Flight From Ironheart IC

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal found the Baron's confidence a little odd. Still, it was not often he got a chance to linger near the Baron. Sohssal quietly took a whiff (or whatever equivalent he could do without a nose) in order to see if the Baron had been augmented or altered. He paused when the Baron smiled – that expression was suddenly not very comforting. But there was still work to do, so he shook off that feeling as quickly as he could.


After getting some important supplies from his old lab (i.e., any spires that he could fit in his new lab, along with all of his old notes and his demonology tools), Sohssal got to work on his plague. The first step to perfection was to identify any flaws. What worried him most was the potential mutation. Studying how fast it mutated and what changes occurred most often would be top priority in this trial. Given the incubation time (and the time needed to procure test subjects), this took up all of the time he had before the Baron came calling again.


Sohssal followed the Baron silently, preparing for something inevitably unpleasant. Even then, he was surprised by Arlan's condition. Was this how the Baron treated a potential traitor, or just a rather extreme method of weakening Arlan's immune system? And his words, even slurred as they were, did not ring hollow in light of the Baron asking Sohssal to perfect his plague.

But the Baron's words weren't hollow, either. He couldn't pass up the chance at revenge.

”Actually, Arlan, I can't say that this will kill you. But you can take comfort in the fact that soon, you probably won't be in a position to be aware of your suffering,” Sohssal said, levitating the vial over to Arlan. He decided to make this quick, popping open the vial and pouring it down his throat. There wasn't much Arlan could do to resist this in his current state, after all, and he didn't have to actually swallow it; the contact should be enough.

[The_Snark]

Mar

She stared at the glass flower as it slipped from her fingers, recognizing it at once but unable to grasp it. It didn't belong here. It belonged in a dream.

She—

At the sound of the door opening Mar flinched, scrabbling to her feet and getting ready to run, even though the little flying monster was right, she was stupid and couldn't save herself. For an instant, she was relieved to see it was Daddy and not the spined monster that had chased her. Then she saw how he looked and realized that this was worse. Worse, worse, oh so much worse. She'd run away. Not just when he told her to—she'd actually disobeyed him to his face—so, so bad—

She cowered as he grabbed hold of her, then went limp in his arms, too terrified to struggle. Running hadn't worked. She was trapped. He was so angry. Mar had seen him furious before, but never like this, never with bruises on his face and blood staining his clothes (unless the blood was hers, of course). It was as though the world was determined to balance out her brief glimpse of something better with something crushingly worse. And there was nothing she could do to stop it, it didn't even matter if she deserved it or how bad she'd been, it was just going to happen.

She didn't understand everything Daddy was telling her. But she understood that he meant to kill her this time, that he'd truly and finally given up on her. It was over. And looking into his eyes as he held a cold metal blade against one of her wings, she understood something else.

"Why do you hate me?" she whispered, on the verge of tears.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

Isera didn't believe her father was the traitor. It was a relief that he strongly denied it. But it was a bitter feeling. There was a dangerous situation now.

But she wasn't expecting the hug. How long since she had been hugged by her father?
She almost didn't know what to say.
"I know. I love you too." She said. And she hugged him too.

"I will solve this. I promise. So be careful. If the evidence is to make you a traitor, then this enemy is probably going to move soon to finish, especially when we are distracted."

When the door opens, Isera hides behind her cool professional expression. The adjudicators had come, with the butler, Cerise and Duncan. Seeing Cerise was expected. Isera felt some feeling of betrayal. But Duncan? Maybe Carlain had said something? Did Cerise go to Duncan?

Benedict was a solemn man. Isera had disliked him greatly during her own trial when she was young. But it was his job. And she didn't have that feeling now. It had been her fault then.

Isera crossed her arms as Duncan left.
"Thank you Walters." Isera said to dismiss the butler. She was tired, frustrated and had a headache.

Once the butler left the room, Isera turned to Cerise. They were alone in her father's office.
She looked at Cerise and hugged her.
"It's ok. I'm sorry I pulled you into this. But listen to me Cerise. I need your help. I need it a lot. Because right now I don't have any friends here. I don't have anyone I can trust. Not Carlain, especially not Duncan."

She lowered her voice. "It's likely that my mother was poisoned. And also your mother. I don't know why exactly. But our families are being targeted because of our fathers' history. It may not be too late to save your mother. And I want to try. But I have to save my father too.
Maybe everyone thinks it is a disease. But if it is a poison, there should be some way to find it. I'm going to look at that myself. I need you to go through the logs again. Why my father's signature is there. It's been forged. But someone else must have accessed the archives. Find out what day it was, and who the librarian was. I will interview them."

She stepped back.
"We only have a few days. But if everything is fortunate, we will discover the traitor, rescue my father, and save your mother." Isera said. It was easy to sound confident. But it would be difficult.

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

Holding the crown in his hands, Incom thinks back to the nightmare come true. Hard to believe that the raving delusions from his former life would come to fruit in such a matter. Yet what was a crown to him. A piece of precious metals designed to cow the sheep into servitude, to follow orders that would most likely lead to their deaths.

Starting to walk down the hall Incom notes the faces, his recently restored connection to the rest of the Baron’s GHAST network providing him information on everyone. It was almost too much to handle, and had he been human still he suspected he would be cowering and screaming. The walking was easy, letting his mind wander back towards the past few days.

There was nothing much to tell. He spent some time walk through the Ghastly Truth, looking it over. The areas that his brother bade him to avoid he did, although he did look at who entered and left. Part of the time he spent on the top of the Ghastly Truth, looking down at the world. While those actions seemed insignificant, Incom enjoyed the simple beauty of having nothing to do.

There was no torture, no fighting for his life, no one telling him what to do constantly. He was left to his own imaginations, and he choose, to do nothing and observe. His markings were the same as the other GHAST’s so the flesh-and-blood crew ignored him or looked at him with barely controlled fear, leaving him alone.

…

Moving his thoughts back to the present Incom finds himself standing in front of the Baron, the crown held up. A brief thought ripples about crushing the crown like another one in a previous life, however death would not be an ideal result, which judging by all the security present would be the most likely outcome.

Seeing that the moment was right, Incom raised the crown up high, and gently placed it upon the head of his brother. Various witty comments went through his mind, but for now silence was his choice.

[Inspectre]

Cathedral City

Archpaladin Zousha

At your rant against the Baron, Ander quirks an eyebrow and smiles.

“Although he is clever, nobody ever said that the Baron was sane man. He seems to get especially . . . agitated when the gods are mentioned. I imagine the sight of us arriving with an army at our back will make him positively furious. Let’s not disappoint him.”

Together the two of you descend back down the way you came, eventually arriving back at the main Council Chambers. There you find Emma, Katashiko, and Zariel resting, recovering from their fight with the corrupted angels. Ultimately all three of the angels had been killed, a necessity given the relentless zeal they had displayed in carrying out their orders.

“I assume you killed that rotten prick.”

Katashiko grunted as a greeting.

“So that’s it then, we can all go home now?”

With a groan Emma pushed herself off the floor, her own injuries slowly resealing.

“I’m afraid that it’s far from over. Miriam has assumed physical form on the mortal plane, and now My Lady goes to confront –“

“The Baron.”

Ander finishes for her with a grimace. The angel nods and turns to leave. As she walks towards the door she calls back over her shoulder.

“I trust that you will gather everyone that is left and lead them into battle alongside us. I sense that my Lady will need all the help that She can get for this confrontation. I am sure you will need some time to organize and tend to your wounded, and so I will leave you to those concerns. I need to go join my Lady – my place is with Her. I look forward to seeing you all again soon.”

And with that the angel is gone again, leaving you and Ander alone with Katashiko and Zariel. With a smirk Katashiko gets up and goes over to Ander, reaching a finger up to trace the outlines of the brands burned into his face.

“So, I see you’ve gotten some new tattoos holy man. How does it feel to be in my shoes, hmm? I figured you’d just mutter some hocus pocus, and heal yourself like you did with me.”

Ander reaches up to swat Katashiko’s hand away with a scowl.

“They used unholy magic on the brands. Just like the angels, I can’t regenerate them away, nor will healing magic remove them.”

Katashiko nods, still smirking.

“Well, I guess you really are in the same boat as I was, then. What if we went and found that Sohssal guy? He sucked the magic out of my brands, maybe he could do the same for you? Although I imagine he won’t enjoy doing that as much for you as he did for me.”

Ander’s scowl fades, changing into more of a bemused smile.

“Perhaps, but there’s no time to go looking for him now. We have a lot to do before we can set out to deal with the Baron, excuse me, King Gast. Are you planning on coming with us, Katashiko? You seem to have a knack for showing up wherever a major battle is about to happen.”

Katashiko laughs and cracks her knuckles.

“Well, you know, there’s really not that much difference between us. Holy men like to eat, sleep, pray, and kill infidels. Replace praying with the other kind of sleeping, and killing infidels with whoever happens to be pissing me off, and you’ve got me pretty much. I guess I can tag along to see how this all ends. Besides, I’ve wanted to punch that Baron guy in the nose since I saw him – arrogant prick!”

Meanwhile, Zariel continues to cradle the body of Morganna in his arms. Although he doesn’t make a sound, his lips move in the pattern of some ancient prayer. Finally, he stops, and leans down to kiss Morganna on the forehead. Then he carefully slides one hand into the gaping wound in her chest, twisting his fingers around until a moment later they emerge with a finger-sized crystal trapped between them. He wipes the crystal off with a scrap of cloth, and then gazes down at it for a long moment. Noticing your interest, Zariel races his other hand and sketches out a quick message in the air.

This is all that is left of Morganna. She wished to endure the same fate as her sisters, even to the point of condemning her soul to be trapped inside a crystal for all eternity. I suppose it is a better fate than rotting in the Hells.

Zariel looks at the crystal a moment more, and then stands, offering it to you.

I had wanted to leave with her intact, as we had made our agreement. But Fate had other plans in mind, and now I cannot bear the sight of her prison. It would only be a reminder of my failure to her. You take it, and guard it well.

Zariel practically tosses the crystal into your hand. The small object is warm to the touch, and upon contact with your skin you can feel a familiar presence within the crystal. Morganna is clearly aware of her predicament, and resigned to her fate. Zariel turns to go, but then stops and tiredly sketches out one last message.

There is nothing left for me here. It is time for me to depart. But before I go, I will help you right the wrongs done by Demetrius Gast. It is the last I could do.

And with that, the assassin is gone, a shadow flitting about on the wall, and then nothing. No doubt you would see him again when the time was right.

With only Katashiko and Ander left as your traveling companions, you go out to organize for the next battle. With the Exarches and Morganna all dead, the remaining Church Loyalists surrender within the hour. True to your word, they are all imprisoned, and not executed, at least until such time as their crimes could be judged fairly. Ander makes the suggestion that perhaps extending a pardon to anyone willing to fight the Baron would be a good way of bolstering the ranks, although he leaves that decision up to you. With his brands and potentially compromised judgment as a result, you are left as the Lord General as discussed.

There is some fortunate news from the Reliquary, as it turns out that Tyra and the imprisoned angels had all survived. Apparently the underground complex where the angels were being tortured and corrupted was far enough beneath the Reliquary not to be consumed by the blast. And, having been recently added and with a great deal of secrecy, the explosive wards installed in the rest of the Reliquary did not exist down there. Unfortunately Belroar perished in the blast, attempting to guide as many Reliquary guards down into the secret depths as possible before the wards detonated.

In all, there were perhaps a thousand angels, along with perhaps a hundred Reliquary guards, who survived the explosion. All of the angels were in various stages of Project Angelus, and some had endured multiple branding sessions as Greyson had attempted to find the right sequence of runes to create obedience. More than a few had been driven insane, and would need to be put down or at least allowed to recover at their own pace (if they ever did). Others were in decent condition but hostile, understandably so given what they had been through. A handful, less than a hundred in all, were still angels in demeanor and interested in helping with the coming battle. Although covered in the same unsightly brands as the rest of Project Angelus’s victims, these angels were still angels, and would make excellent allies in the battle ahead. You were going to need every advantage you could muster for the coming fight.

In an amazing act of coordination, somehow the remnants of the Church were ready to go to war again a mere two days after the fighting ended. That still left a long march ahead of you to get to the capital, and it seemed unlikely that you would get there in time to join the battle.

Then Ander told you of an ancient project that the Church had once maintained. Centuries ago, fearing reprisal invasions from the Hells, the Church had set up a network of teleportation circles. These teleportation circles would enable the Church to deploy an army anywhere within their domain within a day, allowing them to counter an invasion at any point. The invasion had never come, the forces of the Hells too worn down by the Crusade to consider a counter-attack, and so the network had lapsed into disrepair and myth. Although the teleportation circles still existed, the magic had faded and it would take a powerful mage to re-establish them.

You were just about to give up on that idea when Zariel suddenly reappeared. The mysterious assassin revealed that he had been the one to design the network in the first place, and given a bit of time he could get it working again, at least enough to get your army to a place just outside the capital. When asked if Zariel could open a portal to within the capital, his expression darkened and he shook his head. Apparently there was someone or something there waiting at the capital that would make opening a portal dangerous. Zariel refused to explain any further, and you got the sense that the answer would be forthcoming anyway once you got to the capital.

True to his word, Zariel got the teleport portal back up within a day, and when you and the others stepped through you found yourself standing elsewhere. Hidden inside a cave, this teleport circle had been established overlooking a small town about a day’s march south of the capital. Bit by bit, your army came through the portal and reformed for the coming battle. You had a few siege weapons, although the narrow confines of the cave made teleporting them through and then getting them out a difficult proposition.

Katashiko seemed oddly confident you wouldn’t need any siege weapons, claiming “she’d get you up on the walls, whether they are warded or not”. All-in-all, she seemed even more confident and - although this was a strange word to use with her – happy after the last demonstration of her power within the Council Chambers.

Even without her aid, you still had those angels who had volunteered, and more than a few griffon riders to fly over the walls. According to Ander, the King had his own personal airship, and it seemed likely that the metal monstrosity would be there for the battle. You would likely need whatever airborne troops you had to go up and help Miriam deal with the Baron’s forces there.

Eventually, you could spend no more time gathering resources, and set out for the capital. It was time to cleanse the rest of the darkness from your world!

Stonefall

The_Snark

”Hate you?”

Daddy parrots, and then he throws his head back and laughs, a long, mad cackle.

“Oh no, no no no. What would I do without you? You have fulfilled every possible fantasy I could ever have. Mother, sister, victim, friend, lover, confidant . . . daughter. I’ve found daughter to be my favorite role for you to play though. There’s something so deliciously satisfying with teaching you to long for my lash, to actually think the pain I’m inflicting on you is for your own good! You stupid, ignorant little girl – this has never been about you!”

Daddy shakes his head as if at the ridiculousness of the idea, and then continues.

“No, this has always been about Marisiel. You see my idiot little “daughter”, you have the soul of an archangel in you. This soul is powerful, and it could make you powerful in turn. My job is simply to keep you too broken to try to seize that power and cause trouble while I continue to make sure the Baron gets his steady supply of archangel blood. Eventually I go too far or the archangel soul begins to transform your body, and then I harvest the soul and salvage what I can before the game begins anew! Nobody cares what I do to you, only that the status quo is maintained.”

Daddy reaches up to cup a hand under your chin, squeezing painfully as he jerks your head from side to side.

“And I have to admit, of all of Marisiel’s successors, I have enjoyed our time together the most. The way you accepted my complete dominion over you – you knew you would be punished for everything you did, yet you’d accept it without complaint. Even turned yourself in more than once, as if I could read your mind! Hah, well, Sirax helped with that aspect, reporting back to me everything little thing you did. You made me very proud of my work, Mar. You were the perfect “daughter”.”

Daddy releases your jaw with a sigh.

“But that’s all over now. Now we only have one last punishment session together before the end. I may have never been able to break that haughty bitch, but I broke you and the others plenty. And I’ll still have the last laugh because when I’m finished, I will smash your soul crystal, sending you, Marisiel, and every girl in between into oblivion! What could be a more perfect ending. And now, my little angel, I want you to sing for me! Sing that song I so love to hear from you, one last time!”

Daddy grips the saw firmly in both hands, and you close your eyes, steeling yourself for the agony to come. The agony that would ultimately end in your death and permanent destruction. But before that pain could start, there was suddenly a thunderous crash from the other room, and the torturous screech of metal tearing.

“What the Hells!?”

Daddy snarled, turning away from you towards the sound. A moment later, and the doors to this chamber were likewise thrown open. Standing there in the doorway was Julian, the Hell Knight, and a third cloaked figure. Battered and bloodied, Julian stood there swaying, his eyes seems to be focused on a far-away point.

“I . . . found . . . Sir Renault!” Julian intoned, although you find it hard to believe that this strange cloaked figure was Julian’s knightly mentor. A dark and yet strangely familiar aura surrounded this newcomer, and Daddy seemed to recognize him immediately.

“You! I should have known!”

He hissed, gathering himself as if preparing to leap at the trio. The cloaked figure gestures, and a brilliant flash brightens the room momentarily as a lightning bolt leaps from his hand into Daddy, throwing your false father backward over you and into the far wall.

“Yes, you really should.”

The cloaked figure hissed.

“I said that I would return for my prize, and so I have! Marisiel the Protector is MINE!”

At this, Daddy actually bursts into mad laughter.

“You may find her a bit different from how you remember her. Although, that is all your fault, isn’t it? If you had simply exercised a little self-control –“

“SILENCE!”

The cloaked figure roared, and Daddy shut his mouth reflexively. The figure then advances into the room, moving to stand over you and appraise you intently. With the newcomer now right next to you, you can smell the sickening stench of rotting flesh, and can see the places where the man’s heavy cloak doesn’t cover. Looking up beneath his cowl, you are horrified to discover that his face is that of Hugo, Daddy’s assistant! Although horribly disfigured from injuries, his face is still recognizable, and the sight of his body upright and ambulatory when it should be motionless like other dead bodies brings you to a new level of terror. Hugo’s body examines you with its remaining intact eye for several long moments, and then a stream of furious curses erupts from his mouth.

“WHAT HAVE YOU IDIOTS DONE!? YOU’VE RUINNED HER!”

At this, Daddy smiles, as he pushes himself back up to standing.

“Yes, your precious Marisiel is lost beyond recovery! We never needed her mind, just her soul!!”

With a wordless howl of rage, Hugo gestures, and disappears momentarily, only to reappear directly in front of Daddy. He slams him back into the wall and then grabs him by the throat, throwing off his cowl as he does so. Even Daddy winces at being forced to look upon the ruin of his former assistant’s face.

“We’ll see about that.”

Hugo hisses. He is momentarily interrupted as one of the sharp knives suddenly leaps up from the nearby tray and plunges towards you.

“DIE, MARKASH!!”

Sirax screams, and screams again a moment later when Hugo’s body unleashes a blast of fire behind him without even looking, incinerating the invisible imp and leaving the blade to fall harmlessly onto your chest.

“Begone, imp!”

Hugo decrees, and then turns his attention back onto Daddy.

“As you can see, I require a new body. Yours will do nicely after a simple modification. Take that knife out of your belt, and cut out your own heart.”

“No! NNNNOOO!”

Daddy howls as Hugo releases him and steps back, allowing Daddy to proceed with the grisly command. Despite his protests, Daddy’s hand mechanically reaches down to pull out the wicked sharp blade tucked into his belt. The hand raised the blade to his eye a moment, allowing Daddy to see the edge glisten, and then it plunged the blade into his chest. Making gasping, gurgling, and mewling sounds, Daddy fell to his knees as the hand began to saw with the blade, slicing through bone and sinew around in a circle in the middle of his chest. After the blade has completed a full circuit, the hand jerks the weapon out, and Daddy’s other hand rises. It grabs hold out of the flesh in the center of the circle and pulls, tearing out the meaty chunk. Then it reaches in again, and with a mighty heave, tears free the apple-sized mass of flesh responsible for life. It holds Daddy’s heart up triumphantly for him to see, as the color drains from his face entirely. And then with one final, rattling sigh, Daddy collapses into a bloody heap.

Hugo gestures, and a ghostly shade arises from Daddy’s body, looking just like him only transparent. Then Hugo clenches his fist, and Daddy’s spirit is crunched down into a little white ball.

“No, an eternity trapped in this place is too good for you. Thus, I condemn you to an eternity in the Hells instead!”

The ball ignites into brilliant flame, consuming it as a faint scream arises from it. A moment later, and there is nothing left. Hugo seems satisfied as he kneels down beside Daddy’s body, reaching a hand underneath his cloak. A moment later, and the hand emerges with a glowing red crystal, which Hugo’s body inserts into the hole cut into Daddy’s chest. As soon as Hugo’s hand pulls back away from the crystal, his body falls lifeless to the floor. Daddy’s body stirs, and you hear him give a grunt of satisfaction in Daddy’s voice as the body pushes itself up. But it is clearly not Daddy any longer.

“That settles that. And now for you, Marisiel!”

Looking at the blade that had just cut out his own heart, Daddy’s body nods in satisfaction and wipes it off before tucking it back into his belt. Then he walks over to tower over you, standing down and glaring at you with his dead, glistening eyes.

“Hrm. It would seem you will need time to recover and remember. Very well, you shall have your time then!”

Daddy gestures, and the chains holding you down snap open, the straps holding your wings together unbuckle themselves. Before you can roll off the altar and try to run away, the Hell Knight is there, grabbing you and picking you up.

Daddy’s walking corpse gestures, ripping a hole open in the air in front of you. Screams and animalistic howls bellow forth from the hole, and beyond you see a fiery, hellish landscape.

“Let’s go home.”

Daddy’s corpse says, and immediately the Hell Knight advances through the portal, carrying you with it. Daddy and Julian follow after close behind. You find yourself now in the middle of what must surely be the Hells Daddy had always threatened you with. Stinging, hot air buffets you, carrying ever more screams and howls, and although you find yourself in the middle of a barren patch of ground you can tell the sources of these noises are not far away. Then Daddy’s body gestures again, tearing open a new hole in front of you. Beyond is a strange, cold landscape of pure white – another layer of the Hells!?

“Remember, Marisiel. Remember who you are. I’ll be waiting!”

Daddy’s corpse says, and then the Hell Knight unceremoniously tosses you through the portal and into the cold snow beyond. This was where you had come to, coming out of your catatonia to find yourself in the snowy forest. You had forgotten all of this for how you had gotten here, but now you remembered. You have been forced to remember.


Snapping out of your trance, you scream as pain erupts through your head. A moment later and the pain fades away, but leaves behind something even more disorienting – memories. You remember everything now – all of Marisiel’s memories, and those of every girl whose body her soul had inhabited, from birth to death at Daddy’s hands. The sudden influx of memories was crushing, maddening, you felt as if you were drowning in a sea of sensation.

You are therefore only dimly aware of the sight of Julian pulling back his fist, and then sending you mercifully into the darkness of unconsciousness as his fist slams into your jaw.

Outside the Capital

Kasanip

Trusting Cherise to take care of her part, you focus on figuring out how her mother was being poisoned. Unfortunately that search might be difficult, as her family had a fairly large staff on hand. While it was hard to believe that someone would be able to sneak in to poison her regularly, a corrupted member of the staff would have found it trivially easy to do so. It was also possible that rather than poison her directly, someone was tainting the things she came in contact with, and then allowing someone innocent to deliver the poison for them.

Once back at Cherise’s home, you had a quick meeting with Alfred, who told you that Selvi had taken nothing more than a few sips of water over the past week. However, she did regularly ingest a mix of healing herbs and drugs to help ease her suffering from the disease’s symptoms. Alfred was just about to prepare the evening’s concoction for Selvi, in fact, and so you accompanied him to the alchemical lab. You watched him mix it together, and then carefully analyzed it with your Descrying Eye.

Alfred had explained each of the compounds as he added it, and you were familiar with a good number of them yourself. Even so, you nearly didn’t detect the poison that had been mixed in. If you hadn’t been looking for it and made sure to study what little information the Archives had on it from the examination of Ember Montiguard’s body you would have missed it. But no, the very medicine that Alfred was going to give to Selvi to ease her suffering was what was continuing to drive her further into the grave!

From there you analyzed the various compounds that had gone into making the potion and discovered that one variety of healing herbs that went into it had been thinly coated with the poison. This tainting of the herbs couldn’t have been an accident, but it still left no clues as to the murderer’s identity. Although Alfred kept the laboratory locked while not present, a large portion of the staff knew where he kept the key. Any one of them could have slipped into the laboratory and introduced the poison. Investigating them all would be time consuming and possibly a futile effort given the difficulty in proving the responsible one’s guilt, assuming any of Alfred’s servants were indeed even guilty.

Still having a nagging suspicion about Duncan, you suddenly remember that he had brought in a fresh batch of supplies today, including more materials for making the potion to ease Selvi’s suffering. Retrieving those fresh supplies from where they had been left, you examine the healing herbs from there and find that they too are poisoned. Which meant that Duncan had brought poisoned herbs into the house, either because *he* was the guilty party, or yet another dupe in the real murderer’s plot. Either way, it didn’t look good for him.

For the moment, you kept your findings away from Alfred, who certainly didn’t need to believe that his own brother was acting against him. It was also too early in general to accuse Duncan of anything. All you had at this point was that he was bringing the poison into the house as part of the supplies. As Duncan was the head of the Winter Canticles, you were going to need a lot more than that to accuse him of anything. Plus, as your father was the head of the Autumn Canticles and currently about to stand trial, any accusation had to be rock solid lest it be dismissed as attempting to change the focus from your father. Accusing another Canticles head was also likely to be disastrous to the Canticles as a whole – it had been a long time since any head had been accused of any wrongdoing. You suspected that nearly every member of the Canticles would be present for your father’s trial, and it would be the subject of gossip for years to come, regardless of the outcome.

For now, you gently recommended that Alfred stop using his potion to ease Selvi’s suffering, and try this alternate formula that you devised from the other, non-tainted compounds you had seen in the laboratory. It wouldn’t be as effective, but it wouldn’t make Selvi’s condition any worse either, and the weary Alfred agreed to try it without much questioning – you doubted he needed the stress of knowing someone was poisoning his wife just now. Unfortunately that was no antidote to the poison – you just had to hope that the low doses of poison Selvi had been receiving had not yet reached the point of no return, and that given time she would recover naturally.

Glad that you had at least solved one problem but worried by the confirmation of your fears that there was a murderer on the loose, you meet back up with Cherise. Your friend was closer to her usual chipper self now, having an investigation to focus on rather than her family’s distress. Apparently with the arrest of your father, the Adjudicators had closed off access to the librarian working at the time of your father’s alleged borrowing of the files, as well as preventing anyone from investigating other matters of the case.

So Cherise had gone to your father, and gotten his permission for you and Cherise to represent him before the Tribunal. As his official representatives, you and Cherise now had full access to all aspects of the Adjudicator’s investigation, and could move about freely. Cherise had then taken the liberty of examining some of what the Adjudicators had already collected and intended to present to the Tribunal as evidence of your father’s guilt.

You sifted through the assembled records with Cherise for most of the night. The librarian’s account of the night was rather clear. It had definitely been your father there that night, although he spent little time browsing the Archives – he seemed to already know exactly what he wished to borrow. He also was uncharacteristically friendly, and even shared an old joke with the librarian while he was signing out all the records. He also presented his official seal of office, an unnecessary step given the librarian knew who he was – almost as if Jean wanted to leave no doubt that it was him. The official seal of office for the head of a Canticle was carefully guarded and widely considered impossible to duplicate. Only the head of each Canticle was given such a seal, and the same one was handed down from the old head to the new. The fact that the librarian had been shown the seal, although out of place given the circumstances, was almost irrefutable proof that it had been Jean that night.

You are relieved that none of the Adjudicator’s other pieces of evidence are as damning as the librarian’s account of that night. In all, it doesn’t even seem like they will be able to prove that your father is guilty of any actual wrongdoing. There is enough to tarnish his reputation, however, and even if he isn’t found guilty the insinuation is enough to destroy him. Unless totally cleared of this charge, the Tribunal will be forced to dismiss him as head of the Autumn Canticles. Sadly, this put you in as bad a situation as the Adjudicators – neither of you able to fully prove your point with the current evidence, and therefore both of you equally in trouble.

