Return to Ironheart IC

[Dorizzit]

Korram Alstan

Korram remains silent as Redeemer and Calcifer talk, and can't help but to smile a bit at seeing Calcifer again. Even though their conscious communication had been brief, the two have been through quite a bit together, and Korram is happy to see the spirit is thriving again within his natural domain. Moreover, Korram is glad that Calcifer does, in fact, agree to help; although he did trust the elemental, there had still been a tiny, niggling doubt in the back of his mind that Calcifer was planning to kill him for all those years of imprisonment. Having suppressed it, Korram didn't even consciously recognize the fear until it had been dispelled.

As Flare and Redeemer set off, Korram extends a hand at Calcifer's invitation, and nods.

"Let's do it."

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Umber let the shield fall away - and with it, a cloudy pink slurry that had been most of his skin. He opened his mouth, gargled, and spat - another gob of slurry, representing most of his gums, his teeth, and his tongue. He poured more power through his flesh, force-healing his body in a brutally painful way. As soon as his tongue took form in his mouth once again, he let out a basso bellow of pain. It wasn't a scream, he told himself - Umber, sorcerer-king, creature of nightmare, and general unrepentant bastard, did not scream.

He looked down at his newly-knit flesh, flexing his fingers and hissing out a breath through a damaged throat. His entire body looked like one giant, shiny pink scar. He'd have to fix the cosmetic damage later. He didn't have the time or energy to spare. This must be how Kartul got to be the way he was - by treating his body first as a tool, then as a nuisance. Another terrifying thought. While Umber didn't like to think of himself as vain, he was quite conscious of his appearance. It was one of the better ways to control what people thought of you. But for now, there was a nuisance to stop. Nobody got in Umber's way, especially himself. And certainly not some half-baked cultists worshiping a pathetic shadow without the sense to stay dead.

Umber snapped his fingers and conjured a rough, homespun tunic and leggings. He stared down the corridor towards the chanting voice and Ross' disappearing back, and followed after the werewolf in a deliberate stalk. Hopefully, the wretched man would trigger any traps before Umber had to deal with them. He was getting tired of this little distraction.

The erstwhile Lord of Blood drew himself up and gathered his considerable will, heading for the chanting voices at the end of the hall. The smell of burning ozone filled the air, and a coruscating halo of living red lightning danced around his head. Time to make a mess.

[Inspectre]

Tender Juicy Meat

Outside Ironheart

AdamSmasher

Deciding to trust your instincts over the arrogant fiend standing before you, you leap forward to attack him. An unknown amount of time later, you awaken to find yourself bound at the waist to a tree with a length of chain and with a splitting headache. Scratch that, not just a headache but a whole body ache, as it felt like you had run a marathon through a gauntlet of giants wielding clubs. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain faded as your divinely-granted body pulled itself back together. With that recovery came memories of what had just happened.

The fiend wasn’t just fast – you had learned from the duels Josephine reluctantly indulged you in how to deal with someone whose reaction time had been sharpened by centuries of battle. His movements weren’t just quickened by some sort of haste magic – you had learned how to deal with that during your lifetime as a human mage fighting other mages. No, this creature was in a league entirely of his own, because he didn’t move through space so much as blink, stuttering out of reality to avoid your blows only to reappear and counterattack from some other angle. And impossible as it seemed, the fiend moved with an exactness that could only come from repetitious practice – he didn’t just know what you were going to do before you did it, he had studied it and developed a perfect counter to every single action.

You rocketed across the glade in a corona of fire – he blinked out of existence to appear behind you and tap you on the shoulder. You whirled to confront him with a spinning slash of your weapon – he ducked under the swing and channeled the downward motion of his body into a punch to the side of your knee, locking up your leg and stopping your whirl halfway through. You bring your other hand up to conjure a blast of fire into his face as he rises – he swings his other hand up over his head, swatting your arm skyward and sending the blast of fire harmlessly up into the air, before wrapping his leg around behind your good leg and giving you a hard shove with his shoulder, sending you tumbling backward to the ground.

You roll across your back and come up onto your knees, summoning a wall of holy fire between you and the fiend, trying to buy enough time to get back up onto your feet. But the fiend isn’t there anymore, and with a sinking suspicion you turn to look behind you just in time to get a lightning-infused fist to the jaw. Getting a sense for how you thought the fiend fought now, you feint a blind slash at him, and then throw yourself into a thrust at your other side, figuring he would see the first attack coming and try to blink over to your far side. He was there alright, but he sidestepped the thrust and wrapped an arm around your outstretched swordarm, trapping it. With a precise strike to your elbow and then your wrist with the heel of his other hand, the fiend sent your sword tumbling down into the muddy snow. You push yourself up to punch the fiend in the back with your free hand while he’s busy stripping you of your sword – he counters by kicking out the same knee he can attacked before, an instant before using that same foot to kick your sword away. The buckling of your knee knocks you off-balance and sends your head dropping down into the path of his elbow. Abandoning his grip on your arm, the fiend lets you crumble back down onto the ground, stepping back just enough to be out of reach of your feet as you flail your legs at him, trying to trip him up.

On and on it goes, an epic beating that continues until you finally find yourself chained at the waist to a the scorched husk of a tree, struggling to cling to consciousness. Nihilus paces back and forth a short distance away, his voice too low to make out everything but the colorful obscenities.

“Godsdamnit Adrian – what’s it going to take to convince you to actually believe me? What, did Athelion rip out your brain the same time he mangled your soul into an einherjar!?”

Gesturing emphatically, Nihilus seems to throw off his foul mood at the same time as he dismisses the confrontation, returning to his previous jovial mood.

“Oh well, chalk it up as another failure this go-around I suppose - no matter. Time to get back to work.”

Time seemed to skip a beat then, as if you had been both frozen in a bubble that just now burst as reality came rushing back in. Suddenly, you had company – a small band of mercenaries, their leader screaming questions at Nihilus. Making an exaggerated show of raising his hands, Nihilus turned to face the mercenaries.

“In answer to your question, Adrian, you can’t – well, not Jaina anyway. But meet the man who can. If you want to try and help Josephine, though, talk to Ysora the Teacher. She’ll set you on the right path.”

And then Nihilus turns his full attention on the group of mercs.

“Hello there! I presume you’re here to kill a whole lot of elves in Ironheart? *I’m* your contact – this gentlemen here – he’s nothing, just a distraction, forget him. And in answer to your questions, I’m Nihilus, the Writer of History – a Fiend Lord, not a human mage, although I once was human just like any other fiend. I am not currently working with Jaina Arcos, although I understand that you are. I would like to discuss that with you after our business at Ironheart is concluded. Speaking of which, shall we discuss the plan on our way to the secret entrance? It’s not far of a walk from here – would you like me to keep my hands up? Stay where you can see me?”

One of the mercenaries next to the screaming leader mutters.

“Boss, I think this whole mission just got weird. I ****ing hate it when that happens.”

Lightning Fast

“Wasn’t aware we were going into the real estate business, boss. Seems . . . complicated.”

Brutus grunts, although his hesitation wasn’t unexpected – the giant man liked to keep things simple (i.e. Find bad people. Smash bad people with hammer. Go back home and get drunk). Which didn’t mean Brutus was an idiot – thinking that the big man didn’t have a brain was a grave mistake more than one employer before you had made, and regretted it. He just hated politics and preferred to force the world into a black and white paradigm.

“Sounds intriguing. More men is always good – you want me to “help” William along? Fighting in Ironheart’s going to be chaotic – plenty of loose arrows flying around.”

