baron would create a world with a simple dichotomy – the humans and the dead. Creatures unable to integrate into human society would be exterminated. Those humans who remained would rule as gods over the barren land, surrounded by devices powered by the souls of their ancestors and the slaughtered creatures of the world.

A good example of how the Baron’s perfect world would be was the engine room of the Gastly Truth. A massive chamber, all of its interior surfaces were covered with crystals containing the souls of angels. A thousand of them, at least – and every single one of them faintly screaming in terror and agony, the sounds merging together to form a melodious hum. Thus ended the tour and disclosure of the Baron’s plans following the death of Miriam.

“And now I really must return to work, brother. You have free reign of the Gastly Truth save for the engine room, Fury’s chamber, and the brig. I rather doubt not having access to any of them will be a problem for you. Someone will be with you shortly to see you to your new living quarters. They are Cheran’s old living quarters, actually – feel free to change whatever you’d like. Of course, having no need to sleep, I doubt you will need to make much use of it – but anything to make you feel more at home here, yes?”

And then the Baron turned and walked off, leaving you with some lackey. True to his word, however, the lackey led you to set of living quarters that were quite nice. Some of the furnishings – like sets of manacles bolted to the wall – you could certainly do without, but the rest of it was clearly high-quality. Unfortunately as the Baron already pointed out however, you had little use of such things in your current body. The fact that he was willing to bump one of his sons in favor of you however suggested he was sincere about giving you a place at his side.

(From this point on you have several days to use as you see fit, if you want to interact with anyone or start setting up a convoluted plan for revenge. Presumably you’re going to stick around on the airship and not try to escape. If you do that, disregard this next part I guess.)

Finally, the day has come when the Baron sends for you. You had heard that Miriam’s forces are closing in, and would be here in a matter of hours. Likewise, your brother had convinced the nobles to elect him as their new king. Apparently the official coronation was to be held today, before Miriam arrived. You get a signal from Fury, who instructs you to report to the Bridge. You find the Baron waiting for you there, who greets you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Ah, there you are brother. After your statement during our heart-to-heart talk – what was it, “I now pronounce you lord of all your survey?” Yes – I figured after that, you would like to do the honors of placing the crown on my head. Afterwards you can go down to the Brig and oversee the transfer of Ysora up onto the deck. We’ve made arrangements to give her a ringside seat to the show!”

An hour later and you find yourself up on the top deck of the Gastly Truth, surrounded by nobles, GHASTs, and the Baron’s family. There seems to be some murmuring dissension amongst the nobles that a member of the clergy would often handle the crown itself, but given the current circumstances that wouldn’t be proper. The bodies of the nobles formed a long corridor of sorts, at the end of which was the Baron and Isabella. At the other end was you, who had just been handed the crown by the former king’s seneschal, an elderly man who seemed likely to join his lord in death after the passage of a few more years. So this was it then. The nightmare was now real.

(Knowing you, you’ll probably be tempted to go and break the crown over the Baron’s head or some other awesome act of defiance. Just keep in mind at this point in the timeline, it’s still a few hours before the finale starts. As such it would be you against the Baron, Isabella, all of his sons, a bunch of GHASTs, and whoever else among the assembled crowd that would want to join in on dog-piling your treacherous ass.)

Iethloc

At your description of the Valkyrie’s abilities, the Baron nods thoughtfully.

“Most interesting. And you were able to resist her commands due to your dual nature? That’s very interesting. I can only assume that capability stems from the demonic essence merged with your soul – it would make sense that Miriam would have difficulty commanding agents of Azguloth. Unfortunately we would need to conduct additional tests in order to determine the degree of demonic corruption necessary to provide such resistance – you are a unique creature, after all. Such tests are impossible to conduct with the Valkyrie on her way here though.”

The Baron shrugs.

“Ah well, it was an intriguing possibility. I don’t think you will need to worry about the Valkyrie getting another chance to use her sword on you. When she arrives here, I will deal with her myself. I would appreciate whatever aid you could render against her servants, however.”

The Baron turns and begins to walk towards the door, pausing at the entryway. He favors you with a tight-lipped smile.

“I will investigate means of weakening your vaccine’s protection on Arlan. Meanwhile, you continue working on perfecting your contagion. Do let me know if you manage to make any substantial improvements to the formula. I will contact you when Arlan is ready for your personal touch.”

(If you have any particular research to conduct in mind, or any particular things to add to your laboratory other than the spires from your home, feel free to do so. You’ll have a couple days before the next section.)

Several days later, the Baron returns.

“I have set up a specialized test area in one of the airship’s cargo bays. Just in case your plague has unexpected side effects when applied to spellcasters. The area will be prepped with an inferno spell that should consume every physical object within it at a word from you. Obviously you will be unaffected by the magic, having no body to be consumed. We have Arlan already prepared and waiting, we just need you to go in there and administer the plague and observe the results. Follow me, if you please.”

And with that the Baron sets off down the hallway, leading you to a nearby cargo bay. It has been outfitted with heavy blast doors, and is guarded by half a dozen GHASTs. The only object of note within the chamber beyond is Arlan, strapped into a metal chair bolted to the floor. A mage collar is locked around his neck, although that security is barely necessary. He has been badly beaten, his fingers smashed, his jaw broken, and his body one interconnected bruise. The only other object of note in the room is a vial of your plague, sitting on a small table next to the chair.