Unfortunately, not a lot of new evidence comes to light during the next few days. What you have is all you are going to get, it seems, and the responsibilities of serving as your father’s defense keeps you busy with all the preliminary paperwork. It seems you are going to have to wait until the day of the trial in order to decisively prove your father’s innocence and unmask the real traitor. And given the fact that almost every member of the Canticles was reporting that they would be present for the trial, you were going to have to do it in front of the entire Canticles.

Fishtown, The Fishiest Place on Earth that Never Fished

Gorgondantess

At your argument and offering of her sword, Maurice smiles weakly. Slowly, she nods and takes the sword back.

“Thank you. I do not know how my Lady will react to your presence. You will be regarded with curiosity to be sure. Although, perhaps She will have an idea what exactly you are – although I have a great deal of experience on the mortal plane, I confess that I am not all-knowing.”

Maurice smile falters and she sighs.

“Truly, your assistance in this matter would be appreciated. From what I saw of the Baron’s airship when we visited him, any assistance against him would be helpful. I was concerned given your previous stated antagonism against the gods that your presence at the coming battle would lead to a conflict of interest. My . . . first loyalty is to . . . Miriam. But that does not mean I would enjoy seeing you injured.”

Maurice looks down at the sword in her hand a moment, and then looks back up at you with a genuine smile this time.

“Thank you again for returning my blade. And you should not fear for me. There is a life beyond this one. Though the body may die, the soul is eternal. Now then . . . Augustus?”

You quickly explain your solution to the Dusk Warden situation, which causes Maurice’s smile to change into a nervous one.

“Well, that is certainly an . . . interesting solution. I applaud your decision to honor your agreement with Augustus, although I’m not sure that killing his successor will uphold the spirit of the truce. Then again, it is entirely possible that some day one of his successors will decide to renew the hunt for you as well. A pre-emptive strike in that event would be a valid choice. Are you sure that killing their High Warden will end the threat that the Dusk Wardens pose to you, however? I assume at some point there was a first High Warden, who had no one to transfer power to him. That at least leaves open the possibility of them creating a new High Warden from scratch. Although mortals create and forget powerful magic all the time, and perhaps such is the case here. I bring it up only to caution you against overconfidence should you best Augustus’s successor – hopefully a day that will be a long time off from now.”

Maurice shrugs and moves to sheath her sword, only to sigh in embarrassment as she notes that she no longer has a sheath at her waist. Like the rest of her armor, it was consumed by you.

“I shall need to find a new scabbard for my blade. After that, however, may I suggest that we inform Omnicron and the others of our departure and leave immediately? Neither of us, I believe, has a need for rest and so we can set out now rather than wait. I fear that the sooner we arrive at the capital, the better.”

Maurice gives you one last smile and then sets off in search of a scabbard. Apparently she did not want something of your manufacture – the thought stung a little, but after you recent experiments with the Dusk Wardens’ blades you could see the disadvantages in things of your own creation. It also gave you the opportunity to inform Omnicron and your high priest that you were leaving and they were to keep an eye on the Dusk Wardens should they fail to depart tomorrow. You briefly considered taking them with you to join the battle as an army rather than one angel and a god, but decided that the humans would be too slow. With you and Maurice both able to fly tirelessly to your destination, it wouldn’t take you long at all to get back to the capital. You wondered how glad that arrogant human the Baron would be to see you . . . and how long that smile would stay on his face after you impaled him on his own airship.

The Capital

OverWilliam

You spend the next several days training hard, in an endless series of exhausting drills. Limier was an unforgiving instructor, but her corrections were still better than what you’d get from an Inquisitor’s blade. Ulrich also tended to watch from the sidelines, not participating but offering what advice he could as well. Having already seen a few of your magical tricks, Limier was not quite as impressed as Ulrich, but they were both still surprised at your versatility.

Unfortunately, the news from the outside world that Limier was able to collect was not encouraging. The Baron had apparently managed to convince the nobles to elect him king, despite the mess his son’s wedding had turned out to be. One of the new king’s first acts had been to being the process of outlawing worship of the gods, or at least heavily curtailing the Church’s influence in the lives of man. Afraid of another riot from the commoners and just afraid in general, the nobles seemed to resist his efforts somewhat, so King Gast couldn’t do exactly what he wanted. As a result, instead of being rounded up and executed, all members of the clergy were just confined to their places of worship.

That made Ulrich a target, but luckily the old assassin still had a few pieces of ordinary clothing to wear while going out, even if he did remark that they felt weird after so many years of wearing a priestly robe. It also meant that the Inquisitors were *all* going to be present inside their little fortress, and there was no way to lure them out. Perhaps that was even part of the king’s plan, get them all in one location and then force you to kill them all or perish instead, conveniently getting rid of a thorn that he still couldn’t pluck directly. At least not yet, and you shuddered to be in the city after this war assuming the king was victorious. Then again, given that your other altnerative choices were a vengeful goddess, an army of undead, or elves on the warpath, you were pretty sure the city and everyone in it was just plain doomed. Which meant you had to get Melcara and Karami’s parents out, and then figure out a way to get out of the city immediately thereafter. But one problem at a time.

“Alright Tare. I think I’ve got a plan for us. Details on the layout of the Inquisitor’s Chapel are rather sketchy, with what’s below even more so. Still, it’s safe to say that they’ve got one hell of a rats’ nest of tunnels beneath the Chapel itself. Now, there’s no map of these tunnels that can be found for love or money. But, going through the capital’s old records, I did find something interesting.”

Limier flashes you a smile.

“It seems that while expanding one of their tunnels, the good Inquisitors bumbled into a nearby bank’s basement vault. The bank’s owner raised all sorts of Hells over it, which is the only reason why there’s any mention of it at all. I imagine the Inquisitors quickly paid him off or eliminated him, as there’s no other mention of it after the first. Likewise the Inquisitors went and purchased the building the bank was located in, along with several other nearby buildings so the same never happened again. But they couldn’t just expand their chapel over to merge with the other buildings either. So they’re all still standing, albeit I imagine with some sort of guards in them. If we can get down into that old bank’s basement, we might be able to break through the wall they’ve doubtlessly erected to keep their tunnels sealed off.”

“There’s nothing stopping them from all flooding down into the tunnels to kill you once they realize that you’re there, however.”

Ulrich said, speaking up.

“What you need is a distraction. I could set up in one of the other nearby abandoned buildings, and start plinking their sentries with a crossbow. Even with my worn-out eyes, I bet I could still cause enough trouble for them to think they’re under a full-scale attack aboveground. That ought to draw at least a few of them up out of the tunnels, give you a better chance of getting in without getting swarmed.”

Limier laughed.

“Just like old times then Ulrich? You never did like the close-up work.”

At this Ulrich smirked.

“That might be true, but I had a few tools for that too whenever it became necessary. And now Tare, they’re yours.”

Dropping a cloth wrapped bundling onto the table, Ulrich flipped the top piece of cloth aside to reveal a pair of daggers. They were incredibly detailed, with rune-covered blades and engraved pommels. Each dagger consisted of two entwined blades, leaving a narrow gap between them. Ulrich gave a small sigh of appreciation even now as he lifted one up to show you, twirling it around in his hands expertly.

“The Serpant’s Fangs, my prized possession, and now they’re yours. Use them well. Here, let me show you how they work. See this groove between the blades at the base, near the hilt? You can fit a vial of poison in here, and then when you stab someone . . .”

Ulrich demonstrates be stabbing the dagger down into the table, the tip of the twin blades sinking about an inch into the wood with very little effort. As they did so, the two blades began to squeeze themselves together, compressing the gap.

“There you see? The blades compress, and that action will shatter the vial, coating the weapon in poison at the moment of the strike. No chance of accidentally poisoning yourself by cutting yourself while applying the poison, nor of it wearing off before you’re ready to use it. Quite a few men met the end of their lives thanks to these two blades, and now I imagine a few more will when the time comes.”

Ulrich gives a slight sigh and covers the daggers back up with the cloth before pushing it all towards you.

“I’ll whip up a dozen vials of poison for you to use in them as well. The nastiest stuff I can make on such short notice – it should let you drop more than a few Inquisitors before they can heal their injuries or try to cleanse their wounds.”

Turning the subject back to the matter of the invasion of the Inquisitors’ Chapel, Limier turned to look at Karami, off in a corner by herself humming while she sketched on a piece of paper, trying to keep her own mind off of everything.

“With you and me going in and Ulrich keeping the Inquisitor’s busy, who’s going to watch the girl though? I’m fairly certain she’ll be safe here, but if all Hells breaks loose the way it seems like it’s going to, all bets are off. And if none of us come back . . .”

As it turns out, the solution that this issue turns up later that same day. Limier catches a strange man lingering around outside the safe house. When she drags him inside and pulls off the mask he was using to conceal his face, Brock is revealed.

“Hey. Heard about this place from a friend of a friend, and I figured you might be here. Mind of I join you?”

After hearing of your plan, Brock volunteers to stay and guard Karami.

“Listen Tare, I looked after her while you were locked up. Trust me, I’ll look after her again.”

Seeing little choice in the matter, you reluctantly agree, with assurances that you would hunt him to the ends of the earth and drag him back before King Gast if a hair on Karami’s head was harmed. Finally, the last of the preparations were ready and it was time to set out.

“Good luck.”

Karami said, in the understatement of the year as she hugged you good-bye. And then, as ready as you were ever going to be, you, Limier, and Ulrich set out for the Inquisitors’ Chapel.

Vegna

Though you spend the entire morning scanning the road looking for the old man, he does not make an appearance. As the sun approaches its noon position, you begin to think that perhaps this had all been an elaborate hoax after all. A few minutes after that, the old man’s voice startles you as it comes from right behind you.

“So, are you ready to depart for the tournament grounds?”

You had not seen him approaching from a distance, nor had you sensed his presence through the earth. It was as if he was not here one moment, and then suddenly appeared right behind you the next. He greets you with a slight smirk as you turn around to face him, and then offers a low bow.

“The path to the tournament grounds is near here – if you would follow me.”

Without another word your sponsor, or however you wanted to define his relationship to you, turned and started to walk away. Even now, you could not detect his footfalls – which suggested either his feet touched the ground very lightly, or he wasn’t touching the ground at all.

The old man leads you into the nearby forest, and seems to know exactly where to go despite the dense growth. He stops in front of a large oak tree, gesturing at its base.

“And here we are. Although as you are not yet initiated, I suppose you do not see the entrance yet. Observe.”

Your sponsor walks up to the tree and raps a knuckle smartly against the trunk. At his touch the bark wavers and ripples before splitting open to reveal a cavernous opening between the root clusters at the base of the tree. The illusion dispelled, you could now see that the opening was easily large enough for you to walk upright, although narrow enough to walk single-file.

“Come on in.”

The old man says with a chuckle as he slips inside the trunk, vanishing quickly into the darkness within. You follow him, and once across the threshold find that it is not as dark on the inside as it appeared outside. Lines of bioluminescent moss hang from the sides of the passage, lighting you way as you follow the old man down into the bowels of the earth. A minute of travel later, and the passage opens up, looking down onto a massive cavern.

The pathway down continues to wind down and around the sides of this massive cavern, and far below you can see lights and movement. The middle part of the cavern has been transformed into a fighting pit, complete with benches for onlookers. Humming some sort of song to himself, the old man leads you down the spiraling pathway until you reach the bottom. There he turns back and gives you a final low bow.

“Please excuse me. The tournament will officially start tomorrow, and there are many preparations that I must see to. Until then, please enjoy your stay here. I ask that you don’t try to leave the tournament grounds until the end of the competition. Attempting to leave is grounds for disqualification, I am afraid. But I doubt that will be a problem – your every need will be cared for until then.”

The old man gestures, and a boy on the cusp of entering his teens appears, dressed in a simple pantsuit.

“Please give Mr. Halrath the guided tour. I imagine he will be quite interested in the kitchen.”

Then your sponsor turned and walked away, while the boy greeted you with an awkward bow.

“Please follow me sir.”

The boy leads you around the periphery of the chamber, skirting around groups of people and circling around the main fighting pit. Looking around at the assembled people, you see humans from every corner of the world, elves, dwarves, and quite a few other even stranger beings – you think you even catch a glimpse of an ogre! The boy hurries you on past them all, explaining as he goes.

“This is the main competition floor. Here is where you will be fighting. Off to your right is a passage that will take you to a number of meditation rooms where you may prepare mentally or practice your style in peace. That passage next to it will take you to the hot springs and associated baths. We have a barber should you require a shave or other hair preparation.”

The boy delivers his information in a pitched monotone – he’s obviously had to recite these descriptions many times before.

“Over here is the passage to the healers, hopefully you will not require their attention. The passage next to it is the one that leads to the kitchen, which is open at all times. And finally over there is the passage that leads to the sleeping quarters. Everyone has their own private room, although each individual room is rather small due to space considerations. There is no lock on the door, so please alert a member of security if you are concerned for your safety while asleep. They can post someone outside your door if necessary. And . . . that’s pretty much it. Your room is 341. It should be on the left.”

As if hearing something, the boy turns his head back to the passage sharply, and then gives you a hurried bow.

“Please excuse me. We have another guest arriving and I am needed to offer them a tour as well. The tournament will be officially starting in a few hours, so you may want to get some rest before the first round of matches is announced. Good luck with the tournament!”

And without another word, the boy runs off, leaving you standing alone. You aren’t sure where to go first, as your stomach prefers the kitchen, your muscles want the healers or perhaps the hot springs, and the rest of your body wouldn’t mind locating your room for a quick nap before the fighting starts.

(You are welcome to describe what Mal does next. Short of him randomly punching someone, I don’t think it will have much effect on the post below, which describes the start of the tournament.)

The Gastly Truth

Pwenet

As you placed the crown on your brother’s head, the expectant silence was broken by thunderous applause from the assembled nobles. A herd of sheep by any other name, with your brother the wolf amongst them. Over the cover of the applause, the Baron now King leans in to whisper to you.

“Very good, brother. Only a few more hours now. We need to get ready. Go fetch Ysora while I clean up here.”

Seeing little reason to refuse this expected request, you silently depart the party as the nobles begin to disperse, concerned with returning to their own individual holes to hide now that their obligation to see their new king crowned was over. You find half a dozen GHASTs waiting for you in the Brig, your brother as cautious as ever. As you opened the door to her cell, Ysora greets you with a disappointed frown.

“I had heard you had willingly joined forces with the Baron, Incom, but I had refused to believe it. What possible hold could he have over you to acquire your loyalty after what he has done? To you in particular!”

Under your supervision the GHASTs free Ysora from the chains holding her to the ceiling. She does not resist as they re-bind her for transport, but continues to challenge you verbally.

“I can see into your soul, Incom, although I cannot understand your mind. And I can look into the other souls that have been forced into that . . . abomination with you! Do you know the name of the angel in there with you, Incom? I recognize her, even though it pains me deeply to see her violated like this! Her name was Moira. She was one of the angels who attended to the souls of human babies who died before they could grow into children! She would sing lullabies to them, beautiful songs of peace and contentment! What did she ever do to deserve her fate!? What threat was she to humanity that the Baron tore her out of the Heavens to twist her into the form she inhabits now!? You’re just as much of a monster as he is!!!”

Overcome with emotion, Ysora breaks into sobs as the GHASTs finish binding her and then heft her up onto their shoulders, carrying her out. You follow along behind, mulling over what she said. If only she knew the truth, about your bond of kinship to the Baron, among other things. In the end, you suppose it doesn’t matter what Ysora thinks. According to the Baron, although he hadn’t revealed his full plan to you, the archangel was nothing more than bait, something to wave before the Valkyrie’s eyes to lure Her in and distract Her.

Your procession travels back up to the top deck of the Gastly Truth, now empty of nobles and swarming with crewmen. The GHASTs deposit Ysora onto the black altar near the back end of the airship, and secure her to it. Meanwhile, your brother and his wife walk over to you with a pair of smiles. The golden crown still perched on his head, the new King has removed his cloak, revealing the deformed, crimson-feathered wings emerging from his back. Isabella likewise has a set of such wings, although they are more slender and with an odd oily quality that projects a rainbow of colors which changes depending on what angle you observe them from.

“Look, brother. It’s starting.”

Demetrius says, pointing off to the west. And indeed, over the horizon you can see a trio of black pyramids advance towards the city, a horde of undead swarming beneath them. The rest of the armies preparing to take their best shot at you could not be far behind.

[Inspectre]

Iethloc

Taking a good whiff of the Baron’s aura, you note that it is similar to the vampire lord Umber’s. He has clearly altered his body so that it is no longer fully human, although his transformation is obviously different than Umber’s. It tastes . . . angelic to you, a strange source for the Baron to use but it does explain the origin of his half-breed children. You had half expected his children to be the result of some sort of debauched arcane ritual merging angelic essence into human flesh. Instead it seemed to be the result of simple genetics assuming the Baron’s wife had undergone a similar alteration from humanity. It does not seem to be as perfect of a merger as with his children, which is hardly surprising given its artificial origin.

******

At your hollow reassurances, Arlan moves as if to spit but instead merely accomplishes drooling all over himself.

“You’ll enjoy the same cold comfort soon enough.”

He mumbles, and then you pop open the vial and pour its contents down his throat. He tries to hold his mouth shut, a futile gestures even if his jaw wasn’t broken given simple skin contact was enough. Sputtering, he manages to spit out a good portion of the vile brew, again an exercise in futility.

You expected that the devolution into a demon would take a significant period of time, allowing you to study the effects of the plague on a mage in detail. However, no sooner have you turned away than Arlan began to violently spasm, thrashing wildly against his restraints. His eyes widen in fear, and he opens his mouth to scream, the sound caught off as he instead retches, spewing blood. His skin begins to rupture, cracking apart to reveal a rapidly forming scaly hide beneath it.

You have no idea what the cause for this remarkably rapid transformation is, whether it is Arlan’s status as a mage, some bizarre interaction between your plague and the remains of the vaccine, or that the Baron had made some significant modifications to the plague’s virulence without telling you. Whatever the cause for the rapid transformation, you come to discover that the vaccine is at least responsible for one other, crucial difference.

As Arlan’s head cracks open and splits apart, a lamprey-like appendage emerges from the wreckage. Two glowing yellow eyes far back from the circular mouth fixate on you, and the creature smiles as its body continues to involuntarily twitch and twist, continuing to transform.

“Ah, Sohssal. This is fantastic! Thank you.”

The creature hisses in a thin, reedy tone. It flexes against the restraints holding it down, straining them as it displays a far greater strength than the human Arlan had possessed. And there it was, the one thing that the vaccine had accomplished. Unable to protect his body from the ravages of the plague, the vaccine had nevertheless protected his mind, preventing him from devolving into a dumb brute. With a final flex, the creature tore free of the chair, ripping the magic collar from its bulging neck after grasping hold of it with the pincers that make up one of its hands now.

“You’re not the only demon mage anymore, Sohssal!! AHAHAHAHAHA!”

Arlan cackled, proving that the vaccine wasn’t entirely successful in protecting his mind after all. A moment later, a feminine voice crackled to life throughout the room.

Security protocol activated. Initiating incendiary purge.

A moment later, and the entire room was consumed in brilliant fire. Incorporeal, you of course felt nothing, but Arlan howled, more from fury than pain. He gestured, and suddenly he was surrounded in a protective cocoon that pushed the fire back.

“We’ll meet again, Sohssal! There can be only one Demon Mage!!”

Then with another gesture, Arlan tore open a portal in the air in front of him, revealing a hellish landscape. There was every reason to believe that it was, in fact, a portal to the Hells itself. The newly born demon mage spared you one last look, angrily clasped its pincers together in defiance of you, and then stepped through the portal.

Concluding incendiary purge. Please stand by.

A few moments later, the flames cleared to reveal that the entire room had been scoured clean by the intense fire. All that remained was the heavy metal chair Arlan had been bound in, and that was currently glowing red hot. Now it was the Baron’s voice that you heard, sounding insufferably pleased with himself.

“Well, that was an unexpected interaction between the vaccine and the improved plague. Still, the corruption time has been reduced by a most satisfying amount. It remains to be seen how easily it spreads from the initial infection vector. Most promising nonetheless, I’ll have to be sure to compliment Xeric on his ongoing work to perfect your plague.”

The Baron pauses a moment, and then continues.

“Moving on to the next matter, namely you Sohssal. I regret to inform you that there was an additional modification made to the cargo bay in which you are currently standing. I had silver mirrors installed in recessed panels!”

A moment later, panels throughout the cargo bay slide apart, revealing dozens of silver-lined mirrors. Caught in their reflection, you are torn out of your ephemeral form and painfully rendered once again into the form of an elderly man. Even in your flawed mortal form, however, you were not without your defenses, and you prepare to conjure a storm of magical destruction the likes of which the Baron has never seen! Before you can get that far, however, a lightning bolt of agonizing pain shoots through your brain. Miriam stabbing you directly in the head with her accursed blade would have likely been more pleasant, and for a moment you stand there dazed, struggling to even form a coherent thought through the storm of mental pain.

In that time, a squadron of GHASTs has charged into the cargo bay from the now open door. They seize you, and throw you into the chair, causing your skin to be horribly burned upon coming in contact with the still glowing metal. Blindly, you try to struggle out of the chair, screaming from the incredible agony, the sort of pain you hadn’t felt in decades. Merciless, the GHASTs hold you down in the chair, binding you with chains that are still as hot as the chair, blackening your skin wherever they touch. At some point, you pass out, your feeble body no longer able to support your mind’s demands to continue struggling.

*********

You awaken in a foggy haze, dimly aware of something cool and sweet being poured down your parched throat. As if from far away, you hear the Baron’s voice call.

“Give him a little bit more, but just a bit more. I just need him alive, not in perfect health.”

A little bit more of the delicious mixture is poured into your mouth then, and you feel it seeping into the flesh of your mouth and throat, being absorbed directly into your body. Simultaneously you feel the horrible pain radiating from every part of your body fade to a dull ache, and you manage to force your eyes open. You immediately wish you hadn’t.

You are tightly bound in the same chain Arlan had been in a few minutes ago - or was it hours, or days? You had no idea how long you had been unconscious. Beneath the chains holding you helpless you could feel your skin raw and blistered, somewhat healed from the hideous burns but still painfully tender. Where your body was in contact with the chair – your back, the backs of your legs – the skin was in even worse shape, which suggested just how badly you had been burned before being healed. But the worst thing was the heavy-duty mage collar locked around your throat, cutting off your ability to summon forth magical power, and threatening to electrocute you if you managed to somehow push through the anti-magic wards.

Standing in front of you is the Baron, half a dozen GHASTs, Xeric, Victoria, Shanks (in chains), and Omega (curiously not in chains). The Baron gives you a moment to fully take in your situation, and then gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“Welcome back, Sohssal. I was concerned for a moment that perhaps your ancient body had finally given out. That would have been really disappointing, as then we couldn’t have this little chat. You see, while I appreciate all the excellent work you’ve done on my behalf, in the end I simply can’t trust you. You are a free agent, and eventually you may come to have second thoughts as Arlan did, even if only in an attempt to get out from under my thumb. So I have taken steps to ensure that the first strike is mine.”

Casually reaching out, the Baron wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes. Helplessly as you are, you can only manage to thrash around a bit pathetically, struggling futilely in his grip as Arlan had struggled before you. You feel your vision beginning to grey, and you almost succumb to sweet unconsciousness once more before the Baron releases you. Reflexively, you gulp in breaths of sweet air, slumping against your restraints.

“As you just saw, it would be simplicity itself for me to dispose of you right now. But while it may be foolish of me to do so, for now I still have a use for you. There might be other unforeseen consequences of Xeric’s alterations to your plague, and we may have need of your unique expertise in order to figure out how to fix them. On the bright side for you, the Valkyrie’s arrival means that every effort for the next several days has to go into preparing for her. As I promised you, you will be protected from her vengeance. Assuming we all survive, afterwards we are going to work together to turn your simple demon plague into the most horrifying, virulent disease in the history of the world. And I will be the only one with a defense against it, as the very earth itself is corrupted beneath humanity’s feet! No one will dare oppose me then . . . perhaps they will even come to revere me as a god, the sole protector of mankind! And perhaps if we ever get to that point, I’ll allow you the mercy of dying Sohssal.”

The Baron turns and nods at Omega, who looks away from you at his acknowledgement.

“Don’t even think about refusing to help by the way, because you will. We’ll have Omega tear the secrets of the plague from your mind, only she won’t be so gentle and subtle about it this time. She’s been most helpful all this time, sharing everything she’s been able to oh so carefully pry loose from your mind over the course of her travels with you. You see, before she was Dr. Volkov’s daughter, she was Xeric’s. And bonds of blood are oh so strong.”

Xeric’s projection lays a possessive hand on Omega’s shoulder, and the demon girl closes her eyes and bows her head in obedience. Then Xeric speaks up.

“She’s also obtained the secrets of your transformation, something none of the Sages were able to do with years of torture. Soon there will be another demon mage, only I won’t copy your mistakes!”

At this announcement, the Baron grins at you.

“Do you see, Sohssal? Everything works out in the end. For me, at least.”

Nervously, Victoria clears her throat and then speaks up, shoving Shanks forward.

“My lord, what shall we do with this one? He seems to be just a normal man, and a filthy pirate to boot!”

“Filthy, eh? Well that’s not what you said –“

Shanks retorts with a smirk, silenced by a furious slap from Victoria. The Baron chuckles and then shrugs.

“I’m sure Xeric will have need of test subjects for the new iterations of the plague. This pirate, filthy or not, can meet justice that way.”

At this, one of the GHASTs stepped forward and grabbed Shanks by the arm, intending to lead him away. Immediately he throws himself against the GHASTs, managing to knock it back a step by using his entire body weight.

“Oh you wanna play, bucko!? You wanna **** with the Shanks!!?”

A moment later, and the GHAST grabs hold of the pirate more firmly, lifting the struggling man up over its head. Clearly the GHAST did indeed wish to play with the lunatic pirate. Still holding Shanks up over its head, the GHAST begins to move towards the exit, Victoria pausing a moment before reluctantly following with two more GHASTs. The Baron watches them go for a moment, and then turns back to you.

“Well, I think that is our cue to leave Sohssal. I have a lot of things to get taken care of before the Valkyrie’s arrival, and I imagine you have a lot of thinking to do yourself. I’ll be leaving two GHASTs behind to keep an eye on you. They’ll make sure that you are perfectly uncomfortable and undisturbed over the next couple days. I suggest you enjoy them as well Sohssal. They’ll be the last period of relative peace you will probably ever know.”

And with that, the Baron turns and leaves, followed by two of the remaining GHASTs and Xeric. Omega is the last to leave, pausing to regard you intently, the closest thing she’s ever come to showing emotion since you met her. Then Xeric turns back and calls to her, and she moves to catch up. The last two GHASTs, now your sole company in the room, move to take up flanking positions on either side of the door, and then simply stand there at attention with the tirelessness of constructs.

You are unsure how much time passes, although almost certainly days given how your stomach cries out of food and your throat becomes painfully parched. You are completely helpless, held in your physical form by the hateful mirrors and bound by accursed chains. There is nothing you can do but wait for the Baron to finish with the Valkyrie, hopefully before you perish from lack of nourishment and thirst, and then return. Return to force you into a new life of slavery and humiliation, force you to perfect your plague into a weapon he could use to hold the entire world hostage. And there was nothing you could do to stop him. All you could do . . . was wait.

The Wedding of Amelia Ashargrin and Cheran Gast

Lonna

While waiting for Wulfric to return, you turn your magic inward to heal your own wounds. Although you can’t see with the bandages wrapped around your neck, you believe the wounds to have faded to just bruises. Within a few days, there should no longer be anything to show from having your throat nearly torn out.

At your mention of your doppelganger, Wulfric grimaces.

“Seems like that bitch won’t leave you alone – do you think she’s going to show up again? This loss of emotions thing doesn’t make any sense though – how could she do that to you? And if everything you do feel is muted, well . . .”

Wulfric pauses a moment, the thoughtful look on his face suggesting that he was about to ask you a question. But then you press on to questions about your escape, and Wulfric laughs.

“Not easily, that’s for sure. We got lucky though – ran into Rose again, along with her husband. Hubby was none too happy to see us, and Rose was all shook up, like she had just seen a ghost or something. Still, she wanted to see you safe for whatever reason, so she convinced her husband to help us, and her husband got us through the guards in all the chaos. I carefully left out the details of how you barbequed her dad though – somehow I doubted she’d take that news very well.”

