Return to Ironheart IC

[daelrog]

Alons Sift

Alons wiped the blood out of his eye. His scalp wound would have be dealt with later. He leaned over to the one still clinging to life. "Tell your friends that if their lives are worth less than old men and tame girls, then they can follow."

He had no illusion that they could lose the elves if they pursued. Still, he could not, would not, simply leave these people. "We move out now. Those who can fight, pick up their weapons. Leave this one alive. He may slow them down." Alons used the knife to cut his own bonds, and he took the bow and arrows for his own as well. He freed the others. "We move, we don't stop. They will find us."

Alons would take the back of the pack, keeping his eyes alert. Anyone with a weapon would take the front or back, with anyone unarmed protected in the middle.

Spoiler

Show

How many people are there total?

[Inspectre]

The Heavens

Dorizzit

At your confident reassurance, Marius smiles and nods.

“Perhaps I will at that. I –“

Whatever Marius is about to say, he doesn’t get the chance to say it. As if a cloud has moved across the sun, the light that suffuses the Heavens suddenly dims ever so slightly – but the change is noticeable. And it clearly isn’t a usual occurrence, because Marius is immediately put on his guard, hand driving down reflexively to his waist while he looks around in confusion.

“What is this?”

Marius asks, and his answer is forthcoming. Great billowing plumes of black smoke suddenly erupt in several places throughout the city. Including one almost directly behind you, in the middle of the secluded courtyard you had just left. From within come the sounds of screaming . . . and something far less human, inhuman wails and cackles and shrieks. It sounds just like it did in the middle of Narle during the battle . . . it sounds just like the Hells.

Without another word both you and Marius turn and race back to the gate of the courtyard, wrenching it open and stepping inside to find a scene undoubtedly ripped directly from the assembled paladins’ nightmares. In the middle of the circle where you had been standing, a large open wound in the air itself hangs, black smoke pouring out of it and therefore making it difficult to see what lies on the other side. But from the frenzied cackling from the other side, there could be only one place, as impossible as it seemed.

Standing just on this side of the portal are half a dozen armored and armed figures, their leering helmets cast in the shape of demons. Thin but steady wafts of smoke rise from their armor and weapons, the materials of that other plane not more welcome here than the other way around. Strangely, rather than rising up into the air, the smoke coming from the armored figures instead twists and bends in mid-air, arcing back to flow through the portal, like an ethereal anchor. As you enter, one of them raises his heavy mace to trace a half-circle in the air in front of him, indicating most of the paladins assembled, who are all rapidly scrambling back away from portal.

“You are all our prisoners now! So, uh . . . surrender yourselves now? Or it’ll go badly for you? Yes . . . it will go very badly for you!”

The lead figure rumbles from behind his helmet, strangely nervous despite the fact that he just stepped through a portal leading to the Hells in what could only be labeled as an invasion of the Heavens. A number of the paladins continue to cower back, although you see a few of them step forward instead, clenching their fists in anger. Before violence can break out, however, the woman you had just spoken with steps forward, her hands held up in surrender.

She walks directly up to the armored figure in charge, her hands still held up beside her head. When she comes to a few paces of the group’s apparent leader, she stops. And then she delivers a hellacious punch to the man’s armored face, snapping his head back and likely breaking of her own fingers from the blow. That serves as the signal, and suddenly pandemonium reigns as the paladins rush the figures.

Unfortunately, the paladins are unarmored and unarmed, and most do not seem to be especially skilled at unarmed combat. But they make up for that deficiency with sheer numbers, and the same trauma that left them unable to adjust to the Heavens now gave them an unstoppable rage. That being said, the armored figures’ goal does not seem to be to kill the paladins, but rather force them through the portal. One paladin is shoved back through the portal . . . and he does not come back out again.

“This is not good! They may have picked a poor spot here, but there’s more than one, and there isn’t going to be a group of dysfunctional paladins waiting at the others! I’m afraid most others up here are going to be easy prey for them.”

Marius looks at the chaotic battle, and it’s clear he has to force himself not to join in.

“Do you think we should help out here first, or trust them to handle it? I don’t know much a whole lot about magic . . . any ideas on how to close these damned portals!?”


The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

While you are unable to remember any prayers, you are not yet broken. Although your situation is incredibly dire, that only hardens your resolve to escape. And there is a way to escape, you are sure of it. It will almost certainly be difficult, especially given your lack of memories, but you still have your instincts, and one in particular pushing you forward – the urge to survive, at whatever cost must be paid! For now, however, unable to break your chains or the bars of your cage, there is little else you can do but wait and bide your time.

As it turns out, perhaps something has heard your unspoken prayer. A few minutes later the pair of devils who had escorted you down here return. They are dragging another prisoner down the hallway in your direction, although you can only make out a few details about the prisoner. This is due to the heavy sack tied over the prisoner’s head, the thick cords holding the sack in place tied around her neck. You would expect that such an arrangement would make it difficult to breathe, but the woman seems to have no trouble as she angrily berates her captors.

“You *******s! Think you’re so tough? Take these chains off me and I’ll show you tough! I’ll tear your damned heads off!”

“Be silent, filth! You will scream when we demand it, and not make another sound!”

One of the devils hissed, its patience reaching an end as it released its grip on the prisoner’s arm to pull a fist back for a punch. The blow never landed, as the prisoner suddenly sprang into action, throwing herself back against the other devil. The two slammed backwards into the opposite wall of cages, and the woman braced her back against the devil’s chest, allowing her to swing both of her shackled feet up. The double kick struck the devil who had foolishly released its grip in the chest, sending it slamming into your side of the cage wall. Unfortunately, this fight was occurring several cages down or else you might have tried to join in, stretching yourself to reach through the bars and wrap your hands around the devil’s throat.

While the kicked devil regained his balance, the devil that had maintained its grip attempted to bring the prisoner back under control. He got head butted for his trouble, the prisoner throwing her head back into the creature’s nose, soaking the back of the sack in dark blood as bone shattered.

“You bastards think everyone who ends up down here is going to lie down and play victim for you!? Well I have news for you – I’m not down here with you! You’re down here with – UGH!”

The other devil had finally managed to recover, and now brought weaponry into play, drawing his club and delivering a hard blow to the prisoner’s mid-section. From there it was all downhill, as there was very little a bound and half-blind prisoner could do against two armed guards. The devils furiously pounded her into the floor with their clubs, and for a moment it seemed as if they would simply not stop until the prisoner stopped moving. But then they regained their composure, and dragged the battered prisoner the rest of the way to their destination – the empty cage next to yours.

“You’re a feisty one! Those with some spirit left in them are highly prized. Enjoy your rest now – you won’t be getting much of it soon enough.”

The devil said, stomping down onto the woman’s back one last time before shoving the limp form into the cage and slamming the door shut. The other devil was less amused, clutching the ichor-dripping remains of its nose and glaring hatefully at the prone form. His eyes pass over you for a moment, and then he turns away and stomps off, the other devil following a moment later after tugging on the cage door to make sure it was secure.

For a long moment, you look at the limp body lying in the next cell, wondering if it would move again or if the devils had killed their prisoner after all. Then the woman’s voice comes again, a thin gasp laced with pain now rather than the angry shouts of a few moments ago.

“So. Is there anyone human out there? Or I guess human-ish? I’m not gonna be picky.”


The Mortal Realm

The Village of Silverstream

Vegna

“WHAT!? Are you *serious*!?”

Val’Tosh rumbles, looking back at the elf and snorting.

“Bah, why’d she go and attack us then, huh!? It wasn’t like we were coming to attack the village – we were coming to help!”

Still grumbling to himself, Vol’Tosh rubs his bruised shoulder while he plops himself down against a tree a short distance away from the elf. He glares at her unconscious form a moment later, and then snorts his disdain again.

“Fine, I’ll watch her. But if she tries anything when she wakes up I’m going to bury her up to her neck!”

Trusting that your friend, while not especially smart, was nonetheless wise enough not to antagonize the elf further if she woke up before you returned, you head down the path towards the burning village. You don’t walk directly down the path, of course, but instead follow it from the woods, putting what few lessons you had received in the way of stealth to good use. You stretch out your senses as far as you can, seeking out any other potential ambushes, but find none. The reason for such is obvious once you reach the village.

Although still burning, it was obvious that Silverstream had been set ablaze *after* whoever had attacked it left. The streets were abandoned, arrow-filled bodies scattered here and there – the sight of them was not exactly comforting, but it was a relief to see that whoever had attacked the village had done so conventionally, and seemed not to be the mysterious tournament organizer who even Master Vork apparently feared on some level.

Then, you come around the corner of a collapsed building, and see it. Right in front of the village’s other main entrance, a macabre scene has been erected. Several people were hanging from spears buried in the ground, their bodies skewered upon the upraised weapons. Judging from the contortions some of the bodies held, it was clear too that these people had been thrown upon the spears while still alive. None of them were anymore, however.

Here at the other entrance to the village, the dust speaks to you. Even without your earth senses, you can see that a large disorganized party left here a little while ago, heading down the path leading out from the village. Presumably, this path lead down to the base of the mountain on the far side of how you and Val’Tosh had approached the village.

You were no expert on geography, but you knew that you were in one of the further reaches of the kingdom of Narle. Beyond this mountain laid the wilderness domain of the elves, and there you would not be welcome. In fact, no human was really, although occasionally some explorer or another was able to get the elves’ grudging permission to travel through their lands. Only a few of them ever actually came back from such journeys, however.

The direction of departure seemed to strongly suggest that it was the elves who had attacked Silverstream. Why, you don’t know. But the elves were not so clumsy as to leave such an obvious trail, even if there were a number of them. Which meant that they had prisoners, whoever had survived this deliberate massacre – and they were undoubtedly taking them back home for gods knew what.

It occurs to you that your mysterious assailant was also an elf. Although it seemed that she was a student of Master Vork’s, why was she lurking up near the other road? How was it that she alone survived this utter destruction? The fact that she was of the same race as the attackers suggested several possibilities, none of them pleasant to contemplate. But there was only one way you were going to get answers, and so you head back up to rejoin Val’Tosh.

When you arrive, the two of them are much as you had left them – to your great relief. Your ogre friend is also clearly relieved to see you are alright as well.

“So what did you find down there? Who’s attacking the village? What are we gonna do to stop them?”

Val’Tosh nods at the unconscious elf.

“She hasn’t woken up yet. You must have hit her pretty hard Mal.”

Strange, though, now that you examine her . . . wasn’t she over there before? And if she was unconscious, how then did she move to over there? It didn’t sound like Val’Tosh had touched her, which meant . . . she was not as unconscious as she would have you believe!?


The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

At your explanation, Nihilus’s calm air shatters.

“WHAT!?”

He exclaims, and then immediately falls silent again, regaining his composure. The masked humanoid figure shakes its head, muttering to itself.

“Not the way this is supposed to go – is this a change or just a random quirk? And what does that mean for me either way?”

After a few moments of mulling over your information with himself, Nihilus turns his attention back to you.

“Alright . . . first, I’m going to give you a quick lesson on the nature of time. You know that old saying about time flowing like a river? Well, that’s a surprisingly apt description. Time only goes one way, from the past into the future.”

Bending down, Nihilus drew a finger down one of the stones forming the floor of your cell. At his touch, the stone scorches slightly, leaving a single black line.

“Time travel is impossible.”

At this point, Nihilus stops to chuckle.

“Okay, so not impossible, but it is quite difficult to swim back upstream against the flow of time. Where – or more appropriately, when – did you exactly come from? Because even going back a few days would take an enormous amount of energy. Anyway, because time *normally* only goes one way, you don’t have to worry about causing the death of causality and the complete paradoxical destruction of the universe or anything like that. Changes to the universe only go one way – forward in time.”

Nihilus shrugs.

“So, say you’re feeling in a suicidal mood and decide to expend all this enormous energy just to go back and kill yourself. If you succeed, your former self will die, and you too will likely fade from existence, but there will be none of this paradoxical chicken or the egg stuff. You’ll be dead from the point where you killed your younger self, and the world will simply go on without you. Which is not to say that the world will go on exactly the same.”