The Reaper offered, and it wasn’t the first time Sydney had offered to make William go away in a rather permanent fashion – apparently the two of them had some history as well. Big tuff guy didn’t like the idea of a woman fighting alongside all of his men.

Unfortunately, while plans were all well and good, the old adage that they rarely survived contact with the enemy was a true one. The fighting inside Ironheart was going to be bloody and chaotic, and your client probably wanted Ironheart for himself. Ownership of the ancient fortress was probably up for negotiation, though, given the client never stipulated that in the contact – and a gun in the face *did* tend to be a surprisingly effective trump card in such post-mission negotiations. But first, getting out of this suicide mission alive.

Which was going to require even faster thinking on your feet than usual suicide missions, as everything suddenly goes sideways. Coming to the clearing where you’re supposed to meet your contact, you find an angel – einherjar – whatever – chained to a tree, some cowled wizard-thing pacing in front of him, and the forest on fire. Given that the everything had been calm and the forest had *not* been on fire a few seconds ago, this was a definite problem. Particularly as the elves would undoubtedly see the smoke and be attracted to the site. That was for after you survived the next minute, as everyone brandished weapons at this wizard and you screamed questions at him. He had the gall to leisurely raise his hands, ignoring you for a moment to address the einherjar.

“In answer to your question, Adrian, you can’t – well, not Jaina anyway. But meet the man who can. If you want to try and help Josephine, though, talk to Ysora the Teacher. She’ll set you on the right path.”

And then he turns his full attention to you, his yellow reptilian eyes smiling on behalf of his covered mouth.

“Hello there! I presume you’re here to kill a whole lot of elves in Ironheart? *I’m* your contact – this gentlemen here – he’s nothing, just a distraction, forget him. And in answer to your questions, I’m Nihilus, the Writer of History – a Fiend Lord, not a human mage, although I once was human just like any other fiend. I am not currently working with Jaina Arcos, although I understand that you are. I would like to discuss that with you after our business at Ironheart is concluded. Speaking of which, shall we discuss the plan on our way to the secret entrance? It’s not far of a walk from here – would you like me to keep my hands up? Stay where you can see me?”

“Boss, I think this whole mission just got weird. I ****ing hate it when that happens.” Brutus states matter-of-factly to you.

Diron

Raunchel

(Heeheehee, and now we jump into the rabbit hole! )

At your instruction, the guard outside your door nods in obedience. Or perhaps he was merely pretending to obey – it has occurred to you that not everyone you have arrested may take their own lives, but instead are silenced to prevent you from learning what they know. But like with everything else, unless you want to do everything yourself, you have to utilize servants and open yourself up to betrayal. For a time you strongly considered surrounding yourself with the re-animated dead, but had abandoned that plan after Ermenia pointed out that a powerful necromancer could subvert your undead servants just as easily as your enemies now subverted your living ones. And, as the saying goes, dead men tell no tales, so using undead would mean you wouldn’t even be able to interrogate the traitorous ones to learn who was responsible. Marvelin would talk eventually. They always did.

The hallways still dark except for where lanterns burned or thin beams of moonlight stabbed through the shuttered windows (open windows were just an invitation to a sniper), you make your way towards the room via a circuitous route. You see no one during your journey, although that is hardly surprising given that it’s night, you are going to an unused portion of the estate, and your servants did their best to stay out of your sight at all times – the better to plot your downfall, of course.

You finally reach the hallway leading to your father’s study, and think you catch sight of your sister darting through the still firmly closed door into the study. Part of the trap, to lure you the rest of the way in? Perhaps. But there is no shortage of ghosts dancing in the periphery of your thoughts as you walk forward and close your hand around the doorknob. Forcing the ghosts back into oblivion, you twist the knob and push the door open. This estate, just like Diron itself, was yours now, and no one was going to take it away from you.

Inside, Father’s old study was exactly as you had remembered it. Remembered it from the day of the unpleasantness, actually - over there in the corner, a bloodstain that the servants had been unable to remove . . . left by your sister’s body. And over there, a scar on the wall left by your uncle’s axe blow, one meant for you as you ran out of the room screaming after your safe haven within the nearby closet was discovered. You had debated many times having the room completely rebuilt, when its existence drifted into your memory to haunt you, but there had always been something that stopped you. Perhaps it was that subconscious memory of your father’s secret room – who knows what your villainous servants would have found and stolen if they had discovered the room before now? Or perhaps they already knew about it, and had been using it as a place to meet and plot your downfall. If so, they were about to be caught at last, and your wrath would be terrible indeed.

Guided by your memory from the dream, you walk carefully across the room to the bookshelf where the secret room’s trigger was hidden. As Livia had done, you pull the correct book down, and with a soft whisper a panel slips open at the back of the study. It is pitch black inside, as if whatever was in there had drawn the darkness of the night about itself to hide. You debate the merits of approaching this hidden room alone instead of surrounded by an army of your generally useless guards one last time, and then step forward as you summon a ball of magical light to illuminate the room beyond the secret door. When you arrive at the doorway and shove the panel fully aside, you find yourself starring at a room full of surprises and horrors that freeze your heart.

Beyond the secret door is what appears to be a small magical laboratory, given the alchemy bench in one corner of the room and the thaumaturgic circles inscribed on the floor. That was the first surprise – never in your memory could you recall your father displaying any ability or interest in magic. None of your family for that matter – you had been the first, and that was why your uncle had been so unprepared for your return when you had incinerated him from the inside out with the power Achamai had given you.

But even this revelation pales in comparison to what the rest of the room holds. Painted on every wall in what appears to be blood are what can only be described as mad scribblings. Fragments of words to arcane spells, alchemical equations, and most disturbing of all cryptic statements such as “She watches us all” and “Dread the coming of the Dead Lady” next to what appears to be a stick figure of some sort of . . . creature in a dress.

And topping off all of this madness, kneeling down calmly in the center of the largest thaumaturgic circle is a cowled figure. It looks up to regard you with yellow reptilian eyes beyond the bands of cloth obscuring the rest of its face, and seems to smile as it pushes itself up to its feet. Despite the humanoid appearance, the eyes and the fact that it was standing in the center of a thaumaturgic circle are dead-giveaways that this was a fiend. You had never met a fiend, well outside of Achamai – she had never taught you such magic for some reason. Perhaps worried about you summoning up some competition for her?

“Ah. I was wondering if anyone was ever going to find this place again. You don’t appear to be the one who summoned me so long ago unless he got a whole lot more . . . feminine. Well, no matter, you’re here now, and I’m here now, so ask your questions. I’ll answer whatever I can, although I will warn you that I don’t get out much.”

The fiend concludes, gesturing at the circle at his feet. He then holds up a gloved hand.

“Oh, almost forgot. I will tell you that in addition to confining me here, this circle compels me to speak the truth, at least as I see it. Like I said, I’ve been stuck here for . . . a while . . . so there’s things I may not be able to answer – current events, for example – in which case I will tell you that I don’t know.”

The fiend lowers its hand, and then raises it again.

“Oh yes, one more thing! Technically speaking, the magic works off of equivalent exchange – so you ask a question, and I get to ask a question. You can choose not to answer . . . or lie . . . but if the circle detects that you’re not being truthful then some of those runes at my feet with turn red. If they all turn red, which is about equal to three little white lies or refusals I believe, then I’m free to go. Technically technically speaking, if I ever lie or refuse to answer when I know information, some of the runes turn back, so you see it’s in my best interest for me to be truthful – and assuming you still have questions for me to answer, it’s in your best interest to be truthful, see?”

The fiend lowers its hand, and then looks back up as it remembers something else.