Wulfric growled, glaring a warning at you.

“You’ve been more or less responsible for the deaths of that woman’s entire family. I don’t know why she isn’t out for your blood yet, but I’d be careful if I were you.”

Wulfric shrugged and leaned back against the side of the stall.

“But maybe that’s where we’re different. Anyway, that fellow wasn’t so much a friend as an ally of convenience – he slipped off with nary a word after we were outside the grounds. He seemed to be in a hurry to get out of there. So it’s just the two of us . . . again.”

Seeing you help yourself to the food, Wulfric likes gets something to eat, and the next few minutes pass in relative silence. Then the topic turns back to your duty to your sister, and Wulfric nods.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that. I don’t think it’s a particularly good idea to go visit a ducal estate right after you killed said duke. But I know you won’t let anything stop you, so I guess I’m going along for the ride. Somebody’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

Wulfric packs up the remaining supplies and then stands up. He offers you a hand up as well as he discusses a plan.

“Well, I figure we borrow a pair of horses from this fine stable, and ride them down to the duke’s estate. Shouldn’t be too hard to find, and I’m pretty familiar with where all the nobles have their estates set up. Of course, there’s a chance Volesin has your sister locked up in some dark cellar somewhere rather than having tea at his country estate, but we might as well start there. It should only take us a couple days to get there, which should be enough time to figure out a plan as we travel. Might I suggest we avoid killing everyone inside who isn’t your sister? You’ve already got a fairly sizable chunk of the nobility wanting your head on a platter.”

It takes some time to get two horses saddled up, but apparently they had grown used to your presence in the stables enough that they were not entirely skittish when approached. Wulfric also seemed to have some skill as a horse whisperer, muttering soothing words to them constantly that they actually paid heed to. Finally, both horses were ready, and after casting a quick glance around the stables to make sure you had left anything behind, Wulfric leads the two horses out. From there, you mount up and head out of town, on the path that would lead you to the Volesin country estate. And, with any luck, your little sister.

WhiteKnight777

“That sounds like a wonderful plan.”

Fianna purrs, craning her head up and around to meet your lips with hers. Then she pulls away, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you away from the mouth of the tent and back towards your bedroll.

“We can enact it . . . tomorrow.”

********

After several more days of frenzied preparation, you were finally ready. Well no, you were nowhere near ready, but things were about as good as they were going to get in the time you had left. Your spies are reported that Miriam had assumed physical form, and was swooping directly towards the capital with a host of angels. The divine army was almost there now, and the whispers of fate that you had been hearing previously was now more like screams promising doom and ruin. It was time to move.

The slaves had all been boiled down into their requisite parts, and applied to your army’s weapons and armor – or in the case of the yetis, their fur. Your warriors had gone through enough drills to respond as an allied force and no longer wanted to kill each other, but a disciplined force would still cut through their ranks. Which was fine – in the end they were all just distracting fodder anyway.

Convinced that you had no more time to waste, you had the army break camp and prepare to move out immediately. You had prepared the ground near the camp to serve as a massive teleportation circle, although it was still going to be draining trying to teleport everyone at once. Still, with Fianna at your side, there was nothing the two of you couldn’t accomplish together.

After the army took up positions within the circle, you and Fianna moved to stand at their head, right in the center of a cluster of runes. You interlocked hands, and then concentrated. A collective gasp burst out of the crowd as the runic circles beneath their feet lit up, and then brightened as both you and Fianna poured more energy into the spell. The ground began to shake, and for a moment it looked as if some of your army would spook and run off, which would no doubt prompt most of the rest to follow. But the most ruthless men you had chosen to serve as your lieutenants kept discipline, barking commands and demanding that they hold their ground. Then the light briefly intensified into a blinding flash . . . and suddenly, you were somewhere else.

Dorizzit

Argan pauses to consider your words, and then nods.

“You are right. Still, it is discouraging how that man manages to overcome any obstacle in his way. I would not be surprised if he figured out a way to somehow turn this bloody nose we gave him into a victory. I will attempt to get in touch with Eldred again – if anyone can attempt to set up such wards, he can. But why would you need such a thing?”

“Practice.”

Purifier answers for you, moving your lips as well as you could – the merger between you was growing more complete. At this, Argan nods in sudden understanding, and seems like he was about to add something else when he is interrupted by the door opening behind you both. Turning, you see Katrina standing there, a frown on her face.

“Hey, you mind if I have a quick chat with Korram before you get too involved in trying to kill the Baron again? Alone.”

Taking the hint, Argan nods and walks past her back inside, leaving you alone with your daughter. She looks you up and down a moment and then sighs, pointing at your regenerated arm.

“So. Right before we crashed the wedding, I asked you about how you got your arm back. And you said that if we survived, you’d explain after. Well, after has arrived – so start explaining.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Katrina leans back against the wall and looks at you expectantly.

“I know you didn’t get Calcifer back – I overheard you telling Amelia that much. So who is your new friend? I seem to recall Calcifer was pretty obsessed with getting back home, and that other fire elemental, what was his name – Infernas? – didn’t seem friendly with humans.”

On your behalf, again Purifier answers for you before you can even think of the words.

“I am Korram the Purifier, a union between Korram Alstan and Purifier, another of the Seven Lords of the Inferno. The Korram you knew is no more – I am stronger, faster, better. Tonight was just the start – I will bring an end to the Baron, and all who stand with him! That is all you need to know.”

At “your” announcement, Katrina snorts and shoves away from the wall.

“Wonderful. Just when I start getting used to the thought of liking you Korram, you go and get a make-over! I suppose this increase in your arrogance and deepening of your obsession with the Baron was part of the upgrade too? Well, I happen to like the old Korram, so if he ever comes back you let me know! Until then, I’ll leave you to your plotting, since that’s what is most important to you. Don’t worry, I’ll stick around – nothing’s going to stop me from being there to hear the Baron’s death rattle. But I think you better start thinking long and hard on what you’re going to do after this is all over. Assuming we survive, of course.”

Katrina moves to go back inside, but pauses at the door to look back.

“There’s an old saying I heard once, and I think it’s applicable here. “Make not deals with devils, lest ye become one.” Just . . . think through what you’re going to do beforehand, alright?”

Then she’s gone. You take a step forward, intending on following her – to explain, to somehow make her understand. But Purifier holds you fast, taking control of your body to freeze you in place.

Theme Song (I think it’s time for some more Repo! The Genetic Opera )

Let her go. She doesn’t understand – can’t possibly understand the benefits of our union. But she will learn to accept us as we truly are, in due time. What she thinks right now is unimportant, a distraction from more important concerns. Remember, our only concern is the death of the Baron. He is your mortal enemy, the man who took your wife away, who threatened your daughter with a fate worse than death. He must DIE! Everything else must come after he is done away with. And to that end, I have a plan.

Purifier’s smugness fills your mind.

Perhaps you have heard of Banefire? It is an incredibly destructive force, both to the victim and the user. The Baron is a strong opponent, but not even he could survive a full-strength blast – it would shatter any defenses he could erect, and then it would consume him. Of course, such a blast would consume an equal portion of us in return – that is why it tends to be used so sparingly, even by the Lords of the Inferno. We would have to be careful to stop using it before we are completely destroyed, but the rewards are equal to the risk. I did not bring it up as an option before because I was not quite satisfied with our merger yet. But you have proven to be a clever human, able to make full use of the gifts I have given you. And in another few days, the bond between us should be strong enough that you can make full use of everything I have to offer. It is something for you to consider, at least.

Banefire . . . you remember accidentally using it once in your Escape from Ironheart, and Calcifer was horrified. It had been an unpleasant experience then, but you had survived its use. And Calcifer was seeming more and more like a coward compared to the other Lords of the Inferno. If nothing else, it was one more option you had for dispatching the Baron, should you have need of it when the time came. You would crush the Baron yet!

*********

You spent the next several days practicing, honing the link between you and Purifier as you devised ways to overcome wards against fire with Eldred’s help. Like all elemental magic, wards were attuned to the very element they were supposed to protect against. As such, you found that you could affect them like any other source of fire, magical or otherwise. Unfortunately, trying to manipulate wards could result in a clash of wills between you and their creator, and you doubted the Baron would indulge you in a one-on-one fight again. As such, standing there locked in a battle of wills was unwise when some lackey could be there to run up and shank you in the back. Draining the wards of energy, however, and using them to feed you was something that you could do without having to battle for control. As such, that seemed like the best way of turning the Baron’s own magic against him – absorb it away, and then spit it back into his face in the form of raw flame!

Over the next several days, everyone’s injuries heal, and with a little magical assistance from Eldred should mean that everyone will be ready when the time comes to strike. Elsa continues to stare aimlessly at the wall, eating and drinking only when coaxed by Mina. Eldred confirms that Elsa’s condition is due to the loss of her soul, something he can do nothing about without her actual soul. All of the divinations he attempts to make regarding said soul’s location fizzle, leaving you with no leads to act on for that matter. Likewise the Countess’s unfortunate situation seems to be a problem with no solution. Her spine had been broken during the griffon’s crash into the roof – she can feel nothing below the waist and will never walk again. Healing magic that could cure such a disability was beyond Eldred’s skill – indeed, beyond the skill of most magicians.

Purifier did confirm that he could give her the ability to regenerate from such an injury, just as he allowed you to regenerate your arm (twice now). However, it was not something he could bestow on anyone other than the person he was joined with. Which meant that he would have to join with her as he had done with you, something which he seemed unwilling to do. As he explained it -

It is a benefit stemming from our union, making you more than human. It is not a healing power. Fire consumes, its strengthens, and it purifies, but it does not heal. We are one, and so you enjoy some of the benefits like I do, such as having control over your form. Our bond, now made, is not something that can be broken easily, and I will not risk it just so I can bind myself to the form of a crippled woman! She might not even survive such a union, nor find it favorable – and I require a willing host.

While you practice, things grow very bleak in the world outside the tavern’s walls. The Baron did indeed manage to turn around the disaster of Cheran’s wedding, convincing the other nobles in their fear to elect him King. He immediately turned the capital city into an oppressive fortress, with patrols of guards making regular rounds even in the slums. Every able-bodied man, woman, and child was rounded up and pressed into militia service.

At one point, the city guard launched a raid on the Silver Bells Tavern, and you believed yourselves discovered. As it turned out, however, the guards were merely here for the tavern’s patrons, canceling their day of drinking in favor of drafting into the militia. Mina was likewise rounded up, and Argan nearly went out after her, but Katrina managed to convince him to wait. As it turned out, that was the right decision as Mina rejoined your hidden band a few hours later, having managed to get away from the guards. Unfortunately, the tavern’s owner, a Mr. Grodo, was not so lucky, and with his entry into the militia the tavern was officially shut down. Perversely enough, this actually helped you as it meant nobody would be moving about the tavern, which meant nobody could possibly stumble across your little band taking refuge in one of the back rooms.

Of your little group, Argan was the most capable of slipping about unseen, and he had his disguise of wandering bard as well should he be caught by a patrol. As such, he was the only one who went out during all this to investigate the goings-on in the rest of the city. He was able to learn a fairly surprising amount of information, even if you could not act of it just yet for fear of discovery.

The Baron’s Hands were in full force, groups of them barricading themselves in a number of buildings throughout the city. The Silver Bells Tavern was actually considered for one such site, but apparently a taller building a few blocks away was chosen instead due to its superior field of vision. Except for the makeshift militia barracks being erected, which were all packed to overflowing, the city was largely deserted, almost all of its citizens either drafted, barricaded inside their homes, or having fled the city at the onset.

The apparent cause for all of this was the arrival of Miriam the Valkyrie, whom the new King Gast had depicted as coming to usher in the end of all humanity if She was not stopped. A number of other armies, ranging from undead to elves, had also been sighted as closing in on the capital from all directions. There was also a force of paladins from the Church of Light coming, doubtlessly to support their goddess – perhaps Ander Windrivver was among them?

The most interesting piece of news that Argan brought back, however, was that there were a dozen sites scattered around the city where the Baron was concentrating his efforts to protect. He was trying to be discrete about it, using only Hands and a few GHASTs, but Argan knew what to look for. Arranged on a map, these twelve sites seemed to form a rough circle around the city, concentrated primarily on the docks and slums. The presence of these sites grow even stranger when Argan shared something from his own investigation into the Baron’s activities prior to your arrival in the capital. Apparently the Baron had been shipping barrels full of some sort of treated blood into the city. Argan had become involved after finding a Hand arguing with the Thieves Guild, who had been responsible for smuggling these barrels into the city. And Argan had watched as a shipment of similar looking barrels had been moved into one of the sites yesterday. Unfortunately, investigating seemed likely to bring the full wrath of the new King down upon you, and with the streets swarming with guards you’d have to wait until a better opportunity presented itself. Perhaps while everyone was busy defending the city from all the invading armies? As it turned out, you wouldn’t have to wait much longer for that opportunity.

[Inspectre]

THE FINALE

Theme Song

The strands of Fate weave a torturous web throughout all of history, trapping all things in an inescapable series of choices. It was the choices of yesterday that led to this moment now, and it is the choices of today that will lead into tomorrow. But what none yet realize is that Choice is an illusion. All has been foreseen; Nothing can be averted.

Today’s events, momentous as they are, are merely the first link in a chain that will bind the entire world to its ultimate fate. The pieces that will forge the remaining links have not yet gathered together, but today they will all be set onto that path.

This first link of the chain shall be forged in the fires of War. Using his newly granted authority, King Gast the First has rallied the human defenders of the capital city of Narle. All those capable of serving, willing or not, have been drafted into a militia to defend the city. Their ranks have been reinforced with mercenaries, city guards, and the private armies of the nobility. Interestingly enough, little of the King’s personal resources appeared to be invested in the capital’s defense, though none dared question it.

However, those who would know where to look would find the former Baron’s own resources hidden away in preparation as well – Hands sprinkled amongst the militia ranks or hiding in barricaded buildings. The majority of his more overt resources were used in protecting the Gastly Truth, hanging over the city like an immense metallic raven. He knew that it would be in the skies above the capital that the fiercest fighting would be waged, and so he had invested his resources accordingly. After all, he would be leading the battle personally from the deck of his airship, rather than cowering within the confines of the Royal Palace. And Miriam would be coming to kill him first.

The sun had only been hanging in the sky for a few short hours before the enemies of the King’s new order began to arrive. From the west came the ravenous hordes of undead, consuming all in their path. Overhead the vast horde, three immense obsidian pyramids hung, slowly floating along and leading the horde by the shadows each cast upon the ground below. Despite the sunlight lancing down through the gathering clouds, none of the undying monstrosities, not even the vampires, appeared bothered by the sun’s presence.

From the south came the battered remains of the Church’s once-mighty army. Turned against itself and torn apart, this force was not the relentless tide of righteousness it once had been. But the banners of the Church were still held high, and reflected sunlight gleamed in waves off the well armored ranks of those paladins who yet remained. Diminished but not yet broken, the Church’s army would give a mighty accounting of itself before the last paladin fell.

In between these two forces, a third force appeared seemingly out of nowhere. A mish-mash of two radically different factions, desert-dwelling nomads and yetis, this odd force was nonetheless ready for the coming battle. Clad in the same scarlet war paint, the disparate factions managed to work together to provide a unified, if somewhat disorganized front as they prepared for their own assault on the capital.

Soon enough a fourth army emerged from the forest to the southeast – the elves had arrived. More spread out than the previous armies, the elves advanced in an amorphous mass that nonetheless held the promise of organized intent as the advance scouts cautiously crept closer to the capital’s walls.

Unnoticed by anyone, beneath the surface of the ocean that formed Narle’s northern border a fifth army gathered. The mermen had come to stake their own claim to the world’s future, driven by the whims of a man who should have perished long ago. But like the leaders of two of the other attacking armies, he had defied Death only to be ensnared by Fate.

A truly cataclysmic battle could have been fought between the forces already arrayed on the field. But as the skies continued to darken, blotting out the sun, a new light appeared in the East. The final participant in the oncoming slaughter had arrived – Miriam and Her attending angels. Flying at the head of Her daughters, Miriam shone like a miniature sun, lighting the way for Her army. An unnatural silence descended over the area as She and Her attendants slowed to a stop, hovering over the crowded field of battle as if they were here to judge its outcome rather than participate.

The forces had all been assembled, the Seven Armies of the New Apocalypse ready to commit to their own destruction. Only one force could emerge from the wreckage to claim victory over this climatic battle. That was the theory anyway, which would spell Doom for all involved, for in the end the outcome of this struggle would be different than any of them could predict.

And thus, The End Begins.

Enter the Valkyrie

Theme Song

Miriam looked down upon the crowded battlefield with a frown. She had expected to engage the Baron and his lackeys here, but these other armies were unexpected. The only welcome sight was that of Her Church’s banners fluttering over one of the approaching armies – Ander had evidently been successful in wrestling control away from Morganna. Miriam could hear the whispers of Fate clearly now – this situation was no accident. But it was too late to ponder alternative courses of action now. She had not possessed this innocent girl’s body and summoned Her remaining forces to the mortal plane merely to turn away now. Fate had dictated Her course here, and Fate would dictate the outcome of this battle.

“Athelion, give Me Your strength.”

Miriam breathed, closing Her eyes as She felt another tremor of pain race through the body of Her host. The poor girl had never been meant for this purpose, and Miriam’s presence alone was slowly burning it out. Her direct participation in this battle would undoubtedly accelerate the process, but Her direct participation was necessary to ensure the Baron’s end.

Even that may not be enough with the arrival of the other factions – each just as eager to claim dominion. She would have to put an end to all of them, then, a death toll that would equal the final battle against Azguloth, or the bloody war against Phaedra. Then as now, the mortals had chosen such a fate for themselves. Miriam owed them nothing but a swift fulfillment of their demise.

Steeling Herself for the battle, Miriam twirled to face Her daughters, drawing Her sword as She did so. She raised the blade high into the air over Her head, and then spoke, Her voice booming across the field.

“Daughters! The time of reckoning has come yet again upon the land! Mortals have succumbed to their own vanity, and seek to challenge the authority of the gods! This is not the first time they have raised a hand against their own Creators, and perhaps it will not be the last! But we shall not allow this current challenge to go unmet! We have come here today to teach humanity a lesson that it has long since forgotten! And although it may be forgotten again, after today we can be certain that it will be remembered by Humanity for ten thousand years!”

From the assembled host of angels came a harsh battle cry, every one of them as eager as their Goddess to avenge the atrocities done to their sisters. But unlike their Goddess, none of them held the secret fear that this battle would be the Last. That humanity would in fact rise to the prophesized occasion and topple the gods, in turn ushering in the end of all existence. But Miriam betrayed none of that concern as She swung back to regard the assembled mortal armies.

“Mortals, there is now a choice before you! If you submit to the will of the gods and abandon the field of battle you may be spared! But if you persist in this futile conflict then you shall most certainly endure the full wrath of the gods! I await your answer!”

Enter the King

Theme Song

From the top deck of his airship, the King watched the armies of his enemies gather. From this high up, all of them looked like swarms of ants – and that was exactly how he intended to crush them all. But there was one enemy missing, and for a moment Demetrius grew concerned that perhaps his efforts would be all for naught. Then the horizon lit up as the Valkyrie streaked across the sky like a brilliant falling star, trailed by her remaining angels, and the former Baron of Gast smiled. Everything was going according to plan.

Truth be told, it was fortunate that this battle would not just be him against the Valkyrie. The other factions would force her to divide her forces and attention, because she couldn’t tolerate their existence any more than she could tolerate his. Likewise, the other factions would vie with each other for control of the capital, wasting precious time and resources. The newly crowned King didn’t give a damn about the city below him, save for the fact that this location had been specially prepared, and would therefore play an important role in the coming battle.

Demetrius spared one last glance at the divine force hovering outside the city, and then turned back to his wife. He leaned in for one last kiss, and briefly lamented the fact that some sacrifices were unavoidably necessary. She had been a useful partner in every sense of the word, but now her usefulness was nearing an end. As he pulled away, he favored her with a tight-lipped smile and nodded in the direction of the far end of the airship.

“It is time, my dear. You know what to do.”

The Baroness turned Queen nodded and turned towards the far end of the airship’s deck. No longer concealed to the world, her deformed crimson wings flared outwards slightly before gathering themselves up against her back. She briefly fingered the two artifact swords sheathed at her waist, which still contained the souls of Elandra and Dacian, and then glanced back at her husband one last time.

“I will handle everything on my end for as long as I can. Make sure you handle everything on yours. And try to spend a minimal amount of time on gloating.”

And with that Isabella departed without another word, striding towards her own destiny. Demetrius watched her go for a moment, and then the clatter of chains behind him caught his attention. Turning around, he watched as a trio of GHASTs finished securing Ysora to an ornate black altar that had been bolted onto the deck. Helpless but not mindless, the archangel turned her head to regard him with a raised eyebrow.

“So I am to be used in another clichéd ritual? What are you planning to do, call upon the aid of the Hells in return for my soul? No fiend will be able to save you from Miriam’s wrath!”

Demetrius simply shook his head and laughed.

“Do you know I think I’ve heard that from every single angel I’ve tortured? Or, at least, the ones I allowed to speak. It gets dreadfully old after a while. But to answer your question, no you aren’t. You simply aren’t that important. Your singular purpose here is to act as bait, to draw Miriam fully into the web I have spun. If Miriam thinks her precious archangel is in danger, she’ll rush in blindly to save you. Now then, the proper bait can be seen and not heard. Someone gag her before she spouts another empty threat.”

At that moment, Miriam’s voice boomed across the valley, and Demetrius scowled as he turned back to regard the angelic host. His lips trembled through the motions of a spell as he fought the urge to place his hands over his ears so that he could actually think over Miriam’s droning. A moment later, his spell completed and Demetrius’s own voice boomed back.

“If any man abandons his post, he is a coward and a traitor to his people! I trust his disposal to his comrades-in-arms! Humanity must stand united in the face of annihilation!”

Throwing his arms out from his side in defiance, and aware that no one but those on the top deck with him could see it, Demetrius continues.

“We reject your dominion over us, Valkyrie! You come here to punish us, to enforce your tyranny with the sword! But we shall bow to you no longer! Humanity will stand free of the gods after millennia of slavery! I will give you the same choice you offered to us – flee this ground and never return, or perish!”

From the city below, a faint cheer echoed up as every man still guarding the walls bellowed his defiance. Smirking, Demetrius temporarily turned his spell off as he pulled a communication crystal out of his jacket. A moment after activation, an image of the Gastly Truth’s bridge appeared. Overseeing the battle from there, Angelo turned to face the crystal and waited expectantly. The King’s orders were swift.

“Arm all cannons and tell the gunners manning them to take aim at the angelic host. They are to await my signal, however. I trust they will know the moment when.”

Trusting his son’s efficiency in this matter, Demetrius deactivated the crystal and reactivated his spell. He paused for a few beats, and then roared his last challenge to the Valkyrie.

“You wish to know our answer, Valkyrie!? Well here it is – FIRE!!!!”

An instant later, several dozen beams of light lanced out from the side of the airship towards the waiting angels. Built on the same principles as the GHAST’s wing cannons but considerably scaled upwards in size and power, each cannon held the power to destroy even an angel in a single shot. At such long range, most of the first barrage missed as the angelic ranks parted and scattered, allowing the beams to pass harmlessly through. But a few angels were unlucky, and Demetrius watched in bloodthirsty glee as half a dozen blackened corpses tumbled from the air. The first blow in this great battle having been struck, Demetrius allowed himself to indulge in his desire to gloat a little.

“All guns, fire at will! Come get me, bitch!!!”

Demetrius roared, and then dismissed his spell. When the Valkyrie arrived, he would want to taunt her some more, but that was better done on a quieter, more intimate scale. Demetrius flexed his own deformed wings for a moment, and then drew his sword. He doubted he would have to wait long before the Valkyrie arrived. All he had to do once she got here was survive. And hope that in all his planning over the years for this one, singular moment, he hadn’t missed some crucial detail.

Enter the Instruments of Fate

Theme Song

And so begins the great battle to decide the fate of the world. Good vs. Evil, Freedom vs. Tyranny, Humanity vs. the Gods. All of these battles had been fought before, and now they would be fought again. But neither Demetrius Gast nor Miriam the Valkyrie would decide the outcome. Instead it would be the efforts of a handful of individuals that would tip the scales. It was time for these Instruments of Fate to make themselves felt on the battlefield.

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Archpaladin Zousha

Coming over the last hill between you and the capital, you find that the city’s defenders are ready for you. The ramparts for the high wall surrounding the city are packed with people, and overhead hangs the immense shape of the King’s airship. But the city’s defenders are not your only concern.

Off on the west side of the city swarms a giant mass of undead, with a trio of strange black pyramids hovering above the horde. Between you and them another army suddenly pops into being, no doubt the result of some sort of incredibly powerful teleport spell. The majority of that army doesn’t seem to be much to look at – strangely-garbed men in crimson war paint. However, there are also massive, hairy humanoid beasts with them which look quite formidable despite their obvious discomfort with the warm spring air. And whoever was responsible for teleporting them all here was likely in the midst of that mass somewhere – the true threat amongst these newcomers, no doubt. Things get worse when elves appear out of the forest from the other side of your army. The only thing that gives you hope is the sight of Miriam and her angels soaring towards the city.

“We’ll have to move quickly if we want to get into the city ahead of these others. Although I’d rather we not get trapped between the walls and these newcomers, either. Something about them seems familiar to me . . .”

Ander mutters from beside you, doing his best to serve as your secret advisor. For now, he had clothed himself in a heavy cloak and robe, concealing his face and armor from sight. You were the clear leader of the paladins, clad in the armor of the Lord General and with the appropriate banner attached to your mount. However, that dubious honor also made you a prime target for any hidden adversaries. The choice was clear – do you charge ahead towards the city, hoping to be the first group to breach its walls? Do you wait and allow the other factions to crash against the walls first and attempt to come in behind them? Or do you move forth and engage one of your rivals early, fighting in the open fields outside the city rather than against them in the chaotic maze of city streets?

Pwenet

Still at your brother’s side, you watch Isabella go with no small amount of trepidation. The way she was walking, and the expression on her face . . . it didn’t seem that she expected to survive, whatever part in all this she was going to play. A few moments later, and he gives the order to fire, and you watch as a hundred lances of light reach out to the Valkyrie’s forces, striking half a dozen angels from the sky. But there are many, many more left, and now they are all angrily swooping forwards. As a force of GHASTs moves out to meet them halfway, Demetrius turns to glance at you.

“Well, I suspect she’ll be here *very* soon. I suggest you get ready for the fight of your life brother – and considering what you’ve already been through, that’s saying something!”

You are about to reply when you feel a strange sensation wash over you. A wave of anticipation builds within you suddenly, and then it pops as Seer Maya’s voice resounds in your head.

When the time comes, you will choose your own fate.

Suddenly, the feeling that Demetrius could command you passes, the magic forcing your fealty to him shattered. That didn’t discount any contingency systems he can put into place, but your will was totally your own once more. Better still, your brother didn’t seem to be aware of his lapse of control, otherwise you imagine he would be scrambling for that contingency plan right now. However . . . you are still surrounded by your brother’s guards, and although the Valkyrie is here She is still a ways off. You would have to be careful in directly opposing your brother until the moment was exactly right. Still, it looked like fights were about to break out all over, and there were other ways to ruin your brother’s day without having to punch his lights out. You could always look into those other options first, and then come back to deliver the killing stroke personally later, after Miriam had slapped him around a bit and tenderized him.

(As always, you’re welcome to do whatever. And knowing you, I’m sure you’ll come up with some surprising and insanely awesome plan! )

Iethloc

You are starting to go delirious from thirst and the stinging torment of sitting in humanoid form, surrounded by the hateful silver mirrors. Certainly delirium is the only reasonable explanation for what you are witnessing.

Beneath your feet, the deck shudders as the airship unleashes a tremendous amount of power into . . . something. You can dimly hear the Baron’s voice, as well as Miriam, shouting back and forth at each other. The great battle was evidentially finally under way. And then the doors to your makeshift cell swing open for the first time since the Baron left you here to rot.

Through them, Victoria tumbles through, unleashing a blast of fire pointblank into the neck of the GHAST to the left of the door. The blast melts the plating holding the construct’s head in place, sending it clattering to the floor. A second blast from Victoria strikes the GHAST in the chest, sending the rest of its body clattering into a heap. Slowly, the separated pieces of the GHAST melt and begin to flow back together, a process which Victoria desperately attempts to prevent with more magical fire. This leaves her open to an attack from behind by the other GHAST.

