Return to Ironheart IC

[OverWilliam]

~Tamerlane

Tamerlane stepped through the portal and was momentarily shocked by the sudden blast of sensation-- not just light, but sound, smell, and feel. The grounds about the Screaming Dark Estate were hollow and brooding, nearly as dark as midnight and bland in every possible way. Compared to that, the rocky beach was erupting with life and sound. The crash of the ocean alone was, at least for the first few seconds, overwhelming-- and it was beautiful. He could taste salt spray. The wind whipped at the blackened cloth that was his only clothing.

Tamerlane adjusted quickly, though, as a matter of survival instinct. The first thing to really earn his attention was the feeling of rough rock against his bare feet. It wasn't quite comfortable, but it was so very, very real. Tamerlane had to smile.

At Nihlus' indication, Tamerlane let the smile break into a fierce grin. A challenge, eh? He sized up the distance and the waves in between. Challenge accepted.

And then the portal opened.

Tamerlane's new eyes, though apparently somewhat sensitive to bright light, must have been sharper than those of his mortal body, because in the mere instants that she was in the air before dropping into the spray, seemingly unhindered by the distance between them, Tamerlane could clearly see the expression of near-mute horror on her face as she plunged into the ocean.

Even as he exploded into motion, Tamerlane shot Nihlus a withering glare. What do you have to gain by pulling this stunt? What do you think you'll prove? A life is a life, and even one I don't know is more valuable than a stupid test. Leaping forward, Tamerlane bounded from rock to rock, pausing once for an especially fierce wave to crash around him before continuing on. As he went, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that his physical strength was at, or even slightly above the peak that it had ever reached in life. Perhaps it was merely that this body had not been abused for years, the way his old one had, but Tamerlane suspected this was not the only explanation.

Once he'd traveled as far as the rocky outcroppings would let him, he hesitated for half a second. Strength be damned, I can't outswim these waves. ...But maybe if I'm fast enough, I won't even have time to sink. Keying the once-familiar speed boost, Tamerlane was pleased to find that the magic came as readily as it ever had. The waves slowed as Tamerlane leapt out over them, to the point that he could anticipate his landing. Tamerlane hit the wave running, allowing himself a moment of fierce satisfaction as his feet padded smoothly across the billowing curtains of water right beneath them.

Running up one side and then down the other of the constantly shifting concave ramps of water was demanding physically, but Tamerlane was certain that he was making better progress than any other means. As he neared the very nearly drowning girl, he slowed to consider how he would extract her from the water. At his current speed, it would be like pulling her up out of a bowl of stiff jelly. But cancelling the rush of speed would only cause him to sink right next to her.

Tamerlane "skidded" to an almost-stop right above her, the barest flickers of surprise beginning to enter her expression as her eyes just barely tracked his position. Hoping it would be enough to solve the problem, Tamerlane relaxed the speed boost only part way, feeling his ankles immediately start sinking into the surf. Reaching down, Tamerlane snaked an arm around her shoulders and tried to get a firm hold around her shoulders. Then it was just a matter of sheer muscle lifting her from the water. Tamerlane surged energy back into the speed boost as soon as he felt like she would follow him, by which point he had already sunk to his knees. It was not a trifling task to climb back out of the syrup that had coalesced around his lower limbs. Yet, with a final burst of effort, he pulled the drenched and exhausted figure close to his chest, supporting her with both arms, and poured on the steam. In a few steps he was able to leap back up onto the surface of the water, and with a rush of hopeful adrenaline, he began sprinting back toward safety, daring to hope that he was nearly home free...!

[Baerdog7]

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Before Melissan could say anything more, Ander knew exactly what had happened. The Aerie, the Council, everything around him disappears as his world is reduced to a single point. Wordlessly, he accepts the pendant from Melissan and stares at it vacantly while the rest of the Council falls into silence around him.

While outwardly stoic and unmoving, inwardly Ander was struggling to contain the myriad of emotions that boiled inside of him. Anger, grief, disbelief…fear. History was repeating itself but this time the enemy could strike the heart of Heaven itself. Slowly, Ander begins to untangle his thoughts and file away his emotions for later. This was neither the time nor the place for selfish displays of emotional irrationality. He was a leader, a Speaker, and he had to act like it. Finally, deliberately, he speaks.

That will be quite enough, Randall. You will release Brother Thomas and any other conspirators you have captured. Winril's concerns are legitimate, although it saddens me that he did not feel like he could discuss them with me. However Winril, I must ask you to cease the distribution of your manifesto. Wouldn't it be more productive to discuss how to implement more theological emphasis on Athelion with Archbishop Kranmer? Perhaps a diet could be convened so clergy from all over the kingdom could join the discussion. It would lend your cause legitimacy and we can avoid inquisitions and schisms! I will leave the two of you to organize it.

Believe me, even for as long as I've faithfully served Miriam I share many of Exarch Milner's concerns. I quarreled with her after I escaped from Ironheart and resumed my mission to cleanse the Church of its corruption. Miriam had wanted me to burn the entire organization to the ground…and I refused. She spoke openly to me about her desire to wipe the world clean and start afresh…and I protested. I swore that I would fight anyone who tried to destroy this world, including her if it came to that.

With this last statement, he looks up and meets the eye of everybody in the room.

We are priests and paladins of the Church of Light. We live by codes of honor and righteousness to serve as examples for other people to look up to. Our faith and our steel make us strong and because of that, it is our responsibility to protect those who cannot protect themselves. That duty is more important to me than blindly following the orders of an angry and vengeful goddess.

If you really want a heretic to burn at the stake, Randall, you will have to start with me.

Ander stares down the High Inquisitor, silently daring him to make a move. When Randall finally averts his gaze, Ander continues.

Good. Now we can return to the matter at hand.

If today's attack made me realize one thing, it's that I cannot battle the Fiend Lords by myself. In Ironheart, there were many of us who fought together against the Hierarch and it is to my deep regret that we parted ways shortly after. Perhaps if we had stayed in contact with each other, we could have more effectively battled the Baron of Gast at Narle…

I won't make the same mistake with Nihlus. Since I cannot take a Crusade into Hell, I've compiled dossiers on remaining known Ironheart veterans who can help with that endeavor.

He picks up the stack of files in front of him and thumps on the table for emphasis as he describes each of his potential recruits.

First, we have Korram Alstan, also known as Korram the Firebrand. A former resistance leader against the Baron of Gast, Korram wielded the elemental power of fire to fight a guerilla campaign against the Baron's tyranny. He was eventually captured and sent to Ironheart and he was last seen on board the Ghastly Truth giving his life to protect Miriam from the Herald of Azguloth. His likely whereabouts, then, is Heaven. He glances at Melissan for confirmation before continuing.

Next is Alexander Ross, a werewolf and member of the Paladins Errant. A skilled warrior, he spent many years in Ironheart as the personal jailer of Umber, a powerful vampire and alleged "Lord of Blood." His whereabouts after Ironheart are sketchy but he was reportedly last seen in the vicinity of Amaranth.

Katashiko, Mistress of Earth, is a young woman with elemental control over earth, rock, and stone. She is one of several sisters, each one with control over a different element. She developed a relationship with Lord General Hondshioh after her escape from Ironheart who shielded her from her other sisters. While bloodthirsty and generally not one to fight for a higher cause, I'm sure she could be persuaded to come to Hell for the promise of a good fight and a chance to find the Lord General. She was last seen headed west from Narle and should be approached with caution.

Finally, we have the dragon Akor. Formerly bound to the soul of Incom Morgan, Akor was freed after Incom's death and had his soul installed in a body of living stone by the Baron of Ghast. He proved to be a wild card during the Battle of Narle, originally fighting for the Baron but switching allegiances halfway through. He has demonstrated a profound desire to protect and extend his own life and the end of existence would certainly mean the end of him. He is an ace I want up my sleeve if not to use in Hell, to use in any battle against Nihlus that takes place in the mortal world. Extreme caution should be used in any encounter with Akor.

I will head to Heaven personally to speak to Korram and take care of some unfinished business. Randall, I want you to have your spies find the locations of Ross, Katashiko, and Akor and make preparations for me to speak with them upon my return. I would also like you to find a wizard or sorcerer, someone skilled in the arcane arts, to round out the team. Sohssal, the demon mage who fought against the Hierarch with us, was reportedly cast into Hell with the Ghastly Truth and therefore out of our reach for the time being. Whoever you find should be familiar with fiends and willing to step out of their tower and get their hands dirty.

He hands the stack of dossiers to Randall and pins a map of the kingdom to the wooden panels covering the Aerie's broken window. The map is marked with the most current known troop movements of both human and elven forces in the South as well as several curious circles placed near major settlements across the kingdom.

My team and I will travel to hell Hell in order to sow chaos in the Fiend Lords' ranks, do whatever we can to disrupt Nihlus' operations, and liberate what survivors we encounter. While it is easy enough for us to take a portal to Hell, getting out of Hell is more challenging. For those present who are too young to remember, during the Crusades our armies utilized a network of Hellgates to move men and materiel to and from Hell. A permanent gateway would be constructed on the mortal side which could generate a stable, permanent portal to a corresponding gateway in Hell or a more temporary portal to any location through the use of a command scepter keyed to each gate. I don't need to explain the great tactical advantage this gave us during our campaigns.

After the Crusades, however, most of the Hellgates were dismantled to protect against any possible invasion from the Hell side. Three gates, however, were mothballed and kept ready to re-commission in case of an emergency. Hellgate Alpha here in Luxien was destroyed with the Reliquary. Hellgate Bravo in the Capital City is presumed destroyed after the Baron's ritual plunged the city into Hell. Hellgate Charlie, however, lays safe and dormant…deep underneath the Amaranth Cathedral.

My team can carry a command scepter keyed to Hellgate Charlie with us, but in order to send any survivors back, or even to return ourselves, the gate must be manually reactivated on this side.

This brings me to the next part of my plan. The Order of the Star's timely arrival has provided us with the manpower to not only relieve our battered units but to put pressure on the elves for the first time since the Siege of Amaranth began. Knight-Commander Tyberius, I want you to coordinate with our defenders inside the city and plan a counter-attack against the elves.

He turns to Exarch Tyra.

Of course, I don't expect the Order of the Star to bear the full brunt of the offensive. The nobles in this kingdom have sat on their laurels for far too long. Amaranth is a Narlish city and the Narlish nobles had better do their part in its liberation. Tyra, I want you to focus on getting the Tribunal to lend their aid to this campaign. Men, materiel, money…they must contribute whatever they can. If the Tribunal cannot act due to opposition, find out who their opponents are and beg them, buy them, or bury them. Randall can help you.

Archbishop Kranmer, I believe you are best suited to manage the stream of refugees still coming from the south. Let the fortress-monasteries of our Paladin Orders be bastions for those who have lost their homes. Their shelter shall be paid for by their help with the war effort. All able-bodied refugees should help build fortifications, tend the fields, create war supplies, or be trained as militia as according to their abilities. Coordinate with the garrison commanders of each monastery to make sure they understand and are managing their refugees effectively.

Winril, I have a few tasks for you. I'll need to have the rest of the Project Angelus brands applied before I go down to Hell. Make sure the appropriate preparations are made for that. Second, I want you to create a team to remove the soul crystals from our branded angels and return them to Heaven. Priority should be given to those least well off, so they may have the most time to recover in the light of their Lady. I also want you to coordinate with Knight-Commander Tyberius and Amaranth to prepare a team to activate Hellgate Charlie.

Ysora…perhaps your time right now would best be spent with Miss Lukina. I think it would be good for her to learn more about Genevieve, and perhaps you could help her hone her fighting skills.

Ander stands and moves back over to the map. He knows his next topic won't be popular, so he takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

Retaking Amaranth is important for another reason. Even with the Order of the Star and the nobles' armies, we may still not have the forces to defend against a full-bore demonic invasion of the mortal plane. In Morganna's journals, I came across a contingency plan that she created should the Church be unable to defend against such an invasion. She worked on it in private, keeping it secret from everybody but Zariel. She called it "Project Revenant" and the core ritual involved is an evolution of the ritual used in Project Angelus to capture angels from Heaven.

Ander points to the various circles drawn on the map as he continues.

These circles represent the locations of a network of teleportation circles that she and Zariel created to quickly move throughout the kingdom. However, they also serve another purpose.

As some of you can probably see, he nods in Winril's direction, the placement of these circles is no accident. According to Morganna, each circle is placed at a convergence of ley lines, known as a ley nexus, and their arrangement serves to create what is essentially a huge, kingdom-wide ritual circle. When activated, this circle serves as a giant lens to collect and focus an enormous amount of divine energy to a singular focal point...a focal point like Hellgate Charlie.

He pauses for effect, letting the Council absorb this information before dropping the final bombshell.

Morganna believed this ritual could be used to summon paladin souls from Heaven to fight on the mortal plane in corporeal bodies. With a ritual circle the size of an entire kingdom, entire legions of souls could be summoned and funneled through Hellgate Charlie to our world.

Project Revanent was Morganna's final contingency plan to create an army to defend against the end of the world. The thought of summoning so many souls from Heaven horrified her, but the necessity of such a plan drove her to continue. The only thing she hadn't accomplished before her death was the reactivation of Hellgate Charlie.

Ander takes his seat once again and sighs heavily, holding up his hand for silence before the Council can erupt in protest.

I will not make the same mistakes the last Council made with Project Angelus by using unwilling subjects. When I return to Heaven, I will begin laying the groundwork to recruit only those souls who are willing to participate in the ritual. Melissan, I would like you to assist me in this and remain in Heaven to continue the recruitment effort with our late Grandmasters.

I will depart for Heaven tomorrow morning. Upon my return, I expect to know the locations of each of my potential recruits and to be able to have the rest of the Angelus brands applied.

I believe that is all from me. If there is no other business to take care of, you are dismissed. Get some sleep.

As the others begin to file out of the room, Ander calls back to Melissan. Melissan, wait. Please tell me about everything that has been happening in Heaven. Who took my family and how were they able to get to them?

[The_Snark]

Mar

She knew. Mar tensed for the blow to fall (literally or metaphorically). It didn't. The queen's voice was terribly weary; Mar couldn't help but wonder how long she had been trapped here, timeless and wracked by infirmity. Was it even possible to rest properly in Phaedra?

She pulled herself to her feet and hobbled after the Queen, lest she be dragged along more forcefully. Her feet hurt. She hadn't slept in... too long. When they reached the throne room she collapsed onto the icy floor gratefully, hardly caring that it was the coldest room in the palace and she was the only one without a chair. She curled up around the fire-cat and made a nest of her wings before looking up, just in time to see Titania sprawl onto her seat. What a pair we make.

She listened, quiet, until...

Dacian.

Memory washed over her like cold water. Betrayal. Chains in the dark. A careless voice. She recalled Ironheart with more clarity than she would have liked—Istomilo's gift had seared her past lives into her soul—but there just wasn't much to remember here. Only that something had gone terribly wrong with Dacian.

The princess was silent; perhaps she didn't recognize the name? After a minute, Mar licked her lips and mustered the courage to ask, "What happened to him?"

[Inspectre]

The Heavens

Dorizzit

“No one else will ever suffer for my actions?”

Nihilus repeats, and then laughs maniacally.

“You’ve damned the whole world to destruction, and then you have the gall to say that!? Fine. I know how stubborn you can be, Korram. I won’t waste anymore of my precious time trying to convince you. I will find someone else, or some other way to acquire what I seek. But as for you . . .”

Nihilus takes a menacing step forward, as if planning on restarting your frustratingly one-sided brawl. Then he flings his arms wide and laughs again.

“I will leave you here, before the monument of your failure! The Hells are a big place, Korram, and you haven’t much time regardless of how equally stubborn your daughter is. Tear the Hells apart if you wish, but do not presume that the preservation of your soul will mean anything before the end of the world!”

Nihilus turns and begins to walk away, pausing after a moment and reaching down. From the muddy ground he pulls out an exquisitely-crafted sword. You think it might even have been one of the ones that Miriam was wielding at the Battle. Shaking the mud off of the weapon, Nihilus slings the weapon over his shoulder and with his other hand rips open another portal in reality. He steps through it, and the portal seals shut behind him a moment later, leaving you alone.

You had . . . won? With a soft wind caressing your face, it certainly felt like it. You were back on the mortal plane, evidentially to stay (until you died again?) – that was halfway to your goal of the Hells. Unfortunately, reality was quick to reassert itself. You are clad in simple cloth tunic and breeches, having no need for ornamentation or any further protection against the elements in the Heavens. Nor shoes – that was going to make for unpleasant walking through the muddy and body-strewn remains of this battle. You aren’t sure how far you were going to have to walk before finding another living soul, either.

(Figure I’ll just take the liberty of having Korram investigate this so we can move on to his travels. Feel free to describe the investigation from Korram’s own perspective, however!)

Taking your first step towards whatever your ultimate destination will be, your eyes are attracted to an unusual sight. A short distance away is a spot of vibrant green grass sprinkled with colorful flowers. Against the mire that is the ground surrounding the former capital, this small patch of healthy ground starkly stands out. As you move closer to the small patch of vegetation, you realize that there is a body lying in the middle of it. It is amazingly well-preserved for a body lying out in the open for – well, however much time has passed since the Battle. As such, you are able to identify the body as Sara, the Baron’s daughter and avatar of Miriam who you saved from the Herald.

It is disheartening to find that although you had saved Miriam, Her avatar was not as lucky. The glint of something reflecting in the sunlight draws your attention to her one hand, lying outstretched on the ground. Resting in the palm of that hand is a finger-long red crystal that seems to glow with its own inner light.

(Let me know where Korram is headed and what he’s plotting in regards to moving on to achieving his goals. )

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

“You don’t know what a paladin is? Boy, you must have taken one hard hit to the head if you’ve never heard of them.”