“Oh yes, truly, this is the last thing. Like I said, equivalent exchange, so it doesn’t count if, for example, you ask me for my name and in return I ask you to divulge your deepest darkest secret. It doesn’t work like that. And if you’d like, I’m willing to let you ask more than one question at once, provided I can do the same after you’re done. So go ahead – ask away!”

(Assuming poor Dru didn’t run screaming out of the room at the word “fiend” or “crazy scribblings in blood”, feel free to ask multiple questions as mentioned so we can get the more benign stuff out of the way quickly, like “what’s your name?” “what is this place?”, etc)

SuperMuldoon

“Oh! Well . . . alright. Happy to be of service . . . . sir.”

Marcus mutters, his frown deepening as he realizes that he would be having company tonight.

“Look on the bright side Marcus – with us around you’ll have nothing to fear from any more would-be bank robbers.”

Myranda says with a smirk, clearly enjoying watching the little man squirm.

“I’m a lot more worried about the guard finding you in my place. That’ll be the guillontine for all of us then!”

“Relax. Just focus on getting Mr. Krix his money back, and everything will be fine.”

Myranda concluded with false sweetness – she leaves what would happen if Marcus failed to recover the money unspoken. The subtle hint is still enough to elicit a nervous gulp from the broken man.

Fortunately, despite the condition of Marcus and his previously displayed incompetence, his home is rather tastefully furnished and spacious for a second-floor apartment. His cooking skill, however, leaves a lot to be desired. After tasting what Marcus was about to serve – Myranda always insisted on tasting your food ahead of time, as if some small amount of poison could be enough to bring you down – your assistant made a face and insisted on taking over the cooking. She was less than impressed to learn what she had to work with to create a superior meal.

“I usually dine out at local restaurants! Much simpler and I can meet with clients at the same time.”

“I hope you haven’t been using the firm’s funds for those dinners.”

Myranda threatens, although this time she only gets a sneer out of Marcus.

“I may have made a few bad investments but I’m not a thief! Though I did use bank funds as necessary to provide suitable dining for high-end clients. I would assume given the lucrative nature of acquiring such clients, Mr. Krix does not have a problem with such investments?”

Despite the endless bickering between Myranda and Marcus, and the lack of supplies, Myranda does somehow manage a passable dinner, complete with a bottle of wine from Marcus’s private stock – Donovale something. Apparently it was a local favorite within the kingdom – Marcus was certainly proud of his collection of bottles (all paid for out of his salary, supposedly).

After dinner it seemed that there was little else to do but spread out your bedrolls on the floor and sleep. Hopefully tomorrow you could start reclaiming your fortunes – the sooner you manage that, the sooner you can leave this insane realm behind.

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

In the morning some good news is forthcoming after Oliver returns from the market with supplies for Myranda to cook a decent breakfast. Although Marcus certainly didn’t seem to think so after reading the note that Oliver slipped him upon his return.

“I just got word from one of my contacts at city guard! Apparently a woman claiming to be Elsa Gast was picked up by the city guard along with three other women – a foreigner, an unidentified woman, and a teenaged girl. Supposedly they came here seeking asylum from Liberator’s thugs – um, that’s the name of a revolutionary whose forces are gaining strength throughout the kingdom. There’s a lot of talk in the back alleys that Dirion is his next target. They’re currently being held by the guard until their story can be confirmed. Which around here tends to be code for “will never see the light of day again”, or worse, that the guards will believe her story and take her to speak with the Matrionness herself!”

Marcus paled at the mention of the ruler’s title – clearly her reputation was not a pleasant one. Though given the condition of her city and conduct of her city’s guards, it was little wonder that she was so feared.

“Then I guess you had better get us in to speak with her before either of those two things happens, Marcus.”

Myranda presses, and Marcus throws up his hands.

“No, no, no, no! Absolutely not! If I get you in there to speak with her, then if anything goes wrong they’ll start investigating you, which in turn will lead them back to me, and –“

“You can either worry about what the city guard will do to you, Marcus, or what Mr. Krix will do to you – remember, you *lost* all of his money! Regardless of what happens in the future, you need to deal with us right now.”

And then Myranda turns her attention to you.

“Sir, assuming this is indeed Elsa Gast, how should we approach her? If she is involved in some sort of legal trouble with the city guard, perhaps if we were to arrange for her release we can begin our negotiations for repayment from a position of strength as she will owe us. Or should we not risk antagonizing the city guard further and either just meet with her assuming Marcus can manage to not be incompetent for once and get us an audience?”

[Inspectre]

Ancient Hardened Meat

The Hells

The Still Darkness

Archpaladin Zousha

At your compliment, Elandra smiles and bows her head.

“Those are kind words. I shall do my best to be worthy of them.”

With her, you enter the strange statue-filled chamber, reacting with more curiosity than fear. Given that the statues hadn’t tried to kill, maim, or enslave you, this wasn’t an entirely foolish notion. Up close, the details on the wax statues grow even more acute – too fine to be anything from a mold or even an artist’s carving blade. The wax is more like a second skin, coating every inch of these unfortunates in horrid detail.

Your curiosity piqued even further, you raise the Dawnblade in front of you, and tap one of the statues with the tip of the blade. Your theory that the magic of this place can no more stand against you than its denizens proves to be a correct one. At the gentle touch of your blade, a spiderweb of cracks forms across the surface of the waxen statue. The cracks deepen quickly, and chunks of wax fall away with increasing speed to reveal bare living flesh beneath an outer shell of wax. Its integrity compromised, the entire waxen shell rapidly crumbles away, and with a relieved groan the man inside crumbles to the floor, muscles spasming uncontrollably for a moment now that they were no longer being forced to hold one still position for who knows how long. The man rasps and groans as his body adjusts to being free again, hacking and spitting out several small chunks of wax that had found their way inside of his mouth.

When he finally has control of himself again, however, the man reacts to his newfound freedom in an unexpected fashion - he crabwalks back away from you along the floor with a cry of “no no no no nono no!” As the man finally scrambles up onto his feet and turns to run away from you through the maze of trapped-in-wax figures, the cause of his apprehension reveals itself. Nearby, the disgusting wax and flesh wall of the chamber splits open, allowing two cowled figures to slither through. Raising obviously artificial hands made of wax up to their cowls, the creatures pull them back to reveal segmented worm heads. Literal worm heads, with no facial features save a mouth at the “end” of their head, that splits apart into a ring of bony teeth. A thin tongue emerges from this circular ring of death, flicking about in the air experimentally. Both creatures almost immediately turn to track the fleeing man’s movements – it’s clear that they know exactly where he is at all times, despite having no eyes.

“Wormwalkers.”

Elandra whispers to you, her ghostly form holding itself very still.

“Very fast and strong despite their appearance. They only see motion – if we hold perfectly still they won’t even know that we’re here. Of course that will also mean waiting until they recapture that poor soul you just freed and leave. Is every single statue in here a trapped victim!?”

Elandra lets out a low growl from the back of her throat – it’s clear that the ghostly paladin does not like the policies of the particular Hell you are currently traveling through – and feeling just as powerless to change it. A hundred freed souls could give you potential allies to work with, but given the speed at which these two Wormwalkers showed up at each one soul suddenly being free, there’s little doubt more of them would flock to this area to investigate if more “statues” were suddenly broken.

“They may also decide to investigate how their victim got free and come looking for us. If you have to move, move in short, focused bursts – they’ll notice the movement but won’t be able to pinpoint your location exactly if you stop before they can focus. The Dawnblade will cut through them easily if you can just get into reach of them, although these things shouldn’t be underestimated – and we have no idea if more are coming or not.”

