Flight From Ironheart IC

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

Isera groaned silently realizing her situation. She took a deep breath and tried to force annoyed feelings down. With such a headache, angry thoughts only made it worse.

Ironheart. That name again.

She listened vaguely as Duncan talked. The situation suddenly seemed more absurd. She almost wanted to laugh grimly.
Of course Duncan had made sure she would go to Cynthia, and Duncan was the spy in the Canticles.
But the way he spoke, he wasn't a minion. He was a leader. Or he was delusional in thinking he was one.
The mage collar from Ironheart, Cynthia's connection, the Hellrazers, the Barony of Ghast which so many bad rumors had come. A fake trial and some kind of evil ritual in the basement.
It was elaborate, but too elaborate for simple revenge. Isera could appreciate a cunning plan, but the biggest flaw of any cult was it's confidence in it's plan.
Duncan was a cultist. His words confirmed it.
A confident smile is menacing, unless it is overconfident.

But the situation of Isera is not one of easiness. To escape from this situation she cannot become overconfident.
Was the trial continuing? Where was Cerise?
Isera was certain it was the real Cerise she had seen before- her eye of odynn didn't lie.
But to be fooled by an illusion that simple...

No... Isera had known it was a trap. She allowed herself to be fooled. She had trapped herself.
"You seem very prepared." Isera complimented weakly. She cleared her throat and decided to just rest lying down until the headache was better.

Duncan had prepared a mage collar of Ironheart. Such a thing couldn't be found easily, and it wasn't taken from Canticle storage. So, he had prepared to capture her or someone for a long time now. But, to think of the plan, he had been leading her around for a long time now. So, Isera could assume that he had prepared it to use on Isera.

Why? Isera wondered. To get some sort of revenge? Then it made sense. She maybe wouldn't have thought of it until recently... But her father. Because Isera knew that her father loved her, and she loved him. Duncan was trying to destroy her father, and he was going to try to use her for such a purpose.

That was a moment of fear. The realization of one goal. But she knew it. Isera looked at Duncan with a wary expression.
It was a game now. Did Duncan really think he could persuade her to help? That was curious. Isera wanted to see that confidence. But there was a certain way to play this game.

First, learn about the current situation.
"Where is Cerise? Did you actually kidnap her, or was it all an illusion?" She asked. If he had not captured Cerise, then Cerise was safe, so Isera didn't have to worry about her. "How long was I sleeping?"
Of course, the trial had 10 minute rest. If she had been sleeping for some time, of course they would notice she was not at the trial. If Cerise had been captured, then there would be a stopped trial because the defense was missing. It would be too suspicious and they would investigate.

"Why are you poisoning your family?" Was her next question. It was really a curious question. Many people do revenge for different reasons, and cultists it is often about obtain power. But there must be a big reason, probably the connecting reason, why was Duncan so angry at his family? Then Isera asked.
"Why frame my father and why me?" She was more emotional when she asked. Probably she knew the answer, but it was better to confirm it.

Then Isera paused and thought.
"Since it was suggested, how could you possibly choose to damn yourself for all eternity? It does seem like a really stupid decision, unless you value your plot more than your soul. Or, unless you think you can avoid it."

"Oh, I'm also curious how you will convince me to become your assistant. While I lay on this stone altar with a magic square on the ground."

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Hondshioh surveyed the battlefield grimly. He didn't like any of the options presented to him. The Herald would surely kill Miriam if he didn't act quickly, but if the Baron escaped, this would only get worse. Desperate, Hondshioh called to the paladins fighting.

"PALADINS! Defend the Valkyrie at any cost! Leave the Baron to me. I go now to redeem all of mortalkind. FOR MIRIAM! FOR ATHELION! FOR ALL PURE AND INNOCENT!"

Taking up his mighty sword, he hardens his skin and charges towards the Baron like a freight train, crushing or knocking aside anything foolish enough to get in his way.

[Dorizzit]

Korram the Firebrand

Korram flies through the air. His flight has improved quite a bit since he first merged with Purifier, although its still not something he wants to be attempting difficult maneuvers with in a fight. He quickly reaches the Gastly Truth, flipping over the side and landing in a crouch, his flames retracting into his body. Rising to his feet, Korram rapidly surveys the deck. GHASTs, Hands, Paladins, Angels, all unimportant. Herald, no doubt important but irrelevant.

Seeing the Baron's dismissive challenge, Korram begins angrily closing with him. His instincts warn him against being reckless, however, and he looks down at the ground below him. Noticing the wards carved onto the surface of the deck, Korram is glad that he had learned to subvert the troublesome enchantments. Instead of immediately draining them, however, he looks up at the Baron in feigned rage and begins charging across the deck towards him. As he does so, he subtly reaches his flame senses across the ship, finding all of the wards present. When the time comes, he will be ready to absorb them.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal was actually surprised at how well Shanks was recovering from the loss of Victoria. That wasn't a strike against him, though. Emotional fortitude was no disadvantage when you regularly faced demons and madmen, and neither was his suspicion.

However, the disembodied voice seemed a little too convenient. He had seen the modified plague in action and found it reasonable there was a lot of it stored here, but Sohssal hard a time thinking any associate of the Baron could be trustworthy. On the other hand, Victoria was easily turned and the Baron seemed to care little about securing loyalty (as demonstrated when he betrayed Sohssal). That still wouldn't make someone who had to obey the Baron's commands a reliable ally, at least not without some insurance.

”Actually, Shanks, I think sending the ship into the Hells post-haste would be a splendid idea. Trapping both the Baron and Miriam there would be...most satisfactory. But I don't completely trust you, Fury. Show me how to disable you, and maybe I will help. It would be a necessary precaution, anyway, since if you're telling the truth, the Baron could order you to stop us,” Sohssal explained.

[Lonna]

Pyrene

When the butler dropped his illusions, Pyrene dropped hers as well. There was no point in maintaining them if she was already revealed, it would just be a drain on her energies.

As would explaining herself to Volesin's butler. He would disbelieve anything she told him in any case. When Ariella entered, however, Pyrene nodded at her, smiling happily despite herself.

“Yes Father, what is it? I was told someone’s here to see me?”

"Ariella, my name is Py- is Jacqueline. You probably don't remember me, but I'm your half-sister."

[The_Snark]

Mar

Theme Song

Although it was hardly possible to forget what she was walking towards, Mar found her mind slipping away to dwell on other things as she made her way up the slope. The bracelet around her wrist was familiar and yet not, rough homespun thread where she was used to cool unyielding brass. Caroline. Walking away from her was hard; no matter how strange things were between her and Jacob, she wished she could... she didn't know. Make things better, somehow. Mar wouldn't wish to undo her time with the girl, but it didn't seem fair to be saying goodbye so soon.

And it was goodbye. Even if she lived to see the dawn, Mar knew she would have trouble living quietly in a town like Stonefall. She remembered too much. Marisiel the angel had left so much unfinished.

The snowy mountainside was pleasantly cool after the hot air and smoke of the village. That was good. The townsfolk would have plenty of water to douse the fires. Ice and slush bit painfully at the burns on the soles of her feet, but numbness soon took the edge off the pain. Also good.

All too soon, she reached the summit.

That face sent a shudder through her, but no more than that; no heart-wrenching shame, no desire to fall on the ground weeping and begging forgiveness. He no doubt hadn't meant to, but his last words had set her free of all that, telling her that she really had been a good daughter while at the same time convincing her that she didn't want to please him. It was still frightening what he'd managed to do to her, the things he might do again if she ever fell back into his hands… but then, he was dead. This wasn't him.

This was someone else, no less dangerous. Mar was powerfully aware, standing there, of how helpless she was: too weak and tired to fight, the bottoms of her feet singed so that she couldn't run. (Not that she would; she knew running wouldn't solve anything.) If Istomilo decided to kill her, or Julian, or inflict something worse upon the pair of them, there was nothing she could do to stop him. And she knew he could do these things. She remembered the sense of shock and betrayal she'd felt upon seeing him join her jailors in Ironheart, echoing what she'd felt when they met over Vallon. He was a murderer a hundred times over, party to torture and worse, and it frightened her.

So why did his accusations still have the power to make her flinch? Why, after years of torture, did she still care what he thought?

"It... it wasn't like that," she said lamely, wondering how this must sound to Julian. His presence made everything more complicated; so much he didn't know, and no time to explain. "I wasn't trying to be too good for anything. I just didn't want people to be hurt. It... didn't seem like very much to ask." She laughed, a small and bitter sound. "I guess I was wrong about that."

"But I still don't understand why, Istomilo. Why are you here? You're immortal. You could go anywhere, do anything. You could watch the sun rise from the tallest mountain in the world, or make yourself a king of any nation you pleased, or... I don't know. There's a whole world out there, but you chose here. Why me? I know I hurt you, but... is revenge all you have left? Do you like watching me suffer?" Her voice had fallen to a whisper, half-pleading. "What do you want from me?"

[Gorgondantess]

She grimaced at this dreamscape she was in (if indeed that is what it is). No, she would not heed this dream's call. She was starting to grow rather weary of ancient cults, conspiracies and cryptic messages, and this smacked of all three. On the other hand, she might just be being contrary. Probably. This revelation startled her: she was never much one for analyzing her own actions before. Despite this introspection- or, more likely, because of her continuing contrary nature- she resolves not to pursue the temple in the distance.

******

In the days following the explosion of the great beast, the blast radius was shunned by most of those in the surrounding area- particularly those from the village that bore the fish banner. Soon enough, though, a few intepid explorers plumbed its depths, and finding it was quite safe, the area quickly became frequented by the village's children.
One such child, playing away from the others, found something interesting. It was, at heart, a puddle, but one unlike the boy or indeed anyone had seen before: both clear and colorful, an opalescent mass that constantly shifted and morphed, never quite looking the same from second to second.
The boy was currently in the process of poking said mass with a stick. While it seemed to be no thicker than water to the naked eye, the stick never broke the surface, instead simply pushing it down and causing it to quiver and shake like a thick jello.
It wasn't long before another young child happened upon the boy and his slime.
"Hey."
"Hey. Wanna poke this thing with me?"
"Sure."
She cast about, but was disappointed.
"There's no sticks around here."
"So just poke it with your finger."
"No way! It's probably poison or something."
"What are you, a girl?"
"I've always been a girl!"
"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean you have to act like one."
The girl gave up, and flounced down beside the boy. She stared at the puddle tentatively.
"...I'll touch it. But only if you touch it first.
The boy hesitated a moment.
"What are you, a girl?", she sneered.
Steeling himself, the boy reached out and poked the thing with one finger. There wasn't much reaction, but this time, it sunk in- in fact, the puddle was tugging at him, and climbing up his finger. He made a strange face, feeling nothing- or rather, nothingness. A strange emptiness pervaded his finger. By the time he pulled back, it had reached up to his knuckle. It tugged at him, but gave way with an audible pop.
The two stared a bit at the blood gushing from where his finger used to be, before running off screaming into the woods.

******

She felt the tug at her back intensify as she regarded the temple in the distance. She wasn't long for this world. Good riddance, anyways. But before she left, she had words for this thing. She wasn't sure if anyone was listening- it would be absurd to think so, really- but she was saying this as much for herself as for anyone else.
"Every time I think I've got this whole Archdemon thing figured out, something else comes along and dashes it all in my face. Well you know what? I'm tired of it. Right now, I couldn't care less. I've got an angel to woo, a Baron to kill, and a court of fools to look after in the aftermath of a particularly large explosion. I certainly wouldn't mind learning whatever you have to offer- in fact, I'm quite interested- but right now, I'm booked. Whatever story you have to tell me, you'll tell on my terms. Where and when I want. No islands, no temples, no dreams. Understand?"
She called out into the emptiness. It didn't respond. She turned around, and waded out into the surf, muttering darkly.

When she awoke, she was frail, without energy, and defaulting to her childlike form, but at least conscious and motile. She set off towards the village, to see what had transpired in the time she was out.

Spoiler

Show

All elements of this post not directly involving the actions of The Spirit herself are for entertainment purposes only. They are not canonical and should not be regarded as such unless given the express approval of Inspectre or his affiliates.

[Inspectre]

Theme Song

The battle rages across the deck of the Baron’s airship, perhaps the site of the fiercest fighting in the entire conflict now that the two most diametrically opposed factions can clash. Only one would emerge victorious, and with that victory either save Miriam the Valkyrie or condemn Her to a fate similar to Azguloth’s. What’s left of the Church’s paladins are all down on the deck now, even the Wings of Righteousness abandoning their mounts to leap down. From hatches all along the top deck, the Baron’s men pour up to meet them.

Down below on the other side of the airship, a similar scene repeats itself as a handful of the remaining mermen finally manage to swarm up the remaining chain in enough numbers to overwhelm the defenders. They begin to secure the cargo bay that the massive harpoon breached into when the defenders there trigger the fail-safe designed to prevent that very thing.

A massive explosion rips through the cargo bay, killing everything inside and shattering the harpoon, sending dozens more mermen tumbling to their deaths from halfway up the chain. The explosion rips a massive hole in the bottom of the airship, and the entire vehicle bucks and tilts in response. The sudden shift causes everyone on the top deck to stagger, but most people manage to stay upright and continue fighting. However, the unlucky few who do tumble to the deck are swiftly finished by their opponent before they can rise, and an even more unfortunate few are pitched off their feet and over the side, plummeting to their deaths.

Still virtually ignoring the angels trying to block his path, Akor plows through them and lands on the far end of the airship, back near the engines. For a moment the dragon simply stands there, struggling to balance itself through the use of its wings. It pauses a moment longer as if considering the use of its dragon breath, but does not unleash a torrent of flame. Instead, it begins to advance down the length of the airship, swatting groups of people – both friend and foe, locked in battle with each other – off the side with great sweeps of its forelimbs and tail.

Meanwhile, a quartet of tattooed angels descend on the Herald, driving him back away from their fallen lady. Although temporarily pushed back from his target – and quite annoyed about it – the Herald does not seem particularly troubled. Indeed, although hard-pressed at first, he quickly recovers and begins methodically executing the angels one by one. Still, the angels’ sacrifice briefly distracts the Herald, giving Miriam a moment to recover.

But only for a moment, as Demetrius notices the interference and comes sprinting over, weaving his way through the various duels and managing to not become embroiled in any of them. One angel has remained behind at Miriam’s side, trying to help her up while also staunching the blood still oozing out of her savaged shoulder. Helped up into a sitting position, Miriam is able to see Demetrius coming over the angel’s shoulder, and cries out a warning. A warning that proves unnecessary as a moment later Hondshioh comes charging across the deck and slams into the new king, sending him flying backward and rolling across the deck. Hondshioh moves to position himself between Demetrius and his goddess, but as he gets to his feet the villainous mastermind merely smiles.

“What are you doing, angel? Don’t help your goddess – KILL HER!”

He calls out, a pulse of power racing out of him as he activates the obedience runes burned into the angel’s flesh – evidentially Crane had shared that information with him as well. For a moment the angel merely stands there twitching, and then with mechanical movements digs the hand that had been covering Miriam’s shoulder wound into the savaged flesh. Working her fingers down into the injury, the angel then grabs and pulls, tearing the wound open further while simultaneously ripping off Miriam’s badly damaged breastplate, leaving her torso protected only by the simple cloth dress Sara had been wearing just before Miriam’s possession. Tossing the front half of the breastplate aside, the angel grabs Miriam by the hair with the same blood-soaked hand, holding the goddess still while her other hand raises the sword clenched there.

Again, the angel pauses, struggling to regain control of her own body. And with a final whispered apology, she succeeds long enough to reverse the point of the blade. The compromised angel plunges her weapon into her own chest, and then collapses into Miriam’s lap, still twitching. But the blow is not a fatal one, and the angel looks up pleadingly at her goddess as her limbs begin to move with focused intent once more. As the angel reaches up at Her, Miriam numbly reaches down and places one hand on top of the angel’s head, and the other beneath her chin. And then She twists, snapping the angel’s neck. This time the angel’s body goes completely limp, but it does not dissipate in a flash of light nor crumble into ash. It simply remains there, lying unmoving on the goddess’s lap as She simply sits there, too stunned and wounded to do anything else but watch the life drain from Her daughter’s eyes.

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

On the bridge of the Gastly Truth, Angelo forces back a curse as the damage reports come in, and continue to do so. It was aggravating that he had to remain here instead of fighting alongside his father, but he couldn’t deny that someone had to oversee the logistical part of the fight. And overseeing that part was enough to give him the mother of all headaches - his father’s airship was a complete mess, Sohssal was in the engine room doing gods’ know what, and most of the crew was either dead or locked in combat with the various boarders. Not to mention that the airship had to remain airborne long enough to take one last flight into one of the gaping rifts now threatening to consume the entire city, to make sure that Miriam was trapped forever.

Suddenly it seemed as if Angelo would get his wish – the doors to the Bridge, which were supposed to remain sealed until it was time to evacuate the airship, slid open. There was no warning of this, and as the two guards that had been stationed outside fell into the room Angelo could see why. That still didn’t explain how the doors opened in the first place, although there was only one possible explanation – Fury had decided to betray them. Hardly surprising really, particularly given the fact that Fury would be going down with the ship.

There wasn’t much Angelo could do with that information at the moment, however, as the guards’ assailant charged into the room, throwing knives everywhere. The fact that Argan had managed to get here undetected was not a surprise, assuming Fury was indeed assisting him, although how he managed to get on-board was another question. That question was immediately answered when Argan threw an Emergency Evacuation Pack into the middle of the room and then dove for cover. Angelo followed suit, throwing himself behind a nearby console a moment before the EEP overheated and detonated, sending hot metal screaming throughout the room. Ten seconds in, and half the bridge crew was already dead.

Getting back up to his feet, Angelo drew his sword and prepared to defend himself. The only upside to all this was that as the oldest and weakest of his brothers (with the possible exception of Celestan, although he no longer counted due to being a GHAST), Angelo was not particularly bothered by the ritual. He didn’t have access to his regeneration, which was undoubtedly going to suck when Argan turned his attention onto him, but he had a few healing potions on him at least.

To Angelo’s surprise, however, Argan didn’t seem to be here for him. Instead, the assassin was bouncing around the room, cutting down anyone who got in his way, but otherwise ignoring the bridge’s occupants. However, he did stop periodically to hammer a few commands into one of the consoles within reach before moving on. Of course – another part of Fury’s plan! There were certain things Fury could and could not do, but with a physical agent to issue false commands those limits were completely removed. Assuming, of course, that the agent was able to issue those commands.

“Deactivate your stations! NOW!”

Angelo barked out, before drawing a dagger and throwing it into a nearby console, shattering its display and rendering it useless. The remaining bridge crew followed suit, deactivating or smashing their own control consoles before attempting to reach the few other operational ones before Argan could get there. Destroying their own equipment was hardly the best idea Angelo ever had, but it would ensure Argan couldn’t complete his objective, which was certain to be infinitely worse if he succeeded. Finally, only one console remained operational, which Angelo planted himself directly in front of.

“You’ve been off your leash for far too long, Argan. It’s time you died like the dog you are!”

Angelo taunted, beckoning the former Hand forward with a confidence he did not feel. Almost all of the bridge crew was dead at this point, and Angelo doubted it would be more than a few moments before he was standing alone. If the worst happened, Angelo would smash the console before he died, and prevent Argan from completing whatever he was here for.

After a few moments of pondering his available options, Argan frowned and moved in to attack, leaping back and forth over several control consoles before choosing a path to make his approach. Sure enough, the remainder of the bridge crew fell as Argan closed in behind a barrage of deadly throwing knives. Angelo braced himself for contact, but just as Argan was moving in a shadow suddenly detached from a dark corner of the Bridge and leapt at him, driving him back. Aedra had arrived, and while her assistance was appreciated Angelo wished she had decided to make her appearance before Argan had made a bloody mess of his bridge.

Theme Song

The two assassins danced around each other in a flash of blades and slashing limbs. They had taken each other’s measure during their confrontation at the Countess’s wedding, and so now they held nothing back. Seeking to tip the odds squarely in Aedra’s favor, Angelo moved in to join the fight. He was surprised when Aedra herself momentarily turned away from Argan to deliver a kick straight to his chest, sending him stumbling back into the remaining operational console.

“Stay out of this!”

She hissed, and with an annoyed sigh Angelo sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, watching the rest of the fight play out. The two siblings were evenly matched, but it was only a matter of time before one or the other landed a telling blow rather than a glancing blow or a shallow cut. That telling blow appeared to be the slash Argan landed on Aedra’s side after ducking under one of her kicks. As the female assassin stumbled back, Argan closed in for the kill and Angelo drew his sword again and moved to intervene.

“Aedra! Let me help you!”

“No!”

Aedra shouted back, but suddenly it seemed that Angelo’s assistance wouldn’t be necessary. At Aedra’s name, Argan’s face turned white and he stumbled back as if he had been stabbed in turn.

“So you’re . . . I didn’t know!”

Now it was Angelo’s turn to be surprised, as he looked back and forth at the siblings.

“You didn’t know this was your sister? She did grow up fast, didn’t she?”

Argan shook his head and dropped the knife covered in his sister’s blood, falling back away from her.

“I did not. Aedra, it’s me, Argan your – “
“I know who you are!”

Aedra said, recovering from her injury and advancing forward as Argan continued to back away from her. For once the normally taciturn woman was furious, her voice quivering with rage as she chased after him.

“You’re the demon who dragged me into the Hells, the one responsible for every beating I received as a child, and the one who ran away and abandoned me to suffer alone – my “brother”. Did you expect this to be a tearful reunion? Because I will shed no tears over your corpse!”

“I understand you are angry, and I deserve all of your hatred. But the Baron is just as much to blame! He has to be stopped – I know somewhere deep down you hate him just as much! I can help you, please give me a chance to atone for my part in your suffering!”

For a moment Angelo wondered if the bond between siblings would triumph over everything that had come between them, but then Aedra’s face hardened. It had been too many years, and too much pain – the family bond had been severed completely.

“The only thing I want is to see you die, brother. Nothing would please me more!”

With a defeated sigh, Argan planted his feet and spread his arms wide.

“Very well. If that is the only way I can atone, then take my life.”

Immediately Aedra lunged forward and slashed a dark red line across Argan’s chest, sending him stumbling back into a broken console. It was not a fatal blow, but it was a pretty clear warning.

“What are you doing? Fight back! You’ve never held back before!”

Argan pushed himself upright again, and spread his arms wide once more, closing his eyes and bracing himself.

“No.”

“Then die!”

Aedra hissed, and this time her blade arced up at his throat, cutting it wide open. Argan’s eyes opened again in shock as blood erupted from his throat, and he wheezed as he collapsed to the deck. Kneeling down beside him, Aedra hastened his death by slipping the dagger in through his ribs, the blade finding his heart. The assassin left the hilt of the dagger protruding from Argan’s chest, pushing herself back up and wiping her bloody hands off on her cloak. Then as if nothing of import had just happened, she straightened and walked back over towards Angelo, wincing as the movement pulled at the wound in her side.

“Well that was certainly cold. Feel any better now?”

Angelo asked, already anticipating the answer he got.

“No.”

Reaching Angelo, Aedra slipped past him to the console.

“I will now attempt to see what he was doing here.”

Aedra begins rapidly tapping commands into the console, and Angelo moved to stand just behind her, looking over her shoulder. What he saw alarmed him – Argan had been trying to enter a series of coordinates for the airship to fly to, likely one of the giant rifts in the city below. That had been the plan all along, of course, but going into the Hells early could cause some problems – like trapping him and his father in the Hells along with the Valkyrie. What was even more alarming, however, was the fact that Aedra was not simply investigating – she was entering in the remaining necessary commands herself!

“What are you – urk!”