Katrina grumbles, looking at you as if you had just started spouting poetry at her. Evidentially she still wasn’t used to the idea that you had forgotten literally everything from before the time you woke up in your cell. Volesin was more helpful.

“They’re holy warriors, mortal servants of Miriam the Valkyrie. They fight against the fiends of the Hells, opposing them and doing their best to keep humanity safe. Given that I believe that woman we’ve been following was a paladin, I suspect that those efforts haven’t been going so well. I suspect they would also kill Katrina and myself on sight – possibly you as well, given the fact you’ve now been “tainted” by your time here in the Hells.”

“Yeah well, they’ve got a lot more problems than us right now, seems like. So what is this place then? Some clinic in the Hells where the fiends give depressed paladins their own unique form of therapy?”

“I suspect it may well be something like that. Paladins are highly trained, but in the end they’re still just human. The fiends have had millennia of practice with corrupting fallen souls into fiends. I imagine given enough time they can also convince paladins to abandon their oaths.”

“Pansies! They throw away everything they believed in, just like that!?”

“There may not have even been a conscious choice involved. Given the young lady’s condition, I doubt she was entirely in her right mind. That being said, more unpleasantness may await within – and given that they seem to be expecting paladins, are you sure you want to try this? If you don’t even know what a paladin is, you may not be able to answer any specific questions they have.”

“Just give them a blank-faced stare and say you don’t remember. That’s true enough isn’t it and you’ve already got experience with that answer!”

Katrina says with a smirk as she walks towards to the pile of rubble that would allow her to scramble up to the window. Volesin gives you one last pat on the back, not entirely reassuring given his claw-like hands, and then moves over to join Katrina in her climb. Alone, you make your way up to the gates where the two armored guards await.

“So, another one already? Hail, brother! Have you come to join the ranks of the Hellgarde, and spare yourself?”

The lead guard muttered to his partner, and then addressed you. His partner is a bit more cautious, keeping one eye slit on you while he whispers to his partner – a futile effort given the echoing effect of his helmet.

“Uh, are you sure this guy is one of ours? Look at him - he doesn’t look like a paladin.”

“Who else would be coming up here? Besides, even if he isn’t, he’s big and strong. He’ll be a natural at it.”

The first guard echoed back, and then turned to beckon you forward. Evidentially, you might not even have to try to convince them you’re a former paladin.

“Welcome, brother! Here you will find new purpose, and be made whole again. Those inside will direct you to where you need to go.”

The two guards escort you to just inside the gates, and then resume their positions. As promised, immediately inside the courtyard is another armored figure who silently directs you by pointing to what was once a cobblestone walkway. Now the walkway is overgrown with many of the stones missing, but there’s enough left to hint at a pathway winding around the outside of the courtyard.

As you suspected from the sounds of battle, the interior of the courtyard is defined by a number of sparring circles. Within each one a pair of black-armored figures do battle with a variety of weapons, although as you watch it seems sparring practice is beginning to wind down. On the far side of the courtyard, several more armored figures work to finish constructing a raised dais and podium. From the looks of things, it seems that Hondshioh would be giving that promised speech very shortly – and it occurs to you that if you can remember his face, he likely can remember yours as well. Getting your face concealed by one of these black helmets seemed like a good priority.

Or, perhaps, getting out of sight altogether. Ahead a little and off to your left, a partially crumbled doorway yawns open into darkness. It seems that this was an entrance to some kind of gatehouse connected to the gates you just passed through. From inside, you might be able to either get up on top of the walls, or even directly into the manor proper. No one seemed to be paying much attention to you at the moment – it would be easy enough to duck inside as you walk past the doorway.

What stops you from immediately doing that is the sight of the woman you had been trying to help a bit farther ahead along the walkway. Naturally, having arrived right behind her it only makes sense that you would be directly behind her in-line for whatever process they put new recruits through. The next step in the process seems to involve entering some sort of makeshift wooden outhouse, which is connected to a second outhouse. The structures are not, of course, outhouses, but that is the first word that comes to mind to describe the tall, narrow structures, the interiors of which are obscured by moth-eaten curtains.

As you watch, one of the curtains parts, and a thin, pale-faced man steps out. There is a certain hard edge to his smile as he holds the curtain back to allow your newest friend to enter.

“Prepare yourself, sister. He will explain all of your sins, and then the world shall never look the same.”

The pale-faced man promises, and the woman reluctantly steps inside and pulls the curtain shut behind her. The man walks off, his back straight and his head held high, continuing to follow the path further around the courtyard to what appears to be a smithy. Something about that exchange triggers another word to bubble up into your mind from the hidden recesses of your stolen memory – confessional. A place where a paladin could go to admit his/her mortal failings to a representative of the gods, and find forgiveness. Only no representative of the gods would be found here, you are certain of that.

So now the choice was before you – do you duck aside and hopefully begin to explore the manor, or do you continue to follow the woman, even though it will mean going into this “confessional” after her turn inside? Although, theoretically at least, you could probably avoid going inside yourself if you wished – and the curtains were not so thick that you would be unable to hear what was being said inside if you moved closer. You might have to do some explaining, however, if you were seen while doing that – getting caught ducking inside the doorway, at least, could be explained by claiming to be lost. They would merely think you too stupid to follow a clear path, rather than someone who is awfully curious for being depressed enough to join your previously mortal enemies.


The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

You leap from rock outcropping to rock outcropping, and then from wave to wave after you activate your hyper-speed, each step bringing you closer to the girl. For a moment you have to pause to figure out how to rescue her without dragging her from sinking down beneath the surface to rocketing around at your speed – something that may injure or even kill her unprepared. You settle for slowing yourself down for just a moment, just long enough to scoop the child up in your arms, speeding her up gradually with you as you stagger back up onto the top of the waves. Continuing to literally run on water, you turn and make your way back to the shore.

Nihilus is waiting for you, watching your progress impassively, arms folded across his chest – and he seems to have no trouble with following even your impossibly fast movements. As you approach, he unfolds his arms and greets you with a single, unmotivated clap of his hands. Ignoring him for a moment, you step back onto solid ground and slow back down, allowing the panicked girl to suck in several panicked breathes of air. She struggles in your grip, her movements panicked, but even the strength of desperation is no match for you now.

In that primeval evil part of your brain, the girl’s struggles begin to excite you. You imagine yourself making her scream, how sweet that sound must be, before you mercilessly silence her with rapid and repeated dunks back into the swirling cold water. Even worse temptations dance in the darkest corners of your mind, straining to come to the fore and be made real. You force them all back through sheer force of will, concentrating instead on what Nihilus has to say, the girl still futilely flailing in your arms, ignored for the moment.

“Congratulations. You saved one squalling brat from a swift albeit unpleasant death. Now what? I suppose, unless you intend on keeping her as your personal plaything – and I can see how much that thought excites you – we should send her back home.”

With the casual air he has always displayed thus far, Nihilus reaches out and tears open a portal, leading to what you presume is the girl’s home village. Only it can’t be, for the scene beyond the portal rivals that of the Hells for the chaos, brutality, and senselessness that it depicts. The village is in flames, and silhouetted against that are bodies, held aloft by the spears which impale them. At the sight, the girl in your arms goes limp and gives the most charming wail, leading to another surge in depraved thoughts that you narrowly manage to force back yet again. Nihilus’s voice is dispassionate as he narrates.

“Oh, but wait – her village is in the midst of being burned to the ground by blood-mad elves. Sending her back now would leave her with the same fate as she had before I attempted to drown her just now. Which is to say, she will be captured and enslaved by the elves. She will be dragged back to their forest home, and forced to serve her new masters in the most demeaning, filthy, and unpleasant jobs imaginable. Any mistake or attempt to defy or escape her captors will be met with humiliation and torture. And it will not end, for she will be one of the lost ones, and her torment will continue until either the world ends, or she grows into a broken young woman, finally ripe enough for an elven shaman to pluck and use to fuel one of their spiritual divinations with her last breath!”

Nihilus shrugs and closes the portal before immediately opening a new one, this one looking on another pastoral village, this one a picture of serenity, not yet touched by war.

“Or perhaps we should set her up in a quiet village far from danger? Assuming the world doesn’t end, that would let her grow up, and take up the destiny of her previous incarnation, which was denied her by the elves invading several decades “early”. Only instead of her children, she will go on to avenge her parents, becoming a vengeful hunter who haunts the elven lands for years. The adult elves she butchers, but their children she merely mutilates, leaving them crippled and blind, mewling for their now-dead parents. The variations are infinite, but the end is always the same, boy – someone always suffers!”

Nihilus clenches his fist, and the second portal closes. Like a maestro, Nihilus gestures with a flourish, and suddenly a familiar dagger is clenched in one hand – one of Ulrich’s Fangs! Nihilus twirls it around, and then present the blade to you hilt first. His voice is no longer as impassive as it was a few moments ago, suggesting that he was getting excited by presenting this array of unpleasant options to you.

“But of course, there’s always the much-vaunted third option! I took the liberty of retrieving Ulrich’s daggers for you – it seemed like such a waste for such exquisite weapons to be lost. You could use this blade to put the girl out of everyone’s misery – hers and her future victims! For now, her soul is unblemished – she would go to the Heavens, for as long as it lasts anyway. Just like you put Limier out of her misery – one cut, fast and hard across the throat, and her misery is over! That is . . . assuming you can manage only one cut.”

The thought of carving into the girl with the offered dagger fills you with ecstasy. But not one cut across the throat, no, that would be too quick! You had to draw it out first, savor it as you cut one little piece off her at a time, drink in her terror and anguish, and the gradual realization that very soon, after all this pain, she would feel nothing at all!

You could control this hungering beast inside you, but it would be so easy to let it off its leash. So gratifying . . . even with the false promise that it would go back into its cage after you were done, and not leave you with the craving for more.

The offered dagger trembles in your vision, just within reach, begging to be put to use.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Kasanip/Baerdog7

“I . . . you are more generous than I thought you would be, Ander. I am sorry that I thought so ill of you. I agree that all members of the Church must stand united against the Fiend Lords, regardless of differences in our beliefs. I would be happy to work with Kranmer, assuming he is willing to make such arrangements.”

“Of course!”

Kranmer says, perhaps a little too quickly but understandable given that he clearly does not want to be the center of attention on this matter. That just leaves Randall, who does not try to argue with Ander – a welcome relief against the nigh-endless struggle to convince the Church that its Council was horribly corrupt.

“I and my Inquisitors are as a blade in your hands, Speaker. You need only say the word, and it will be done. If you consider this incident to not be heresy, then so be it. I will make sure that Thomas and the others are released immediately.”

Randall says, looking away and sitting back down a moment later. With the question of Winril’s indiscretion therefore handled, and Melissan’s interruption understood by all but not explained, direction of the meeting turned back to Ander. At the mention of Korram Alstan, Melissan smiled and nodded.

“I met him, briefly, before returning here. He helped repel some of the invaders, and saved several souls from damnation. An excellent choice, although he is now at peace in the Heavens – I am not sure it is fair to deprive him of that after the sacrifices he has already made.”

Ysora nods at that assertion, angelic nature winning out over pragmatism.

“I can confirm that Alexander Ross is in Amaranth. Although the last report I have from the Knight-Captain there was dated a week ago, and it stated that Ross spent as much time in his cups as he did sleeping it off in squalid alleys.”

Tyra rasped from her bed. That was less than hopeful, but Ander had worked with worse before.

“No one has seen either Katashiko nor Akor after the Battle of Narle. One of my inquisitors was following Katashiko at a distance, but she disappeared and he was unable to reacquire contact.”

Randall reported, and then reflexively winced as if he had just swallowed something unpleasant.

“I . . . might also know where we can acquire a skilled mage and demonologist. I will have to investigate into that matter before I can offer any further details, however.”

At Ander’s mention of the Order of the Star’s involvement in filling the massive gaps in the Church’s armies, Tyberius merely gives a silent nod. He had been mostly impassive throughout the meeting, watching the proceedings intently but otherwise keeping his opinions to himself – and off of his face, an impressive feat given some of the surprises that had been revealed already tonight. The mention of the Hellgates, and the fact that there was still an operational if deactivated Hellgate *did* cause his eyes to widen a bit, however.

“I believe you are referring to the Triumvirate, as they call themselves. I’m sure you remember them, just as I’m sure they’re doing all they can already. It’s Rose Volesin-Gast, Elsa Mercer-Gast, and Amelia Ashargrin-Gast. As you can imagine, however, the fact that they were all married to a son of the now despised King Demetrius Gast is hurting rather than helping their influence.”

Tyra rasped from her bed, managing a slight smile at the revelation of who the members of the Triumvirate were.

“Other than them, however, there’s no real power structure to talk to. Virtually all of Narle’s ranking nobility was at Narle during the Battle, and died there. The kingdom has since been thrown into complete chaos as they try to work out the proper succession and keep their own lands safe from the elves. I’ll do what I can, but each noble is buried in their own problems, and even if they can be convinced we will have to do it one by one.”

Tyra winced as all the talking pulls at her injured throat, and the Exarch decides to end her contributions to the conversation there. At the mention of the refugees, Kranmer nods.

“I have already started organizing several such programs. After fleeing from the elves, I’ve heard a number of the refugees were despondent and didn’t want to work. Perhaps seeing the fiends of the Hells appear before them will drive the Sloth out of them!”

Winril nods in agreement at each of your points, but freezes as Ysora speaks up.

“I want you to apply the Angelus brands to me as well, Winril. I will be going with the team that ventures into the Hells.”

For a moment, it is deathly silent within the Council Chamber, all eyes simply staring at the archangel. Tyberius’s mouth hangs open a few inches for a moment before he closes it. Ysora stares at Ander, her mouth drawn into a determined frown.

“I have made up my mind about this. I have to do this.”

But it turns out that Ysora’s announcement was not the most shocking. Ander’s revelation of Morganna’s deepest secret had the opposite effect of the previous admissions, and the room was thrown temporarily into complete pandemonium.

“Unacceptable!”

Ysora and Melissan both declared, almost simultaneously, horror and revulsion battling for control of their faces. Kranmer and Winril likewise paled, voicing their opinions loudly.

“Ander . . . that is . . . I mean . . . it is unprecedented.”

Kranmer stammers, as Winril pounds the tables with his fists.

“Damnit, Ander! No sooner have you convinced me that you don’t intend to throw us all to the fiends in some mad crusade, than you pull out something like this! Dragging out souls of those who escaped damnation the first time for another roll of the dice!”

“You cannot do this, Ander!”

Melissan cried, interrupting Winril’s rant.

“You must not.”

Ysora pressed.

“The honored souls of the dead do not belong on the mortal plane. You are the sole exception, at the behest of Miriam Herself! Those who are in the Heavens have earned their eternal reward, and to ask them to risk that, whether they are willing to do so or not . . .”

Ysora shakes her head, while Melissan pauses and chews her lip thoughtfully.

“That reward may no longer be certain.”

Melissan says finally, indicating the pendant still clutched in Ander’s hand. This seems to end the discussion for the moment, although it is certain that there will be further debate on this matter should the time come that it is necessary. And with that, the meeting is adjourned, with Ander requesting Melissan to stay.

(Separate DMs below)

Baerdog7

“I . . . am not sure. On both accounts I am afraid. Oh, the fiends opened up portals directly into the Heavens, sending humans through to do their dirty work. But *how*, how they accomplished such a thing that should be absolutely impossible! That . . . that I do not know. As for who is behind this . . . pick a Fiend Lord? We did find one troubling thing that was left behind – Seymour had bitten one of his attackers, and tore this free.”

Melissan throws a tattered piece of black cloth onto the table. Although only a ragged strip of cloth, it is enough to be identifiable as coming from a tabard. Emblazoned on the scrap of cloth is a broken sword, a clear mockery of the Church’s own common symbol of a shining sword.

“Do you recognize that symbol? I do not.”

You do not either, and with an encyclopedic knowledge of the fiends’ various servants, that means that this is something new. Another of Nihilus’s games?

“Ander, I . . .”

Melissan begins, her voice too trembling with emotion to continue. When she finally centers herself a few moments later, she continues.

“If I could trade myself for your son, or your wife, I would do it without hesitation. This is . . . inconceivable. But, I am not sure I can do what you ask. You do not understand, because you are human. My sisters and I, from the moment of our creation . . . we serve our Lady, but we were created to protect Humanity. To take a soul that has earned its place within the Heavens and cast it back out into the merciless world of the mortal plane . . . it is anathema to us! And now the fiends can do it seemingly at will, and we are helpless to stop it. But is the only solution for us to do the same with those willing to go? It is monstrous Ander, and I fear that in the end, we will be no different than the fiends if we start down this path. I . . . I am afraid. Even more so than I was when I was captured and forced to endure Project Angelus.”

(If you would like to move on to the next morning, you are welcome to do so.)

Kasanip

As the meeting adjourns, you and Ysora walk out side-by-side. Your sister is clearly deeply troubled by some of the meeting’s last revelations, although she still remembers to smile whenever she looks at you. The two of you walk down the winding stairs from the Aerie, and then through the hallways, and finally out onto a balcony, the sleeping city below you and the countless stars above. Even before you reach the balcony, the two of you are talking.

“I have so many questions for you, dear sister. But I suppose many of them are inconsequential, at least compared to the one that I’m going to ask. How does it feel to be back!?”

Ysora finally asked with a giggle after a dramatic pause.

When you finally do reach the balcony, you find a mysterious package sitting on the ledge waiting for you both. The package is a long, narrow box, wrapped shut with several strands of bright ribbon. A slip of paper is tied to the box by the ribbon, and even from a distance you can plainly read – “For Genevieve” on the side that is face up.

“Wh-what is that!?”

Ysora asks, looking at the strange package and then back at you.

“Who else knows about your return? I can’t imagine any of the paladins just leaving a package sitting out for you like this. And even if they did, how would they know we were going to come out here? I don’t like this, sister.”

Phaedra

The_Snark/Lonna


(Ran out of room for this post. So I moved the entire thing down to just above the next set of DMs. You can find it here.