(Yes, essentially this is your opportunity to subvert the typical “group of mannequins” encounter in video games, where they move closer every time you look away from them – by essentially being one of the mannequins in relation to the Wormwalkers. Or you can just wait them out possibly, although knowing Squire of Hondshioh, he’s probably going to get smiting. )

The Mortal Realm

The City of Luxien

Dorizzit

“Very well. This might be less pleasant than our last merging, Korram. Brace yourself.”

Calcifer explains – and considering the binding of the elemental into your arm was hardly a painless experience, you were expecting the worst. You were not to be disappointed, as the elemental lord reaches out with an appendage of flame, touching your hand with what passed for one of its own. Then the elemental began to sink down into your hand, absorbed into your flesh and traveling up your arm. With it came the sensation of burning pain – considering you had been set on fire a few times in Ironheart, it felt very much like that. Thankfully, the feeling is only brief, and when you open your eyes after the pain begins to fade, you see yourself standing alone within the plane of Fire. The elementals still clustered around you bow, and then back away from you, leaving the path back through the Nexus to the mortal realm clear.

Hrmm . . . you feel different, Korram. What has happened to you in my absence? I noticed that you managed to regrow your arm that you lost returning me home. You have my gratitude for keeping your promise to me still. While we are together to bring Infernas’s threat to an end, you have access to all of my power. Use it as you see fit.

Calcifer whispers in your mind, and now instead of pain you feel the by-now familiar surge of power that accompanies having a fire elemental lord sharing your body. It was time to go back to Amaranth, and kick some ass!

Unfortunately, after leaving the Nexus and flying back towards Amaranth on wings of flame, you find that the Battle of Amaranth is already over. There’s certainly some scattered fighting left, and the aftermath of the battle was likely to remain for quite some time, but the elven siege had been broken. The city walls still stood, and outside of them paladins were moving about, gathering up the corpses of countless elves to dispose of them. Dark clouds of smoke still hung over the city, and the storm that had been gathering over the city to hammer it with rain had dissipated to a light drizzle.

And yet perhaps the greatest scar inflicted upon the city was the line of destruction that extended from the gates into the city – buildings scorched to a blackened skeleton in a wide swath leading ever deeper towards the city’s heart. Infernas no doubt carved this path through the city himself. Was he still in there somewhere? The only way to find out, it seemed, would be to follow the path of destruction to its end. But below you, you can make out the ant-sized shape of Ander, waving up at you. It was good to see that your old friend had survived this battle too, although it looked like he was wanting you to join him down on the ground before heading into the city. But with Infernas on the loose, did you have time to waste stopping to learn what the current situation was?

Vegna

At your questioning of being a badass, Nihilus looks at you strangely, his reptilian eyes unreadable.

“Hrmm . . . that was another time and place. I must have screwed something up somewhere. Oh well, can’t be helped now. Just another mess to clean up after the fact.”

Nihilus grumbles to himself as he wanders off, seeming to be thinking out loud rather than speaking for your benefit. You follow him through the portal, and your elation at finding your friends missing but not dead goes to your head a bit, leading you to do something previously unthinkable – you hug Nihilus. The field lord sputters in shock, and while he flails at you for a moment, no sudden and ironic death befalls you. Eventually, Nihilus manages to escape your grasp and brushes off the dirt that had rubbed off onto his cloak from you, still sputtering incoherently. Finally, the fiend lord regains his composure, his expression unreadable through the cloth covering his face, but his voice stern.

“Aw, now what the hells was that, Mal!? You don’t just *Hug* a fiend lord! I’m Nihilus, the Writer of History! A little respect and fear, just a little respect and fear, that’s all I’m asking for here! . . . But you’re welcome, I guess.”

Nihilus grumbles, watching you struggle to recover from the strain and exertion since landing on this godforsaken island. Apparently satisfied by your shaky thumbs up, Nihilus turns away and starts chopping through the underground with his bare hands. In the dark it’s difficult to see exactly how he’s managing it, but you’re pretty sure he’s actually warping away the section that his hand passes through, in a similar but different way to how he tears open portals in thin air. The form of his strikes is practiced and smooth – not entirely different from some of the hand chops that formed part of the katas that were among the first things Master Vork taught you. At your compliment of his form, Nihilus grunts.

“Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. And I’ve had a lot of time to practice since.”

He adds, glancing over his shoulder at you before continuing to chop his way through the forest.

“Well, it’s not like I can be in two places at once.”

Nihilus explains with a chuckle.

“Actually, scratch that. I can be in more than one place at once.”

Suddenly stopping his relentless and destructive pace through the jungle, Nihilus turns and looks you up and down with a long, slow sigh. For just a moment, you caught a sense of frustration and weariness in him that matched – nay, exceeded – your own.

“The truth is Mal that I am trying to stop something much bigger than you, or me, or anyone for that matter. I am trying to stop the end of the world from happening, and quite frankly . . . I have failed. It’s inevitable at this point, the only difference is which particular flavor of horror it takes. So, really, at this point I’m just going through the motions while I try to figure out where and when I screwed up. You’re different from the Mal I know, and I’d like to know why that is – obviously something I did had some sort of unintended consequence for you. Soon as I figure out what that something is, I’m gone.”

Nihilus growled, although you weren’t sure that you bought into his gruff exterior anymore. Fiend Lord he may be, but he certainly didn’t seem thrilled about the promised destruction of the world. If any of the stories you had heard of fiends were true, he should be revealing in the knowledge that the world was about to end, not tormented by it or his failure to stop it (to say nothing of trying to stop it in the first place).

The two of you walk along in relative silence for the next few minutes, save for the soft crumpling of trees, vegetation, and boulders that stood only momentarily in your way. Then Nihilus stops suddenly, and nods towards the thinning treeline ahead. Through what few trees remained between you and the clearing beyond, you could see what appeared to be a large stone ziggurant, jutting up from the bottom of a depression that sank down into the ground perhaps fifty feet from the elevation of the treeline. You didn’t see any movement down on the ziggurant or inside the depression around it, but that didn’t mean your new simian friends weren’t hiding in the shadows out of sight.

“Well, this certainly looks like someplace that deserves investigation. This place does not mean anything to me, nor do these creatures. So it’s up to you how we approach this. You wanna try to sneak down there, go down and talk, or just charge in, it’s all the same to me. Although maybe we should wait until sunrise – you don’t look so good, Mal. Taking a nap until dawn would probably do you some good. I doubt anything will happen until then.”

The Battle of Amaranth

daelrog

Worried more about the conflict between Amelia and Infernas and Rosenberg than what some elf was going to do, you continue to draw your runes. It was going to have to do – you just hoped you drew them correctly as you were out of time.

Lunging forward, Infernas swept Amelia off of her feet with a backhand from one of his immense claws, before bringing the other down to rake at her. The countess manages to roll clear of the blow instead of being rended by Infernas’s follow-up, but she was still at Infernas’s feet. The elemental lord laughed as he stomped one foot down on top of her, pinning the countess to the ground and beginning to sear through her clothes and flesh from the fire arcing off of that foot.

“FOOL! NOW SEE WHY MORTALS ARE NOTHING MORE THAN KINDLINGTO BURN!”

Infernas doesn’t get a chance to carry out this threat, as he is hit from two directions simultaneously. From above, the interloper, Noctis, conjures a pool of ice around Infernas’s feet and the Countess, snuffing out the flames around Infernas’s legs and hopefully not the life out of the Countess. Then Rosenberg leaps up onto the fire lord’s back, his empowered scythe crashing down on the beast’s head and splitting the flame-shrouded skull in half. An instant later and he has to leap away, unable to follow up that stunning blow as Noctis sends a wave of icicles crashing down into the fire lord. Infernas staggers under the assault, but even with several of the icicles jutting out from the flames surrounding its ribcage, the elemental lord refuses to go down.