Angelo growled, breaking into a surprise grunt of pain as a dagger appeared in his stomach, courtesy of Aedra. At the same time, runes flashed into existence all over Aedra’s body, and she likewise grunted in pain. Trying to betray the Gasts carried a heavy price for their Hands, and Argan had been lucky that the magic worked into him had been somehow dispelled. Otherwise, he would have suffered and died the instant he had tried to raise a hand directly against the Baron - perhaps that was why he had waited so long, out of fear of that very thing? Despite the pain, Aedra continued, shoving Angelo back away from her before returning to the console and confirming the final commands. As Fury acknowledged the orders, Aedra drove another dagger into the console, destroying it. And then she finally turned to face Angelo, a sneer on her face as she staggered towards him, another dagger in her hands.

“I have always hated you. You, your father, every last damn one of you!”

She hissed, her graceful movements suddenly clumsy as the runes continued to burn their vengeance into her body. She lunged forward, swinging wildly at Angelo but he was able to block the blow, slapping the blade out of her hands. She merely drew another one with her other hand and threw it into his chest at point-blank range. Now with two blade stuck in him, Angelo was far less eager to fight, and he staggered back away from her, tripping over a body and tumbling to the floor. Aedra continued to follow, her sights apparently set on one last goal before the runes finished their grim task. She laughed, a hollow dead sound tinged with her earlier displayed rage.

“Did you think I loved you, Angelo? I despised you! Every time you put your hands on me, I could think only of Cheran! He got to me first, or did you conveniently forget that part? Did you also forget the part where I tried to kill myself, or did you think I wear this damn scarf as a fashion accessory!?”

Numbly reaching up, Aedra pawed the scarf off of her neck, revealing the line of mangled flesh it had been covering. Angelo continued trying to flee, crawling back along the floor and grabbing hold of a smashed console to pull himself back up onto his feet. Despite her injuries, Aedra was suddenly there, plunging another dagger into his back, the two of them screaming in concert. In desperation Angelo whirled and grappled with her, pinning her arms down to her side by catching her in a bear hug.

“Stop, just stop! Do you really think we’re all like Cheran? My bastard brother was a monster, and I thought he got what was coming to him at the wedding! I thought you were interested in me as well, or else I would have called the whole thing off and saved myself the wrath of my father!”

Aedra squirmed in his grip, but she was too weak now to twist out of his grip. After a moment of trying, she slumped in his arms, but her eyes still burned with cold hatred. Angelo pressed on, the words seeming to pour out of him now without any ability on his part to control them.

“And I didn’t pursue you because I needed someone in my bed. Truth be told, I never was very interested in women. I’m the only one of my brothers to never get married, and that suited me just fine. I was always too busy for a spouse, and I had my various responsibilities and looking after my men to fill my days. It just never seemed very important to me. But then you came along, and . . . I don’t know. You made me feel different, even though it made no sense, particularly since you were a Hand, an instrument under my command and supposed to be nothing more. If things had been different, maybe . . . are you telling me that you truly felt nothing but hatred for me all along?”

“I . . . am a Hand. An instrument, nothing more. I feel nothing. I am . . . nothing.”

Aedra said, paraphrasing one of the creeds drilled into the head of each Hand during training. Gathering the last of her strength, she proved that statement false, and that she did indeed feel something, as she spat in his face.

“See . . . you . . . in the Hells.”

She whispered, and then went totally limp as the runes began to fade, their lethal work finally finished. Angelo lowered her body to the floor, ignoring his own injuries for the moment as he poured a healing potion into her mouth and tried in vain to resuscitate her. Finally, he rocked back onto his heels, looking around at the ruin of the bridge, and then back down at his former lover.

“I guess Father was right all along.”

Angelo remarked, silently cursing his entire family as he tried to stop his vision from blurring completely.

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Archpaladin Zousha

Bellowing out your orders, you charge through the swirling curtain of bodies towards the man responsible for all this – King Demetrius Gast. Most paladins were unable to acquiesce to your request, however, as they were hard pressed to defend themselves as the false king’s lackeys poured forth from his flying blasphemy. Still, the paladins seemed to have the advantage, both in numbers and in skill, as most of their opponents were simple airship crewmen. Within a few minutes, the deck would likely be clear of everything except Miriam, Demetrius, the Herald, and that damn dragon. Those last two might still be able to turn the tide against you, but none of that would matter if Miriam perished first.

As it turned out, your decision to charge Demetrius was the correct one, as the appointed king of humanity had moved in to finish your goddess while the Herald was distracted by a quartet of angels. Charging across the deck, you lower your shoulder and slam into him, sending him flying back and rolling for several feet before he manages to stop himself. Getting back up to his feet, the king merely smiles, and then looks over your shoulder – directly at the one angel still standing guard over the injured Miriam.

“What are you doing, angel? Don’t help your goddess – KILL HER!”

He calls, and you immediately realize that Crane had shared his secrets with his heretical ally. Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do to stop the angel from assaulting her creator, as suddenly Demetrius is in your face, hammering your sword with his own.

“I was expecting Ander would be here to lead the charge himself. I was so looking forward to getting the opportunity to order him to kill The Bitch. Instead here you are – again – who are you, anyway? I guess you really are Ander’s hunchbacked sidekick!”

Having now exchanged sword swings with him, you can tell that the Baron is not quite as strong as you, which is a relief compared to your normal opponents lately. He is, however, quite skilled – and completely willing to fight dirty, a fact which he displays a moment later as he extends his hand, throwing a cloud of dust into your face. Only it certainly wasn’t dust, as while painful even a handful of sand in your eyes wasn’t as painful nor as utterly blinding as this. Trying to wipe your weeping eyes clean with one hand while still defending yourself with the other, you hear the King approach and swing your sword up in a parry that blocks his first blow. His second, a thrusting kick, catches you unprepared, directly in the chest and sending you tumbling backward onto the deck. As you roll across the deck to avoid further blows while struggling back up to your feet, you hear the man’s mocking voice follow you.

“Mmm, yes very disappointing indeed. This will easily be the most important battle of your life, paladin. The fate of your own goddess hangs in the balance! What will happen to her if you fail? What will become of the world without her?”

Hovering in the midst of the Hellish ritual, you are as unable to make full use of your divine powers as you would if you had been standing at the bottom of the Ninth Level itself. Fortunately, you and the other paladins had been prepared for this, having trained to fight in the Crusades. And already aware of the ritual, on your return flight you and the others had equipped themselves with whatever magical healing supplies were left. Sliding one of those healing potions out of your belt, you pop open the cork and pour the contents directly into your eyes. Instantly, you are able to see again, and the pain subsides as you get back up to your feet. Hanging back, the King points past you at Miriam.

“Look at her, your goddess, and see her for what she really is! A pathetic, mewling thing, unable to even defend herself! You would worship that? Why!? I seek to free humanity from the tyranny of these beings who would call themselves our masters! I have brought your goddess to the brink of death – me, a mortal man! I have done this because I refuse to live in a world ruled by such weakness! What do you fight for, besides to preserve the status quo, and condemn the world to continue to wallow in mediocrity!?”

The King moves to again clash with you, but suddenly your duel is interrupted. A wall of flame suddenly erupts between you and the King, forcing you both apart. Following the wall back to its point of origin, you see a man striding rapidly forward across the deck, his entire body covered in dancing flames. With a gesture, he erects another wall on the other side of Demetrius, hemming him in. The man spares you only a momentary glance from the other side of the curtain of flame, his eyes literally glowing with an inner flame.

“Mine.”

He hisses, and then continues to advance towards the King. You are considering what that leaves you with when you hear another voice behind you, this one rumbling and grating despite its rather polite tone.

“Why, hello there. I was wondering if I might ask you a question.”

Turning, you see the immense stone dragon standing only a few feet away, looking down on you with unmistakable amusement in its eyes also made of stone.

“Would you like to be eaten raw, or well-done?”

The dragon pulls its head back, and then lunges forward, snapping its neck like a whip as its jaws flash towards you. With your back to the wall of fire, there wasn’t a whole lot of room to maneuver. Still, despite its size and speed the dragon had underestimated you, and with a little luck you could still probably dive under its lunge and get beneath it. But then what? The entire thing’s body was made of stone, and so without the proper enchantments you doubted your blade would be able to hurt it. Still, you could at least stay alive for another minute, and that was a good start.

Pwenet

Earlier . . .

(I believe this sets the scene, more or less. )
Thematic Scene

Celestan zooms down from above, his engines cutting out as the Hell ritual is unleashed. He plummets the remaining distance, crashing down into Incom, and the two GHASTs roll across the deck, smashing and clawing at each other. Over the din of their fierce embrace, Isabella can be heard screaming at them both to stop. Eventually, the two of them shove each other away, and begin stomping back up to their feet. Desperate to stop Celestan’s enraged attack upon Incom, Isabella suddenly shouts out.

“Celestan, stop attacking your father!”

Celestan’s glowing red eyes immediately dimmed as his fury evaporated into confusion.

“WHAT!?”

Closing her eyes to concentrate on keeping her voice steady, Isabella explained.

“Celestan, my precious child, there is a lie that I must now correct. All of these years, you have been told that your father is Demetrius Gast. But that was told to you only in an effort to keep you safe. Your real father is Incom Morgan, the man standing before you now.”

Shaking his head, Celestan stumbles back in confusion, and then turns to look at the Baron comes sauntering over to join your little group.

“Is . . . is this true!? You were going to let me fight my own father!?”

Celestan roars at his false father. The Baron simply smirks and shrugs.

“Unfortunately, yes. One only needs to look at the absolute failure of your life to recognize your true ancestry. Just more proof that your mother has always been nothing more than a common whore!”

With a roar of outrage, Celestan races towards the Baron. He doesn’t even get halfway there before a fireball erupts from his chest, and the massive GHAST crumples into a heap of smoldering scrap. The Baron holds up the detonation switch he had just used, and then tossed it aside before holding up another one.

“I install an explosive next to the soul crystal casing of all my GHASTs, just in case their loyalty ever wavers. Want to guess whose this one is? It really is good-bye this time, brother.”

“NO!”

Isabella screams, as the Baron flips the switch, and a similar fireball erupts from Incom’s own chest. Snorting in disdain, the Baron turns away from the two piles of smoldering scrap, and takes notice of a new guest to the battle – Korram. He then has other things on his mind, and therefore does not notice when the second pile of scrap shifts ever so slightly.

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

Now

“Think he bought it?”

Demon Sara’s voice echoes in your mind, and Incom replies back with a “Better hope he did!”

Aware of the explosive but unable to do anything about it, Incom had nonetheless greatly strengthened the plate separated the soul crystal casing from the explosive. Although not perfect, it had protected their crystals well enough to prevent their destruction, at the cost of the blast destroying most of his chest. Damage which could unfortunately not be repaired due to the presence of the Hells, negating Angelic Katashiko into nothing more than a screaming mess. But you had cheated Death yet again, and that was something at least as you pushed your shuddering body back up onto its feet.

Looking around, you see the Baron engaged with Korram and some other man that you don’t recognize. Celestan, your son, was still nothing more than a pile of smoldering scrap – unfortunate, but there was nothing you could have done, nor do now except avenge him.

“Incom . . .”

You hear Isabella whisper, and turn to find her still within the ritual circle, now lying down on the deck, continuing to bleed from her wrists and clearly just barely clinging to life.

“My life is what is sustaining this ritual. You . . . can’t let the Baron win. You . . . you have to . . .”

This is what you had been intending on doing when you came over here, in fact, although you had been stopped, first by Isabella’s shield, then Celestan, and finally your brother. Now your brother was distracted, Celestan was dead, and after Isabella slides a bloody hand through a rune, dissolving it, the shield protecting her likewise fades. Isabella slides one of the swords across the deck to you, and you reflexively pick it up. In the blade’s surface, you can see a reflection of the past – the blade descending down into the head of a man encased in dragon-shaped armor. This was the Duskblade, the weapon that had taken your life – the universe revolved around irony.

“Do it!”

Isabella cries out.

Iethloc

For a moment, there was silence in the engine room, and then the vaguely feminine voice echoed again.

This is a point, and the reason why I wish for you to sever my control over the engines once you have activated them. The damage can be prepared, but not in the time it will take this ship to finish its collision course with the ground. You are correct that the Baron would still have control over the rest of the ship through me, however. He could order me to release the plague, or initiate this vessel’s self-destruct, and I would be forced to obey.

There is another long pause, and then Fury addresses you again.

I can give you my location. With my destruction, this entire airship will become non-operational. However, this will also mean that the bulkhead doors will not open, and you will have to force them apart. Doing so will take time, likely more than you will have to escape before this airship crashes after making your way forward from the engine room to my chamber. Disabling me entirely will prevent the Baron from activating any sort of contingency plan, however.

“Begging the cap’n’s pardon, but I say any plan where we end up trapped in this metal coffin while it plunges into the Hells is a bad plan. Course, escaping only to watch this airship spray that plague all over the city isn’t good either.”

After another moment of silence, Fury’s voice echoes in the room, this time having a note of urgency to it.

The coordinates into the Hell rift have been entered, despite it costing my agent’s life. There are no available controls that can be used to alter the coordinates, but the Baron may contact me at any moment to disregard them. You must hurry to activate the engines if we are still going to enact this plan. Afterwards, I can give you the coordinates of my chamber if you wish. You should face minimal resistance on the way here, although you will need to travel the majority of the ship to reach where I am physically located.

(You can assume that there is no difficulty in activating the engines and then disabling their controls with Fury’s help. Likewise, the trip to her chamber is also uneventful if you want to go there and destroy Fury entirely. Or Sohssal can leave and do whatever without much resistance as well.)

WhiteKnight777

At your boast, Gilgaem grinned, revealing the artificial fangs he had created for himself.

“I would expect no less. So, first one that finds him gets to do the honors, then?”

Gilgaem asks rhetorically as he moves to join you and Fianna at the portal. As you approach the portal, however, an unseen force holds you back – it would seem Kartul’s magical shield repelled even teleportation. But as Fianna narrowed her eyes critically, you believed you could relax. Fianna had always been an expert on deciphering complex spells, seemingly simply by examining them. And then once she understood how they worked, she was equally gifted at countering them. After a few moments, Fianna blinked her eyes and nodded.

“That is indeed quite the powerful shield. Kartul must be branching out from necromancy. Unfortunately, it seems he hasn’t yet figured out how to secure the barrier’s pattern. Which means I can change it in places from a bubble . . . into a tunnel!”

Fianna weaves her hands in front of her, and instantly the feeling of resistance fades in front of you – indeed, it almost seems to be drawing you inward instead now. Gilgaem grins in triumph at Fianna and then sweeps his arm out in front of him.

“Excellent work as always. Now then . . . shall we?”

Gilgaem takes a step back, shifting around to behind you. Wary from all of the surprises today, you turn your attention away from the portal and look back towards him. The correct move, as it turns out, but not one that does you any good as Gilgaem lowers his shoulder and charges into you, sending you flying towards the portal.

“After you!!”

Your stomach quivers a moment as the world shifts wildly around you, and then you find yourself standing on an obsidian floor. As you regain your footing in this new place, you turn back towards the portal that had brought you here. Through it you can see Gilgaem turn and slug Fianna in the jaw, catching her in mid-spell. Only human now, she immediately crumples from the blow, still breathing but unconscious. Sparing her only a moment’s glance, Gilgaem turns his attention back to the portal, and through it you. He grins as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a vial.

“It would seem that I got the girl in the end after all, Umber my old friend! If you want her back, find my love and we’ll switch. It’ll be just like old times again! Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her in the meantime. Have fun with Kartul, by the way!”

And with that, Gilgaem uncorks the vial and throws the contents out of the vial at the portal. Some sort of anti-magic concoction apparently, as the portal fizzes and wavers out of existence a moment later. Leaving you trapped in the belly of one of Kartul’s pyramids, while Gilgaem “took care” of Fianna. Had everyone except you gone completely insane during the long centuries since your pact!?

He had always held an interest for your love, but after you made it clear Fianna was yours, he had settled for Fianna’s twin Marialta. The two of them had seemed a better match anyway, and you had thought both of them were happy. Apparently Marialta was still unaccounted for, and Gilgaem wanted you to locate her . . . or he would clearly settle for his original love. Well, so be it – as the leader of the Lords of Blood, it had been your duty to keep all of its members in line – and Gilgaem had just merrily jumped right across it! Unfortunately, Kartul’s shield was still in effect, and with Fianna no longer conscious to bend it, you wouldn’t be able to teleport out of here. Which in turn, meant that you had to deal with your original object first, and then kill a certain one-armed backstabber.

In a way, it was almost a relief then a few moments later when Helion stepped out of the shadows, accompanied by a dozen other vampires. You needed someone to take your newest frustrations out on.

“Having troubles at home still, Umber? Well don’t worry, you won’t be alive much longer. I understand our god intends to make your corpse into a puppet, to dance eternally for his amusement. That might be an existence you are even better suited for!”

Dismissively, Helion gestures the horde of vampire minions forward.

“Go on, drain this mortal’s body dry of every drop.”

[Inspectre]

Dorizzit

Moving with single-minded purpose towards the Baron, you are understandably irritated when some hulking giant in armor engages him near Miriam. The paladins, in their efforts to rescue their goddess, had evidentially decided that the best way to do that was to kill the man leading Her attackers. This would not do, this would not do at all. Still, despite the rage building inside you, anger that Purifier was quick to seize upon and enflame, you manage to keep enough control not to start incinerating everyone. All the same, you are dimly aware that your entire body is now covered with flames as an expression of your displeasure, and that you likely resemble a human-sized version of that Efreet you had fought back in Ironheart.

Instead, when the two momentarily separate, and the Baron starts preaching one of his obnoxious lectures at the paladin, you take advantage of the opportunity. Summoning Purifier’s power through you, you erect a wall of flame running all the way across the airship’s deck, cutting the two of them off from each other. And then, lest the Baron think of running away from you yet again, you erect another wall of fire on his other side, hemming him in. The Baron sneers at you as you continue to approach him.

“I was wondering when you would get here, Korram! No plan of mine is complete without you butting in! Well, that annoying tendency of yours to appear whenever you are most unwanted ends today! But first, let’s see what you are without all of that fire!”

The Baron gestures, and you see the wards against fire start to glow. For a moment you feel your flames sputter out, but then they re-ignite, and begin to burn with a hotter and hotter intensity as Purifier pushes back the wards, dissolving them rapidly. Through the haze of anger and determination, Purifier’s voice hisses into your mind.

The Baron is a dangerous opponent, with many tricks. Too many – the sooner we can end this fight, the better. And I already know exactly how we can do it, although it will require some sacrifice on your part. Balefire!

That word sends a slight shudder through you, as you remember the pain caused when you had accidentally used it with Calcifer, and the fire lord’s panicked alarm upon discovering you could summon such a thing. Purifier seemed to view the same word with an almost ecstatic glee.

It will consume a part of your soul, yes, but not even the Baron would survive such a blast. You could end this all right here, right now, with one decisive blast! Let’s end this quest of vengeance right here and now!

You can feel the destructive energies beginning to well up within your soul, straining to be released, to rip and burn through the essence of your being, before being unleashed upon the world. Upon your mortal enemy, who while prepared for you was surely not expecting such a sudden, unstoppable force. It *would* destroy him – the only question was if you were willing to let it destroy you in return, and if your soul’s utter destruction was really all that much of a price to pay for ridding the world of filth like the Baron. Unfortunately, before you could decide, and Purifier could dispel the remaining wards, the Baron revealed one of his tricks.

“Well, that tells me all that I need to know, not that I didn’t already figure that to begin with. You’ve gone and made another pact with a fire elemental, and quite a powerful one too given how quickly you’re chewing through all those wards. I do hope you realize that the world of the spirits isn’t all that big, Korram. There’s only so many powerful fire spirits dwelling there. It took a bit of research, but I think I’ve even figured out which one exactly you’ve gone and made friends with now. Did you also know that it’s possible to summon specific elemental spirits if you know their name? I wonder what happens if that spirit is already bound to somewhere or someone . . . let’s find out! Come to me, Purifier!”

The Baron casts some sort of spell, and instantly your world is one of pain, from your skin to your insides down to the very depths of your soul. It felt as if you were being literally pulled apart molecule by molecule. A few moments later, and the pain vanished, only to burst into mind-shattering prominence again as the Baron repeated the summoning magic.

“Come to me, Purifier! Come to me, Purifier! COME TO ME, PURIFIER!”

The Baron said, over and over again, shouting the words louder and louder as he grew in confidence and began to stride towards you. By the time your mind returns to being able to contemplate your surroundings, you notice that the summoning attempts have stopped. Instead, the Baron now stands over you, one foot on your throat. He smiles cruelly as he wraps both hands around the hilt of his sword as he raises it high over his head.

“Goodbye, Korram.”

As they regain their ability to focus, your eyes note that there is something wrong with your surroundings. Specifically, with the air overhead, as a dark shape rapidly begins to grow, resolving into a familiar yet impossible shape. It shouldn’t be, couldn’t be, and yet it most definitely was.

“BANZAI!!!!”

Katrina screamed, a moment before she landed on top of the Baron, smashing him down on top of you. The Baron’s blade sparks off the deck beside your head, and then skips up, out of the Baron’s hands before spinning away across the deck. Katrina groans, but manages to recover enough to push herself up off the Baron far enough to jab a fist down into his back, punctuating each sentence with a blow.

“Bet you forgot there were two Alstans you had to kill, didn’t you, you bastard! Did you think I was going to let you make me an orphan that easily, you prick!? Well, I’m gonna – urk!”

Katrina’s taunts are cut off as the Baron manages to throw an elbow back into her throat. With a bellowed curse he shoves himself up off of you, nearly throwing Katrina off of his own back. Still, your wiry daughter hangs on with single-minded strength, pulling him down and around so that while he was off of you, he was now instead still down on the ground on top of her. A fact which he made her pay for as he threw his head back into her nose and drove his elbow into her chest, driving the breath out of her before rolling away and stumbling back up to his feet. Scarcely as he gotten back up onto his feet before Seraph swoops down from above as well, flying along just above the deck before delivering a double kick to the Baron’s chest that sends him flying backward.

“The prodigal son returns, father!”

Seraph taunts as he lands a short distance away. While Seraph moves to engage the Baron, Katrina and you both catch your breath. Recovering first, Katrina staggers up to her feet and goes over to you, offering you a hand up. As she pulls you up to your feet, you keep your eyes locked on the Baron, looking over Katrina’s shoulder. As such, you watch as the Baron disarms Seraph, kicks him away, and then holds the sword up over his head as it starts to glow.

“The blade that was to end the Alstan line now shall complete its purpose. You both want to die together? Fine. Then DIE!!!”

Lightning crackles from the blade for a moment, and then the Baron hurls the sword forward, the weapon leaping out of his hand like a bolt from the Heavens. The blade streaks towards you both, leaving a blurring trail behind it as it goes. Katrina pushes you back down to the deck, and that is all the time either of you have. Blood erupts from Katrina’s chest an instant later as the tip of Seraph’s blade emerges from her chest, the speeding weapon running her all the way through.

Then the blade’s inertia transfers over to Katrina, and she is lifted off her feet and flung towards the edge of the deck. She strikes the deck, rolls the short remaining distance, and then falls out of sight. Just before she disappears completely, however, a hand flails up and grabs hold of a slight protrusion jutting up from the deck. Katrina does not pull herself up, however, a difficult feat with only one hand under the best of circumstances, and likely impossible with a sword through your chest. The Baron cackles as his twisted bloody wings emerge from beneath his cloak and he lifts off into the air.

“Wonderful! It seems now you have a choice, Korram! Are you going to choose your revenge, or your own daughter? I look forward to seeing which you choose!”