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

“Me!?”

Nihilus says, clearly surprised – no doubt Marialta’s last words had been sent to you alone. At your revelation of what she had told you in her last moments, Nihilus shrugs.

“It’s true enough, from a certain perspective, I suppose. But someone always suffers, don’t they? Hmm . . . I like that, it’s catchy. But yes, Fate’s own currency seems to be misery, and when you’re trying to rebalance the scales, it follows that those involved in that process get more suffering than they otherwise would have gotten. I’m not above indulging in some good old-fashioned sadism now and again, but I’m not doing this for kicks Umber. I’m doing this because if I don’t the world ends. Period.”

At your requests for more information, however, Nihilus takes a step back and holds up a warning finger.

“That’s privileged information, friend! Dangerous information in the wrong hands, and no offense, but your hands are most definitely in the wrong column. I got burned more than once trusting you before now, so you’ll have to excuse me for being less than enthusiastic about sharing my life story with you.”

Nihilus ***** his head at you thoughtfully.

“Something about this whole thing really just doesn’t add up. You clearly just proved that you were able to put a stop to Marialta’s plans by killing her dead – so why would she tolerate your interference in the first place? If she could see what the future holds, why not just lie in wait over the body you appropriated and eliminate you as a threat from the very start? How exactly did you get back here to this time again, anyway?”

Nihilus ponders the question in silence for a few long moments, and then throws his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, fine! I’ll give you a little information in the hopes you can come up with some angle I’m not seeing here. But I swear to the gods Umber, if you try to use it for your own personal gain I will spend the next several incarnations making your life an unending trip through the Hells, consequences for meddling with you be damned!”

Nihilus sighs, clearly not relishing this thought.

“Alright, so a little of the big picture stuff first. There are countless variations, but the end results are always the same - the Certain King frees Azguloth from His prison, and the world ends as a result of that. Until I can figure out a way to stop it, the Certain King tends to be the Baron, although now and again you’re only too happy to step in as well. As such the “Certain King” tends to be almost like a role rather than a specific person, although Fate definitely considers the two of you, and presumably your potentially inevitable successor, to be the only ones worthy. One way or another, Fate tries to push you both along the path that ends with you releasing Azguloth. I, naturally, try like the Hells to alter those roads to lead to some other end destination – with admittedly limited success.”

Nihilus rubs his cowled head for a moment, seeming to hold yet another inner debate before he sighs again.

“I suppose it’s only fair to also mention this little caveat. Technically, you and the Baron aren’t the only ones Fate is willing to consider the Certain King. Although he’s really more of a defining archetype, I guess you could say, rather than an actual candidate – in most cases, at least. Which I guess means that you aren’t actually the first of the potential Certain Kings that I have to keep juggling. Anyway, I’m pretty sure you know who I’m talking about, having already met him. Does the name Dacian ring any bells? Although he doesn’t tend to use his name much by the time you come onto the scene, preferring instead to go by his self-styled title – the Hierarch.”

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

“Of course, Rosenberg! You are free to come and go as you please. I’m not sure where I will be staying for the night, unfortunately. Usually a visiting noble makes arrangements ahead of time with the mayor or noble owning the city. In this case, that wasn’t possible so . . . I guess . . . I’m sure I can find an inn or something. I will leave word with the paladins for you as to where the dinner will be and where I will be staying once I know myself. Until then!”

And with that cheery dismissal, Amelia moves to rejoin Alons and continue walking off down the street with him. Leaving you to go find a tailor or merchant dealing in cloth and furs so that you can replace your current outfit with something more . . . suitable. Unfortunately, cloth seems to be at a premium right now, with even the most prized silks making excellent bandages. Furs are not quite as heavily used towards the war effort, however, and so you are able to find everything you want with relative ease. You also locate a merchant who has a few bolts of suitable cloth left, and who is willing to part for them for something less than a king’s ransom . . . in return for a favor.

“Uhh . . . no offense to ye, sir, but you seem like the sort of person who likes the outdoors. I was wondering, therefore, if you knew any outdoorsy tricks for dealing with rats. I can’t stand the buggers personally, and with the, ah, lack of focus on anything not directly tied to keeping the elves out, sanitation is starting to become a problem. Which means it’s a good day to be a rat, and not so good of a day to be me! Just between you and me, I want to close up shop and leave this hellish city behind the first time the siege is lifted! Getting rid of these bolts of cloth would free me from trying to take them with me, but I’d really like not to have to fear awaking some night to the pain of some fetid teeth gnawing on my toes!”

Rats. Seriously? Well, this is certainly a problem you could probably handle easily enough if you wanted to. And while they are a part of nature, it is true that in conditions such as these, vermin tend to spread like blight. Yet one more mark against living in a city.

(Once again, this is not Dnd. These are not scary rats, magical rats, nor wererats. As such, you can just post Rosenberg dealing with the pets in whatever way you wish, and assume he is successful without cost or trouble. Assuming, of course, that he actually does want to deal with them and not just let the little bastards run amok. And to give you something else to do with your post . . .)

As you are leaving the merchant district behind with the components necessary to assemble your new outfit, you come across another sort of vermin – a group of thugs mugging a merchant who had closed up shop to go home a little too early tonight. Things take an unusual turn, however, when a stocky cloaked figure emerges from the darkness, brandishing a wand menacingly at the thug.

“Stop this immediately! Or, uh . . . I will turn you all into toads!”

The short interloper declares in a voice crackling with the onset of puberty. The thugs don’t seem to take the threat particularly seriously, at least not until the boy uses the wand to blast a scorched hole into the cobblestones. That sets them all running, at which point the young vigilante turns to you.

“Sir, do you mind? This man needs help getting to a healer and I can’t carry him alone!”


daelrog

After dismissing Rosenberg, Amelia wanders through the city with you, chatting as you go. You start with idle talk, describing your homeland to her, and eventually lead in to your real question. Amelia ponders your question for a moment, emotions flickering across her face as she seems to have an intense inner debate. Finally she sighs, choosing to answer.

“I . . . have acquired my ability to “burn any common villain who steps in my way”, as you put it, only recently. I’m therefore unsure what I can and cannot do. Truth be told, I thought I was dead when I was hit by that tree . . . instead it was merely . . . unpleasant . . .”

Amelia drifts off for a moment, idly sliding her finger into the gaping hole that the tree branch had left in her dress. Fortunately due to its crimson color, the copious bloodstain surrounding the hole is not immediately noticeable.

“And I am well aware that no matter how formidable my abilities prove to be, I am still just one person. To save my kingdom will require an army. I had hoped that I would convince others to stand with me by joining up with that caravan, but at least you and Rosenberg were the most capable of the lot.”

Amelia’s voice softens, and she smiles as she glances at you.

“And actually, when you came over to my carriage that night instead of joining in the others’ laughter, you reminded me of someone. Someone I used to know . . . and very dear to me. He was noble like that, always quick to help no matter the cost.”

You had been around long enough to recognize that tone in her voice. Her heart belonged to another man – although one no longer in this world given the way she used past tense. That could be a mark against your chances or for them depending on just how close the two of them had been before their ways were parted. And just as quickly, Amelia put you on the defensive.

“Did you have someone like that back in your homeland, Alons? Someone who made you feel that even through the blackest night, the sun would still rise in the morning? And if you did, why did you leave to come here?”

The two of you check out several clothing merchants, where the answer was the same – virtually all of the cloth had already been put to use in making bandages or otherwise confiscated or sold. There were a few tailors who were willing to examine the dress and try to stitch up the holes, something Amelia was understandably leery of given the fact that most of those rents in the dress were surrounded by bloodstains that would undoubtedly be noticed during the stitching.

As you are exiting one such shop, Amelia suddenly ***** her head to one side, listening intently as if hearing a voice carried on the breeze. Then she spoke, addressing that imaginary voice.

“Really, that could work!? Oh, fabulous!”

Amelia seemed like she might have said more, but then she realized that she was no longer alone, and looked at you with a sheepish grin as her cheeks began to flush a lovely shade that almost matched her dress. She does not explain her sudden one-sided conversation, however, instead setting off down the street at a determined pace. She goes into the first inn that she can locate, a reasonably-upscale establishment located in the merchant’s district – that has since had its associated tavern taken over by the city militia. Which means that there are a great deal of sullen looking soldiers eyeing both you and Amelia incredulously as you enter – almost all of them fixated on Amelia. Almost all of them – you’re pretty sure at least one or two of them are starring pointedly at you. Amelia does not seem to notice the attention that the two of you are drawing, and marches right up to the combination bar and desk.

“We’d like a room, please. And a candle.”

There are a few raucous calls from the nearest patrons who overhear this request, prompting a wave of jealous looks from the assembled militiamen. The innkeep is nonchalant, however, perhaps on account of being grateful that he has some normal paying clients for once. Although her carriage was destroyed, Amelia still has a few coins in the pockets of her dress, slapping them down onto the table and eagerly grabbing the candle and key out of the innkeep’s hands. She practically runs up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor, pausing only briefly to light the candle from the one lantern providing light to the hallway. She unlocks the door and steps inside, and then turns back.

“Stay outside and make absolutely sure that I am not disturbed. I will be back out when I’m done.”

Amelia announces mysteriously, and then slams the door shut in your face. Apparently you would be earning your keep as Amelia’s bodyguard, although the duty was hardly taxing given you didn’t think most of these rooms were occupied, except perhaps by militiamen who had appropriated inn rooms like they had made themselves at home downstairs.

A few minutes pass in relative silence, and then you hear the rumblings of conversation downstairs quiet down suddenly. In its place comes the familiar strumming of a lute, and a man with a passably melodic voice calling out.

“Good evening, noble protectors of this fine city! I have come once again to ease your woes and soothe your wounds with the power of music! What song would you like me to begin with this fine eve?”

The chorus was unanimous – “The Ballad of Korram Alstan!”

As the would-be bard begins to strum the rhythm of a carefree drinking song, you hear Amelia’s voice through the door.

“Alons? What’s going on down there? Did – did someone say Korram Alstan?”

GuyFawkes

Between your faster form and the lingering effects of the speed-boosting magic, you are able to catch up with the air elemental weaving its way through the trees. A simple-minded creature, it was thankfully wholly focused on its destination and thus either didn’t notice or ignored you. Of course, the sight of a hawk flying through trees in a forest was not an uncommon sight, either. Your animal form may not be an expected sight for much longer, however, as the bitter tang of smoke reaches your beak.
A short distance ahead, there is no more forest. In its place is a scorched wasteland, the charred remains of trees trusting up into the sky. Elves move about in this barren place, blatantly exposed with no undergrowth to hide in. Their mouths are covered in an effort to protect against the smoke still wafting up here and there from smoldering piles of debris. Intermingled with them are dozens, hundreds of fire elementals.

Although it is just barely visible from your position at the edge of this wasteland, you can see a shimmering portal surrounded by a corona of dancing fire hanging just above the ground near the center. It is there that the elves seem to be concentrated, huddled around a few flame-proof tents made out of soaked hides. It seems blatantly obvious that you have located the elven encampment. If you are matching up your current location to the map properly, you are near to the Ruins of Callaway, just as Ashley theorized.

Undaunted by the smoke and uncomfortably hot air, the air elemental swoops down towards the portal waiting at the center of the wasteland. If you continue to follow, you will undoubtedly be spotted – and there was no chance that a hawk flying around in this place would not be considered remarkable.

You do learn one important thing even from your current position just outside the camp proper, however. The bustle of activity amongst the elves is not normal – they seem to be packing up their camp and making preparations to leave. It is doubtful that the elves are planning to give up on their siege, which leaves only the opposite theory – that Amaranth is about to come under a serious attack.

It’s at this point that a pulse races through your body, a sensation that you had been expecting. Aurewlynn has broken the seal, signaling that she is ready to meet back up with you. Locating her in the forest surrounding Amaranth should be a relatively simple effort, although it will call you away from your investigation here. An investigation that may already be at an end now that you can’t go any further without risking discovery, but one that would reap much more important benefits now that the elves were planning on moving in force. The details of how exactly they plan to attack the human city might be crucial to its survival.

[TechnOkami]

Rosenberg

With a respectful, "Lady.", the Countess and Alons made off to wherever they would end up. Meanwhile, Rosenberg had some shopping to do. After trudging through the mud-hewn roads for a few minutes, he luckily found the materials he needed: leather, fur, antlers, wolves teeth, feathers, and all that was missing was cloth and thread... which presented its own problems in the form of rats.

"Rats? Well, to be frank they're not much of an issue in the wild, since there at least they have natural prey. In a city it would be a little more... complicated. I would suggest either buying a cat with a taste for the rodents, make sure that you keep this shop clean and food free, and potentially removing the nests entirely. The food is so they no longer have a reason to stay, unless they're getting it from a different source. The cat is self-explanatory, and the nest is so they won't be able to breed. That's all I could suggest to you, but thank you for the cloth."

Unless the Merchant was more persistent, he would rather not deal with rodents himself. In the woods or in a city, rats are usually a nasty business. And then of course, with all the raw materials in his arms, suddenly a young wizard vigilante was requesting his immediate aid. What an odd day... amusingly, the wizard found his arms suddenly full of all the goods Rosenberg was going to use for his new robes.

"Hold these."

He then lifts up the unconscious body, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Where do you want him?"

[GuyFawkes]

Lucifuge

The brown hawk landed on a high perch at the edge of the trees. Its pair of eyes swept through clearing, observing the movements and the little details. It did not take long to come up with this conclusion: the elves will begin their attack on Amaranth.

How inconvenient. I may have to do some intervention...

Just as it tried to open its wings, a familiar pulsating sensation ran through its body.

She is back...best not make her wait then.

The hawk finished opening its wings and put its weight forward, falling off the branch and glided towards the direction of the clearing. Before reaching the ground, the hawk began to grow into a humanoid form and by the time it reached the ground, two large booted feet hit the ashen ground instead.

Now in his normal humanoid form, complete with his weapons and gear, he pulled his hood low and walked towards the elves with his hands raised at his sides, then spoke.

"I wish to speak with your leader."

[OverWilliam]

~Tamerlane

Tamerlane, surprised and confused, struggled to keep from dropping the girl as she fought to scramble out of his arms. What's wrong?? You're safe! No one is going to hurt yo-- And in a flash of realization, at the same moment that the inhuman urges began playing havoc through his mind, he realized that his appearance was a good match for them. The angry orange glow to his eyes. The shredded skin, exposing pointed teeth and fiend-hide underneath. He probably looked mostly human when viewed from only one side, but it would be clear to any 12-year-old's eyes that he was a monster to be feared.

Tamerlane's feelings were almost hurt, until the hunger stirring in his belly made it clear that of the two of them the girl probably had the better grasp of reality.

When the first portal opened and the girl's screams spiked abruptly in both urgency and pain in reaction to what was presumably her home, Tamerlane reacted without thinking. "No-- hey, Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh..." He adjusted her almost insignificant weight to one arm while bringing his other hand to touch her lightly on the forehead. "Peace... peace..." He said, his voice lulling and a new magic springing from his fingertips. He laid the power as a weight on the girl's eyelids, drawing the mere tips of his fingers down across her feather-soft eyelashes, and reached through them to her consciousness, slowly building the weight of the magic on her mind until the already exhausted little girl had little choice but to buckle beneath it.

He had to choke down the grim fantasy of plucking out those feathery eyelashes five or six at a time, and then plucking out the pure, innocent eyes behind them, with the same twisted glee that a spoiled child might indulge in tearing the wings off of a trapped insect.

She went limp in his arms, sleeping a blank, dreamless (and more importantly nightmare-less) sleep.

Tamerlane tried to glare at Nihlus over her shoulder, but could not muster the ire. Mostly because Nihlus was completely right. How much headache and trouble had Tare taken upon himself in life, trying to play the Good Samaritan for every wandering soul to stumble and fall across his path? And how arrogant was it to presume the wisdom to determine this poor child's future for her? Because whether he liked it or not, that was already exactly what he'd done. Left alone, she would've drowned, a brief moment of complete horror followed by merely drifting into the next life unharmed. Or perhaps she would've been swept against the rocks. That wasn't without a certain amount of intrigue that Tamerlane's mind dwelt on for entirely too long, but either way she would've been at peace thereafter. But now that he had forced a future upon her, had he not just added to the tribulations that the poor (completely defenseless, Tamerlane's brain added helpfully) thing would have to suffer from that point on?

When the second portal opened, Tamerlane immediately decided that this was the better option. The best option. But nothing could be so simple. He considered the pain that, even here, this girl would suffer, the nightmares that she would likely endure (some being of him, he realized with a sinking heart), and the memories of home and family that would always keep her from being at peace. He considered the options that she would have before her, beneath the onslaught wrought on her emotions and mind for decades by her own pain and loss; grow cold and hard enough to withstand it, or break. She would need someone beside her, someone to help her understand and overcome the wounds in her heart-- someone who had gone through it before, he realized, in a weird leap of logic that he couldn't quite explain at that moment. But he certainly could not stay behind and shepherd her into a peaceful, unburdened life. For one thing, he was clearly a monster, and neither she nor the villagers themselves would accept him-- and they'd clearly be fools to do so, he considered, as the flames from the first portal began popping up in his imagination as he stared through the portal at this, the second.

Tamerlane banished the monster from his thoughts for a few moments, not without effort, and considered the picture Nihlus had painted for him, of an avenging huntress seeking blood for blood, and finding it. Did those elves deserve to die? Who was he to make that decision?

There isn't enough wisdom in the world to try and do what I've just done. What is "right"? What is "good"? Who am I to decide that for anyone?