That changes as the coating of ice around Infernas’s ankles explodes, shredding his bony legs with ice shards driven forth by the explosion. The elemental lord totters for a moment, and then collapses, falling forward onto the now-uncovered Countess.

“ALONS, DO IT! DO IT NOW!”

Amelia screams over Infernas’s roar of fury, the elemental lord unable to do much else at the moment given his tattered state. Yet even though the flames, you can see the monstrosity’s bones beginning to reform, knit back together by the flames surrounding him. Yet the elemental lord isn’t the only threat, and as you finish your second spell the elf leader appears at the edge of a nearby roof, taking aim down at Infernas and Amelia.

Before the elf can get a shot off, however, you unsling your own bow and fire, your shot guided by a mixture of luck and skill. The arrow hits the elf in the shoulder, and he spins down onto the roof, out of sight of a second shot. But the elf leader is out of the way for the moment, and all you need is a moment to shatter the street, plunging Infernas down into the flooded sewers below . . . and Amelia along with him. Assuming, of course, that your new spell wouldn’t work better.

(I don’t think you ever said what your second spell was going to do, daelrog. Hopefully you remember! This will be the last round of posting for the Battle of Amaranth, so whatever you want to do next will be the end.)

TechnOkami

It was difficult to tell who was winning the fight between you and Infernas – what injuries the other was able to inflict were swiftly healed. What was certain, however, was the fact that your swirling duel was taking a toll on the already beleaguered city, and there would be more and more casualties from the collateral damage if the fight continued much longer. Seeking to shift the odds back into your favor then, you switched from calling down lightning bolts to empowering your scythe.

Before you could measure the empowered scythe’s effectiveness against the elemental lord, however, Amelia joined the battle. The elemental lord and the elemental-infused woman clashed for a moment, and then split apart as Amelia called for you to hit Infernas from behind. A moment later, and the elemental lord lunges forward, sweeping Amelia off of her feet and then pinning her to the ground with one burning foot.

“FOOL! NOW SEE WHY MORTALS ARE NOTHING MORE THAN KINDLINGTO BURN!”

Infernas roars, only to be hit from above by Noctis, the strange man who had joined your little council of war last night. The man conjures a pool of ice around the elemental lord’s legs, trapping him in place and hopefully keeping Countess Amelia safe from the flames. You took this as your cue, leaping up into the air to bring your weapon crashing down on the elemental’s head. If Infernas was a living being of flesh and blood, the fight likely would have ended then and there immediately, as the scythe cleaved down through Infernas’s skull, splitting the scorched bone in half. But even through the cloud of sparks and embers thrown up by your blow, you can see the blackened bone beginning to reknit together.

So the scythe was more effective, but this was not an opponent that could be beaten by simply severing its body the way a physical being could. You would need some way to harm its spirit, its true form. Noctis may have the right idea, although his tactics could be considered questionable as a wave of icicles come crashing down from the sky. You are forced to leap away from Infernas lest you be skewered by one yourself, but the elemental lord has no way to avoid the attack with his feet frozen to the ground. Several icicles strike the beast directly, causing Infernas to stagger, but even as his flame diminish slightly to melt away the icicles jutting from his ribcage, he does not go down.

That changes as the coating of ice around Infernas’s ankles explodes, shredding his bony legs with ice shards driven forth by the explosion. The elemental lord totters for a moment, and then collapses, falling forward onto the now-uncovered Countess.

“ALONS, DO IT! DO IT NOW!”

Amelia screams over Infernas’s roar of fury, the elemental lord unable to do much else at the moment given his tattered state. You assume that this is referring to Amelia’s earlier plan of drowning the elemental lord in the sewers beneath the city, but given that she’s currently pinned underneath the monstrosity such a plan would likely mean her going down with him. Depending on how much of the street is about to collapse and how fast it will go once started, you might also be joining them if you didn’t get out of there.

(This will be the last round of posting for the Battle of Amaranth, so whatever you want to do next will be the end.)

GuyFawkes

As you watch, Infernas lunges forward, knocking Amelia off of her feet and then pinning her to the ground with one burning foot.

“FOOL! NOW SEE WHY MORTALS ARE NOTHING MORE THAN KINDLINGTO BURN!”

Infernas roars, which is what you took as your cue. You summon a layer of ice around the elemental, hopefully protecting Amelia a little while simultaneously pinning Infernas to the ground. That gives Rosenberg the opening he needs, as he leaps up into the air from behind the elemental to bring his scythe down on its head. The blow is a solid one, splitting the elemental lord’s blackened skull apart – as much as such an injury would do to a creature made of pure flame and will. The injury, although severe, would be regenerated from in the span of seconds if Infernas was allowed to heal. You weren’t going to give him that time, as you send your barrage of icicles crashing down upon him.

Rosenberg leaps away to safety, and then the wave of icicles lands, several hitting the elemental lord directly and shearing through his ribcage to jut out from the flames there. Yet even this is not quite enough to undo the elemental lord, as he staggers but refuses to go down. That changes as the coating of ice around Infernas’s ankles explodes, shredding his bony legs with ice shards driven forth by the explosion. The elemental lord totters for a moment, and then collapses, falling forward onto the now-uncovered Countess.

“ALONS, DO IT! DO IT NOW!”

Amelia screams over Infernas’s roar of fury, the elemental lord unable to do much else at the moment given his tattered state. You see Alons turning to shoot up at the elf leader, hitting him in the shoulder and taking him out of the fight, at least for now. The second elf runs over as his leader spins down onto the roof clutching at his wound, and begins to drag the leader away. With that threat out of the way it seems, all that was left was finishing off the elemental lord. Presumably, Amelia and Alons had a plan, but whatever it was seemed dangerous given that Countess Amelia was currently tangled up with the elemental lord. Yet from all the way up here, what could you do to help?

(This will be the last round of posting for the Battle of Amaranth, so whatever you want to do next will be the end.)

Flagisthief

As you open a connection between your soul and that of the interloper, a rush of insights flood into your mind. The searing light of an angel’s power, it’s divine radiance, washes over you, and yet you are certain now that this being is just a human – there is no rigid righteous in it, no terrible certainty of purpose the way that existed in angel souls. It was once a man, and just like you, has been changed – shaped by a more powerful sculptor’s hands, its soul infused with the divine in the same way your soul had been merged with those of spirits.

You could also sense a grim determination driving it on – and behind that, more than a little fear (angels never seemed to feel fear, so that was another checkmark for human of some stripe). But no malice either, no murderous intent – whatever it’s reason for being here, it was not here to kill anyone. A pity, but since Titania was the only being worth killing here anyway, if that had been his intent it would have ended in horrible but hilarious failure. Hate her as much as you want, but here Titania’s will was absolute – given that she had created this all from her mind, it was hardly a surprise.

You were reaching the limit of the information you could gather simply through observation and your passive connection to the creature’s soul. These methods were suitable for observation without being noticed yourself, but deducing its objective here was going to be simply conjecture without more information. So, you opted for the simplest and most direct solution in exchange for revealing your existence to the interloper – through your telepathic connection, you asked him.

The interloper is surprised to hear your questioning thought – evidentially he didn’t have a lot of people contacting him with telepathy. Although not hostile, you can feel the interloper’s wariness as his gauntlet-covered hand dropped down to the sword at his side. He wasn’t stupid enough to draw the weapon though – hostilities this close to Her home would be sure to draw Titania’s attention very very quickly.