The Baron then flies off, over the walls of flame that are still intact, but rapidly fading. As you get up to your feet, you feel Purifier re-establish his link with you. And then he immediately forces your body to take a step towards the Baron, and away from Katrina.

Let’s go! We can still destroy him! We simply can’t allow him to use his accursed magic before we unleash the balefire!

Theme Song

Instinctually, you bring yourself to a stop, suddenly realizing that the Baron’s repeated attempted summonings of Purifier had an unexpected side effect. Purifier’s hold over you had been broken, at least enough that your will was once again your own. And thinking back over your conduct and your thoughts since merging with Purifier, you are slightly horrified at what he had been changing you into. No longer able to dominate you, Purifier’s voice switches from its commanding tone back down to its manipulative hissing.

Why do you hesitate? You have always chosen your revenge over your daughter! This should not be a complicated decision for you! Your daughter is already mortally wounded, you saw the injury! Whether she falls to her death or dies in your arms is irrelevant! If we do not strike now, the Baron might tear us apart completely, and then you will be helpless against him!

Images flash through your mind, memories from your time as a rebel. Planning meetings with your men in your house, your daughter running in to ask you to come see this weird bug she found, only to ignore her. Going off to the capital city to have Calcifer installed in your arm, leaving your daughter behind and therefore was not there when she fell from a tree, breaking her arm.

You take another step towards the Baron, this one with a bit more authority as Purifier struggles to regain control. But then other memories came flooding into your mind. When the Baron’s soldiers had come, you had surrendered rather than allow your daughter to be killed. In Ironheart, you had nearly surrendered in exchange for your daughter, even if she had later proved to be an imposter. And despite being just a broken, one-armed man you had sneaked aboard the Gastly Truth to rescue her. As he has done since your first meeting, Purifier lied to you.

Just as you realized that his hold had been broken, you realize you could sever it entirely, casting the fire elemental out and leaving you free to do whatever you wish. But that would leave you without an effective means to defeat the Baron – you would be just a man again, and you’ve already seen how well that went. Or you could strengthen the link, allowing Purifier to once again have control of you in return for his power. Purifier might be right that your daughter could not be saved, but does that mean you should allow her to die alone?

Which would you choose? Your revenge, or your daughter?

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

At your questions, Daddy – no, Istomilo – throws his head back and laughs. It is a hopeless, bitter laugh, of the sort favored by addicts.

“What do you think I have tried to do all these long years? Since meeting you, in fact? I have tried to forget you, find other things to hold my attention, other loves to dedicate my heart to. But in the end, despite myself I seem destined to come back to you, Marisiel! All I have to do is see you, and it all comes rushing back. All I have ever wanted from you was satisfaction!”

Istomilo shakes his head.

“All I wanted was some acknowledgement, some simple affection to give my heart hope that maybe, deep down, you had feelings for me as well. Then all I wanted when we met in Vallon was freedom from my unjust damnation, and you denied me again.”

Istomilo glares at you, but is unable to maintain his gaze and looks away, some sort of emotion – shame? – flickering over his face.

“And then I had the opportunity to make you suffer as I had suffered. I wanted to teach you how little morality matters when your entire world is nothing but pain. I also thought I would enjoy seeing you in agony, punished for your aloof arrogance at last. But . . . your torment brought me no pleasure after all. The things the Baron and his lackey here did to you, over and over . . . they were wrong.”

As if summoned, memories appear in the dark corners of your mind, lurking like childhood monsters. You could call them forward, but knowing that they contained the worst of what the Baron and “Daddy” had done to you in your various incarnations, there seemed little point. Some things are better left forgotten, and there would be time enough to confront them later if you survived the here and now. Then Istomilo says something that does surprise you, as he shifts Daddy’s eyes momentarily back to you with a sigh.

“I . . . am sorry for what you endured in Ironheart. I will not insult your intelligence by trying to claim I did not know ahead of time what I was condemning you to, nor that I would not have if I had known what would be done to you. But knowing that the whole thing was meaningless, that you really were perfect, and would never break . . . I would not have let it go so far.”

Istomilo gives a bark of a laugh and smiles, shaking his head.

“After I had killed you, I realized too late how pointless the whole thing had been. I was going to smuggle your soul crystal out, and take you somewhere far away. But I was caught, and I think that made the Baron angrier than your death. I was banished back to the Hells, and it took a good while to build my forces back to the point where I could attempt a . . . . hmph . . . “rescue”.”

Istomilo nods at his two Hell Knight constructs, and then motions at the town below, still visible thanks to the handful of fires still smoldering.

“If I had known what they were doing to you, forcing your soul together with countless humans, I might have hurried! I wanted this town to be an opportunity for you to recover, and then to teach you one last lesson before I departed. And that lesson is this.”

Istomilo spread his arms wide, his tone even at first but growing increasingly louder and out of control as his emotions flared.

“All humans are bastards, Marisiel. We all have the potential to be just as much of a monster as the Baron, and quite possibly worse! Whether out of fear, or greed, or simple human perversity, we inflict pain on every one and thing around us, sometimes to our own self destruction. And yet you still defend them! You forgive them and love them despite all their fatal flaws! How could you!? How could you, and still despise me!!?”

Furiously, Istomilo draws a long curved blade, a weapon you recognize as the one Daddy was going to use to cut out your heart. He clenches it in one quivering fist for a moment, and then he laughs and rubs his face with his other hand.

“Of course, let’s not forget your own sins, Marisiel! You turned humanity’s queen away from the Valkyrie with jealousy and anger. You may not have been the sole reason for Titania to turn her back, and indeed not even I fully understand why she did it, but you were the reason why the war was so bitterly fought to the last breath! And then you presided over thousands of years of human suffering beneath the yoke of the fiends! But those crimes pale in comparison to what has happened since then. I’m sure you remember me telling you that the Crusades against the Hells were waged for the sole purpose of rescuing you, countless thousands of human souls damned in an attempt to balance the scales for your freedom. But did I also ever tell you that it was your discovery in Ironheart that prompted Morganna to recant her loyalty to the Valkyrie? As Titania before her, your sister and pupil turned away and sought her own path. And with the Baron’s help, she condemned nearly all of your sisters to an eternity of suffering even worse than what you have endured? In fact, without your precious blood, the Baron never would have rose to such heights of power. Power enough, in fact, to challenge the Valkyrie Herself!”

Istomilo smirks and with a flourish, his other hand produces a small gem – a soul crystal.

“I believe you met Her latest vessel in fact, dear sweet Sara, one of the Baron’s own offspring. She was on her way to become possessed by Miriam, and allow the goddess to physically manifest upon the mortal plane once more. And then Miriam will descend from on high, right into the Baron’s trap! I have given him a version of my ritual, and I understand he has modified it somewhat. He will summon the Hells themselves when Miriam confronts him, and then he will kill Her! And even if he does not succeed, I have taken steps to ensure that Her new avatar perishes. I doubt one of these crystals will be powerful enough to trap the goddess Herself if that happens, but it will ensure that the Heavens are denied to all of the Baron’s progeny.”

Istomilo squares Daddy’s shoulders and takes a step toward you, brandishing the heart-cutting knife.

“And now I think it is time that I depart this place, for I have another to return to. Titania lives, Marisiel! I do not know how, or why, but I have been informed that she is eagerly awaiting my return, and forgives me for my earliest indiscretions. I shall go to her, and in time I will learn to forget you. In fact, as a gift to her, I’m going to present her with your soul crystal! I’m sure she’s had plenty of time to devise a suitable and just punishment for you. So, are you going to come willingly, or do I have to do something cliché like threaten this young lad’s life?”

Left unspoken was the very real possibility that Istomilo would simply kill, or worse, Julian after you had perished. But as you had already noted to yourself, there was very little you could do to stop him.

(If you have any questions or comments left for Istomilo, now would probably be the time to voice them. Methinks we’ll be wrapping up Mar’s story in another DM or two. Her Flight story, that is. )

The New God on the Block

Gorgondantess

(That additional scene was hilarious! It most certainly has my approval! )

Theme Song

Reformed and once again in the real world, you carefully pick your way through the wreckage. Once outside of the beast’s ruined body, or rather, what was left of the iron plates the Dusk Wardens had embedded in its skin, you find the village to appear much as you left it. You set out for it, and on the way there are spotted by several villagers out picking up the wreckage and trying to repair the damage done to their fields by an army and a gigantic beast walking through them. As such, you are escorted triumphantly back into your village by a crowd of cheering worshippers.

At the gates, you are met by Omnicron and the remaining Dusk Wardens. All of them seem ready for travel, and most of them shuffle past you while Omnicron stops to speak with you. He grins at you, and waves over a young woman that you barely recognize, given that she is now actually smiling – his sister.

“Thank you, my . . . yes, my friend! I am eternally grateful to you for saving my sister, as well as sparing the Dusk Wardens your wrath. I assure you, you will not see us again after we depart. And with preparations for our journey home just now complete, we will be leaving immediately!”

Omnicron frowns in confusion, and then laughs and shakes his head.

“Of course! You were probably unconscious until now, that would explain why you have not returned until this moment! Um, well! I don’t know quite how to explain this but, well . . . it’s been nearly two weeks! We had all thought you had perished in the blast, or we would have looked for you. Well, we did look for you, but there wasn’t much left to examine, so . . .”

Now Omnicron suddenly looked nervous, tapping his fingers together.

“Anyway, um . . . I’m sure you would like to go see your angel friend. Unfortunately, Maurice is not here right now. She led the search efforts for you the first two days, and then, well . . . she left. She said she had some other important matter to take care of in this kingdom’s capital. We offered to go with her, but she claimed that she would be able to go far faster alone, and that it was not our concern. We haven’t heard from her since.”

It was obvious what had happened. Thinking you dead, Maurice had naturally gone off to fight the Baron in the service of her original master. And apparently had never returned from that confrontation, after over a week. So either the conflict was not yet resolved, or it was long since passed, and your love . . . was gone.

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

At your first question, Duncan shrugs.

“No, she’s safe – for the moment. I needed someone up there to keep the trial going, after all. But that won’t stop me from making her suffer if you irritate me. If I have to, I’ll simply storm the courtroom and kill everyone I can before they bring me down. I really have nothing to lose here.”

Neither do you really, if it comes down to giving up your life instead of allowing Duncan to finish his horrible ritual which will probably kill you anyway.

“You’ve only been out for a few minutes. The trial’s just picking up again. We could probably watch some of it if you’re interested – I installed a scrying crystal up there, despite all of the statues against doing such that. Being the head of a Canticle has its advantages. As for why I am doing all this.”

Duncan grimaces and clenched his hands into fists.

“I am doing this because long ago your father wronged me, and my own brother let him! The Hellrazers were ordered not to follow after that damn warlock, but as always they went anyway! And as a result, Ember Montiguard died. Most people thought that she was in love with my brother, but she wasn’t. She was in love with ME! We were going to announce our engagement to be married upon her return, but instead I buried her! I pleaded with her not to go, but she thought that the group needed her. My brother convinced her, and it was because of your father’s inept leadership that she died! They murdered her as surely as the man who actually did the deed!”

Duncan shakes his head and turns away.

“I was no less foolish, because I went after him myself. And I found him – the Baron of Gast himself was the warlock the Hellrazers had fought all those years ago! And like they did, I too failed against him. But rather than destroy me, he offered me the opportunity to take my revenge upon everyone else that was responsible! Given the choice between that and death, which one would you have chosen? So I abandoned my oaths, and became a warlock. And do you know, it was not what I thought.”

Duncan looks back at you with a smirk.

“Doubtless, you think that being a warlock is a horrible thing. You have been taught to think that way, after all, so it’s no fault of your own. But in truth, there is no difference between a wizard and a warlock. The only thing that separates the two of us is that I do not fear the fiends, while you do. They will offer you great power, Isera, and the cost is not necessarily your very soul. They will take other offerings, depending on the nature of the request. And why should I fear damnation, when I now have the power to rule over them? But enough philosophy, I do not expect to convince you. So, I became a warlock, an immediate outcast and threat to the Canticles if I should be discovered. In return for information and assistance, the Baron taught me how to avoid detection. It was a mutually beneficial relationship – but I never forgot what he had done! In fact, he expects me to die here, sacrificing myself to complete this ritual. Which is why I need your help, you see, so that I can then go and show him what I have learned after all these years!”

Duncan shrugs.

“Of course, there’s another reason I chose you. I took Jean’s wife from him, just as his failure took Ember from me. And I was going to take Alfred’s wife from him in the same manner until you interfered! Hah, I even managed to lure his idiot son away from the Canticle’s precious path – he came to me, you know, begging for a way to save his mother! Oh, the irony of that one! And now today, I shall finish taking from Jean everything he holds dear!”

Duncan points at you – or rather, the mage collar locked around your neck.

“So, that collar prevents all magic from being cast. You are completely at my mercy. But I specifically altered the collar such that it does not prevent ritual magic. You can enact the ritual, and summon the powers of the Hells here – as the summoner, you’ll be the one that they obey, if they listen at all. You could try to tell the fiends that surge forth to tear me apart, and even if you say nothing I will be at the epicenter of the magic. They won’t harm you because you are all that allows them to cross over into the mortal realm, but I will not be so lucky. This is your one and only opportunity to destroy me. If I have to, I will abandon my plans for destroying the Baron of Gast in favor of enacting the ritual myself. And the fiends that pour forth will be ordered not to kill Cherise and Jean, but drag them back down into the Hells for an eternity of suffering. So really, it’s your choice. Sacrifice your own soul, or be forced to watch as your father and closest friend lose theirs instead! So, what’s it going to be!?”

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Lonna

Theme Song

(And now, the surprise I have long been plotting is unleashed!)

For a moment Ariella, now more of a young woman than the little girl you remember, simply freezes and stares at you. And then she forces a smile on her face, and comes running over.

“Sis? Is it really you!?”

Reaching you, she throws her arms around you, although due to her height she’s only able to wrap her arms around your waist. Reflexively, you wrap your own arms around the top of her back. And for a moment, the two of you share a touching embrace. Then a shooting pain erupts in your back, in the general vicinity of your right kidney. And another, a few inches to the left. And a third.

Dazed and confused by the sudden pain, you push Ariella away, managing to shove her back despite her attempt to cling to you. As she staggers a step back, you come face-to-face with the source of your pain. Clenched in one of Ariella’s fists is a blood-soaked punch dagger, the entire sleeve of her dress there stained with your blood.

Giving you no time to react or demand an explanation, Ariella plunges the weapon into your stomach. And then twists the blade free to strike you again mercilessly. She swings her other fist up into your sternum, driving the breath out of you. Her expression is no longer reserved or nervous, and is instead a grimace of fury. As she brings the punch dagger up into your left shoulder, she screams hysterically in your face.

“You bitch, you whore!! You killed my mother, you did it! I’ll never forgive you! DIE!”

As you collapse onto the floor, Volesin’s butler attempts to intervene. He seems just as shocked as you are.

“Ariella, dear, what are you doing!? Stop it!”

When he comes and tries to grab her and pull her away, Ariella shoves him back with surprising strength before turning and kicking you in one of your kidney wounds.

“Get away from me! I know you aren’t my father! She killed him too!”

The butler, still in the guise of Volesin, freezes, apparently unsure if your sister meant her biological father, or Volesin himself. How she could possibly know that the current Volesin was a fake, you didn’t know, but it was certainly possible given Volesin apparently expected you to kill him. And at the moment, you were in too much pain to really care about the details.

The cuts that Ariella’s punch dagger had made in your body weren’t deep, but the wounds were still traumatic, particularly when added together. You were starting to feel cold and the pain was starting to fade, although your back still felt warm as a pool of blood began to form around you. One of the blows must have also punctured a lung, as you could feel a heaviness in your chest, and a deepening gurgle whenever you attempted to breathe. Ariella throwing her whole body weight down on top of you a moment later didn’t help that.

She presses the tip of the punch dagger into the hollow of your throat, and you can feel fresh blood beginning to well up onto the dagger’s tip. If she took the blade just an inch to one side or the other, she would likely sever one of your carotid arteries and then your death would be that much quicker. And for a moment she seems intent on doing just that, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes as she tenses. But she simply freezes there, her blood-soaked fist beginning to quiver. Slowly, she forces open her eyes again, staring down at you. Although still clearly angry, she didn’t seem able to bring herself to deliver an actual fatal blow. From her lips, an anguished cry escaped her lips.

“Why!? Why did you do it!?”

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

“I believe I can answer that question.”

Called a voice from further down the hallway. Turning, you looked to find this tournament’s organizer approaching. The old man’s face still held it’s easy-going smile, but now his body language was tense, and signaling that he was ready for a fight.

“Me.”

The old man turns his attention to Master Vork.

“While I had hoped to catch one of your students in the tournament proceedings, I hadn’t thought I would be lucky enough to ensnare two of them. Out of how many, I wonder? It would be so very useful to know just how many I still have to kill!”

Master Vork gestures at the nearby wall, shaping it into a tunnel. He pulls you in close, whispering urgently into your ear.

“Go! Flee this place and travel to the distant town of Silverstream. There you will find the last of my students. I’m sure you have many questions, but right now there is no time! You will find your answers there. Now, go!”

Vork pushes you roughly towards the tunnel, and then rushes towards your apparent nemesis. As he goes, your master tears great chunks of rock off of the walls, throwing them ahead of himself at the man. Upon reaching him, Vork gestures back towards you, throwing up a wall of stone and cutting you off from the battle. Even through the wall, however, you can hear the old man laugh.

“Fool, do you think I am without servants of my own!?”

A moment later, you hear Val’Tosh cry out in pain, and turn back to find that the masseuses that had been working on his injured shoulder where digging their suddenly claw-like fingers into it. Growling in rage, the ogre pulls back his other beefy fist and delivers a backhand that smashes through a woman’s head. Instantly the woman’s body changes, going from what had most assuredly looked like flesh and blood to wet earth and chunks of stone, crumbling into a messy pile of rubble at Val’Tosh’s feet.

That still left nearly half a dozen suddenly crazy non-people in the area, however, all of them seeking to kill you and your new friend. More, actually, as two more things stepped out of the wall, shifting from a vaguely humanoid-form into flesh and blood copies of the masseuse Val’Tosh had just destroyed. At this, the ogre’s eyes go wide.

“What have we gotten ourselves into, Mal!?”

The ogre shouts as he shoulder-charges into another of the strange creatures, bowling it over and stomping on its head until it too collapses into a pile of muck. Fortunately, although more of these things continue to appear out of the walls and floor, none have appeared inside the escape tunnel that Vork created. That didn’t stop a pair from materializing up out of the floor right in front of it, however.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Bellowing out your orders, you charge through the swirling curtain of bodies towards the man responsible for all this – King Demetrius Gast. Most paladins were unable to acquiesce to your request, however, as they were hard pressed to defend themselves as the false king’s lackeys poured forth from his flying blasphemy. Still, the paladins seemed to have the advantage, both in numbers and in skill, as most of their opponents were simple airship crewmen. Within a few minutes, the deck would likely be clear of everything except Miriam, Demetrius, the Herald, and that damn dragon. Those last two might still be able to turn the tide against you, but none of that would matter if Miriam perished first.

As it turned out, your decision to charge Demetrius was the correct one, as the appointed king of humanity had moved in to finish your goddess while the Herald was distracted by a quartet of angels. Charging across the deck, you lower your shoulder and slam into him, sending him flying back and rolling for several feet before he manages to stop himself. Getting back up to his feet, the king merely smiles, and then looks over your shoulder – directly at the one angel still standing guard over the injured Miriam.

“What are you doing, angel? Don’t help your goddess – KILL HER!”

He calls, and you immediately realize that Crane had shared his secrets with his heretical ally. Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do to stop the angel from assaulting her creator, as suddenly Demetrius is in your face, hammering your sword with his own.

“I was expecting Ander would be here to lead the charge himself. I was so looking forward to getting the opportunity to order him to kill The Bitch. Instead here you are – again – who are you, anyway? I guess you really are Ander’s hunchbacked sidekick!”

"My name is Hondshioh, Lord General of Miriam's paladins, scion of giants and your doom, traitor!" Hondshioh announces as he presses the attack.

Having now exchanged sword swings with him, you can tell that the Baron is not quite as strong as you, which is a relief compared to your normal opponents lately. He is, however, quite skilled – and completely willing to fight dirty, a fact which he displays a moment later as he extends his hand, throwing a cloud of dust into your face. Only it certainly wasn’t dust, as while painful even a handful of sand in your eyes wasn’t as painful nor as utterly blinding as this. Trying to wipe your weeping eyes clean with one hand while still defending yourself with the other, you hear the King approach and swing your sword up in a parry that blocks his first blow. His second, a thrusting kick, catches you unprepared, directly in the chest and sending you tumbling backward onto the deck. As you roll across the deck to avoid further blows while struggling back up to your feet, you hear the man’s mocking voice follow you.

“Mmm, yes very disappointing indeed. This will easily be the most important battle of your life, paladin. The fate of your own goddess hangs in the balance! What will happen to her if you fail? What will become of the world without her?”

Hovering in the midst of the Hellish ritual, you are as unable to make full use of your divine powers as you would if you had been standing at the bottom of the Ninth Level itself. Fortunately, you and the other paladins had been prepared for this, having trained to fight in the Crusades. And already aware of the ritual, on your return flight you and the others had equipped themselves with whatever magical healing supplies were left. Sliding one of those healing potions out of your belt, you pop open the cork and pour the contents directly into your eyes. Instantly, you are able to see again, and the pain subsides as you get back up to your feet. Hanging back, the King points past you at Miriam.

“Look at her, your goddess, and see her for what she really is! A pathetic, mewling thing, unable to even defend herself! You would worship that? Why!? I seek to free humanity from the tyranny of these beings who would call themselves our masters! I have brought your goddess to the brink of death – me, a mortal man! I have done this because I refuse to live in a world ruled by such weakness! What do you fight for, besides to preserve the status quo, and condemn the world to continue to wallow in mediocrity!?”

"The Valkyrie's a lot stronger than you think she is,...as are her servants!" Hondshioh replies as he fishes the potion out and splashes it into his eyes to clear his vision.

"You're the pathetic, mewling thing, Gast. You may have found ways to break the minds of angel and man, to turn them against the gods, but you could never truly make them yours. Like the angels you tortured you're nothing more than a puppet! When you succeed and the Gods are dead, who do you think will swoop up to crush you like the insolent little flea that you are? The demons! You didn't have the power or the brains to kill Miriam all by yourself. You just borrowed and copied from the Hells. YOU are the one who is weak and mediocre, Gast, and this day, we have proved it to you. For despite all your tortures and manipulations, despite shifting an entire city of the mortals you claim to be freeing into the Hells for your real masters to feast upon, MIRIAM! LIVES! STILL!"

The King moves to again clash with you, but suddenly your duel is interrupted. A wall of flame suddenly erupts between you and the King, forcing you both apart. Following the wall back to its point of origin, you see a man striding rapidly forward across the deck, his entire body covered in dancing flames. With a gesture, he erects another wall on the other side of Demetrius, hemming him in. The man spares you only a momentary glance from the other side of the curtain of flame, his eyes literally glowing with an inner flame.

“Mine.”

He hisses, and then continues to advance towards the King. You are considering what that leaves you with when you hear another voice behind you, this one rumbling and grating despite its rather polite tone.

“Why, hello there. I was wondering if I might ask you a question.”

Turning, you see the immense stone dragon standing only a few feet away, looking down on you with unmistakable amusement in its eyes also made of stone.

“Would you like to be eaten raw, or well-done?”

The sudden turn of events stuns Hondshioh for a moment, and then he looks up at this new challenger with a look of weary resignation.

"Whatever you decide, beast. It's time for your last meal."