And then the dagger appeared in Nihlus' hand. Tamerlane's heart sped up and his breathing was forced to match pace. Hormones and endorphins hit his system in a simultaneous cacophony of impulses and fell desires. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the cheek laying against his bare shoulder, of the little body pressed against his chest. He didn't want to hurt her-- he just wanted to see her bleed. It didn't have to be painful, if he cut her right. Or maybe it did have to be. Maybe he needed to make sure that it was. He tried to drag his eyes away, as though that might help the temptation to fade, but he could just see her pale, white back, stripped bare of clothing, left with a dozen shallow lines drawn from side to side. And then another one, just an inch or two below the last, drawn slowly, painstakingly open with delicate precision...

And in a sudden flash of awareness, Tamerlane could feel the tendrils of fiendish influence closing their grip on his mind, like a spiked glove sinking pointed claws into his thoughts. He realized abruptly that his mind was in pain, only he couldn't feel it. Tamerlane found the thoughts that had been implanted into his mind by his new nature, and started following them back to where they'd come from. Gradually two of them converged into the same root thought, and then two others, and then two roots converged, until he found the source of where they'd all come from. ...No, not the source, but as close to it as he could track right now. Tamerlane applied pressure, a force of will, trying to clamp it off like one might put a tourniquet on a gangrenous limb--

And the temptation disintegrated like a tree limb struck suddenly into ash and blown away by the ocean wind, that same wind that brought Tamerlane's thoughts back to the present. He found, with some shock, that he was holding the girl very, very close. And that his pointed teeth were laying against the skin where her neck met her shoulder, just where her ocean-drenched clothes stopped and bare flesh started. Just a little more pressure and he'd have tasted her life on his tongue, and his lips, running down his neck on the outside and his throat on the inside...

Tamerlane pulled away and blinked his fiendish eyes several times in disoriented shock.

...And I don't even know this girl's name. Tamerlane glanced up at Nihlus to find that the fiend lord was still standing there, impassively offering him the weapon. Would that be even stronger with someone I care about? Karami. ...Or someone I actually love?

Tamerlane flung out a hand toward the waiting Serpent's Fang, and uttered a single word in his mind's voice that equated to, COME. And the dagger, the beautiful, beautiful dagger, leapt out of Nihlus' hand and sailed cleanly into Tamerlane's. He considered it for a moment, testing himself. The thoughts did not come again-- though he could feel them stir just the slightest bit against the back of his brain. They would come again, he was sure.

In his arms, the girl began to shiver against the cold of her soaked clothing, even in her sleep. Tamerlane realized that, though he was not shivering, that his lack of clothes matched with the salty spray had made his skin like ice as well. He spared a glance for the pillar that Nihlus had pointed out when they'd first emerged from the portal. The tide had come in already, and the base of it was almost a dozen feet under water. He'd failed at that test, it seemed, but tides came and went. Perhaps he could return another time. For now, though, Tamerlane's thoughts turned to survival.

He turned away from the ocean and began walking. It was not far until he reached what he was looking for; the components needed to construct a small fire. Tamerlane laid the girl down carefully, and then set about the busy work of putting a fire together. In mere minutes he'd gathered dry wood, cleared a spot, and used a flint rock against the steel of the Serpent's Fang to spark a small blaze. He almost felt guilty using such a masterfully crafted weapon as a mere flint and steel, but the blade was of such superior craftsmanship that it seemed like the blade did not even notice. Looking back to the girl, he frowned in thought. And then thought out loud. "I need to know more about you. I'd like to know your name, but that's less important. When you wake up, I doubt you'll be in the mood for conversation-- not with me. But I need to know what kind of person you are, or some hint of who you'll someday try to be. I need to understand better if I'm to make a decision that will determine the rest of your life. And I only know one way to find out, at this point." Tamerlane took a deep breath. "I hope you don't mind, but I do this because I want to help you."

Tamerlane closed his eyes and gathered his will and his senses. It did not take long before he could sense where the girl was without even looking-- and so he sent his thoughts questing toward her, inquiring as to what he might see about her through his mind's eye...

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

This 'Terra' was the reason for all this, and now it would split Mal from his new found friends and mentor again. His Master's judgement now seemed faintly shaky in the still loyal student's eyes, that such a creature could be made from his role-model's own hubris and had torn his life apart. He felt the flames of anger rise, only to smother it and respond to the dwarf.

"How could he best you? You can shape earth to your will, surely you could make him soft as mud or a statue with just a thought?"

After his Master's reply, he asks.

"If we are to seperate, where should we go, do we just wander aimlessly again?"

[daelrog]

Alons Sift

Alons was the kind of man who wore a smile around him, with a kick in his step, and voice that carried a hint of joy when he spoke, even back in the woods as they marched to their deaths. A true bard at heart, he could tell a mundane tale as if it was an epic, and had done so on occasion from the Tale of the Molding Goat Cheese to the Saga of the Dung Shovelers. His head normally moved about as he walked taking in all the sights, his blood red hair shining along with bright, blue-grey eyes. He had admitted to Amelia that it had once been long, with brass beads in them, but had opted to change his hair to something more acceptable in this culture.

When Amelia asked him if he had any love from the past, his defenses vanished in an instant, possibly startling her as the kick in his step was gone from one step to the next, the twinkle in his eyes dulled, and the brightness about him turned drab and melancholy. He was a changed man, one consumed by a deep coldness. Even his voice was flat, sober, and for a moment weak. “Larent.” He looked ahead, not wanting to look Amelia in the eyes. For a long few seconds he said nothing and looked like it would stay that way. However, some strength came back to his words, though they still liked the charm and humor of his usual speech. “She’s gone now.” By the tone of his voice, she too could tell that his love was no longer of this world.

“We have the strength to survive, but it’s a hollow victory indeed.” A small smile crept to his lips, as his personality took over again and he slowly returned to the playful traveler, strating from his head, and finally tossing up a small bit of dirt and his step gained life once more. “A troublesome world we live in no?” He smirked.

When Amelia was caught speaking to himself, Alons tried to be polite, feigning ignorance as if he hadn’t heard a thing. Clearly he had heard and both of them knew it, but he chose to ignore it, and offer her a small kindness to save that one for another date. She had also done the same in the carriage, when he had first introduced himself Alons recalled. At the time he had figured there was a second person in the carriage. Even when he found out there was not, he had been distracted enough by how tired he had been – and still was as he felt how sore and weary his body was – and Amelia’s beauty. After they fey’s attack he had completely forgotten. Some of the pieces began to fit in as he considered how the ‘Crippled Countess’ had just gained her powers.


Whatever tiredness he felt left him as they entered the tavern and the eyes fell to him. Although he wanted to wink and smile at the men as if he were about to enjoy Amelia’s passion, he opted instead to offer the assorted men a warning glare. He was Amelia’s bodyguard after all, and she was attempting to lead the effort to save this city. It would not do for them to think her a trollop.

When she spoke through the door, Alons replied immediately. “The men are requesting the ‘Ballad of Korram Alstorm’ from the entertainer. I am not familiar with that one.” This was the first he had heard the name, and didn’t even hear it correctly. Alons was facing the hallway they had come from in case someone decided to follow them up. He leaned his shoulder on the wall just beyond the door. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he kept them focused on the emptiness in front of him.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

There were times when Sohssal wished he was still capable of scowling, but none so striking as when he heard the Baron was still alive. “The weaselly bastard! But...an Imp Baron I can destroy. If I ever find the time, that is,” he said.

“Anyway, I've seen Incom fight before. Even as just an imp, he should be useful...for his mind, if nothing else. Besides, that crystal in his chest probably catalyzed his early transformation. It might provide an opportunity for further augmentation after we're done scrambling for an escape route,” Sohssal explained.

“The other target was Istomilo's workshop, which I've been informed may be even more dangerous than the Black Fortress. I struck a deal for an easy way out of Hell, for which I need to study Istomilo's work. I admit I doubt it'll be so straightforward after I finish my end of the deal, which is why I have decided we should retrieve Isabella first – Seraph needs time to recover, anyway. We can leave as soon as everyone who's going is ready...”

“...but I will still go to Istomilo's workshop afterwards, whether to complete the deal or prevent anyone else from doing so. I'll have plenty of time to think about which is the better idea,” he said, stopping himself before he really got into the rambling. There were so few opportunities for real conversation down here.

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

“No one else will ever suffer for my actions?”

Nihilus repeats, and then laughs maniacally.

“You’ve damned the whole world to destruction, and then you have the gall to say that!?”

Korram shrugs at Nihilus, as if to say "Not yet I haven't."

Spoiler

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“Fine. I know how stubborn you can be, Korram. I won’t waste anymore of my precious time trying to convince you. I will find someone else, or some other way to acquire what I seek. But as for you . . . I will leave you here, before the monument of your failure! The Hells are a big place, Korram, and you haven’t much time regardless of how equally stubborn your daughter is. Tear the Hells apart if you wish, but do not presume that the preservation of your soul will mean anything before the end of the world!”

Nihilus turns and begins to walk away, pausing after a moment and reaching down. From the muddy ground he pulls out an exquisitely-crafted sword. You think it might even have been one of the ones that Miriam was wielding at the Battle. Shaking the mud off of the weapon, Nihilus slings the weapon over his shoulder and with his other hand rips open another portal in reality. He steps through it, and the portal seals shut behind him a moment later, leaving you alone.

Korram continues to direct a harsh, if even, glare at Nihilus until the portal closes behind the demon lord.

"...You know nothing about me. I'll save her. Just you wait."

His voice contains none of the righteousness it held before, replaced by a quiet conviction. Despite this, Korram isn't sure if his statement is directed at the Writer of History or himself. Nihilus had been correct in his statements, not that odds had ever stopped Korram before.

Except apparently, before he had Nihilus stacking the cards in his favor.

No. Don't think like that.

Korram sighs, making a mental note about the sword Nihilus had taken with him. Despite his melancholy, Korram feels he has won a small victory here, over himself if no one else. Drawing satisfaction from that to push forward, he takes stock of his situation.

Okay, back on the mortal plane. That's good. We're finally getting somewhere. Getting to Hell will be a whole different affair. What do I have? Tunic, breeches...no shoes...nothing else. I really wish I hadn't gotten over my need for standard clothing so quickly. Maybe there's a body somewhere I can loot for some better clothing...

Looking around, Korram's search stops almost as soon as it begins when he spots an oddly fertile area on the ground. Curious, he walks over to it.

Alright, that's odd...

Coming closer, Korram immediately recognizes Sara's body from his previous encounters with her. He kneels down next to the body, paying his respects.

And people go off about how my "sacrifice" was so noble...that was spur of the moment, and I was trying to get myself damned. This girl...she knew what this would do to her. There's no way she wouldn't. And she went through with it anyway. It was stupid...but it was noble. She was so young, too.

Looking over the corpse, Korram notices the crystal. Recognizing it as a soul crystal, he reaches over and lifts it from the girl's hand. He examines it in the light for a few seconds, enough time for him to figure out a rough approximation of what had happened.

"That monster...how could he have..."

Korram forces down a swell of utter hatred, suppressing his useless fury. Shaking his head sadly, he pockets the crystal. Hopefully, there would be some way to deal with it later. He stands, but then looks back at the body.

She deserves a burial. But...I don't want to disturb the body...it might disrupt...whatever this is. Hm.

Putting a few seconds of thought into it, Korram decides not to waste time.

Maybe I can come back and make cairn or something later. Wait, no, that's stupidly unlikely.

His expression sours.

I really wish that meant it wouldn't happen.

Shaking his head, Korram stands and takes a few steps away from the body to think.

Where do I go from here? I don't know of any way to go directly to Hell, and I don't know anyone who would be able to help me. Unless...Ander. He's my best bet at this point. In that case...I should go to Luxien. Either he'll be there, or I can find out where he is from there. Or I might find out on the way. Regardless.

Now possessing a vague plan, Korram sets off.

Spoiler

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Korram will attempt to find a town or other settlement where he can get directions to Luxien. He is also going to try to find more practical clothing.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

"I'd say that there would be nothing you could do to me that would be worse than some of the things I've already known. But that would be... tempting fate." Umber grinned. Sometimes you just had to seize the opportunity when life handed it to you. Nihilus wasn't the only one with a taste for recreational sadism.

Umber grew unusually serious, however, when Nihilus began to describe the Certain King and the unholy potential. Eventually, Umber nodded.

"Mmm. Well, that makes sense. Although I thought that the Hierarch had been dealt with in my own version of the present. Or version of reality, or whatever this time-buggery equates to in terms of the narrative existential state from which the incarnation of Umber which is "me" derives." Umber said, in a thoughtful tone. ""Still, he definitely tried to release Azguloth and end the world. We stopped him, though - and as far as I could tell, the Baron was more interested in trying to usurp the Goddess, instead of releasing Azguloth. That ship seemed to have sailed. Which perhaps explains why Marialta had to try a new tactic. Perhaps my particular time-stream had shifted too far from the design of Fate, and had to be reset. I am curious, though: Any other potential Kings? Honestly, I'd be a bit curious if Fate ever tried to get you to take up that position. The damnable thing seems to love irony."

Umber gave Nihilus a grin. "That disturbing possibility aside, the uniqueness of this situation also means that I am something that has never existed before. With the exception of yourself, who else has had a chance to do things over? To correct the mistakes of the past? I've been considering things, Nihilus, and it occurs to me that I don't necessarily have to leave this time-stream at all. I could usurp my own ex-body. I could try to change things. If I eliminate Dacian and murder the Baron in his crib, I could break the chain of Fate's plan entirely. More, I could always steal the Baron's plan for myself. If I were to usurp the powers of the gods, I might well have the ability to break Fate itself." Umber smiled. "Admittedly, then you'd have to deal with me as a god, but it'd be hard for me to bungle the job any worse than the current occupants. I like to think that I wouldn't keep the power too long in any case. Lately, I've started to think that the world could do without them entirely. A world without chains, save those we choose to assume." Umber sighed. "Sounds like paradise. Maybe retire to the seaside somewhere. I know this lovely little island, where you can smell the olive groves, and watch the fireflies dance on the sea-shore..."

[Kasanip]

Lukina

Lukina was pensive. In a way that wasn't good. For Lukina, the whole week had been a blur. Exhaustion, battle, blood, shock, determination, hope, nightmares... There wasn't a lot of time for thinking. And while at the beginning she had been sure and confused, she had fought against fiend lords who had called her, and something had resonated strongly. She was Genevieve. And Lukina. But she had changed over the last week too. Was Lukina becoming more like Genevieve? Without recalling all of her memories, it was impossible to know. But Lukina was Genevieve. She was one person, stretched across history, and with empty places in her memories.

The grand plans of the paladins she knew she should have listened more to. Being suddenly in a discussion she was not familiar with however, it was difficult. Genevieve's memories only helped with things long ago. And Lukina didn't know very much about the paladins, except that she had admired them. Paladins like Commander Welkin and Tyberius were the type she expected. The meeting changed that opinion a little.

Meeting Ysora had changed many things, too. Her recognition gave Lukina the peace she was hoping for. Because until Ysora had come, Genevieve was alone. Of course the paladins had helped her and offered more help, but they were not familiar. Even if Ysora was a little different, she was still familiar. But Ysora had immediately turned to volunteer to go to the hells, and that had put Lukina in a rough position again. That was for later. But for now, she walked with Ysora, and reveled in the nostalgic feeling, to be reunited and to meet a sister she knew, and meeting a sister for the first time, too.

“I have so many questions for you, dear sister. But I suppose many of them are inconsequential, at least compared to the one that I’m going to ask. How does it feel to be back!?”

Lukina matched Ysora's smile and looked up at her sister.
"It's... wonderful. It's a little strange, too." she curls and uncurls her hand pensively as they walk through the hallway. "I can remember some things. Serving our Lady, I remember my sisters of course." She said, mustering a sly smile. "I still dream about the past. That's where most of my memories return. I missed you all very much." "I remember saying goodbye and promising to share my experiences with you when I returned." She winces.
"I apologize, that I didn't have the chance before. It's been thousand years, and, well.... It's nice to be alive." She decided, with a smile. Then it turned to a small pout.
"It's disorienting too. So much time has passed. I don't know how things happened. I'm...well, I'm a human too. I was born and raised a normal life in a village. Until I heard our Lady's call, and I awakened again. Or something like that. I'm not certain." Of course, to not have wings, it was an obvious comment. "I was hoping to learn, and return to heaven to speak to our Lady. But like you always do, you showed up when I needed someone who could help." Lukina hesitated. "You're taller than me now." She said, trying to keep her voice light. Truthfully Lukina had a lot of questions and things she wanted to ask. But for the moment, it seemed right to revel in the connection. Two sisters reunited across a long time. And for Lukina(Genevieve), just the connection with Ysora again was a divine resonance. Ysora had a lot to think about too. "There are so many things that have happened after I... died?" Was that the correct word? Lukina remembered the dream with the orange-eye figure. "I hope you can tell me too, about everyone, and what has happened."

When they reached the balcony though, there was the package. Lukina frowned.
"It is very suspicious." She agreed with Ysora. But curiousity was difficult to stop too, for Lukina. Cautiously she stepped forward, looking around the balcony to see if someone was there. "Maybe it is from the feind lords defeated before. I fought two during the battle, when we arrived at Luxien. They remembered my light, at least." Lukina continued. Or maybe someone from the meeting? We didn't go straight to come here." But both ideas were strange. She read the paper on the box, and decided to open it anyway. Sometimes, thousands of years doesn't change a stubborn personality. And Lukina was never very patient too. "If it's a trap, it may be better not to tell Lady Miriam I returned and foolishly died again." She said to Ysora with a sheepish expression. "But also I don't think it would be good to say that Lukina, Genevieve the Champion was afraid of opening a box."

She finished to say, and cautiously opened the present.

[Lonna]

The Woman of Many Names

When Titania off-handedly commented on the fire-cat Jacqueline had provided to Mar, the princess' shock mirrored Wulfric's slack-jawed expression, though she promptly hid it behind her practiced mask of polite attention. As the group filed slowly up the stairs, she looked over her shoulder at the spot where the black ichor had disappeared into the ice.