After you enter, the Baron steps back into the hallway, and the doors are sealed behind you. The only sign that Arlan acknowledges your presence is by titling his head slightly to follow your progress towards him through swollen eyes.

“So . . . you’re here to kill me. Figures.”

Arlan groans, his every word slurred almost to the point of being indecipherable. He winces in pain at every word, but seems determined to not die quietly.

“Do . . . you even know why you’re getting to do this? Did . . . the Baron tell you I was a traitor? No . . . I asked too many questions! The . . . the Baron . . . he wanted us to work on your plague. Perfect . . . it, change it. Something . . . that would poison . . . everything. Animals . . . plants . . . the earth itself. And . . . we did! Somehow . . . he got us information on your plague. How . . . you did it. Information . . . we should not have been able to get!”

Arlan slumps deeper into his prison chair.

“So . . . go ahead. Put . . . me . . . out of my misery. But . . . don’t think my death will keep you safe. If . . . if the Baron is willing to do this to me. What . . . whatever will he do . . . when you cross him . . . yourself?”

From the ceiling above, the Baron’s voice booms. You can sense that in addition to his prepared Inferno spell should anything go wrong, he also has a scrying spell set up.

“I think that’s more than enough talk. Sohssal, conduct your experiment, and take your revenge for what he and his friends put you through in Ironheart!”

The Wedding of Amelia Ashargrin and Cheran Gast

Lonna

Volesin’s eyes widen in surprise as the straps meant to protect him instead restrain and gag him, holding him struggling but immobile in his seat. He glares at you with open hatred as you coolly explain to him your reasoning. And then, having no interest in anything he has to say for himself, you leave the carriage. Wulfric looks at you in confusion as the carriage starts to take off, and then in alarm as you summon a blaze to consume the entire carriage. You don’t even notice, your attention fully on the carriage as you command it in the ancient language to BURN. Within seconds all that is left of the carriage is ash and a few charred scraps, which rain back down into the courtyard. With the last of your strength you turn and explain yourself, and then promptly pass out.

You dream in darkness, not troubled by messages from your “mother” nor memories of former lives. Instead you are tormented, trapped in a maze of pitch black hallways which lead you in circles and occasionally out into a snippet from your own life. You are searching for Ariella, calling out her name in vain as you go. Most of the memory snippets are extremely unpleasant – Cheran, Edward, Alphonse, the nobleman whose death started all this, Volesin, Rose, Countess Amelia – all of them make an appearance. The last thing you hear before you wake up is Volesin’s voice, hissing at you. “All whores go to the Hells!”

You claw your way back into the real world from that hellish, jumbled dimension. As has happened far, far too often since your Escape from Ironheart, you find that the world has changed around you.

• You are lying on a bed of straw, a thick but scratchy woolen blanket draped over you
• Judging by your immediate surroundings and the sounds of horses nearby, you are in a stable, in one of the horse stalls
• Your neck has been thoroughly and expertly bandaged, rather than Volesin’s makeshift work
• You are not naked, but at some point you must have been as you are no longer in your harem girl costume, but instead a simple set of cotton breeches and tunic
• For once you are alone, with no one else in sight (except maybe Garthax)
• A shackle is locked around your right wrist, with the other shackle locked around a nearby sturdy-looking crossbeam
• Sitting on the floor nearby is a folded sheet of paper, with the word “Jacqueline” written in expert penmanship on the side facing you

Having nothing else better to do, you reach over and snatch up the piece of paper, flipping it open to find a letter written on the inside.


Jacqueline,

If you’re reading this I apologize for you waking up in this situation. I had to leave to go get supplies and you’ve already proven you can’t be trusted not to run off and get into more trouble. I should be back shortly, but in the event I don’t come back I’ve hidden a key somewhere in the stall within your reach. I don’t know quite how bad the heat is just yet, but given the mess that wedding turned out to be I can only assume we’re going to be hunted to the ends of the earth. When I get back we’ll discuss where we should go and what we should do next.

I’d also like to apologize for changing you out of that tacky dress into something more functional without your permission. I needed to get a good look at the mess that’d been made of your throat, and your dress sort of fell apart when I removed the bandage – not that there was much there to begin with! Anyway, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before, but if it makes you feel any better I kept my eyes closed while I got you into the clothes.

I’m sure you’re scouring the stall for that key already, but in the event you’ve read this far I hope you’ll just wait for me. We need to have a long talk, and maybe you’re not in the mood but we should at least figure out what to do together. This is the fourth time I’ve saved your life now – I think you owe me at least the chance to have a pleasant sit down conversation without you disappearing on me and getting into trouble yet again! Plus if you don’t, you know that I will hunt you down all over again, and so help me I will make that time you woke up in Gazrul’s camp seem carefree by comparison!

Alright, I’m running out of room on this page and I’m not going waste any more time writing onto a second page. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? I really am trying to help you.

-Wulfric


You really had no idea why, but for some reason this simple iron shackle seemed impossible for you to slip out of. Which meant you would have to find the key, which no doubt Wulfric had hidden in some bizarre spot that could take you hours to locate. Nonetheless, you had no idea how long it had been since Wulfric had left that note, nor even what day it was besides the fact that it was morning, judging by the light streaming in through the uneven wooden slats that made up the wall.

(I’m going to assume Pyrene waits (albeit impatiently) until Wulfric returns. If she blasts the stable apart or figures out some clever way to slip free and make good her escape, feel free to disregard the following passage.)