The dragon pulls its head back, and then lunges forward, snapping its neck like a whip as its jaws flash towards you. With your back to the wall of fire, there wasn’t a whole lot of room to maneuver. Still, despite its size and speed the dragon had underestimated you, and with a little luck you could still probably dive under its lunge and get beneath it. But then what? The entire thing’s body was made of stone, and so without the proper enchantments you doubted your blade would be able to hurt it. Still, you could at least stay alive for another minute, and that was a good start.

Hondshioh takes a desperate gasp and charges. But he surprises the dragon by diving not towards the underbelly of the dragon but into the creature's fast approaching maw. His skin hardens to a near diamond-sheen as he pushes his way down the creature's gullet, hoping to kill it from within.

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

The student watches as the wall seals him and his fellow trainee from their teacher, his eyes turning to watch the healers turn on them. Mal hammers at the wall, yelling to the unseen Vork,

"We will do as you say, Master Vork. Just stay alive for all of our sake!"

The student presses his right hand against the stone wall, the rock softening around his palm as he pushes it into the structure. Pulling his now rock-coated fist back to his chest, Mal ducks beneath the grasp of the emergent masseuse copies, bringing his armoured strike against the head of the nearest one.

The being staggers as its features chip, Mal grabbing its arm and flipping it over his body onto its duplicate, disorientating the fresh one as the damaged being crumbles on top of it. Free for a moment, Mal dodges and weaves through the growing number of false-people, his right hand used to block a close claw at his chest. He makes his way to Val'Tosh's back, finally having time to reply,

"Nothing we weren't already a part of. We need to move down the tunnel and get away from here. Now."

The two Terra-Stylists move to take down the pair of not-people blocking their exit. The smaller fighter brings a harsh upper-cut against his enemy, pushing it back as his right fist repeatedly strikes and strikes and strikes at what was now a collapsing pile of muck, similar to the one Val'Tosh had created.

"Lets go!"

Mal orders, breaking into a sprint down the recently formed tunnel, keeping as close as he can to his ally, as his eyes search for the passage's end and his tremorsense focuses in the alert.

"How fast are they following us?"

He calls to Val'Tosh, not risking his concentration to turn around.

[Dorizzit]

Korram

Korram deliberates on whether or not to use Banefire, but the choice is taken from him, at least temporarily, as the Baron tries to rip Purifier from his body. Roaring in agony, his knees buckle and he is sent to his knees, then spasms and crashes onto his back. He clenches his teeth against the pain, forcing himself to ignore it. He begins to regain control of his body just as the pain fades, but this proves to be useless as he returns to his senses with the Baron's foot against his neck. He pushes against the Baron's foot, but his strength is still sapped from the summoning spells and he is unable to do anything. As the Baron prepares to stab him and Korram sees Katrina, he can only utter a single word.

"No..."

The Baron smiles, apparently misunderstanding Korram's confusion with denial of his death. He is soon corrected by Katrina's forceful entry. As the two struggle, Korram simply lies still, unable to get out from under the Baron. Finally, the fight moves off of him, and Seraph arrives and distracts the Baron as Katrina helps Korram up. He ignores her, instead focusing on the Baron. Still unsteady on his feet, however, he is unable to dodge the speeding sword aimed for him, only to be saved by Katrina's sacrifice. Pushing himself back up to his feet, Korram reestablishes his connection to Purifier. Purifier begins to order him forward against the Baron. Its long work of altering Korram's mind, however, has been erased by the temporary severing of their link. Korram clutches at his head in confusion, his actions of the recent past standing out against his natural behavior.

"What...how could..."

While Korram is confused, Purifier drives their body forward. Korram, slight horror turning into anger, halts their body.

Why do you hesitate? You have always chosen your revenge over your daughter! This should not be a complicated decision for you! Your daughter is already mortally wounded, you saw the injury! Whether she falls to her death or dies in your arms is irrelevant! If we do not strike now, the Baron might tear us apart completely, and then you will be helpless against him!

Korram struggles with the flow of memories Purifier forces to his mind, his body stepping forward once more. He halts himself, however, countering with his memories of devotion to his daughter. Anger becomes rage.

Shut up. Shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP! "Grow as a man is different from a boy," "Decide to change," BULLS***! I would NEVER choose to just forget about her! You've been so f***ing eager to use Banefire...I'm just your proxy, aren't I...a tool...there wouldn't even be anything left of me when you were done! All you've done is manipulate me, try to turn me into your weapon! Enough! F***! OFF!

While it isn't the most eloquent of speeches, Korram certainly gets the point across, punctuating it with an overwhelming surge of willpower. With it, he forces Purifier out of his body entirely, crushing the Elemental's resistance. The whole exchange took only a few seconds. Turning away from the exiting Baron, Korram dashes towards the side of the ship and his daughter. Crouching at the edge of the deck, he reaches his hands over the side, grabbing hold of Katrina's wrist and hands. Silently, he gives thanks that the empowered body Purifier had given him had not returned to its original state with the Elemental's banishing. With difficulty, he hauls Katrina back up onto the deck of the ship.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Betrayal. Umber snarled viciously as the tunnel closed behind him. Fear gnawed at this gut - fear for Fianna. But of rage... it was strange. He had passed almost instantaneously through a white-hot flash of anger and out the other side. He felt... adrift in the flat, black-glass waters that lay on the far side of fury, where everything was calmer than the dead and the air was a brittle, poisonous thing. He must be losing his touch, he noted in a detached way - people were trifling with him far too often these days. They had forgotten - and perhaps he had, too - what he did to people who people who dared such affronts to himself and to the only other person he had ever really cared about. He would have to remedy that. He almost welcomed the old familiar darkness that rose up about him - that chill, remote quality that had made him so effective on the battlefield, the cold comfort of distance and disdain.

Umber turned when Helion entered, his lip flickering upward with the ghost of a sneer, but his heart wasn't in it. These were insects - he had produced failed experiments with more potential than this wretched cannon fodder. He moved forward to meet them, backhanding the first one into a wall a dozen yards away, where he stuck, flattened and leaking like a mosquito crushed against glass. As he eviscerated another, spilling stolen blood over the floor, he pondered where to go from here... then shrugged. He was grown tired of this... and apparently his reputation needed revival. He gave a chilling smile as he sent yet another vampire's head tumbling to the floor, before driving one armored fist through another's heart, its ribs crumpling like paper, its withered, blackened heart a pulped mass in Umber's gauntlet-clad fist.

He reached out with his magical senses - they had been growing ever stronger sense the ritual, and now... now they were in bloom. Umber had been a prodigy even in an age of magic - while Kartul was good, he had never had Umber's depth and breadth of knowledge... and once inside his shield, its energies were focused outward, rather than in. Umber reached out with ephemeral fingers and grabbed hold of a few select strands and tugged viciously.

Kartul was good. His shield was nearly perfect. Nearly.

Umber roared as energy poured through him - channeled like lightning through a steel rod. It arced out, barely controlled, immolating the lesser vampires in bolts of coruscating power - burning them up from the inside out so that they glowed from within like paper lanterns, their skeletons darker shadows within. Umber knew he couldn't hold it for long - but he didn't have to. He simply shaped the power he had stolen, releasing it in a sudden, overwhelming burst - a two-dimensional wave that bisected the entire pyramid, sliding stone as neatly as a razor-edged knife sliced through flesh. He felt the structure lurch and tear, sagging as the two parts began to seperate from each other with a terrible groan. They would have collapsed, if not for the spells still holding them in place. He gave Helion a cold, indifferent look, appearing behind him in a rush of terrifying speed.

"You had a chance to flee. It would have been better for you had you taken it." And that was all - before Umber's black armored fingers sank deep into the little vampire's flesh, curling around his spine. Umber yanked it backward with a horrendous tearing of flesh and bone, kicking the screaming meat that had been Helion forward with a contemptuous flick of one foot. He tossed the red-flecked column aside, flicking his flight spell back into activation. He looked up and around the pyramid, searching for Kartul's hiding place with his senses - and finding it easily enough. The old fool always did have an idiotically overblown sense of drama, and he was terribly predictable. Umber snarled, that sense of cold and implacable purpose filling him like icewater as he flew upwards. It seemed that, at most, two of the Lords of Blood would walk away from this confrontation. The thought made him a little sad... but there was nothing to be done.

Endgame.

[Lonna]

Pryene

Shock - the physical kind, stemming from blood loss - made it difficult to think, but Pyrene was only mildly troubled by the emotional version, so she was able to summon her magic even with Ariella's knife pressed against her throat. Weaving magic into her wounds was a painful but necessary stopgap measure, and after a couple choking gasps, her lung sealed itself enough for her to answer Ariella.

"Don't know... *cough* what Volesin told you... I only came here... to make sure you... *cough* were safe."

With twitch of her fingers, Pyrene's magic infused the dress Ariella was wearing, the fabric itself pulling the half-sisters apart. Painfully, Pyrene climbed to feet, the tears in her clothing revealing flickering sparks where her magic sealed the physical wounds her little sister had inflicted. A small part of Pyrene's mind turned to healing herself with that self-same power, while the rest of her focused on Ariella and the disguised butler.

"I'll go now... you'll never... *cough* see me again." As she spoke, Pyrene's voice grew stronger, the wounds sealing up before her audience's eyes.

"Ariella... *wheeze* Volesin killed our mother. Everything I have... have done since then, has been to protect you."

[[On the off chance that Pyrene gets this far without any more nasty surprises, she'll turn around to leave and tell them not to follow her. She'll cast a minor illusion to hide the damage to her clothes, and leave just as she came in. The spell in Ariella's clothes will wear off on its own a few minutes after she exits the room.]]

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Fury revealing her (or its) physical location help to assuage Sohssal's suspicion, but the way she nonchalantly described the consequences of her death was a little unnerving. Even his time with Omega didn't remove his habit of trying to listen for the emotion in someone's voice.

”I doubt the Baron's crazy enough to activate the self-destruct when he's probably still close. But him ordering you to release the plague could be a problem...unless there's some way you could jam the doors to the cargo bay holding the samples,” Sohssal said as he proceeded to reactivate the engines and disable the controls under Fury's guidance.

But he still suspected that any measures to delay any release of the plague could be quickly dissected and stopped, since the Baron could just order Fury around. Or Sohssal could go take care of the Baron personally...or just watch him plunge into the Hells, if he couldn't find a way out in time. There was little risk to Sohssal himself; he'd watch from outside the ship, so he could just teleport away if the rift got too close.

”Come, Shanks, let's go watch this all unfold. Fury, can you tell me how to get to the Baron?” he asked. Even if he got no answer, or an obviously false one, Sohssal would set out to find the Baron, letting his magic-sensing “nose” guide him. The Baron might not be alone, but Sohssal was now at full power and the Baron wouldn't be able to spring that mirror trap again. A fight would go differently this time.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

Spoiler

Show

At your first question, Duncan shrugs.

“No, she’s safe – for the moment. I needed someone up there to keep the trial going, after all. But that won’t stop me from making her suffer if you irritate me. If I have to, I’ll simply storm the courtroom and kill everyone I can before they bring me down. I really have nothing to lose here.”

Neither do you really, if it comes down to giving up your life instead of allowing Duncan to finish his horrible ritual which will probably kill you anyway.

It was true, if Cerise was at the meeting, then she was safe. Maybe Duncan thought he was making a threat, but actually he had a problem. Of course he could simply storm the courtroom and kill everyone he can before they bring him down. Maybe in normal society this would be an appropriate threat, where people didn't know how to defend themselves. But he was threatening to storm the Canticles, who were mages trained to defeat warlocks. And his threat against Cerise, who would be far away at the front of the room, was a long shot at best.
But it was better to play along. At least some comfort could be taken this he didn't have everything planned well.

“You've only been out for a few minutes. The trial's just picking up again. We could probably watch some of it if you’re interested – I installed a scrying crystal up there, despite all of the statues against doing such that. Being the head of a Canticle has its advantages. As for why I am doing all this.”

"No, thank you. Let's stay on topic." Isera responded politely.

Duncan looks back at you with a smirk.

“Doubtless, you think that being a warlock is a horrible thing. You have been taught to think that way, after all, so it’s no fault of your own. But in truth, there is no difference between a wizard and a warlock. The only thing that separates the two of us is that I do not fear the fiends, while you do. They will offer you great power, Isera, and the cost is not necessarily your very soul. They will take other offerings, depending on the nature of the request. And why should I fear damnation, when I now have the power to rule over them? But enough philosophy, I do not expect to convince you. So, I became a warlock, an immediate outcast and threat to the Canticles if I should be discovered. In return for information and assistance, the Baron taught me how to avoid detection. It was a mutually beneficial relationship – but I never forgot what he had done! In fact, he expects me to die here, sacrificing myself to complete this ritual. Which is why I need your help, you see, so that I can then go and show him what I have learned after all these years!”

Duncan shrugs.

Isera sighed. "No, I think that it's not a difference of fear. I think there are warlocks that fear the fiends, and there are wizards who don't. But I think the difference is that warlocks don't do anything good for the world, while wizards act to improve it. For example, what good will come from your plan? Theoretically if it is completed perfectly, you will have killed the Baron, an evil man. But you have already killed many good people who are innocent, and good people that will oppose evil in the future also. So the result is negative. If you can even confront the baron. After-all, didn't he defeat you before? Isn't he the bigger threat? Why wouldn't you fight the biggest threat first? After-all, if you defeated him then, you would be a hero to the Canticles. You could justify your anger at my father's 'inept leadership' since clearly you were more capable."

Isera didn't say that it would still be a delusion.
"And being a hero, it would be even easier for you to achieve your revenge. You could still do it right now! The only one who knows your plan is me. Even Cerise doesn't know it, only that my father is innocent. The Canticles will be in trial for some time probably."

“Of course, there’s another reason I chose you. I took Jean’s wife from him, just as his failure took Ember from me. And I was going to take Alfred’s wife from him in the same manner until you interfered! Hah, I even managed to lure his idiot son away from the Canticle’s precious path – he came to me, you know, begging for a way to save his mother! Oh, the irony of that one! And now today, I shall finish taking from Jean everything he holds dear!”

"At least of me, I can see a little of the connection." Isera said. "Of course, I have interfered in your plan." Isera narrowed her eyes a little. She didn't ask But Carlain? Cerise? Why them? Weren't you punishing them already by killing their mother? It seemed unnecessary with Duncan to ask this, and before she could ask, the reply came.

Duncan points at you – or rather, the mage collar locked around your neck.

“So, that collar prevents all magic from being cast. You are completely at my mercy. But I specifically altered the collar such that it does not prevent ritual magic. You can enact the ritual, and summon the powers of the Hells here – as the summoner, you’ll be the one that they obey, if they listen at all. You could try to tell the fiends that surge forth to tear me apart, and even if you say nothing I will be at the epicenter of the magic. They won’t harm you because you are all that allows them to cross over into the mortal realm, but I will not be so lucky. This is your one and only opportunity to destroy me. If I have to, I will abandon my plans for destroying the Baron of Gast in favor of enacting the ritual myself. And the fiends that pour forth will be ordered not to kill Cherise and Jean, but drag them back down into the Hells for an eternity of suffering. So really, it’s your choice. Sacrifice your own soul, or be forced to watch as your father and closest friend lose theirs instead! So, what’s it going to be!?”

Isera sat up and rubbed her head a little. The pain had subsided now, and she could think clearly. And things began to make sense.

"Ah, I see." Isera couldn't help but smirk a little. It was that proud little smile she always had anyway. Especially in this kind of situation. She covered half of her face with her hand, staring through it with a glittering eye.
"That's why you need me. Because you can't do the ritual, and you know that I learned forbidden ritual knowledge when I was a child. Maybe you've been planning this since then. And that's why you needed Cerise or me. But you know Cerise would never agree willingly- afterall, I was the one who bullied her into helping me with a ritual...and she learned her lesson. But me?"
Isera laughed strangely.
"No, I suppose I've never been as much for authority or rules. That's why I was exiled. You knew that. You were on that council that exiled me."
I never forgot those faces. If only they could see me now. But...

Why would the baron expect Duncan to sacrifice himself to finish the ritual? Did this ritual require a sacrifice? In which case, wasn't Duncan just asking her to sacrifice herself for his ritual? Obviously the very cost was damnation of the soul. No, he wanted to avoid that. He was afraid of that. Of course he was. No human wasn't. There was something special there, but it was just outside of her thought.

"The thing I don't understand is [why you are threatening me and tempting me to help you at the same time]? After-all, if what you said is true, then if I help you, won't I just kill you? And if I don't help you, won't you lose everything? It seems like we both lose in both methods. If I summon fiends to kill you, it is assured I'd drop your soul into hell. And if you summon the fiends, you already admit you will be sacrificing yourself in the ritual if you summon it, and of course they will take away what I love here." She shook her head. Isera sighed, feeling the exhaustion. How many worries and stress she had been carrying? For how long? And then she had inspiration. She refused to accept this was a losing situation. There was always an option to find. Always a method that can be chosen. And when she had thought about her own exile, suddenly an answer came. And the reason why Duncan feared fiends also became clear.

"Isn't there a third way? Can't we just, not summon the hells?" Isera asked.

"Look, Duncan. I don't really hate you. I don't actually resent you that much for exiling me those years ago. I don't even hate you for killing my mother." That wasn't true but the pain of her mother's death was long, and Isera had grown up. Knowing that she shared that pain with her father was somehow comforting. And it made it hurt less. Enough that she could forgive. Something she wouldn't have ever done when she was a teenager. Because, one thing her exile had taught her when she returned was, there can be something called [forgiveness]. Isera wanted to reach out to touch Duncan, but hesitated. She looked at him with a pained face. It wasn't pity. It was empathy. Or, as close as she could.

"It sounds like you really have suffered for a long time. And I can understand that. Strange, because you're the one who taught me about death when you murdered my mother. And taught me about suffering when I was exiled. And didn't everyone suffered for Ember Montiguard's loss? You lost your love, they all lost their friend. And you took away my father's love. And mine. And isn't that enough?"

"Hasn't this just gone on too long?" Isera asked. "Can't the pain stop? Just... let it stop? No more death. No more killing. No one suffering from their pain alone?"
"We can go upstairs, and stop the trial. And then I'll walk with you up to my father. And you can shout and yell at him for all of your grief and rage. And he'll apologize to you. He can even resign as leader of the Canticle of Autumn, and retire. And you can retire too. And we can just...stop. No more revenge."

Isera paused to let the silence follow her words. She would make this next point her deepest and most earnest one. Because it was true.

"Because... I want to help you Duncan. I don't want things to end badly. It's true the Canticles are blind sometimes to things, and sometimes cultists may have reasons for their suffering. But isn't there forgiveness? Didn't the Canticles teach me that when I returned from my exile?

I want to help you Duncan. But if you do this, no matter how you do this, then when you die, you will surely go to hells. And then you'll never meet Ember Montiguard in heaven. You'll never be reunited again. You will never spend eternity with her. Isn't the value a little forgiveness, to meet her again?"

[Inspectre]

(Just before Tare and Melcara encounter Hephestia . . .)

Theme Song

“You’re a disgrace, Hephestia. You’re supposed to be the Adjudicator, a paragon of justice and general of the armies of the Heavens. And what are you doing? Killing humans indiscriminately! At least Morgana had good intentions, however twisted they might be!”

Ander shouted, narrowly dancing aside as the archangel crashed down in front of him, skewering the spot where he had just been standing.

“Shut up and die already, mortal! The Valkyrie made a grave error when She sent you back! She should have sent you directly to the Hells, along with the rest of your vile race!”

Ander dodged aside from Hephestia’s thrust and lunged forward, trying to get close enough to bring Sin Eater to bear. So close to a powerful angel, the blade was practically screaming in hunger. Anticipating the action, Hephestia brought her foot up, kicking Ander squarely in the chest and sending him flying back into a nearby wall. The impact was hard enough to actually send him through the wall, collapsing amidst the wall’s wreckage in the street beyond. Scrambling up to his feet, Ander fell back down the street as Hephestia flew through the hole she had made, blindly following him in her rage. Which was Ander’s entire plan, basically.

Even with an angel slaying blade, he was no match for the insane archangel. The only thing he could do was draw her away, keep her angry and focused on him while Hondshioh dealt with her new master. Then, hopefully, Miriam Herself would be willing to bring Her servant to heel. If not, Hephestia would likely rampage out of control until everything else in the city was dead. Keeping in line with that plan, Ander hurled another accusation at her as she closed in.

“So you’re pissed at humanity, I get that! But why are you attacking us instead of the Baron? Surely he’s the best example of everything you’ve come to hate!”

“No! Demetrius is a monster, but you’re a race of monsters! I’ve come to expect it for you . . . no, what I hate is your indifference to suffering! After I was captured, the Baron tortured me yes, but the worst happened after that. He paraded me out in front of a crowd, and told them that if just one person stepped forward, I would be released. No one stepped forward – and it was then that I realized your race had become so corrupt, so inured to cruelty that it was no longer enough to combat the evil members of your race! No, all of humanity had to be destroyed for the good of the world! And after today, I can only imagine Miriam will feel the same!”

Hephestia summoned a barrage of holy bolts, blinding Ander and forcing him on the defensive. Dancing back, he attempted to anticipate the follow-up thrust, but as Hephestia charged through the curtain of light she instead swung her polearm around in an arc. The tip of the spear found Ander’s chest, tearing a line through his plate mail as if it were paper. And although he could feel the torn flesh underneath mending itself, unpleasant as that may be, the same could not happen for his armor. Swinging Sin Eater carefully around, he cuts the straps holding his breastplate together, shrugging the broken armor off and tossing it aside. He could probably use the increased agility anyway, and the armor was clearly not going to protect him from Hephestia’s power.

“You’re as naïve as you are stupid! Do you really think the Baron would have put you up on display if he thought it would cause a revolt? Or that he would have just let you go even if one brave soul would have committed suicide!?”

“It doesn’t matter! I saw the crowd, I saw into their hearts, each and every one of them! None of them even considered it! Even sheep are more difficult to lead than you! If your race as a whole wants to embrace cruelty, to surrender willingly to evil, then so be it! I will pass judgment upon you all, and give you everything you truly desire!”

“Look in the mirror first!”

Ander cried, and then charged. Hephestia pulled her spear back, as expected, and as she braced it to meet him, Ander tucked into a shoulder roll at the last second. He went down under the spear, rolled, and came up swinging. Still much faster than any human, Hephestia managed to dance back out of the way of the first swing, block the second with the shaft of her spear, and then caught Ander’s arm with one hand to prevent a third. Effortlessly she broke his arm, resulting in Sin Eater being dropped into the dirt, and then flung him into a nearby building. This one was of a bit sturdier construction than the previous wall, and so the stone merely cracked instead of giving way. Feeling several of his bones closest to the impact break instead, Ander rebounded off the wall and collapsed into the street. He attempted to rise, but Hephestia walked over and stomped him back down, pinning him to the earth with a foot. Slowly as that he could watch its progress, Hephestia raised her spear up above him, preparing to bring it down.

“Die.”

She said, and then as if sensing something, paused and slowly smiled.

“What an unexpected surprise! I should have known I would encounter you here.”

“****.”

Melcara said, sensing her sister just as she and the others with her rounded a nearby corner. Immediately the fallen angel turns to Tare and points back the way they had come.

“Go, this is a fight for me alone! RUN!”

An instant later, and Hephestia leaps off of Ander, swooping through the air to cross the short distance, pick Melcara up, and hurl her headfirst into a nearby wall. The humans who had been accompanying Melcara scatter, some much less willingly than others, but all flee as the two angels continue their fight. Spared from certain death and now largely ignored, Ander picks himself up and begins to regenerate from his injuries.