Is she simply too tired to react, or did purging herself of that... whatever it was... actually purge her anger?

Jacqueline's contemplation of this mystery was interrupted by Titania's sudden declaration that Wulfric was not to be present for the explanation of how Phaedra came to be. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded in confirmation to Wulfric's inquiring gaze. Titania seemed to be recovering from her fit, and if the respite from her temper was similarly transitory, she didn't want Wulfric in the direct line of fire. In response to Titania's tired-sounding comment on his suitability, however, Jacqueline smiled.

"There is more to Wulfric than meets the eye," she said simply, taking the chair conjured for her.

When the queen at last began her tale, Jacqueline deliberately remained silent, relying on her practiced habits as Pyrene to keep from giving away anything Titania might use against her - including her ignorance of this Dacian. Although... she had a vague memory... wasn't there a Dacian in one of the old creation myths?

[Gorgondantess]

She focuses a moment, tightening down on the ridge of Maurice's blade and forming something resembling a hilt, then handing it to her reverently. "I believe this belongs to you."
She tenses as the mechanical monstrosities appear, casting about for a way out of this trap. No, surrounded on all sides, and she couldn't just dig her way out by absorbing the ground- not in this place at least. Surrounded all around and with those... things closing in, she readies herself for combat, but then looks up. Of course. Crouching, she leaps up, and with one mighty flap of her wings reaches the ceiling of the place, biting into the surface with a clawed hand. She hauls her feet up, forming similar claws there to hang from the ceiling like a bat. Thus secured, she forms her arms into lengthy pseudopods and hauls up Maurice and Heph to her perch. She produces a harness for Heph to hang from, while cradling Maurice in her arms. There, they let the monstrosities below sort themselves out.
She murmurs to Maurice distantly. "I... do not know if these sisters of yours are beyond help. I believe they may well be beyond my power. But if you ask it of me, I will do my best to free them."

[Inspectre]

Phaedra

The_Snark/Lonna

At your question, Titania turns her gaze to glare at you, although her expression quickly softens.


“I . . . I am not sure.”


She announces unhelpfully, licking her lips.


“The man who calls himself the Baron of Gast told me that Dacian had been dealt with, something that I find hard to believe. Something, in fact, that I hope is not true. But this is telling the story backward.”


Titania pauses momentarily to conjure an exquisite crystal goblet filled with ice water, which she swishes around in her mouth before spitting it back out, removing the last of the black substance she had vomited up from her mouth. When she is finished, she sets the goblet aside and continues.

“I will start at the beginning, or at least where you left the story, Marisiel. After you and the other angels left Phaedra, confident that humanity could stand on its own, there was peace for a time. But a little more than a month after you left, Dacian came to Phaedra. The former avatar of Athelion, and guardian of Azguloth’s prison, here!?”

Titania smirked.

“Well, I’m sure you can imagine the fanfare that he was greeted with. He was a hero, and nobody had seen him for years - not since the end of the war. And . . . I was young back then, with the foolishness of youth that not even wisdom can entirely overcome. I will admit that I was completely enamored, a condition which he did little to discourage. I was, however, surprised to learn that he was only a few years older than I was. The stories had painted him as a giant amongst men, but the gods had put their avatars to use when they were barely more than children, didn’t they?”

Titania’s eyes gained a far off look, and for a moment she simply stared off into space, or perhaps time, thinking back on that described first meeting, a triumphant Dacian being paraded into the city to meet the new queen of humanity. Although her eyes retained their far off look, when Titania continued her voice carried an unexpected subdued undertone.

“My infatuation with him was why the secrets he revealed to me cut down to my very black soul.”

Titania trailed off again, only instead of a pause this time the delay had another purpose. Raw magical power began to flow out of Titania, floating up to fill the ceiling overhead to form moving images. Overhead, what could only be a scene from Titania’s memory plays out.

Titania, clearly no older and perhaps even younger than Jacqueline herself is now, sat perched on her throne while a man read off a list to her. Jacqueline does not recognize this man, but Marisiel does – it’s Istomilo in his original body, which is only a few years older than Titania. He was a close second choice for the new ruler of humanity due to his magical aptitude and age, but Titania’s superior leadership qualities ultimately won the angels’ approval. This discussion of the kingdom’s daily affairs is interrupted by a young man entering, prompting the guards present to immediately throw themselves to one knee.

“Good morning, Dacian. Did you have an opportunity to stroll through our floating gardens yet?”

Titania asked, immediately brightening into a smile from the bored pout she had been giving Istomilo a moment ago. Istomilo, who had been also looking a bit frustrated at having to go through a list of minor events and disputes one a time, nonetheless does not seem relieved by Dacian’s arrival. He gives the avatar of Athelion a respectful nod, and then steps back and folds his arms while Dacian moves to in front of the throne with a smile. Still just a man at this point and not a monster, the expression is a pleasant one on his equally youthful face.

“I did last eve, Your Grace. It was very beautiful, and I regret not having more time available to spend within it.”

“Please, call me Titania. Everyone else uses my title or some variation thereof – but I think an avatar should be above such things.”

“As you wish, Queen Titania. Are you currently busy with the affairs of your kingdom? I need to speak with you – privately. In a place where we will not be overheard.”

Istomilo breaks into an actual frown over that, and even Titania turns serious at the request, but she nods a moment later all the same.

“Yes. We can speak inside of my meditation chamber. It is small and easily warded against eavesdropping. Come, I will show you where it is. Istomilo, we will finish the day-to-day business of the kingdom when I return.”

Titania practically leapt out of her throne, earning a disapproving frown from Istomilo as he shoved the half-finished list into a pocket of his robes and watched the two of them go. The images from the long-ago memory ripple and melt away, only to reform to display the interior of the mediation chamber.


Titania is kneeling down beside the small shallow pool that dominates the center of the room, while Dacian paces around the outermost path, sticking to the shadows there.

“There. I have erected a double set of wards around this room. Whether accidentally or by intent, anyone who attempts to listen to our conversation will hear only noise. Now, what is this about, Dacian?”

“Very well. Your G – Titania, I am sure you are aware of the important duty that I have been charged with now that the war is over.”

“Of course! Azguloth has been imprisoned, and He must not be released upon the world ever again. I do not know where His prison rests, of course, and with the exception of you and your knights I don’t think anyone else does. Is that what concerns you – one of the Fiend Lords learning its location and attempting to free him?”

“No. The Great Seal that sits over His prison is . . . frustratingly hard to break, and even I do not know how to open it. That was not why I wished to speak with you, however. Instead I wanted to ask you about the Children of Azguloth.”

“Children? Um . . . the children that the avatar of Azguloth sired during the war? They were all hunted down and destroyed during the Final Battle and after, weren’t they?”

“Yes, the offspring that Azguloth’s avatar sired from the moment He was able to the day of His imprisonment. Presumably if they had been given a chance to grow into adulthood, they would have become a powerful cadre of bodyguards. Alternatively, perhaps Azguloth was trying to ensure that He would have an endless supply of avatars to use should He be defeated once. Such a thought was one of the reasons for why He and His avatar were imprisoned rather than killed. Even with their sire gone, however, the remaining Children were still all exterminated. Miriam did not wish for these abominations to one day grow into a threat, nor endanger the world by attempting to free their sire. I have recently learned, however, that there may still be one left alive.”

“One left alive!? Surely that child must be an adult by now then! How is this possible!?”

“Azguloth was clever, and He seeded His children across the face of the world, everywhere he went. Many such children were brought along with the rest of His army, but others were left hidden here and there throughout the land. It was thought that even these were all hunted down and destroyed, but now I know that one evaded discovery, hidden right beneath the angels’ noses in a place where it could do the most damage once it matured – by infiltrating the leadership of Phaedra, and bringing humanity tumbling back down into darkness!”

“WHAT!!!? Do you know who this person is!? WHO!!!!!?”

Titania pressed after Dacian gave a confirming nod to her initial question. Dacian’s voice is chilling as he answers the second question with one of his own.

“Tell me, Titania – what do you remember of your father?”

“My father? I was orphaned by the war, and only luck and the generosity of the angels led me to come under their care, their tutelage, and finally be selected as their choice to guide humanity. Are . . . are you s-saying!?”

“Yes. You are the last Child of Azguloth. His daughter, His Heiress . . . and the gods chose you to be the one that commands humanity. Ironic, no?”

The images across the ceiling suddenly explode into countless points of light that fade away as Titania breaks into a coughing fit. Thankfully, this one is brief, and as she lowers the hand away from her mouth, Titania smirks at Mar.

“Yes, the pupil who you sheltered, mentored, and selected to rule in your stead was the daughter of your greatest enemy. I suppose you never even suspected, or else you would have torn my head from my shoulders without a second thought! But now that you do know, Marisiel, tell me – was it always my fate, then, to turn away from the gods? Do you think that is why I turned my back on everything you taught me to seek my own path for humanity? That I was inevitably predisposed to rebel against the gods, and carry on the war of my father, *the* Fiend Lord!?”

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Nobody

"I have to try. Something about these paladins seems...right. Like I will find the answers I seek among them. And if these devils mean to break them, they will destroy my chance at those answers."

He falls in step and looks concerned. But when he saw that paladin he'd been trying to save enter the confessional, he steels his resolve. He had to know what these...things were doing. He sees someone pass by, and notices the bleak stone of the walls. It seems to call to him. He tries to get as close to the wall as possible, and begins feeling something in his skin start to crawl. As if he had some connection to the solid rock. And when the next in line passes by, Nobody notices that he walks by as if nobody wasn't there. He looks at his hand. It's not the same color as it was before. A dark grey, almost black, and his fingers grind and scrape as he moves them. He had become like the wall. Like rock. Not only could this afford him some protection, but if he was careful, he could try to blend in with the walls and architecture to avoid notice.

He edges closer to the confessional, keeping an eye on the paladin he'd been following. He had to know what was going on.

[Baerdog7]

Speaker Ander Windrivver

Ander should have known what to expect before he revealed the details of Project Revenant to the Council. Still, he would not...could not begin to implement the project behind their backs. At the very least, they wouldn't be able to accuse him of being dishonest with them.

Ander slumps in his chair as he digests Melissan's news from Heaven. The symbol on the tabard was unfamiliar, but maybe the other details could help him narrow down the pool of suspects.

From what you tell me, it seems like the invasion of Heaven took place at roughly the same time as the invasion of Luxien. We can rule out the eight demon lords who were present during the attack. Though it was humans who did the dirty work, the responsible party would not likely miss out on overseeing such an historic event. Daz'kick was absent, though he is more interested in building weapons than armies. Eck'ra was also absent, but to the best of my knowledge prefers to use her own foul beasts as foot soldiers rather than humans.

As much as I hate to admit it, I don't think Nihlus was responsible for this attack either. He invaded Luxien in pursuit of a goal, the invasion of Heaven was for what? To sow chaos? To acquire souls? It's too crude for his style. Not to mention he tried to convince me to retire, to sit out the coming battle and spend what time was left with my family. I find it hard to believe he would then turn around and spirit them away. No, this isn't Nihlus' work.

He kicks his feet up on the table and plays with his mustache while continuing with his deductions.

So, the only fiend lords left are the devils. The symbol on the tabard is a corruption of our own which suggests that the humans who invaded Heaven were former paladins who have been conscripted into some new Hellish army. If I were to guess which devil lord is the most interested in collecting paladins and molding them into a personal army, my first thought would be the Black General. Legend says he was a paladin himself, once, and always had a penchant for luring the righteous astray.

I think I'll have to pay him a visit.

Ander rises and trudges toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

I'm going to find my family, Melissan, and I'm going to do whatever I have to in order to make sure there's a Heaven to take them back to. Hell isn't playing by the old rules anymore and if Heaven can't adapt...

We will all have to do things that we could never have imagined in order to save what is important to us. Mark my words. If you're willing to help me, I'll be at the ritual chamber an hour after sunrise.

With that, Ander returns to his quarters. Maybe now he could get some rest.

[Inspectre]

The Heavens

Dorizzit

Taking Sara’s soul crystal with you, you pay your last respects to the girl who was willing to give everything for the Valkyrie, and then turn your thoughts once more to the road ahead. Unlike Sara, whose body has been nearly perfect preserved – despite the gaping wounds marring it – the battlefield is full of corpses who have rotted away. The carrion birds undoubtedly had a feast for several weeks after the battle, and your eyes could still pick out a few meals for them here and there. A short distance beyond the pleasant bed of flowers that served as Sara’s final resting place, the smell alone quickly become sickening.

It seems that carrion feeders of an entirely different stripe have also been through here at one point, and this two-legged variety were even more thorough than the birds. Anything of value, including most intact weapons, was gone from the bodies, leaving only shattered armor and broken weapons behind. Fortunately, anything of value didn’t seem to include boots or clothing, although the battle, time, and scavengers had taken their toll on those as well. You eventually manage to find a relatively intact cloak that was not too disgustingly filthy and bloodcaked, and a pair of boots that while too big for your feet nonetheless offered some protection from the muck and buried weapon fragments. You just couldn’t think too much about the boots’ prior occupant, now reduced to a pile of bones and rotting flesh.

You are vaguely familiar enough with the geography of the kingdom to know where Luxien is, and roughly how to get there from the capital. However, it was a toss-up whether or not any nearby villages would still be there, especially after the complete devastation of the capital. Fortunately or not, after about an hour of traveling you crest a hill to find a sizable camp set up in the shadow of the next hill. There are no banners flying over the camp, so you can’t tell their allegiance – although judging from the lack of smoking fires you suspect that they don’t want to be found. The sound of human voices, however, reassure you at least that these aren’t elves – although that didn’t make them automatically friendly, either. Still, if they didn’t shoot or enslave you on sight – this could be a good place to get supplies and information. And if they turned out to be an unpleasant sort, you wouldn’t even have to trade or negotiate – just take what you wanted after you pounded them all flat!

The Hells

The Mire of Desolation

Archpaladin Zousha

As you brace yourself against the wall, hoping to sneak close to the confessional to listen in, your skin reflexively becomes like stone. This does not seem to be a chameleon like power, and the rags that serve as your clothes are unaffected, but nonetheless it will help you blend in amongst the ruins. This doesn’t seem like the sort of ability that a human would have, however, so maybe there is some merit to your companions claims that you might not human. Whether you are or not doesn’t matter, and neither does your lack of memories – you know who you are. And right now, you know that you can’t abandon these paladins, especially the woman you have been trying to help, and who seems to have encountered you in the past. With your skin helping you blend in to the crumbling wall, you slip over to the confessional and listen in.

“Welcome, my child. What disturbs you so?”

The voice is smooth and oily, deceptively soft and gentle, but there’s something about it that makes your skin crawl. You hear the woman groan as if in pain from within her own confessional, and then whisper back.

“I . . . I fear that I have failed my father. He was a paladin who gave his life during the last days of the Crusades. I so badly wanted to live up to his example – but I have failed!”

“Nonsense, my child. If he gave his life during the Crusades, then his soul was damned to remain in the Hells for eternity. You became a paladin, and now you likewise are damned. You have followed in his footsteps perfectly!”

“But –“

“I know you are afraid that he will be disappointed in you. That he wanted something “better” for you – what a foolish notion! There is no better place to be than the Hells . . . if you have the power, and the will to use it to control your destiny. You have a priceless opportunity before you, for you can surpass your father’s legacy. By joining the Hellgarde you can gain influence – power! – far faster than you ever could as another damned soul. Then you can truly make your father happy, by providing a place for you both to rule for all eternity!”

“I . . . I guess that would be good.”

“Yes! Give yourself willingly to the Darkness, and you will find it a stalwart ally. Light inevitably fades, but the Darkness remains. All you have to do is pledge your fealty to it. Say these words, and fulfill your destiny! I give myself to Darkness. I swear fealty to the Fiend Lords of the Hells. I shall be a blade in their hands, a tool to rebuild the world in their image. Forevermore!”

“I . . . I give myself –“

“STAND AT ATTENTION! COMMANDER HONDSHIOH HAS ARRIVED!”

Someone called out, and suddenly the courtyard is a flurry of activity as the Hellgarde forms up into orderly ranks. You catch a glimpse of the aforementioned Hondshioh, and it is indeed the man you had seen with the Black General upon first awakening. He towers over the assembled humans, and unlike them he wears no helmet although he is likewise suited in a black armor. Within the confessional, the listener hisses in clear irritation, while the woman runs out of the confessional with a stammered,

“H-hondshioh!? I . . . I s-should go!”

Still dressed in the tatters of her uniform and not the black plate of the Hellgarde, the woman is clearly uncertain where to stand. So she wanders over to the outskirts of the courtyard where she can still see, near to the wall – and by chance, almost directly next to you. So far, no one has noticed you, and with everyone’s backs to you as they face the podium, no one is likely to do so during the speech. Except, of course, Hondshioh, whose eyes sweep over the courtyard and the assembled Hellgarde as he steps up to the podium.

“My comrades! Today we have struck our first blow against the Heavens who betrayed us, our so-called brethren who abandoned us! We have proved to the Valkyrie Herself that there is nowhere Her bastard servants can hide that we cannot reach! We have taken the Great Betrayer’s wife and child from their decadent nest, and brought them here as prisoners of war! See how powerless they all are before us! If he has the courage to come down here and face us, we will be ready, and we will not hesitate to destroy him! However, I have been informed that the Hellgarde will not be taking part in any defensive actions. We are a sword, not a shield, and we would be wasted in a battle here. Instead –“

Hondshioh’s nostrils suddenly flare, and his eyes narrow in suspicion as he begins to sweep the crowd more intently. He recovers quickly, but the ever so brief pause makes you suspect that he is somehow aware of your presence – or perhaps Katrina and Volesin’s!

“Instead we shall endeavor to keep our enemies off-balance by further precision strikes. Your squad commanders will be receiving their orders shortly. Rest assured, you will all have an opportunity to wet your blades in the blood of our enemies! I am not much of one for speeches, for I am a man of action, and so I will leave you with this final thought and allow you to return to your practicing. We have an intruder amongst us! The person who finds him and brings him to me will be amply rewarded!”