As it prepares to skewer her from behind, however, Shanks leaps through the still-open doorway, wielding a sword that flashes with arcane power. He cleaves into the construct’s neck as he sails past, severing its head from its shoulder in much the same way as Victoria did. Then, with a wild whoop, he kicks the GHAST’s head halfway across the cargo bay, sending the construct stumbling and crawling towards it.

“Yeah! I told you not to **** with the Shanks! That’s what you get!”

Shanks taunts, and then looks down at his sword in wonder.

“Wow baby, I believed you when you said you had some power, but that was amazing!”

“Really? I enchant a sword for you, and that’s all you can think of now!?”

“Oh no, I have plenty of other thoughts about you. But all of them aren’t the sort of thing you share in public.”

“Oh ho ho, you dirty pirate!”

“That’s filthy, my dear!”

The two of them embrace for a passionate kiss a moment later, and now you know you’ve completely lost your mind. So convinced that this is all an illusion, you simply watch as Victoria continues to keep the GHASTs occupied while Shanks runs over to you.

“Cap’n? Cap’n! Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here!”

He shouts, and it’s only after he’s grabbed hold of you to shake you do you finally believe that somehow, impossibly, what you are seeing is actually real. Or at least, an elaborate enough fantasy of your delirious mind that you might as well go along with.

“Cap’n, what should I do!? Should I smash these mirrors, or get you out of them chains first? There’s an awful lot of mirrors here . . .”

Shanks mutters, looking around at the mirror-covered walls and ceiling. Meanwhile, Victoria continues to desperately blast away at both of the GHASTs, as they begin to regenerate and get back up despite her best efforts.

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast! I can’t keep them both down forever!!”

(Assume that Shanks does whatever Sohssal tells him to do, and that once freed Sohssal may then wreck bloody vengeance upon the two GHASTs and any remaining mirrors should he so desire.)

WhiteKnight777

You find yourself standing with Fianna at the head of your army on the side of a hill. In the valley below you lies your destination – Narle, the current capital of Man. The Baron (and you would always think of him as a Baron, if not less) had used the time available to him well. The city had obviously been fortified, and now quite possibly every able-bodied man and woman now stood packed on its walls, awaiting your force’s approach. In the dark skies above hung the Baron’s prize airship, hovering like a black albatross that would drag everything else down with it.

Hardly surprising, you were not alone in your assault upon the city. To your left was a ravenous horde of undead, led on by a trio of black pyramids that were immediately recognizable – Kartul. And off to your right was an equally familiar and unwelcome sign – the god botherers had turned out in force to help their goddess. Further still across the battlefield, a force of elves appeared. And then the sky lit up as Miriam and her angels appeared. Everyone was all here – it was time to get the party, as it were, started.

“Who do we go after first, love? Or are we going to divide . . . and conquer?”

Fianna asked, looking more alive than she had in thousands of years – both thanks to the heart now beating once more in her chest, and also from the prospect of great bloodshed.

Dorizzit

The day had finally arrived. The disparate armies had come, and now a furious battle would be waged over the fate of the city. You cared nothing for the city or its inhabitants – you craved only the death of one evil man. And perhaps today, you would finally get that opportunity.

For the moment, rocketing up to the Gastly Truth and engaging King Gast seemed like an unwise decision. The Valkyrie had not yet committed Her forces, and so you would be fighting against the King and his bodyguards alone. But soon enough they might become distracted, enabling you to carry vengeance forth on flaming wings.

Until then, you could oppose him in other ways. The streets were completely empty at this point, every single guard deployed to the walls or barricades erected to block off streets. Fortunately Argan had been out enough to see the locations of every barricade, and had plotted a course that would take you to the nearest mysterious site without having to pass through any of them. Not that burning your way through a crowd of fools who had blindly accepted their new King’s false words didn’t sound appealing too.

With you, Katrina, Argan, and Eldred gone however, that left the tavern unprotected. Although Eldred could erect a few unpleasant surprises and wards for any invaders, Mina, Elsa, and the Countess would be essentially unprotected in your joint absence. Then again, no one seemed to know that anyone was hiding in the tavern either – and certainly if the new King did, you’d have had an army of GHASTs smashing in the door by now.

(Pretty much up to you where to go first, or if you even went to remain hiding for a little while longer, waiting for the armies to engage and being expending themselves. You could go engage in a little sabotage on one of the walls, hit a safe house for the Hands, investigate one of the mysterious sites the Baron has erected around the city, or go up to his airship directly. I think that’s all the places you would probably be interested in. )

[Inspectre]

The Hero of the Oppressed

OverWilliam

“Alright, we should be ready. Let’s do this!”

Limier hisses, and then activates the fire crystals she had set up against the wall. A massive fireball erupts, shattering the stone and sure enough, revealing a room on the other side. Apparently this was some sort of recreation room, as three men were sitting around a table with a deck of cards being passed out amongst them. Limier is already through the gaping hole in the wall before the dust has settled, throwing a stiletto into one Inquisitor’s throat before he can even stand. The other two manage to push away from the table and swing up to their feet with a battle-cry however, one lunging for Limier the other turning to make a run for the open doorway on the far side of the small room. You’d have to act quickly if you wanted to cut him off.

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

You awaken in darkness, immobile. It takes your mind a minute to rise enough out of the fog to realize that the darkness is being caused by a sack over your head, your inability to move by bindings. The sack of your head is musty, and smells of mold and potatoes. A grimy cloth has also been tied in your mouth, gagging you and leaving behind a foul bitter taste. Your hands have been tied together at your waist in front of you, and numerous coils of rope are tightly wrapped around your chest, pinning your arms to your sides. These same coils of rope also loop around your wings, crushing them painfully against your back.

Hearing voices, you stir and wonder if you should try to call out to them. It becomes clear that the voices are not friendly a moment later, when something hard slams into the side of your head, nearly sending you back into unconsciousness and leaving a warm sticky spot growing from a spot near your right temple. The voices continue, louder now, seeming to argue with each other. Although dizzy from the blow and only just clinging to consciousness, you are able to make out what their saying through the sack.

“What the hell man, ye could ha’ killed her!?”

“Bah, so what!? That woulda put an end to this filthy witch, or demon, or whatever the Hells she is! Besides, you really think I could kill her with a SHOVEL!?”

“Look mate. Either that rope is going to hold her, in which case you don’t need to take a shovel to her, or it isn’t and you shouldn’t be pissing her off by whacking her with a damn shovel!”

A moment later, and a door opens nearby, and a third man joins the conversation. You recognize the newcomer’s voice – it’s Julian.

“We’re ready outside. Get her up.”

“Look lad, I dunno who put ye in charge, but if ye think I’m going to touch that –“

“GET. HER. UP!”

A few moments later, you feel two pairs of strong hands grab hold of you by the arms, dragging you up to your feet. The two men are fairly burly, bulky types, the ones at home in the fields, and who wouldn’t be entirely out of place among Ironheart’s guards. Even so, although they handle you roughly, there is a certain caution to their actions - as if they are scared of you. A moment after they have you pulled up to your feet, someone reaches up and pulls the sack off your head, and both men beside you take a nervous gulp of breath. You seem to be inside of a barn which is brightly lit, leaving you blinking in the sudden light. In front of you is Julian, holding the sack that had been previously down over your head. His face is hard, holding none of the kindness it once shone with. As a demonstration of this, he tosses the sack aside, walks around behind you, grabs a handful of hair, pulls your head painfully back, and then slides a blade up against your throat.

“If the bitch gives us any trouble, I’ll slit her throat myself. Now, let’s go.”

Julian announces, and together the four of you make your way out of the barn, the two men half dragging, half carrying you.

Theme Song

Outside it is night but you nonetheless find a large crowd gathered, likely almost the entire population of Stonefall. Most of them are carrying torches, shedding plenty of light in the surrounding area but leaving plenty of room for shadows to dance about amongst the crowd. Before your small procession, the crowd parts, revealing what it awaiting you at the center – the massive pole you had observed being sunk into the ground earlier, with the addition of a large pile of wood stacked up all around the base.

You are dragged into the middle of the crowd, right in front of this pole. From here you can smell the strong odor of pitch and oil, and can see here and there parts of the wood pile glisten with it. There is no doubt that the slightest spark would ignite the entire thing into a fire, and a massive one at that. For the moment, you are not taken to the pole at the wood pile’s center, however, but instead to a spot off to one side. There, some sort of circle surrounded by runes has been prepared. Your escorts drag you into the middle of the circle and then force you down onto your knees. Picking up an iron collar, they lock it around your neck, keeping you in a kneeling position by means of a taut chain connected to the collar and anchored into the ground.

Then the two men release you and quickly step back, glad to be away from you. Julian however stands his ground, releasing his grip on your hair but still keeping his blade resting beneath your chin. From the crowd steps a man in priestly robes – for a moment you think that it is Daddy, back from the Hells to punish you, but after catching a glimpse of this man’s face you see that it is not him after all. Nonetheless, he has the same stern tone in his voice as he addresses the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have assembled here tonight to determine if there is a servant of the Forger of Oblivion in our midst! This young girl, if girl she indeed be, stands accused of being that servant! Before I can pass judgment on her soul, however, I must hear the evidence against her, as well as her refutation of it! Be not afraid – while within the warding circle, she is powerless! Nonetheless, this brave lad shall continue to hold a blade against her throat to put an end to her should she attempt any deception! Please remove the accused’s gag now!”

Roughly, Julian reaches his free hand around and jerks the gag down out of your mouth. The priest moves to the edge of the circle and looks down on you with a mixture of pity and disgust.

“Now tell me, my child. You have been accused of a grave sin. Even looking at the mockery you have made of your body is evidence of this, nonetheless, I shall ask if you have an explanation. Why do you have the wings of an angel, when you are clearly not a servant of the gods!?”

The New God on the Block

Gorgondantess

While Maurice busies herself with locating a scabbard, you go find Omnicron and your high priest to tell them the good news. Omnicron is quite interested in the results of your meeting, although he comes up with a few questions that you can’t answer.

“What of my sister? For that matter, what of me!? Am I still to be considered an outcast, a traitor for my actions regardless of the boon they have brought to all!?”

Ah yes. You had assumed the matter had been settled on Omnicron’s sister after Augustus refused to release her from her duties as oracle. But you do dimly remember that Augustus had offered to consider Omnicron’s fate later. No matter, it really was no concern of yours either. What happened to the human was between him and his former comrades in arms. It really was none of your concern . . . although you suppose you do owe him for bringing up the possibility of a peaceful resolution to the Dusk Warden threat. Although on the other, other hand, that was largely Augustus’s doing, and not Omnicron’s.

Reading the answers, or lack thereof, on your face, Omnicron sighs and nods.

“I will go to Augustus, and if he is willing, I will discuss the matters with him myself. You need not worry yourself about my fate any longer. Though I doubt you worry much about anything. I am glad things have worked out in favor of peace. If I am lucky, perhaps I can convince Augustus to take me back home with him. If not . . . perhaps I can stay here as an advisor and unofficial liaison for the Dusk Wardens?”

Omnicron looks thoughtful and nods slowly.

“Yes . . . well, I wish you luck in your new endeavors, whatever they may be. Please excuse me.”

Omnicron then walks out, leaving you with the high priest to deal with.

“I will ensure that the congregation flourishes in your absence.”

The high priest promises, although now that you have little interest in competing with the existing gods, you have little interest in his promises as well. What does it matter whether your followers multiply or die out now? While your high priest continues to drone reassuring platitudes, Maurice appears in the doorway, her sword hanging from her hip. Unable to find a scabbard to meet the exact dimensions of her sword in her frenzied search, the angel had opted to simply tie a loop of rope around her waist, and then slide the sword through a secondary loop she had made in the rope.

“Let’s go!”

Maurice says simply, and a minute later the two of you are flying towards the outskirts of the village. By now, it is dawn, with the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon. Looking back, you can see that the Dusk Wardens have largely finished packing up, and their pet monstrosity was beginning to move. You had not expected the Dusk Wardens to be so eager to leave, although their unexpected efficiency was welcome.

You are some distance away from town when suddenly the Dusk Warden’s monstrosity broke the morning calm with its high-pitched roar.

“ARCHDEMON!!!”

It screams, moving not towards the horizon in the opposite direction but heading into town, wading through the outlying buildings and stomping them into tinder without any concern for their occupants.

“COME OUT AND FACE YOUR DEMISE!!!”

The beast screams again, and then opens its mouth to spew forth a column of fire that sweeps across a swatch of buildings in front of it. A moment later, and the dawn is lit up with a miniature sun as the buildings explode into bright green-tinged fire. Maurice whirls in mid-air and gasps in horrified shock.

“We – we have to help them! They may have chosen to abandon my Lady in favor of you, but that does not justify abandoning them in turn! I am sure my Lady will understand if we stay to protect them rather than hurrying to the battlefield! I don’t understand the reason for this aggression though!? I thought you had made an agreement with Augustus for peace!?”

Another fireball engulfs a new section of town as the Dusk Warden beast continues to rampage deeper into your chosen city. Maurice was right in that the people had no chance against the creature or even the small army of Dusk Wardens doubtlessly clinging to its corrupted form. You might not even have any chance either, but with Maurice swooping back towards town your options were severely limited. It seems you would be getting a chance to test your theory on executing the High Warden crippling the Dusk Wardens. But what could have provoked Augustus into launching this attack when he had previously been so desperate for peace and to make amends? Perhaps his hunger had finally overcome his senses?

In the end it didn’t really matter. You would kill him and put an end to the Dusk Wardens once and for all! Or . . . you suppose, perish in the attempt. Although there was still that awfully tempting third option – leave everyone, including Maurice, to their fate and continue flying off into the distance, running and hiding for as long as you could.

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

The day of the trial has finally arrived, and you find yourself standing in the main Assembly Hall. This was the first time you had stood here since the hearing for your own exile years ago, and the echoes from that day haunt your every step. Still, Cherise is there with you, as is your father although he looks ragged, his normally stern face even grimmer with the weight of the accusations against him. In the rows of seats behind you sit the assembled Canticles, the real traitor sitting in one of those very seats. Looking back you can see Duncan sitting in the section for the Canticles of Winter, watching the proceedings with open interest. Across the room from you is the table containing Benedict and his assistant, representing the Adjudicators. And before you are the seven members of the Tribunal, some of the eldest and most respected members of the Canticles other than the head of each branch. Today their faces are concealed by masks, making it impossible to tell them apart nor guess who exactly you were addressing. The leader bangs his gavel against the desk in front of them and clears his (or her) throat.

“Esteemed Members of the Canticles, I hereby call this session of the Assembly to order!”

The leader begins, its voice distorted into a genderless monotone by the mask.

“We stand united today by a very disturbing accusation. Jean Harvent stands accused of the charge of treason – and worse yet, of consorting with warlocks!”

Everyone present already knew why they were here, but still a wave of mutters races through the assembly. The leader bangs its gavel again for silence, and then continues.

“Now then, the Adjudicators claim that they have discovered a great deal of evidence to support this accusation. Before the evidence is presented, however, we will hear the opening arguments from each side, summarizing their stance on this matter. As is customary, we will hear the defense’s side first. Is the defense prepared to deliver their statement to refute the Adjudicator’s accusations?”

At this, Cherise nudges you and leans in close.

“You want me to handle this or do you want to speak? After your own experiences here I can only imagine how hard it is going to be to get up in front of all these people and defend your father.”

(You don’t have to worry too much about playing lawyer. This is mostly just the framing device for where Isera’s finale is going to take place. So it’s fine if you just want to skip over Isera handling the various aspects of defending her father and just say that she does so, or even lets Cherise handle it while Isera keeps an eye on Duncan. )

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Lonna

After several days of travel you find yourself standing before Volesin’s country estate. Set apart from the nearby town by a high wall, the estate seems to be one massive building rather than a complex of smaller structures. Volesin seems quite mindful of his security, as the high wall is topped with iron-wrought spikes and has only one obvious gate. There are no less than three guards manning the gate at any time, and through the gate you catch glimpses of foot patrols, each consisting of several men, roaming the grounds periodically. Between the walls and the estate itself is about one hundred feet of open ground on all sides.

Without getting onto the grounds themselves you aren’t sure how many entrances there are, but know of at least three – one from the stables portion of the estate, the (guarded) front door, and a servant’s entrance. Strangely (or perhaps not given how secretive Volesin was), no one seems to be aware of the duke’s death yet. It looked like it was business as usual for the estate and surrounding town. As such, while there was a lot of security on the estate, it was fairly open – on several occasions you saw servants go out into the town to fetch supplies and then come right back.

“So how do you want to approach this?”

Wulfric asks, quite possibly for the fifth time today as you continue to examine the comings and goings of the estate staff.

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

Several hours later, the rumble of a loud gong crashes throughout the cavern, bringing everyone to alertness whether they be asleep, in meditation, eating, or otherwise preoccupied. A moment later, and the voice of your sponsor booms throughout the cavern as the gong fades into silence.

“All contenders, please report to the central cavern for the opening ceremony.”

Arriving back in the central cavern, you see that a crowd has gathered around the central fighting pit. At one end of the pit, a wooden throne has been assembled, with a large metal gong set next to it. The young boy who had served as your guide stands next to the gong holding a large stick, while your sponsor stands on top of the throne, arms thrown above his head. Unlike how he appeared before you on the street, now he is clad in an ornate and brightly colored silk robe, leaving no doubt that your sponsor was the organizer of this tournament as well.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and gender-neutral beings, welcome to the Centennial Tournament! I hope you have all found the hospitality to your liking, but now the time has come to address the reason why you are all really here! Starting in a few minutes, the Tournament shall begin, and you will all be given the chance to display your martial prowess! Only one of you can ascend to become the Tournament Champion, and as it is single-elimination, you will be given only one chance to succeed! Remember that there are no arbitrary limits placed on your fighting style within the pit, however it is expected that outside the pit you will be civil with all of your fellow contenders! Any aggression outside the pit is merit for immediate disqualification! Likewise, I ask that you limit the use of techniques that cause widespread destruction – we don’t want any onlookers injured, and I would appreciate it if you left the pit intact for other contenders to use! Now then, on to the moment you have been waiting for! The display of the match list!”

The tournament organizer gestured, and suddenly the far wall of the cavern burst into arcane fire. Scrawled there in burning script was an immense list of names, paired off for the first round of matches. Interestingly enough, no matter how far up the wall a pair of names was, you found that you could read them clearly. Your name was at the very top – yours would be the first match! A moment later, the old man confirmed this piece of surprising news.

“Our first match shall be – Mal Halrath versus Skor Pon! The fight will begin in five minutes, both contenders please report to the fighting pit!”

A few minutes later, and you found yourself down in the fighting pit. Pit was a bit of a misleading term however, as the sandy bottom was scarcely a few inches below the rest of the floor. It did clearly delineate the boundaries of where they expected most of the fight to take place, however. The “pit” was about a hundred feet long by thirty feet wide, and ringed by the aforementioned benches, with the arcane script-filled wall behind you and the organizer’s throne ahead of you.

You are alone within the boundaries of the pit, and after a minute the organizer speaks up.

“Has Skor Pon decided to forfeit his right to compete in the tournament!?”

He called, and a moment later he was answered by a reedy and muffled voice calling out from the crowd.

“I’m over here!”

A robed and masked figured strides out of the crowd, striding down into the fighting pit. The man shrugs out of his robe easily, revealing a muscular human figure, although his face remains concealed by the mask. He drops into a fighting stance, and glances behind him at the organizer. The old man nods and raises a hand.

“Very well then! Ready? FIGHT!”

The old man drops his hand, and the boy at the foot of the throne smashes his stick into the gong, giving the crashing signal that it was time to fight.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Theme Song

"We've no time to lose, Ander. The false King has begun his assault on Miriam already!"

He turns his steed to the ragged army of the Church, looking upon the people who'd brought him this far. Katashiko, once his prisoner, now his trusted friend. Ander, broken and bloodied, but not beaten. The other Generals, they who were his commanders now the commanded. He looked up to see Miriam, his goddess, in the flesh, battling a foe so heinous he had brought not just the wrath of the goddess and the church down upon him, but so many other as well.

He pulls out his greatsword, hefting it with one hand while keeping the other on the horse's reins.

"Brothers and Sisters in the Valkyrie's service, hear me! This day marks the greatest battle we as believers have ever fought. We stand against the newly crowned King, Demetrius Gast, who has bartered away his soul to the forces of Hell for the power to kill a goddess. He claims to be creating a new world, where man makes his own decisions and is not beholden to the will of the gods. So, we shall send him a message this day. That we have made our decision, and we are saying "No!" That we will not open our throats to Hell, and that this day, we stand by our goddess. Take heart, for there she is above us. She will not stand alone this day, for we are her faithful, and we will fight to the last to defend her. We will march through Hell itself to serve her. We will praise her name, right up until our dying breaths! Paladins, priests, soldiers of Miriam! CHARGE!"

Hondshioh guides his horse into a gallop, signalling the army to move double-time.

[Dorizzit]

Korram the Purifier

Korram watches out one of the windows of the inn as the Baron throws the first blow of the battle. Whatever else could be said about the bastard, he knew just how to motivate people. There would still most likely be defections, but his words would cut them to a minimum. Korram keeps watching for a few seconds as the aerial battle begins. Once he is satisfied that the fighting was fully begun, he turns away from his window and back to the building's other occupants, who had assembled in the room. He looks at them.

"Alright, we're moving out. We'll hold off on trying to hit the Baron until his full concentration is on the fight. In the mean time, we'll destroy one of those weird places that Argan scouted out. They're probably important, and disrupting the circle could throw a wrench in the Barons plans." Korram would never acknowledge him as king. "We'll keep low and avoid any barricades or patrols. Once we get there, we'll kill everyone and burn it to the ground. Afterwards, we can see how the main battle is going and plan our next move."

He looks at Mina, Elsa, and the Countess.

"You three, keep your heads low and don't make any noise. Keep away from the windows and don't go anywhere unless your lives are in immediate danger staying here. I've had Eldred ward the place heavy enough to keep almost anyone out, but that's not a guarantee with everything running around."

He nods to the others.

"Let's go."

The group heads out, avoiding fights and making their way steadily towards the nearest of the mysterious sites.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber gave Fianna a wide and vicious smile. "We go for the Baron... but not as he expects us to. If I were him - and I am him, in a certain very special sense - I would have prepared my battleground well. I have no doubt that every death within the city will serve the Baron. We're going to feint - the army will be the hammer, and we the stilletto's tip." His voice was pitched low, and he had set up a simple ward so that they could not be overheard. They stood at the front of the army, Umber's old battle-banner snapping in the wind. It was a touch of melodrama, and Umber did have certain inclinations in that direction, truth be told.

But damn, the black wolf on the crimson field looked fine, raised in defiance of gods and men once again. Umber grinned and he felt like a boy. He knew that it was a dangerous feeling a - surplus of passion that would get him killed if he let it. Still, he could not help it. Here he was, alive again and free, beside the woman he loved and fighting for dominion against impossible odds. And, he meant to win.

Of course, he had not come to the battle unprepared. Magic thrummed through him and around him - beneath his armor he was daubed from head to toe in the thick, glittering crimson paste, and its aroma of rich copper and heady potency filled his nostrils. And then there was the armor itself - he had made a pilgramage to the place where he had hidden it, to his own true tomb atop a far-distant peak in the desert waste, beyond the eyes of man and demon. He had defiled his own tomb and brought forth that black and gleaming plate... How had the poet put it? that arrogant fool who had penned the victory poem of the army that conquered the lords of blood?

"... And thus the Lord of Wolves came, his armor forged in elder days when dragons lived and men died under a younger sun that had not lost so much of its cruel and ancient heat. Dark as inky night and hungry, it called to blood and blade and spell, ever-drinking and never sated, that Tantalus-souled bastion of the gluttonous night."

Umber chortled aloud at the thought. Well, he had claimed the last laugh, hadn't he? The poet was dust, and only Umber remembered his verses - even his conquerors were mentioned only in a few lost and forgotten tomes. He drew his sword, and reflected on the verses that self-important little prick had bestowed upon it.

"... And a great cry went up as the Lord of Wolves met the host of Light, hellfire his crown and despair his black and ragged banner. He drew forth that great ebon blade which men called Woe, and then only in curses. Quenched in the blood of demons and forged from a fallen star, no man unblessed could stand against it, for like its wielder it was a hungry thing, cruel and vicious. Sinew, bone and magic-weave it cleaved alike, and those who saw it heard the cries of souls lost to outer dark and consigned to the black beyond the edges of the world, where even the light of Salvation is not even a dim and distant star."

Absolutely wretched purple prose, Umber reflected, but he suppose in some secret way he liked the implications of it. And it was good to have the old weapons in hand, to feel as he had of old - a conquering king, a power in his own right. He had laid these badges aside long ago, for fear that they would draw hunters - like drew like and power drew power, after all - but this was the last gambit, and the last time paid for all.

He tapped his heels to the stone flanks of his steed, and the beast began to walk. Most of his hellsteeds were crude things, crafted of need and haste - but this one had been shaped delicately over several days, and it was a smooth and lithesome things, having more in common with the aquiline curves of the mounts of his desert tribes than the sturdy warhorses he usually carved. For all that it was a sturdy construct - the best he had ridden in an age, and like its mate that Fianna rode, it would see them through the battle if their prowess was a match for its.

Of course, the greatest weapon Umber had was his mind - and not to be sneezed at were the fearsome spells that buzzed within like living lightning. They were not just dangerous - they were hungry, and they strained to be loosed into the world. He smiled at the feeling, the way the power pushed and pulled, the tide of a deep ocean within him. He was bound to the well of power he and Fianna had summoned, and he could feel it thrumming at the tips of his fingers, ready to come forth. But first... a whisper of power flowed from him, and a message flitted from his lips, slipping slyly out to find the leaders of the other forces - all save Kartul, whom he doubted would listen anyway.

"Ah, Miriam the Valkyrie. And the Elder folk. Curious. It seems that calculating old crone Destiny is set on either making the Baron's triumph complete, or smashing him asunder. In either case, I am Umber, former Lord of Blood and sworn foe of the Baron. I doubt either of you care for me much, but we do share the one obvious enemy." He glanced up, watching several angels fall to earth like dying stars, their lights winking out as the Baron unleashed the fury of his mechanical monstrosity. "An obvious and deadly enemy. I am speaking to you now to warn you of something you probably already know, and extend an offer you will probably not care to hear. The Baron has inevitable trapped the city - in fact, I would guess that the entire place is some sort of ritual ground, and that he will use the slaughter of the battle to fuel some sort of apotheosis. 'ware this. If you see any way to disrupt it, or sense a building of power, know that it will be designed to strengthen the Baron." He paused, feeling the delicate traceries of power that whispered between him and two beings of surpassing power - one without a doubt his utter superior, the other a complete enigma. Second, 'ware also Kartul, the necromancer. His power is terrifying, and I have no doubt he claws at godhood with his rotting fingers. I am here for him, and for the Baron - with you I hold no quarrel, at least not today. Keep your forces away from mine, and I will not seek you out. We all have too much to do.

Umber looked over at Fianna, letting the spell trail away, wondering if he would recieve a reply other than arrow, spell, and blade. He kicked the horses forward and signaled with one hand. His banner-bearer, a man who might have been a king of kings but for Umber's intervention, lifted the standard of the Black Wolf for one last time. "The feint begins. When we get close enough, we strike - straight for the Baron. Kartul will head there, I have no doubt, and we must be ready for him. This is the end, love, one way or another. One last dance with Lady Death." He grinned at her, then tipped her a saucy wink. "Feel free to cut in anytime."

Engines rolled forward - not heavy war-catapults, but light mangonels. The desert tribes were not used to such things, but their city neighbors made use of them in abundance. They were of little use when it came to battering down walls - but for what he had in mind, they would do.

He gave a sinister little smile and made another gesture. The arms cocked and released, and hundreds of thin glass spheres filled with orange liquid soared overhead. Each one blazed in the sun, seeming resplendent in its own lambent glow. Where they fell, fire sprang up - no sorcery this, but alchemy - every ounce of the liquid fire that could be had for love of money or the threat of life. Fires began to spring up, and Umber watched keenly for the Baron's response.