“Who’s there? Are you some sort of gatekeeper?”

The armored angel-man-thing asked, speaking out loud instead of sending his thoughts your way – poor fool really didn’t get a lot of telepathic communications, did he? Still, the name Istomilo triggered some sort of recognition in the interloper – you can feel a brief flare of hostility rise up before being quickly suppressed.

“My name is Redeemer. I am no friend of Istomilo, but I have no ill will towards him either. I am here to secure the release of a human girl named Mar – have you seen her? I don’t know who this evil mother you speak of is, but I don’t think I’ve ever met her.”

All truth, although the brief flare of hostility in this “Redeemer” suggests that while he may hold no ill intent towards your old friend, he certainly wouldn’t mind seeing some ill befall Istomilo. Then again, who wouldn’t? The man was a traitor and a jackass, but as with everything in Phaedra these days, alliances were flexible.

Theoretically, the same could be said of this interloper, this “Redeemer”. He didn’t like Istomilo, but as an outsider he had no coerced loyalty to Titania either. You’ve never heard of this “Mar” though, and the thought of a human girl surviving here for long was laughable. Although . . . mortals did occasionally stumble in through one rift or another, and it was always possible that Titania was holding court for the girl. If so, that would be another distraction on your side to keep the queen mother’s attention off of you and your own mission.

The question now was, could you somehow lead this foolish interloper to where he could serve as that distraction without getting your own self noticed by Titania? Like you, She could undoubtedly search through the interloper’s memories and auras, and if she found the faintest whiff of a trace of your influence, the jig would be up immediately thereafter. On the other hand, it did seem rather rude not to answer Redeemer’s questions now that he answered yours . . .

WhiteKnight777

Beside you, the newcomer – Tare or Tamerlane or whatever the hells his name was – was likewise recovering from his experience being submerged in acid. Being a fiend now, the boy had endured the experience better than you, although the acid bath had sloughed off much of what remained of his human skin, leaving only scaled hide behind.

“Well, that sucked.”

The boy gasped, and then moved to follow you down the corridor, while Ross, now hairless, raced ahead in werewolf form. There were of course several more traps in the way, but the enraged werewolf paladin made short work of them. Ahead of you, you could hear the chanting growing louder, both as you got closer and as the ritual reaches its climax. Pity you were about to ensure that it didn’t reach its intended conclusion – but this pale shadow of you that lived in this version of the present needed to learn that *you* were Umber, and you would not be upstaged by some imposter!

Unfortunately, while you were tired of this little distraction, you were about to get another one. Nihilus suddenly stepped out of a portal in front of Tamerlane.

“We’ve got a problem. You need to come with me. Now.”

Nihilus growls, looking to be the closest to panicked that you had ever seen him. He literally shoves Tamerlane through the portal that he tears open with his other hand, spitting out a “I’ll explain on the way!”

At the edge of the portal, Nihilus stops and turns back.

“Umber. You’re supposed to be in Phaedra by now. Whatever little side trip you’re on now, wrap it up quickly.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re moving back down the corridor. At the end, the corridor widens into a partially collapsed chamber, the air crackling with magical power. Ross’s family, vampires one and all, stands at the far end, clustered around a coffin filled with energetically shifting black sand – looks like some sort of mold for a golem. Probably the best your double could do for a body, given that you were currently in position of his flesh and blood one. At the doorway in front of you stands Ross, clearly trying to find the words to reach his defiled wife.

She doesn’t seem to be in the mood to hear it, and opens her mouth to issue some sort of threat or another. You aren’t in the mood for this any longer, and so you release the full weight of your gathered power upon the cluster of Roth’s family around the altar. To say that they are torn apart into fine grains of ash might be a bit of an understatement, but that’s what happens when you hit gnats, speaking on a power scale, with a hammer forged from thousands of years of magical study that’s in a really bad mood.

Over Roth’s scream is another, more furious roar, as the ritual Roth’s wife and children had been conducting flies out of control. The black sand erupts out of the altar’s mold like a geyser, but instead of falling back down to earth it hangs there in mid-air, swirling into a chaotic maelstrom. And from that maelstrom booms a voice that is immediately familiar to you – because it’s yours, albeit it a bit more crackling and static-laced given the medium you were communicating with yourself was a cloud of whirling sand.

“You! Who are you!? Do you have any idea the power against which you have just placed yourself, fool!?”

The Northwest Shore


Starsign

The girls are silent as you lecture them while fleeing from the confrontation with the O.R.C.s, although judging from the pouting faces that each of the girls are making, they still disagree with your assessment of reality. Later, when they can speak again, the older girl explains.

“He wasn’t our father. Our father, he . . . .”

The girl becomes suddenly too choked up to continue, so the little girl chimes he.

“He was from our village though! We knew him . . .”

The younger girl trails off into tears as well as she realizes that she would now have to forevermore use the past tense in reference to that gentleman, thanks to these invaders. Even so, while they didn’t like it, the girls seemed to accept that you were now their sole protector, and that it would be unwise to make your job any more difficult than it already was – like they had just done with their outburst at seeing the slave train of prisoners. Similar scenes were likely to play out in front of you, and far worse ones, if you didn’t manage to get ahead and *stay* ahead of the invasion force.

Staying ahead of these creatures seems like it will be difficult. While you could carry them and walk all day and night if you had to, you could only walk so fast. Particularly in the uneven ground of the forest – you could stick to the more even ground of the roads, but you already just had an example of why that may prove to be a bad idea. You could of course magically increase your speed or even fly, but your magical reserves while prodigious were not inexhaustible and if it ever *did* come to fight or perish, you would prefer to have enough magical power on hand to end such a confrontation quickly and decisively.

Really, the only options that left then were to either dodge groups of invaders forever, or acquire a set of mounts for you and the girls. The first hamlet that you came across was just such an opportunity, and you did not pass it up. With your invisibility running, it was a simple matter to wander into town with the two girls in tow, find the ramshackle building that served as the filthy hamlet’s stables, and acquire two rundown horses that were the best of the lot, which was saying something. Fortunately, a little bit of magic should keep them going for now, and should it come to it, necromancy could keep them going further if you still had a way to go before reaching your destination when their frail bodies finally gave out under the strain. The girls *really* were unlikely to find that agreeable, however, and in your experience no one really appreciated a necromancer, to put it lightly, so hopefully it would not come to that.

A short distance out of the hamlet, however, you encountered your next spot of bother in this endless series of trials and tribulations. A woman, who judging by the filthy and torn condition of her clothes, skin, and hair, probably would fit right in at the hamlet you just left, was working alongside the road in the same direction you were going. But there was something off about this woman, both in her bearing and appearance. She walked with her back straight, her chin up and her eyes focused on some destination far ahead of her beyond the horizon, and despite her ragged condition she was undeniably pretty.

You were viewing her from behind and off to one side as you rode down the road and she was walking along the side, and thus you only saw her in profile. But in some ways that look triggered comparisons in your mind between the woman in front of you and some of your painted works. Brilliantly fire-red hair down to just below the shoulders, smooth skin a shade or two darker than alabaster, but as free of blemish as a woman from a painting. Strong jawline, high cheekbones, emerald green eyes (or at least, one emerald green eye). She is carrying a long walking stick, which she stabs into the ground like a spear as she trudges along on her way, but seems to have very little in the way of possessions beyond that and the clothes of her back. It had been a long time since you had felt the stirrings of desire, and even before that you were already spoken for, so no that was not what you felt now. But despite your century-plus of isolation you had not lost touch so much that you were unable to recognize beauty when you saw it. Beneath the grime this woman had a statuesque perfection, as if she had been carved out of marble rather than the lumpen clay the gods used for the common man.