A roar goes out from the crowd, and then they all start casting their eyes about. You have a few moments more before they notice you, although moving would likely only hurry along your discovery. The woman who you have been trying to protect turns to face you a moment later – by accident rather than design, your eyes lock. She blinks in surprise a moment, and then takes a deep breath to shout a warning.

The Estate of Lord Nihilus

Iethloc

“Thank you, Sohssal.”

Incom chatters, and then turns invisible again. Xerxes hmmms thoughtfully, and then shrugs.

“Very well. I’m not certain exactly where Isabella is being held besides inside her own maximum security cell within the Black General’s fortress. But I should be able to get us inside – I know a few devils in his employ. Letting them know that I wish to bequeath an interesting slave to the Black General to curry favor ought to get their attention. They’ll probably try to betray us to curry favor of their own – the simpletons are predictable like that. I rather doubt their ambush will be anything that you can’t handle, Sohssal – and it will get us inside the fortress.”

(I’m assuming that you are leaving Seraph behind to rest, but let me know if Sohssal decides to bring him along as well.)

It takes mercifully little time for the last preparations to fall into place. After spending time as Lord Nihilus and finding how long it took your incompetent servants to do anything productive, that wasn’t especially surprising, but welcome nonetheless. The Black General’s fortress lived up to its name – immense walls of black stone towered over a rust-colored sandy plain. The fortress’s walls and towers stretched for as far as the eye could see in either direction – possibly an illusion, but if so a well-made one.

Xerxes led you to a small side gate built into a section of the wall a far distance away from what seems to be the central citadel. Noticing your arrival, the portcullis swings open, allowing you to enter a narrow corridor, which has even less space than usual due to the fact that a dozen armored devils are crowded in there. The portcullis slams down behind your small group once everyone is inside, and the devils brandish their weapons menacingly.

“Alright Xerxes, give us your slave! If we like what we see, we’ll pass on that you helped us find it.”

“Oh, curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”

Xerxes said with mock concern. He turns and quirks an eyebrow at you.

“As I said, I got you inside the door. One of these idiots should have the keystone that controls the teleportation circles that will get us further in. Try not to obliterate it with them.”

“Hey, we’re standing right here y’know! Get ‘em, boys!”

One of the devils shouts out, identifying himself as the likely leader. And indeed, hanging from his belt you can see a shimmering crystal – presumably the aforementioned keystone.

The Screaming Dark Estate

OverWilliam

It takes all of your will not to take the offered dagger and make little girl fillets, and all of your strength to snap off the gnarled limb of evil coiling its way into your thoughts. When you come to and find yourself with your teeth pressing down into the girl’s skin (she tasted so sweet), you pull yourself away and find you no longer desire to torture her. Nihilus looks slightly disappointed as you call the Fang out of his hand, but nods in satisfaction after a moment’s thought.

“So you have learned how to control your inner fiends – good. Perhaps this trip was not an entire waste, then. But controlling them is not enough – like it or not they are a part of you now, and to deny them entirely is to risk tearing yourself apart. You must learn how to harness them, to hold them back as necessary . . . and unleash them when appropriate. But perhaps you will learn this lesson in time – just don’t think that you know anything about anything yet, boy.”

Nihilus cautions, offering you the second half of the Fangs. This one you tuck into the folds of your clothing, while the first one you wield, carrying it and the girl to a place where the rocks level out. There was not much wood to be had in this inhospitable section of coastline, but you do find a few pieces of driftwood. The exterior is soaked, but these planks must have come from a ship and therefore been treated against water because their interiors are dry after you split the wood open. It is enough to eventually get a small fire going, and as the girl’s clothing dries and her flesh becomes warm again you study her.

Just looking at her only brings forth more turmoil over what her ultimate fate will be. Seeking hard answers, you open your mind up and reach out to her, submerging your consciousness in her past. You find nothing of use there – just the idle playing of a child. Right now, she is too young to understand concepts as good and evil beyond the simplest shades of black and white, nor does she realize just how truly fragile of a balance made up her life. And the elves had taken a sledgehammer to that, shattering it into disjointed pieces that could never be fit back together perfectly. She was broken and alone now, and while she would rebuild her psyche, without care the pieces would be joined back together in a mockery of what it once was, twisted and wrong. You would find no answers here either, and you are just about to give up in frustration when you dimly feel Nihilus lay his hand on your shoulder, and feel his presence forcing its way into the past-bond!

If you are looking to find answers in what lies behind her, you are looking in the wrong place. Where we come from can lead to where we are going, but it is a twisted path into the future. And those are the paths that you must examine if you wish to play God! Here, do not look inward – look forward . . . like this!

Nihilus twists your head, and suddenly everything shifts and turns upside down and inside out. Suddenly, you are no longer standing in the midst of the girl’s memories, but instead are looking at them from the inside, facing outward . . . and from your perch at the center, you can look out and see a spider web of breathtaking complexity. But these strands are not made of spidersilk, but are instead events, or chains of events that split off and rejoin, arcing outward from where the girl is now to one of a dozen endpoints.

Stunning, isn’t it? Within each of us lies a maze just like this one, more or less widespread, but just as complex, dozens of events playing off each other to lead to our final destination. It only gets more mindblowing when one realizes that there are interactions within interactions, one life touching on a hundred others and altering their own course – or not if that one life is cut short. It is nearly impossible, even for me, to exactly predict what forcing a life down one specific path or another will affect – there was only one who could do that with perfect clarity, and she has reached her own endpoint now. But one can see patterns, and sometimes that is enough. Now come back to the present – there is something else I want to show you.

A hard, stinging slap drives you out of your concentration, and you open your eyes to see Nihilus standing before you in the firelight, flexing the gloved fingers of the hand that had just slapped you.

“Now then. I understand that thanks to my interference, Videle has not yet torn out your bleeding heart. I am willing to be patient – to a point – but I want you to understand that we are on a time limit here. And to help illustrate that point, I want to show you something.”

Nihilus holds a hand out, conjuring up a small fist-sized portal in the center of his palm. Through the portal, you can see Melcara – and the fact that she is hanging limply from a wall, her hands shackled above her!

“You can relax – she is unharmed at the moment, but it may not remain that way forever. I am afraid that she has been captured by some very dangerous beings. Beings that nonetheless will fall before you - but only once you have mastered your abilities! And so the longer you delay your studies in favor of helping every poor lost soul you come across, then the more likely it will be that she will be the one who bears the cost. Someone always suffers, boy.”

Nihilus nods at the sleeping girl, relaxed now that the fire has begun to drive away the chill and dry her soaking wet clothes.

“I can tell you that this girl’s fate can be resolved without endangering Melcara's safety. Whatever consequences are woven into her future will be your fault alone. But if you continue to persist in meddling with the affairs of everyone you meet, then I am afraid you will be too late.”

After a brief pause, Nihilus closes his hand and crushes the portal before holding the hand out to you.

“You must decide who is most important - to you if not the world. In the end, there is no right or wrong way to decide who deserves to be spared and who needs to suffer in return. But you must find your own balancing point, and quickly, else your heart will drown in the world's tears. You need to understand this because if you do not . . . then the world is doomed. Gone!”

The Mortal Realm

The Woods Outside Silverstream

Vegna

Master Vork frowns and scratches his chin nervously.

“Well . . . you see Mal, once given a life of its own, earth has will, and power. I doubt you would notice it with the weak earth elementals Elise is able to summon –“

“Hey!”

“But the principle is the same. Were they stronger, it would be more difficult to alter their forms against their will. Terra is essentially one of the strongest earth elementals this world has ever seen, but he is much more than that. An elemental is merely a spirit wrapped in a shell of material taken from the earth. Terra’s essence – his very soul! – has been woven into the earth that makes up his body. Disrupting that body would not kill him – you would merely have an angry pile of mud that would still have all of the abilities of Terra Style at his command. And . . . he has surpassed even me in his mastery of the style, save for the Ultimate Technique which he must *never* learn.”

Master Vork is silent for a moment, and then nods his head.

“Yes . . . you do have a point nonetheless Mal. Through the Ultimate Technique, I have granted Terra life – and I could take it away, if I only knew the reverse of the technique. My own master never taught me it, and I don’t believe even he knew it. It has been lost to time, and perhaps that is for the best.”

Elise speaks up at this point.

“The reverse of the Ultimate Technique? But if the Ultimate Technique grants Life, then the reverse –“

“Yes, my student. The reverse would grant Death, enabling its user to snuff out the life force of any creature that he wished. You can understand why such a technique would be abandoned to the mists of time, and why I am glad it was never taught to me. I already made a poor use out of what I had been taught, and I shudder to think what I might have done had I controlled both the powers of Life and Death!”

At your next question, Val’tosh answers for Master Vork.

“No, we can’t! I’m not going to back down from a fight just because some overgrown earth elemental’s gotten too big for his britches! Besides, he’s already up to something – he hosted that tournament thing that brought us together!”

“Little One is correct. Although I don’t know why Terra was hosting this tournament, it did serve to inform him of your existence. He knows of both of you now, and because my earth clone sent you here, he may know of Silverstream as well. It is no longer safe for any of you, and although it may be prudent to split up it will also make use each individually more vulnerable – and given what happened to Silverstream, Terra is no longer our only threat.”

“So what do we do?”

Elise presses, prompting a sigh from Master Vork.

“First, we must get these people to safety. Even without the elves, they cannot return to Silverstream – the village has been completely razed to the ground. Nor can we simply drop them off at the nearest village – the elves may attack there next. It would be irresponsible to further endanger these people. We need to find a fortified location where they will be protected.”

“Mal! Hey, Mal! Didn’t we hear about a safe place like that while we were traveling here? Luxford . . . Luxsheen . . . “

“Luxien?”

Elise offers helpfully, prompting the ogre to point at her.

“Yeah, that’s it! Luxeen! It’s a big city with lots of knights, or whatever! Everyone should be safe there! Or as safe as they’re going to get, anyway!”

All eyes turn to you as Master Vork addressed you.

“Well, Mal? I am sure you also heard of this city. Do you think that the people of Silverstream would be welcome there?”

“Regardless of whether they are or not, I’m not sure our oversized friend will be.”

Elise says, looking pointedly at Val’Tosh. The ogre responds by sticky his knobby tongue out at her.

“What, is this about me being an ogre again? Well fine, I’ll wear a big cloak and hunch my shoulders. People’ll just think I’m a fat human!”

“Really? That’s your idea of a disguise?”

Elise snorts, prompting Val’Tosh to jab a massive finger at her again.

“Oh yeah? Well what about them knife-ears of yours, huh!? One look at those and they’ll think you’re a spy! Probably burn your skinny arse at the stake at something!”

“My ears are not knife-shaped! They’re merely slightly more angular than human ears, barely even noticeable in fact! I have no idea where that idiotic insult ever came from, but if it makes you happy I’ll wear a hat!”

Master Vork looks helplessly at you.

“Are they always bickering like this?”

“WE’RE NOT BICKERING!”

The two of them insist in one voice.

Luxien, The Cathedral City

Baerdog7

(As a note, I think the Project sounds awesome, and it’s exactly the sort of “I don’t give a **** about the rules” plan that Morganna would come up with! Although technically we already did have a Project Revenant in the form of Angelo implying some contingency plan of the Baron. Although although, that plot got blown all to the Hells by the arrival of Nihilus, so that’s probably a moot point. )

At your reasoning Melissan nods.

“Devils have always had a much greater penchant for corrupting mortals, and certainly the thought of making paladins, surely the holiest of humans, fall from grace is especially pleasing to them. Plus as you note, the Demon Lords and Nihilus were here, so they could not have directed the attack. I am not sure that I believe the Black General’s claim to be a former paladin – the Fiend Lords were created by Azguloth himself, and so he would have to be one of the first paladins indeed – one who developed his skills millennia before the Church of Light itself was founded! However, Slevir’s specialty is the corruption of believers – I sense his hand here as well. And why not? If the Demon Lords are working together, it stands to reason that the Devil Lords are as well.”

Melissan shakes her head.

“It was no accident that your family was targeted. I suspect that the Black General is baiting a trap for you, Ander. We’re going to need to be very careful if we go after him first – there’s a reason he is known as the Strategist of the Hells.”

At your dismissal, Melissan nods and hangs her head.

“You are . . . right. Survival has never been a concern up in the Heavens the way it is for you mortals. I suppose now it will have to become one. I dread thinking of what effect that will have on the Heavens, and what horrors the united Fiend Lords will unleash next. Good night, Ander. I will accompany you, and do what I can.”

With the angel gone, you are able to get some much-needed rest. Your dreams are uneasy, filled with replayed memories of rushing towards your burning farmhouse, standing far off in the distance even though you can still hear the screams and shrieks of demons. Nonetheless, the night passes without incident, and you awaken refreshed but uneasy due to the nightmarish spectres that confronted you in dreams. After you have gotten dressed and finished any final preparations, you head to the ritual chamber to find Melissan waiting for you.

(Don’t know Ander’s exact plans here, or if he’s taking anyone other than Melissan with him. Other than the Palace of the Sun, assume Ander can move around the Heavens freely and without further incident. For the moment, the Hells are biding their time.)

Kasanip

At your question of what happened after you died, a shadow fell across Ysora’s face, but your sister nods.

“A lot has indeed happened since your . . . departure from the world. I’m afraid that not much of it is pleasant. That is why your return is so fortuitous – perhaps you can be the champion that we all need. Miriam and humanity have drifted further and further apart, and almost all of our sisters have been imprisoned by the Hells. Marisiel . . . has also been lost to us.”

This was all grave news indeed, because if there was one angel who matched your desire to protect humanity, it was Marisiel. Then you found the package waiting for you, and all thoughts momentarily turned towards its contents.

“I doubt the Fiend Lords would have left something so innocuous looking, although what better bait for a trap than a mystery? I do not detect any of their taint within the box, at least.”

Ysora announced after a moment of critically examining the box. Deciding that curiosity and valor were better virtues than caution, you move over to the box. The note sitting on top of it is penned in expert script, and is short and to the point.

May you find the contents useful in your coming travels. You will certainly have need of them.
–A Friend.

Finding that note little help in examining the package or how it got here, you decide to open the box. The long and narrow box is held closed by a simple clasp, and you flick it out of place and then pull the top back. The interior of the box is padded with black velvet, allowing its contents to stand out sharply – a sword and a thick book. You recognize both – the book is the copy of the holy texts that you left behind during the evacuation of Woodhall, and the sword is unmistakably Exshia, your personal sword! The blade glints a welcome in the moonlight, and you can feel the almost imperceptible bond between owner and weapon flowing out from the opened box. Looking over your shoulder now, Ysora’s eyes spy the blade and widen.

“Is that . . . !? Miriam had carried it into battle at Narle, but I had thought it lost again!”

Ysora examined, her eyes drifting over to the discarded note.

“A friend? Well, I guess we know now that your benefactor intends weal instead of woe, but that still doesn’t explain who it is – or how he knows such things as where to find a missing blade and exactly where its owner will be!”

In the dark city streets below, you think you see the shadows suddenly twist and move of their own accord, accompanied by a flash of yellow-orange eyes, but then all is still once more and you aren’t entirely sure whether you imagined it or not.

“Or, for that matter, the even more important question . . . why?”

Ysora says, moving to join you in looking out over the moonlit city. She does not notice the shift of shadows that you had thought you had seen a moment before, and so there was no way to confirm whether or not it had been merely your imagination. Your thoughts are ripped away from that concern by Ysora’s next question which comes entirely as a surprise.

“Sister . . . how do you know if you are in love? Did you love the human who sired Elandra and Dacian with you, or did you see it merely as an extension of your duty? I . . . I think I might have . . .”

Ysora becomes too choked-up to continue, reaching up to brush away the tears that started to well up unbidden in her eyes.

“Is . . . is it normal to be willing to throw away everything for their sake? I would sacrifice everything for the sake of humanity, but for one person!? It . . . it’s like there’s a hole in my chest – and it hurts . . . a-and it feels like nothing I do will ever heal it.”

Gorgondantess

As the trapped angels’ suits advance towards you, you reform Maurice’s blade and hand it back to her. She takes a few practice swings with it, and finding it satisfactory nods and slips into a hesitant combat stance. Hephestia quirks an eyebrow at your demonstration and slips around behind you and Maurice.

“I don’t suppose you have another one of those for me?”

Your answer is to leap up onto the ceiling, securing yourself and then reaching down and grabbing both Maurice and Hephestia. The ceiling is surprisingly easy to hold onto, being made of a grated metal that allows your clawed feet to easily anchor into place. With your feet able to hold you aloft, you hold Maurice in your arms, while Hephestia hangs from a skin pouch in your back.

Unfortunately, it seems the armor suits are capable of recognizing friend from foe, because they do not attack each other. Below you, the armor-encased angels reach up and jump futilely up at you, unable to fly despite their armor-bound wings twisting and pumping. Even from your position above them, you can hear the movement caused by the pistons breaking the delicate bones in the wings. Screams echo out from within the two armored figures, although in the case of the angel missing her lower jaw, it’s more of a “hhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!”

“I sense that they are both still alive. If we could get them out of the Hells, they would not be damned for eternity and could perhaps return home! I don’t know even know you got here! But I don’t know how we could save them – and they are suffering terribly here . . .”

“Much as I don’t like the sight of my former sisters in such a horrid state, I don’t think now is a good time to get all weepy-eyed. Something else is coming.”

You could hear it too, of course – you had heard the other things approaching through the walls, clanging and scraping metal on metal. But now the sound was a roar compared to the whisper it was before, and small, dog-sized panels begin to swing open in the walls around the room. A few moments after the panels slide fully open, half a dozen dog-sized . . . creatures enter. They are even more bizarre, and you imagine to the eyes of your companions, even more disgusting than the mutilated angels. A fusion of metal and flesh, these creatures walk on four scythe-like curved blades, connected by a tangled mess of tendons and exposed muscles. Embedded in the middle of this is a glass jar, inside of which is floating a pair of eyeballs and a human brain.