Anticipating the thrust, Melcara pulls her head out of the shattered wall just in time to duck to one side before Hephestia’s spear crashes through the already splintered stone. Reaching up into the hole, Melcara rips one of the intact stones free and flings it into Hephestia’s face. The already stressed stone shatters apart upon impact, and Hephstia grunts in pain and surprise, her nose likewise broken by the impact. As the archangel reels back a step, Melcara wraps hold of Hephestia’s spear and pulls. The stubborn Adjudicator manages to keep hold of her spear, but at the cost of her footing as she goes from stumbling backward to stumbling forward, right into Melcara’s fist.

Still off-balance, Hephestia lets go of her spear and raises both hands to defend herself, managing to block Melcara’s next punch. Now in sole control of the spear, Melcara spins it around to try and make use of it, but Hephestia is too close. Recovering, she swats the weapon out of Melcara’s hands and then delivers a flurry of punches that sends Melcara stumbling back. The fallen angel attempts to leap into the air to gain some distance, but Hephestia catches her by the ankle, dragging her back down and then swinging her around to bodily slam her into the ground.

Laughing in a tone that sounded increasingly insane, Hephestia leapt onto her fallen sister and grabbed her by the throat with one hand, holding her down while delivering a series of punches to hammer Melcara’s face. After several swings she paused to deliver a taunt.

“Oh my hated sister, how this brings back the memories. Me punishing the corrupt humans, and you struggling to protect them. Shall I kill you first, or leave you alive enough to watch me squish these mortals like the insects they are?”

Melcara’s only answer is to cough up blood, one side of her face a complete ruin. Before Hephestia can fulfill either threat, she is distracted by Ander. Despite the paladin general’s attempt to sneak up behind the archangel while she is distracted, Hephestia’s keen senses alert her in time. As Ander brings Sin Eater down towards her head, Hephestia ducks into a roll, tumbling off of Melcara and dodging the blow. Not willing to risk getting in close again, Ander backs off as the Adjudicator gets to her feet. The two square off, Ander slowly backing off as Hephestia confidently advances, not intimidated in the slightest by a blade that could take her life at the slightest nick.

Down on the ground, Melcara rolls over onto her side and crawls over to where Hephestia’s spear had fallen. Snatching up the spear with desperate strength, the fallen angel pushes herself up into a sitting position, hefts the massive weapon, and then hurls it at Hephestia’s back. At the same time, Ander lunges forward, committing to an attack and hoping that Melcara’s throw is enough to distract Hephestia.

Without even looking, Hephestia stretches her hand out, the weapon blinking out of existence mid-flight to reappear in her hand a moment later. She immediately brings the weapon up to parry Ander’s blow, and then twists the blunt end around to smash into his chest, re-breaking several ribs. Twirling her chosen weapon around expertly, Hephestia batters Ander into submission, parrying each of his sword strikes before retaliating with a blow that breaks another bone. As the lord general collapses, Hephestia precisely strikes the blade of Ander’s sword with her spear, knocking it out of his hands and sending it slicing through the air towards Melcara. The fallen angel manages to throw herself flat again just in time for the blade to hiss over her, embedding itself into the ground just past her left ear.

Her face mostly healed but still bruised, Melcara scrambles back up onto her feet and reaches for Sin Eater’s hilt. The angel-slaying blade literally howls in her grip as Melcara pulls the blade free, but she is able to wield it with no difficulty. For a moment, the two former sisters simply glare at each other from across the street.

“You’ve always hated me Hephestia, just like the rest of my former sisters, but your hatred for me has always seemed personal. You were created after I left Miriam’s service – what offense could I have possibly committed against you to prompt such undying hate?”

“You walked away from Her!”

Hephestia hissed.

“You turned your back on the one who created you. Who loved you, trusted you, and would have given you anything you asked had you simply stood at Her side. And instead you betrayed Her – for what!? Your own vanity!? I was created to replace you, to be better than you in every way, and yet you’re still the one she remembers! “Azguloth’s Whore” – you should have been forgotten, left to rot in your disgrace, your very memory erased from history!”

Melcara blinks in surprise a moment, and then she suddenly breaks into laughter.

“So that’s what this is all about, truly, all this time? Heh, I always thought it was some sort of misguided pride that led you to strain at your leash, begging to be unleashed upon the wicked. That you saw it as your duty, so high above us miserable sinners, to stomp us down further into the muck. But no . . . pride isn’t the thorn constantly in your side, is it my dear sister? It’s jealousy. The mere thought that me, and humanity, for all our mistakes, are still close to the Valkyrie’s heart. While you, for all your “purity” . . . you’re still just the bitch She keeps around to snarl at the nonbelievers!”

Hephestia screams as she lunges forward, the façade of a collected warrior shattered as she slashes at Melcara with wild abandon. Although still as fast and strong as ever, Hephestia’s blows are uncoordinated enough that Melcara is able to close in. Coming within reach of her sister, Melcara furiously slashes at Hephestia with the angel-slaying blade, her blows not aimed at the archangel’s body, but at her hands wrapped around the spear. Sensing Melcara’s intent, Hephestia is able to shift her grip fast enough that her fingers are never caught by the deadly blade’s edge, but at the cost of keeping a firm hold of her weapon. With a final blow, Melcara rips the spear out of Hephestia’s hands, and then swings the blade back around before the archangel can summon the weapon.

The blow is perfectly aimed for Hephestia’s neck, the swing arcing through the hammering rain with minimal resistance . . . and then, a few inches from Hephestia’s flesh, the blade comes to an abrupt halt. The archangel has clapped her hands together, sandwiching the blade between them. Pressed up against angelic flesh but unable to slice through it, the blade whines hungrily as the two sisters stand locked in that pose, immobile. And then slowly, Hephestia begins to force the blade back away from her, twisting the tip around to point back towards Melcara despite the fallen angel’s best efforts. As the blade is twisted back around in Melcara’s own grip to point back at her, she attempts to back away, but this effort is thwarted when Hephestia entwines a foot with the back of her right knee and then pulls, sending them both tumbling down to the ground together.

Landing on top of her sister, Hephestia continues to relentlessly force the blade back around towards Melcara. Within seconds the tip of the blade is hovering just above Melcara’s eye. Beyond it, Hephestia smiles as she pushes down harder, savoring the feeling of the blade as it dips still lower.

“Go to the Hells.”

Hephestia hisses, grimacing in fury as Melcara spits in her face. And then, Ander is there, adding his own body to the tangle as he leaps down onto Hephestia. The blade is knocked away, but not without effect this time. Instead of plunging down into her eye, the tip of the angel-slayer merely slides down along Melcara’s cheek, slicing it open to the bone. Blood begins to ooze out of the wound, and continues to pour out at a steady rate despite the fallen angel clamping a hand over the wound. Hephestia laughs as she throws Ander off and gets back up to her feet, holding the angel-slayer by the hilt now after prying the weapon out of Melcara’s hands. Wielding the weapon in one hand, Hephestia looks down at her other hand in mild concern, and then holds it up with another laugh. As proof that catching the angel-slaying blade with her bare hands was not without penalty, a bloody line was now stretching across Hephestia’s palm.

“So now we are both dead, dear sister. It’s only a matter of time. But whereas I will return to the Heavens, to take my rightful place at our victorious Lady’s side, you will spend tonight burning in the fires of the Hells. I hope every last fiend makes you earn your title!”

Seeing the effort was futile, Melcara lowers her hand away from her face, allowing the blood to flow freely. She is about to reply when the Baron answers for her, summoning the Hells. Instantly the street is plunged into madness as the ground begins to crack open and the fiends shriek in pleasure at their newfound freedom. And like the rest of her sisters, and her goddess, Hephestia is weakened by the sudden shift in the planes. Melcara, on the other hand, if anything grows stronger. With a yell she leaps back up to her feet, and with a kick launches Hephestia’s spear up into her hands. The archangel stretches out a hand to summon the weapon away . . . and her brow furrows with terrified confusion when the effort fails.

Wielding each other’s weapons, the two sisters clash again, but this time the outcome is much different. Pummeling Hephestia in much the same way as she did Ander a minute ago, Melcara drives the Adjudicator to her knees. And then with a savage thrust that drives her own weapon all the way through her shoulder, Melcara drives Hephestia onto her back, pinning her to the ground. The archangel screams in agony rather than fury this time, and curses impotently as Melcara pries the angel-slaying blade out of her hands before holding the edge up against her throat. The blade cries beseechingly as it hovers just an inch from Hephestia’s throat. The two sisters lock eyes as everything else around them fades to unimportance.

“Oh, how you must have dreamed of this day, dear sister.”

Hephestia coughs.

“I am beaten and at your mercy. With a single slice, you can not only defeat me, but damn me to serve at your side as the fiends’ plaything for all eternity. Are you hesitating now to simply savor this moment, or do you intend to make me beg for the killing blow first?”

Hephestia inclines her head back, revealing more of her soft throat before pressing it forward against the blade, hard enough for a trickle of blood to sprout.

“Go on. DO IT!”

Melcara grits her teeth, tensing up as if preparing to draw the blade across for the fatal slice, but then exhales and pulls the blade away suddenly.

“No.”

She says simply, and then repeats herself, more strongly this time. And as she does so, she turns and brings the flat of the blade down against the side of a nearby wall. With a high-pitched squeal, the blade snaps in half, and then melts away, dissolving into a pool of blood.

“No, I will not kill you Hephestia. I would not wish anyone to suffer as I have – and certainly not as I have recently.”

Melcara gives a slight shudder, recalling her time buried alive.

“Even if you may deserve it, for all the misery you’ve inflicted in the Valkyrie’s name, I still won’t condemn you to that fate. No one deserves to suffer like that, not for all eternity.”

“Then you are as foolish as you are weak. Am I to be left here then, as an offering for the fiends?”

Hephestia declared sullenly, reaching up with her good hand to tug weakly on the shaft of her own spear sticking out of her shoulder. After a few moments of trying to free herself in vain, the archangel slumps back with a defeated groan. Despite herself, Melcara smiles at her sister’s failure.

“You are one to talk right now. And no, if I am going to spare your soul, I’m not about to let some fiend drag you off. As for what happens after that . . .”

Melcara turns to look at Ander, who despite still nursing a few bruised ribs seemed to once again be in fighting shape. The former lord general moves to stand beside the fallen angel and looks down at the defeated archangel with a scowl.

“I’ll see she gets brought before Miriam. She’s got a lot to answer for after today. What punishment the Valkyrie will decide to inflict, I don’t know, but I doubt she’ll be in a good mood after all this!”

In unison, all three sets of eyes turn skyward, to the Baron’s flying blasphemy where the fighting was the heaviest. And all three of them watched as the last of the angels tumbled down out of the sky, unable to fly in the suddenly foul air.

“My sisters . . .”

Hephestia whispered in horror, a note of regret and fear finally entering her voice.

“Our sisters.”

Melcara corrected, turning to look at Ander.

“This isn’t good. Miriam could be in terrible danger right now.”

Ghosts of past battles fought and past friends sacrificed reflected in his eyes, Ander nods his head.

“I knew the Baron had something up his sleeve, but nothing like this. I have to get up there – NOW.”

Melcara chews her lips nervously, and then shakes her head.

“I cannot. Not yet – there’s something I have to do first. Tare? Tare!”

Melcara calls out, turning to walk back towards where Tare had been. Ander moves to bar her path.

“You have to get me up there! I don’t have wings, and Hephestia can’t fly. You’re the only one who can get me up there!”

Starting to panic, Melcara roughly shoves Ander aside.

“People who die now will be damned, and I can’t take that chance. I’m sorry, I need to make sure someone important to me is safe first. Then I will help you! If you can’t wait, then go find yourself another ride!”

Before Ander can try to force the issue again, the street suddenly erupts, as a massive demon bursts forth from beneath the cobblestones. It fixes its yellow eyes upon Ander, and grins.

“Welcome to the Hells, Ander! It’s going to be your new home! Forever!”

Mammon roars. Ander simply rolls his eyes and rushes over to Hephestia, ripping the spear out of the ground and then pulling it back through her, nearly severing her arm as the spear’s wide blade passes through the wound once more.

“Go help your friend then! I’ll take care of him and then find my own way up!”

With a battlecry, Ander charges Mammon as the massive demon pulls himself the rest of the way out of the ground. Melcara rushes off in search of Tare, and Hephestia simply lies there, struggling not to bleed to death from her multiple injuries while the Baron’s ritual was still in effect.

**********

Theme Song

Flying over the battlefield that the deck of his airship had become, Demetrius smiles to himself as he surveys the situation. True, the tide was rapidly turning against his men, but the paladin numbers were dwindling nonetheless. Against both Akor and the Herald, their limited numbers could not possibly triumph. Korram’s daughter was dead, and his previously theoretical counter to Korram himself had proven impressively effective – Demetrius thus downgraded Korram to a non-threat in his mind with more than a little satisfaction. Incom was dead, killed in the exact same manner as his bastard son – that little irony also brought Demetrius a bit of satisfaction. Ander’s idiot sidekick had just gotten himself eaten, so he was dead as well. That just left Umber – curiously absent from this confrontation, not that Demetrius was complaining – and Sohssal. Both of them could be dealt with easily enough afterwards. Although he cautioned himself not to get cocky, it was hard to see how he had not already won. It was therefore time to bring this little play to its thrilling conclusion, Demetrius decided as he touched back down – directly in front of Miriam.

“No more protectors. No more games. No more threats. This is simply the end for you, Valkyrie.”

Demetrius said as he picked the dead angel’s blade off of the deck with one hand. Miriam made an attempt to push the angel’s body off of Her lap and rise, but collapsed back onto Her knees a moment later. She was beaten – all that remained was the killing stroke. Savoring the moment, Demetrius grabbed a handful of hair with his free hand as he pushes the blade’s edge against Miriam’s throat, intent on sawing all the way through his possessed daughter’s neck with it.

“My only regret here is that I’ll only get to kill you once.”

Despite her grim situation, Miriam actually manages a bark of a laugh.

“Perhaps now, but that won’t be the only regret you come to have. Even if humanity isn’t destroyed in turn by the fiends as Hondshioh predicted, humanity is doomed without me.”

Now it was Demetrius’s turn to laugh.

“Oh really? What, we’ll simply wither away without your divine light to guide us?”

“No. Where do you think mortal souls come from? I am the one who guides the souls of the newly born into their physical bodies. Without me . . . all that will be born after my death are empty husks, devoid of any spark.”

“You’re not the only god, however. Surely Athelion will take over your responsibilities, rather than watch his precious creation wither and die?”

Miriam looks away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it is thick with emotion.

“Athelion doesn’t care about humanity. Kill me, and humanity shall die with me.”

For just a moment, Demetrius pauses, considering the implications of this new information. Then he simply shrugs.

“Humanity will find a way to survive. Just as we found a way to destroy you. Goodbye, Miriam the Valkyrie!”

Before Demetrius can draw the blade across the Valkyrie’s throat, however, Seraph crashes down on him from above. Demetrius’s third treacherous son grabs his sword arm, pulling it back away from Miriam’s throat. Then getting a firm grip on his father, Seraph falls backward, dragging him back and away from Miriam. The two go down into a heap, rolling across the deck as they grapple and Demetrius attempts to untangle himself. Finally he manages to kick Seraph away and stagger back up onto his feet.

“Your efforts are ill-conceived as always, son! I promise you, Rose will suffer for this!”

“Yeah go ahead, threaten my wife again. I’ve allowed you to do it, just as I’ve allowed you to tell me what to do since I was born. But this is the last time, father! I’m done with you – we’re both done with you!”

Demetrius is about to retort, when the deck suddenly shudders violently, throwing him once more off of his feet. The Gastly Truth’s engines are started, pushing the airship from a dead stop into a lumbering charge forward. Slowly, the deck begins tilt downwards as the bow of the airship dips towards the city below. Activating his communication crystal, Demetrius roars a question into it.

“Angelo, what’s going on!? Where the Hells are we going!? Miriam isn’t dead yet! It’s not time to evacuate!”

Angelo’s only reply is silence, prompting a stream of curses from Demetrius. Curses which only grow louder and become considerably more creative when the air suddenly lightens. The ritual to summon the Hells had been disrupted, and as Demetrius turned towards where his wife had been he saw a battered GHAST standing over her body.

“YOU!?? YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!!!”

Demetrius screams, prompting Incom to roar back.

“SO SORRY TO DISAPPOINT YOU, BROTHER!”

Balling his hands into fists, Demetrius forces his anger back down and shrugs.

“It doesn’t matter! There’s still more than enough time to finish this! Herald of Azguloth, fulfill your purpose here already!”

*******

Theme Song

(In particular, the last 30 seconds or so.)

“With pleasure!”

The Herald of Azguloth replies, snapping the neck of the last angel standing in his way. Unopposed, he walks back over to Miriam, standing over her for a moment. He shakes his head and blinks his eyes, looking confused for a moment, as if he suddenly forgot where he was.

“Wait, what!? What just happened?”

He growls, prompting Demetrius to shout at him.

“KILL HER!!!”

“Oh . . . right!”

The Herald says, grinning as he pulls his scythe back.

“This is really going to hurt!”

Focusing all of his strength, the Herald brings his scythe up and then down in a hellacious blow that would surely cleave Miriam in two . . . if it was allowed to connect. But who would step forward to interpose themselves and take the blow instead?

(So here’s the deal. Someone presently at the battle – which is basically Korram, Hondshioh, or Sohssal (*snicker* yeah, sure) – needs to step in and intercept the killing blow. Otherwise, Miriam dies, the Baron wins, and by extension you all lose. But doing so will result in the blow hitting said character instead – and that will with all assurances kill them outright. So – who’s going to step forward and make the heroic sacrifice? Or, y’know, none of you can and see what happens without a god running the world. That could make for a fun third Ironheart thread. Unless Overwilliam descends from on high with one of his third options, of course . . . but given his posting rate lately, I wouldn’t trust him to save you. )

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Archpaladin Zousha

You hear the dragon rasp with surprise as you deliberately dive headlong into its gullet. It chokes as you climb down further into its throat. Here you come to realize that unlike some sort of magical enchantment to turn its skin to stone, the beast truly is entirely made of stone. Even so, somehow the hard material bends and flexes like flesh, pushing you further down into the beast’s gullet.

Surprisingly, the beast’s innards are cool instead of hot, and dry with a faint earthy scent. You can only imagine what a real dragon’s stomach smells like, but likely it was far, far worse. Unfortunately, the space within the creature’s stomach was fairly cramped, and you imagined without the benefit of your rocky skin you would have been swiftly crushed. Testing the durability of the creature’s innards, you can tell that they are not as strong as the creature’s calcified scales. Time to get to work.

You smash your way out of the creature’s stomach and continue digging, tunneling through the dragon’s insides. Made completely of stone, you aren’t sure how much this would actually accomplish, but it was certainly easier than working your way in from the outside.

Finally, you smash out into the outside world, emerging from the dragon’s chest. Although not killed by your attack, the dragon did seem to be injured, wheezing as it dragged itself back away from you, its shattered hide beginning to crumble away around the edges of the gaping hole now present in its chest.

“Hold on . . . time out here!”

At that moment, a badly damaged GHAST with similar wounds came running up.

“Akor!”

The GHAST shouts, waving you off.

“Don’t worry, I got this one. Go help out the Valkyrie!”

Looking back towards where Miriam was still kneeling, you can see that she was indeed in need of help. The Herald of Azguloth was standing over her, pulling his scythe back for a last, fatal blow!

Iethloc

You follow Fury’s instructions, a shudder racing through the deck as the engines roar to life. The screaming that has filled the air as a soft hum until this point increases in volume to a piercing shriek. At the same time, you suddenly feel the air lighten somewhat – the Baron’s ritual had been disrupted. There was still enough of the Hells energy present to suggest that its influence would not dissipate immediately, but it wouldn’t take too long. Hopefully the airship would get through its destination rift in time before it sealed back up – you had no way of altering its course now. And no way to stop the engines either, as you smash the last of the controls, cutting off even Fury’s influence.

He’s up on the top deck, finishing off the Valkyrie. You may want to hurry.

Fury replies in response to your question, and you and Shanks hurry out of the engine room back the way you came. Finding an evacuation hatch was easy enough, and Fury was helpful enough to provide visual cues in the form of lighted arrows and voiced directions as you went. You cast a quick flight spell on Shanks as you go, and then the two of you are out flying alongside the Gastly Truth.

Swinging around to the top deck, you see the scene is much how Fury had described it – the Baron was standing off to one side, while the hulking beastman known as the Herald stood over the battered form of the Baron’s daughter Sara – also known these days as Miriam the Valkyrie. Seeing them all standing there like this – the Baron, the Herald, and Miriam dwelling in Sara’s body – it triggered something in you. You saw a connection between them, almost like a progression. It was almost as if there were a common element between them, not of their physical bodies, but their souls. It was hard to describe more clearly what you caught the merest glimpse of, but you felt as if a revelation of the most profound level had just been ever so briefly revealed to you. It would have to be something for you to study – later.

For now, the moment passed, and you found yourself watching Miriam’s execution by the Herald – unless someone chose to intervene.

WhiteKnight777

(Should have used this theme song for the Helion “fight”, heh.)

Theme Song

You tear your way through the ranks of vampiric filth like a tiger through a pack of squirrels, finishing with slicing Kartul’s pyramid in half and tearing Helion’s spine out of his back. And yet to your surprise he didn’t die. None of the vampires did, in fact, even the ones you had immolated almost to ash with the borrowed power from Kartul’s shield. Ribbons of congealed blood lash out from their bodies, pulling their separated pieces together and reforming them. On the floor, supposedly beaten, Helion laughs.

“Oh Umber, you have no idea what is going on here, do you? Well first, allow me to explain that Kartul’s magic has rendered him and the rest of his children completely invulnerable. You probably remember that from the last time you confronted him, but he’s used your time apart most effectively to improve the magic. Even if you disintegrated us all into ash here, we would simply be revived by Kartul’s magic. The Sanguinosphere, as he calls it, his masterpiece. But as you’re aware, everything has its weaknesses.”

His spine not fully healed, Helion’s movements are uncoordinated and jerky, but he manages to reach into his coat and pull out two familiar glass vials.

“The blood I took from the Herald of Azguloth. Nasty stuff – it has a tendency to corrupt any other blood it comes in contact with, devouring it. I wonder what happens if it comes into contact with Kartul’s blood magic?”

With a floppy snap of his wrist, Helion tosses one of the vials up above the middle of the room, and then blasts it with a weak magical bolt, shattering it and spraying the black sludge-like blood everywhere. All of the reforming vampires scream as the blood rains down upon them, twisting around the red blood ribbons and changing them all into the same dark blood as the Herald. Within moments, all that’s left is a bunch of messy pools of tattered flesh and black blood. Helion nudges the other vial towards you with his chin.

“Drop that into Kartul’s precious Sanguinosphere and his masterpiece will all come tumbling down. And then you can kill him. You could also drop a bit from that vial onto me and finish me off, but you’re running out of time before Kartul finishes the mongrel, and this city with him. I have no interest in trying to stop you – Kartul’s never been my master, just as Fianna was not. All this time, you’ve had it backwards Umber. Heh heh.”

Finished with his speech, Helion slumps against the floor, waiting for his spine to finish regenerating. No doubt the little leech’s injuries would be healed before you could destroy the Sanguinosphere, unless you pointedly spent time on staying behind to finish him off. Time which, as he just pointed out, you might not have.

After deciding Helion’s fate, you fly up towards the apex of the pyramid. To no one’s surprise, you find Kartul there, surrounded by more of his sycophant bloodsuckers. Just barely visible, at the bottom of a pit far down below, was a large pool of energetically bubbling blood – Kartul’s Sanguiosphere, no doubt. And hanging in mid-air above the pit from bloody silver chains is Alexander Ross, almost most of a skeleton at this point than a man. Even so, he still manages to look up as you enter and wheeze a curse.

“Argh, perfect, of course! Come on, hurry up and finish me off so I don’t have to hear whatever joke comes out of his mouth!!”