So no, whatever this woman was, she was not a peasant. That still wasn’t going to save her from the invaders though, and no doubt she would suffer the same fate as everyone else that had crossed paths with the invaders thus far – death, or enslavement. That was not your problem, but the little girl seated in the saddle ahead of you seemed to be wanting to make it your problem.

“Can we help her? Pleeeeeeeease?”

The little girl begged, no doubt thinking that with the woman being much less risk to help than a bunch of prisoners of the Czlowieks, you may be more amiable to help. You weren’t particularly inclined to pick up some random stray woman, although on the other hand, she may be less inclined than the children to cause problems and you could, for lack of a better word, make use of a babysitter to watch the children while you saw to other affairs. On the other hand, you may not be so easily able to fool an adult as to your nature, and she might be even more difficult to control than the children, giving you yet another suicidal fool to shepherd.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh's Squire?

Hefting the Dawnblade into an aggressive stance, he prepares to spring.

"I'll not have it, Elandra. I'm trying to save my friends already, letting this freed soul get recaptured would be rank hypocrisy at best. Let's get to work. YOU THERE! DON'T MOVE! IF YOU DO THEY'LL SEE YOU! LET ME DEAL WITH THEM!"

He follows her instructions, moving towards the Wormwalkers between the "mannequins" to try and reach them before they reach their victim.

[Lightning Fast]

“William Blake is annoying, but he’s ultimately harmless,” Ridley replied, “And his troops are good pincushions for the elven archers. I know you don’t like him, but he and his men are on our side for this battle. He’s also opened my eyes to something else: we need a troop of common footsoldiers to back up our elite fighting force. I’m thinking a few hundred men, well-trained but easily replaceable.” This would allow them to take on more direct combat initiatives, as opposed to the special operations they currently focused on. Others might hesitate to get in between Sydney and what she wanted, but Ridley did not fear the Reaper. She didn’t like to admit it, but deep down, she was still a scared little merchant’s daughter sold into slavery by her deadbeat father. Then again, the father was dead now if Ridley recalled correctly.

And then he turns his full attention to you, his yellow reptilian eyes smiling on behalf of his covered mouth.

“Hello there! I presume you’re here to kill a whole lot of elves in Ironheart? *I’m* your contact – this gentlemen here – he’s nothing, just a distraction, forget him. And in answer to your questions, I’m Nihilus, the Writer of History – a Fiend Lord, not a human mage, although I once was human just like any other fiend. I am not currently working with Jaina Arcos, although I understand that you are. I would like to discuss that with you after our business at Ironheart is concluded. Speaking of which, shall we discuss the plan on our way to the secret entrance? It’s not far of a walk from here – would you like me to keep my hands up? Stay where you can see me?”

“Boss, I think this whole mission just got weird. I ****ing hate it when that happens.” Brutus states matter-of-factly to you.

“Et tu, Brutus?” Ridley replied, “Good. I ****ing hate when this happens too.” Ridley had a policy of only fighting battles he absolutely knew he could win. Not even the famous elven scouts and rangers could match his riders in an open field, and they were about even in the forest, but since the revelation that they would be attacking Ironheart directly, the outcome of this was now entirely uncertain. Twenty-five men, no matter how well-trained, were going to have a tough time assaulting a fortress. The mercenary captain was now facing somewhat of a moral dilemma as well. On one hand, this was a fiend. A fiend lord, even. Ridley hated fiends, possibly even more than elves, and had swore to never work with one or to work towards one’s objectives. On the other hand, this particular fiend was clearly much too powerful for him to simply start a fight with, as was the usual protocol for these sorts of encounters, and might try something nasty if Ridley's Riders refused to help. The Riders normally had a kill-on-sight policy for anything of the hellborn variety, but Ridley rose his hand to stop his crew from firing. There was no way in hell they could kill this guy at present.

“The mocking isn’t really appreciated, but I’ll put up with it if I absolutely have to,” Ridley mused, dropping a hand to his side in case he had to make a quick draw. “You already seem to know a lot about me, particularly the parts involving a certain vampire. You’ll probably also know that I need a damned good reason to work with a fiend like you. Frankly, I don’t see why you don’t use your wizard-tricks to kill all the elves yourself.” He looked over towards the bruised, angelic figure, then back to Nihilus, before realizing that there wasn’t really time for any sort of explanation. “Brutus, break the chain and get the poor bastard free.”

The giant of a man nodded and swung at the chain, hoping to shatter it in a single blow with the massive hammer.

“C’mon, Nihilus: let’s go...” There was a defeated tone to his voice, as though he didn’t have a choice in this matter. If he had to choose between working with a fiend-lord once and letting the elven menace hold onto a nigh-impregnable metal fortress, he would choose the former. “Tell me the plan, tell me what you are personally trying to accomplish, and tell me how you know about this secret entrance. And forgive me I don’t believe you’re doing this out of profit or the goodness of your heart.” There was a sinking feeling in Ridley’s gut that he was going to lose some good men today.

[flagisthief]

"Gatekeeper? This one belongs little more than you. This is a most interesting creature, bit of an angel in you isn't there? It speaks with a protector of the human children of many planes. Names are a most dangerous thing to give here so You will not receive this one's, even speaking to Redeemer can get this one killed. This one has only just returned to Phaedra and has not encountered any humans besides the one foolishly calling out. Focus on this one's thoughts Redeemer, send yours back, whisper the words in your mind, Phaedra is a most dangerous place to draw attention to oneself." Nesbit considered this unusual human, why would a mind that cannot even communicate on a level below speech risk itself here? "All this one can offer is advice for now. If child is a prisoner, check near the Evil Mother, she keeps her captives under eye. Yes, child will be with Titania. This one has its own rescue mission to perform. If child is found by this one, Redeemer will be alerted, won't risk speech, too much at stake. Map will appear in Redeemer's mind, that is all this one can offer. Link will be hidden, if redeemer needs this one, scream in mind, no words, just scream, all in Phaedra that listen will hear." Hopefully without knowing Nesbit's name, Titania will be slowed in realizing his treachery. Yes, yes, yes, distraction will be of use, hope human survives long enough for Nesbit to finish. Wonder how it hopes to rescue child from Titania. Nesbit continues his way to the castle during their chat, moving quickly and quietly. "Be careful angel-human, Titania would not appreciate your presence. When this one leaves Phaedra again, it will search for Redeemer to satisfy curiosity of rescue."

As Nesbit reaches the end of his range where the link is reliable, he stops and thinks. Children have always been kind to Nesbit. Nesbit does not like leaving one with no chance. Risky, risky, already said too much, held open too long. Nesbit has idea. Nesbit spread his link to the spirit, not a difficult task, such things have little for minds beside this Redeemer. "Memories of the halls, just enough to speed along." Disguising his conversation to look as though the human spoke with the spirit might help Nesbit along. It wouldn't last a second against Titania but if she decided to have a lacky probe this creature's mind, it would give Nesbit a few moments. With what little he could do to cover his tracks considering the circumstances, Nesbit decided to waste no more time, no more helping anyone. Why must Nesbit keep habits from past live?

[AdamSmasher]

You can't... But meet the man who can.

Adrian drew in a ragged breath, some new sixth sense telling him that there were sinners approaching. He heard voices, shouting, but much of it was just noise to him. As his focus slowly came back, the gears started turning again and he listened to their exchange intently. It was shock just as much as the injuries that kept him there, as still as he could manage. His bravado was gone, the foolhardiness quashed. A knight entered the clearing, but an inquisitor remained.