Turning back to his drawing, Nihilus begins scorching other lines into the floor, branching out the single line into several crooked forks.

“So, just like a river, Time has bends and eddies and forks in it. Without foreknowledge, things pretty much just go on with however they’re “intended” to go. And even if you know exactly what’s going to happen, in most cases Time has a sort of inertia, and it’s fairly hard to change the course of events in any meaningful sense. Every so often, though, there comes a fork in the road, a place where the course of History can be diverted to flow in an entirely new and different direction.”

Nihilus pulls back to admire his handiwork, and then jabs a finger at one of the forks in the drawing.

“We’re coming up on one of those pretty quick. I’m sure you remember. The night of your glorious ascension and all that. Well, that’s a fork in the flow of Time, and there’s basically only one of two ways that it can go. Either you become immortal and in the process lose all relevance to the future course of History . . . or things take a very different course.”

Nihilus looks back from his drawing to stare into your eyes.

“So tell me Umber. Without the promise of immortality, and all the disruption that came about as a result of your accomplished quest for it . . . what would you have done? Life was then – well, now – is nasty, brutish, and short, but you managed to carve out for yourself a nice little empire of Blood. If you couldn’t live forever, how would you have spent your last days and years, however many there might have been?”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

Although fast and reasonably skilled, the elf’s desperation eroded his swordsmanship. The fact that you were a werewolf also helped, as the sword was no more threatening to you than the bow. All it took was one opening, and then the scythe was embedded in the elf’s chest. With that, the fight was over as you lifted the elf’s body up off the ground, and then planted it, allowing a bed of roses to rapidly spread over the area as a marker for the creature’s grave.

Jarod gave you a few congratulatory hand claps, and then turned his attention with you back to where the elf had come from. Someone had been shouting in the human tongue, and evidentially whatever the elf saw in that direction made him think a swift death on your scythe was better. It didn’t take long to discover what that was.

Over the next hill, you found a dead elf and a second that would likely be dead soon. More importantly, you found four alive humans. One young girl, one withered old man fiddling with his trousers, one a mass of scars, hair, and just plain ugly, and finally a man using one of the elves’ knives to carefully slice apart the vines holding his wrists (daelrog). Judging by their condition and the scene in front of you, it was fairly obvious that these were elven prisoners. Likely, they were being dragged off to the burning grove to be additional sacrifices to the fire elementals. Apparently they were not going to be easy prey, although it seemed likely there were additional elves somewhere nearby. They might be heading here now, or they might be content to wait and watch until they had sufficient numbers to overwhelm.

The old man, surprisingly enough, notices you and Jarod first, squinting at the two of you as he continues fastening his trousers.

“Eh!? Who might the two of you be!?”

daelrog

“You die slow.”

The elf spits out in broken local dialect, and then slumps back to the ground, clutching at his wound. Having no more time for him, you use one of the shorter knives that they carry (which was *also* curved) to cut yourself free. Then you help the others with their own bonds. Although there had been a numerous prisoners taken at the inn, as the elves moved deeper into the forest they split up into smaller and smaller groups. As such, yours had been down to just yourself, Willow, Mags, and Greg plus the three elves.

Once freed, your fellow captives each divided up responsibilities, almost without needing to say a word about it. Willow went about the makeshift camp, gathering up the elves’ supplies while Mags kicked the still living elf before helping himself to his weapons. Greg, meanwhile, pulled his trousers back up, sparing everyone from that sight.

“I used to hunt in these woods when I was a boy. We’re only about a day from the mountains . . . and Ironheart’s about a day beyond that.”

As one, the three locals gave a mutual shiver, although you have no idea what this “Ironheart” is, or why it’s mere name would inspire such fear. Holdings his trousers up with one hand, Greg points to the west with his other hand.

“The city of Amaranth should be about a day’s travel west. It’s probably the only safe haven around there – the elves have been burning everything else they can get their filthy mitts on.”

At that point, your planning session is interrupted by the third elf suddenly charging back up over the hillside. He takes in the scene of his friends dead and you free in a second, and then turns back and runs back down out of sight, screaming in his native tongue. From over the hill, you hear the familiar rasp of steel striking steel, and then even that fades. A few moments later, Greg looks back up the hill and his brow wrinkles in confusion.

“Eh, who might you be?”

Standing atop the hillside now is an older man and his younger partner who is carrying a scythe (TechnOkami).

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

The elf gave a soft gasp somewhere between pain and relief as you cut her hands free. She lifts her hands up in front of her, examining them critically.

“Oh . . . that’s bad. They certainly were methodical in crippling me, weren’t they? I don’t suppose you have any sort of healing that could fix this, do you? Maybe a healing potion? Or even some finger-sized splints – these need to be treated immediately or I’ll be lucky to lift a spoon again, let alone a bow.”

The she elf grimaces and then folds her hands into her lap.

“Sorry, you had questions you wanted to ask. Given they left me down there in the sewers for several days like this, I suppose five minutes isn’t going to change much.”

At your next question, the elf smiles self-consciously, and tilts her head so that you can get a good look at her sharply tapered ear.

“Oh I am an elf. But that doesn’t mean I want to see this city burn.”

The elf listens as you explain the reasons for your questions, quirking an eyebrow at your false assurances. She sits there a moment, thinking and refusing to meet your gaze. Then she gives a deep sigh and looks back up at you.

“I might be throwing away the life you just gave me back right now, but you deserve the truth. I’m a deserter, okay? I came here as part of the vanguard, driven on by promises of avenging ancient wrongs and securing the future of the elven people. But what I saw when I got here . . . the humans are not the monsters told of in our history. They are just people, defending their homes. And for that, we slaughter them all – men, women, and children. This is not the glorious war we were promised.”

The elf shakes her head, and then lowers it, staring down at the floor as her voice drops to a whisper.

“I was at the battle for the human capital. The blood shed there . . . it could have stained the ocean. So much death . . . too much. My people had lost their way, and I no longer wanted to be a part of it. So I abandoned my post and came here, thinking I could help. You’ve seen how well that went.”

The elf pauses a moment, and then continues.

“As I was part of the vanguard, I do not know much of the garrison at the fortress. However, I was there when we first secured it. We came expecting to find humans manning the ramparts – instead the fortress was almost abandoned. We found only a handful of human guards, and Rashalnen . . . um, demons in your tongue. We dispatched them all easily, and took the fortress for ourselves. But my people prefer a mobile form of warfare – I doubt the garrison is large, just enough to hold the fortress and keep it from falling into human hands again.”

The elf shrugs.

“As to why this war began, originally it began as a rescue mission. Crown Prince Teareal had been abducted during a mission of peace, and we knew he had been taken to the fortress. When we got there, he was not, and so the decision was made to press on into the human lands. While Tur Villid was preparing for an assault on the human capital, Crown Prince Teareal returned to us, and led us to war. Now there is only the slaughter, waged across the entirety of your kingdom. I fear my people will not stop until our dominance is secured upon the graves of every last human.”

[Archpaladin Zousha]

The Lost and Forgotten

He clears his throat and ventures a gentle and timid.

"Hello? I'm human...or at least I think I am. I'm not like these other things."

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber had a feeling that the man wasn't going to like the next answer he provided, although the academic in Umber was certainly fascinated by his explanation regarding travel in time. "We're from several thousand years in the future, I'm afraid... which makes some extremely uncomfortable assertions about how much power our foe possesses."

He continued, after giving the man a few moments to get over whatever conniptions he went into upon hearing the latest revelation. "An interesting question there - but there is a snag. The *I* that is speaking to you now would not exist without those millenia of wandering. If I disrupt the process of history, I will never have existed. And frankly... I like existing."

He tipped his head to one side, smiling. He imagined it was a rather ghastly thing, given the condition of his borrowed body. "As for what I would have done, how I would have spent my life... I would have spent it with the woman I love. I rather suspect we would have reshaped the world - forged a true Empire. If I could not live forever, I suspect my former self would have wanted to leave a legacy - a vast and potent thing blazoned on the world that proclaimed that I was here. I am, after all, an egotistical bastard."

Umber rubbed on wrists where the bindings had chafed him, chuckling darkly as he did. "The funny thing is that I was trying to reclaim my mortality during the middle of the mess that resulted in my current state. But the future I come from is just as turbulent and... interesting as the now which we inhabit. " Umber laughed. "All I wanted was a quiet retirement - perhaps a little kingdom by the sea. But things always seem to get in the way. But I will win through even this, even if I have to carve out Fate's own eyes to get it."

[GuyFawkes]

Lucifuge

"Ah. I almost had your kind placed higher than the hu...than my own...but it seems both our races are moved by similar motives." The dragon shifted his position to hide his mental lapse, then continued.

"Nevertheless, one cannot put blame on the entirety of your people. I would imagine all that tales of 'ancient wrongs' might not be too far out of context. Humans are a greedy bunch, and the concept of dominance is not entirely original. I guess that, coupled with this Prince of yours, who may have seen far too much than his spirit could take while being in there, and you have this," he gestured with both his arms, spreading them open.

"If you speak the truth, then you have earned my respect. For rising above what is before you and seeing through the boundaries of race and ethnicity. And you have my thanks for answering all my questions." He stood up and walked towards the window. He looked outside, deep in thought. After a few seconds, he turned towards the elf.

"If you truly meant what you said, then hear me out." He walked back towards her, stopping a couple of feet away.

"Helping out the people of this city against your people is a noble act. But what if I told you there are far greater things to fear out there than an elf's arrow or a human's sword? What if I told you there is a greater war out there that needs to be fought?"

He paused.

"I am currently waging that war. And I fear that I may be alone."

He paused again. His face wore a somber look.

"If you truly wish to prevent bloodshed, then would you fight with me?"

Lucifuge let the question hang in the air. He knew it was hard to accept an offer so vague as what he had put forward. Fighting his war alone, although spoken with intent of eliciting a favorable response, might indeed be closer to ther truth than he liked; in the few months that he had started to look for any trace of the Order, he had found none. And as proud as he was, he knew he could not do things alone. He could barely move about without constantly disguising himself, and he could not hope to even be within a few miles from the fortress without threatening to give in to the darkness inside him. He needed any help he could get, be it elf or human. But he could not disclose anything more.

Not yet.

"I shall give you time to think it over. I will be back with some healing potions, some food, and maybe some clothes for you to change into. That at least is what I can offer for what you told me."

He turned around once again and made for the window. He opened it, but before he climbed out, he spoke without turning back.

"You can leave if you want to. Then I shall take it as you declining my offer, and I shall forget this all happened," he said before climbing out and closing the window behind him, then disappearing into the night.

After a few minutes, the figure of the old man arrived back at the alley outside, checking left and right to see if anyone was watching before opening the window and climbing in.

[Baerdog7]

Speaker Ander Windrivver

((Ander has actually been sleeping in Morganna's old chambers (the ones with the giant bath), so Hephestia has probably collapsed into quite a nice bed instead of a cot. He also would likely have moved the books from the secret office in there so he could study them more comfortably.))

You can take the bed, don't worry about it. Good night, Hephestia. Ander murmurs as he slides into an armchair and nods off to sleep.

The pealing of church bells finally woke Ander up as they called the faithful to the morning Mass. He rises (reluctantly) and walks over to the window to observe the crowds of faithful filing into the Great Cathedral. Ander hadn't been to many Masses since becoming Speaker. Far too many other matters had demanded his attention and, to be honest, Ander hadn't really been motivated to make time for it. Instead, he had allowed Archbishop Kranmer to retain the responsibility of leading Luxien’s worship services. Anyway, what could he gain from listening to some old man drone on about Heaven and Hell and the glory of the Gods when he had experienced all of these things for himself? Nothing. His experiences with the Gods had left him far too jaded to put any stock in old man Kranmer’s sermons and parables.

Good morning, Hephestia. He says as she too rises with the bells. What are your plans for today?

Whatever Hephestia decides to do, Ander proceeds with his morning routine. After cleaning himself, shaving, dressing in a fresh doublet and trousers, and taking a light breakfast he certainly looks a far sight better than the ragged, overstressed Speaker of the past few weeks.