“Silence, dog!”

Kartul shrieks, swiping the silver whip across Ross’s back again. Then he points at you.

“Go, my most special children! Destroy this fool!”

From the crowd of vampires, two step forward. One you recognize as Artur, his face drawn into a permanent sneer of disgust – no doubt he was being forced to participate, given his previous statements about evil and vampires. The other you didn’t recognize, some arrogant twit twirling around a scythe made entirely out of bone.

Theme Song

Dorizzit

A sense of amusement fills Purifier’s voice as you attempt to push him out of your body.

You are attempting to banish ME!? Pathetic mortal, you do not know your place! You are just a shell, a vessel for me to inhabit! You don’t get to decide when our association is finished!

But Purifier has been weakened by the Baron’s repeat summonings, and memories of your daughter drive you to an unstoppable rage. The damaged walls that cage your mind begin to give way, and then shatter as you drive Purifier before you. The spirit’s amusement turns to confusion, and then fear.

[i]Argh, how can this be!? You are just a mortal, where did you find such strength!? You are nothing, insignificant! . . . You will pay for this insult, Korram! Nobody refuses the gifts that I have to offer!!!”

And then the elemental spirit is gone, and you are free. Immediately you turn and dash towards the edge of the airship. Although Purifier is gone, some of his essence remains. Your body is intact, and thankfully would likely stay that way. In addition, you also had a little more of his power left, perhaps enough to summon a fireball or two, or briefly sprout wings of flame. For the moment, you had need of neither as you reach down and pull your daughter back up onto the deck.

Theme Song

She’s not doing well at all, which is hardly surprising given the sword embedded up to the hilt in her back, and at least a foot of the blade sticking out of her chest. You roll her over onto her side, place her head in your lap, and then . . . you have no idea what to do next. Just touching the hilt or blade causes her to gasp with pain. Her tunic is soaked with blood, and more runs down off of the sodden cloth, beginning to make a pool on the deck around you. Her breathing is wet and ragged, but her eyes are still clear as she turns her head to look up at you and smile weakly.

“You came . . . didn’t think you . . .”

Katrina trails off as she flops a hand up into yours, giving it a light squeeze.

“Thanks.”

For a few moments, the two of you simply sit in silence, which Katrina breaks by going into a coughing fit, blood flecking her lips. Her breath comes in more desperate gasps now, and she rushes to get the words out, interspacing them with more bloody coughs.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen, but you know me – never could take a hint. But I hope you’ll listen to me now. I don’t want you to blame yourself for this. I chose this fate, from the day I started the Ghosts of Callaway until now. I don’t regret a single second of it, except what I said when we “first” met. I love you, and am as proud of you as any daughter could be. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll even find Mom. Don’t let this get you to stop fighting – never stop fighting! Someone’s got to make sure that the Baron doesn’t get away with this, and then go on to make sure nobody like this gets the chance ever again. So go get him . . . Dad.”

Katrina exhales the last word, breaking off into a death rattle as she slumps into a lifeless heap. Katrina Alstan, daughter of Korram and Sarah Alstan, was dead. Your daughter was dead, and you felt . . . nothing. You had thought you would be angry, or feel as if your heart had been torn out, but your fears were for naught. You felt nothing . . . empty . . . hollow. When Sarah had been taken, you had fallen into a depression for a week, and then became filled with an inconsolable rage that had driven you this far. You don’t think you would have that sort of feeling here. You’re not even sure that you would feel anything ever again.

Looking up and behind you, you can see the Baron a short distance away, watching as the Herald approaches Miriam. The foul creature lifts his scythe high, and prepares to deliver a fatal strike to the goddess. Revenge, it seemed, was the only thing you had left now.

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

(That was amazing, Kasanip! )

At your final plea, Duncan’s bemused expression cracks, and he exhales violently. He looks as if you had physically struck him, and his shoulders slump.

“I’m a warlock. My soul already belongs to the demons, damned forever. I will never see Ember again. And yet . . . she would not want me to do this.”

Duncan gives a weak, hopeless laugh.

“She never would have wanted me to do any of this. I was there when she died from the sickness the Baron’s poison had inflicted. She said only one word to me before she died – “forgive”. But I couldn’t. I don’t know how. How can you forgive me, knowing all that I’ve done against you and your closest friend?”

Duncan shakes his head, his eyes taking on a far-off look.

“After I lost to the Baron, he gave me a simple choice. I could die, or I could become his pupil. Maybe someday I would grow strong enough to try again to kill him, but until then I would look elsewhere for my revenge. At first I thought I would simply string him along until I could find a way to alert the rest of the Canticles. But I quickly realized that there would be no going back – I was a warlock, and the Canticles believed that any warlock was a menace that had to be executed. And bit by bit, it became easier to forget my oaths, and become more obsessed with revenge. It’s all I have left now, even the memory of Ember’s love fills me with revulsion. How could she have ever loved someone capable of the things I have done?”

Duncan manages to bring his eyes back up to meet yours.

“I am tired. I have been walking down this road for a long damn time, so long I barely even remembered why I had chosen this path anymore. Thank you for reminding me of what I had thrown away in my quest for revenge – and for reminding me of her.”

Duncan reaches into his robe and pulls out a set of keys, which he tosses over to you.

“That has the key to your collar. Go ahead and take it off – I surrender. I must answer for my crimes – do with me as you will. So what happens now?”

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Lonna

“Liar! Whore! I don’t believe you!”

Ariella spat, clearly frustrated as she strained against her own dress holding her back away from you. For a moment, she obviously considers trying to cut her own dress off, but unlike you, Ariella favors modesty over practicality and simply slumps her shoulders and glares at you sullenly.

You turn to go, limping back towards the foyer’s doors when the butler calls out to you.

“Wait.”

You look back at him, and find that he has wrapped his arms around Ariella, holding her still while simultaneously trying to calm her. He nods at you.

“I still hate you with every fiber of my being, but I know how much this girl meant to Volesin. I’ll keep her safe. You have my word on that – and that if either of us sees you again, we will be the last thing you ever see!”

So once again, you would be out of your sister’s life, cut off from her and forced to watch her life from a distance. But this time it wasn’t you trying to help her or keep her safe – Volesin had accomplished what you could not, at least – but now it was because she wanted nothing to do with you. Dimly, you are aware that should hurt, but you can barely managed anything more than a sense of feeling very tired.

Just before you get to the door, they fly open of their own accord, as two guards go flying through it, nearly knocking you over. Standing there in the suddenly open doorway, bleeding from a few minor wounds and looking incredibly cross is Wulfric. He takes one look at you and then levels a massive crossbow at “Volesin” and your sister.

“Looks like I got here just in time!”

Wulfric announces with a boastful smirk. He spares another glance at you, examining the burning holes in your dress with concern.

“Gods, what have they done to you!?”

Before you can reply, a wave of power suddenly slams into you. And with it comes a hammer blow of emotion as your ability to feel comes back full force and then some. And attached to it was an overwhelming sense of sibling betrayal, and a desire to see your sister pay for her rejection and treachery! Your hand is up before you can even register it, a ball of flame bursting into life there with searing intensity. The little bitch had to pay for what she just did to you! But at the back of your mind was still the quiet voice of sanity, screaming to be heard that Ariella was your sister, your beloved sister, and you would do anything for her – even walk away if that’s what she wanted after Volesin twisted her against you.

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

“Won’t matter whether they are or not in a minute!”

Val’Tosh yells in reply to your question. Too focused on keeping your foot as you run up the steep incline of the tunnel, you do not turn around to see what he was doing. All the same, your ears tell you that your ally has done something as a deep rumble comes from the tunnel behind you. The sound fades off behind you, going in the opposite direction as it races down to the entrance of the tunnel, where there is a cataclysmic crash.

“Made a big boulder for them to play with! That oughta – no wait, they’re still coming! Damn things merging into stone – that isn’t very fair!”

Val’Tosh curses as he thunders up the tunnel after you, abandoning his own attempts in favor of flight. Both of you race along until you think your lungs are going to burst from the extortion, but you are pressed onward by a pinprick of light ahead that slowly but steadily grows. At last, you burst back up into the open air, and collapse onto the ground in relief. You allow yourself only a few moments to recover, and then grimly push yourself up onto your feet. Your pursuers could easily follow the tunnel up, and if you were still here when they too got to the end you would be easily caught. That could not be allowed to happen.

It seems that the saying “be careful what you wish for” is quite apt. Your wished upon completing the tournament was to find the man responsible for your master’s death. That goal had been rendered irrelevant, but also replaced by a new mission – get to Silverstream and find the last of Master Vork’s students. Did they too search for your master’s murderer, unaware that he was still very much alive? What secrets did Master Vork teach them, and why the need for so much secrecy? There were so many things you did not understand, and your mind reeled with questions and a shortage of oxygen as you pushed your body onward.

Eventually, neither of you can go any further, and you collapse within a stand of trees quite some distance away. As you both struggled to catch your breath, Val’Tosh looks curiously at you.

“What did the Master tell you? And was that really him!? What’s going on here!? Damnit, I feel so useless just running away like that – we should have helped him!”

Judging from your master’s desperation, and the endless force of earth creatures surging out of the walls, if you had stayed you would have died. But running away also meant that you now had nowhere to go and knew nothing except that you had to get to Silverstream. Which if you remember the geography lessons that Master Vork had drilled into your head, was a very long way away from here.

(Next DM will be a very brief wrap-up, and then we’ll pick the story up with Return to Ironheart. So if you have any questions, or plans other than going directly to Silverstream, now would be the time to post them. )

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

"NO! None else dies today!" Hondshioh says. His rock-hard skin now glowing with the head from inside the dragon, he makes one last charge, barreling forward to try and knock the Herald aside, disrupt the attack, catch it off guard, SOMETHING! Even if he took the blow and died, that didn't matter. Miriam was there...no, it didn't matter if it was the Valkyrie or not...an innocent soul was there, about to be snuffed out like a candle in the wind. And as long as Hondshioh, as long as any paladin lived, that could NOT be allowed to happen.

"If I'm going down, THEN I'LL BRING YOU DOWN WITH ME!"

His blade is poised to strike the Herald's stomach as his stomping charge shakes the deck.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram derives some small bit of satisfaction from his utter defeat of Purifier. The elemental deserved far worse than the bruise to his ego that Korram had inflicted, but hearing the arrogant spirit's shock gives him a warm feeling. True to form, he cannot resist a parting shot at Purifier's outraged final contact.

If you offered any, we wouldn't be here now.

Shaking his head once more to clear the last vestiges of Purifier's influence, Korram suddenly remembers his position and rushes to the edge of the ship, diving to the ground to grab Katrina and haul her back onto the deck. A veteran of many battles, what little hope Korram had vanishes as he gets a good look at Katrina. Her wound is fatal, and there is nothing he can do to save her or even delay her death. Helpless, he cradles her head in his lap, the battle all around them forgotten.

“You came . . . didn’t think you . . .”

"Of course I did...I would never...Purifier...was...controlling..."

“Thanks.”

Korram's excuses die in his throat as he bows his head, accepting responsibility for his mistakes. Purifier had driven him away from his chance for redemption, but as the manipulative entity had pointed out, this was only the most recent in a long line of transgressions. Katrina cuts him off as his words strangle, sparing him from attempting to continue. Korram silently grips the hand she offers in a firm, but gentle grasp. He knows that he will not have much chance to speak before Katrina, but somehow finds this is not an obstacle. Words, something that had never come to him easily before, simply flow from his mouth, concisely encapsulating his feelings.

"You are the bravest, strongest person I have ever met. I've killed a lot of bad people...but apart from you I've never created anything good. I am so proud of you. You have the best of Sarah in you and all of my strength. You saved me from Purifier. Thank you. I love you."

He gently rocks her back and forth as he did when she had nightmares as a child, in the dark time after Sarah's abduction. Silently, he wonders how many times she had awoken to a darkened house, with no one to protect her from the imagined monsters lurking in the darkness. It is this thought that finally brings the tears to his eyes, a slow, intermittent, but unending stream. Unwilling to release either of his hands from his daughter, Korram simply allows the tears to slip from his face as he listens to her final words.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen, but you know me – never could take a hint. But I hope you’ll listen to me now. I don’t want you to blame yourself for this. I chose this fate, from the day I started the Ghosts of Callaway until now. I don’t regret a single second of it, except what I said when we “first” met. I love you, and am as proud of you as any daughter could be. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll even find Mom. Don’t let this get you to stop fighting – never stop fighting! Someone’s got to make sure that the Baron doesn’t get away with this, and then go on to make sure nobody like this gets the chance ever again. So go get him . . . Dad.”

As Katrina's last breath slips from her body, Korram's emotions die with her. He cradles her lifeless body for a few seconds, slowly allowing his rocking to come to a halt. Slowly, he releases her hand, then reaches up to her face and closes her eyes. Unbidden, a memory from years ago flows into his mind.

Spoiler

Show

Korram shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His right arm was strapped to a table, and he didn't like to be held down. The restrained limb bled from numerous runes that had been carved into its flesh, most notably a loop of sigils just under his elbow. The pain was significant, but he had endured far worse. A particularly bad injury, a deep wound beneath his armpit that was still healing, had been what had driven him here in the first place. The wizard he had hired to empower him, Eldred, was bustling around the room making idle small talk.

"...various planes can also have interesting effects on souls on them. For example, if you're in Hell when you die, you're damned to stay there, sinner or saint. Of course, there's no such risk with the Plane of Fire, especially with these anti-feedback runes I suggested..."

Katrina would be trapped. No. Korram cannot let that happen. But first, he needs to stop the Baron. It is not for his revenge. It is not for his rage, or his hatred. It is not out of nobility either, although that is a part of it. Korram's true motivation is his daughter. He will honor her sacrifice; her death cannot be in vain. Setting her gently down on the pitching deck of the ship, Korram removes the sword from her chest and rises steadily to his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes and face. Looking around, he turns and takes in the battle. As he does, he knows what he must do.

Casting the blade aside, Korram strides towards Miriam, moving with purpose but seemingly without haste. He progresses through the battlefield, weaving between combats without wavering from his goal. As he walks, he sees the Baron torn from Miriam by Seraph. He manages to keep his footing as the ship lurches, requiring only a moment to balance before continuing. He watches as, all too late, the sky lightens with the disruption of the hell-ritual.

As he continues walking towards Miriam, Korram catches Seraph's eye. He nods, the gesture containing forgiveness, apology, and encouragement all at once. Catching Korram's meaning, Seraph moves to engage his father. Without breaking stride, Korram reaches into his sleeve and withdraws a throwing knife, which he palms. He had forgotten about the tools taken from Fernard's shipment after his pact with Purifier had been made, but he had never bothered to remove them, either, a fact which he was now grateful for.

Igniting his hand, Korram hurls a fireball at the Baron, who is blindsided by the attack, although largely unharmed. Korram launches a second, weaker fireball at his nemesis, still moving towards Miriam, his speed picking up. This attack is easily dodged by the prepared Baron, but Seraph puts more pressure on his father after the fireball opens a gap in his defenses. Korram tries to throw a third flame, but his power is spent, a fact that the Baron notes. Now ignored, Korram hurls the knife, aiming for a fatal shot at the unsuspecting Baron's neck. Korram was once quite skilled with throwing knives, but the circumstances are hardly ideal, and it has been many years.

Now at a full running speed, Korram puts every ounce of energy he has into his charge. With a final burst of exertion, he dives into the incoming path of the Herald's Scythe, just as the brutal weapon is swung down to claim Miriam's life, seconds ahead of the mountainous paladin also charging the Herald. Although in peak physical condition, Korram is simply an unarmored human; the Scythe cleaves through flesh and bone like butter, shredding Korram's chest and impaling the brave warrior.

Coughing up a fountain of blood, Korram looks down at the mangled mass of flesh that was once his chest. Through sheer force of will, he remains standing. Then, painfully, defiantly, he smiles at the Herald.

"Hey. Ugly. Remember me?"

With those words, he spits blood into the Herald's eyes, a final act of defiance against the vastly superior foe before him. Then he crumples backwards, sliding off of the Scythe.

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Mal responds wearily, "It was him, Master Vork is alive. He wants us to go to Silverstream."

He gestures in the vague direction ahead of them.

"Apparently we're not his only remaining students, so maybe we'll find answers about the tournement host there, or why all this is happening. And we both had to leave, if Master Vork didn't think we could fight that man and his . . things, then we'd only distract our Master while he was fighting."

Lying on his back, the student beings to remembr something. His eyes widen in realisation for a moment, then a chuckling leaves Mal's throat, that grows into full-blown, exhasted laughter, much to the confusion and bewilderment of his ogre friend.

"HAHAHA *gasp* HAHA. I left *heh heh* my ring *gasp* back there. Maybe they can mail it to me! HAHA *gasp* HAHA!"

He laughes and laughes, either from the thrill of escape, the relief of seeing his master or just to tired to do anything else. Mal wipes a tear from his eye, as his sides stop aching and letting out a deep breath.

"Sorry, *heh* but I spent so long carrying that little piece of inert rock, and I forgot it. Oh well, maybe after all this, I can go searching for it again. Its safe enough."

Though his limbs still ache for rest, Mal pushes his body onto its legs, wobbling slight as he catches a tree. He turns his head to face the rough direction of Silverstream, then turns back to Val'Tosh.

"Come on, we'd do best to put as much distance between us and them as we can. Silverstream going to take a long walk, so we best get started."

He grabs Val'Tosh's meaty arm, helping slightly to lift his friend's lumbering form from his rest to the upright stance. He slightly catches the ogre, pushing his frame back up, as the pair start to take the first step towards their next goal.

(Besides swapping lessons, so a little earth shaping practice for Mal and what ever Val'Tosh wants to learn in return, no major plans, though I'm fine with however you want to slide my own story into the obviously greater arc, instead of just running a smaller side story alongside it.
If you've doing that anyway, then I'll hush my mouth but I'm fine with however you want to get Mal into the more world-shattering events, compared to how he was tracking his master.
Though, considering how the actual fighting is going in the finale, I think he'd be casually thrown aside by all the major villains, and their mooks, and the mook's pets.)

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber sneered at Kartul, one eyebrow lifted. Even in the midst of his cold-fire fugue, that particular comment had reached him. "Good gods, Kartul. Really? That's the line you want to die on? Valkyrie on her throne, be more of a caricature." He spat. "Do the world a favor and die quietly. I have better things to do today."

Umber gestured - and he did indeed fling blood down into the Sanguinosphere - Gods, even his magic was unbearably pretentious - But not the Herald's blood. His own.

Blood was power. Blood was life. They had all known this. Had they not named themselves the Lords of Blood? But blood was also a vessel. A carrier for life - or, in this case, for something else...

Souls. Ten thousand screaming souls of the dead sacrifices. Not their life-essence - that was a more primal thing, the raw and roaring red energy, faceless and without self. What Umber unleashed was the destroyed and angry selves of those who had died in combat with Kartul's forces, full of the agony of their last moments and the fury born of lives cut short. The inhuman souls of the yetis and the howling spirits of the tribesmen streamed down.

Umber took precautions - he cut the link in the instant before impact, keeping the souls from using the spell as a link back to his own body and soul. Kartul and his minions did not have the luxury of such preparation. The wrath of the dead poured into Kartul and his undead - boiling the blood into an incandescent white mass. He didn't know what Helion's angle was, but he was not about to offer Azguloth a sacrifice that might give him more strength than he already had. Here, at the crucible of all choices, Umber would do things his own way.

The thought brought a brutal, bitter smile to his face. That was what had brought him this far, and to this place. Why change now?

Light poured up from the pit - light, and a chorus of wrath. Streamers of white power that burned the eyes writhed like tentacles, sweeping away vampires, burning them to ash from which they could not rise - the blood below was turning to a thick black tar, its life-giving properties consumed as the angry souls fled their prison and left it in ruins behind them. Umber watched the streaming light wash over Kartul, and listened to his screams. It wasn't even enough to make Umber smile. He watched is old comrade burn for a long moment, memories dancing in Umber's eyes. There were a lot of memories there. Few of them were pleasant.

Umber flicked a contemptuous hand at Kartul, tapping that deep well of stolen energy - a wave of beetles flowed forth from him - black, glittering scarabs that flowed out and over him - a spell of life that fed on death, consumptive and eager. The tiny creatures chewed away flesh and bone, eating at the very forces that kept Kartul's dead form animate. Between this and the forced violation of thousands of angry souls tearing at his own tattered animus, Umber wondered how Kartul would fare. When there was nothing left but ashes, Umber would bottle them up... and Ironheart would look like a summer cottage next to where he put him. There were voids beyond and between existence, alien even to Hell. Kartul always did like pushing back the boundaries of forbidden knowledge.

He turned to Ross, eyeing him coolly. He gestured, and energy flowed out, sinking into him, forcing new flesh onto his battered bones, remaking him from next-to-nothing. Layers of meat and muscle layered, a short, nasty lesson on anatomy, if Umber had needed it. It was quick and singularly brutal, and Umber was reminded, briefly, of his time in Ironheart - of all the times Ross' hammer had beaten him into oblivion. It all felt so... small now. Another gesture and Ross' still-mending form fell to the floor. "No sweet release, Ross. Not Yet. I may have need of you."

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh (again)

For a split-second, Korram's sacrifice stops Hondshioh dead in his tracks. That...man who'd appeared out of nowhere, who'd knocked him out of the fight with the Baron, had just sacrificed himself to save Miriam. Who was he? What was his stake in this fight? But he shook the thoughts off for the time being. She was still in danger and still needed to be defended.

"HEY! GAST! You and I have unfinished business."

He begins advancing again, this time not aiming for the distracted Herald, but for the Baron, hoping to catch him off guard as he dodged the other hero's last strike.

"I go now to redeem our race, Valkyrie."

[Gorgondantess]

She returned to the village with something of a smile on her face. It was good to have this messy conflict behind her.
She smiled and nodded as Omnicron told her of his plans, all the while craning her neck, searching for Maurice.
She begins to have her suspicions, though, the more Omnicron talks.
Two weeks. Maurice had gone to the battle. And she had sworn she would return, when it was over.
A brief surge of anger runs through her. She was about to strike Omnicron down, the worthless human. She was about to rage, tell him that she would have let his sister die a million deaths, so that she could have been with Maurice in this battle, she was about to rant and rave with sound and fury.
But that would have been wasting time. Precious, precious seconds, seconds in which Maurice could be killed, if indeed the battle was still raging on. So as soon as she heard this news, she bolted, becoming sleeker and swifter.
Faster.
As she ran through the forest, she leapt into the air, snatching at some branches and throwing herself through the trees, rising higher and higher.
Faster.
She launched herself out over the canopy of trees, growing long, thin wings and slicing through the air at supernatural speeds towards the capital.
She may have changed somewhat in these past days, but deep down she was the same as ever, the same quasi-deity that had set out to kill the gods at a slight.
She would find Maurice, or tear this world apart trying. And if she had indeed been slain, then she would storm the gates of the afterlife to bring her back.

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent

Spoiler

Show

Isera catches the keys and unlocks the collar. It falls to the ground, and a boot crushes it. She walks over to her fake hand and starts to attach it again. She speaks while talking.

"We all have scars. We all have made mistakes. Pride, arrogance, anger, vengeance, whatever." A certain autumn said with a certain eye of odynn. She tested her fake hand and put the glove on again. It worked fine. She pulled her jacket on again and slid her hands into the pockets.

"If bad things are done, then take responsibility and pay for them. Do good things to erase the bad. I think that is what Miriam would want you to do. When Azguloth the Destroyer, the brother of Athelion the Lightbringer and Miriam the Valkyrie, threatened the world, they took responsibility and corrected the problem. I expect that if something terrible threatened the world again, that they would take responsibility and come to help."