Eventually, you hear the stable door creak open, and someone slip inside. You hear footsteps approaching, and Wulfric’s voice as he whispers as the horses he passes, trying to keep them calm. He swings open the door to your stall and swiftly steps inside, closing the door behind him with a grimace.

“Good morning.”

He whispers, setting down a sack stuffed to the brim with food that didn’t need to be cooked – a loaf of bread, some fruit, a wheel of cheese being the visible things – down onto the floor. He swiftly walks over to a wooden crossbeam near to you, twisting it apart to reveal a small hollow where it rested inside the other beam. He digs his fingers inside, and produces a key which he holds up to show you before dropping it in your lap. He sits down across from you with a nervous frown.

“Sorry. Now can we have a civil conversation? And before you get too upset, remember that we’re in a stable. There’s horses all around us, and they’re going to get upset if you start yelling. So – what’s the plan now that Volesin is dead?”

(Feel free to make whatever sort of plans you want in whatever detail you want. Additionally, if you have any business you want to take care of before the finale, or questions that need an answer, now is your last chance to do so.)

WhiteKnight777

Fianna listens to your reasoning calmly and intently, all sign of her previous emotional instability gone. Nor does she take offense at your refusal – you had often played Devil’s Advocate with each other, refusing to let the other make a plan without strengthening it through challenge. When you were finished, she smiled brightly, banishing all shadows from her face.

“Okay! But if we’re going to ascend to godhood, love, we will need to pick out titles for ourselves. Hmm, how does Umber the Usurper and Fianna the Flamedancer sound?”

She favors you with a smile, pausing to give you one last kiss before rising to get dressed.

“I will return to my old fortress in the frozen north. I have a few servitors . . . on ice there. Oh, don’t look so jealous! I didn’t feel anything for them – couldn’t, actually – so you needn’t worry about any competition when I get back. I trust you can find something to keep you busy until I return? Something that isn’t under a skirt?”

Fianna gives you a last, knowing smile, and then teleports away. As it turned out, you had quite a lot to keep you busy over the next couple days.

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

It took you a few days to travel to the south, re-establish old ties to the desert nomads, and then assemble a large force of slaves from the neighboring cities. But now you had sufficient men to form the backbone of a medium-sized army – or sufficient bodies to practice darker forms of magic. Unfortunately, you could feel that you were running out of time already. The winds themselves tasted of change, and the strings of fate plucked a grim song in your heart, seeming to whisper “DOOM, DOOM, DOOM”.

While you had worked, you had arranged to keep ears on the goings-on in Narle. It seemed that the Baron was now a King, having convinced all the spineless idiots that you hadn’t killed with your golem that it really was all for the best. Assuming anyone survived the horror that was to come, you imagined they would soon after learn how grave of an error they had made. Survival seemed an unlikely scenario – from the west came a swarm of undead consuming all in their path, from the south an army of elves burning all in their path, and from the east Miriam’s divine host doing . . . well, whatever it was that angels did to all in their path. The forces would likely all come together at the same time, and there the hand of Fate was openly showing itself. You had only a few days to get your own pieces onto the board if you wanted to join the party.

You are just considering what the next step of your plan is when you hear your bodyguards shouting in alarm. Their cries are met with furious, animalistic roars. Exiting your tent, you see that Fianna has teleported into the middle of your camp – and she is not alone. Surrounding her is a small retinue of humans and elves, their motley equipment suggesting a career of adventuring. But behind those are a fairly large number, perhaps a hundred in all, of massive, hairy beastmen who did not look at all comfortable under the hot sun. Seeing you, Fianna smiles and waves.

“Umber! I think you need to explain to your new friends here that me and my new friends are allies! When I returned home I found that a large tribe of yetis had moved in – can we keep them!?”

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

Later that night, Fianna’s thoughts turn from celebrating your reunion after spending the last few days apart again to planning your part in the battle.

“So. Are we planning on trying to move this entire force back to Narle? I imagine we’ll have to figure out some sort of teleportation portal for them to use. Probably should set it a few miles outside of the city, so we have time to regroup on the other side before we march off to war. I’ve heard we have a number of armies closing in – so I take it this is no longer just the Baron against Miriam. Are we planning on allying ourselves with any side, or do we intend to stake our own exclusive claim on the city and destiny? For that matter, what is your plan with all these slaves? Most of them are not trained combatants, so . . . cannon fodder, or ritual components?”

(If you have any last plans, now would be the time to enact them. Assume Umber can call up one more batch of allies if you have something in mind. But due to the short period of time between the wedding and the Finale (<week), he probably doesn’t have too much time left.)

Dorizzit

As thanks for Argan’s timely assistance, you unleash a blast of fire that sends the Baron flying backwards and to the ground. Then before he can recover, you send another torrent of fire into a nearby building, blowing out most of the first floor and sending a significant chunk of the entire building crashing down on top of the Baron. You catch a last glimpse of him opening his mouth to cast another spell, or perhaps to scream, and then the rubble crashes down. Even Argan seems impressed by this display, nodding his thanks and clapping a hand on your back.

Unfortunately, there was no time to celebrate your victory. Whether dead or merely trapped, the Baron still had several sons and many servants who could avenge him. In your weakened state after battling one such son and then the Baron himself, you would not survive a third fight. Pushing Katrina up the rope ahead of you, you struggle for a minute to climb thanks to your still-missing hand.