The seed of an idea had planted itself in a corner of Ander’s mind since last night. It was a crazy, reckless, surely foolish idea but it had taken root nonetheless. If he were to have any chance of pulling it off, Ander would need the right tools, careful preparation, and more than a little bit of luck.

The right tool…it must still survive even after all this time. There has got to be a record of it, perhaps Morganna knew…

With some hours still to go before the Council meeting, Ander sits down at his desk with a stack of Morganna’s journals from around the time of his death and the years after.

Hephestia come here, can you help me with something? He asks, hurriedly scribbling out a note. I need you to go down to the Holy Archives and speak with the head Chronicler. Give him this request, he says, pressing the not into her hand. It’s for any record of my death and the whereabouts of my old weapon, Fiendkiller!

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

Belroar, I got your message. What is it you wanted to see me for? The young paladin asks, stepping into the dwarve’s tent and grateful to be out of the scorching Hellish winds.

“Ah, Ander! Good to see ya, lad. I see the brass’ve given you a captain’s cloak. Congratulations!”

Thank you, Belroar. I’ve just come from the promotion ceremony in the Lord General’s tent. He wants me and my men to lead the assault on Mammon’s citadel. Dahlia is practically champing at the bit with anticipation.

“The Lord General mentioned he had big plans for ya. He asked me to craft you something special for the occasion.”

Oh?

“Aye! Feast your eyes.”

Belroar Halfhand walks over to his work table where a long object is covered in a sheet. With a flourish, he whips away the sheet revealing a two-handed warmaul of exquisite manufacture.

“If you’re gonna be going up against a Fiend Lord, you’ll need a weapon up to the task! Take a look at this. The fore-end of the maul is an oversized hammer head, perfect for smashing through armor and turning flesh into bloody pulp. The back-end here is thick, curved spike, incredibly useful for tearing or tripping or whatever other ways you can come up with to savage some demon bastard. I forged the whole head out of adamantine so it’ll be harder and more durable than any material those fiends can come up with. The haft I spun out of elven hornbeam: incredibly hard and supernaturally resilient. The elves may be poncey tree huggers, but they know their wood. This is the only stuff they use to make their best pole weapons.”

“Normally we weapon like this would be pretty unwieldy but I know how you’ve always had a knack for fighting with two-handed hammers and such. In the right hands, you’ll find her to be a versatile and brutal weapon without peer.”

Yes, I can see how. The reach will be very handy and the combination of a stabbing head and a bludgeoning head is very clever.

“Now look here,” Belroar says, pointing out the symbols and runes etched into the weapon’s head and branded down the haft. “This weapon’s had more blessings and litanies laid on it than the Speaker’s arse. It’s been enchanted for strength so between that and the hornbeam’s natural qualities it shouldna' bend nor break on ya. The sheer number of blessings on it has made it Holy with a capital “H.” When wielded by a righteous man pure of heart, it will become wreathed in holy fire and be the bane of any evil creature. When wielded by an evil creature, they shall be smote by Her fury.”

Belroar picks up the weapon and, taking one knee, presents it to Ander.

“Ander, dear friend, I present you with my finest work. May this weapon always lead you to glorious victory.”

Thank you, Belroar. Ander breathes in wonder, reverently accepting the weapon. I will keep this weapon always at my side and with it I shall become the ruin of Miriam’s enemies.

“She still needs a name, have you got any ideas?”

Yes. I’ll call it…Fiendkiller!

((I don't think Ander will have the time to act on any information he might be able to find on Fiendkiller right now, so I think we can move on to the council meeting in the next post.))

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

"Dead bodies, like the other villages before. And judging by the direction they left beyond Narle, they were either elven or extremely cocky."

He moves to stand near the elven woman's body, then taps her foot with his staff.

"And our fellow Terra style user, here, is our method of following after. Providing she doesn't feel like playing dead the whole journey, that'd us take forever."

Mal leans over, towards her face.

"I'm sorry about the kick, okay. I bouldered in when words would have been better, but those villagers are going to get taken further away the longer you spend down there."

[Kasanip]

Lukina

Lukina felt a little relief and had to agree with Welkin. This wasn't a good time for talking.

Receiving the request, Lukina nodded immediately. Helping the children and wounded into the church wouldn't be too difficult, but they had to be careful of more elf's arrows.

"Understood!" She responded.

Then the ground tremored, and an earth golem appeared. Lukina breathed out in a sigh and grimace. She had just agreed to the duty. But thinking it wouldn't be difficult was a mistake.

She looked around. Nothing really around was going to help defeat it. Arrows and spears were useless. She put a hand on the heirloom sword she carried, and thought. But Lukina could imagine the blade becoming stuck or not helping. Was she strong enough to even hurt it anyway?

Lukina took a deep breath and started to move faster towards the golem. She left her sword in the sheath, and took the shield from her arm. Faster. The objective anyway, was to get the golem away from the church. The wounded and children could get inside then and be safe. Miriam would protect them.

Miriam would protect her too. Right?
That was a comforting and warm thought. It gave her a little more determination, and then Lukina twisted about and threw the shield to spin and hit the golem in the face. It flew like a falcon, and Lukina for a moment dared to hope.

When it hit the face, the wooden shield made a sad and weak sound and fell to the ground. The golem turned to look at the shield, and then stepped on it, breaking it. In only a moment, to cross over the line from hope to despair, and then back again, just as the boots skipped and danced on the stones.

Lukina took this moment of distraction to sprint the distance. She pulled her sword out and with a war cry, stabbed at the sandy part of the golem's knee. It wasn't a magic blade, but it was still a paladin's blade. And Lukina called the blade to stand.
"Break through, ye blade of Justice!" She cried out. The blade sparked as Lukina urged all of her weight into it. Her arms hurt with the impact, but the rock split. The golem stumbled, and Lukina tried to pull the sword free, but it didn't come.

A wild swing fell down, and Lukina retreated, leaving her weapon in the knee.

Of course the golem now looked at her. It stepped forward. Lukina stepped backward. Again, and then as the golem reached to grab her, she stepped to the side. She couldn't run, the golem might just turn back. She had to make it more angry. Lukina scrambled to avoid the big fist pounding the ground like a drum around her.

It was a dangerous dance, to avoid the golem and lead it away. But as Lukina ran, and looked over her shoulder, she hoped the civilians could now escape into the church. The golem's stumbling walk followed, and Lukina turned to turn and face it. There wasn't anyone in the town who could stop it probably. Somewhere the elves also were still attacking. Could she do it?

Edit: Lukina (part 2)

Lukina breathed heavily, having run and been chased by the golem around the town for some time. But finally she had decided on a plan. The sledgehammer that was found at the blacksmith was necessary, so she had retrieved this. And now she stopped in front of the two-story town-hall. The golem came from around the corner, making it's thundering steps in a charge. Lukina ran into the doorway, and up the stairs, while the golem punched the door and ruined the front wall of the building.

But from the position on the second floor, Lukina had a chance. She held the sledgehammer properly and closed her eyes.

Just this once, let me be as a weapon. She prayed silently to Miriam above. Before, I would not have backed down from this task. I would not. I can't. I won't. The air shimmered hazily around her with a very faint blue glow, but Lukina didn't notice, it was like white spots from staring at light, or dizziness. But instead of those feeling, she felt warm and assured. A brief nostalgic feeling, like of flying high in the sky, though Lukina could only imagine rightly that was the feeling. Compared to that, this jump wasn't so far. She could make it. And the sledgehammer wasn't so heavy. She could make the hit.

So, without hesitation, Lukina jumped down, and swung the sledgehammer down with all of her strength and a cry. The sledgehammer crushed the stones of the chest, but became stuck. For a second, Lukina held onto this in the air, before pulling herself up to balance on it. Staring into the surprised golem's face, she guessed the location of the summon tag.

'"Turn to dust, and go home!" She yelled, and punched with all of her strength into the face. Something in her hand moved, and the gauntlet made a loud sound. But the rock face cracked. She punched again, and it cracked some more. She punched a final time with a shout, and the rock fell to reveal the tag, which ignited from the sparks of her gauntlet.

Lukina felt an exhausted moment relief of victory. And then as the golem collapsed, she also fell to the ground.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

As the skies darken, Korram observes Marius' reaction. It was one well known to him; an expression that meant something was very, very wrong. It would seem that in this time and place, not even the heavens were safe from harm. Korram's face twists into an old, sour expression. This was just his luck. Instead of panicking as the clouds of smoke erupt, Korram simply stretches his arms briefly. It was time to get back to work.

As Marius and Korram rush back into the courtyard, Korram takes a moment to take stock of everything that is happening. Despite an intimidating and impressive entrance, the hellish soldiers are unimpressive at best, the leader stumbling over his speech. Korram's eyebrows knit in confusion. This was much different from his own experiences with denizens of the Hells. He smiles, just a bit, as the paladin throws the first punch.

Marius interjects into Korram's observation, raising the question of weather to stay or go. Korram considers the question for a few seconds before responding.

"I don't know how to close the portals; they might shut by themselves after a while, since it looks like the plane is rejecting them. For the moment, thought, I think the only thing we can do is suppression. We should split up. Stay with this group and lead them; I'm sure they can handle themselves, but they'll fight better with some guidance. I can move faster and fight harder if I'm on my own. Once you deal with these idiots, keep moving and try to shut down any other groups you see."

Unless Marius objects to his plan, Korram dashes off towards the next closest column of smoke.

[TechnOkami]

Rosenberg

The druid stood upon the hill, the weight of his scythe resting on his shoulder. Jarod, of course, stood beside him. The two of them made their way down to meet their new company.

"It's fortunate we ran across you all. It would have been unfortunate to think of what would have happened otherwise."

A well weathered, but friendly hand rose in greeting to the man, regardless if he took it or not.

"My name is Rosenberg, and this is my friend, Jarod."

Rosenberg looked at the rest of them, making note of just how many of them there were.

"We are traveling to the forest's edge to help get supplies through to a nearby settlement, stopping along the way to collect a potential stash of food. You are all welcome to join us, if you wish. If not, then I would suggest you move away from here as fast as you can. The elves in these forests are not kind, and I believe we would simply add more kindling to the fire if we stayed."

[Tae]

Bramble sighed, wiping fresh blood away from the patched up meat-hook-hole that Skullcruncher’s punches and Catbox’s nudges had reopened. Fiends healed fast, especially at home in the hells, but repeated abuse ensured that pains lingered. Her chest ached with a deep nauseating agony as her bones and organs struggled to knit before another onslaught could begin. Hardening her grin into something more akin to the bared teeth of a snarl, she faced Skullcruncher.

“Yes sir, we will be just fine sir. Please pass along our thanks for the assignment and our assurances that it will be executed flawlessly to General Molerat, sir.”

“Enjoy your stay topside, scum.” Skullcruncher’s heavy boots stomped back into the bowels of the fortress. Just before his weighty tread faded from hearing, Bramble heard the rumble of his laughter. The sound created a block of ice in her belly beneath the flaring hot pain in her chest. Skullcruncher’s amusement was only ever caused by another’s suffering. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was anticipating theirs.

Despite the excitement of a top-side trip and Catbox’s enthusiasm for their new title of “masters”, Bramble was anxious. Something wasn’t sitting right, wasn’t adding up. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a trap. But why?

It was the humans’ need of their names. In order for the four fiends to be summoned, they’d have to give their names to beings they knew nothing about. Creatures…humans at that…who were allies according to Skullcruncher. Skullcruncher, who, as far as Bramble knew, was merely setting her up for an even more elaborate punishment than the one he’d pulled her from.

Bramble squatted down beside the water and dipped a long, bony finger into the eye of one of the reflections.

She remembered times in the hells before she was Bramble, when she was just another Ix. Ix. A slave. A nobody who belonged to everybody. Anyone who needed fresh meat to abuse could pick up an Ix for their needs. Ix was a creature butchers vivisected for practice. She was a target dummy who’d scream at the weapons range. A living doll for the sadistic playtime of spike-cocked savages. An Ix was a victim; over and over again until she realized nothing and no one would stop what was happening to her, ever.