Isera looked wistfully at the fires as she blew out the candles for the ritual one by one.

"I remember the church arguing about Angel Summoning rituals with this thought too one time. Is it wrong to summon an angel to do work here, or do they inherit responsibility to help mortals from the gods?"

The room grew darker and darker as the candles and the rune glow of the ritual faded.

"But what responsibility do we have as humans?" Isera's voice echoed in the darkness.
Suddenly her left hand squeezed Duncan's shoulder, and she snapped her fingers, causing a small fire to shine in her other hand. She held it between them, looking at the fire with a strange smile. She glanced up to meet Duncan's gaze, her eye of odynn glittering with sparks of gold.

"To be a light." She produced one of the candles in her hand to give to Duncan, and then lit it with the flame, leaving a soft candle light in the room.

"Spread the light around. Make it burn brighter in the night. Make it burn warmer when winter." She broke the solemn silence with a sly smile.
"That's why we call him 'Lightbringer'. That's why our code as Canticles for when we are called to help is 'Darkness has Fallen'.

Don't give up hope for the heavens or for Ember's love. Maybe we can find a church, or perhaps the paladins, who can use your knowledge and skills for good. And you know how the Canticles and the Church have always had a...difficult relationship. The Canticles doesn't interfere in internal church business, and they don't interfere with the Canticles. So... go become a monk. Or a paladin. You can redeem yourself that way. Live proudly. Kill enough demons that they won't want your soul. Just don't tell I'm the one who is suggesting this."

Of course, Isera's difficult history with the church was known in the Canticles. The two organizations sometimes have disagreements. Isera opened the door back into the hallway. She walked with Duncan up the stairs in silence.

Part of her was prepared for the difficult negotiation and story that would come. But she was going to enjoy this little entrance. She gave a reassuring smile to Duncan.

"At the end, we only can hope. I don't know what will happen. But then again, I don't know what will happen tomorrow. Or in two minutes from now. But I have a good idea the reaction of some council members in about 5 seconds."

With relaxed expression and hands in jacket pockets, Isera lifted a boot and kicked the trial-room door open.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Seeing two people racing to give their lives for Miriam made Sohssal briefly wonder whether he was still delirious. Korram probably had a very dramatic and emotional moment, but all Sohssal saw was him throwing his life away. Still, the death of a Goddess would probably have more dire consequences than the passing of any mortal. Too bad Miriam would almost certainly be slain if someone didn't swoop down to protect her from the Herald.

It looked like a win-win situation if he did nothing. He had briefly joined the Baron so that Miriam would not be threat to him, but then the Baron betrayed him. He realized the Baron had certainly done more than Miriam to make his life miserable. The Baron wanted the Goddess dead, but now Sohssal did not want him to have anything!

So he decided to save Miriam...out of spite. He didn't worry about the risk, since with Arlan on the loose she couldn't afford to kill one of the very few people who were familiar with the demonic plague. If nothing else, he could exploit her weakened state to either confine her or just run away. With that in mind, he reached out with a wind spell to grab Miriam and pulled her away from the Herald, suspending her not far from Shanks and himself. ”Surprised to see me, Miriam? Try not to do anything rash, there is much to talk about,” he said.

Then he turned his attention back to the airship. With Miriam up here with him, the Baron and the Herald would definitely try to give chase. Sohssal began casting a barrage of ice lances to pin them to the deck, preferably literally. He had the energy to burn, so he was going to make sure they would go into the rift, come Hell (for them) or high water!

[The_Snark]

Mar

"Oh," Mar said.

There were other things she wanted to say:

… that the long list of sins he recounted were not truly hers. She had played a part in Phaedra, yes, and bore some responsibility for everything that had happened after. But in the end Titania's choices were her own, Morganna's choices were her own, Miriam's choices were her own; and yes, Istomilo's choices were his own. She was sorry that all these things had happened, but it wasn't her fault and it was not fair to lay all the blame at Marisiel's feet.

… that she didn't hate him. Maybe she should, after all the things he'd done; but she understood him too well for that now. Not wholly, but a little. Through him she understood all humans a little better, not just the ones who were naturally drawn to Heaven but those who (against all conscience and reason) sought out Hell. She was afraid of him, she hadn't forgiven or condoned, but she was grateful for that sliver of understanding. It was, she felt, important.

… that just because humans could do terrible things didn't mean they had to. Most of them didn't.

Instead:

"Istomilo, I," she began, and took a step back. "I don't want to die."

Titania changed everything. Before, she'd thought herself... not safe, exactly, but not helpless either. Istomilo listened to her. He might not heed her pleas, but he'd at least hear them out. He needed her, which gave her a little power. With Titania, though... he'd died for Titania once. More importantly, he'd spent years with her, happily ruling a kingdom and raising a daughter and not pining for a distant archangel (much). She was his best hope of freeing himself from his painful attachment to Marisiel. Which would have been good, except that Titania terrified Mar. She would not be compelled to kindness by guilt or scraps of love. Her hate was blind and pure and unreasoning, and Mar didn't understand it at all.

It would have been nice to say some of those things. Maybe Marisiel the angel would have said them, reaching out insistently no matter how hard he tried to turn her away. (Maybe not. Marisiel wasn't nearly as perfect as Istomilo remembered.) Mar, though, was scared. Dying hurt, and this time she wouldn't be coming back, unless they wanted to hurt her more.

But she was too, too, too ordinary to stop it. The only bright spot was that she wasn't running away this time.

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Archpaladin Zousha

This newcomer to the battle had selfishly went after King Gast all by himself when he first arrived, and although he continued to attack his nemesis, it was different this time. In fact, the man seemed like an entirely different person now as he selflessly threw himself into the path of the Herald’s strike. Somehow, the blow failed to kill him instantly, giving him time to taunt the Forger of Oblivion’s chief servant. The Herald howled in anger, snatching him up with one hand and crushing his windpipe before throwing him off the side of the airship to his certain death. As the man fell, you faintly heard Miriam whisper a fierce “No!” over the sound of the Herald’s deranged shrieking.

“You again!? Idiot! You’ve accomplished nothing – what makes you think I can’t just swing again!?”

True to his word, the Herald pulls his scythe back for another swing, but it’s too late. The air falls momentarily still as the ritual to summon the Hells fades entirely. Instantly a nimbus of light surrounds the fallen Valkyrie as Her wings of light reform. Looking closely, one can see that it’s not an aura of light after all, but a glow emanating from beneath the Valkyrie’s skin. Light pours out of Her wounds, out of Her eyes, and from cracks that start to form in the skin of Her face. With a roar of fury, She leaps up to meet the Herald’s second blow as it falls down, catching the blade with Her one hand. The blade shears most of the way through that hand, but then stops before severing it completely. In response, Miriam closes the impaled hand around the blade, a blinding light suddenly surrounding that hand and the blade of the scythe as the artifact weapon starts to melt. For a moment, Miriam’s face is transfixed with such a look of divine retribution that all, even the Herald, are forced to look away in fear.

“YOU HAVE KILLED YOUR LAST INNOCENT!!!!”

Miriam roars as She twists Her wounded hand, snapping the partially melted blade of the Herald’s scythe off, leaving it nothing more than a staff. A similar glow suffuses Her other hand as She raises it up and drives it through the Herald’s chest, the hand emerging out from his back clenched around a withered, black oozing heart that immediately dissolves away into ash. The Herald of Azguloth grunts in shock and then slides back off Miriam’s hand, collapsing to his knees.

Now with their positions reversed, Miriam does not waste any time on taunts and pulls Her hand back again, readying it for another blow. But before she can swing again, a strange male voice suddenly calls out.

“And here is my gift to you, Miriam the Valkyrie!”

Suddenly, one side of Miriam’s face splits open, blood boiling out of the wound as She screams. Following along behind the blood is some sort of swarm of small black beetles that spread out in all directions and seem intent on devouring Her face. As abruptly as it had come, the light suffusing Miriam’s body fades out again, and She collapses to Her knees, weakly swatting at Her own face in an attempt to dislodge the beetles. Before anyone can move to help Her, a massive gust of wind kicks up, throwing Her up into the air and carrying Her up to float alongside a man and what appears to be some sort of demonic ghost (Sohssal).

Meanwhile, you charge towards the King, intent on stopping him before he can unleash any more destruction. Hammered by the fire-summoning man’s attacks, the King is left with a dagger embedded in his one hand and lying propped up by one elbow on the deck. As you reach him you bring your sword down, unfortunately too late as he rolls aside, leaving your finishing strike to hit nothing but the airship’s deck. You move to follow him but the King moves quickly, rolling a short distance away before leaping back up to his feet. With a grunt of pain he rips the dagger out of his hand and tosses the weapon aside. Then he barks a magical word, and the blood running out of his palm crystallizes, forming into a long blade that covers his injured hand.

Now armed once more, Gast strides forward and the two of you clash in a furious series of attacks and parries. This time, he does not cheat by flinging blinding dust into your eyes, and he seems slightly slower this time. Weaker.

But still not to be underestimated, as he suddenly covers his other arm in protective rock, similar to how your form your armored skin. Using this now shielded arm, he blocks your next sword strike and brings his blade arm around at your neck. Before the blow can land, however, Gast’s other attacker, another strange newcomer who seems to be on your side – a man with slate black wings – rejoins the fight, flakes of ice flying off his arms as he brings a pair of handaxes around to block Gast’s slash. He then expertly twirls one handaxes around under the King’s guard, slicing a swallow cut in his side before Gast can fully disengage.

“Seraphan Gast. My friends call me Seraph.”

The newcomer informs you, and then takes up a position to fight alongside you. Before the battle can be rejoined, Miriam is pulled up into the air. A few moments later, and a storm of large icicles crashes down into the deck. Several skewer the Herald, driving him down flat onto the deck and pinning him there. Other crash down amidst the other paladins, now all but victorious as the last of the King’s men fall. Those seem more accidental casualties than deliberate, the result of unleashing a storm of darts at a target and hoping some would hit.

Indeed, the intended target seems to be the King himself, a number of ice lances smashing down all around you and forcing both you and Seraph back. Alerted to the danger by the first of the lances which struck the Herald, Gast has enough time to wrap one arm in his cloak and throw it over himself while chanting a magical verse. Despite being made only of cloth, the fabric somehow manages to repel even several direct hits from the icicles, each lance shattering against the cloth harmlessly. When the storm passes, Gast momentarily drops to one knee, gasping for air – proof that his defense, while effective, had not been without cost.

You and Seraph begin to weave your way through the forest of ice pillars now jutting up all around the top deck, but before you can get to the King the airship shudders violently as red lightning suddenly shoots up into the sky. Below, the hellish rifts that had been carved into the ground yawn wide, and the city begins to collapse in on itself. Through the billowing clouds of dust, you can see that a hellish pit is beginning to open up, spreading out and threatening to consume the entire city. King Gast pushes himself back up onto his feet with a maniacal chuckle.

Theme Song

“What? You didn’t think I was without a contingency plan, did you!?”

Gast scoffs.

“My dear, dead wife’s ritual to summon the Hells was not going to be without consequence! Such magic rarely tolerates interruptions well, and a ritual that inevitably takes the caster’s life is bound to be interrupted at some point! But in our studies for ways to limit the feedback, we suddenly realized, why bother? So we set it up so that after the magic summoned the Hells faded, all that energy would go rushing back down into the Hells, taking everything nearby with it! Just in case the Valkyrie did emerge triumphant after all!”

The deck of the Gastly Truth shudders again as its bow begins to tilt steeply downwards, forcing everyone to struggle to stay on their feet. The King points down at the hellish pit rapidly spreading to consume the entire capital.

“You’re all going down there to rot for eternity with the rest of Miriam’s idiotic supporters! I will not be stopped! Not by familial treachery, not by some hunchback with delusions of heroism, not by some obsessed self-righteous fool, and certainly not by some ghost who can’t decide whether he belongs in the Heavens or the Hells! So allow me to leave you with the second part of my contingency plan! I like to call this part “Airship falls, everybody dies”! FURY, ACTIVATE THE SELF-DESTRUCT! IMMEDIATELY!”

A moment later and you heard a vaguely feminine voice loudly announce, “Attention. Gastly Truth self-destruct activated. Please evacuate immediately. Alert: airship has sustained heavy damage. Some demolition charges are non-operational. Beginning diagnostic of remaining charges and sequenced detonation now.”

Again the airship shudders violently, pitching everyone off their feet this time, and even throwing several people, including the King, off the side of the airship entirely. But unlike the unfortunate paladins who plummet to their eternal damnation, Gast merely spreads his wings and flies up, chasing after Miriam. And you are forced to watch him go, unable to save Miriam, unable to save yourself, or even save the paladins who had followed you. Beside you, Seraph angrily flares his wings and examines you critically.

“I’m still weakened by the aftereffects of the Ritual. If you get out of your armor, however, I should be able to carry you! Or I can go alone, but I doubt I will return before the self-destruct finishes. You’ll die here with everyone else for no reason.”

Concerns about King Gast getting further away while you take off your armor aside, going with Seraph would be abandoning your men. There certainly was an argument to be pragmatic and have at least one soul be saved for this fate, but perhaps that someone shouldn’t be you. Seraph might be even able to carry one of the smaller paladins, perhaps one of the dwarves, without the paladin having to take precious time discarding weapons and armor. But before you could give Seraph an answer either way, you hear a high-pitched whistle from the rear of the airship. Looking back, you see the damaged GHAST standing next to the stone dragon . . . who seem to be friends now, given the GHAST is standing on the creature’s back.

“Anybody in need of a ride!!?”

The GHAST calls out as all eyes turn to him and the dragon. The beast, a mortal enemy only a minute ago, gives a great rumbling laugh.

“Yes, yes, everyone scramble aboard like the bunch of fleas you are! I promise to only eat a few of you!”

The GHAST stomps its foot down on the dragon’s back, and the creature rolls its front shoulders in a shrug.

“What, too soon?”

This ray of hope is extinguished a moment later as the ice lances pinning the Herald’s body to the deck shatter, and with a roar the abomination rears back up onto its feet. There is now a gaping hole in its chest, out of which drips vicious black blood. The Herald regards everyone for a moment, and then throws his head back to laugh maniacally.

“What!? Did you really like losing my heart would stop ME!? I’m the ****ing Herald of Azguloth! I’ve had no use for that pathetic organ for millennia! Now, who wants to stick around!? I promise you, it’s going to be one Hells of a party when this ship gets to its destination!”

Twirling his staff around, the Herald smashes into the chest of the nearest paladin, crumpling the woman’s armor and sending her flying off the edge. He laughs again, and then gives a roar of fury as two paladins throw themselves at him, seeking to avenge their comrade. Dropping his weapon, the Herald grabs both of them with his claws, crushing their throats before tossing them aside. He resummons the staff, and then begins marching towards the dragon.

“Come on! Who wants to have some fun before they die!?”

As if underlining his point, another explosion rips through the Gastly Truth, this time bursting up through top deck and showering everyone with debris. It seemed unlikely that the dragon would be able to carry everyone regardless, but no one would be leaving if the Herald disabled the creature either. And meanwhile, Gast continued to relentlessly pursue the Valkyrie, seeking to drag Her down into the Hells with him. This was quite likely the very last thing that you would ever do – what was it going to be?

Pwenet


Iethloc

Surprisingly, Korram’s death seems to provoke something within Miriam, or perhaps it was simply the fact that the Baron’s ritual was fading now that his wife was dead. Reforming Her wings of light and with fists aglow, She destroys the Herald’s scythe, stopping it in mid-descent after the Herald takes a second swing at Her. But the reversal doesn’t last long, and within a few moments Miriam is once again crumpled on the deck, a swarm of some sort of beetle swarming out of one side of Her face. Seeking to save Miriam in your own way for your own reasons, you conjure a burst of wind to lift her up from the deck. The wind blast also has the fortuitous side effect of removing most of the beetles, although judging the state of Her host’s body, Miriam would not be present on the mortal plane much longer regardless.

“What is it that you want, Sohssal?”

Miriam wheezes, air whistling out of the hole in her one mangled cheek.

“You have devoted everything to acquiring eternal life. But what do you intend to do with it? You are alone, feared and hated by everyone – even your supposed alliance with the Baron has resulted in betrayal within betrayal. Does your current existence even qualify as “life”?”

Not bothering to answer the Valkyrie just yet, you attempt to discourage any pursuit by unleashing a hail of giant icicles down into the deck of the airship below. You manage to solidly pin the Herald, although given the creature’s previously displayed strength and durability you doubted it would prove more than an inconvenience. Still, it may be enough time for you to escape with Miriam. Several paladins are likewise skewered in the barrage, unfortunate but necessary casualties – in a deck so packed with bodies it would be almost impossible not to hit someone. Unfortunately, the Baron seems able to block your attack, enchanting his cloak so that the icicles shatter off of the cloth rather than penetrating through it. Still, the Baron falling to his knees briefly after the barrage ceases was an encouraging sign.

Then the entire city below you seems to collapse downward, as the hellish rifts snaking throughout the city begin to widen, dragging the whole capital down into the Hells and leaving an immense pit far below. Beside you, Miriam gasps and shivers in pain again as Hellish energy wafts up from the rift. You might well not need to do anything to deal with Her, if it comes to that – She isn’t going to last much longer even without any further injury.

Unfortunately, further injury may be inevitable as below the Gastly Truth begins to explode after the Baron activates some sort of self-destruct. More importantly, while the paladins are distracted by being plunged into the hellish abyss below, the Baron comes rocketing up towards you.

“SOHSSAL!”

The Baron roars as he approaches, his hair in disarray and his face a furious grimace. It would seem that your efforts have succeeded in getting under his skin. As he gets near, however, he manages a smirk as he reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small silver mirror. The Baron releases it with an arcane word, causing the hand-sized mirror to begin to float beside him, as well as expand and grow to the size of a cart. The mirror swivels to track you like a spotlight at another word from the Baron, and suddenly you are a withered old man again.

“How fortuitous that you have such easily exploited weaknesses!”

The Baron crows as he begins to cast another spell. Unfortunately for him, you weren’t entirely helpless in your weakened form, and the searing pain caused by your vulnerability wasn’t as debilitating as before – you’d had ample opportunity to grow used to the sensation recently. Of further misfortune for the Baron, while the two of you begin the opening movements of a furious mage’s duel reminiscent of the one you had just fought with Xeric, Shanks flies over to above the mirror, and then throws his sword down at it. The blade plummets down, and when the enchanted weapon strikes the enchanted mirror’s surface, it explodes into a thousand useless pieces. You revert back to your ephemeral demon form a moment later, as the Baron bellows another curse.

“That was for Victoria, you bastard!”

Shanks taunts, holding up both hands in the universal sign of defiance. The Baron curses again, and then laughs as he unleashes his next spell – one that you are also intimately familiar with.

“Did you think you were the only one who could counter magic, Sohssal!?”

The Baron roars as the anti-magic bomb he summoned goes off, ripping away what was left of his own magical protections as well as yours, in addition to foiling your next attack . . . and dispelling the magic holding Shanks and Miriam up. Both begin plummeting down into the roiling, smoking mass below as the Baron cackles victoriously. Only for that cackle to turn into yet another curse as a dark-winged angel bursts out of a plume of smoke to catch Miriam, beginning to carry Her rapidly towards the edge of the city.

“Interlopers! Gods damned interlopers!! This entire city is infested with them! What’s next, Umber appearing behind me!?”

The Baron howls in frustration, pausing just a moment to glance over his shoulder as if in fear that he had just predicted the future. But no Lord of Blood appears to join the battle, and a moment later the Baron conjures a dozen ephemeral javelins made of pure force, hurling them all at you in one massive barrage. Then he swoops down, moving as if intending on abandoning the fight with you in favor of chasing after the interloping angel and Miriam.

While you are busy dodging and deflecting the Baron’s latest attack, you have a moment to ponder your current situation. Shanks was falling to his death and damnation, and at the moment he was your sole surviving ally. Looking down at the Gastly Truth, you could also see that one of the blasts had torn a deep gash in the side of the airship, allowing a sickly yellow mist to begin seeping out.

No doubt that was the Baron’s improved version of your plague, and if it was anything like your version, the stuff was strong enough to survive outside a body for a little while. And judging from what Arlan and Fury told you, it would undoubtedly infect something – a bird, or even an insect, and from there it would inevitably spread across the whole world. You had one last chance to stop it now, by conjuring up another wind storm that would drive all of the contagion down into the hellish chasm swallowing the capital.

And finally, you had Miriam and the Baron to consider. For the briefest moment, Miriam was safe and being carried to safety by an angel, although the Baron was in rapid pursuit. Furthermore, now that he was away from the Gastly Truth, it would only take him a few moments to work a teleport spell and be far away from him. If you wanted to make sure that this was truly over, and succeed where all the other so-called heroes had failed, you were going to have to take him out now.

Given your considerable skill, you could probably manage two of the three. But something was going to have to be sacrificed, at least momentarily, and even that brief delay could have grave implications later on. So which would be forgotten for the moment? Your ally, your world, or your revenge?

WhiteKnight777

(And now we’ve come to the moment everyone’s been waiting for! In the blue corner, weighing not much at all considering he is just bones, Kartul! And in the red, his opponent, the magnificent bastard, Umber! Who’s going to win this rematch? Place your bets now, ladies and gentlemen! (Actually, you should probably bet on how long it takes Umber to rip Kartul apart. )

As you unleash the fury of the dead upon Kartul’s pretentiously-named source of power – quite the irony in that action, using the dead to destroy a necromancer – the Sanguinosphere is destroyed, and Kartul’s so-called “children” with it. As for the Ungod of Blood himself, the Master of All That is Cliché, you send a horde of beetles to consume what is left by the horde of angry dead. Kartul is immediately obscured from sight by the swarm, an immense pile of scuttling, squirming, chewing little beasties. While Kartul was being dealt with, you released Ross and put some meat back onto his bones. The werewolf groans in agony as his body reforms, shifting back into his human form to collapse onto the stone floor. But he is only down for a moment before he is pushing himself back up, driving a fist down into the ground and using that arm to prop himself up.

“You just couldn’t let it go, could you.”

Ross grunted, chuckling before breaking into pained coughs.

“You couldn’t just finish me off, and let me go on my merry way to rejoin my family. Oh no, that would be too merciful, wouldn’t it? Ah well, I suppose I still owe you for all those times I smashed you into ash back in Ironheart. This counts for at least two.”

Beyond Kartul’s throne was a balcony offering a panoramic view of the smashed capital of humanity. No doubt it would get rebuilt – probably elsewhere – if nothing else, humans were stubborn like that. But your attention was not on the ruined cityscape, but only on the lance of fire that suddenly shoots up into the air, expanding and contorting into the shape of a rose before fading out. A signal from Fianna – it had to be! – you had hoped she would be able to outwit the brutish Gilgaem. And now that you knew exactly where she was, you would go and crush that idiot in a way that made your plans for Kartul look like a mercy. Speaking of Kartul . . .

Theme Song

The small mountain of bugs suddenly erupts in scarlet flame, and out of the cloud of ash strides Kartul, battered but still intact. Instead of destroying him, the constant stream of dead souls rising from the remains of the Sanguinosphere seems to be feeding him!

“YOU THOUGHT TO USE THE DEAD AGAINST A GRANDMASTER OF NECROMANCY!!?”

Kartul howls, clearly even more unbalanced than usual. He conjures a wave of raw magical energy into his hands, and then flings it at you, the blast sending you flying back into the wall, and very nearly through it. He maintains the stream of energy, the power of it beginning to erode away even the significant protections of your armor.

“YOU MAY HAVE DESTROYED THE SANGUINOSPHERE, BUT YOU WILL NOT DESTROY ME! I AM MORE THAN A LORD OF BLOOD NOW! I AM THE UNGOD OF BLOOD!!!!”