You had started getting used to only having one hand after getting rid of Calcifer, so it just took a moment to adjust to a different climbing style. You could still use the crook of your arm to support your weight if you wrapped the rope around the stump, allowing your remaining hand to reach up another few feet to pull yourself up to begin the process anew. It was slow going, but that was alright as Katrina was clearly having difficulty climbing as well, grunting in pain as she pulled herself up hand over hand.

You are perhaps a little more than halfway up when you hear the faint scrabble of loose rubble grating against more solid pieces as it fell. Looking down, you watch in shock as the Baron appears from the far side of the rubble pile, looking none the worse for wear!

“That wasn’t very nice Korram. If I didn’t know how to teleport, I might have been crushed! And where do you think you’re going!!?”

The Baron cackles, beginning to weave another spell. Just below you, Argan lets go of the rope and begins to fall, kicking periodically against the wall to slow his descent. He shoots one last glance upward.

“Keep going! I got this!”

He shouts, and then moves to engage the Baron.

Ahead of you Katrina begins to climb more rapidly in desperation, driven almost to the point of tears by the agony her chest wound caused her as a result. Just as you near the top, you hear the Baron cry out in triumph, and the rope suddenly go slack in your hands. Above, you can see the top of the rope has unhitched itself and changed, the end of the rope morphed into an adder’s head. It hisses at Katrina and rears back to bite, causing her to fling it away from her – thereby letting go over the rope entirely – with a panicked scream. Flailing out blindly, she just barely manages to catch the edge of the roof with one hand, her scream taking on a new pitch as her weight pulls against her arm, aggravating her chest wound in turn.

The rope now useless, you yourself have only a split second to react before you plunge back down to the alley along with it. With a desperate kick, you propel yourself upward, narrowly passing the adder-ized rope as it flashes down at you with another hiss and flash of fangs. Somehow, your fingers find the edge of the roof, catching you before your upward progress can reverse itself into a fall. Your other hand still useless for this task, you desperately hold on with your fingertips, forcing yourself to endure the agonizing sensation of your finger’s tendons pulling apart from the strain of holding up your entire body weight, only for those tendons to be immediately rewoven by the last of your regeneration. Kicking out against the wall, you manage to push yourself up enough to throw what’s left of your other arm over the edge, and from there haul yourself up. Then you turn back and offer Katrina your hand, hauling her up with the last of your own strength.

The two of you lie there for a moment, sharing a smile at your narrow escape, and then Katrina looks up. Her face immediately falls, and she says in a hushed tone, “Oh gods no.” You look up to find Isabella Gast, Wife of the Baron, standing not five feet away, glowering at you. In one hand she holds Countess Amelia up off the ground by the throat, leaving her to dangle there limply – the only sign that she’s alive is that she blinks.

“You killed my son.”

Isabella whispers, the soft sound still cracking with menace. Slowly, her eyes track over to Katrina, still looking up at her in horror.

“I’m going to make you watch as I tear your own child apart, so you can understand what you have done!”

At this, Countess Amelia stirs, and weakly clenches her right hand into a fist.

“Actually.”

She gasps.

“I did.”

And then she raises her fist and drives it into the side of Isabella’s head with all her remaining strength. The Baroness barely even staggers, and then with a scream of outrage flings the Countess towards you. She narrowly soars over your head, and then is over the side, plunging down towards the alley without even a scream.

You had exactly one last chance to save the Countess, to save Katrina, and even save yourself. In her rage, the Baroness had unwittingly given you exactly what you wanted – the Countess off of the roof. There was no possible way you could fight her in your current state. Already she was beginning to work a spell, spitting every foul word as a dark energy seemed to gather itself around her. She would hold you down and make you watch as she torn Katrina apart, piece by agonizing piece. And when she was finished, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t complete the Baron’s efforts in damning Katrina’s soul to an eternity in the Hells, or something even worse.

The only way to escape was to go back the way you came – back down into the alley. As time seemed to slow to a momentary crawl, you consulted with Purifier in lightning-fast detail. You had just enough strength left to pull off one last trick, a brief few moments of fiery wings once more. It would be enough to break your fall at the bottom, but not enough to escape. If the Baron had already dispatched Argan, you would be dropping yourself at his feet, all but gift-wrapped. But to remain up here was to suffer exactly the same fate, only to Cheran’s opposite parent.

As time sped back up to normal, you made your choice. Reaching out, you grabbed Katrina and pulled her close to you, and then you rolled off the roof. As you fell away, the Baroness completed her spell, and the stones that made up that section of the roof disintegrated, blasted apart by magic that would have ripped flesh from bone just as easily. Falling down after the Countess now, you knew you would have to time this exactly. Using a portion of your remaining strength, you call out a whip of flame, lashing out and snagging hold of the Countess to drag her back up towards you. At the cost of giving her some minor burns, you manage to slow her descent enough to catch up with her, draping her over your other shoulder. And then, praying that you hadn’t miscalculated, you expend everything that Purifier has left to give into forming those fiery wings once more. They exist for only a few seconds, but it’s enough to glide back down to the alleyway instead of slamming into the ground with bone-pulverizing force.

Dazed and feeling utterly drained of everything you were, you sink to your knees and deposit Katrina and the Countess onto the ground. Somehow, Katrina manages to scramble back up onto her feet.

“There! The entrance is in there!” She screams, pointing at one of the holes you had made in the nearby buildings. Dimly, you can see an open trapdoor in the darkness within the building, and a set of stairs leading down. You manage to somehow, through the sheer determination not to let the Baron win that has kept you alive through the worst years of your life, push yourself up to your feet. The Countess lies where she has fallen, gasping weakly for breath. Barely moving, covered in blood from head to toe, her wedding dress seared and torn all over, Cheran’s bride looked ready to join him in the afterlife. Yet she still reaches out a pleading hand towards you.