Eventually, an Ix chose a name.

Bramble chose her name after overhearing upper-world stories of dense, thorny undergrowth that entangled the feet of the legions and shredded the skin of their legs - brush that slowed their progress. The brambles were resistant to cutting or uprooting, and fire only made the plants’ thorns harder, more likely to tear flesh. Brambles were an annoyance that could not be eliminated, only either contended with or worked around. Brambles were an obscene gesture at those who sought to destroy the world.

Once she became Bramble, she was no longer just an Ix. She was no one’s slave, even if stronger devils and demons could hurt her or manipulate her to their own ends. Taking a name gave her the power of individuality. She might be called by her name, she might be commanded by it, but she could refuse to obey. She could fight back. She could defy.

She looked at Mouse, Malarkey, and Catbox who were standing around her near the water’s edge. Each of them, once an Ix, now a devil in their own right, each with their own name - none of them were slaves anymore. She pulled her finger from the pool and sucked the bitter water from it. She stood and faced her squad-mates, hands on skinny hips.

“All of ya have a choice, here, ya know? I’m not gonna give these humans your names to summon ye like ye’ were a bunch of Ix’s. I’ll give ‘em mine, ‘cause I told Skullcruncher I would do this thing. But I ain’t commander or sergeant or even corporal of this crew. You each gotta do this on yer own if ye’ want, but I’ll tell y’all right now, I smell a trap. Just so’s yer warned. Now, I’m goin’ first, so, if ye don’t like what happens t’me, don’t follow.”

Mouse smiled tentatively at the sapper. “And what’re we gonna do otherwise Bramble? We’re legionnaires. We follow orders.”

Bramble reached over and stroked the short fur of the small fiend’s face with a look of tenderness before reaching down to twist Mouse’s nipple hard between her thumb and forefinger.

She grinned hard at his yelp and look of hurt surprise.

“Ye’ might follow orders Mouse, but ye’ ain’t no damn slave no more. So stop acting like it. I can’t always be protectin’ ye.”

Catbox frowned at Bramble before wrapping a muscular arm around Mouse’s shoulders. She always did have a soft spot for the little imp. “Don’t worry Mouse, they called us MASTERS. We’ll be following right after Bramble here goes and makes sure they realize who they’re dealin’ with.”

Malarkey gave a grumbling gurgle. “Mother of monsters, just get on with it already.”

Bramble turned back to the faces in the water and let her mouth widen into its most intimidatingly friendly grin. “All right you humans. I’m ready for yer summons. M’ name’s Bramble and there had BETTER be beer when I get there.”

[Lonna]

Jacqueline Flame-Hair

Stopping short at the entrance to the icy throne room, Jacqueline simply stood still, taking in the bizarre scene, which nevertheless seemed so familiar.

Echoes of dreams... she thought wonderingly, remembering some of impossible memories that had surfaced over the last weeks. One, in particular.

"Mother?" Hesitantly, she took a few steps toward the trio in front of the throne. "Titania, Mother, I've come at last."

[daelrog]

Alons Sift

"The extra company would be welcome, friend. Your timely arrival kept the last of them from calling any others." So he as not to meet Larent, just yet. He looked at the elf still barely clinging to life. "I no longer need you alive." The knife flashed and found the elve's throat.

He stood up. Alons tucked the knife away and kept the bow at the ready. "I think we're ready to leave, no?"

[TechnOkami]

Rosenberg

"Indeed, I think we are."

And off they went, wandering the columns of trees for the first stop of their journey.

[The_Snark]

Mar

"I didn't want to come." Awfully hard to admit that, with Titania's finger hovering so close to her eye. Even that was painful. Mar blinked several times, trying to rid herself of the creeping cold. Could she really feel frost starting to crystallize on the surface of her eye, or was that her imagination. "I... I wouldn't have, if if he hadn't made me. But now I'm here—we were wrong. We shouldn't have, we... I don't know what we should have done instead, but the war... We should never have let it go that far."

It was so familiar: kneeling on a cold floor floor before an uncaring judge, stammering as she tried to articulate what she'd done wrong, hoping for mercy but knowing none would come. Just like old times. Yet part of her welcomed the chance to admit her guilt, and she couldn't help but wonder if this confessional impulse was a relic of her imprisonment, something Brother Corwin had beaten into her so thoroughly she couldn't get it out. She was terrified, but there was a shameful sort of rightness about spilling her sins.

Was that his hand, reaching out from beyond the grave? Making her believe she *ought* to be punished?

"And I know it's not much, but… sorry is all I have to give," she whispered, barely meeting Titania's eyes. The horrible thing was, she knew it wasn't true: her debt could be paid in pain. But she wouldn't offer that. Too cowardly, or not quite broken enough, depending on how you looked at it.

She heard footsteps approaching, and a woman's voice, but did not turn to look. Titania held her attention like a venomous serpent.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

Melcara.

Tare's face darkened. This was too far.

Stealing her face-- not only her face, but her voice, the witch! --was the true insult. Parading a body that was not hers beneath it, like a puppet with a meat body, was cheap and chintzy. And it made Tare angry.

The very air in the room grew heavy as Tare subconsciously breathed out his wrath.

"Do not presume to call me a liar, she-devil." Tare said, apparently too angry over the fiend's affront to be intimidated by her whip sword. "The first portal was torn open by a hag who had a cabin out in the black forest around this estate. You're probably familiar with her. The second one was formed already by a ritual devised by a mortal in the Other Realm. It was closed when I found it, but I did not create the portal. I merely opened it." Tare took a deep breath.

"...Now. I'm hardly in a position to make demands. But here is where we determine if there can be an understanding between us or not." His voice ground through his teeth like the edge of a steel dagger being drawn across a whetstone. "Release the stolen face you are wearing, or I swear by its rightful owner I will become far less cooperative to deal with." The weight in the air intensified, making it almost possible to choke on.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

At first, Sohssal felt relaxed for perhaps the first time since he arrived in the Hells. Things might finally start going his way! But, as he should have expected, a complication in the form of Xerxes arrived. Another confirmation that this was, indeed, Hell.

”I have another 'guest' in my quarters right now, but I can arrange some privacy elsewhere,” Sohssal explained to Xerxes. There was no way he was going to let him see Seraph if he could get away with it, on the chance that one of his minions didn't already blab about it.

Making one of the more remote rooms of the estate private would hardly take any effort. Not even his sneakier underlings could escape his magic-sensing capability. Once he was sure of their privacy, he turned to Xerxes. ”It's been quite some time. Sounds like you're eager to tell me something,” Sohssal said.

[Gorgondantess]

The facts were these:
She didn't need the paladin's help. They could offer her martial aid, which she'd hardly need, a gateway to hell, which would hopefully be dealt with as soon as the cultist woke up, and maybe some general information as to the structure and nature of the hells, which would be helpful but hardly vital.
Meanwhile, flying into hell blind, while perhaps necessary, was something she would avoid if possible. Maurice might not even be there! So, the Dusk Wardens would be an important asset, as well as against Quadramus, who was a greater threat than any.
Though she often didn't utilize it, she had a brain capable of rather powerful feats of inductive reasoning. Though perhaps brain isn't necessarily the right word for it: mind, rather. Consciousness.
It was the way she was able to comport herself as well as she did within human society and master their language after only a couple months of observation; in actuality, most of her lack of social graces were more due to not caring (and flagrant disdain) than not knowing.
...Most of them.
This was one of the times when she used these abilities.
She started spitting out information to her high honcho at a rapid pace.
"We need to find the Dusk Wardens. If not before I leave, at least while I'm gone. So: ask around. Wrangle up a search party. Talk to people who might have socialized with them, or had watched their movements. Perhaps one of them found a mate and remained behind. Perhaps some were disgruntled by their betrayal and left the group. Talk to those who work the docks where they departed, the lighthouse- find out which direction they were going, if they said where they were going, if they requisitioned any supplies that might denote where they were going. Ask any who have come in to port if they have passed ships that look like that of the Dusk Wardens, and where it was headed.
While you're at it, I'm looking for an oracle. A diviner, a seer, whatever you may call it. Send out the word- if one can aid me, they will be granted all their worldly desires. Frauds will be summarily executed, of course. Perhaps we can cut past them and find a freelancer who can aid me- or failing that, who can tell us where the Dusk Wardens are."
As she speaks she creates little trinkets of value, flicking one out onto the table every few seconds. Whereas before she just made lumps of precious gems and metals to bribe, now she took to the task with some whimsy, each piece she dropped a miniature work of art- spindles and baubles and moving things, all made of precious metals and stones.
"Offer only enough to obtain the information you need. Humans are greedy: if they see what they covet, they will tell you what you want to hear in order to obtain it, not what you need to hear."
She nods. "That should be all. Pursue any other line of inquiry that might lead us to the Dusk Wardens or a diviner. If all else fails, send out ships: we will scour every island in a thousand miles if we have to. If they cannot help me in my search, they can at least help me with their weapons. In the meantime, I will seek contact with the paladins. I expect bi-daily reports on your search: I do not know when I will return, if at all, but when I do I expect to recieve up to date information. Understood?"

[Inspectre]

The Heavens

Dorizzit

Marius shrugs in reply to your suggestions.

“Works for me – I’ve always been more a doer than a thinker anyway! It’s gotten me into trouble more than once – what’s one more time for old times’ sake!? We can meet up afterwards and share stories of how many fiends we sent running back to the Hells!”

Turning back towards the portal, Marius straightens his back and marches towards the battle, barking orders as he goes. Trained to obey shouted commands, the paladins immediately fan out, surrounding the invaders while simultaneously draw them further away from the portal. Now although one or two paladins still go down from mace and sword blows, they don’t vanish through the portal, likely never to return.

Trusting that Marius and his fellows could handle half a dozen of the well-prepared but strangely incompetent hell warriors, you turn away and run back out into the street. You don’t have to go far to locate more of the invaders – another half dozen of them are double-time marching down the street towards you. Upon seeing you they stop and begin to fan out, the leader pointing at you.

“There’s one! Grab him quick!”

Four of them, including the leader, ready their weapons while the last two instead pull out shackles made of the same smoking metal as their armor. Oh the folly – not since the bumbling men the Baron first sent after you (likely as just a distraction) had you encountered such willful incompetence. Time for their first lesson – although as it turns out, you would not be the one to deliver it.

Like a bolt from – well, the Heavens – a winged shape suddenly descends from above, crashing down into the midst of the six fiends. The angel’s halberd arcs down, slashing down through armor, muscle, and bone to split one of the six literally in half before embedding itself in the street cobblestones. Red blood and gore goes flying in all directions, spattering the angel’s immaculate armor, and suggesting that these were not, in fact, fiends beneath that black armor. This is confirmed a moment later as the angel pirouettes, one of her legs flashing up to slam a second invader backwards and halfway through the marble wall of a nearby building.

“Blasphemous mortals! Your trespass here will be punished by death and eternal damnation!”

The angel shrieks as she abandons the grip on her halberd in favor of the hilt of her sword, drawing the weapon in one smooth motion that continues into a slash to another invader’s torso, denting the armor and sending him stumbling back but failing to kill him. The remaining invaders momentarily scatter, but to their credit they immediately reform to converge on the angel from multiple directions.

“Then we have nothing left to lose!”

The group’s leader shouts, sweeping in to swing wildly at the angel’s head. The angel parries the blow and then steps in, delivering a punch with her free hand to the leader’s helmet. Unlike the paladin’s similar punch that started the scuffle back in the courtyard, this blow strikes with unfathomable force, crumpling the helmet inward and undoubtedly the man’s skull within. As their leader crumples the three remaining humans pounce, the two shackle-equipped humans attempting to snap them onto the angel while the third tries to keep her attention.

The angel is not surprised by this attempt, dodging the distracting blow while sweeping her sword around, literally disarming one of the shackle-wielders. As the man starts screaming and clutching at his spurting stump with his other hand, the angel sweeps her sword around again, cutting into his neck before shoving the dying man’s body back into the other shackle-wielding, stopping his lunge.

“You mortals and your foul magic!”