[Gorgondantess]

To Omnicron, she nods. She'd grown... tolerant of the human, over all this time. She owed him something, at least, if only words. "Augustus has proven to be quite accepting, and I believe he did say something about freeing your sister once all this was over. I would ask to speak with him, and him alone: I believe he will do his best to aid you. If not... you may remain here, and I will see what I can do for you on my return."
It was the best she could do, for now.
To her high priest, she has nothing but platitudes. Awkward, really. But not something she was going to deal with now (or ever, even).


At Maurice's words, she lets out a guttural growl. "I did." She snarls, livid. "Apparently he's decided to give in to his hunger after all."
She spins around to Maurice. "I certainly hope you won't have problem with me killing him now, would you?"
She's broken from her anger as Maurice swoops back towards town. With no Augustus in sight, and Maurice charging into the fray, her options were short.
She stops Maurice before she can reach the fray.
"No!"
Flying in front of her, she looks her in the eye.
"...It's me they're after. You..."
Her eyes dart from side to side. She could deal with this. She had to deal with this. But Maurice couldn't be lost. She looks to the side, unable to meet Maurice's eyes as she speaks.
"You are my pet. My pretty little bird. And what should I do, when my pretty little bird endangers herself?"
She clenches her fist.
"I put her in her cage."
She looks up. Her tone wasn't angry, or domineering, it was pleading.
"You understand."
And with that, she speeds off, landing on a tall building. She booms out, in a voice to match the beast's, but clear. And angry.
"AUGUSTUS!"

"Here I am! I know you want me... so come out and take me yourself!"
It was a jibe she hardly expected to work, but it was worth a shot. She streamlines herself, taking on a form more suited for quick flight, and charges the beast head on. At the last moment, she pulls up, narrowly avoiding a barrage of missiles, only to drop back down and land hard on the beast's head- solid as a rock, just as she thought.
As soon as she's touching, she's off again, spinning through the air, flitting about, feinting, and never actually attacking. Occasionally a dagger might glance her, but it never sticks.
No, she wouldn't bother with these ants. There was a bigger target, and it wasn't the beast, but within it. She dives onto the ground, then leaps into the air, latching onto the iron panels on the belly of the beast, where Augustus had come before.
"Augustus! You're mine!"
She begins furiously hacking at the flesh around it, prying off metal with popping flesh and bone.

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

“Well, I suspect she’ll be here *very* soon. I suggest you get ready for the fight of your life brother – and considering what you’ve already been through, that’s saying something!”

Turning towards his brother to reply, Incom feels something twist inside his mind. A pressure of anticipation rushes through him, until suddenly his mind is filled with half-remembered words.

When the time comes, you will choose your own fate

*SLAP*

The Desperate Ballet of Incom Morgan

…Looking back at the distant echo of himself Incom sighs, and leaps off into the abyss…

…“Look closely at the shape of my cheekbones, the color of my eyes Incom. I know it’s been many years since you’ve had access to a mirror, but don’t they look . . . familiar to you? Brother!”…

…What to do what to do what to do…

Looking around at the four other GHASTs landing in synchronization around the small little party, if it was still human it would sigh in annoyance. Odds were not good for its allies were as far as it could determine baseline humans. Granted these humans are in excellent physical condition but still no match for a GHAST in melee combat. It was too bad that Korram had sacrificed his powers evidently for he was even less useful now.

Yet he had to protect Sara no matter the odds.

First thing first, clear the arms for combat.

”CATCH!”

Wing-tip beam cannons charge rapidly, almost too fast for safety yet it was needed. Its mind stretches and twists as it works on spitting its concentration in trying to target two different target’s, pinpoint targets, specific parts for a key purpose.

With a gasp of relief Incom finds his thoughts starting to run in parallel, happening at once yet still coherent.

”LADIES! FRONT AND CENTER!”

…Giving orders…Clutching a string made of the tears of an angel…looking at the abyss…

…Looking back at the distant echo of himself, Incom sighs, leaps off into the abyss as he speaks…

“Of course if you decide to continue the process to enslave me completely, that’s fine, just don’t expect the results you desire. Would it help if “I now pronounce you, Lord of All You Survey”.”

Goody Goody Two-Shoes Ash*cough*Incom Morgan

… I am Incom Morgan…

Looking through the thick haze Incom wonders briefly what he was. It should not be possible to be doing what he is, his soul running two consciousness simultaneously, one of them mere seconds old. He had some this to a lesser degree what seemed to have been a lifetime ago, however this was unprecedented even for him.

”Don’t do it! There must be another way!”

Grunting from the onslaught of memory Incom sees the ghostly image of the demonic Sara fade away. Memories flutter like butterflies as he struggles through the fog, holding onto a thin thread, oh so thin, so easy to break.

”This will kill you! You are only a human soul!”

Biting his tongue as a ghostly memory of the angelic Katashiko dances away Incom struggles to hold onto the thread as his existence hurls like an earthquake, on a boat on the dawn of a new year. Falling to his knees he looks up desperately for a sign.

A glitter of light catches his eye. Reaching up, so impossibly high he grabs the glitter. Pain stabs his eye, his chest, his soul as flickers form, flickers which then speak.

“Holy Miriam, you still live.”

“Damn right he did, I did not let him rip out my eye for nothing!”

Seeing the ghostly images form Incom smiles in the environment of the sub-conscious of the GHAST.

”Ladies, I’m Incom Morgan. We have a job to do, let’s get to it.”

…I am Incom Morgan… A good man…

If it were a creature of flesh and blood he would have staggered. Part of him screamed out in betrayal as yet another clenched its teeth firmly together and continued to climb up from the deepest recesses of what lingered in the depths of ones mind…

*SLASH*

Floating within your own body while not in control of it was a weird sensation. Deep down, you could still feel a tendril of yourself leading back to the “other” you. The two of you are one and the same, but different expressions of that same personality, split apart into two minds for the moment. The closest analogy you could think of was a coin – two faces, one for either side, but in the end the same object in space. Dimly, you are aware of what is going on in the outside world. This is good as it will let you know when the time comes to re-merge your personalities to take your revenge. For the moment however, while your other self kept the Baron convinced of your loyalty, you would work on yourself from within.

You would not be alone in this endeavor, however. Although your spiritual double had sealed the demon and angel back into their respective cores, there was just the tiniest crack left open in both of them. You acted as the thin strand blocking them from closing completely, and as the bridge that allowed both the demon and angel access beyond their prisons. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but both of them were understandably grateful.

“Thank you!”

The angelic Katashiko said, tears of gratitude in her eyes as she floated over to kiss you on the cheek. Even the demonic Sara seemed less aggravated than usual.

“Pretty impressive – for a mortal. Can I have my eye back now?”

With a look of disgust, Katashiko the angel produced the eye and tossed it over to Sara the demon, who eagerly jammed it back into the empty eye socket. When she initially looked back, it was clear that she had put the eye in backwards, and after a moment she curses and works to adjust to its proper facing. While demonic Sara is preoccupied, angelic Katashiko leans in close.

“I think I found something, but I don’t know what it means.”

Taking you by the hand, she leads you into the depths of your own mind. Somehow, your own mind affects what you are seeing, portraying the pathways of your mind has Ironheart’s metal hallways. Ahead, you come to a door, crisscrossed with heavy chains – a depiction of the Baron’s latest means of control. But fitted into the massive lock holding those chains together is a key, shaped like a ticking clock. But as you get closer to the clock key, it’s not ticking you hear, but the words of Seer Maya, over and over “When the time comes you will choose your own fate”.

“What does it mean?”

Angelic Katashiko asks, looking back to you for answers. You had no clue yourself, but it seems like when the time is right, you will be set free again to take your revenge. That does not mean, however, that the Baron won’t have other means to keep you in line hidden up his sleeve. You would have to be ready to act decisively when the time does indeed come. Assuming, of course, that this wasn’t all a figment of your resurgent insanity.

Gripping his own throat tighten Incom head-butted himself, but he continued to cling tightly to himself. The two of the stumble, unable to outmuscle the other and fell over.

*SMASH*

Running a hand along the clock key Incom feels the words of Seer Maya. A person who he barely paid attention to, yet somehow she was involved in his life, able to do this to him. Looking around at the various chains Incom wonders what the trigger is, what would set him free on his merry path of blood and revenge.

Looking over at the Angelic Katashiko Incom shrugs.

”I have no idea. I barely met Seer Maya, I don’t know who, or what she is.”

Grunting Incom looks over at Demonic Sara.

”I’m surprised that this is working as well as it is. I wonder if my brother knows the inner workings of his creations as well as he believes.”

Stepping away from the door Incom looks around at the metallic corridors.

”In any case, we bought ourselves time. We need to take advantage, to scout through this body and mind, seeing if we can find any other surprises the my brother left for us. Those that we find, let’s see what we can do to make this, interesting when the time is right.”

Choosing one of the corridors at random Incom starts walking on down, looking around for signs of anything that could be useful.

Held in a chokehold by himself, Incom turns to look at Incom in the eye.

“Is this what you really want? To die again? To be nothing again?!? We have it good!”

“I don’t care – I made a promise – I swore a oath on blood, sweat and tears. You are just a part of that, a part of us!”

*FLASH*

Looking around in your own interior, you do quickly locate a troubling sight. Apparently, there is some sort of device located physically behind the crystal containning your soul. It's not on any GHAST schematics you can access, although given it's location you can guess it's probably designed to do something nasty to your soul in the event the Baron needs that contigency. Unfortunately without any information on it, messing around with it or trying to remove it seemed like an equally bad idea. On the plus side, at least now you had an idea of what form the Baron's contigency plan was likely to take once your will was your own once more. You would simply have to be ready to stop him from doing whatever it was that would trigger this nasty thing in your chest. Hopefully by knowing that it was there, you would be ready. Now the only thing you can do . . . is wait for the moment when you would be free to choose your own fate.

Another terrible thing about being a GHAST, it was not possible to breath in the fresh scent of freedom.

Looking over at Demetrius Incom wishes he could smile, it would be a sad smile yet, but he would have smiled.

“You know the old saying, whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. What does that make me now?”

Turning to look up at the skies Incom wonders who is the right and the wrong. A short time ago he would have blindly followed Miriam, but now that didn’t seem as right as it should have. A image appears in his head, unbidden of Miriam and the Baron acting like a pair of arguing parents, with the mortal races caught in the middle.

”Moria, are you there? Are you ready?”

Looking within his minds-eye Incom looks at the angelic Kakashiko. His reunification of his mind released their bonds once again, now with the Baron distracted. The moment of his vengeance would be close, the best possible moment available.

”And you my demon companion. What is your real name?”

Looking over at the demonic Sara, Incom nods to her. Two sides of the same coin within him, locked with him in a struggle of the fates.

Turning his attention towards the more worldly matters. This moment was just the prelude to the battle, yet the key moment when the first moves were made that would control the tempo of the game.

Looking over at Ysora, bound and chained Incom turns towards her while looking over at Demetrius.

”Pardon me brother, but she made a few comments I took insult to. Plus I never had the opportunity to do this before.”

Hand a blur, Incom backhands Ysora. Her gag remains in place despite the ugly sound of breaking bones. Before she could recover he follows through with a sucker-punch to her gut. Another blow follow, this one with blades extended which draw blood across her torso.

”I may be a monster, but it is because your goddess made us in her image. What does that make you? Be thankful that I’m showing restraint!”

Driving his fist into her chest Incom is rewarded with her gasping out and even more sobs.

Turning away Incom makes it a point to stare pointedly at the human guards, who shy away from his blood-stained form. Continuing to move forwards he releases his fists, his footsteps drowning out the sound of several small pieces of Ysora’s restraints falling to the ground.

”This battle will not be fought with kindness. May she understand what happens is because it must happen.”

Returning to Demetrius’s side Incom raises one angelic-blood coated arm and points out in the distance.

”Do you think she got the message?”

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

Slightly disconcerted by his sponser's lack of kinetic presense, Mal makes his way into the sleeping quarters. After he throws his empty sack and water-skin on the bed, he taps the wall absent mindedly as he debates with his stomach and neck ache.

Deciding something else first, Mal removes the stone ring from his hand, with some difficulty as his finger is slightly larger than the dark band's intended size. Creating a cavity in the wall he was tapping, the plain jewellery is placed carefully inside, before the gap is re-sealed with a marking swirl to signify its contents.

Satisfied, the contestant's feet and stomach guide him towards the clamour of the kitchen, breakfast having been skipped in the hopes that the old man wouldn't have left him waiting. He grabs a juicy chop of pork, his teeth biting into the delicious meat as his eyes survey his roomful of potential foes. He didn't spot the ogre, but judging by the way many of them held themselves, he was facing some pretty professional rivals here.

Mal takes a last carrot to munch, as he finally directs his body to the hot springs. Appropriately undressed, he first scrubs his feet clean with cupped water, preventing the accumulated dirt from ruining the natural baths. He finally relents to allowing his whole body into the simmering waters, his muscles relaxing and relishing the rare feeling of hot water in such quantities.

Compared to some of the muscle-bound men and women around the tournement, Mal's body seemed almost under-fed, earning a few snickers from a group of warriors marvelling at their own pectorals. The monk just sighed, magically softening his stone back-rest as he leans back in satisfaction. His eye-lids growing heavy . . .

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The crash of the gong shakes Mal from his sleep, a short, dwarven curse exiting his lips, as he makes an unelegant dash for his clothes. He jogs whilst pulling his shirt on, drip-drying enroute to the meeting point.

The words

techniques that cause widespread destruction

causes a second curse to slip through the monk's lips. On his name's announcement, he holds his tongue, but barely, sliently making his way into the arena pit.

The hot springs having left his body very limber, it feels like the only luck Mal's had today, not requiring a warm-up before the fight. He takes his stance, as his opponent does the same. He takes a deep breath.

At the gong's strike, Mal closes the distance with a run, rolling against Skor Pon's strike to grab the arm and its shoulder. With a close piece of leverage, Mal twists the arm over his own shoulder, throwing the man overhead and onto the ground. Skor lands flat on his back with an "oomph", but rolls out of Mal's intended pin, pushing away the lighter monk. Mal quickly regains his footing, as does Skor, before the monk goes low, hoping to deliver an upper-cut against that masked face.

[Inspectre]

The New God on the Block

Gorgondantess

Theme Song

Maurice seems about to protest, but then nods as the dead Archdemon plows through another row of houses. Without having to worry about Maurice putting herself in danger (you hope), you alter your form and streak towards the Dusk Warden’s pet abomination. Seeing you coming, the beast lefts forward another roar before belching another blast of destructive energy. The beam goes wide, however, and you are easily able to juke to one side or the other to avoid it as the ex-Archdemon attempts to track you with it. Then you’re at your target, and swoop high up into the air before crashing back down onto the thing’s head, driving its chin down into the ground from the impact.

Thankfully, most of the Dusk Wardens that are riding on the outside of the creature are concentrated on balconies built into its hindquarters – no one appears to be visible on its front shoulders, head, or chest. That doesn’t stop them from trying to hit you – throwing knives, and in one case launching a ballista bolt from a weapon mounted off a hip-based balcony – but all their efforts go to waste. You are moving too quickly for them to take aim, bouncing off the creature’s head back into the air, swooping this way and that. Then you drop down to the ground for a moment before pushing off again, leaping up to the creature’s chest. Clinging there, you begin to pry away at the armor plating – you remembered where Augustus had emerged from the creature the last time, and if he would not come out to face you then you would go to him!

On the ground below, a number of Dusk Wardens had been following after their creature, apparently planning to sweep along behind it and finish off any survivors in the rubble. Seeing you clinging to the underside, they rush forward with a battlecry, hurling daggers at you as they come. If you had been hanging there still, they might have hit you, but you constantly shifted your position on the creature’s chest, relentlessly hammering and prying at the same armor plate. The thing displayed surprising resistance to being moved, but you had seen it pulled aside when the creature had voluntarily opened its chest to let Augustus out. Whether the creature was able to hold its chest together or not was irrelevant – being able to split open like that was a weakness, and the seam could only withstand being pulled at for so long.

The ex-Archdemon itself also attempted to dislodge you, twisting its torso furiously and periodically lifting its front legs up to paw at its chest, trying to crush you. The spasmodic action caused its hind quarters to likewise sway, and more than one Dusk Warden lost his balance to fall off the attached balconies, crashing to the ground far below in a bloody heap. As with the Dusk Warden blades, you are able to nimbly dodge the abnormally clumsy blows, and on more than one occasion managed to use the limb that should have crushed you into a shield against the barrage of thrown weapons.

Finally with a wet ripping sound, the muscles holding the plate in place give way, and you pull the plate away wide enough to open up a two-foot gap between the plate and its neighbors. Peering inside, you manage to locate Augustus, although to your surprise he does not appear to be the pilot! Nu is the one currently attached to the creature by its pulsating tentacle network. Augustus is lying on the floor of the chest cavity, appearing to be badly wounded and partially absorbed into the creature’s flesh. Conveniently, Omnicron’s sister is also present in the chamber, being attached to one of the walls in a way similar to Augustus but with several control tentacles attached to her head as well.

“You filthy monster!”

Nu howls upon seeing you, his words echoed by the creature’s roaring voice.

“DIE!!!”

Nu throws his limbs out to all sides, and an instant later the creature mimics the move, belly-flopping onto the ground with the intent to crush you beneath it!

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

Theme Song

Your initial burst of speed manages to catch Skor Pon off-guard, and you flip him off his feet to send him slamming into the ground. He slips free of your grab after that however, smoothly rolling away from you and back up to his feet. The second time you close with Skor Pon, however, he is ready. As you duck in low and then come up in a brutal uppercut, your fist catches only air. Your opponent is no longer there – in fact, your opponent is no longer in front of you at all.

“I’m over here!”

A voice shouts from behind you, a split-second before a fist slams into your left kidney. You duck underneath the anticipated follow-up punch to your head, and reflexively throw an elbow behind you to try to get Skor Pon to back off. Again your blow hits nothing but air, and suddenly Skor Pon is in front of you again.

“I’m over here!”

He shouts, and then kicks straight out, catching you solidly in the middle of your chest and launching you backwards off your feet. You hit the ground hard on your back, but manage to roll with the impact to reduce its effect. An instant later, and you hear the by-now familiar mantra as Skor Pon is suddenly standing right over you, stomping and kicking.

“I’m over here!”

Having delivered a few more humiliating and painful but non-crippling blows, Skor Pon disappears to reappear several feet away, beyond the range of any counterattack (or so he thinks).

“I’m over here!”

He taunts, and then throws his head back and laughs. A teleporter, clearly. With no apparent limit to how many times he could blink around, at least within the close confines of the fighting pit. Great!

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal watched the show with as much attention as he could muster. If this really wasn't fantasy, then taking in Shanks turned out to be a good investment after all. He lifted his head and did his best to stare Shanks in the eyes as he got close. ”Unchain me....” Sohssal half-muttered.

Before all of this Ironheart business, he might not have had the focus to cast anything when caught by so many mirrors. Even this kind of agony loses its edge after so much exposure. Once unchained, he let out an ear-splitting scream, one of his rare sonic spells. He adjusted the tone until it began resonating with the mirrors, quickly shattering them. Sohssal didn't worry about the shards; by the time they started falling, he shed his flesh and was freed once more.

Theme Song

For the longest time since he was first imprisoned in Ironheart, Sohssal had been running on half-charge, at best. Even in the short time he actually worked for the Baron, he was nearly fully recharged, and holding back even one bit now could get him killed. No mercy this time around.

Sohssal sent a powerful burst of magic energy throughout the room, catching everything in there in currents of wind (except for Victoria and Shanks). The GHASTs were definitely strong enough to escape, but Sohssal didn't give them the time. He shoved everything in the room into one corner, and then sent a spray of white-hot flames over the giant pile, melting the thick glass into a tomb for the constructs. Then he recharged from that extravagant assault by draining the GHASTs as much as he could.

Having finished that, he turned to his companions. ”Take me to the ship's power source. I'm going to take this thing down,” Sohssal said, doing his best to save his rage for his captors. This time, he would not be caught by surprise by telepathic assault; he gathered the energy for a demon-paralyzing spell, and this time it wouldn't be so he could repair Omega. Holding a spell this long normally might cause backlash, but he had no body to paralyze.

[Kasanip]

Spoiler

Show

(I don't know about law and lawyer and law vocabulary, so I don't think I can write a post of it.)

Isera Harvent

"I'll let you speak Cerise. I don't think my voice will be helpful, because they'll remember when I was on trial. But the traitor is in the room. I'm going to pay attention there."
Isera said with a calm appearance. Of course she was not calm. This was a bad time. This place had many bad memories. But she looked at her father. He hadn't defended her. Or...well he had. But she hadn't known.

She frowned. Surely her father understood she was defending him here. He knew there was another danger.

Isera prepared her plan. If the purpose was to kill her father, then it would be complete if they lose the trial. But there was no way to lose. But if it was action of a warlock also, then it would be dangerous for the Canticles. Everyone important was here probably.

The only evidence is the librarian's account. But it only can say it was Jean who borrowed the books.

To suggest they were stolen after that. It is also to suggest the seal could be stolen for it. Or a different seal was used. Or the librarian was attacked by a spell. Isera's investigation to find the information with Cynthia was there, but how was it that Duncan had learned what she was doing?

"Cerise. When I left you at the library to find my father, Duncan wasn't called? He came with the Adjudicators without being summoned by you?" Isera asks to confirm the important point. Of course if he was not called by Cerise, he should not know anything. So why did he come with Adjudicators? And the poisons? There was a guilty person in this room.

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

Mal was hoping to have at least saved his magic from the crowd's sight, untill at least the second round. There weren't many martial alternatives that came to mind, and none of them would work without some earth magic.

As he swings back onto his feet, a palmful of sand was now locked tight within his left fist. Flexing his toes against the ground, his magic works its way subtly in the ground a few feet around him. The teleporter didn't seem to take any notice, content to mock Mal's return to his feet. Skor blinks to deliver another jab into Mal's unguarded back. As his body takes the blow, the trap is sprung with a deep breath.

"Bah!"

Shocked by the short exclaimation, Skor leans back slightly, the earth at his heels unnaturally surrendering to his mass. Mal twists towards his opponent again, as the larger fighter regained his balance. The monk loosens his handful of sand into Skor's face, blinding his eyes, the same hand gripping the man's face tightly. Bringing the sightless teleporter down back to the ground head first, Mal's magic caked the sand onto Skor's eyes, a brutal move he would rarely have considered if there weren't healers to treat him later.

The blinded man made his way back onto his feet, rubbing at his aching eyes. One fist strikes at his back. Skor reflexively turns, only to keep spinning as he is pulled into a knee-strike to his ribs. His hands swing into the air, feeling another fist suddenly hit against his shoulder.

A blind teleport grants him a moment's reprive, before he hears a tired voice at his ear.

"I'm over here."

Mal's punch across his jaw sends Skor reeling, his world blurred and spinning before his feet are swept beneath him for the last time, his body relenting to any efforts to rise again.

Mal drops to a knee, taking a breather and silently praying for Skor not to get up again.

[Gorgondantess]

As the beast body slams the ground, she narrows her body, squirming inside the chamber. But it is too late: the iron doors clamp shut, and the beast falls to the ground. Her entire lower body is ripped off and crushed, and only her torso from the chest up remains inside, still on the ground. Well, that was new.
Nu grins down on his maimed foe... until she starts to move. She gets up on her two arms and stares him down. "You have no idea what you're dealing with... do you?"

Theme Song

Immediately, she starts to transform, growing legs, and becoming a small girl. She leaps up and onto his chest, bashing his head to the side, then holding it to one shoulder by his hair. She lifts her other hand into the air and plunges it into his skin behind the collarbone, digging in deep, and finally, in a shower of gore, veins and arteries snapping and popping, rips out his heart.
Nu screams, and jerks, but finally is still aside from his still gushing blood.
She hacks off pieces from his corpse, absorbing them. She takes her time with it. No need to bother rushing, at this point. And finally, full body restored, she turns to Augustus, slowly walking towards him.
"Well, well..."
She kneels in front of his bound form, grabbing a blood-covered hand from the floor behind her and using it to lift up his face, by the chin.
"Well. The mighty High Warden, betrayed and brought so low... so helpless."
She turns his face from side to side, examining him (and smearing it with blood).
"I could kill you now. Absorb your body... your power... and none would be the wiser. I would be blameless- after all, you were the one to break our peace accord. Nu's little rebellion will be our little secret. Well, mine and the girl on the wall. But I doubt she's in such a state to tell anyone much at all, is she?"
She sniffs, turning to her. "Barbaric, really. Then again, I'm not one to judge unfortunate methods in order to achieve potent results. No, what I'll judge is this pathetic human's attempts to harm me. Me, with my knowledge... and him without any power at all. It takes a god to kill a god. Or at least a human with a god's power. Though, in that case, I have to wonder how you could have possibly got in the situation you're in now."
She smiles down at Augustus evilly, like a small child about to do horrible things to a small, helpless animal. She's clearly greatly enjoying this.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

"Again. Faster."

Damn you, Limier. Yes, he'd asked for this, but that didn't make it any easier to dust off the minor injuries and major indignities of the last two days. Tare rolled off his back, forcing himself up onto hands and knees and commanding his lungs to force the wind back into his body. This had been the bloody routine for nearly three hours now; Tare would attack, and would immediately be rewarded by a brutal block and riposte that usually sent Tare spinning into a wall or face-first into the floor. Limier was interested in every magical trick that Tare could bring to bear, and had made suggestions or asked piercing questions about each, but the one that had seemed to captured her fancy was Tare's speed spell. The continuous experimentation over the last few days had revealed a few interesting things that even Tare had not been aware of; first, the speed charm that he'd developed in the Hells had two components-- mental and physical. At the same time that his physical body was enabled to move more quickly, so were his mental processes, essentially speeding his perception of the world and allowing him to think faster. Shortly after this discovery, Tare discovered that he could activate one without the other, or vary the combination of the two, which let him use the full extent of the power with less strain on his magical stamina. But perhaps more importantly, by shortening the duration of the boost he could heighten its effect. That is, by activating it for only a second, or less even, Tare was able to achieve blurring, eye-baffling speeds.

It was powerfully taxing, physically and magically, but Limier was still standing-- and Tare was absolutely not going to fold before an old lady. 'Faster, Tare.' Faster, faster, faster. But I can't go any faster, if I could have then I would've done it an hour ago. Limier stood, motionless, her body effortlessly balanced in every direction, permitting her next move to be completely unrestricted. She could move in any direction or every direction from where she now stood, and there would be no predicting her next move. Maybe if I shorten it more. Isn't there any way to squeeze more speed into a single second..?? Tare huffed a frustrated breath.

"Take a deep breath first, Tare," Ulrich called from the sidelines. Shut up, you old bastard. Ulrich had been watching coolly from the sidelines since day one. What does that even mean?? Tare didn't know, but he tried to slow and deepen his breathing anyway. ...Wait... Tare's eyes closed in concentration.

"I told you not to do that," Limier whispered in his ear, and then delivered a split-second flurry of blows that flipped Tare literally upside down and then sent him tumbling across the training room without mercy. Tare found his footing in mid-fall and managed to make sure he landed out of the next flip more-or-less on his knees (it still hurt). Now. It has to be now. Tare drew in a deep breath, feeling a surge of energy coming along with it. He gathered the energy, built it up, held it back, readied it, and then threw the whole mass of it into the spell all at the same time.

The world turned into crystal.

In one step, Tare cleared the distance back to Limier. He could see her eyes beneath those orange glasses-- still focused on where he should have still been. Had he moved that quickly?? That even the Assassin's razor sharp eyes had not yet had time to register his movement??? He had to act fast; the surge would last only half a second, and by then he had to enact a complete takedown before Limier could react. He dove into a leg sweep, knocking Limier's feet out from under her with vicious speed. He could watch Limier's face react in slow motion even as she was flipped over by the speed of his kick. Before she had sailed through the upward arc, Tare reared around and delivered a stiff uppercut to the inside of her shoulder, forcing her to flip side-over-side as well as end-over-end, otherwise her Assassin's reflexes would have been sufficient to land upright out of the fall. Tare could feel the speed beginning to drain already, as Limier started falling more quickly, but there was just enough left to drag Limier down into the floor by a balled fist pressed against her neck. Time and space snapped back into their proper shapes, and Tare crouched, holding a pantomimed dagger through Limier's neck as she lay helpless on her back on the training floor.