“Help . . . my legs . . . can’t feel . . . my legs.”

Her eyes are pleading.

“Don’t . . . leave me.”

For a moment, a cold pragmatism races through you, giving you the idea of simply reaching down and snapping her neck. That would spare you the burden of carrying her, and put Amelia out of her crippled misery. But then Katrina leans down and throws one of the Countess’s arms across her back, dragging her up. Unable to support her weight alone, Katrina stumbles under the burden, and shoots a glance at you.

“Come on Korram, help me! We aren’t leaving her!”

The moment has passed, and with no time to argue you throw the Countess’s other arm across your own back, and between you and Katrina you half-drag, half-carry the crippled Countess along. Elsewhere in the alley, the Baron is preoccupied with Martin, who has made a surprise appearance, while Argan is fighting some blond woman. Argan swiftly throws the woman over his shoulder into a nearby wall, leaving the path clear to join you. The Baron likewise removes his opponent, laughing as he snaps Martin’s neck like a twig.

“Go, go, go!”

Katrina gasps as the three of you duck inside the building, Argan one step and the Baron perhaps four steps behind. Diving down the trapdoor’s stairway, you find yourself in a dark tunnel. Your reflexes tell you to slow down and take your time in the pitch blackness, but Katrina surges forward.

“Come on! It’s a straight shot for a hundred yards!”

Meanwhile, Argan pauses at the bottom of the stairs, pulling something out of his cloak and jamming it into the wall. He hustles after you, practically driving you ahead of him.

“Run! RUN!!”

He whispers urgently, and a few seconds later an explosion licks at your heels, collapsing the stairway entrance and preventing anyone from following you. Somehow, you had disrupted Cheran’s wedding successfully, and survived. Even with the Baron still alive, after what you’d been through, survival was a victory in itself. Next time, the Baron would not be so lucky – and there would be a next time!

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

Later, you find yourself back in the Silver Bell tavern, in the backroom where you had met several days previous to plot the Baron’s demise. The mood is quite somber – of the conspirators, there was only you, Katrina, and Argan left. Sal had been killed by the GHASTs when they blasted apart the rioters. Lunara had died by her own hand in the cathedral, preferring to die than live to be imprisoned and tortured. And Martin had died by the Baron’s hands, bravely holding him off so that you all could escape.

Together, Mina and Argan worked on treating everyone’s wounds. After a bit of time, you were able to recover enough strength to finish regenerating without their help – you even managed to finish regrowing your hand again. Katrina went off with Mina to another room for privacy, and returned a few minutes later in a fresh set of clothes and with her wounds bandaged. Elsa remained sitting dumbly in the corner, watching the proceedings but not with any real interest. With her father dead, it was difficult to say how she would survive without anyone to care for her.

With the possible exception of Elsa, the Countess was undoubtedly the most wounded member of your band. Although her wounds were treated and she would survive, her back had been broken. She would never walk again for the rest of her life. While Mina went to go find her a change of clothes, and possibly draw up a bath to wash away all the blood, she waved you over. Despite her situation, she managed to smile up at you.

“Korram, you saved me again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repay you for everything you’ve done. Thank you.”

She reached a hand up to touch your regrown arm.

“How did you get your fire summoning powers back? I thought you banished Calcifer back home?”

A minute later, Argan steps up behind you and lays a hand on your shoulder.

“We should give Countess Amelia a chance to rest. Walk with me a minute.”

Together with Argan, you go for a walk into the back alley of the tavern. Alone with you, Argan allows his shoulders to slump in defeat.

“I was a fool, Korram. I underestimated the Baron’s defenses, and for that we paid a dear price. I don’t know how we’re going to continue opposing him. He must pay for his crimes, but every effort seems to only make him stronger and us weaker. How can we defeat such an opponent? Do you have any ideas for how to prepare for our next confrontation with him?”

(At this point, you’ve got a few days to rest up and make whatever preparations for the finale you wish. Pretty much, you’ve got Katrina and Argan as useful allies, and Mina, Elsa, and the crippled Amelia as endangered non-combatants. The Baron won’t be able to find you until you make yourself known to him again, so you’re “safe” until the finale unless you do something really stupid.)

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

The events that follow are a blur to Hondshioh, watching Crane die and seeing the Baron, now a King, for the first time, the destruction of the Reliquary and the releasing of Hell's demons. As he watches Ander shatter the communication crystal, he smiles a bit

"Imagine his surprise when the "Half-Breed, Hunchbacked Sidekick" turns out to be the one leading the charge."

Then his expression gets serious.

"So that's the man behind all this. And that's what this is all about. Some megalomaniacal delusion that he can kill the gods to make man the master of the world. I...I can't even begin to understand how a man could sound so smart and be so ridiculously stupid! What good does killing the gods do if you're not even using your own power to do it? He thinks he can use Hellish magics to win some sort of nebulous ideal of freedom? I think his "allies" might have a few things to say once they don't have the threat of the gods and their servants looming above. They'd betray him, and then they'd have free reign to turn this world into nothing more than another level of their world. As long as I have breath in my body, that will NOT happen! Come on! Lets see if the others are all right. We lost Belroar and Exarch Tyra with the Reliquary, but I won't lose Katashiko!"