The angel spits as the two remaining humans collect themselves and look at each other nervously.

“I have seen your filthy tricks before and I am no longer impressed by them! Cower behind it all you like, but it will not save you!”

At that point, the last two fiends in training finally lost it, and turned to run away. They managed to make it half a dozen steps before the angel made an upwards gesture. At her command, the street itself rose in front of them, forming a solid wall!

“See some magic of my own!”

The angel cries, prying her halberd out with one hand before leaping after the two fleeing humans. She pins the one to the newly formed wall with her sword, and then abandons her grasp of the weapon in favor of two hands on the halberd. She twirls around and then brings the halberd around in a mighty sweep, cutting the last man in half. With another gesture she flattens the street back out and goes over to retrieve her sword from the man’s corpse.

Both you and the angel are surprised by what happens next, as the six corpses suddenly start screaming as one and begin to move again! Although this is not intelligent movement, but more strongly resembles the bodies being rapidly dragged along the ground by some invisible force. Leaving six trails of blood on the street behind them, the six corpses are dragged at high speed down the street and around a corner out of sight, in the rough direction of one of the dark plumes of smoke.

This bizarre scene seems to shock the angel out of her vengeful fury, and she stumbles back from the trails of blood with a look of horror. Her sword tumbles out of her grasp, and she stares down at her shaking hand as if entranced.

“No, you’re not down there. You’re safe here. Safe . . .”

The angel repeats to herself over and over, like some sort of strange mantra. It seems paladins weren’t the only ones traumatized by the Baron’s last stand. The fact that freckles adorned the angel’s face didn’t help, making her seem less an immortal warrior and more like a scared little girl. Her ornate armor and faintly glowing wings remind you, however, that this is an immortal servant of the gods and not some human child. Would words of support help her the way they had helped the paladins, or would she view them as an insult? Could she even hear you in her current state?

While it might be a waste of precious time trying to talk to the angel while more portals continued to disgorge smoke and human invaders, having an angel for a friend could also make for an important step forward in your own plans. Of course, you could also always just throw yourself through one of those portals and hope for the best as well. In a more impetuous time, that sounds exactly like something Korram would do – and it sounds to you now like a good way to get yourself damned eternally and uselessly.

The Hells

The Dungeons of the Black General’s Fortress

Archpaladin Zousha

“Really? You think!? Well, that’s not very reassuring now is it? But I guess I’ll take whatever I can get.”

The bag-headed woman groans as she shifts and crawls over to the side of her cage that is pressed up against yours. She shoves her back up against the side of the cage, revealing that her hands are shackled behind her – but more importantly, she has a large iron key jutting out from one fist. That key seems oddly familiar to you . . . did the fiends have it on them when they escorted you from the Black General’s office?

“I was hoping to get the key to my shackles with that little performance, but I guess these devils aren’t complete morons. I dunno – maybe it’ll unlock yours, or the door, or something!? Ugh . . . I’m not exactly thrilled here that I may have just gotten a beating for nothing!”

The woman drops the key into your cell, and for a moment, you have a fear that it will instead flip off the edge and fall down into the crack between your cages somehow. It was just that sort of day you were having, but fortunately that did not happen. And as it turned out, this was indeed the key to your chains . . . although it did not open the door to your cage, so you were still trapped.

“Uuhhh . . . damn that smarts. So hey, how’s it going over there? That key do you any good or should we start trying to make it into a shiv or something?”

The woman is silent a moment, and then speaks up again.

“So, hey. I dunno if you have the use of your hands or not, but if you do, do you think you could help me out in return? Not being able to see anything more than splotches of light and dark through this bag is really starting to get on my nerves! These knots are rather tight, but I think you can pick them apart – maybe pry them with the key if you can’t with your fingers? Give it a try for me anyway, would you?”

The woman presses her head and neck against the bars, allowing you to reach through to pick at the knots. It would be a bit difficult to fit your hand through the intervening two sets of bars, but you could probably manage now that your own hands were free.

(For the sake of moving things along, I’m going to assume that you return a favor for a favor, rather than pointing and laughing at the NPC. )

You check to see that there are no more fiends coming along, and then carefully slide your hand and forearm through the bars. The woman is right that the knots have been tied pretty tight, but with a bit of patience you manage to get one undone, and the rest get easier from there. Once the last knot comes apart, you have to pull your hand back as the woman violently rubs her head against the bars of her cage, ripping the bag off.

Now that you can see her face, you realize that she is vaguely familiar to you . . . although you can’t imagine where you would have met her. In favor of the idea that this was just a weird sense of déjà vu and didn’t mean anything are the pair of inch-long horns jutting up through the woman’s short-cut black hair! The woman’s emerald green eyes look you up and down in confusion, clearly not recognizing you either. Then her eyes roll up to shift her gaze up to her scalp, and she smirks, although somehow the expression looks more like a sneer on her face.

“Oh, those. Yeah, they seem to be a souvenir of my time here. The fact that I have them doesn’t seem to make a damn bit of difference to these bastards, so I’m guessing they’re not big enough to suit them or something. Anyway, let’s get introductions out of the way now. My name is Katrina Alstan, and that’s not going to change no matter how many times these *******s call me “Ix”. How about you?”

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“Of course, “Lord” Nihilus! What I have to tell you should be kept as an utmost secret – barring your own discretion, of course.”

Xerxes waits for you to escort him into a side room of your mansion fortress, and sense around to see if any imps are lurking about. After all, all of them are basically food to you. While they are able to hide themselves, that in turn also creates a magical signature you are able to sense. You suppose a being with considerable magical skill could create a cloaking technique that even you would not be able to sense, but that would require an impressive understanding of magic. Imps, in addition to all of their other flaws, did not seem to be able to grasp basic arithmetic, let alone magic. Their invisibility seemed to be an innate ability that they just use – and you imagine for most other fiends it was the same.

Once you are sure you are alone, you address Xerxes, and the devil’s cracked lips pull back into a grin of poorly concealed glee.

“Oh yes I am, “Nihilus”. Or should I refer to you by the name you used when we first met – Sohssal? Although we are all loyal to our chosen master, given his reclusive nature very few of us know what he actually looks like. As you can imagine, from time to time we do have an issue with imposters claiming either to serve him or to actually be him – usually foolish mortals like Demetrius Gast! As a result my brethren tend to have a rather dim view of those who attempt such things, as I am sure you can imagine. I, on the other hand, am willing to be . . . flexible when it suits my needs.”

Xerxes spreads his clawed hands in what you would assume to be a magnanimous gesture – or perhaps mere preparation for tearing you apart.

“I can be very helpful in that regard. I am very good at keeping secrets, and ensuring that those secrets left in my care remain secret. I would only be too happy to serve my “master” in this regard. Of course, I do expect to be well compensated for my efforts as well. On my way in I heard that some of my fellows managed to acquire an angel for you. I would be honored if you gift me sole possession of that angel – as a reward for my distinguished past services . . . and to retain my invaluable skills going forward.”

Xerxes holds up a finger.

“Now, you might want to consider other, more . . . violent options. Allow me to point out that I am immortal, and while this body may perish, my soul shall return soon enough. Regrettably, without my constant and close supervision of all of this manor’s affairs, all sorts of secrets might slip out to your enemies. Mammon learning who stole his angel . . . and that it was not actually Lord Nihilus would be a . . . terrible tragedy, would it not?”

Xerxes extends a hand out towards you.

“I could see this being the beginning of a very profitable relationship – for both of us. So what do you say . . . do we have a deal?”

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

At your words and implied threats, Videle pouts but shrugs a moment later.

“Well now you’re just being disappointing – in more ways than one, in fact. *Sigh* But alright – perhaps a little more sugar than spice, will suffice?”

Videle’s skin ripples as it shifts and morphs into a different but eerily similar form. The fiendish seductress now wears her original face again, but retains her angelic body – although now with pure white feathery wings. She stretches luxuriously for a moment, as if you hadn’t already been given more than enough chances to see what she has on display, and smirks knowingly.

“Ah, now that’s much better isn’t it. Although I suppose if I’m going to look the part, I might as well act like it as well.”

Strutting around to behind her desk again, Videle reforms the chain sword back into its blade form and sets it down on the desk. Then she pulls a scarlet-colored silk cloak off the back of her chair and wraps it around herself. Like its owner, the cloak ripples and shifts as it settles over Videle’s shoulders, changing into a silk dress that covers just enough bare flesh to be a mockery of modesty.

“There – just the right amount of distraction now. I suppose if we’re going to have a “pleasant” conversation I should also repress my aura. It’s meant to help lower inhibitions, but I understand for those suffering from your . . . delusion it instead is rather irritating. My children generally aren’t capable of such a feat – they’re barely even aware that they can control it. But I am the Lady of Lust, so . . .”

You feel the psychic rattling in your teeth fade as Videle suppresses her aura entirely, allowing you to think clearly without the danger of amorous nor furious obsession. Videle hops up onto her desk and crosses her legs with a smile.

“Now then, let’s return to business. Apparently, you can’t open portals to the mortal realm at will. That makes you less useful to me, although no less entertaining. After all, your perversion of choice is quite possibly the perversion to end all perversions. In love with a servant of the gods – and not just any, but a fallen servant! OooooOOOOH! This is gonna be good!”

Videle raps her fingers against her chin thoughtfully.

“So, let’s start with a few questions. You’re clearly in love with her, but is the feeling mutual? Is she even aware of your exclusive infatuation with her? And even if the answer to both of those is yes, how do you know that she’s not merely using you for her own ends? She’s a creature of the Hells, sworn to corrupt and destroy – do you honestly think she’s even capable of returning whatever you feel for her? For that matter, how do you know it’s really your heart, and not somewhere . . . lower . . . that is attracted to her? Hmmm . . .”

Videle rocks her head back and forth, pantomiming the act of thinking deeply, before she snaps her attention back to you and begins counting off points on her fingers.

“Well, you’re down here for some reason, and sadly falling madly “in love” with a pretty face is not enough to do it. So you must have done something naughty . . . what was it? Did you do something for her . . . something you shouldn’t have, hmm? It’s a little late now, but I should point out to you that this love thing you’re experiencing is not a good idea. Mortals and immortals don’t mix for a reason, you know – for starters, what do the two of you have even vaguely in common? Trust me, if you continue down this road, it’s going to end very badly for you. I should know.”

Videle snorts and rolls her eyes.

“I met this guy once, and he was even more of a freak than you. He was obsessed with an archangel – can you imagine it!? One of the Valkyrie’s personal handmaidens, and this guy wanted to be with her in the worst possible way. She was the only thing he would talk about, think about! He was a bit less prudish than you, which made for some . . . memorable sessions, but in the end all he wanted was the real thing. During my extended . . . vacation from the Hells, I lost track of him, but for all I know he’s still here somewhere, doing gods know what to some rock while crying “Marisiel, Marisiel!” Tch, pathetic. Is that really how you want to end up? Because that’s the only place “love” is going to take you – and that’s if you’re lucky.”

[u]The Mortal Realm

Yet Another Worthless Speck of a Town

Gorgondantess

“Yes, of course. Unless these Dusk Wardens have prepared some sort of magical retreat, or simply fell off the face of the world altogether, we shall find them!”

Your high priest had always been a bit grandiose in his promises, but in general he had served you quite well. If there was any way that humans would be able to find the Dusk Wardens, he would succeed. (Incidentally, he will, but we’ll cover your trip to the paladins first.)

Finished giving him your instructions and various baubbles to bribe the masses with, you set out to arrange a meeting with the paladins. Even if they couldn’t help you with finding Maurice, if she was down in the Hells you would need every piece of information you could get. Also, you could only assume that rescuing an angel from the clutches of fiends would be something that the paladins would actually like to do.

As usual, you figured you would handle things directly, and so made your way to their capital, a city they called Luxien. Of course, as usual the humans had a dozen different names for it as well, including the moniker “The Cathedral City”. The only question now was whether you would attempt to be circumspect, or would simply fly down into the middle of the city, kick open the doors to the biggest building you could find (important humans seemed to love living in bigger buildings than their fellows), and start demanding to see their leader – some man they called “Speaker”. Presumably, he was supposed to be the speaker for the gods, although knowing humans he could very well be speaking for the trees instead.