All three sat in stunned silence for a few moments, Tare and Limier breathing heavy and both hearts racing. "...That's more like it."

Tare didn't even know what happened or how, but he felt one leg get kicked out from under him, his arm suddenly twist behind his back and his cheek smash into the floor and suddenly the woman who had been on her back, completely at his mercy, half a second ago was now pinning his arm at the snapping point behind his back.

"THAT was the speed that you're going to need, Tare. That's the kind of speed that we can't train. What you were doing before was unbelievable-- it rivaled some of the oldest masters' just before their physical age forced limits on their potential. But as you saw, repeatedly, with sufficient skill I was able to throw you off every single time. There will be Inquisitors in that compound even better than Me." Tare flinched as she punctuated each syllable of her chastisement with a tiny twist of his arm that sent pain lancing through his body. "But that... my gods, Tare. That..." As though the reality of what he'd just done only then hit her, the grip on his arm loosened. "...That really hurt." And the pressure was back again.

Finally, she released him, and he gasped in the unique kind of pain that relief brings with it at first. Limier made her way over to a table at the edge of the room and imbibed a potion that counteracted the bruises and removed the pain. "We need to have one thing straight, Tare. You are not an Assassin. You have no clue as to the depths of training or the levels of preparedness that a trained killer of your age and potential would have right now. These Inquisitors are going to be orders of magnitude more skilled than you are. In a straight fight, you will die. In several unfair scenarios, you will still die. The only circumstance under which you can be sure of victory is when you have the odds so harshly stacked against them that only by divine intervention will they survive-- and you still have to win in that case, because better than half of these people will have exactly that: Divine Intervention."

Tare had propped himself to a sitting position by then, and Limier stalked back over to him. "You have one shot. One. When you are hidden from sight, when they are unaware, unprepared, unsuspecting, and you are poised, able, and focused... you have one shot. And you're going to make sure it's the most unfair, unsporting, back-stabbing sneak attack you can make it, because that's the only way to make sure you survive. If you miss, run. If they even imagine that they heard something, run. Because if that first strike isn't lethal, decisively, immediately lethal, then you're dead."

"...But with that speed... If you can do that again, and again, and again, reliably, that quickly, every time... Damn, Tare. I wouldn't want to fight you fair either."

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

"So, how do you feel?"

Tare shot an eyebrow at Ulrich. "I'm sorry, what?" Ulrich kept a straight face. "I'm serious. How do you feel?" Tare didn't relent on the eyebrow. "Umm... Fine. What are you, my mother?" Ulrich slugged him in the shoulder, right where he knew Tare was already nursing a bruise. "Shut up, you punk, and show some respect. Not only am I your elder AND your better, but I actually am a legitimate Holy Man. This kind of thing is my job now." Tare started to catch some of the seriousness of the question. "I'm... I'm fine, Ulrich."

Ulrich punched him again.

"OWW, Would you stop that?? That seriously hurts!" Ulrich grinned. "Then tell me about that. You need to talk, little brother, and there was nothing in my oath that keeps me from beating my flock until they open up. It's good for your soul." Tare rubbed at his shoulder. "You damn pollock, I don't need this." Ulrich got serious again. "Yes, you do, Tare. Talk to me. You've been training really hard the last two days. Are you going to be at full strength for the Real Thing?" Tare frowned. "I don't know, Ulrich... I have been using my magic a lot more recently. Back when I was escaping the-- Escaping from Ironheart, I mean, I did something really hard and it felt like my chest sortof... popped. Like I broke through my own limits or something. Ever since then I've felt... a lot more of it, you know? I feel like I could do more, go longer, have a lot more of it before I'll... run out. But... I don't know if that's such a good thing. Last night's sleep didn't seem to bring back much of it at all."

Ulrich nodded. "I'm not a wizard, but I do know some things about the Soul and where your magic comes from. Souls are like little spiritual suns-- they give off light constantly, and just like a star, a Soul will never run out of fuel and burn out. Even once your body dies, the Soul goes on to the Afterlife. Your Soul is who you are-- if your body is What you are, and this safehouse is Where and When you are, then your Soul is what makes you You-- it's your identity, your individuality. That's where Magic comes from. Your soul is like an eternal spring of water; it's constantly producing the Life that keeps your body alive. People like you have extra energy to throw around and have enough left over to keep your body running. Your stamina is how much magical lifting you can do before you get exhausted-- and from what I understand, you've felt that before. I've never heard of someone having a barrier on their reserves before, but it sounds like you broke through it. That's good; but it also sounds like your reserves fill slowly, so you'll need to be careful with how you spend it and how often you stop to rest." Tare nodded thoughtfully. They sat in silence for a little while.

"What do you think about this mission? Do you know why you're doing it?" Tare got quiet. "...Yes." Ulrich waited expectantly. "Don't make me slug you again." Tare flinched defensively. "Ok, ok, GEEZ!! Lay off, you old fart, gods!" Ulrich made a fist and glared threateningly. "Ok, uh... The mission. I guess. The Inquisitors. ...I don't... Um. The way Limier keeps talking about them... they're still human. They're still people. Most of them are just doing what they think is the right thing to do, even if the organization itself is crooked. And Limier keeps saying that I'm going to have to-- I mean. I'm going to have to kill some of them."

Ulrich nodded. "Yes, you are." He said without sympathy. Tare stared, a little betrayed. "But--"

"Tell me about Melcara."

So that's what this was about. Tare thought about it. The things they were doing to her right now, he couldn't even imagine. Some of the old anger started coming back. "She's none of your busi--" Ulrich swung not one, not two, but three punches simultaneously that knocked Tare right off of the bit of wall he'd been sitting on and into the floor in a tangled, undignified heap (with a few new bruises to sport). "Ulrich, what the hells!!?!" Tare gasped, but Ulrich smiled. "Yeah, just try it, kid, I've been watching you train for the last three days. I know exactly what you're capable of-- And Limier was right. There are people in the Church that are even faster than she is." The predatory gleam in Ulrich's smile stopped Tare dead. There was quiet for a few seconds, by which Tare implicitly backed down.

"Tell me... about Melcara."

Tare didn't stand, instead curling his knees up against his chest and staring into the distance. "... . . . ...Ironheart was bad, Ulrich." Tare's voice dropped a few hundred decibels, and his eyes were haunted by memory. "You couldn't understand. They get to working on you-- grinding at your soul. It's not what they say, or what they do to you, but that's bad enough, no-- It's something in the air. Something in the water. It starts gnawing on you. The despair in that place... It was suffocating." Tare blinked. "...And something happened while I was there. Something really, really Evil happened. I don't know how else to describe it. It was awful. And crazy stuff started happening. There were demons running loose in the place, and portals to... Beyond started opening themselves. There was this Hag, she..." Tare shuddered at that far-off memory. "And there were these two demons fighting each other with Fire, or something... and we got pushed into a Hell portal in order to escape them. Do you understand, Ulrich? That's the only way out of Ironheart. You literally have to go through Hell."

"...there's people down there, Ulrich. Hundreds of them. Millions. But you can't feel sorry for them, because they earned their eternity, I suppose. Except... Every so often. Every one in a hundred. One in two hundred. ...doesn't belong there." The silence was smothering. "...they're damned, Ulrich, and they don't deserve it. They didn't earn it. For eternity, and they didn't earn it."

"...You don't know about the Crusades, I expect." Tare looked up. "...What?" Ulrich sighed. "A while ago, how long isn't important, there was a Crusade on the Hells. One of the Archangels was kidnapped and so the Valkyrie entrusted Humanity with the Holy mission of finding her and bringing her back. Angels can't go into the Hells, you know-- not without losing everything that they are. Only Mortals can enter as Outsiders. Millions of Paladins fought, Tare. Millions died there." The horror gripped Tare by the soul.

"...There has to be something that... Can't anyone do... anything?" Ulrich sighed. "That's the thing, Tare. We don't really know how these things work, or why. We don't know what's really possible. Every time we start to learn Humanity remembers its old sins and everything is forgotten again." Tare sat, numbed by the shock.

"...I stumbled across her, Ulrich. It was chance, just a random coincidence that I saw them dragging her through the dungeons. And she was so beautiful, and so broken. How many centuries had she been tortured down there? She didn't even fight them any more. It broke my heart." Tare blinked. "...I followed her, waited until the demons left her there in chains, and then I went and tried to unlock her. Tried to get her loose. But the real chains were on her soul, Ulrich, the Hell-iron was no restraint to her at all. Something I said... I don't even remember what it was, I didn't even know what I was doing at the time, I gave her hope. I'm the reason she climbed back out of the Hells. She was following me. She trusted me, even though she knew it would only hurt more for fighting. It's my fault she's being tortured by the Inquisitors, Ulrich. Demons are spiteful and cruel, but they torture only for the torture's sake. For their own sick amusement. Silverton... Silverton will be much more thorough, because he thinks he's doing it because it's Right. I led her into this."

"...She's a fallen Angel, Ulrich. I don't know what kind of fool that makes me-- but she's not evil. She's so alone, and so betrayed. She calls the Hells home because at least they're happy to see her. Happy to see her violated and broken and driven insane with pain and loneliness and torture, but happy to see her nonetheless. I can't leave her to that. I can't. So I'm sorry if she's an enemy of heaven, and I hope that doesn't make me an enemy of heaven to just for being on her side, but... I'm her friend. I might be her only friend. In all of existence, the only being that cares about her. ...Maybe the gods will understand."

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

Tare sat on the floor, crosslegged, thinking. There was plenty to think about; at the moment, he was considering what Ulrich had told him about where magic comes from. If that was true, that souls generated the energy for Life and stored it up, then it raised a number of other questions that Tare had never really thought about before. He'd always felt that somehow the source of the magic he performed was somewhere in his chest-- though, trying to control it seemed to come from his head (or at least, that's what was in pain after he screwed it up).

"...Tare?"

Tare started. "Oh! Oh, Karami... Heya, kiddo. K'mere." She did, and sat on the floor next to him. Merciful gods... I've missed so much of her life in only so many months. They sat quiet for a while, just happy to be together for once.

"...Tare?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" He replied. "...Is it true about Melcara?"

Tare was at a loss for words for a while. "How do you-- You mean Mel?" He asked. "...I overheard you talking to Father Ulrich earlier." She said quietly, and he sensed a bit of pain beneath her voice-- a pain she didn't even understand fully, which precluded him from even attempting to. "...Yeah. Yeah, it's all true." Karami nodded. "...So... That's who the Inquisitors were looking for? When they came and took Jonas and Hanna?" Pain lanced into Tare's belly. "...Yes. That's who they were looking for."

She fell quiet again. Tare felt sick. ...So that makes two families I've stolen from this poor girl. He found he couldn't speak for a little while, his throat was choked up with emotion. Mostly guilt. "...What will they do to her?" Tare was taken aback by the fearful compassion in her voice. She's almost as scared for Melcara as she is for her foster parents. Tare was shocked into speaking. "...They'll... I don't know, really. It won't be nice," He fumbled. "...I... she's in pain." He finally managed, swallowing a lot of things in so doing.

"...Karami... I told you I needed to talk to you. About your parents." Anyone who didn't know the girl as well as he did would have missed the sudden and complete transformation of her emotional state as he spoke those words. He could feel her attention on him like a tanner's knife pressed against leather. "...I need to tell you what happened that night."

It wasn't your parents' fault.

They were targeted by the Thieves Guild for a heist-- a big one. Things were different back then-- the guild was a lot less organized, a lot less political, a lot more free-running. The old guild boss wasn't the type to go getting involved in the individual jobs, so people had a lot of freedom to do whatever. Most jobs took only one or two people, so when one started going together for a five or six-man team, even if it was supposed to be top secret, word got around.

It wasn't the usual plan, to try making a heist while the owners were home, but it was well thought-out and had a few unique advantages. Have an Infiltrator slip in, administer a specially formulated drug to the inhabitants of the mansion in their drink, and slip back out until that night. The drug was supposed to cause unconsciousness, but it had been known to play with memory even a day or two after the fact. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.

But it turned out the heist wasn't about the money. Somebody wanted to send a message to somebody else. It was Guild business. The fact that your father was nobility may have had something to do with it, and it may not have. Anyway, when the night finally came, and the plan went off without a hitch, the Mastermind revealed that there was another part of the plan. We were supposed to burn the mansion to the ground.

"...Karami, I was the Infiltrator. I drugged your parents, and the servants and... And you. Because you were so small then, I think you may have even gotten an overdose. That's why you can't remember." Tare spoke, ghostlike, as though he couldn't believe what was coming out of his own mouth-- and at the same time, he was trying to spit it out before he could think better of it and shut up. He could hear the horror echoing at him from the girl-shaped blob on the floor next to him. He couldn't look up at her. "...And when they went to burn down the mansion... I didn't stop them. Even though I knew that no one would be able to wake up and escape the mansion. We all knew, but me especially. None of us wanted to do it, but nobody was brave enough to stop it. Hells, I helped." Tare choked on tears. "...When we got to your room... gods, Karami, I hated myself. I was a coward then just like I'm a coward now. I couldn't let you get killed in the fire that I was helping to start, but I was too stupid and afraid to try to stop them. So when someone else suggested that we... plunder you, like any of the other treasure we stole, I was relieved. An excuse to get you out without looking bad in front of my 'friends.' They sold you. And I still didn't stop them." Tare broke down then, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"I-- would have bought you back immediately, but I didn't, didn't have any money. I-- I scrambled to get enough, to get you back before... before..." Tare felt the room spinning around him as the walls of secrecy and lies so firmly entrenched in his mind started crumbling, and threatening his sanity as they fell. "Jonas and Hanna... I don't know where they came from, but they saved both of us when they did. I didn't know anything about taking care of a child, and I didn't have anywhere for us to live either. When they took you in, they really took both of us in."

"All these years I've been terrified of the truth, of telling you that I... I'm a murderer. Or as good as one. I didn't light the fire, but I'm the one that made sure that they didn't... couldn't survive it. I didn't know what I was doing at the time, but when I did I did nothing to stop it. When I got sent to Ironheart... I figured I deserved it. Because of what I'd done."

"Karami, I am so sorry. I am sorry for lying. I'm sorry for running off so often and not telling you where or why, and I'm... oh gods, Karami, I am so, so sorry for...

Tare wanted to say something else, but he couldn't. He'd run out of words and could only sob brokenly.



((The first section doesn't need a reply, Inspectre, and the second one only if you feel the need to add something there from Ulrich's perspective, but if you don't mind sparing one DM to finish up that third scene I'd appreciate it immensely-- and then we can move Tare on to the finale.))

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

(Those theme songs are all perfect! Keep up the good work everybody! )

Theme Song

The great battle to decide the fate of the world begins as several armies rush forward towards the city. The south side is assaulted by the paladins, who rapidly move up siege weapons and climbing equipment. Those prove to be unnecessary as the ground before the wall swells, rising up to form an earthen ramp leading all the way up to the top of the wall. Although just as surprised as the defenders, the lead ranks of paladins are quick to react, charging up the gentle slope with a battlecry. The defenders struggle to react in time, rushing to form a solid battle line under the desperate barking of sergeants, switching from bows to weapons more appropriate for melee.

That thrown together battle line is shattered as a number of brave Knights of the Silver Spur urge their steeds forward, racing up the slope as part of an impromptu cavalry charge. The charge’s physical impact is minimal, as the knights are forced to bring the charge up short, before crashing into the infantry line. Those few knights too overcome with bloodlust to think continue to charge, smashing through the thin line of men on top of the wall, only to find empty air waiting for them on the other side. The earthen ramp does not cover the backside of the wall, and so those foolish knights fall to their deaths along with their steeds.

The charge’s mental impact, however, is enormous. The men up on the wall had thought themselves safe, and the sudden loss of that advantage combined with the sight of knights charged towards them on horseback was too much. Their morale broke, and although the more professional fighters amongst them stood their ground the militia turned and ran, King’s orders be damned. Some threw themselves off the wall deliberately, preferring to die from a fall rather than at the end of a knight’s lance. Others fell accidentally, pushed off as the crowd surged towards the stairways that would allow them access back to solid ground and the city. Aware of the sudden shift in priorities for their men, the sergeants called out new orders, sounding for a general retreat. This brought back some organization as the braver soldiers turned to fight, holding off the paladins while the others ran down the stairs.

In the end, the plans of both sides came to naught as several volleys of glass orbs were lobbed at the wall and beyond. Upon contact with the ground the orbs shattered, spilling their contents everywhere. Contents which immediately ignited upon contact with the air, bursting into the sort of hateful flame that could not be extinguished until its fuel was totally consumed. As was its nature, the fire was indiscriminate, and both the remaining guards on the wall and the first ranks of paladins were consumed by the blaze.

Worse yet, a number of the globes sailed past the wall to land in the slums below, igniting the simple wooden structures even more easily than human flesh. The capital city of Narle began to burn.

Taking advantage of the situation, the elves advanced, their shaman stopping only briefly to commune with the spirits. From the earth, humanoid figures started to emerge – earth elementals conjured forth into the mortal realm and given shape. As these creatures advanced on the wall, intent on tearing it down altogether, the elven shaman reached out to the spirit world once more. From the very flames now burning along the wall and beyond, dancing figures began to swirl. Intent on causing as much widespread destruction as possible, these fire spirits given material bodies raced out into the city, igniting everything they came across. Thanks to them, the newborn fire grew and spiraled out of control, beyond the frantic efforts of the militia to control. It was only a matter of time now before the entire city was nothing more than a ruined plain of ash.

From the west, the undead swarmed over and around the wall. The pyramids simply flew over, and as they began to enter the city a strange rain began to fall from their undersides. The droplets were some sort of magical acid, not just burning but infecting anything they touched with rot. The unprotected defenders on that side fell screaming, their bodies melting and rotting away before their own eyes. And after they died, their bodies rose again as fresh corpses in Kartul’s army.

The army of undead did have some trouble with the wall itself, however. Although they had fashioned a number of crude ladders for themselves, there simply wasn’t enough to allow the countless numbers access into the city. And so the excess flowed around the side of the wall, seeking new victims outside the city. This put the paladin’s left flank in danger, and after them Umber’s makeshift force, still hanging back while the mangonels finished unloading their incendiary munitions.

The defense of the east wall went no better than on the other two. Most of Miriam’s angels were concentrated on breaking through to the Gastly Truth, furious dueling with GHASTs in the air above the city. The presence of countless archers on the wall and inside the buildings beyond made it impossible for the angels to ignore the terrestrial defenses, however. And so a number of angels swooped down at the walls, heralding their arrivals with blasts of light. Blinded and burned, groups of defenders were left unprepared for the angels’ arrival, and so that was exactly where they landed. It was a complete slaughter.

Although ludicrously outnumbered, the angels that fought on the east wall were warriors, one and all, and a massive percentage of the “guards” were not. The angels were well armed and armored, while most of the militia had to make due with altered farming equipment and padded clothing. And finally the angels could regenerate rapidly from their wounds, while a single blow could easily spell the end of a human life.

This is not to say that the angels did not take casualties – two fell on the wall, swarmed under by scores of furious men who hacked their bodies apart beyond what regeneration could fix. But those were the only permanent losses the angelic force took, and over a thousand humans met their end over the course of the next several minutes as the angels hacked the wall clear.

Afterwards a few of the gentler angels, those less accustomed to the violence that their duties sometimes demanded, remained behind amongst the devastation, murmuring prayers and quietly crying as they hunted down any crippled survivors, putting them out of their misery. The others, more battle-hardened than their sisters, moved on into the city to deal with the nests of Hands still shooting up into the ranks of the angels above with deadly effectiveness.

The north side of the city which housed the docks had been left largely undefended as no one expected humanity’s enemies to attack by sea. And yet that is exactly what happened as the mermen swarmed out of the waters onto the piers, their flippers separating into legs as soon as they touched dry land. Anyone caught by the mermen was savagely executed, their bodies hacked apart and their blood used to paint decorations on the mermen’s scales. The few barricades set up around the docks were quickly overrun, the guards taken out from behind as the defenses had been set up to repel an attack on the Docks, not from the Docks.

Emerging from the water with a jaunty grin, Gilgaem watched with pride as his servants worked quickly to man the barricades themselves and scuttle all of the ships still tied up at the Harbor. No one would by fleeing the city by boat now.

Still the defenders fought on with the desperation of a caught animal. Those that could make it off the walls alive did, rejoining with their brethren who manned the barricades erected to block all but the smallest alleys. Any large force would still have to go through a number of them to advance into the city proper. And from sealed buildings scattered throughout the slums, deadly crossbow fire suddenly lashed out, every bolt taking a man’s life. The Baron’s Hands were now in the battle, and each was sure to take many opponents down with him before his building was breached.

And then from deeper in the city, a counter charge began. Hundreds of iron golems surged forth towards the walls, seeking to push the attackers back. Compared to the GHASTs, these constructs were primitive, clumsy, and slow. But these recycled prisoners of Ironheart understood savagery quite well, and the line of golems advanced like a relentless tide.

Unnoticed by almost everyone, twelve buildings scattered around the city began to glow with a faint red light . . .

********

Theme Song

Into this chaos, an eighth army marched into sight. Coming over the hill from the south east, this group of cloaked figures carried no banners nor displayed any identifying insignia. The only real information that could be gathered from the newly arrived army was that a large number of its members were gnolls, suggesting an origin point from the deserts on the kingdom’s northeastern edge. Stopping about halfway to the walls, the black army formed up into orderly ranks and then stood motionless, awaiting some kind of signal.

A lone figure moved up to stand in front of the army, and even from a distance it was clear the figure was neither a man nor a gnoll. He stood a full head taller than his fellows, and his cloak was filled out in ways that suggested the body beneath was in some way deformed. Reaching up a claw, the figure pulled its cowl back, revealing a face that used gnoll as its base, but was something much more.

“I am Gazrul the Black!”

The figure announced in a voice that lacked the booming quality of the Baron’s and Miriam’s, but held just as much force of will.

“My men and I have come to join this battle! And we pledge our swords to the Lady Valkyrie!”

As one, the leader and his men rip off their dark cloaks, revealing tabards with crude depictions of insignia used by the Church of Light. Now revealed to be some sort of dragon/gnoll mix with dragon wings and a spiked tail, Gazrul flew up into the air over his force, throwing back his head and spewing forth a burst of flame. Taking this as the signal to attack, the army rushes forward towards the east wall with a loud battlecry.

“FOR GAZRUL! FOR THE VALKYRIE!”

********

“Damn you Gazrul.”

The King spits as he watches this latest force join the fray. That the former mercenary would turn and bite the hand which once fed him was not surprising. But his arrival was untimely and would place additional strain on the ground defenses which were already crumbling. They had never been meant to be anything more than a delaying tactic against the overwhelming force each of his enemies could bring to bear, but it was frustrating to see them working together rather than tearing each other apart. Apparently they had come to the agreement to fight for the city after he was dead. So be it. If they wanted to put aside their differences until he was a corpse, then they could fight over the city’s own corpse as well! Activating his communication crystal again, Demetrius gave his new orders to Angelo.

“Instruct the gunners to target those approaching pyramids and engage any targets of opportunity on the ground. If that means demolishing a city block or catching our own men in the blast, so be it!”

Closing the channel, Demetrius altered the crystal’s focus, reaching out to issue orders to several more of his allies.

“Hephestia. It is time. Unleash the full extent of your rage against humanity! Let us see if the pretender paladins can stand against a true servant of the gods!”

On the underside of the Gastly Truth, a hatch opened, and an angelic figure in full battle regalia appeared, her spear in hand.

“Yes.”

Was the sole reply, and then the mad archangel shot towards the ground like a falling star, intent on wreaking havoc against anyone she encountered. Not finished yet, Demetrius again reactivated his communication crystal.

“Akorilastroxaz. Show these dogs what a true dragon is!”

“As you wish.”

Came the rumbling reply as another, far larger hatch opened. A few moments later, a draconic head emerged, and after a moment of surveying the scene, a massive body made of stone leaped out into the air with a roar. Despite its incredible weight, the stone dragon somehow managed to stay airborne and swooped down towards Gazrul’s approaching army. It plowed through the air where the GHASTs and angels were fighting without stopping, slapping several angels aside with its tail and catching one in its mouth, biting down until a golden light shone forth through his teeth, signaling the angel’s death and return to the Heavens.

Reaching the army, Akor opened his mouth wide and spat out a long stream of fire, playing it down the length of the army and engulfing over a hundred men in flame as he shot over them. Then he began to turn in a lazy arc back towards them for a second run. Beating his wings furiously, Gazrul ascended to meet him for the second fly-over.

Trusting that a full-blooded dragon would trump a half-breed, Demetrius turned his attention away from that confrontation. The mid-air battle between Miriam’s angels and his GHASTs was reaching a furious intensity, and in the middle of it was the shining beacon of Miriam, seeming to glow brighter and brighter as her anger built. It wouldn’t be long now before she broke through, not long at all. Frowning, he shot a look down the length of the airship where his wife had taken up position within a runic circle.

Her eyes closed, Isabella quietly recited the beginning of the ritual, her voice growing slightly louder at the beginning of each new stanza. At the appointed moment, she drew both of the artifact swords sheathed at her waist, and then used them to cut deep furrows in her arms. Blood poured from her wounds, and she paused to give a grunt of pain but then started to recite the next verse. Her blood flowed down her arms onto each of the blades, dripping down off the tips onto the prepared runes surrounding her. Upon contact with her blood, the runes began to glow with a strange pulsating red light, which grew in intensity as Isabella continued.

Trapped within their respective blades, the souls of Elandra and Dacian cried out in horror as the ritual began to tear at them as well. By using their souls to help feed the ritual, Isabella would be able to keep it going for far longer. That was the theory at least – although they had tested the ritual in the backwater town of Dark Falls to make sure that it worked, this was on a far grander scale. If successful, it would certainly go into the history books. After all, if the ritual was successful, today a goddess would die.

“DEMETRIUS!!!!!”

The battle-cry boomed over the battlefield, and the King cursed as he drew his sword. An instant later, a comet streaked across the remaining distance to his airship and met his sword with hers in a thunderous blow that was nearly as loud as the shout had been. Miriam had arrived.

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

While the battle raged on and around the Gastly Truth, within it a much quieter but no less important fight was being waged. At least, no less important to Nephilium, who instead of fighting at his father’s side was dithering out in the hallway in front of his mother’s quarters. He knew he should be up on the top deck fighting, where he was expected to be and where his loyalty to his family demanded him to be. If he left now, he could make it before the crucial fighting began – his current absence most certainly noticed and not forgotten, but perhaps forgiven in the magnanimous glow of victory – or rendered irrelevant by crushing defeat. But . . . was that what he truly wanted?

If he left now, he would be surrendering himself back under Father’s thumb. He would forever be the dutiful son, the son who was willing to ignore his wife’s murder in all but name in return for his father’s acceptance. Not love, not respect, but acceptance that he had proven to be a useful and reliable tool. Only now this surrender to Father’s will would be deliberate, and not done out of ignorance. His eyes had been opened to the truth now, and he could never again close them.

Clenching his hands into fists and gritting his teeth, Nephilium made his decision. He stepped forward and pulled back a fist, throwing off his trepidation for boldness as he prepared to break down the door leading into Isabella’s private quarters. To his great surprise, at his approach the doors slid open of their own accord, not requiring the use of force to open in the slightest.

Anticipating a trap, Nephilium leaped back, and the doors slid shut again. Struggling to remind himself that he had made his decision, Nephilium cautiously advanced forward again, and once more the doors slid open welcomingly. Supporting his bravery with rebellious anger at what his parents had done to Elsa, Nephilium crossed that threshold and scanned the room beyond frantically. No dangers presented themselves from within the room, either.

Nephilium wasn’t allowed in either of his parents’ quarters unsupervised. None of their children were, and the implied punishment for breaking this rule was severe. When the door slid shut behind Nephilium then, he was certain that his intrusion had finally been discovered. But still no danger materialized, and it gradually dawned on him that Mother might well not even be aware of his disobedience. Or if she was, she was too busy with the ritual, and everyone she could send in her stead was too busy trying not to die.

Painfully aware that his fortune could turn sour at any second, Nephilium forced himself to advance into the room, moving more quickly as he grew more confident in success. Having no time for subtlety, and indeed aware that his theft wouldn’t go unnoticed regardless, Nephilium ransacked the room once he worked up the sufficient courage. Eventually he discovered what he was looking for – a secret cabinet recessed into the back wall of Mother’s wardrobe. Tearing the secret door off its hinges, Nephilium was confronted with a new challenge.