He leads the way back down to see if he can find Katashiko. When he reaches her and Emma, he gives a brief summary of what was revealed to him.

"...so we need to get what's left of these two armies mobilized and fast. If this new King Gast is so powerful he can break the will of angels, I don't doubt he could make good on his threat to slay Miriam!"

Spoiler

Show

I assume he finds them alive and relatively well? If not, let me know and I'll edit the post accordingly.

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

(Best thing to do with the two days he's got to prepare.)

Mal returns the elder man's bow, his ego slightly bruised from how nervously he had reacted.

As the old man leaves, as if on cue, a familiar member of the gang from earlier crosses into the street, dragging his club across the cobblestones. His face is coated in dried mud, not one of the brighter members who made it past the mud trap. He seems to recognise the dusty clothes and shaved head, as his attention turns. A moment of realisation occurs with his skull and begins calling slurs down the road towards the source of his current state, as well as directing the rest of his brutish friends close enough to hear him.

This time, Mal simply waits for them to regroup, folding his arms as he steps out into the street, his image clear to his trackers.

If these guys were just a dangerous as the tournement, then he can't just run away this time. He needs to be ready, and this is looks like a good source of practice.

By now they've encircled him, their leader wearing a black sneer, leaving out no detail in describing what punishment Mal would suffer for insulting them.

Mal widens his stance, his arms raised in preparation. His sense detects the first slow steps of one of the thugs behind him, incorrectly believing Mal's attention to be elsewhere.

The monk drops to prone, his leg sweeping behind him, toppling the attempted sneak attacker. As the man hits the floor, the stone are unnaturally soft, dissolving into mud, then watery muck. Within seconds, only his head bobs above the changed-earth, with one hand attempting to reach up. The sludge re-hardens mid-struggle, encasing the gang member with only his head and the fingers of one hand free.

Mal raises himself onto his feet again, announcing to the swarm of scum.

"Sorry lads, this fight still looks a bit one-sided to me. Lets try eight on one, this time."

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

The passing days were swift, as Mal had no business beyond the tournement left to conlude in the city. Spending the rest of his meager supplies on food, he carried his training diet of various simple foods and clean water westward from the city. When the Inn was within his sights, Mal moved off the beaten track to a slightly raised, but fallow field, still within walking distance and viewing distance of the building.

Unable to fully manipulate the earth yet, the monk fashioned himself a rudimentary hut, in a style not unlike a clay sculptor, working the magic in the earth and stone whilst shaping it with his bare hands. It was bland and featureless beyond the door way, and the roof was barely taller than him, but as with the same temporary homes he'd made before, it would suffice.

For those two days, pausing only the eat and sleep, the Terra Style student drilled his muscles and magical stamina, undisturbed by the events beyond his hut.

Similarly to how he made the house, Mal shaped an earth casing around his entire body, besides air holes, compacted to be as heavy as stone. The weight of the earth across his body pushed his efforts further, even getting up from the floor was akin to doing five normal sit-ups. It was always a good exercise for building speed and strength, if you can punch fast with 20kg of dirt holding you back, your normal strike become all the better when unhindered.

Whilst he jogs and presses with his raised weight, Mal also works his speed with the only magic he knew, Earth Shifting. The most basic piece of Earth Magic and the only one he had ever had the time to learn. Solid earth, into mud, into a thin soup of watery dirt, and back again. To unfocus the burn in his body, his mind turned two man-sized plots of earth between the states. He had hit a proverbial wall in that section of his training, but for now, creativity seemed to compensate a little.

The night before the meeting, the casing stripped away, as Mal collapsed into the soft earth. All that was left, was the forms. His body argued, but as soon as the first strike began, the muscles remembered the routines instinctively. The earliest core of Terra Style, each nostalgic to the monk, as he used the last of the day's light.

Chewing the last apple he had, Mal pondered for a moment at his future opponents, as he lay inside the shallow hut. If he was allowed to include his magic, what type of skills would they have that leveled the field? A list of possibilities ran through his exhasted mind, distracting him into sleep, as the apple core rolled away from his limp arm.

As the day dawned, the hut was now back to its original state as the soil it had been shaped from. Mal rested his cramped neck against the outside wall of the Crossroad Inn, he'd definately gone a bit too far with the weights, but that's what the healers are for, he hoped. His scalp now was covered in a thin, grey covering of hair, almost like a layer of dust. Mal hadn't had time to find a barber of some sort since he had entered the area, he pats his hair, feeling the thin, unusual texture against his skin.

Moving to sit cross-legged on the ground, the competitor watches the passer-bys, looking out for the old man again, a slight knot of anxiousness and excitement building within his chest.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Still naked from the waist down, Umber was standing near the flap of their tent, enjoying the wash of cool night air over his torso. He touched his muscled stomach, looking at the sweat beaded on the tip of his finger with an amused expression. This whole "Living" thing was taking more getting used to than he thought.

Then again, he reflected as he turned to face Fianna, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Umber considered her spate of questions carefully for a moment before he began to answer, enumerating his points by ticking them off on his fingers.

"As you say, we'll need to set up a portal to get this mob back to the city in time - and make no mistake, they are a mob." He looked and sounded disgusted. "Thousands of years to plan and I waste it, and now all I've got is a week. Ah well." He shrugged "This isn't much of an army - but it looks like it, and that's what's important." He gave a vicious grin. He and Fianna had warded their tent against physical and magical spying so that it fairly bristled with wards, so he felt little compunction about speaking freely. If anyone could get through that assemblage of magic, they deserved to hear. "Because they're a distraction, in the end. The theory being that if the Baron expects the hammer-blow, he'll be less likely to watch for the dagger. I doubt it will work, but I always prefer to pile advantage on advantage. Enough attempts with a low probability of success eventually achieve it anyway."