(So, how are you handling your own insertion mission into the city of Luxien?)

The Village of Woodhall
Kasanip

Your blows had certainly angered the elemental, who relentlessly pursued you, slamming its fists into the ground when it got close. Thankfully, it didn’t get close very often after the start of the chase, as it was hobbled by the presence of your sword embedded in your knee. Perhaps it simply wasn’t smart enough to remove the sword, or simply too angry to think of anything other than catching and smashing you. You could only imagine that the stones tumbling back and forth around it was not doing anything good to the sword’s blade, but so long as it remained intact you had the advantage of speed.

Unfortunately, while you were able to keep ahead of the elemental, neither were you able to escape from it entirely. Perhaps it could sense you somehow, or feel your footsteps through the ground, but it never seemed to lose track of you even when you ducked out of sight around a building. This was both a good and bad thing, as at least for as long as it was chasing you, neither was it guarding the doorway to the chapel. But if you wish to survive beyond serving as a distraction, you would need to send this elemental back home before it sent you from this mortal coil.

Fortunately, you had a plan. As you ran through the blacksmith’s, which was open on three sides, you snatched up the heavy hammer used to pound the iron while it was still hot. Now armed again, you race to the small village’s town hall, which was one of the few two-story structures in the town. As you fumbled with front door, the elemental caught up, and nearly smashed you as it crashed into the front of the building. You ducked inside just in time, and while the elemental raged against the wooden door frame, you dashed up to the second floor. As planned, there was a window right above the front doorway, and you break it out carefully with the hammer before stepping out onto the ledge outside.

With a loud battlecry, you then leap down onto the elemental, sending the heavy blacksmithing hammer crashing down into its chest. Such a mighty blow caused the elemental to reel back as some of the largest rocks in its chest cracked and split . . . but it did not destroy it. Which left you hanging down there in mid-air, held aloft by your stubborn grip on the handle of the hammer. With surprising calm, the elemental reached up to grab you, and from there undoubtedly squeeze you into a bloody jam.

In desperation you examine the elemental, and notice that your blow has partially revealed the summoning tag, the small item that served as the continual focus for the magic – and ensured that the elemental’s presence in the mortal realm would remain permanent. If you could destroy it, perhaps you would still be saved!

With very little time left, you desperately swung your gauntleted fist up at the remaining dirt and stone protecting the tag. There was a loud crack from your first blow, but from the sensation of pain now coming from within your gauntlet it seemed you broke before the stone. But you punched again, and then yet again, and that time your fist finally broke through the remaining stone and into the summoning tag, smashing the wooden token and setting it on fire with sparks from your metal gauntlet grating against the stones. Instantly the elemental collapsed, and you fell, your fall broken by a semi-soft mass of dirt.

Looking down, your gauntlet appears to be intact, but you can tell that at least two of your fingers have been broken from those desperate punches. It seemed that, as always, your body could not live up to your mind’s intentions. But you had done it, and now unless the elves had another one of those things the people inside of the chapel would be safe.

Jutting up from the earth mound a foot from you was the hilt of your sword. Grasping the weapon with your off-hand, you are able to pull the weapon out smoothly. The blade is pitted and scarred from repeated impacts from small stones and grating against larger ones, but still intact. Perhaps you would be able to have the blacksmith, if he still lived, use his hammer to smooth out some of the imperfections.

Unfortunately, the soft sound of footfalls bring your attention back to your surroundings, and you now realize that you likely weren’t going to survive after all. A group of elves surround you from all directions, watching you silently, a few of them covering you with nocked arrows. You aren’t sure why they haven’t just killed you already, and given their previous assaults on the guardsmen you can’t imagine that they would want to take you prisoner. The answer is forthcoming, however, as an elf steps forward from the group, motioning his comrades to lower their bows. You recognize him as the elf whose shot against Welkin you had blocked.

The elf looks at you, at the mound of earth and broken stone beneath you, and sneers angrily as he draws his curved sword. The other elves take three steps backward, but maintain their circle around you, several of them drawing their own blades but holding position. With the tip of his curved blade, your rival gestures at you, and then at himself. It seemed it was to be a duel, then, the challenge issued without words.

Unfortunately, two of the fingers in your sword hand were broken, so you would have to use your off-hand to wield the equally injured sword. And while you still had some adrenaline from the flight and destruction of the elemental, that was starting to fade, leaving you with only exhaustion. But you would give a good accounting of yourself before the end, if that was how it was to end. You sadly had a fair bit of experience with that.

Several feet away, your elven opponent stands there in an easy stance, waiting for you to make the first move. And then you hear the loud sound of horse hooves striking against the dirt, growing louder as they approach. Commander Welkin and his paladins were coming to help!

The elf curses in his native tongue as his comrades scatter, taking up defensive positions in an attempt to ambush the paladins when they got near. Meanwhile, all caution abandoned your opponent lunges toward you, his curved blade seeking your neck!

Vegna

With a defeated sigh, the she elf pushes herself up, cradling her ribs with one hand.

“I thought *you* were raiders, coming to pick over the remains of the village, okay? Ow, I think you may have bruised a rib there – to say nothing of my head! I knew throwing rocks around was going to be a bad idea!”

“Hey lady, we’re not raiders! Just look at us – do we look like raiders to you!?”

Val’Tosh growls, pounding his fist on the ground. The elf just looks at your ogre friend with a raised eyebrow as she pushes herself up into a sitting position.

“You’re an ogre, so uh – yes? I’ll admit I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind either, though. Master Vork told me to run, so I did, but I could have helped defend Silverstream! Maybe I could have saved someone at least! Instead of cowering out here in the forest while the village burned.”

Now it was Val’Tosh’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Master Vork is here? How the Hells did he beat us here Mal!?”

Ignoring your ogre friend, the elf focuses her attention back on you.

“Wait, you said “fellow Terra Style” . . . does that mean you also were taught by Master Vork? How long ago was this – I’ve been studying under Master Vork for twenty years now!”

“TWENTY!? What the – Mal! MAL! Why does everything have to keep getting weirder and weirder!?”

“Ooooh . . . we don’t have time for figuring this out right now. We have to find Master Vork and the other villagers, and rescue them if necessary! My people won’t be gentle.”

The elf groaned as she pushed herself up onto her feet, still holding her side and rubbing her bruised head.

Vol’Tosh looks uncertainly at the sun, now only visible as a sliver on the horizon.

“It’s going to be pitch black out soon. How are we supposed to follow them?”

“Does it look like I have all the answers here!? I do know “my” people aren’t going to stop just because it’s dark – besides, it’s not *that* dark. You just have to be a look a little more closely for roots jutting out, that’s all.”

“Elves can see in the dark, can’t they?”

Val’Tosh grumbles, and the elf shrugs.

“Not quite, but I would guess my natural senses are much sharper than yours. I . . . guess I could also conjure some elementals, send them out searching. They can just go underneath all the trees until they sense a large group moving above them. That would at least tell us where they are?”

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

(Sounds good.)

Like you, Hephestia also awakens to the church bells. Her hair is still a mess, but as she sits up and stretches you can see that her eyes are no longer quite so bloodshot. She wraps her blanket around herself and then moves to stand by the window.

“I thought I would attend one of Kranmer’s ceremonies – he should be made aware of any factual errors and inconsistencies he makes as a result of ignorance. After that – I do not know. I suppose my first action should be to get dressed?”

As you start your morning routine, Hephestia moves towards the door to retire to her own quarters. Just as she gets to the door, however, there is a knock from the other side. A moment later, you hear the voice of Winril Milner coming from the other side.

“Ander? Are you awake yet? I made some important discoveries last night! I thought you would want to hear about them before the council meeting.”

Hephestia looks at you in absolute panic, her eyes roaming around for a place to hide as the door knob begins to turn. You kept the door to your new bedroom locked, but likewise had made sure certain individuals had a key available to them. In hindsight, that may have not been the wisest course of action, as there aren’t very many good places to hide in the expansive bed and bath quarters you now owned as Speaker.

Tossing the blanket aside, Hephestia dives headlong into the bath, disappearing beneath the surface just in time as the door swings open to reveal the Church’s newest and oldest Exarch. Winril steps into the bedroom, shooting a questioning glance at Hephestia’s abandoned blanket before he locks eyes with you.

“Well Ander, as I said I made some important discoveries last night. Morganna actually kept quite detailed records on Project Angelus. Unfortunately I haven’t figured out how to reverse the brands, but we may not have to. The brands are only attached to the body – the soul is unmarred. Now, as you know Morganna also had soul crystals inserted into the angels, which will imprison their souls the instant they die. Apparently these crystals are inert until that moment, however – and they’ve all been implanted in the same place – here, between the third and fourth rib, right next to the heart.”

Winril explained, indicating the exact spot on himself.

“We’ll need to find a skilled healer to remove the crystals without killing the angels in the process, but once we remove the crystal we can just kill the angels to send them home. They will reform in new, undefiled bodies back in the Heavens . . . unfortunately, I don’t know how we can repair their minds, and so those would still be deeply scarred. I think –“

“*GASP*!”

Hephestia wheezed as she suddenly burst up out of the pool, flopping herself down onto the edge, choking and coughing violently.

“Forgot . . . breathing!”

She managed to rasp out in between wracking coughs. Winril shoots glance at Hephestia, and then looks back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Well . . . I was not aware you had a guest already, Ander. I suppose I should see myself out, then. I will return to continue this conversation later!”

“No . . . need!”

Hephestia gasped, dragging herself out of the pool and lunging for her blanket. Snatching the cloth up, Hephestia quickly wrapped it around herself, restoring her modesty as the soaked-through chemise did practically nothing. Her skin flushed to a shade that almost matched the red blanket, Hephestia dashed out of the room without another word. Winril watches her go, and then looks back at you and shakes his head.

“I’m going to forget that I saw that just now. Just keep in mind that as Speaker you are supposed to be the model that the rest of the Church bases itself upon. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so we can safely send all of the angels home once we find a way to safely remove the implanted crystals. I’m not sure if you had one implanted in you, but we should conduct a full physical examination at some point. Or is it your intention to stay on, in which case I believe the simplest solution would be to simply re-brand you. That would mean having to recreate one of those abominable branding stations, but anything branded on over the runes should nullify them permanently. That’s about the extent of my findings thus far.”

Winril turns and walks out, pausing at the doorway to look back.

“I will see you at the council meeting later today. And for what it’s worth –“

Winril gives his best mischievous smile.

“If I were a younger man, I might consider it as well.”

Alone again, you finish getting ready for the day and then set out. Unfortunately the duties of the Speaker are many, and you had a lot to do before the Council meeting. So much, in fact, that you stopped by Hephestia’s quarters with a hand-written note for the Head Chronicler. She sheepishly accepts the note and nods.

“I will speak with this archivist. For what it is worth, you have my apologies – I did not intend for my presence to suggest anything untoward.”

After that brief visit, you still had several hours before the Council meeting . . . and still an endless list of things to do. Unfortunately, much of the Speaker’s time was spent on meetings, meetings, meetings – you are starting to understand why Morganna acted as much from the shadows as she did. Still, your spirits are buoyed by a plan that is starting to form in the back of your mind. It was going to require quite a bit of preparation, which meant still more meetings, meetings, meetings, but if you could pull it off it would all be worth it!

Finally, the time of the Council meeting arrived and you entered the Council Chambers to find, as expected, all of the Exarches already waiting for you, along with Melissan and Ysora in their guest seats. (I know Tyra and Winril are Exarches – not sure who else Ander went and invited into the group. You’re welcome to place already existing characters in those seats, or invent new ones – or, save yourself some work and just have them remain silent shadows. Generally speaking, there are seven Exarches and the Speaker.)