Settled on the secret cabinet’s three shelves were dozens of finger-long crystals, each of them containing a soul that Isabella had captured over the many long years. Nephilium had no idea what the one containing his wife’s soul looked like, but he trusted his instincts as he carefully ran his fingers down the length of each crystal, one at a time. When he felt one that triggered a sense of familiarity in him, he closed his fingers around it and plucked it free.

“The bear hibernates so that it does not have to dwell on the length of winter! I mean, I have missed you so very much.”

Nephilium whispered to the crystal, rubbing it against his face. Then, aware that time was still of the essence, he slipped the crystal into his jacket where it would be safe. He had gotten what he came for, and so now it was time for him to leave. Besides, he had other places to be. Now that his past was secure, it was time to go rescue his present!

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

Elsewhere in the Gastly Truth, Rose was conducting her own perilous journey. Even though she had gone over the plan with Seraph a hundred times, they had been unable to actually rehearse it for fear of discovery. And so Rose was plagued with thoughts of every possible way things could go wrong from the moment she stepped out of their quarters.

Although not strictly confined to quarters aboard the airship, it was frowned upon for her to go anywhere unescorted. This was doubly so while the airship was engaged in a climactic battle against the gods. Her very presence outside of her quarters right now would be viewed with suspicion, and it was highly dubious that she could convince any guard to ignore her. That left running away from any challenger, which would only delay things for as long as it took the guard to sound the alarm, or resorting to violence. Despite her father’s mandatory self-defense training, being unarmed Rose doubted she could overcome even one human guard, and she was under no illusions about being able to handle a full patrol or gods forbid a GHAST.

Therefore when the alarm sounded Rose winced and threw up her hands in preparation for surrender. But no one came to question her – with everyone at their battle stations the hallways were deserted. And a moment later Fury announced that the alarm was for a prisoner escape – perhaps that archangel they were torturing down in the Brig had finally had enough? In any event, that was at the far end of the ship, where the cargo bays and not the living quarters were located.

Relaxing enough to keep moving forward, Rose nonetheless quickened her pace. It was always possible someone going to answer the alarm would use this hallway to do it, and they wouldn’t be so distracted that they couldn’t stop for a few minutes to question her. Fortunately her destination was just ahead, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief as the door slid open to welcome her. Now safely inside, Rose paused a minute to calm her racing pulse and allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Like all of the Emergency Storage rooms throughout the airship, this one too held several racks of the infamous Emergency Evacuation Packs. Seraph had shared a number of stories regarding their development with Rose – most of them meant to be humorous but all of them gory and unpleasant. A relic from a time when Seraph’s humor had been just as harsh and rough as the rest of him. Now memories of those stories flocked unbidden into Rose’s mind as she gingerly lifted one of the instruction packets off of its associated EEP. As a little girl she had always wanted to fly, a dream that Seraph had helped her achieve on several occasions. But being carried aloft in his arms was not quite the same as flying herself, so this would be a new experience for her. Assuming she didn’t explode or smash herself into paste against the side of the Gastly Truth as any of a dozen alarming stick-figure drawings could attest, this might even be fun.

Setting the instructions aside, Rose took the EEP off its hook and slipped it carefully onto her shoulders. It was hard to make sure that everything was set right with her lack of depth perception, but she triple-checked each step that the instruction manual had listed. When she was nearly finished with getting the EEP ready for use, the door to the room suddenly slid open again. Immediately Rose froze, straining her ears to hear what was going on at the doorway. She had chosen a dark corner near the back of the room to put the EEP on, so she was sheltered from sight by racks of supplies. But that protection would only last until whoever was in the doorway took half a dozen steps into the room. Rose’s heart sank as the heavy footfalls of a GHAST clanged out from the doorway as it moved into the room. Her trepidation changed to outright terror when the sleek form of Cheran’s new body came around the corner, his glowing green eyes fixating on her immediately.

Going somewhere?

Cheran hissed, with enough malice that even in the stereotypical monotone for GHASTs those two words made Rose take an involuntary step back. That step ended with the EEP on her back banging into the wall behind her, and then Rose knew she was trapped. Cheran was between her and the door, as well as the hatch leading to outside the airship. There was nowhere to go, a fact which was not lost on Cheran as he slowly advanced down the aisle, undoubtedly savoring the moment. In desperation, Rose cleared her throat and scrambled for a lie.

“I was worried. With the airship under attack I thought I should make myself ready to evacuate, and with my lack of depth perception I wanted to get a head start so I wouldn’t slow anyone down if it came to that.”

That lack of depth perception is a bitch. But I think we both know you aren’t here because you wanted to get ready for a possible evacuation. I should know – I followed you here.

The thought of Cheran being subtle made Rose pause for a second. But while Cheran was talking, he wasn’t advancing towards her either. So she asked the obvious question.

“If you did that, why didn’t you stop me in the hallway?”

Cheran shrugged – an awkward gesture even for his more streamlined form.

I wanted to see where you were going. And I wanted to watch as the hope died in your eyes, the hope that you would actually get away. Stopping you in the hallway would have prevented me from satisfying either desire. Besides.

Cheran held his arm up in front of him, making sure Rose got a good look at his retractable arm blade sprouting from its sheath before he continued.

Here is just as good a place as your quarters for dicing you up. Better even, because now I don’t have to make it look like a suicide. Catching you in the act of trying to escape means I can do whatever I want to you.

With deliberate slowness, Cheran began to walk down the aisle.

You’ve never had anything but contempt for me, but I promise you you’re going to scream my name at least once before you die. I’m not entirely without kindness, however, so I’m going to give you a choice. Which do you want me to do first – render you totally blind or break both your legs?

Rose waited until Cheran was halfway down the aisle, then leapt around the back of the shelves and started running up the parallel aisle on the other side of the shelves. She only got a few steps forward before one of the shelves ahead of her toppled, crashing into the wall and leaving it to stand at a sharp angle. In order to get through, Rose would have to crawl through the narrow gap left underneath, something that would take time. Time which she didn’t have as the next shelf in line similarly got smashed over against the wall at a single gesture from Cheran. This one contained a number of EEPs, and several of them went flying, torn from their hooks by the impact.

As soon as I see you again, I’m going to shoot you. Just to slow you down a bit. It’ll only hurt a little . . . and then it’ll hurt a whole lot worse once I get a hold of you!

Cheran taunted, and from the location of his voice Rose knew the next shelf down ought to give him that line of sight. Seeing one of the fallen EEPs, an idea suddenly came into her head. It was completely insane, but Korram was living proof that sometimes insane ideas worked – and it wasn’t like she had any other options besides let Cheran flay her alive!

Bending down she snatched the EEP up, turning it around until she was looking at one of the exhaust ports. The instruction manual had urged repeatedly to check that the exhaust ports weren’t blocked before donning the device. Rose could only hope that those warnings were not exaggerations as she tore off the veil covering her missing eye and stuffed it into the exhaust port. Then she set the EEP back down onto the floor, angling it up towards where she thought Cheran would be. A moment later, and the next shelf toppled, revealing Cheran who immediately brought his wing cannon up and around.

Got you!

In response, Rose hammered the activation button on the EEP and then threw herself to the floor in the opposite direction as the thing roared to life. From her position on the floor, she watched as the thing, unguided, corkscrewed into the air and somehow managed to remain flying towards Cheran. Predictably, the arrogant bastard reached out and grabbed it, his thoughts momentarily diverted from shooting Rose to laughing at her attempt to harm him.

Seriously? What were you hoping to accomplish with this?

Cheran asked, his dead monotone laugh ringing off the walls. Despite still going at full thrust, Cheran held the EEP motionless as he turned it over in his hands. It was only then that he noticed the clogged exhaust port. He realized the implication immediately, too late as the EEP started to glow red hot and Rose’s clogging veil burst into flame.

Oh, you biiiiiiiiitttttccchhhhh!!!

An explosion suddenly engulfed the room, sending shrapnel flying in all directions and Cheran’s remains crashing into the back wall. Rose felt a sharp pain flash across her side, followed by a spreading warmth. Pressing a hand against the injury, Rose grunted and forced herself up to her feet. Her injury burned like the Hells, but at least she had survived the explosion. Most of the room was a complete mess, prompting Rose to consider that she was probably lucky the other EEPs hadn’t detonated in a chain reaction. Her own EEP at least felt undamaged, but the only real way to test that was to put it to use outside the airship, where a failure would have lethal consequences. Cheran’s shattered body lie propped up against the back wall, the disparate pieces shattered around him beginning to liquefy and flow back towards him. Rose wasn’t an expert on GHASTs, but the sight of that and Cheran’s body beginning to twitch with renewed purpose suggested that she should make good on her escape quickly.

Gasping for breath as each step send a spike of agony shooting out from her wounded side, Rose limped over to the hatch leading outside. Undoing the wheel latch holding it closed, Rose paused a moment before shoving it open to look back at Cheran’s regenerating body. Despite herself, Rose found herself enjoying the surge of adrenaline that came from having survived her third close brush with certain death. Was this how Korram felt all the time!? Letting the adrenaline go to her head for a moment, Rose allowed herself the satisfaction of delivering a taunt to Cheran’s fallen body.

“That was for MY eye, you bastard!”

Then Rose shoved the door open, allowing the rushing wind and roar of battle into the room. Taking one last deep breath to steady herself, Rose stepped out into the open air and plummeted down towards the city. After waiting a few moments to ensure she was clear of the Gastly Truth, Rose activated her EEP, slowing her descent with infrequent blasts of flame. Seraph had given her instructions on where to meet him, although the city certainly looked different from above! With any luck, however, she would be able to find him before some angel or GHAST found her, and then they could both get out of this mess and leave the Baron’s defeat to more motivated parties – like Korram!

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

During his rise to power Demetrius had overcome a large number of opponents. Some roughly his equal at the time, most inferior, and a rare few actually his superior. It took only a few seconds of combat with the Valkyrie for Demetrius to realize that here he was outclassed the worst he had ever been. Predictably, the Valkyrie was beyond even the Hierarch in strength, but it was a different matter entirely to have his suspicions confirmed.

Every clash of their swords sent shivers quivering down his arms, threatening to wrench his blade from his grasp. Yet the Valkyrie flowed smoothly from strike to strike, wielding her sword as if it was as light as a feather. As she had seen the consequences of his actions, reflected in every man dying for him in the streets below, in every GHAST whose very existence meant that the lives of a human and an angel had been cut short, her anger had grown. Now her rage was released upon him, all at once, in a relentless assault that he struggled to survive.

But Demetrius had anticipated something like this. He had developed ways of foiling superior opponents before this. In essence, the strategy was always the same – find ways to negate strengths and target weaknesses. He hoped that his plan for negating the Valkyrie’s strengths would work – in the meantime, he could target the weaknesses he saw plain as day – pride and anger. Miriam had broken through the battle lines alone, intent on reaching him as quickly as possible, and her rage provoked her to focus on him to the exclusion of all else. That anger began to cool as they fought, the Valkyrie switching from overwhelming blows to more precise swings. That could not be allowed to continue.

When Miriam paused in her assault to turn to Incom and command him to stay out of this, Demetrius knew that he was losing her. Any second now and the Valkyrie might regain enough tactical awareness to realize there were more vulnerable targets on the field. So after taking a second to savor his brief respite as Miriam split her attention, Demetrius sought to get her angry with him all over again. It was rather simple – he just held up his sword.

“I trust you recognize this blade?”

Demetrius panted, shying back as Miriam’s gaze swept back on to him.

“It was Marisiel’s. As much as I hate to say it, without her I would have just been another mortal puppet of the Hierarch, thrown away after I withered from age. With her I was able to lure your other most precious daughters into the trap – Ysora you already see over there as a helpless sacrifice, and Hephestia right now I imagine is taking great pleasure in tearing the last of your mortal supporters apart. With Marisiel’s aid, I was able to use her blood to complete my apotheosis. And with her aid, I was able to make all sorts of allies to whom the name Miriam the Valkyrie is a curse. She didn’t help me willingly, of course, heh heh. Oh no, she struggled so bravely . . . until I broke her!”

“Your crimes are unforgivable! I will escort your soul personally to the Hells’ gates!”

Miriam spat, and then lunged forward, once more on the attack. This time, Demetrius had to admit that he may have overplayed his hand, as Miriam battered his defenses remorselessly. Seeing an opening, Demetrius sidestepped a thrust and stepped in for a counterattack, hoping to force Miriam back. Instead, her free hand flashed up, snatching hold of Marisiel’s sword by the blade and stopping the attack mid-thrust. Then Miriam tore the blade out of his hands, and threw it across the deck behind her. Even Demetrius was shaken when Miriam held up her hand, revealing not a single mark from the blade as she advanced forward once more.

“You can’t hurt me, Demetrius. All of your efforts, your schemes, your atrocities . . . they were all in vain. This is not a battle, it is an execution!”

Disarmed, Demetrius stumbled back from the Valkyrie’s advance, his mind racing with some trick to distract her, some stratagem to delay her, but he found himself unable to act, except to cower and retreat before that judgmental glare.

“I have seen your sins firsthand, and find you unworthy of the life I have given you! Therefore, I shall strip it from you! Demetrius Morgan, I command you to DIE!”

And for all his hate, his rebellious plots, and stolen power, King Demetrius Gast was still just a man. And like all men, he was compelled to obey his creator. An instant after the words left Miriam’s lips, Demetrius’s heart stopped, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He collapsed to the ground, a look of complete shock frozen on his face. And thus it was that King Demetrius Gast, formerly the Baron of Gast, formerly a criminal overlord, formerly a nobody street urchin, died. Satisfied, Miriam turned away from his corpse and set Her sights on Incom.

“And now for you, Incom Morgan! Treachery has just as high a price! Incom Morgan, I command you –“

Whatever she was about to say, Miriam’s words are cut off in a scream as Demetrius Gast rises from the literal dead, pulls out a rune-inscribed dagger, and plunges it into her back. The blade cut through the Valkyrie’s armor as if it didn’t even exist, and succeeded in drawing blood where the blade of an archangel had failed. A second later, however, and the dagger disintegrated in Demetrius’s hand, actually exploding apart into shards that shredded his hand just as badly as it did Miriam’s lower back. The two enemies staggered away from each other, clutching their respective injuries, and for a moment simply stared at each other, now their roles reversed.

“I knew I had those runes configured to transfer the power too quickly. No matter, it served its purpose well.”

Demetrius said with a satisfied chuckle. Miriam continued to regard him with a mixture of confusion and horror.

“Impossible . . . how . . .!?”

Demetrius smiled as he answered the goddess’s question by pulling open his jacket, revealing the glowing crystal implanted into his chest.

“Oh yes, you killed me, Valkyrie. And in so doing secured my place in the afterlife – right here, in this body! My soul has been inexorably linked to my body, and now they are truly one! Kill me as many times as you wish – my soul shall endure for as long as my body does!”

“Your challenge will be easily met then. Prepare for the embrace of total oblivion!”

Miriam growled, striding forward as the injury in her back finished regenerating. Flexing the fingers of his regenerated hand experimentally, Demetrius smiled.

“Actually, before that I was hoping to facilitate a reunion between you and an old friend.”

Despite the figure’s stealthy approach, Miriam sensed the danger behind her just before the figure struck. She whirled around, blade held defensively in front of her, and narrowly parried the scythe’s swing as it arced downwards. Again, the Valkyrie gasped in shock as she gasped upon the hated face behind this cowardly attack.

“YOU!”

“READY FOR OUR REMATCH, BITCH!!?”

The Herald of Azguloth howled as he pulled his Scythe back and struck again.

[Inspectre]

Archpaladin Zousha

At your words Ander bobs his head in agreement.

“I will take the Wings of Righteousness up to join the fight against the Baron directly. You continue to advance on the ground and keep all those archers from thinking they should just be shooting up at us!’

Mounting the wyvern he had appropriated from Karth, Ander takes off into the air, joined by all of your griffon-mounted knights. They swoop around overhead for a minute, organizing, and then they begin to fly out towards the city, and the Baron’s floating blasphemy. Sure enough, the walls are packed with archers who begin shooting a few experimental arrows up at them to find the proper range. They’d be having other worries to deal with shortly. After delivering your speech, you urge your steed into a gallop and charge down the hill towards the walls. Behind you comes the full ground-based force of the Church.

Katashiko keeps pace with you, standing on a flat piece of rock that shreds down the hillside as easily as if it were carving through water. When she gets to the bottom of the hill, however, she leaps off as the slab arcs upward and flies into the air, still sailing towards the wall and waiting city defenders.

“Watch this!”

She cries out, and a moment later the stone slab slams into the ground a short distance in front of the wall. For a moment nothing happens save the stone slab shatters into pieces, but then the grounds roils out from the impact point. Continuing to roil as if it were a boiling pot, the ground steadily rises, forming an earthen ramp all the way up to the top of the wall. Your siege equipment would be unnecessary – instead of going through the wall, you could just go over it!

Katashiko staggers from the effort of raising the ground up to provide a ramp along the entire wall, but waves you onward as she stops to catch her breath. Deciding to give the defenders no time to adapt to this sudden flaw in their defenses, you lead the charge up the slope immediately. The charge is devastating, although you make sure to bring your mount up short before it could charge through the enemy lines and out into the open air on the far side of the wall. Not even trying to fight, the assembled militia screams to fall back and scrambles to stay out of reach of your greatsword. At this rate, your veteran troops should clean the wall within a few minutes . . . what are those globes tumbling through the air!? You had given no order to attack the wall with siege equipment!!

Reflexively, you harden your skin, and that is the only thing that saves you as the globes impact against the wall and beyond, coating everything in a thick sheet of fire. Your remaining enemies on the wall die, your horse dies, your men up on the wall die, everyone except you dies, burnt into an unrecognizable charred corpse from the awful fire. Looking back, you can see that it is the newcomer army, the one comprised of desert men and yetis, who has unleashed this horror. Their mangonels continue to rain down a steady stream of the awful fire globes, not stopping until the entire wall and the slums beyond it are aflame.

Still, the casualties inflicted against your men are minimal, only the leading edge of your force caught by the blast. It therefore seems unlikely that the mangonels were targeting your men deliberately – otherwise the globes would have detonated in front of the wall and not behind it. Still, it isn’t pleasant to be the only man left alive on the wall, watching as the few survivors abandon their screaming comrades to flee deeper into the city. Within a minute the awful fire has extinguished itself on the wall, having nothing behind the fuel within the globes to burn. Down within the city however, a fire is starting to spread out of control, threatening the entire city. Worse still, the elves are summoning fire elementals from the flames and releasing them to spread the fire further.

For now, however, the way is clear deeper into the city. Katashiko moves to join you with the next wave of infantry, marching up over the burnt bodies of their comrades and enemies. On the fortunate side of things, the south side of the city’s wall is now yours. Looking around, you can see the east wall being swept clean by a dozen angels, and the west wall starting to crumble as well before the undead onslaught. Unfortunately, the undead are starting to swarm around the west wide of the city, threatening to hit your army’s flank. For now it’s just a trickle of undead, enough that only a portion of your force would be needed to hold them off. You could even advance into the city and then turn around and fight them there, although the thought of fighting a bunch of undead in the middle of a burning city, when the undead don’t care about heat or smoke, did not sound appealing.

Unfortunately, the worst of the news is yet to come. You watch as arrows lance up from hidden buildings throughout the city, striking down angels and griffons alike. One large black bolt, of the sort normally fired from the smallest sort of ballista, strikes Ander’s wyvern in the chest and the beast immediately plummets down into the middle of the city, taking its rider with it. Apparently the defenders had anticipated the walls being overrun quickly, and had set up numerous other defensive posts within the city! You’d have to locate them and take them out as you pressed deeper into the city, although whoever was inside could likely hit your forces just as easily as the griffons and angels above. Worse, the advance scouts race back to report that the city streets are periodically blocked with manned barricades. And then from the city streets come a swarm of iron golems, moving with intent to retake the city wall!

Pwenet

Ysora screams and gasps as you pummel her, although her expression changes from disdain to confusion as she pulls experimentally at her bonds. Your focused blows had wounded her, but they had also damaged the chains holding her to the altar. It wasn’t much – enough that she might be able to twist one arm free, but it was the most you could give her without making it obvious what you were doing. She nods, ever so faintly, wincing at the motion which jostled her broken cheekbones.

Your question to your brother is answered with a roar from the Miriam-possessed Sara.

“DEMETRIUS!!!!”

And then she is upon you both, her ephemeral wings glowing as brightly as the sun. She focuses her anger solely on Demetrius, putting him squarely on the defensive and forcing him back down the length of the airship. From the beginning it is clear that your brother is overmatched, not even his skill a match for a goddess in the flesh. Figuring while he was busy being pummeled would be a good time to step in and shiv him in the back, you start circling around to join the fight.

Unfortunately, that plot was fooled as Miriam noticed your approach and assumed you were coming to stab her in the back. Pausing briefly in her assault against Demetrius, she turns to you with a disappointed glare.

“Incom Morgan, I command you to stay out of this fight until your brother is dead!”

That command hit your very soul like a brick wall, and you found yourself stepping back to give them space despite yourself. It seemed that as a goddess, Miriam could issue irresistible commands to mortals – you dimly remember now Demetrius muttering something about that after he had a conversation with Sohssal. In any event, it seemed like your participation in this fight wasn’t going to happen, so you start considering other avenues to strike against your brother.

In the end, it turns out to be necessary as the fight races to its inevitable conclusion. Miriam tears your brother’s sword out of his hands, and then commands him to die. To your surprise and his, that is exactly what he does, Demetrius flopping down almost comically with a look of supreme shock on his face. Then Miriam turns those disapproving eyes on to you. What She fails to see that you don’t, however, is your brother’s body starting to stir. Then in one smooth motion, he leaps back up to his feet and stabs some sort of dagger into Miriam’s back.

While they square off again, you notice a hatch in the deck quietly hissing open, allowing a familiar figure to crawl up onto the deck. It’s the Herald of Azguloth, the same jerk whose head you had blown apart to little effect just before the Hierarch tore you a new one. He had recovered from those injuries, and now swiftly but silently moved up behind Miriam. The goddess twirled around just in time, blocking his attack with her sword. The two of them roar a challenge to each other, and then tear into each other with the same sort of vigor Miriam had displayed against your brother, only without the sides so unevenly matched. While the two of them fought, your brother quietly broke off and circled around over to you.

“Only a little while longer now, brother. Then we’ll have her!”

Demetrius whispered to you as he motioned a GHAST to fetch him Marisiel’s lost sword. He spares a look down the length of the airship to where Isabella is doing . . . something with those two swords. It seems clear that whatever your brother’s exact trap is, the lynchpin of it is Isabella. Should you therefore go try to put a stop to what she is doing, or now that Demetrius is focused on the duel between Miriam and the Herald, move to put an end to him first? And this time, not stop tearing until you are sure he’s actually dead.

Iethloc

After your impressive display of destruction against the GHASTs, Victoria merely nods at your command. Shanks is a little more skeptical, and expresses that concern while you turn to drain energy from the GHASTs. The constructs, as it turns out, prove to be a consistent but relatively low amount of energy. The King had chosen to use angel and demon souls to power the abominations, and although they could provide a fairly impressive amount of power most of it was bound to the soul itself, making it impossible to consume. This was incidentally why you found elementals preferable – they were unstable enough that you could just tear their essence apart and consume everything, rather than try to siphon off the tiny portion of the soul’s energy that was continually available. Still, looking into a way to arrange a number of souls together so they could jointly provide a stable, inexhaustible source of absorbable energy might be something to look into for the future.

“Begging the cap’n’s pardon, but shouldn’t we figure out a way off the ship ‘fore we scuttle her?”

Shanks asks. The question was meaningless if you could find a way outside the airship – within the walls prevented teleportation just as Ironheart did. However, it did bring up a valid point – the King was sure to have some sort of contingency plan for escaping should his airship develop a sudden need to fall out of the sky. You’d have to consider where to go next to prevent that from happening after you started the falling out of the sky part.

Thankfully for your efforts if not your temper, resistance is non-existent as you depart from the cargo bay that had served as your prison. Apparently with everyone at their battle stations or outside fighting, there was no one left to stop you. A minute later signs point to at least someone being aware of your escape, as alarms start to blare along with a feminine voice announcing that a prisoner (you) had escaped from the cargo bay. Still, with a battle raging outside the guards’ response time is pathetically slow. Before anyone arrives to accost you, you find yourself standing outside the doors leading to the engine room.

Here, two GHASTs stand guard, an intimidating sight to any mortal man. But you had long since ceased to be a mortal man, and between you and Victoria you reduced the two of them to reforming liquid scrap within seconds.

“I’ll keep them down!”

Shanks calls as he runs over to plunge his sword into one of the GHAST’s half-reformed head. That left you and Victoria to move on to the next obstacle – the heavy adamantite door that barred the way into the engine room itself. You had already developed a good way of opening such doors, however, from your time in Ironheart. Two of your lances of force later, and the crumpled door was toppling back into the room.

The room beyond had a horrible beauty in its elegance. Stretching for at least a hundred feet, the walls, floor, and ceiling of the engine room were covered with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of soul crystals. Within each you could feel the soul of an angel burning in agony. Arcs of electricity leaped between the crystals and flashed against collection plates arranged nearby. A walkway stretched down the middle of the room, giving access to control panels overlooking different sections of the crystal field. A dozen men stand around these controls, stumbling back in terror as you smash your way in. None of them would prove to be a threat.

Before you can get to the business of destroying the engine room, however, you sense that there is a threat within the room. With all the swirling energy from the crystals, it was hard to pick up individual sources of magic. As such, it’s hardly a surprise that you detect the invisibility magic only a moment before the invisible lurkers attacked. Omega and Xeric appear halfway down the walkway, Xeric sending a bolt of lightning crashing into Victoria, sending her flying back into the wall. Omega attempts to send an arrow of psychic pain into your mind, but you are faster as you release the paralyzing magic. Omega freezes as if she were but a statue, although her mind is still capable of attacking as she continues to lash your mind. As you force your way through the pain to prepare another spell, Xeric laughs.

“I thought you might try to strike back rather than flee, Sohssal! It’ll be so much sweeter now when I prove beyond any doubt who the superior mage is!”

WhiteKnight777

You send out messages to the goddess and the elves, and predictably receive nothing but silence in return. However, the elves subtly shift their formation, suggesting that they would concentrate their efforts against the city rather than preparing to fight you and the Church on the plains outside the gates. In the skies overhead the fighting continues unabated, although the brilliant light marking Miriam’s position seems to approach the King’s airship faster now. While you were contacting them, the god-botherers surged forward towards the wall. You didn’t much care of them, but they would at least serve the purpose of keeping the guards busy while your own men finished preparations.

Unfortunately, as your mangonels advanced and began to fire, the god-botherers revealed their own trick for overcoming the wall. The ground in front of it rippled and then surged upward, forming a ramp that the paladins could charge up. This led to the unfortunate circumstance that an instant after conquering the wall, the leading edge of the paladins was obliterated by the rain of fire. A small loss, but it raised the question of how the paladins would react to this accident.

At your remark about dancing with Death, Fianna turned back with a smirk. She opened her mouth to say something, but then froze as her eyes went wide. That was the only warning you got before something slammed into you from behind. You tumbled end over end with your assailant, managing to land on top of him although that did you little good. A pair of wiry strong legs wrapped themselves around your waist an instant after you hit the ground, and you heard rather than felt a blade rasp against the collar of your platemail. Then everything froze as your assailant reached his other hand around in front of your face, and started forming intricate signs with that hand. Only one man used that type of sign language, which explained how he had gotten this close without any sort of warning.

Hello, old friends.

“What do you want, Zariel?”

Fianna snapped, clearly weighing her chances of disabling Zariel before he could sever your throat. From where you were sitting, those chances were slim – Zariel was bound to have a blade thin enough to slip through a chink in your armor. Fortunately, Zariel had clearly come here to talk – fear of reprisal wouldn’t have stopped him had he wanted you dead.

I wanted to come say hello. You made quite the entrance, most impressive. But then, you were always theatrical. So now the question is why you are here.

“We’re here to destroy the King, you idiot. Kartul too!”