He gave a wolfish little smile. "And, of course, there's more than that. I have two primary antagonists in mind for this fight - the Baron, and Kartul. That old bastard is bound to try and take advantage of this fight, and I aim to be ready for him. As you've guessed, the slaves are a component. I've gathered every shaman and medicine man from every tribe, and I've had them preparing to harvest the blood." His smile turned positively feral. "It's actually a variant on one of the prototype Elixirs. Ruby dust and blood, infused with magic. It's effectively a battery for the life-energy of all the slaves. Turns into a rather smelly, glittery red paste. Looks like fancy war-paint, or the stage version of it. And in a way, it is."

His voice was calm, but he could feel his excitement building at the thought of what was to come. "It serves two basic purposes - one is that we'll be able to use it as vast resevoir of magic. all that stored life-energy is good for almost any sort of magic one cares to name, but it will be especially potent in cancelling Kartul, or any other necromantic energies we need to combat. Second, by combining the blood of the slain into a single resevoir and then using a little bit of it to anoint each warrior and their weapon, it will give them added protection..." Umber smirked. "Well, that's what it will look like. In actuality, it's a channeling spell. Every death under our warriors' weapons will feed the resevoir we're linked to - and whenever one of them dies, the same thing happens. It matters not from whence the blood flows, only that it flows." He said, quoting an old proverb of his tribe.

"Of course, it's not perfect." He admitted. "The efficiency on the weapon-bindings isn't all that good - depending on how the kill is accomplished, we may get a good bit or almost none of the life-force of the victim. And the theft turns the body into a sort of red sludge, which might be... disturbing to our men. But it does prevent most types of field necromancy, for good and for ill."

Umber felt tense, nervous, excited, enthralled all at once. "It's going to be rather awful." He said with a certain grim good cheer. "But my plan is fairly simple - The Baron dies, preferably screaming in agony, and we turn his soul out to howl in oblivion until time runs down. Kartul, if he arrives, gets stuffed into a small silver jar and shoved into the outer darkness beyond all creation, or the heart of a thrice-damned sun, whichever I can arrange. If we can seize power, then we do. If not..." He smiled and moved over to Fianna, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing him, flesh to flesh. He grinned like a schoolboy. "Then we live. Perhaps not happily ever after, but we might find a little kingdom for ourselves. Somewhere warm with olive-groves and a seacoast, and fireflies in the evening. We have children and get old and we punch Fate in the face repeatedly until we earn our happy ending."

[Gorgondantess]

She simply listens to Maurice the whole time, smiling and nodding, saying nothing. No, she was expecting exactly this sort of reaction. Ask her just a few weeks ago, and She would've said similar to Maurice- though would've also likely been a lot less nice about it.
No, Maurice would come around, one way or the other, eventually. There was time. All the time in the world. And until then, simply her continued company would be enough.
She wasn't truly flustered by what Maurice said until she said she had to go. That... could not happen. Not without her, at least.
She was reminded, for a moment, of their first battle. Of course She won out in the end; she could make as many mistakes as she wanted, let as many blows through as she pleased. Maurice, on the other hand? One mistake- one slip up- and she would lose.
Except now this wasn't a duel, where She could control the outcome. This was real life. One slip up- say, walking under a rock slide- and Maurice might not just be captured. She could be killed. Eternity was a long, long time... a long enough time for any amount of random, horrible, terrible things to happen. As such, She was naturally wary of letting Maurice out of her sight for a moment even under the best of circumstances. But in an all out war? That could not happen. Certainly, at the very least She could spare a week of her time to ensure the next millennium.
She shakes her head. "I will not- cannot- allow you to enter that battle alone."
She approaches her, laying a hand on her cheek.
"You are fragile, Maurice. More than you know. I do not doubt your competence- indeed, it is just that that brought me to feel what I feel now- but you are not immune to the random hand of fortune. One wrong move- just one- and your life could be snuffed out. And I could not bear to be helpless to stop it.
It was a long time ago that I so aimlessly swore vengeance against the gods- in scope of events, at least- and I hold no grudge against your Miriam now. In fact, if anything I would say I hold her in a certain respect, this mysterious god who you so venerate. I'd quite like to meet her, even. You have my word, I'll do my best not to antagonize."
She smirks a toothsome smirk, then wipes the smile off her face, all seriousness. Taking Maurice's sword out of her hip, she holds it by the blade, handing it to her hilt first.
"And I would be honored to fight by your side."

***

On Augustus and the Dusk Wardens:

"...I do not believe that that is the case. All of the Dusk Warden's power stems from their High Warden. Everything is based around him, every last resource they have at their disposal. If I were to kill him and absorb him, their knives could not harm me; they would be little more than glorified rocks. They could not obtain another High Warden, as that requires transferring the previous one's powers to the new one. Once I kill him, it ends. The Dusk Wardens become frail, pathetic humans once again, and I would have no problem wiping every last one of them out, if I even bothered.