“Ugh . . . I forget about these damn things. Zareth’s “pets” – somehow they’re even more disgusting than they were before!”

Hephestia grumbles, choking back her own bile. Meanwhile, the half dozen constructs are unimpeded by the wall as they nimbly clamber up the walls and across the ceiling heading towards you. Halfway to you, one of them makes a powerful leap, straight forward – despite the effect of gravity the creature is not dropping fast enough to fall out of reach before it gets to you. Midway through the air, it flips and re-orients itself to the ground so that its blades are pointing down towards the floor instead of up towards the ceiling. For a mangled mess of tissue and implanted metal, the thing is surprisingly nimble. Not quite nimble enough, however, as Maurice swipes at it with her sword, deflecting the thing’s outstretched blade-arms and throwing it back down to the floor where it lands like a cat. Undaunted, the other five scramble up to the ceiling and begin to coil themselves up for similar leaps, all five of them coming in from different directions. Meanwhile, another half dozen of Zareth’s pets begin to slip into the room through the open panels.

“Yeah, this is bad. We’re all going to die.”

Hephestia says, cheery as ever.

Phaedra

The_Snark/Lonna

When her revelation fails to get a reaction out of Marisiel, Titania seems more disappointed than angry. She has one last brief coughing fit, glaring sullenly at Marisiel as she does so, and then pulls herself up to her full height while sitting on her icy throne.

“Well . . . I did not go pledging my soul to fiends after this revelation, much as that might surprise you Marisiel. But, I was . . . confused . . . hurt . . . scared . . . and so foolishly young.”

Titania gives both of you a frigid stare that surpasses even the cold looks she had been throwing at Marisiel since the archangel’s arrival. Her voice drops to just above a whisper, carrying with it a promise of utter annihilation if her warning is not heeded.

“I will admit that I have made a lot of mistakes, some of them blatantly foolish now that I have hindsight to reflect back on them. But while what I am about to tell you next is necessary to understand the rest of my story, you will breathe a word of this to no one. If anyone else were to learn of it, let alone Istomilo, the consequences will be DIRE! Do you both understand!?”

Once she has seen confirmation that her audience understands the warning, Titania slumps back into her throne. It’s as if the shame of this great secret was crushing the strength out of her, and it was all she could do to force the words out through her lips.

“After dropping this devastating revelation on me, Dacian retired to his quarters for the night. He had promised not to speak a word of it to anyone, but urged me to reconsider my loyalties. Should the Valkyrie ever learn of this truth, Her retribution would be swift, and She might not confine Her vengeance to me alone. In essence, the people of Phaedra were my accomplices, unwitting or not. I had been chosen to rule for my wisdom, but I was still a teenager, with a teenager’s foolishness. Everything I thought I knew had just been shattered, and so I sought . . . comfort.”

Titania pauses a moment, sighing deeply and covering her face with one hand. She seems to struggle with herself for a moment, and then continues her confession, the next words tumbling out in a rush.

“I was already attracted to Dacian, and our shared secret only brought us closer in my eyes. So that night I sneaked into his quarters, and spent the time until dawn in his bed. I didn’t know it then, but that was the night that you were conceived, my daughter. Do you understand!? Istomilo is not your father . . . Dacian is!”

The Past Age

WhiteKnight777

As you began to wax philosophical on the beauty of a world without bungling gods, Nihilus interrupts you by jabbing a finger in your face.

“That. That right there. *That’s* the hubris of the Certain King talking! Oh yes, things would be so much better if this over here were different, or if we just tweaked this one thing . . . and then all of a sudden you end up with something so grotesque that you decide to smash the whole thing, and start again from the ashes! Well I happen to like my world, horrendous flaws and all, so keep your damned claws off of it!”

Nihilus suddenly breaks into a half-mad laugh and throws his hands out from his sides in an exaggerated shrug.

“See? This is what happens when you don’t have some other goal to distract you – I don’t think you can help it really. You think that things will be better if you just manage to do this or that, and you go searching for the power to make that happen. But what you either can’t see or won’t acknowledge is that in the end, the scales of Fate are perfectly balanced. One cannot give without taking it from another – time, resources, energy . . . pain. Fortunately, you all seem to be easily distracted from the path of elevating your fellow man, building a monument to nothingness, or whatever. You have the penchant for immortality, Demetrius wants to tear Miriam down from Her throne, and ironically enough, Dacian becomes obsessed with releasing Azguloth. Which you would think would actually help with the whole “becoming the Certain King and ending the world” thing, but it actually blinds him to more effective avenues to accomplish his goal.”

Nihilus looks uncomfortable a moment, and then shrugs.

“And actually as I mentioned, I already tried the whole “killing you all in the crib” idea. Multiple times. Two problems with that idea, unfortunately. One, and I’m not exactly sure how this works, but um . . . before any of you can fulfill your destiny as the Certain King, you have to die. You people being as you are, that usually means you end up in the Hellish side of the afterlife, and after savaging your way back out, you go on to release Azguloth and end the world. That’s why the Elixir is so important – you are literally giving up on your fate as the Certain King by becoming immortal. Of course, you just couldn’t stay with that plan forever, could you?”

Nihilus shakes his head.

“Anyway, as for the other two. Theoretically if I went to the effort of destroying your souls utterly, you wouldn’t be able to fulfill step two, but that brings me to the next point. Much as I hate to admit it . . . you all do have an important part to play in Fate’s tangled skein even beyond the role of the Certain King. Dacian saves Elandra from the Herald during the Apocalypse, allowing Azguloth to be imprisoned in the first place. You organize a disparate band of gifted individuals to go and kick the Fiend Lords in the teeth until they are forced to let go of their death grip on the world. Demetrius stabs Dacian in the back, organizing his downfall – without Demetrius’ daughter being possessed by Elandra, Dacian would have killed everyone.”

Nihilus snorts.

“That’s not even bringing up the chaos that Fate unleashes should any of your fates be cut short by direct meddling. There are any number of ways a given event can go, given the proper manipulation – but there are always consequences, and anything splitting from a Fate-approved path tends to cause everything to go a little . . . ape****. Maybe the existence of the Certain King is necessary to keep the world in balance, or that destiny has to be willingly given up by those Fate gifts it to – I dunno, keeping all of the chains of events straight over the millennia in my mind tends to give me enough headaches. All I know is, should you be taken out of play before the Fate-appointed time, all bets are off – just about anyone can take up the mantle of the Certain King, at least as far as releasing Azguloth goes. The world tends to fall apart shortly thereafter regardless. Heh, that reminds me of this one time, when little Mar ended up going on a rampage and being the one to unwrite the world – gods was that little angel child scary.”

Nihilus turns away and looks up at the moon, now begin to make its way down towards the horizon.

“I have thought at times of trying to usurp the power for myself, to bend Fate to my will, and then break it with the power of the Certain King. Of course, I would never use such power myself, merely hold it so that no one else could ever use it the way it was intended – to destroy the world. But . . . while I may not have Marialta’s ability to see the exact course events will take, I can still see the multitude of pathways by which Fate weaves all things together. And I have seen . . . a lot. I know how such hubris always ends, and it is never well. I am the only free agent outside of Fate’s designs, the last bulwark against The End playing out exactly as intended, forevermore. I cannot fail. I must not, even if that means I have to resort to picking at the outermost seams from afar, incapable of preventing anything of true import whether through lack of understanding or ability. Again and again, my own interpretation of King Ozamd and his boulder.”

Nihilus chuckles.

“Have you heard the story of King Ozamd? He was the ruler of the first human kingdom, a noble man and force for good even if he did not trust the gods. When He walked across the face of the world in His avatar, Azguloth Himself came to this kingdom and demanded fealty. King Ozamd refused, of course, and so Azguloth dragged his entire kingdom down into the Hells. Perhaps this was even where Istomilo got the idea for his city-damning magic – or at least the fiends first got their taste of taking entire cities at a time! So anyway, down in the Hells, Azguloth takes the King’s family, twists them into fiends in front of his eyes, has His servants tear the King’s people apart. Then He brings the King to the base of a hill overlooking the crumbling ruins of his former kingdom, and conjures up an immense boulder. If the King ever managed to push that boulder up to the hill’s summit, Azguloth would release his family, and undo the damage to his kingdom. It was a horrid torment, because of course the boulder could not be rolled up to the summit – something would always go wrong. But faced with the horror playing out below him and the tortured sobs of his beloved daughter carried to him by the wind – what else could he do but continue trying to push the boulder up the hill? I’m pretty sure he’s still down there in the Hells, actually, still futilely trying to push that boulder up the hill even though Azguloth can no longer fulfill His promise because He’s gone too. That’s me – a King Ozamd for the ages! Hmmm.”

Nihilus turns back to you and examines you thoughtfully.

“Y’know, I just questioned the idea of Marialta letting you live when you showed up here. But I never questioned the idea of why *I*, or at least the future I, let Marialta go ahead with her plan. Um, you probably aren’t going to like hearing this, but I’m the one that dragged her off that burning ship after the Ritual and everything subsequently goes to the Hells for all of you. Having someone who can see the exact results of a course of action could be quite useful, as I’m sure you’re plotting. Not every time, you understand, but it’s useful when I’m attempting a relatively new method at adjusting events and want to know what the outcome will be ahead of time. I can’t ever recall her pulling a stunt like this before, and I’m pretty sure I would put her down like a rabid dog as soon as I suspected she would try something like this. Unless . . .”

Nihilus rocks back on his heels and rubs at his covered chin before he concludes.

“Unless I knew you would come along for the ride, and I wanted you here. But why would I do that? Hmm . . . pity future I didn’t arrange some method for sending a message back with you two, so I could know what I was thinking. Hmm . . . and you did kill the only person who might have known, besides the fact that she didn’t seem particularly interested in explaining herself to me.”

Nihilus suddenly stiffens and reaches into his cloak, drawing out the shattered shards of Kartul’s soul jar, containing a few fragments of Marialta’s soul.

“Although that’s not necessarily a problem. I can look at a given person and see the strands of Fate gathered around them – both ahead to where they have not walked yet, and behind to where they have been. I should be able to therefore look back through Marialta’s past – that is, into the future – confused yet? – and see what she was actually planning and why I let her act on it. I’m going to need to go somewhere where I can concentrate, however – I’ll be right back.”

Nihilus opens another of his damned portals, stepping through and this time not inviting you to come along. You catch a glimpse over his shoulder of where the portal leads, and it seems to be some sort of richly-appointed chamber – likely Nihilus’s own home. Scarcely has the portal sealed behind him before another one opens and Nihilus steps back out, growling in frustration.

“Can’t do it with just these damned shards – it’s like trying to comb your hair with a broken mirror! I’m going to need the whole thing if I want to go digging around in Marialta’s experiences. Which means going back and getting all of the soul jar shards . . . Shiakti’s back there. What do you think she would do after having her little naked time interrupted, with the only evidence that anything happened one of Kartul’s soul jars smashed to pieces on the ground nearby?”

[Inspectre]

The Mortal Realm

A Stretch of Forest in the Barony of Gast

TechnOkami

“Well, I was hoping for some sort of secret one-step trick to keep the little bastards at bay, but I guess lots and lots of cats will do.”

The owner grumbles, nonetheless providing you with the cloth that you require. Once out on the street, you hand the goods off to the boy and pick up the injured merchant. At your question the boy shifts your bundle of goods in his arms, realizes that he can’t gesture without the risk of dropping anything, and instead beckons you to follow with his head.

“This way, sir. The only healers I know that will take him right in for free are the paladins, but their camp is a bit of a walk from here and I don’t know how badly this man is hurt. I would heal him myself, but I’m down to one healing potion that I’m saving for emergencies. And unfortunately, I am unable to heal him myself. As such I think our only option is to take him to the residence of a friend of mine, and hope that he is home.”

As you walk through the streets, you pass by several small groups of people, all of whom are perfectly happy to watch you and the boy pass by with your burdens, but none of whom are willing to help. Too busy with their own troubles, apparently, although the pair of city militiamen are actually waved – or rather nodded – off by the boy. So perhaps he is not quite a vigilante after all, as they seem to recognize him and nod with respect as they walk off.

“So, what brings you to this city in its time of need, sir? I don’t look like someone from here, and just about everyone beyond the city walls has stayed away because of the elves.”

The boy presses, and then smiles good-naturedly.

“I suppose I should have started that by asking you your name, huh? Mine’s Bran, and I’ve been just pitching in where and when I can to help. I’m not a local either, but I’ve been here since before the elf invasion, and I must confess that I’m starting to like this city. It’s been through a lot already since I got here, and it’s still standing.”

After another minute or two of walking, you come up to a building that has been walled off from its neighbors. Here in the Merchant District of the city, taking up so much space for one residence made it clear that whoever lived here had influence to spare. Of course, that influence might be on the wane now, given that the gates were open and the grounds outside the house were filled with small groups of people squatting around small fires.

“Here we are. This is my friend Seymour’s residence – he’s opened the grounds to those who are lost everything during the siege. It didn’t make any of the merchants nearby happy, but considering that the last of them cleared out yesterday that doesn’t really mean much anymore. We’ll take this man inside – thank you again for the help.”

Walking up to the front door of the manor house, Bran knocked firmly three times, and then called out.

“Seymour, are you home!? One of the merchants was attacked, and he’s injured pretty bad!”

Bran’s answer came in the form of the door being swung open a moment later, although no one was actually standing there in the doorway. As if the door answering itself were natural, Bran trundles inside with your clothing and you follow after.

“Set him down over there, on the floor. No, not there! Right there.”

Bran directs, and a moment later an elderly man walks down the nearby set of stairs from the second floor. He smirks and shakes his head at Bran, gesturing at the door and causing it to swing shut of its own accord.

“Found another stray on one of your patrols, did you? Alright, well I suppose I can do my best.”

He turns, momentarily freezing as he notices you for the first time, examining you up and down while digging a set of spectacles out of his pocket. He sets them onto his weathered nose and blinks for a moment before peering at your face intently.

“Druid, huh? Well you’re too young to be the Mad Hermit, so I guess you have to be one of his friends. Garret, maybe? Or uh, Ro . . . Rose . . . Rosebush?”

daelrog

At your sudden shift in demeanor, Amelia’s brow furrowed in confusion, and then her face fell at your admission. She nods dumbly at your comment of the dangerous world you lived in, speaking only a number of seconds later, when you have put the past back behind you.

“I am sorry to hear that. Survival carries its own grim cost, aye.”

Amelia is silent, lost in her own memories until she starts speaking to herself and making a beeline for the inn.

*****************
As the bard begins to pluck the opening notes of the song, you hear a thump from within the room – likely a chair being knocked over. Amelia curses imaginatively for a moment, and then you hear her footsteps approaching the door at your back.

“Korram . . . Alstorm? Do you perhaps mean Korram Alstan!?”

Amelia corrects, allowing you to realize that this pronunciation was closer to what you had half-heard the bard announce. Before you can answer either way, the door behind you is pulled open and you turn to see Amelia there, pulling her askew dress back in place and straightening it while the other hand still clasps the candle. It looks as if she had thrown the dress on in a hurry – which suggests she had undressed within the room? You do note something even more interesting, however – the largest hole, the one left by the tree branch piercing her mid-section, was no longer present. In its place fresh cloth had appeared, and even the bloodstains in the vicinity were gone.

“Let us investigate!”

Amelia says hurriedly, pushing past you as she hands off the candle to you and heads for the stairs leading back down to the tavern. Below, the first stanza of the song begins.

“Sit down friends, and rest a spell.
Allow me to tell you a story I got from the demons of Hell.
This is the Ballad of Korram Alstan!”

Loud raucous cheers broke out from the assembled militiamen, and they all ordered a fresh round of ales to sip in time with the song – an indulgence the innkeep was happy to satisfy.

“Well Korram Alstan was a farmer but a fiend among men.
Tis said the village of Callaway used to be his den.
But then one day ol’ Korram said to himself,
“I want to make everyone wish they were an elf!”
This is the Ballad of Korram Alstan!”

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Amelia listens with crossed arms and a deepening frown. The rest of the room continues to get into the song, swaying and raising glasses in time to the beat. You had to admit that while the lyrics were really simplistic, the bard did have some minor talent with his hands, as the lute produced a considerably more complex and attractive beat.

“He robbed from the rich,
He terrorized the poor.
Until at last the Baron of Gast said “No more!”
“It’s off to Ironheart you go!
Where misery and mold are the only things you’ll grow!”
This is the Ballad of Korram Alstan!”

Amelia was clenching and unclenching her fists by this point, and it seemed very fortunate for the bard indeed that she could produce fire from her hands but not her eyes.

“And away in Ironheart ol’ Korram did molder,
But just like cheese it only made him bolder.
Until one day at last,
He said “I’m gonna kill the Baron of Gast!”
But little did ol’ Korram know,
That the dice of Fate had been thrown,
And so it was that the Baron now perched upon our kingdom’s throne!
This is the Ballad of Korram Alstan!”

Although she had been fidgeting with barely suppressed anger until now, Amelia suddenly went very still. You are pretty sure that this is not a good sign, particularly as the tension in her shoulders reminded you of a coiled viper, ready to strike.

“And so it was that his son’s wedding ol’ Korram did crash.
And finally, at last, did these two titans clash!
With thunder, fury, and many a calamitous blow,
Blasting them both down into the great fire below!
Ever your faithful bard, I saw it all through a window.
And filled with a terrible regret,
I vowed that none shall ever forget,
And so I travel around telling the story of the Firebran’,
Korram Alstan!
This is the Ballad of –“

“ENOUGH!”