“This meeting of the Church Council is now in session! Today, we will be hearing from Randal Luxford, head of the Inquisitors, who is here to report progress on curbing the latest outbreak of heresy. We will also be discussing the ongoing efforts to blunt the effects of the elven invasion, and provide succor for the refugees fleeing form the devastation. Exarch Milner will also be sharing the results of his efforts to reverse the angel brands. Finally, we will be discussing the possibility of instituting new training regimes for the various Orders that should accelerate training and provide us with new paladins ready to serve.”

Tyra announced, fulfilling her de-facto role as your major domo quite effectively. Before the meeting got bogged down in the usual arguing and quibbling over minor details on efforts that while important were not usually anything the Council could do anything about directly, it might be wise to share your plan with the others. Assuming, of course, that it was shaped well enough now for you to put it forward in a cognizant manner.

[Inspectre]

Phaedra

The_Snark

“Should have, could have, would have – these statements are meaningless now! You cannot erase what you have done with regrets! The future is waiting, and now you shall repay your sins with an eternity of pain!”

Titania pulls her finger back, clearly with the intention of stabbing it into your eye, but suddenly stops when Istomilo loudly clears his throat.

“If you merely want to inflict pain on her, I can suggest a method which does not require any effort on your part. Nor will it leave any lasting effects that you would have to heal or wait for her to recover from. Watch. A broken bird tumbles to the forest floor.”

Oh no. No no no. Istomilo knew about Daddy’s conditioning – and he knew how to trigger it. As always, there was nothing you could do. Just suffer, and dread what was going to happen to you next.

“Wingless, it stumbles And shall taste the sky no more.”

As he completes the stanza of the horrid poem, pain floods your senses. Unable to control yourself, you collapse onto the frigid floor and scream. You keep screaming, as you always do, unable to stop yourself, even as the frigid air burns your lungs. Dimly, you are aware of Titania and Istomilo circling around you, Titania watching you with rapt fascination.

“Milo, what did you do? This is . . . wonderful!”

Istomilo was surprisingly not as entertained by your agony as Titania was, and after a moment said,

“That’s enough for now. I am your father and your god.
You will obey me in all things.
Or I shall smite you, and burn
Your heart until all evil is cleansed from it.”

Mercifully, the pain disappeared as suddenly as it began. Titania looked somewhat disappointed.

“Hmm. That was not magic, was it?”

“No, it was not. You see, my love? Sometimes magic is not necessary to accomplish one’s desires.”

“Does it work only when you say the words, or anyone?”

Titania asked, and then smirked as she began to recite the hated poem.

“A broken bird tumbles to the forest –“

"Mother?"

At a side door stood a young woman, flicks of fire dancing around her head – it takes you a moment to realize that it is actually her hair (Lonna). You sense that you have met this woman before . . . and after a moment she confirms her identity as Pyria.

"Titania, Mother, I've come at last."

(Continue reading the joint DM below.)

Lonna/The_Snark

Although her full attention had been focused on Mar, her face twisted up in vengeful anticipation, at Pyrene’s words a remarkable change comes over Titania. She relaxes and turns towards her daughter, her face now displaying a genuine smile.

“Pyria? Oh my daughter, you don’t know how happy I am to see you unharmed.”

The fey queen moves over to embrace her daughter, causing light puffs of steam to emerge from where Pyrene’s hair touches Titania. Neither appears to be harmed by this, and after a moment Titania breaks the embrace to reach up and brush a lock of flaming hair away from Pyrene’s face. Istomilo looks at the two of them in wonder, moving away from Mar to join Titania beside their daughter.

“You actually found her!? Oh daughter, I thought . . . I thought perhaps you had.”

Istomilo’s attention drops to the brand on her arm, and his face darkens as he takes note of the scarred numbers there.

“You were in IRONHEART!? I-I didn’t know! How did you escape!?”

“Does it matter, Milo? Our daughter has returned to us!”

Titania says, and then her attention snaps back onto Mar. Wrapping an arm around Pyrene, the fey queen steers her over to stand over Mar’s prone form. At least Pyrene’s presence takes away most of the chill threatening to leave the former archangel insensate.

“I have the perfect welcome present for you, my daughter. And all the birthdays and events that I’ve missed! This winged freak of a girl is Marisiel – you remember her, don’t you? The bitch who tried to split our family apart, destroy our kingdom, and kill us all! And now that we’re reunited again, I think it’s only appropriate that you be the one to decide what we should do with her.”

The Resonant Memory

WhiteKnight777

Although you could not see the man’s face, the double take he did upon your mention of the time difference was visible nonetheless.

“Several thousand years!? Great, so that would place you from around . . . the Battle of Narle. [SIZE=”1”]Gods, why does it all have to revolve around that one point? Ugh, Fate has a thousand different ways of biting me in the ass.”[/SIZE]

Nihilus shakes his head and throws up his hands with a bitter laugh.

“Okay, so tell me – are you still imprisoned in Ironheart? No, okay how about Fianna – have you reunited with her yet? Okay, and how is the Baron of Gast doing – dead? Yeah, like that’s going to last. Alright, so you probably already got the sense then that the Baron of Gast is your evil – well, eviler – twin? Yeah, that’s Fate’s doing.”

Nihilus returned to his drawing on the floor, beginning to curve all of the branching lines back around, merging them down until they all come to a single point.

“See, while sure there are points where the course of history can be diverted, if you have foreknowledge and the proper barricade, there’s only one “right” path. That’s how things are supposed to go, and there’s a force that tries to bring everything back into line with that – the oft-cursed Fate. And there’s only one thing that Fate ultimately wants – to burn this world to a cinder.”

Nihilus gestures at the final point that all lines meet back up at.

“That’s the end point. All hope gone, no world left. And while I’m not going to be helping to keep your ego in check here, I will tell you that this end for the entire world is what you will accomplish. Or would accomplish, if I hadn’t already subtly meddled with how things “should” go – I was the one that arranged for the meeting between Fianna and the Hierarch. Without that vital component the Hierarch gave her, your elixir would fail, and while pissed at all the wasted effort, you and your erstwhile comrades would eventually get over it and move on to other things. I’ll spare you the gory details of what “should” happen after that, unless you really want to know, but I will give you the end result – you free Azguloth, and together the two of you destroy the world. You’re welcome for my interference.”

Nihilus sighs and gestures down at the swarm of lines flowing back to a single point.

“Because of that seemingly simple change, the entire world is spared from destruction for several thousand more years. Unfortunately, Fate doesn’t seem to ever give up, and there’s a multitude of ways it can try to push back – someone else does it, a conflagration of events leads to the same forking decision years later - it’s all really quite tiresome how many different variations of results can come from a single choice at the wrong moment. [SIZE=”1”]Hmph, although sending an assassin back through time to undo everything is a new one.[/SIZE]”

Nihilus wipes his hand across the forked lines, leaving just a blackened smear on the floor.

“Well, I don’t know what’s ultimately going to happen to you. But unless you’d like to experience your younger self ending the world in a few years, we’re going to need to stop Mellita or Marialta or whatever the Hells she wants to call herself! I imagine she’s going to want to reset things as closely to how they “should” be as possible. That rules out anything overly dramatic like stabbing you to death in mid-coitus with Fianna. Any ideas on how she could ruin our big day in subtle ways to make sure that you stay mortal?”

The Hells – The Cleaver’s Domain

Tae

“Beer!? Er, yes! Of course!”

The human said, gesturing at one of his cowled companions before turning back to face presumably your reflection on his end.

“We will summon you right away, Master Bramle. And the others of your group?”

Catbox moved to stand beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders, which was just a pretense to get her arm up around your neck.

“Catbox. That’s C-A-T-B-O-X, in case you dummies can’t spell. Wherever Bramble goes, I go. She’s not going to get to have all the fun!”

“Mouse.”

Mouse says after a moment of hesitation before shuffling up to stand beside you at the edge of the pool. Malarky comes up behind you, poking his head up over your shoulder and growling into your ear.

“Malarky. And since you’re taking requests, I want something good to eat when I get there. BRING ME A CAT!!!”

The human’s nose wrinkles in obvious disgust, but he nods in obedience nonetheless.

“It will take a bit of time to summon all of you, please be patient masters. We will get started right away.”

The pool ripples, distorting the image of the cloaked figures for a moment, and then dissolving them entirely as the magic fades. The four of you stand there for several minutes, looking impatiently at each other, and Malarky starting to look like he was going to need something to pound on. Then, you are suddenly standing somewhere else, although it still sounds like home with screams coming from just behind you.

Looking around, you are in a dimly lit room now, standing in the middle of a burnt circle of lines and squiggles that you can’t make any sense of. Several of the dark-robed cultists are here waiting for you, bowing deeply to you upon your arrival. Behind you, a young human male screams again, although this one cuts off into a gurgling sigh as he slumps down onto the altar which he is bound to. The blood pouring from the ritual wounds cut into his body slows, and you can only assume that the human is now dead. Two of the cultists come forward to deal with the body, slitting its throat to make sure before cutting it loose and dumping it off to one side. Then they go over to a group of filthy-looking humans sitting huddled in one corner of the room, grabbing this time an old woman and dragging her over to the altar.

“We will summon your associates as quickly as we are able. In the meantime, please come with me. I sent one of the younger initiates to retrieve your beverage. Of course, if you would prefer to watch the summoning of your comrades personally, you may stay here as well.”

Although she struggles, the old woman is no match for the two men, and they swiftly have her bound down onto the altar and begin cutting squiggles into her flesh with their knives. Several of the other cultists step forward and begin a low, ominous chant as they dip their fingers into their wounds, beginning to retrace the burnt circle on the floor with the woman’s blood. So far, no trap, although if your experiences in the Hells taught you anything, it was how quickly everything could go boom.

The lead cultist hands you a dark robe similar to the ones that they are wearing.

“We believe that we have located a potential source for most of the components you will require. Unfortunately, it is some distance from here and we must be careful to conceal our presence from the local law enforcement. I hope you understand the need for subtlety.”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami/daelrog

“Unfriendly!? You think, eh!?”

The old man grumbled, and then gestured to himself, then the scarred barkeep, and finally the girl.

“I’m Greg, this is Mags, and that’s Willow. Blasted elves burned down the tavern and took everyone else in separate groups. Probably all dead now.”

“Mmmm.”

Mags grunted, pausing in his search of the now-dead elf to deliver another hard kick. The barkeep takes the bow and sword for himself, but offers the elf’s slim dagger to Willow. The bar maid accepts it uncertainly, turning it over in her hands before tucking it into her simple belt. Greg finally finishes buckling his trousers back up, and nods at Alons.

“I think that fella’s named Alons, or something weird like that. He’s more competent than he looks.”

The old man adds with a smirk, accepting his previously hidden dagger back from Mags, who hands it off with a grimace of disgust.

“So where we headed?”

The old man grumbles, and the answer is forthcoming as the two groups merge together into one. Perhaps it is merely good fortune, or the elves have learned to bide their time, but the combined group is not accosted on its journey through the forest. Soon enough, you all come to a burned out cabin, although that is not Jarod’s destination. He goes over to a nearby section of the clearing, staring at the ground thoughtfully for a moment before he tabs his staff against the ground. A hollow thumping answers, and Jarod reaches down to brush aside the thin covering of leaves and dirt before pulling open a concealed door. The cellar beyond is well stocked, with barrels of salted meats and tubers that are not bothered by being stored underground. The assembled survivors of the tavern massacre begin salivating at the sight.

“Don’t suppose we could stop for lunch right now, could we? Damn elves have been feeding us nothing but bugs!”

“Mmmm.”

Mags grunts in agreement, while Willow wrinkles her nose in disgust at the memory of the fat grubs. Jarod looks down at the assembled goods and then shrugs.

“I imagine there is more down there than we will be able to easily carry. And given that it’s probably better to travel light, I suppose we could lighten our load a bit.”

The druid looks up at the sun, now halfway through its course across the sky.

“But we have a long way to go, and if we don’t reach our destination by sunset I fear that the elves will make it a very long night.”

(You’re both free to have a lunchtime chat, although I could just as easily picture both Alons and Rosenburg being the strong silent type. Either way we’ll move onward with the next DM.)

The Besieged City of Amaranth

GuyFawkes

At your words of praise, the elf’s face flushed and she looked away.