But... I think you are right. Augustus seemed to genuinely want peace. I owe him my cooperation, at the least."
She puts her fist into the palm of her hand, resolved.
"So what I will do is wait until he dies, and a new High Warden is chosen, and kill him! That way I can honor our agreement, and still wipe out these Dusk Warden scum."
She grins, nodding her head. It was a flawless plan.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram allows his fury to overcome him, diving deep into the depths of his power to pull of a final, overwhelming attack against the Baron. Having stunned his nemesis with the torrent of fire and part of a building, Korram helps Katrina up to the rope and begins climbing with her. It's slow going, and it's only made slower when he pauses to watch the Baron emerge from behind the rubble pile left by Korram's attack. Argan goes back to continue the fight, but Korram himself has little time to flee as the rope transforms. With few other options, Korram jumps as hard as he can, propelling himself upwards and batting the adder away from him as he moves. A few desperate seconds later, he hauls himself and then Katrina up to the roof. On hands and knees, he pants for a few seconds before smiling in a manner he hopes is encouraging to Katrina.

Things go from bad to worse with the appearance of the Baroness. Rapidly cycling through his extremely limited options, Korram tries to come up with a way, any way to get everyone or even anyone out alive. Ironically, it is Isabella herself who ensures his escape. Making his lightning deal with Purifier, Korram grabs Katrina and shoves off of the roof, considering making a parting retort but lacking the time to do so. Diving into the alley, he rescues the Countess from her fall and lands everyone safely on the ground. Helping Katrina to support the Countess, Korram and the rest of the group escape into the tunnels, collapsing them behind to block off the Baron.

* * *

Back at the Silver Bell, Korram waves off any attempts to treat his injuries, finding a chair and sitting down with his eyes closed until he has recovered enough energy to regenerate his injuries, finishing with the hand. He flexes it a few times, making sure everything works properly, before looking around just in time to see the Countess' signal. He stands, still aching, and walks over to her. He grows embarrassed with her thanks.

"You don't...you don't owe me anything. You've proved yourself more than worthy of...survival...many times over."

Korram, feeling a bit awkward, is happy to change the subject.

"Calcifer is gone. I made a new deal with a different entity for this...power. As you've seen, it came with a few extra abilities as well."

Before he can continue, Argan pulls him away and into the back alley. Korram listens impassively to Argan's admission of failure, then reaches over and clasps a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Losing to the Baron isn't anything to be ashamed of. At this point, it's composed most of my life's work. Don't let it get to you. At this point, we have no hope of achieving victory in a straight fight; we already saw how that went. For the moment, I suggest we bide our time, sharpen our skills, and wait for the Baron's next move. Something big is about to go down. When that happens, we can use it to cover ourselves. This time, we were too overt."

He sighs.

"Beyond that, I don't have any specific advice. We should probably make a list of everyone significant we saw and what their abilities are. We can try to come up with some counters over the next few days."

Korram pauses.

"Also, do you know anyone who can make wards against fire?"

(Basically, Korram will spend the next few days training himself to master his new abilities, and trying to determine counter-tactics to anything he saw today. If Argan does have a contact who can make flame wards, he'll also spend some time trying to learn any ways he can to break through them. Beyond that, if the Baron is making any overt, large-scale preparations, Korram will indulge in a bit of extremely cautious sabotage, if he deems it safe.)

[Lonna]

Pyrene

Waking up (yet again) in an unfamiliar place and in drastically changed circumstances, Pyrene felt a twinge of annoyance. Reading Wulfric's letter, she felt another, slightly stronger one. I suppose I'd ordinarily have been fuming by now, she thought as she set aside the letter. Idly, she scanned the stall she was in and tugged at the manacles - not really trying to get loose, but simply for something to do. After all, Wulfric did have a point: running again would only serve to make him chase her. And if he didn't show up before she got too hungry, she could always burn the wooden beam she was manacled to in order to get away.

Bored, Pyrene turned her attention, and her magic, to the wound in her neck, accelerating the healing process with a pinch of white-hot power. So focused was she, that she didn't even notice Wulfric until his "Good Morning" startled her back into the everyday world. Nodding back a greeting, she waited while he retrieved the key, then applied it to the manacles while he sat down across from her.

Sorry. Now can we have a civil conversation? And before you get too upset, remember that we’re in a stable. There’s horses all around us, and they’re going to get upset if you start yelling. So – what’s the plan now that Volesin is dead?

"I am not going to shout, nor am I upset. I ran into my doppleganger at the wedding, and she did this to me," Pyrene explained, gesturing at her bandaged throat. "Since then I have been unable to feel emotions in any but a supremely reduced capacity. My hatred for Volesin felt like ordinary anger; whatever anger I may have experienced at my circumstances here was merely annoyance. My positive emotions are equally dulled." She hesitated, wondering whether she should tell Wulfric that she felt happy to see him. "I apologize for burdening you back at the church. I overextended myself in my determination to see justice done for my mother... How did we escape? And what happened to your companion?"

Pyrene's stomach growled, cutting off further questions. Glancing at Wulfric for approval, Pyrene helped herself to some bread and fruit while he answered her questions. Nodding in understanding, she swallowed a mouthful and reciprocated by answering Wulfric's previous inquiry. "My priority remains to find Ariella and assure her safety. I am convinced that Volesin told me the truth when he said she was at his country estate, but there is no telling how she will be treated once word of his demise spreads. For that reason I wish to make all possible haste to Volesin's properties. Once there I can disguise myself and determine whether Ariella will remain safe in her current situation."

Looking away she added a bit wistfully, almost to herself, "I just want her to be safe and happy. Then I can think about other things."