Fianna spat, her face starting to flush as her anger flared. And just like that, Zariel released you and shoved you off of him. Smoothly, he slid away from you and sprang back up onto his feet. Sheathing his dagger, he continued to gesture out messages with his other hand.

Good. Then perhaps I can convince you to aid me against Shiakti, who doubtless is serving her master’s bidding somewhere within the city.

“Hmph! A master into whose arms you drove her! What could have possibly motivated you to betray her, Zariel? To betray us!?”

Here, Zariel’s mouth twisted up into a sad but amused smile.

Ah, but is it really betrayal if there was never any loyalty to begin with? I was never one of you! I was always Zariel the Spy, charged with doing whatever it took to gain your confidence.

Zariel’s smile fades away into a grimace of disgust.

I went too far to complete that duty. I have come now to atone for my sins. Will you help me, if not out of friendship, then mutual self-interest?

There is no doubt that to get at the King, you would have to go through Shiakti. And in all likelihood, like Zariel she was probably secreted in some spot where you would not see her until it was too late. Having an extra pair of eyes in that circumstance would be useful, although not as good as having some unexpected way to approach her once you found her.

“The sewers.”

Fianna said suddenly, as if reading your mind.

“We can enter the city through the sewers while the cannon fodder serves as distraction. I should be able to lead us anywhere in the city, provided I know where we are headed.”

As if fate itself were smiling upon you, you suddenly saw a black bolt streaking up into the sky over the city, taking out a powerful wyvern in a single shot. Only Shiakti could make such a perfect shot, and judging by the fact that she was hunting wyverns and angels, she was likely using some rather heavy weaponry to do it. Following the bolt’s likely trajectory back, you saw that it came from the direction of the cathedral. And immediately you knew that’s where she would be. With the place half-destroyed by your disruption of Cheran’s wedding, likely the place had been sealed off. And hiding in a church while destroying servants of the church’s god seemed exactly the kind of bitter irony Shiakti would like to inflict. Now the only question was whether you should help Zariel destroy his former love, or simply send him off while you and Fianna dealt with other considerations.

Dorizzit

Elsa as usual simply stared dumbly at you, but Mina and the Countess nodded. Mina was wearing a bandolier of appropriated cutlery from the tavern’s kitchen, and the Countess had taken a crossbow from Argan’s remaining small stash of weapons. If anyone did get into the tavern, they’d likely regret it. Or perhaps not since if they could defeat Eldred’s wards, they could probably deal with one knife-wielding girl and a crippled woman with a crossbow.

Argan leading the way, your small band slips out into the city streets. With everybody focused on the fighting raging on the walls, no one notices as your group carefully follows Argan’s route, avoiding any barricades or fortified houses. When you reach the house however, you find that it is already under attack. As the building comes in sight, you can see several bodies scattered around it by the front door. Moving to investigate, you hear the sounds of fighting from within. Eldred wisely choosing to hang back, you and Argan advance while Katrina stays behind to guard him.

The front door is already hanging open, partially torn off of its hinges. Peering inside, you find more bodies strewn about and an open doorway leading down into the basement where the sounds of fighting are coming from. Continuing your cautious investigation you move on into the house and peer down into the basement. There you find Seraph battling with three cloaked figures, half a dozen more of them already lying in bloody pieces on the floor. The walls and floor of the basement are covered in some sort of obscene script, written in what appears to be some sort of blood. As two of the cowled figures hold Seraph’s attention, the third kneels and shouts a final incantation. The script around the room glows brightly, and then ignites, burning itself off the wall. With a cry of frustration Seraph cuts down the two cultists in front of him and leaps at the third, bowling him over before skewering him. Even in death, the third figure simply laughs.

“You are . . . too late!”

The figure rasps before collapsing into death. Seraph curses, and then curses even more loudly as the floor cracks and splits apart at his feet, releasing a hellish red light and the sound of screams into the room. Looking up, he sees you and immediately waves you away.

“Get out!”

He shouts, charging up the steps at you. You consider whether this was supposed to be advice or a threat, decided you didn’t like either, but that the basement wasn’t looking like a good place to be as the floor continues to give way. Seraph right on your heels, you race back out the way you had come, exiting the building back out onto the street. The house begins to sag and collapse, the hole that had formed in its basement evidentially continuing to expand. Seraph helps the process along by kicking the front door all the way off its hinges, sending it flying back into the house.

“Damnit!”

He cries, tugging at a handful of hair before turning back to you and Argan.

“My father is turning this city into a trap for Miriam. I don’t have all the details, but it has something to do with a dozen rituals being conducted throughout the city in basements just like this one. From the looks of it, he’s planning on dropping the entire damn city down into the Hells! And now that it’s started, I don’t know if it can be stopped!”

“A ritual this widespread would need multiple sites to initiate it, but there would need to be an additional large source of power in order to complete it.”

Eldred explains as he and Katrina walk over to join you. All eyes turn up towards the Baron’s airship.

“No. Not doing it. I’ve made all of the sacrifices I’m going to make.”

Seraph growls, turning away from your group.

“I came here to try to foil my father’s plans, and now since that effort has failed I’m getting out of here.”

Within you, Purifier howls for his blood, now that he has declared he is of no further use to you. Before you can really consider his words, Rose suddenly descends from above, swooping down thanks to the use of an EEP. With that half of her face no longer covered by a veil, the mass of scar tissue around her missing eye is clearly visible. Embarrassed, she slaps a hand over that side of her face after she has recovered from her shock of seeing everyone. She also shies back away from you and Argan, clearly having no desire to have a repeat of what happened in the cathedral.

“You got out safe! I was worried.”

Seraph said, moving to embrace his wife.

“I nearly didn’t. Cheran.”

Rose explained, and the mention of your supposed-to-be-dead nemesis sends your blood boiling. Apparently the Baron didn’t even have the decency to let the dead stay dead, although that was hardly surprising. No doubt he was some kind of GHAST now, given you had left the Baron with no body to turn into some sort of undead. Oh well, that just gave you the opportunity to kill Cheran all over again. However, the thought of Seraph going off to hide with his wife while you killed his father made your blood boil. Purifier wanted to just kill them both, and that had been back when they were of use to you. Now they were both of no use to you, although there is still a tiny part of you that was glad Seraph wasn’t fighting on his father’s side, at least. But was that good enough to show mercy to a former enemy?

Suddenly, the city walls off in the dstance to your left burst into flame. Given the intensity of the fire, it would spread to eventually consume the entire city. Through Purifier, you could also sense fire elementals being conjured from the flames, which would undoubtedly spread to consume untouched areas of the city. Although Eldred’s wards would keep out any danger, they would have no effect on smoke and fire. But did you really have time to go back and waste time trying to escort the non-combatants to a safe place? Was there even such a place within the city now?

The Hero of the Oppressed

OverWilliam

At your words, Ulrich nods and sighs.

“What is Just isn’t always what’s Right. The Inquisitors tend to have a very black and white view of the world, and any shade of grey is judged by them as unacceptable. Still, there are things in this world we have the power to change, and things which are just too big for us to comprehend, let along try to change. I suspect saving all those poor innocent souls condemned to the Hells is one of those, but just maybe we can save two people and one fallen angel from the Inquisitors’ clutches.”

Ulrich pauses a moment and then continues, his voice having a softer but still holding that instructor tone.

“Speaking of which, I don’t know whether saving a fallen angel is Just *or* Right, but I don’t suppose that’s an argument I’m going to win. You clearly care about her quite a bit, and in the end that’s all that matters anyway. Still, I would think about defining just how much you care and why, Tare. I like you a whole lot kid, but I don’t think even I would enact a near-suicidal rescue operation against the Inquisitor’s home base! Course, we knew that already – sorry.”

Ulrich grunted, frowning as he remembered what you had just told him about Ironheart, and the unique kind of Hells he had left you in – one that almost made the Hells themselves a pleasant trip!

“Anyway, just uh, think about that. I can’t say any of it makes any sense, but these sorts of things don’t tend to. Just be careful and think things through – and don’t hold back with whatever you decide.”

Ulrich shakes his head and shrugs, clearly uncomfortable.

“That’s all I have to say on that. Hope it was of some use to you.”

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

(I’m really glad you added this scene, as I think it’ll be very good to fit it in here. But poor, poor Tare really isn’t going to like it. )

As you complete your story with a sob, Karami simply sat there, likely in shock. After a few moments however, she pushed herself up to her feet, dead silent. Glancing up at her, you could see that her own cheeks are stained with silent tears. But the look on her face is enough to freeze your soul – a mixture of horror, betrayal, and hate. She opens her mouth, only able to make soft unintelligible sounds for the first few seconds. Finally, she is able to form coherent words, and they lance your soul with needle precision.

“It was you!? I thought about you, thought it was too good to be true someone just came down out of the sky to save me. Those sorts of people don’t exist, not in this world. But I wanted to. I dreamed about you. I loved you. You were my hero, my savior, the one shining light I had left! But it was all just a lie!”

With shaking hands, Karami reaches up to her head and tugs on her hair. She continues, her words more of a howl now.

“How could you do this to me!? Why!? Why even tell me at all!? Can’t you stand the sight of me being happy!?”

Releasing her grip on her hair, Karami throws her arms up and staggers back away from you.

“Get away from me!”

She hisses, turning around to half run, half stagger out of the room.

“I hate you!”

She shrieks over her shoulder.

“I hope you die, you liar!”

Unbidden, the voice of the Baron echoes in your mind, taunting you.

Your compassion *will* be the death of you, boy.

***********

And now, speaking of death, you have several Inquisitors to kill.

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

Trusting Cherise to make a better representative for your father’s defense given your history with the Tribunal, you let her go ahead. Besides, with Cherise focusing on your father’s defense, that would give you the opportunity to discretely watch the crowd. As Cherise begins her speech, you tune her voice out as you focus on sorting through the facts of the case.

You aren’t sure how someone was able to impersonate your father, but it was clear that they had gone to great lengths to do so. This wasn’t something that they had scrambled to do after you unveiled Cynthia – this had been part of their plan all along. But what was the goal of that plan – what were they hoping to accomplish by framing your father? Gathering all of the Canticles together in one spot could be one such motive, you realize with a sinking feeling. Not only was everyone here together, but most members’ attention was fully on the trial itself. Furthermore, out of security considerations, having magical items present or on-going spells was frowned upon. Caught off-guard before they could raise their defenses, therefore, most of the Canticles members would be easy prey.

Discretely watching the crowd, you see various people filtering in and out as they grew bored or needed to step outside for fresh air. Duncan is one of the people who quietly leaves, just as Cherise is finishing up her argument. Noticing your gaze, Duncan matches it, and even smiles. There is a hard, knowing edge to that smile though, and then he turns away and walks out the door. As Cherise sat back down to allow the Adjudicators to present their argument, she listens to your questions with a growing frown.

“No . . . no he just showed up with them. I had wondered about that myself at the time, but he gave some sort of excuse about having suspected your father for a long time. Having been shocked by the sight of your father’s name in the ledgers, I hadn’t given it any further thought then. Now, though . . . that does seem awfully suspicious.”

You wondered what sort of excuse Duncan would come up with for bringing poisons into Cherise’s home. It seemed likely you had found your suspect, but proving it right now might still be difficult. More concerning however was the fact that Duncan had just left, quite possibly to launch some sort of attack. As one of your father’s defenders, it would be improper for you to attempt to excuse yourself. Furthermore, if Duncan still had any allies in the crowd, they’d see you leaving and might be able to warn him. Thankfully, Benedict finished the Adjudicator’s argument a few minutes later, and the head tribunal member called for a brief ten minute recess before evidence was displayed. A large portion of the crowd got up then, presumably to go get a breath of fresh air or discuss the case in private.

“I think I’m going to go grab some fresh air. I feel a little sick, thinking about my uncle being a warlock.”

Cherise whispers, pushing herself up to her feet. You hadn’t told you the worst part yet even, that your uncle might have been sneaking poison in to sicken and kill her mother! For now, it seemed wise to keep that detail to yourself so Cherise could concentrate. Meanwhile, you could put this ten-minute recess to use. The only question was whether you would go try to find Duncan yourself, or attempt to convince the Adjudicators of his guilt and send them out to look for him?

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

Skor Pon does not rise again, although the gentle rise and fall of his chest reassures you that he is merely unconscious. After a moment, the old organizer claps his hands, signaling the boy to ring the gong again.

“A flawless victory, young Halrath!”

The organizer calls out over the polite smattering of applause from the onlookers. A pair of burly men wearing matching sashes (some sort of badge to identify them as staff, no doubt) come out and pick Skor Pon up, hauling him out of the pit.

“Next fight in five minutes!”

The organizer announced, and the crowd began to disperse, churning as others come in to watch the next fight. With your victory uncelebrated further, you make your way out of the pit and start to head back to your room. Or perhaps you’d make a quick stop by the healers, both to make sure Skor Pon had suffered no permanent injury, and to let them treat your own injuries from being pummeled for the first minute by the obnoxious teleporter. Before you can go much further outside of the ring, however, your way is blocked by a mountain of muscle – an ogre had stepped out of the crowd to block your path.

“Good show.”

The ogre rumbled, and then continued with something that sent your pulse racing with suspicion.

“That was earth magic, wasn’t it? Terra-style, more specifically?”

The ogre spread its mouth open in what was probably meant to be a pleasant smile, but the sight of the creature’s massive canines was hardly reassuring. Still, the next thing he said changed everything.

“I’m a practitioner of that myself! Name’s Val’tosh. Val’tosh Stonebiter.”

The ogre stuck a beefy hand out for a handshake, enveloping your hand with surprising gentleness. You sensed that his own training had given Val’tosh a grace uncommon amongst his stereotypical, big, slow peers.

“I was hoping maybe we could sit down and have a talk about it. Maybe compare notes or something. I’m hardly an expert on the subject myself, but who knows? Maybe you know something that I don’t!”

You aren’t sure if you want to be sharing all of your secret techniques with a potential competitor, especially one with such a large physical advantage over you. But, you hadn’t found anyone who had practiced the style in your wanderings, and the ogre’s excitement was contagious.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Hondshioh looks at Katashiko, unsure as to whether she could handle such a force, but there wasn't much time.

"Katashiko! Think you can arrange an earthquake for us? The men aren't going to be able to handle these golems on their own!"

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

His entire arm twitches as he shakes the ogre's hand, from a mixture of elation and weariness.

"Great to meet you, Val'Tosh. You mind if we walk and talk for a moment?"

The size of his fellow practitioner is a little overwhelming, but still exhudes a comforting feeling, to be near another Terra Style user after so long. Val'Tosh's unnaturally soft steps made it clear he was far more than some brute that the old man had lugged in here, this was a trained being, in mind and body.

"I was hoping I'd been subtle enough to avoid any attention to my magic, but I guess didn't work out as well as I'd expected. Got to keep them guessing, when you've got this many people watching you fight. How did I give game away?"

He laughs tiredly at his own efforts, before rubbing his palms habitually.

"So, if we are going to be swapping notes, we'd best avoid any more people hearing what we can do. Besides throwing sand in people's eyes."

He leads his new-found fellow in the direction of the participants' rooms, popping his head once inside the healer's room to see Skor Pon's condition, hopefully before Skor Pon can see him. Collapsing ungracefully against his own bed, as Mal gestures to his unexpected guest to stand where he likes, or even shape a seat with his own earth magic, if he can.

"Just don't mess up the part of the wall with the swirl. Now, best we start off with you telling me what you recognised out in the fight, so we don't go over things we both know."

After listening to the ogre's immediate knowledge, the pale-haired man pushes his body forward and starts to discuss some of the finer points.

(He will freely explain anything he used in the fight, except Tremorsense, unless the ogre knows about it already. He's happy to explain his sink-hole move, his use of stone-armour and his knowledge of the basics of earth magic, in shifting states. He'll query about any free-form earth magic skills the orge may know e.g. normal terrakinesis. He'll also ask if he has a current master and what he's doing in this tournement.)

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber was surprised by his assailant only for a split second. His hand clamped around Zariel's before he had even ascertained his assailant's identity, though he doubted he could have stopped him, even with all the power at his disposal. That was the problem with suicide killers - a normal man you could dissuade, but one who had already decided he was dead was the most frightening opponent one could face. The secret of any static defense was this - you couldn't actually stop people from getting to you. All you could do was make the price too high.

In this case, though, all that was moot. Zariel quite likely could have ended him then and there. Umber's good fortune such eventualities proved unnecessary.

Of course, he didn't have much faith in fortune, especially not these days.

He stood up and dusted himself off, giving Zariel a slightly amused look. "And I thought melodrama was my forte, Zariel. You could have just asked." He said dryly. Truth be told, he wasn't particularly surprised at his old ally's reappearance - it fit the pattern too well. All the circles were closing, all the birds come home to roost.

He paused only for a moment before replying, giving the two of them a sharp nod. He'd planned to make straight for the Baron's airship when the time was right, but that was before the fire assault had failed. He saw immediate advantage in the plan - he had always planned on leading a small strike team, and disabling one of the Baron's major assets before the final confrontation began would only serve his purposes. That there was no doubt in his mind that the ultimate battle was between himself and the Baron spoke volumes about Umber's arrogance.

He beckoned his war-leaders forward for a few hurried moments of conference, and then he dismissed them. He nodded to Zariel.

"Lead on. I've given instructions as to how the rest of our forces are to proceed. We will receive assistance when the time is right."

Behind him, there was a frenzied howl as a trio of ornate stone jugs were brought forward and set out on the sand. The three eldest shamans in the horde unstoppered them in unison, and blue-grey smoke billowed out, coalescing in the forms of three humanoids with skin the color of deep ocean and eyes light summer lightning. There was a deal of conversation in an old, old tongue as Umber began towards the city, and the trio rose into the sky, clouds rolling up as the spirits gathered the forces of storm, driving them towards the city with lightning forking between the clouds.

[The_Snark]

Mar

Consciousness returned slowly. Memories tumbled through her mind, mingling with sensation so that she could barely tell which was which: the smell of hay, chains locked tightly around her wrists, the crisp chill of a winter morning, the sour aftertaste of half-rotten gruel, voices, wind rushing past her ear as she fell, the smell of hay, rough burlap against her skin, a cold bed of stone far to the south—

The shovel-blow drove all thought out of her mind, but once the dizziness and the pain started to recede she found herself more or less lucid. Yes, of course—Julian had hit her. No, that wasn't right. Why would he hit her? But he had. He wasn't the one who'd struck her a minute ago, though. The voice was wrong. She shifted experimentally, finding herself bound as tightly as she ever had been in Ironheart. It was only rope, not iron chains, but she didn't think she was strong enough to break them anyway, so it didn't much matter.

Ah, there was Julian.

There was something wrong about his eyes, but before she could think what, he had a knife to her throat. Mar could scarcely have been more surprised if he'd stabbed her with it. He'd called her—he was—what was he doing? The blow to the head could have been meant to shock her out of that first cascade of memories, but this—! Had she misjudged him that badly? All his small kindnesses to her, his nervous bravery and the way he tried to laugh even in the depths of Ironheart—could that all have been feigned? She stumbled on the doorframe, nearly cutting her own throat on his knife, and he hissed and jerked her upright again. She paid more attention to her footing after that.

The air was colder outside than she'd expected. Dark had fallen while she slept off the blow, it seemed, and the torches that lit the square did little to warm it. There was the wooden pole she'd seen earlier, piled high with kindling all around, and now she understood why it had kindled such dread when she saw it earlier. Mar remembered being burned alive, once. She wasn't eager to do it again. But she felt more weariness than terror as they forced her to kneel in the circle. She felt as if she'd done this more times than she could count: Titania's accusations in Phaedra, Istomilo above Vallon, more terrified confessions in front of Daddy (Brother Corwin) than she cared to count. She was so very tired of feeling guilty.

And these ones didn't even know what to accuse her of. She almost laughed. They wanted her dead because she had wings? Of all the stupid, pointless reasons to hate her... but pointless or not, she would be no less dead if she couldn't sway them. (Would the red crystal in her breast snare her soul again, she wondered? Would she be conscious in there, with no-one to give her a new body?) And somehow, she didn't think protesting her innocence wouldn't be good enough. The pyre was ready to be lit; they seemed to have decided the verdict already.

Nonetheless.

"I have never served the Forger of Oblivion," she said. Her voice rang with certainty: in this, at least, she was absolutely blameless. "And never will. I did not give myself these wings." That was all. It was as much of the truth as she dared tell; they'd never believe she was an angel, not bound and trussed and branded as a prisoner, not when she still wasn't quite sure of it herself. It was the most important part anyway.

But as she stared up into the face of the priest, she had the sinking feeling that it wasn't good enough.

[Pwenet]

Incom Morgan

“Only a little while longer now, brother. Then we’ll have her!”

Unable to interface in the battle thanks to Miriam’s command, Incom stirs against the bonds of a goddess across his soul. Seeing the Herald of Azguloth trading blows with Miriam, a sinking feeling of terror creeps into his mind. There was the creature that had killed him. There was the creature that doomed him to be a plaything in this grand game of chess.

“…until your brother is dead!”

Wait a second.

Watching his brother dive back into the fray thoughts ripple through Incom’s mind. Why would his brother engage Miriam in a duel? He had to have known the power she wielded against her creations. She was not used to the mortals, her mind limited by flesh that caged it.

Looking up towards Isabella a sinking feeling twists in what would pass within Incom’s stomach. If it was him, he would not have his main weapon fighting full out against a superior opponent. In fact, he would hide it where it could do the most damage.

“…until your brother is dead!”

Why did Demetrius let Sara go? Why did he arrange for her to initially be possessed by Sara? A test, the Herald being the test subject, just as much so as Sara was. A little girl, to be the host of the goddess of the world.

“…until your brother is dead!”

And Isabella, a twisted broken woman, a servant to Demetrious, willing to sacrifice her children to him, willing to sacrifice her family to him.

“…until your brother is dead!”

She would die. Incom recalled that look many times, in the battlefield from soldiers given their final orders. Isabella had her final orders.

“…until your brother is dead!”

He was no mage, but he had enough first-hand knowledge to know magic was terrible. And judging by her wounds, this was something involving blood, blood that Sara shared, blood that Miriam now shared, blood that Incom would surmise all the angelic host shared now.

“…until your brother is dead!”

He was DEAD ALREADY!

”AZGULOTH!!!”

The name ripped itself from Incom and he moved. His wing cannons fired at their target, not Demetrius, not Miriam, but the Herald of Azguloth. The blast struck true, sending him flying back.

”You should run, for it is time for a good man to go to war!”

A nearby GHAST was his first target, and the easiest to start with. Spinning around gracefully Incom grabbed it around the neck and threw it to the ground. His other arm reaches over, grabs it’s back and bodily throws it towards rising Herald. Even before the GHAST takes flight Incom looks up towards Isabella and takes off, dodging and weaving through the air, is goal not to injure, but to protect her from herself.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

"No Cerise, stay here." Isera said before Cerise left. "I have a bad feeling. I'm going after Duncan. But you must stay here. If both defending people leave, there will be trouble." Isera said. The adjudicators wouldn't listen about Duncan. To be a Canticle of Autumn, one saw clearly the line to stand upon. When there was a threat to fight, one did it quickly and precisely. There was no time for patience when the moment came. Autumn burns brilliantly and decisively. Convincing the adjudicators would take too much time. Isera walked through the crowd towards the door. Outside she looked around for Duncan swiftly. Closing her normal eye, she used her magic eye to check the area. Duncan's aura was known to her.
What was he planning? Isera kept a cool appearance.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal did his best to simmer down as they made their way to the engine room, an effort greatly aided by the lack of resistance. ”If you know of a short route from the engine to the outside, I could fly us out of here at top speed. If nothing else, I could start blasting a hole in the hull through which we could teleport,” he postulated.


Sohssal wasn't wholly surprised that Xeric and Omega would ambush him. Once he noticed Omega was there, he immediately suspected she was the reason they knew to wait for him here. Or maybe Xeric just works in the engine room? Either way, it wouldn't matter for much longer.

Omega...I am disappointed, Sohssal mentally relayed one last time. Having repaired it before, Sohssal was aware that Omega's brain grafts were not the sturdiest. A solid hit to the head might render her powers nearly unusable again. Staying (mostly) focused despite the pain, he picked up one of the workers with a torrent of wind and smashed him against Omega's head. Whether or not it had the effect he was hoping for, the force of the blow should disorient her enough to give Sohssal respite.

”You've made a grave error, Xeric. Gene couldn't defeat me after I was imprisoned and tortured for a year, but now YOU have to face me while I'm at full power!” he boasted. Unfortunately, he couldn't use his most destructive spells just yet; the engine had to remain intact until his escape route was ready. Instead, he made a single dismissive gesture, and five blades of force appeared around his hand. Without flesh to slow him down, he could control the swords much more precisely. Sohssal sent them hurtling towards Xeric, spreading out at the last moment to strike from multiple angles.

[Dorizzit]

Korram the Purifier

Korram enters the building ready to unleash his unstoppable fury on all involved, only to be held back by the surprise appearance of Seraph already finished. Although his efforts to halt the ritual had failed, the Baron's rogue son had ensured that there was nothing left for Korram to do. The next minute leaves Korram more off guard; his resolution towards punishing Seraph was only due to his refusal to switch sides, something that the man had clearly done. At the same time, he was refusing to further involve himself. The constant action also prevents Korram from centering himself. Purifier demands blood from Seraphan, but the (shrinking) parts of Korram that remained pure of the elemental's influence did not want to harm his...friend? Enemy? Seraphan was a complicated individual, and his relationship to Korram was equally so. It takes a few seconds, but Korram finally comes to a decision. Purifier, privy to Korram's mental debate, swells with unhappiness.

ENOUGH! He is no more use to you, and you have bent the terms of our deal long enough! He dies!
No. Give me this chance...to be human. One last time. That's it. From here on, it will just be us and revenge. We will destroy everything the Baron ever was and burn it all to the ground until his very name is forgotten. Just let me make my own choice here.
Last. Chance.

Korram's eyes flash open, as it was his custom to close them when speaking with his bodies extra inhabitants.

"We're done here. I don't even know why we bothered. This has progressed far beyond the ability of any human to influence. You three."

Korram looks at Argan, Eldred, and Katrina.

"Get out of the city, there's nothing you can do here. Grab the girls if you want, I don't care, just get out. And you-"

He turns and points at Seraph and Rose.

"-are going to help them. You have not even begun to pay off your debt. I'm sick of you. You always acted like you hated your father, but you never had the guts to fight back. Even here, you do one unimportant thing and act like suddenly you've performed some great sacrifice and you're free and clear. You're not. Not now, not ever. And unless you keep being useful, then I have no reason not to...no...I'm required to kill you. I have no choice. So you're going to help them. If you don't, I'll kill you here and now. You can't win. You might escape. But not with her. Get them out of the city safely and we'll never meet again. Then you can go wherever you want, settle down, and live with the memories of everything you did because you were a coward."

Despite Korram's harsh words, they carry, at the very least, and accurate representation of their combat abilities. Fully rested and with several days to charge up, Korram would be able to incinerate Seraphan with little difficulty, assuming he could connect. Moreover, Seraphan would be hard pressed to dodge and keep Rose safe. Letting Seraphan process his demands and come to grips with the situation, Korram turns to Katrina.

"I don't really have a right to say anything to you, not anymore. Just...do what I tell you to, for once. And take these with you."

Lifting his arm, Korram ignites it and creates four small orbs of flame. Two burn with dark light, seeming eerie and unnatural. He hands them to Katrina; the flames of the orbs are self contained, not even allowing heat out. They weigh nothing and can barely be felt. He points first to the normal orbs, then the other two.

"These will explode on command. This one's command is kite, and this one is rage. These ones will suck in all the flames around them, or send a fire elemental back home. This one is null, and this one is void. They're linked to your voice, so other people won't trigger them. You can change who they're controlled by with a command."

Lastly, he looks at Eldred.

"This...power source for the ritual. Give me a few ideas of what to look for."

After allowing Eldred to speak and dealing with any last interactions with the group, Korram takes a few steps back, folds his arms and waits for them to leave. While he waits, he takes stock of the sky, noting how the battle is going and trying to find a clear course to the Gastly Truth. Naturally there isn't one, but he does get a better sense of what he must go through before he can reach the ship. His preparations complete, he sheathes himself in flames and rockets into the sky, forcing his way through all obstructions as he flies towards the Baron's airship.