Amelia suddenly roared, no longer able to tolerate the bard’s song, even though it seemed he was finally nearing an end. She gestured, and suddenly the bard’s lute was on fire, prompting him to drop it with a decidedly womanish scream. That wasn’t the end of the bard’s troubles, however, as Amelia stormed toward him, winding up to deliver a hellacious slap that sent him stumbling back into a nearby table. Grabbing him by the collar, Amelia shoved him down onto the table, and only just seemed to avoid wringing his neck.

“You’re going to apologize for that lying filth you just spouted, or you’re going to be sorry!”

Amelia hissed, while the bard held up his hands defensively and stuttered, unable to think of anything witty to say in the face of Amelia’s rage – amateur. Of course, the bard didn’t need to do anything, as the assembled militiamen, although drunk, were still cognizant enough to recognize an assault in progress. As one they all stood up, and the sergeant leading the group spoke up as he walked up to Amelia.

“Miss, I suggest you unhand this man right now.”

“You suggest!?”

Amelia snarled, turning her attention to the assembled militiamen. You had been in enough bar fights to know that one was about to erupt here, unless you did some very fast talking. Being a noble, it seemed unlikely that these guards had the authority to do anything to her, but there was nothing that could be done to undo their burning to death. And, while their presence here didn’t say anything good about their discipline, they would likely be needed come tomorrow once the alcohol had been purged from their bodies one way or another.

GuyFawkes

Predictably, the elves react swiftly to your presence, and you soon find yourself surrounded by two dozen elves, all pointing arrows at your head, along with a number of fire elementals. A fey, possessing a human swathed in tattered clothing and with runes burned into his skin looks your way briefly, but then snorts and simply walks off. There is quite a lot of yelling at you in Elvish, which you don’t understand, and none of this group seem to understand the human tongue either. The aggression is pretty clear, however, as several elves break ranks to rush forward, attempting to drive you down onto your knees, take your weapons, and bind you.

(I was going to ask you whether Lucifuge/Noctis would allow this, but given that the alternative is to be turned into a pincushion while still a soft-meats human, I’m not sure there really is a choice here. )

Once you have been secured, a translator that can actually speak the human tongue is found, and he is more amused than concerned.

“You have trespassed upon holy ground, although I understand that such things mean nothing to your kind, human.”

The elf says, spitting at your feet.

“For this you should be sacrificed immediately, but I am willing to hear whatever madness has driven you here. Perhaps if it is of interest, I shall relay it to our leader.”

“What’s going on here?”

A tall elf with bronze-colored hair asked as he walked up to the group. Judging by the intricate nature of his clothing as well as the deference all of the elves present gave him, you could only assume that this was, in fact, the leader. The pseudo-leader explained the situation to him in elvish, prompting a growing frown.

“My apologies, sir. My men understandably have orders to deal with any humans who venture anywhere near this place. You are lucky that they did not kill you on sight! I would like to hear what has motivated you to come here, and I give you my word that I shall be an impartial listener. However, if you do not have a compelling reason to explain your presence here, I am afraid that I will have to declare you an enemy spy.”

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Nobody

Something about Hondshioh's speech rankles Nobody, and he's tempted to stand up and shout him down. It's like every word was a lie that angered the very core of his being. He didn't know how he knew it, but he felt like these were the words of an antipaladin. Something that was the exact opposite of everything a paladin stood for. If he was what paladins fought against, then how could one not admire a paladin? They sounded more and more like heroes to him...and more and more familiar. Why did he feel this way? More and more it felt less like the memories weren't there and more like they were being actively blocked. He looks to his adopted charge, hoping to whatever gods Hondshioh was talking about that she did not turn. He didn't know why, but thinking about her fate made her joining this Hellgarde seem like a failure on his part.

He raises a hand and motions for her to be silent.

"Do not be so quick to side with them. How do you know what he said was true?" he says in a low voice.

He looks to see if there's a place they can hide in so they can finally talk.

[TechnOkami]

Rosenberg

"If we were in the wild, I could take care of his injuries; but we're not, so carry on."

Now trailing the young boy as he tried to converse with the Druid, Rosenberg was more keen on the fact that the city guard just treated this vigilante like a normal occurrence. Obviously this boy was more than some simple crime fighter. Nobility perhaps?

Then the question of his name came up.

"Rosenberg. You can call me Rosenberg. I'm here as a bodyguard for an Amelia Ashargrin of sorts. A countess I believe."

Rosenberg looked at the young boy to see any reaction he might have.

And later as the elderly man begins to address him, Rosenberg of course retorts in kind.

"How could you tell? Also, he's not mad, just a little territorial. And it's Rosenberg, old man."

He didn't feel like mentioning Garrett. His name still left a sour taste in his mouth.

[GuyFawkes]

Lucifuge

Lucifuge calmly followed through with what the elves did to him. He did not like the idea, but he had decided he was prepared to use his true form had the elves immediately attacked him. Luckily they still had little sanity left in them to take him alive. That saved both parties the trouble.

At least for now.

"I think it should be clear why I am here. I am here to speak on behalf of the people of the city of Amaranth. As I have observed, you are about to mount an attack on the humans. I do admit I am outsider, and care nothing about this whole ordeal if not for some shared interest with some of the people that reside in that city. As such, this...war...you have with them is not to my benefit."

"Thus, I have come here of my own volition to try to resolve this conflict in a peaceful manner. I have heard their side and I would like to try to hear yours. I have been warned that I will be met with nothing but arrows on my way here, and I was set on believe that. But then here you are. You seem to have a good head over your shoulders. Perhaps this matter can still be solved without resulting to conflict after all?"

He looked at the elven leader in the eye wordlessly for a few seconds before continuing.

"Tell me, noble leader of the elves. Is there no other course but war?"

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

"I have heard only a little, but it would be the best place for these people."

He shakes his head at the pair's bickering, with a chuckle and a sigh.

"Like chalk and cheese. Master."

Being the least alien face amongst the four, Mal volunteers to round up the villagers, explaining the situation and offering the group's protection to Luxeen. Before long, the people are on their feet and gathering what few things they have or can procure from the surrounding area. During the team's own preparations, he pulls Elise to one side, bowing low as soon they are out of ear-shot.

"I wish to properly apologies for attacking you earlier, we haven't had the luxury of time until now. You are a fine user of the Style that I have been glad to meet."

Afterwards, and with the mob of villagers and their rescuers ready to leave, Mal moves to ask his teacher an important question.

"Will you be joining us for the journey to Luxeen, Master or will you wish to leave us beforehand?"

[daelrog]

Alons Sift

A sharp wolf whistle pierced the silenced like a knife. Alons stepped onto the slightly raised floor slowly. "Nothing like a woman with fire in her." He couldn't help but offer the pun. "Gentlemen, clearly your entertainment is learning to tread cautiously when speaking ill of the dead, for often they have friends who survive them. Personally, I prefer to speak poorly of those at least two generations ago. For example my Grandmother on my father's side, the biggest whore from my kingdom, as wide as she was tall. What she lacked in teeth, she had in lice. Some people called her Apple, my Grandfather called her mule." He put a reassuring hand on Amelia's his firm hold communicating to her to stop.

"Of course, she was far less embarrassing than my Grandfather on my mother's side. His feet were on his arms, and his hands were on his legs. He had to bring his dinner plate to his lap to eat a meal, and let's just say when he liked a woman all she had to do was read his face."

His other hand moved to Amelia's shoulder to give her a small bit of comfort. He was no fool to heartache, as both a victim and as a cause of. Most likely Korram was her lost love, it would make sense for the love interest of a beautiful Countess to be worthy of song, good and bad.

"I like this city. It seems to have the smell of death about it, but it's much the same everywhere, no? I look forward to fighting alongside you men on the wall, and sharing a drink. For now though, this one-fourth animal, one-fourth mongoloid, one-half liar has a lovely young maiden to rescue from the clutches of the wicked storyteller." He smiled, making a joke of the situation as best he could.

He leaned into Amelia's ear. "Please."

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber wanted to respond to Nihilus with an angry retort. He wanted to prove him wrong. He wanted to show him just how grand the world could be without the interference of gods, in a place where every man could be his own master, and could live a life unbound by the harsh strictures of heaven or the brutal threat of hell. And in some dark, atavistic part of his soul, Umber just wanted to tear out the man’s tongue for daring to speak to him in such a manner.

Instead, Umber smiled a little ruefully, and laughed. “Ah. Well, there you are. I am nothing if not proud. I flatter myself to say that some pride is deserved, given my accomplishments, but no doubt it is excessive.” Umber met Nihilus’ eyes, and there was a peculiar gleam in them. Umber seemed self-aware, almost self-mocking when he spoke his next words. “But then, I think I have to be, Nihilus. Because pride is what gives me hope. You see yourself as Ozamd – forever chained to a doomed task because you must. But I take a different meaning from that story, my friend. Ozamd must be driven by more than necessity. He must have hope. Hope that one day, his efforts will be enough. Hope that he can free his daughter, that determination and will and the strength of his soul will win him freedom in the end. I have heard many philosophers say that hope is the greatest lie of the gods and the greatest poison of the soul, and that it blinds men to the eternal folly of their existence. But pride and hope, Nihilus – these are what make life worth living. Mere continuation has never been enough. Not for me. There must be something better, even if we build it on the bone and ash of a thousand failed attempts. If Ozamd really is down there, Nihilus, then some day I’m going to walk into hell, I’m going to stand next to him, and I will help him push that damned boulder to the top of his peak. And then I will help him piss right in Azguloth’s blighted eyes.”

Umber held Nihilus’ gaze. “Perhaps I am just another mad and broken fool to think that I can accomplish such things, Nihilus. Perhaps that is forever the source of my downfall. But every time I fall, I will rise again. Stronger, fiercer. I will claw my way up, until I am free of the Gods, free of Fate. I want to free the world from them, because to do so will free me as well. Not because it is right, or because it is good… but because I have hope for something better. Because it is wrong that men should be bound in chains.” Umber laughed. “And, as stupid and facile as it is, because I remember a small boy whose parents died before he could walk. I remember what it is to be helpless before forces you cannot understand, to be weak while others are strong. I am a monster, Nihilus, and I make no apologies or excuses. But I am a monster set against greater monsters. There is no righteousness in that, but there is some symmetry, at least.

But still... Perhaps it is time to set such thing aside. You know, when I was... pulled here, I had hope to retire after the battle with the Baron. To take Fianna and go somewhere, to live out our mortal lives in peace. To love and be loved and to be content. For all my talk of a better world... I think I could be happy with just that. And perhaps that would be the wiser course after all.”

Umber seemed to take a deep breath, and them he flashed Nihilus a whimsical smile. “As for killing me in the crib – don’t worry. I assumed you’d already tried that. You’re an intelligent man, after all, and it’s an obvious solution. I take no personal umbrage, mostly because I agree with your mission in general, if not always with your motivation and reasoning in the specific. And speaking of that…” Umber paused, looking thoughtful. “You call yourself the balancing factor, the one being outside Fate. I wonder. There are concepts I have heard of in my travels that exceed even Fate itself. And there are times that I wonder if Fate itself is not simply a smaller pattern within a larger one. Samsara, perhaps – the being of things as they must be. Not fate, but… patterns.” He finished, rather lamely. There were not proper words, or else he was just too tired to find them.

“But I am rambling again. Too many years, too many memories, too many thoughts. As for what Shakti would do – well, she’s a cunning huntress. But I doubt even she could follow your portals. Not now, at any rate – not before her transformation. She would follow what evidence she had and go have a little… discussion with Kartul. Which…” Umber smiled. “Might actually been what Marialta had planned, seeing as it might lead to a falling out among the Lords of Shakati suspected an assassination attempt. But I doubt that’s her plan. It leaves too much up to chance, and it wouldn’t be the first time Kartul tried to kill one of us. It’s never stopped our association before. Either way, I think she’ll have vacated the premises by now.”

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

A half hour of searching is sufficient for Korram to locate useable boots and a decent cloak, yet it feels like hours. The horrific stench and awful carnage all around threaten to twist Korram's stomach, and the searching process is thoroughly miserable. At last, uncomfortable but guarded against the elements, Korram shifts around his newly acquired cloak and readjusts his overly large boots before setting off. With his knowledge of the kingdom, he at least knows the right direction to travel, and it wouldn't be too hard to get more detailed directions as he got closer.

The road ahead of him long and boring, Korram moves mechanically and withdraws into his own thoughts. He reflects on the events of the day; every new trouble seemed to lead to another. But then, what else is new?

Korram is startled out of his reverie as he comes across a semi-hidden encampment. Immediately suspicious, he ducks back down the hill he had just climbed, then listens carefully to the sounds coming from the camp. He is able to determine that its occupants are human, but nothing more. Deciding stealth to be his best option, Korram moves around the hill and sneaks closer to the camp. As he gets closer, something strikes him as eerily familiar about it. Then it hits him; the camp is startlingly similar to those that he and his band had erected years ago while out on missions against the Baron. The comparison is not entirely a pleasant one, but it convinces Korram to take a chance. Standing up, he openly approaches the camp, waving to the first person he sees.

[Lonna]

The Woman with Many Names

"So you mean to say that I am the grandchild of the Destroyer... and the daughter of his Warden?!?" Jacqueline shook her head slowly, not denying what she had just heard, but simply unable to fathom how Titania's assertions could be true.

"Why? If Dacian, the Lifebringer's avatar, knew what you were, why test your faith in the gods? Why take you into his bed?" She glanced at Mar, cuddling the fire-cat Jacqueline had given her, and remembered a night when the city had burned around her, and another angel had sworn to take her life.

"Is that why the Valkyrie's servants called me abomination?"

[Kasanip]

Lukina

Lukina looked shocked. "Almost all of our sisters are imprisoned in the hells?" Lukina had learned a lot of very upsetting things in the last week. But every time she learned something it was completely changing her perspective of the world. She clenched her fists. "Marisiel was also lost... Then it is only Hephestia, you and me."
She first picked up the holy book and held it tightly to her chest with relief. "I thought I had lost it..." She sighed. "And this....

...it is Exshia!" The name was remembered immediately. As Lukina put her hand to the blade, a thousand fragments of memories returned as she stared at them playing in the reflection of her in the blade. "It's been a long time, no see, my friend." She said, kissing it gently. The night air and moonlight suddenly seemed a little warmer, as if the sun was hiding and promising dawn. She swung Exshia once. Her sword sang sweetly.
I am...

“Or, for that matter, the even more important question . . . why?”

Ysora says, moving to join you in looking out over the moonlit city. She does not notice the shift of shadows that you had thought you had seen a moment before, and so there was no way to confirm whether or not it had been merely your imagination. Your thoughts are ripped away from that concern by Ysora’s next question which comes entirely as a surprise.

“Sister . . . how do you know if you are in love? Did you love the human who sired Elandra and Dacian with you, or did you see it merely as an extension of your duty? I . . . I think I might have . . .”

Ysora becomes too choked-up to continue, reaching up to brush away the tears that started to well up unbidden in her eyes.

“Is . . . is it normal to be willing to throw away everything for their sake? I would sacrifice everything for the sake of humanity, but for one person!? It . . . it’s like there’s a hole in my chest – and it hurts . . . a-and it feels like nothing I do will ever heal it.”

Lukina looked up in surprise. "Love?" She repeated. Then she started to giggle, and then laugh. Maybe it was the first time genuinely she could say she laughed this week.
"I..." Lukina looked at the holy book and at Exshia, and she set them down carefully. Flashes of memories of someone familiar. "Elandra...Dacian..." She closed her eyes, letting the memory replay, and when she opened her eyes, they were clear and warm, a faint nostalgic and wistful smile that didn't suit Lukina's young face. "I loved him, and I loved Elandra and Dacian too. Maybe... you could say my duty was to love? As we love Miriam our mother. But things in this mortal world are a little different too. You know, Ysora. I think that living as a human as I have, I learned something important. I grew up with human parents, who loved me and cared for me too. Maybe the greatest treasure entrusted to humanity is Love. It's the power that Azguloth and his hells cannot have. Maybe even it is that Azguloth and his hells power is because they don't have love.
That's a very... naive opinion maybe. Forgive me, I don't remember as much as you, teacher. But Love is the power that we must to defend. Is it normal to be willing to throw away everything for their sake? Yes. I did. Or at least, I threw away my life to defend them." Lukina frowned. "Or I thought I did. Maybe that is why I was returned like this? I'm not certain." She touched Ysora's arm and then embraced her. "I yearn for answers and to return to our Lady, as much a love that I yearn to remember. I do know that love is a treasure, even if it is scary. Because it is mysterious, maybe a little like this box. What is inside? What will the future be like? There is no way to know until to go forward." Lukina guided Ysora to sit on the bench, and moved the case to the balcony floor. She returned Exshia to her hand and looked at the blade with a smile, before looking at Ysora sideways. "Who is he? Do you want to talk about him?" She asked with a smile.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Making some actual progress was a relief after dealing with imps and desperately searching for a lead for who knows how long. It's not like he had the time to look at a clock. He hardly had any time for some upstart devils trying to kill him, either. Everyone down here was eager to give him more work to do – truly the worst kind of Hell.

Sohssal decided to cast lances of ice to impale the predictably treacherous demons. He hardly worried about their attempts to fight back, given that so few enemies were ever prepared to fight someone incorporeal (it's not like they'd have holy weapons), and aiming was easy without any muscles that could twitch or tremble. He made sure to impale their heads after pinning them to the wall or the floor, since demons could be annoyingly persistent. There were more amusing ways to kill them, for sure, but he was in a hurry!

”They were pretty eager to backstab us. Stuff like this is why I've had to destroy nearly everyone I've worked with the past few months. Oh, and you should probably carry that keystone since you actually have hands,” he said. Once the keystone was secure, finding a teleporation circle would be simple with his “nose” for magic. He was particularly interested in finding out whether it had any traps. Would the need for security prevail over a Fiend Lord's minions inevitably blowing themselves up in the circles?