“It was nothing. The truth simply is, is it not?”

She mutters, still not looking at you, although she tilts her head in interest as you continue.

“A greater war you say? What could possibly be of greater import than this!? Or are you in fact one of those human holy men, preaching of hellfire and salvation?”

The she elf’s tone for this last question suggested that she was skeptical of such things at best, although perhaps more out of ignorance than scorn. It seemed in addition to all their other differences, these elves had turned away from the true nature of the world as well.

“I will . . . think on what you have said.”

The elf says as you move to depart, giving her a few minutes to think alone on the topic of her future. When you return, she is still there, in much the same place as you left her. She is staring down at her broken hands in morbid fascination when you enter, although she looks up to favor you with a weak smile.

“I have nowhere else to go, really. And I still owe you something for saving my life. Do you have a name? I just realized that you have told me a little about yourself and what you are doing, but not your name. I am called Aurewlynn. Or Aure, as I went by amongst the militia . . . I guess that’s not really a human sounding name either though, is it?”

Aurewlynn shrugs.

“So, tell me about this war of yours.”

[Archpaladin Zousha]

The Lost and Forgotten

"Forgive me but...I don't know if I have a name. All I remember was waking up in the presence of someone called The Black General, and he called me things like "Mortal" and "Filth." I don't think either of those is my name, but I can't remember if I called myself anything before."

[GuyFawkes]

Lucifuge

"Aurewlynn. A beautiful name," he smiled at her while placing all the things he brought on the counter beside her. He sorted them out in a hurried fashion and picked up two bottles he was looking for.

"Here," he handed them to the elf. "One should be potent enough to mend your broken hands, but just in case, I brought two."

The dragon returned his attention to arranging the stuff he brought with his left hand with his other hand still extended, waiting for the elf to receive the bottles. After a few seconds, he stopped what he was doing as he realized his error. He looked at the elf who was just staring back at him, and she seemed to motion towards her hands.

"Ah, yes. Apologies." Lucifuge put down the other bottle and proceeded to open the other one. His large fingers and protruding claws struggled to remove the glass stopper - to the observing elf who saw nothing but human hands, he just seemed extraordinarily clumsy - and after a few frustrating seconds, he managed to open the bottle. He then put the bottle's opening near her mouth and waited for her to put her lips on it before lifting it up slowly until the bottle was emptied all of its clear liquid content to the last drop.

"How are your hands feeling? Can you move them now?" He placed down the empty bottle and moved his hand over the other stuff on the table.

"I have brought some food. Go ahead, I imagine you have not eaten for a while. I also brought some change of clothing...They may not be to your size, and not tailored for the feminine tastes, but they are clean."

Lucifuge took his seat on the spot he sat earlier. "Name. I have not used my name for a while. Not that I needed to. Noctis. That is what they call me now, and you may call me so."

He shifted his position to make himself more comfortable, then continued.

"As for my war, it is far bigger than this...crusade...as those paladins would call it. The fiends, even the fiend lords, are merely the pawns of that which we fought to keep out of this world. You may not believe in gods, but they do exist. The Valkyrie and Athelion. They are the gods who watch over this world, protecting it from those who seek to destroy it."

"And as there are the gods who seek to protect this world, there is one who wishes to end it. It is against this evil being that we fought our war. It is not a war directly against him so much as to keep him out of this world, and stop those who wish to make it happen. Suffice to say, if this being is brought into this world, everything will cease to exist. No humans and elves to wage war against each other. No land or wealth to fight over for."

"I once belonged to an order devoted to keeping this being out of this world, but I am afraid I am all that is left of it. You might ask why I continue to fight this war even though I am alone...I do not know the answer myself. Perhaps it is just the lingering sense of duty left in me. Perhaps it is my way of honoring those brave souls who fought with me. It does not matter. That I am fighting still is what does."

Lucifuge stopped and stood up. "But I do know that I could not continue this alone. That is why I have given you this offer. I see in you someone who will fight for the right reasons."

"So, what is your answer?"

[daelrog]

Alons sat with the other druid. "I missed your name before, friend. The bloodlust was still in my head when you arrived." he smiled, amiably. "I am Alons Sift, I come from across the ocean. You are a druid to, no?"

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber gave Nihilus a wide, wry grin. He flexed his hands - noting that his fingers were rather longer than he was used to - or perhaps it was simply the dessication of the flesh. Gods, this body was irritating. It was like wearing a suit tailored by a blind idiot. Admittedly, he hadn't worn anything made out of human flesh for a long, long time.

He had to smile at Nihilus' reaction, nodding. "Mhmm. I participated in the battle - my death came shortly after its principal events occurred, but before most of the bodies had cooled. I destroyed most of the other Lords of Blood myself - most of them proved to have less fidelity than I might have hoped." He smiled rather bitterly. "Perhaps I'm just not a big enough bastard anymore. And yes, Fate is a rancid bitch. I'll admit the Baron is competent enough at strategy and tactics - but he lacks vision. At the end of the day, he's a petty, self-obsessed little narcissist with a vastly exaggerated opinion of his own self-worth. And at least I have standards." Umber sniffed. "[COLOR="DarkRed]From what I understand, he's a rapist - among other things. I don't really have scruples, but that's one sin I've always found repugnant. And gauche besides. I would have rallied my forces against him for that alone, although he tried to entangle me in an alliance.[/COLOR]"

Umber leaned in to study Nihilus drawings, bobbing his head as he studied the diagram and considered the man's metaphor. He felt his stomach go a little cold at the confirmation of Fate's ultimate plan - something he'd always suspected, but had never really had confirmed by an authoritative source - and Nihilus seemed like the sort of fellow who was as close as Umber was going to get. "Well, you call yourself history's author - but I have to ask what your ultimate purpose is? If Fate wants to burn the world to ash, I have to know - what do you want, besides continuation?"

Umber paused, continuing to study Nihilus as he spoke again. "Obviously you're manipulating me - hell, you're manipulating everyone, pretty much literally. Well enough - I can deal with that. However, I'd like to know what the point is - for myself, it's always been enough to try and cheat both Fate and Death - although the latter seems to have won a temporary victory. But then, I consider death the kinder of my opponents." Umber waved a hand, dismissing the tangent for now. "Make no mistake - I intend to help you. All the gods know I need some assistance myself. But it seems to me that, if we're ever going to succeed at more than stopgap measures, there must be an end goal - a way to break the hold of Fate forever, or at least in a more permanent fashion. We need an endgame. You know, this would have been *so* much simpler if you would will have come to me in Ironheart, or after, when I regained my sorcerous strength - Maybe you should write that down for your future self. Hell, I could give you one of the codewords I have so I'd know we would have had met - I have a few, in case of doppelgangers and the like. Fate's not the only bitch who can bugger causality up one side and down the other."

That said, Umber considered the immediate problem. "The most obvious way for her to influence the ceremony subtly is to quietly tamper with the formula - if she finds a way to corrupt it without us knowing, it would set us back by years - hell, if it were done right, some of us might despair of the whole project."

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

While he had originally planned to simply jump through the first portal he found, en route Korram had abandoned the idea; he had no idea where in the Hells he would show up, but more importantly he would be appearing in an area expecting new, and likely recalcitrant, prisoners. Besides, this was a momentous event; changes would likely be coming in the aftermath, and with that could come opportunities.

Korram prepares to engage the first group of "demons" he runs across, but is preempted by the far more efficient and powerful angel. Korram simply stands back and allows the divine being to do her work. At the end, however, Korram is shocked to see the angel enter a near catatonic state at the sight of the invaders being pulled away.

Looking at the angel, Korram quickly deems his previous method of re-encouragement useless; he could play the wise man to adults his own age or younger, but to do so to an angel with who knows how many centuries of life behind her would be worse than comical. Instead, he tries a more direct approach, walking up beside her and then slamming his fist into her face, knocking her from her feet.

"Stand up! There are more people that need your help, and you shouldn't be standing here traumatized! Your home is being invaded. Are you just going sit here and let it happen?"

[TechnOkami]

Rosenberg

As the small party made their way to the food cache, Rosenberg talked with Jarod.

"So... how are we going to transport this food cache? It's fine if we only bring what we can carry, but we should try to bring as much of it as we can along."

Rosenberg turned to look around at the forest scenery, and then back to Jarod.

"I don't suppose we could call upon the animals here to help us, could we?"

Later, after finding the cache of food and pulling out a slice of salted pork and several fruits, he seated himself for a quick lunch. And then he was being talked to by this "Alons Sift" fellow.

After chewing on a piece of meat for a while and a crunch of apple to kill the salt flavor, Rosenberg reponded.

"Yes, I am a Druid. You can call me Rosenberg."

After wiping his hand off, freeing it of whatever salt crystals or apple juices remained, he offered it to Alons.

[Kasanip]

Lukina

Lukina lay on the dirt for a moment, letting the relief and exhilarating emotions fly. But her right hand ached in a bad way. She grimaced and clutched the sword hand to her chest, trying to will the pain to go away. It felt a little foolish now, to think about what she had done. But it was worth it. The elemental had been destroyed, and the chapel was safe.

She felt a little guilty about her sword too, and apologized to it.
"We both became injured, didn't we? Sorry, I'll try to be less reckless in the future."

But she turned to see the group of elves surround her, and felt the relief disappear. The famliar elf come into the circle and suggests the duel. Like there was a way to refuse such a thing now. Not that Lukina, who was Genevieve, would let such a thing happen. There was a lingering stubborn and proud feeling that wouldn't allow such an action.

It wasn't that this kind of situation was hopeless. Such a thought was also dangerous. Somehow, standing here with the elf charging, Lukina's eyes blurred for a half a second.
It wasn't an elf, it was something different. Shadowy, fiery, something like that. There had been a similar emotion, resignation and determination with sacrifice. To die together, maybe it was a heroic way.
But it was sad.
And somehow, Lukina who was Lukina, and not the Lukina who was Genevieve, was both sad and revolted, but also determined and resigned. Exhaustion and adrenaline and pain and refusal. This time it wouldn't be the same. She didn't want to die. Not yet. Not before she accomplished those promised things.


She held the injured sword in her off-hand, and held up her sword-arm wearily, to defend the attacks of the elf's sword with her armor, and spun around with a pivot. It wasn't graceful like a dancer, but in soft dirt that was a golem, her boot moved quickly enough. Enough to surprise the elf, who received a cut and injury to his face. But he had avoided. Lukina defended again and again, and evaded the attacks of the elf, until her sword arm was bruised and her off-hand ached.

"I-won't-give-up." She said resolutely, breathing hard. "Even if just a temporary moment, Oh Lady Miriam, give me wings!" And for a miracle and for the moment, a spark of blue flame seemed to twinkle about her, like a cool fire. And in that moment of relief and determination, Lukina attacked forward at a surprising speed with another war cry filled with pain and defiance that must have been echoed in her heart for thousands of years.

When she blinked, the flames hand disappeared, and the faithful and injured sword was trapped in the elf's body, which was collapsed above her. Lukina fell to her knees, too exhausted to be relieved, or worried.

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

Mal nods at the she elf, before turning towards the mountain on the village's far side.

Send them, but we'd better get moving after the group as soon as possible. They've got tracks, so that can at least give us a rough idea of where to follow."

His stomach growled in protest at the prospect of further walking. He patted it with an awkward smile.

"Lets just get going."

[daelrog]

Alons took the food readily, speaking as he chewed. "This is an unusual land. The people here seem fractured, even as these Elves pick them apart." He swallowed. "Why is this so?"

[TechnOkami]

Rosenberg

Rosenberg looked directly at the man, taking another bite out of his apple.

"...from the sounds of it, I can gather that you're a stranger to these lands."

He then took another piece of salted meat, tearing it off with his teeth.

"To be entirely honest, I don't know why. I live in the forest, and the forest is my home. However... civilization seems to bringing their problems to us, like rampaging elves worshiping a fire elemental."

Rosenberg shakes his head.

"Anyways, whatever is happening beyond the forest's edge isn't good."

He lastly wiped away whatever food bits remained around his mouth.

"But somebody has to deal with it."