Kartul continues hammering you with energy, awash with power but using it to do little more than flail at you. But that was Kartul for you – he never understood the use of finesse, or much of anything at all save raw power. In a way that was his own unique specialty within your former elite group – when you came to a wall in your efforts, you would find various ways to circumvent it or get what you wanted some other way. But Kartul, no Kartul always smashed straight through the wall, refusing to stop until he succeeded through sheer force of will. Defeating you was going to be one challenge he would not overcome, however!

And here is where your decision to spare Ross actually pays off. While Kartul is busy trying to destroy you through sheer overwhelming force, Ross regains his footing. He looks around a moment, and then runs off and picks up his hammer, dropped by one of Kartul’s many destroyed lackeys who must have taken it as a trophy.

“Well, I suppose there is no sense in wasting the gift you’ve given me! Time to return the favor!”

Ross shouts, and then leaps at Kartul, driving his warhammer down into the side of Kartul’s skull and actually cracking the bone. That stops Kartul’s assault on you, giving you a few moments’ reprieve while your former friend turns his attention back onto Ross. The so-called Ungod of Blood raises one hand, and backhands the werewolf across the room. As he flies back, the warhammer tumbles from Ross’s hands again, but before the weapon could touch the ground Kartul catches it. Imbuing it with power, Kartul causes the warhammer to grow, becoming an unwieldy weapon more likely used by a jotun than a man-sized warrior. Even so, it remains balanced in his hands.

“YOU HAVE DESTROYED THIS WORLD’S ONE CHANCE AT SALVATION, FOOL!!! YOU WILL BE THE FIRST TO BE LEFT DAMNED IN ITS ASHES!!! IS THAT A PITHY-ENOUGH TAUNT FOR YOU!!!?”

And then he leaps across the room at you, improbably-sized warhammer raised high and crackling with power.

(Feel free to finish off Kartul in this post and then move on to tracking down Fianna via the signal in the sky. Also, we haven’t gotten quite to the part where the Baron’s ritual causes the city to implode, so you don’t have to worry about that just yet.)

Dorizzit

You close the eyes of your daughter, and remove the sword from her chest. Although meaningless in the current situation, this simple act of arranging your daughter’s body into a more peaceful state gives you a small measure of comfort. The comfort is fleeting, however, as you remember something mentioned in passing by Eldred . . . the souls of those killed while in the Hells stay there. And although you are no expert on the nature of the planes, this certainly seemed like the Hells to you. Katrina would find no peace in the afterlife, and therefore neither could you. She was right though – it was time to end this.

(I was actually going to use this for the part where Korram beats the Baron to a bloody pulp, but it works this way too! )

Theme Song

Throwing aside the blade that took your daughter’s life, you start marching towards Miriam, breaking into a run as you see how little time you have left. As you move, you notice Seraph gathering himself up for a desperate charge of his own. You manage to catch his eye, and nod, that single gesture containing a multitude of final messages. Seraph returns the nod, and then alters his trajectory, once again charging towards his father. Before he can even get there, his father intercepts him with a magical blast of chill air, freezing him in place.

As the Baron readies another, likely more fatal spell, you unleash your first fireball at him. Focused entirely on finishing off his son, the Baron takes the blast directly in the back, throwing him to his knees and disrupting the spell. Grimacing, the Baron turns while still on his knees, throwing up a hand and shouting “Come to me, Purifier!”. The look of confusion on his face when you fail to even slow down is priceless, and a moment later you obliterate that look with a second, weaker blast that catches the Baron directly in the face. The Baron goes down, knocked flat onto his back.

But a moment later he confirms that he is not dead as he sits back up, propping himself up on one elbow to glare at you with a scorched face. He stretches out his other hand towards you, no doubt preparing to cast something, perhaps the same magic that had frozen Seraph. You couldn’t allow him to stop you now, and so you resorted to your last attack. Revealing the throwing knife you had palmed, you throw it with all of your might and remembered skill. The blade sails across the deck, and embeds itself into the Baron’s outstretched palm up to the hilt. The Baron screams and withdraws his mangled hand, leaving you free to enact the final part of your plan.

Korram’s Ending Theme

As the Herald brings his scythe down towards Miriam, you reach the two of them – and directly interpose yourself, taking the blow that was meant for the goddess. Behind you, you hear Miriam breathe out a fiercely exhaled “No!”, and then the Herald’s scythe finds your chest. Meant to kill a goddess, the swing had all of the Herald’s fearsome power behind it, and the impact doesn’t so much as shred your chest as reduce it to a bloody paste.

Somehow, you manage to remain standing for just a moment, the shock of the blow somehow managing to keep you alive long enough to taunt the Herald and spit in his face. As if you had flicked a switch, the last of the Baron’s Hellish ritual fades as the Herald growls in frustration and removes a hand off his scythe to grab you by the throat. He crushes your throat as he lifts you up off your feet.

“You again!? Idiot! You’ve accomplished nothing – what makes you think I can’t just swing again!?”

And then the Herald throws you, sending you flying over the edge of the Gastly Truth and down towards the city below. As you fall, you get a good look at the city – destroyed by fire, water, and storm. Giant rifts in the earth are still present, burning with a hellish light as reddish lightning arcs between them. But the sky above is clearing, the pounding storm giving way to bright sun once more.

As you tumble down towards the city streets, moments from your life flash past – some of them battles or the tortures you endured in Ironheart, but most of them from your brief time with your family. The last image is of Katrina, no more than six or seven, rushing into your legs to hug them fiercely.

“I love you Daddy.”

Then the ground finishes rising up to meet you, closing the last bit of the gap in a single leap. You hit with a sickening crunch, and your world goes black, the incredible pain of your injuries fading away into nothingness.

A moment later, you open your eyes to find yourself somewhere else. Wherever you are is brightly lit, although not uncomfortably so. The air is warm here, tempered by a cool refreshing breeze that wafts through now and again. As your eyes adjust, you see that you are standing at the gates of another city, this one a shining example of grandiose architecture, all marble and gold. Even before the gates swing open to reveal Kurt and Joanna, who had been apparently waiting for you on the other side, you realize the awful truth. This was not the Hells.

“Welcome to the Heavens!”

Kurt and Joanna shout in unison.

End of Part II

(Check back in another couple DMs – I’m going to post a player survey with important questions for you to answer after the others are all wrapped up!)

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

As you shy back, Istomilo seems to draw strength from your fear. He begins to menacingly advance forward, holding up the knife that had cut out your heart so many times before. Despite the menace in your actions, his voice was surprisingly calm, and what seemed to be an attempt at a reassuring tone.

“We all die sooner or later, Marisiel. The two of us have been merely blessed with a greater than average abundance of deaths. I promise you, however, that this will only hurt for a moment. I will not make you suffer the way your precious “Daddy” made you suffer.”

As that same face that had presided over your past deaths grows nearer, you are plunged back into all of those final moments. In some of them you fought savagely, in others you meekly surrendered to your fate, and in some you were already so badly injured as to be hanging on the edge of death already. All of them ended in the same way – with you bound down to the altar, helpless to do anything but suffer as Daddy – no, Brother Corwin – killed you in slow, agonizing ways.

Your death was never quick at his hands, and sometimes the merciful final blow never even came, Daddy simply watching as you bled out, struggling for each breath until finally you lost. Death hurt, and with this death was the promise of your soul falling into the hands of someone who now frightened you far worse than Daddy ever had. Everything you had ever suffered would pale in comparison to the things that Titania was sure to inflict, driven on by an undying hatred that you would never be able to understand.

It wasn’t fair! For the longest time, you had lived in blind, constant fear, every day the same awful cycle. Now you had been given the briefest period of time to see how good life potentially could be, and it was being cruelly snatched away from you again. If you were still in Marisiel’s body, you could try to fight – you had killed Istomilo, after all – but you weren’t going to beat him now. You could try to run, but that wouldn’t solve anything, and might get a lot more innocent people killed. In the end, you could only do what you had always done before – stand your ground and endure what was to come.

On the ground a short distance away, Julian stirs and coughs loudly.

“Mar . . . I will always protect you!”

(And now we finally get a song from the band that I chose as Julian’s “theme band”. Unfortunately they are incredibly unknown, and so there is a severe lack of videos on youtube for their songs. Still, if you get the opportunity, check out their other songs, I guess? )

Theme Song

The Hell Knight reacts to this bold statement by raising its armored foot up and stomping it back down, but this time only hitting the ground as Julian rolls aside. Drawing his legs up to his chest, the young knight then kicks out, catching the construct in the back of the other knee and pitching it forward, face first into the snow. Julian scrambles up to his feet as the second Hell Knight stirs, lumbering forward into action.

As he comes up, Julian scoops up a handful of snow and flings it into the charging construct’s face, momentarily blinding it as he dives for the gap between the Hell Knight’s legs. He rolls safely through, leaving the blinded construct to stagger forward until its legs come in contact with the first, causing it to fall down on top of its ally and leaving them both tangled in a mess of serrated limbs.

Rolling back up to his feet, Julian lunges at Istomilo, who is simply staring in open-mouthed shock at the boy knight’s sudden resurgence. He is just beginning the words to an incantation when Julian reaches him. The young knight reaches up, twists the deadly blade out of Istomilo’s hands, grabs hold of it by the hilt, and then stabs the blade up into Daddy’s chest.

“I may not understand most of what was just said, but I know enough to know you’re a pathetic self-centered monster! You fight for nothing, you fight to protect no one! The world doesn’t revolve around you!”

Julian shouts, and then he rips the blade back out, and in doing so pops out the crystal settled into the hole cut into Daddy’s chest. Immediately Daddy’s body begins to go slack as the crystal tumbles down through the air towards the ground. For a moment, it looked as if Julian had actually just defeated a powerful sorcerer many millennia his senior. But then one of Daddy’s hands twitched upwards, following a last second command to do so before the crystal was torn free. And the crystal landed in the middle of the palm, which reflexively closed protectively around the crystal. And Daddy’s body came back to life with a roar of fury.

One of Daddy’s extra hands flashes up, backhanding Julian across the face. The lad, already previously burned and wounded, staggers from the blow, and would have fallen had not another of Daddy’s hands flashed out to grab him by the throat. This arm lifts him up off his feet into the air, while the third reaches over and plucks the knife out of his hand. Istomilo then pauses a moment before shoving the knife up to the hilt into Julian’s own chest, and the injury is considerably more effective on him than it had been on Daddy’s corpse. Julian gasps in pain, blood spraying from his mouth. Leaving the knife embedded in his chest, Istomilo holds the badly wounded boy up for you to see.

“Do you want this pathetic excuse for a hero!!?”

Istomilo howls.

“Then go. Fetch!”

And with a flick of his wrist, Istomilo sends Julian flying off the side of the cliff, plummeting down to the ground far below. Even so, and despite the fact that you had made a mess of things last time, you instinctually know that you could fly down after him. Maybe not gracefully, and you might not be able to just fly off afterwards, but you could catch him before he hit the ground, glide the rest of the way down, and land safely. And if you wanted to have any chance of saving Julian’s life, that was what you were going to have to do.

(This specific scene, and the one that immediately follows it, have been in my head since before Escape from Ironheart ended. So . . . please? Pretty please go fetch him? )

The New God on the Block

Gorgondantess

(Oh dear. I already shot off my planned Ending Theme for the Spirit one DM early. Er, sorry, this hasn’t happened before . . . *ahem*. Well, this should do just as well! Some of the lyrics even fit much better! )

The Spirit’s Ending Theme

Upon hearing this unexpected news from Omnicron, you don’t question it. You don’t threaten him, or answer with some sort of angry retort. You simply turn and run away, fleeing your village in the direction of the capital as fast as your legs can carry you. And as you move, unsatisfied with this form of transportation you grow longer legs, pushing yourself faster. And then you grow wings, slicing through the air as you drive yourself onward, faster, faster!

The journey to the capital would normally have taken several days. You get there in a matter of hours, having pushed your physical shell beyond the limits that any creature could endure – at least, without the ability to reform its torn muscles. Even so, you had been forced to shed mass in favor of expendable energy and repairs, in too much of a hurry to stop and regain some of your strength from the ground below. Arriving at your destination, you plunge down into the ground, forming a miniature crater around you both from the speed of the impact and the influx of mass as you rapidly absorb some of the earth under you.

And looking around, you can easily see that for all of your desperate speed, you are obviously, horribly late. The capital city that you and Maurice had traveled through no longer existed, save for a ring of shattered buildings, surrounding an immense new bay. Evidentially a crater similar to the one you had just made but far more massive had been created, allowing the sea to rush in and fill the void. Now there was simply nothing left, save for the shattered remains of countless bodies scattered about in the fields outside where the capital once stood. No one and nothing moved, save for a handful of brave carrion birds who flitted about the bodies outside the city. But within the ring of remaining, half-collapsed structures, there were no signs of life. Most importantly, there was no angel waiting for you there, a patient smile tugging at her lips. Like everything else, she was gone. Just gone.

Later, you learned that there were survivors of the battle. Humans, mostly, some who were truthful in their claims at having been there, while others simply parroted the stories that they had been told by others. With all of their stories, you were able to piece together mostly what happened. As expected, there had been a great battle fought over the capital, not just between the Baron and the gods but a whole array of forces fighting for control of the entire world. And they had all virtually annihilated one another, unleashing horrific power that had destroyed the capital nigh-utterly. But the worst had been the Baron’s efforts, a ritual to summon the Hells itself up into the realms of mortals.

Everything had been sucked down and trapped there, doomed to eternal torment. And foremost among those trapped had been Miriam’s angels – rendered powerless while within the Hells and then eagerly dragged down by the swarms of demons and devils coming up from below. A few had escaped or were rescued, but most were now damned forever, destined to be playthings of the fiends for eternity.

No matter how much you searched and questioned every survivor you could find, you were unable to learn if Maurice had been one of the lucky few to be spared, or one of the hundreds to suffer damnation. Either way, she was gone, and there was no way you would ever see her again.

Bull****. You had been willing to tear the gods down from their thrones in the name of simple survival. If you had to tear apart the foundations of reality itself to re-acquire the one and only thing that mattered to you, then you would do so. You would find her, no matter what price was attached or how long it took. The only question now was where would you start?

End of Part II

(Check back in another couple DMs – I’m going to post a player survey with important questions for you to answer after the others are all wrapped up!)

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

After you offer the candle to Duncan, he takes it with a wistful smile.

“You really do remind me of her. I’m sure if she was here right now, she would be telling me something similar. Maybe my soul is destined for damnation, but perhaps that was merely a lie and I still have time to atone. I don’t know how – I have done so many terrible things, some of them irrevocable. But I will dedicate whatever is left of my life to the attempt if I am given the chance. I – thank you.”

Duncan slumps once again, hanging his head as tears start to form at the corners of his eyes. For a moment, the years fall away from his face, and you see him as the grief-stricken youth he must have been when he embarked on his quest for revenge. A quest that had lasted for years, until the simple act of forgiveness had shattered those bonds. Whether Duncan would actually try to atone or inevitably revert back to his old ways you aren’t certain, but this confrontation was over. And if you could convince your father and the Canticles to be at least half as forgiving as you had been, there would be plenty more incentive for Duncan to continue this new path for his life.

Together, the two of you ascend back up to the courtroom, where you make a dramatic entrance by kicking the doors open. It looked as if you had walked in on the middle of an argument between Cherise and one of the adjudicators. Her mouth still half-open, your old friend turns to look at you, and her jaw remains slightly open as she sees you and Duncan standing just behind you. All eyes shift towards the back of the room, naturally settling on you.

“What is the meaning of this interruption!?”

Comes the question from the council, and all eyes turn from you to Duncan as he sheepishly shuffles forward. He shoots you one last glance, and struggles to give you a smile, and then clears his throat.

“Actually, I have a confession to make . . .”

He begins.

(If you had any final scenes that you would like to play out for Isera, we can handle those now. Additionally since we are wrapping up her story now, if you had a specific ending in mind to end on, you are welcome to post that as well, or just PM me with the rough idea. However you would like to end Isera’s story. )

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

(That is quite possibly true. We’ll have to see what we can do about getting Mal some upgrades in Return. )

(Because we have to have some sort of humorous ending theme here to break up all the depression and GRIMDARK! )

Mal’s Ending Theme

You explain what Master Vork had told you, and your new friend grunts and shakes his head at it all.

“Master’s still alive, he has more students, this whole tournament thing was hosted by the man who tried to kill him? My head hurts trying to get this whole mess straight, Mal. I hope things start making more sense soon, or you’re going to have to be the one to figure this all out!”

At mention of your ring, the ogre gives a great belly laugh after he sees that you find the situation humorous rather than tragic. Struggling to catch his breath, he bellows out, “Well, maybe if we ask nicely?” Which causes him only to laugh harder. Eventually, the two of you push your way up to your feet, and continue your journey at a more sedate pace. Silverstream was indeed a long way away from here, but you would get there sooner or later. And when you did, you had better find some answers waiting for you.

“Hey Mal – can we stop for a drink on the way?”

End of Part II (Technically Part One, but whatever. )

(Check back in another couple DMs – I’m going to post a player survey with important questions for you to answer after the others are all wrapped up!)

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber let Kartul throw wave after wave of power at him, using brief, skipping bursts of acceleration magic to dodge the stream. It had worn away a considerable amount of his protections before he'd gotten his thoughts together, but the armor would knit itself together again, given time. Although time was a rather precious resource just now...

And then Kartul was charging for him, waving that sad, overcompensating hammer. It was pathetic, really - all that power and no idea of how to use it. What had they been thinking, allowing this maniac to join them? Then again, what had any of them been thinking? They'd given up so much... and in the end, it was all a wash. But this was no time for maudlin self-reflection, and Umber hadn't the stomach for such preoccupations in any case. Kartul had some skill at magic, Umber had to admit - at least within his limited and short-sighted purview... but at physical combat he was a rank ameteur. He trusted his vampiric strength and speed to do all the work for him. Against most opponents that would work.

Umber was not most opponents.

He sidestepped the initial rush easily, giving himself another of those almost-reflexive boosts to compensate for Umber's unholy dexterity. Woe came up, slicing cleanly through one skeletal wrist - Kartul stumbled as his grip on the titanic hammer became tenuous. Umber gave him no time to recover, depriving him of his second hand. "Try this for pithy, Kartul: Die screaming." He said in a murderously chill voice. Normally he'd have thought of something better. Today, Umber had larger issues on his mind.

Woe swept again, this time taking the struggling vampire at the ankles. A boot sent him toppling forward, and Umber began coldly dissecting him. Woe was woven 'round with enough spells to disrupt Kartul's magic before he could gather it - although the lack of hands made arcane gestures somewhat difficult in the first place, Kartul was good enough not to need them, if he'd been allowed to focus. Umber didn't give him that luxury. This wasn't a fight, it was an epilogue. Umber didn't even give Kartul the time for a last word before extending his hand and baking the bony corpse in a brief, bright blast of life-force, reducing him to a fine ash. He gathered this up in a quickly-summoned vessel of silver, which quickly fused into one solid piece. This, in turn, disappeared into a dimensional pocket. He'd find somewhere less pleasant for Kartul's screaming essence after this was resolved. He might not be able to permanently end him, but he could reduce him to thoughtlessness, given world enough and time. He might even find a way to dissolve his consciousness completely.

He looked at Ross, watching the werewolf recover with a calculating eye. "When this is over, I'll send you to join your family myself, if you still wish. But for now, I still have need of you." This was neither threat nor coercion - mere statement of fact. So saying, He drew Ross up beside him, pulling him into his flight spell and giving him his now-normal hammer. Drawing both of them into flight, he headed for the signal - and for Fianna.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

When Seraphan Gast joins the fight, he blinks, slightly stunned.

"Lord General Hondshioh," he replies, introducing himself briefly.

Hondshioh glares at the Baron as he makes his last tirade.

"That's a stupid insult and you know it. You can clearly see that I am NOT a hunchback! You really ARE pathetic, Gast. I'm surprised the demons even wanted your soul to begin with, as it's so damn useless."

As the battle continues and it looks like all is going to be lost, Hondshioh turns back to Seraphan.

"Get as many of my men as you can out of here. The Valkyrie is still here, and is still wounded, and I cannot let her be dragged down to the Hells. And we're all dead anyway if that monster kills the dragon. But before I go...there's a personal request I have. There's a woman I care about in the battle below. A fierce fighter, who can control the earth and stone with a wave of her hand. If she somehow got out...if you can find her...tell her I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise."

He regards the Herald with a look of grim determination. Then he draws Ander's blade and holds it before him. He focuses all his remaining energy into the weapon, filling it with holy might and righteous power. The sword is barely able to contain it as silvery-blue fire bursts forth from the hilt.

"Blade with whom I have lived, blade with whom I now die, serve right and justice one last time, seek one last soul of evil, still one last life of pain, cut well old friend, and then farewell."

He then aims the sword straight at the Herald and hurls it with all his might. The lives of his soldiers and the Valkyrie was more important than some sword. It probably wouldn't deal a fatal blow, but maybe the pain would distract it a bit so Seraph and the paladins could make their getaway. He looks to see if any of the paladin's mounts survive, and if there is one, he mounts it quickly and takes off after the Baron and Miriam, desperate to save her.

[Lonna]

Pyrene

A ball of flame ignited in Pyrene's hand as power and pain - emotional pain - surged through her. Instantly the healing process on her wounds accellerated to a finish, leaving smooth red patches like burn scars where her bitch of a sister had stabbed - stabbed her, after all that Pyrene had done to keep Ariella safe!

Music!

"What have they done to me?" Pyrene broke into harsh, humorless laughter as the flame in her hand lengthened and split until two snakes of flame, eye black as charcoal, coiled around her. Turning to look at Ariella and the butler, Pyrene stalked slowly closer toward them as she ranted.

"They cut out my heart and fed it to me, after my dear little sister stabbed me in the back! The kidneys, to be precise. You see, Volesin has somehow convinced her that I killed our mother! I, who took beatings for her when we ran wild on the streets, thieving just to eat. I, who found a family that would take her in and love her even though our mother was a whore, because I didn't want her to have that life! I, who slaved and sold myself a hundred times over for the means to help that family send her to school!" Planting herself in front of Ariella, Pyrene addressed her sister in a soft, deadly tone, the serpents she had created flowing across to wrap the bitch and her protector in living flame that scorched but did not burn - not yet.

"I changed my name a dozen times to keep you safe from my reputation. I gave myself to men who did every kind of foul thing to me because it paid enough to keep food on your table, clothes on your back, and toys in your chest, and every copper shaving I could spare went to just that purpose. They called me Pyrene the Temptress and they sent me to Ironheart to rot in undying torment.

"And do you know how they tortured me? They showed me my worst fears. They showed me you. Beaten, broken, tortured and left to die a hundred different ways. I killed and burned my way out of that hellhole to make sure you were safe, and this is how you repaid me? Everything I have done, everything I have become, has been for your sake!" Pyrene paused, breathing hard, and Ariella flinched as one of the serpents tasted her cheek with a firey tongue.

"No more. I'm done sacrificing myself for you. I will give you just one last gift. A quick death!" Pyrene snarled, gathering herself for the final effort, only to have her concentration disrupted by Wulfric, who grabbed her arm urgently.

More Music!

"Wait Jacqueline, wait! Think! Is this really what you want?" Pyrene glared at him angrily, then stopped. His expression was one of shock, but underneath that was... fear? hurt? Whatever it was, it felt like a punch to the gut.

Shaking her head, Pyrene called back the flame serpents with a thought. For all the hurt, the last years would not have been wasted if they brought her together with Wulfric. And she would not risk losing him, no matter how hot her rage. Without a word, she took his hand and walked out, turning her back on her half-sister for the last time.