Adrian crumbled unceremoniously as Brutus shattered the chain binding him. He felt a rib pop back in to place on impact, sealed there by his divine regeneration. The ache in his body slowly dulled, and with it the swelling in his eyes receded just enough for him to force them open as the company departed.

It was just enough to see his Aura.

Just enough to see his name.

"RIDLEY!"

His voice was hoarse, but he needed to get the words out.

"She has to live!"

He hacked out the last bit of blood from his lungs and fell silent, letting his regeneration finish its work as the forest burned around him.

****

Nihilus was a Fiend Lord. More than a Fiend Lord. Even the Black General was supposed to at least be comparable to an Angel. Nihilus had a speed and foresight that Adrian couldn't imagine even in an Archangel. Calling Silverspear would achieve nothing, here.

There was supposed to be a balance: Miriam created four Archangels, Azulgoth created twenty Fiend Lords; Miriam created the Valkyrie flights and Athelion hatched the Dragons, so Azulgoth spawned the never-ending Hordes. The existence of something like Nihilus threw the balance even further out of place.

And it knew too much. Not only did it know who he was and exactly where and when he would arrive, it arranged for a mercenary company to arrive at the same time. It was pulling strings. But how much of what it said was true? If it wanted him gone, why let him live? What were its true motives? If Jaina was out of Ironheart, could that mercenary keep her safe? Could he help Josephine? What was going on in Ironheart?

****

Adrian took his first breath without pain; it was time to go.

He slowly gathered himself up off the ground and shook the ash out of his hair. He reached his hand out and snatched his sword from the center of the clearing with his power. He pondered briefly over the forest fire burning through the nearby trees; he could put it out himself, but he decided that leaving it to rage would keep the elves busy for longer.

Now, Adrian was at a crossroads. He could choose to follow after Nihilus and Ridley, uncover the Fiend plot in Ironheart, find Jaina, and risk Nihilus's wrath. Or, he could choose to put his faith in Nihilus, entrust Jaina to her mercenaries, leave Ironheart and its bizarrely powerful, allegedly omniscient archfiend guardian behind, and possibly go pull Josephine out of Hell.

****

The quiet air in Luxien's archives rushed between the stacks and the books jolted in their shelves. A faint smell of ozone wafted through as Adrian Arcos sat himself down on a hard chair. "Terrance." He groaned and tried not to heave, his second long-range teleportation in an hour taking its toll.

"I need to find Ysora."

[Starsign]

Traveling by horse is a feeling more exhilarating than Garxin can remember in his last century of existence. Though he cannot actually feel anything as a lich he is capable of artificially creating his senses if need be; all he needs however is to see and to hear. He can feel the air flow harshly past his 'ears,' the galloping of the horses he stole, while taking in the night sky and seemingly endless landscape. Even though he only experiences such things with few senses it is one which he can take and recall by memory in the future.

His own horse skids to a crawl when the other horse does; the young child on it no doubt wanting to get a look at the ragged woman that they came by. He holds in the temptation to sigh frustratingly, coming by yet another distraction that complicates what should be a simple delivery. While picking up one person is indeed less baggage than a group, it still is one; an insignificant traveler that would provide too many possible consequences that Garxin can plan for. Ignoring her and moving on would be the best plan for the three in his eyes.

Then Garxin's illusionary eyes fix on the traveling woman.

In all his years he had not seen a women with such facial features in such horrid clothes, walking strongly forward towards her destination. Her very pose, skin, and proportions mark the very model for paintings. Nothing spoke so heroic as her blazing hair; sharp eyes; high cheekbones; she could make every checkmark on the list of what an the ideal romantic woman should be. Were she to make any attempt to seduce a man, even angel or devil, she could probably do so if they had any concept of beauty that wasn't intrinsically alien.

Yet it is not her beauty itself which catches Garxin's attention. The sorcerer had never cared for such physical looks outside of certain themes within his artwork and his marriage to Malicia, a women that many others would consider dull to look at, had been done with no regards to feminine attraction. No what strikes Garxin is the fact that this ragged lone woman is beautiful. Her physical features would never match with cloth that only the poorest slaves would be forced to wear. The mismatch of her look is irrational; in a painting it would be done as if to symbolically send a message to the viewers. Yet Garxin witnesses a painting's fantasy in real life now.

There is far more to this woman that incites Garxin's curiosity. Though the curious lich knows the variable consequences to bringing her aboard, helping this woman may help resolve the children dilemma sooner. His own rational and irrational thoughts competed against one another; fear and curiosity fighting pragmatism and analytic sight. As of now he puts curiosity in with rationality, finding reasons to take her along that are logical rather than doing the most strategic and safest thing. Indeed there is much that he could learn if she happens to be an experienced adventurer or simply someone that knows the lay of the land better than him. She could lead the others to the nearest town rather than to wonder aimlessly until the horses collapsed of exhaustion; better still if she could take the two children into her custody after they all have made it to safety. Those logical reasons meant he now has all he needs to comply with his curiosity.

Garxin raises a raised-up finger towards the little girl as a signal to stay quiet; his facial expression neutral and blank compared to the extreme curiosity inside him. The girl does get her wish however as she sees Garxin's horse stop entirely, waiting for it to calm down before getting off the beast. To be safe, Garxin gently and subtly imbues himself with a spell of magical awareness, letting him know if this woman happens to have any sort of magical qualities about her, or if she is simply a normal being with an absolute beauty by trait. As the spell comes over him, Garxin approaches the woman from her right. "Good evening miss," he begins, recalling however many ways he can greet a person politely. It would be best, he thinks, to avoid discussing about the woman's features and instead focus on where she is going. "May I ask where you are heading this time of night? You could be spending days trying to get the nearest settlement with the direction you are going." Garxin decides against telling her about the coming invasion of the half-demon O.R.Cs. Inducing panic wouldn't help persuade the woman, that is if the children decide not to speak that out regardless.

[daelrog]

Spoiler: Second Spell

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Only read if you want it spoiled.

Spoiler: Spoiler!

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The second spell is meant for Amelia if the Purifier takes control of her. It's meant to suppress the Purifier. That's why he put the some blood symbol behind her ear, to show whether or not the fire elemental takes control.

Alons's unbloodied hand hit the ground, palm down. "Ildreath!" It didn't come as one great collapse, but a few dozen smaller collapses, happening all around them in a matter of seconds.

Still reckless, still trying to throw her life away. Alons darted off to the side, away from the collapse, his eyes fixed on Amelia and her enemy. If they both survived this, he'd settle the matter.

As he moved to safety he notched another arrow. There was nothing he could do to help her this moment though, nothing he could do against Infernas. The Elf was an entirely different matter, and Alons had every intent to bring his anger upon the Elf leader, to deal with him in place of the fire elemental, in place of both of them. Killing him was an option, but Alons preferred the slow, painful way this time. After all, this wouldn't be the end of the war just yet, and these Elves didn't seem to be care a bit more over their well being than the Orcs.

[Raunchel]

Drusilla Firantis

I enter the room, prepared for everything. My enemies have many tools at their disposal. I remember my uncle, and regret the rashness of my youth. He should have lived to be tortured in public, as a show of force. So I would ahve been feared in the beginning, before the first assassins came. Fear is such a strange thing, the product of weaker minds. It almost sounds irrational. But then again, most people have weak minds. But still, they all hate me. They all want my death. Every last one of them. But only when they properly fear me they won't rise. I won't be butchered by the peasant hordes. I seek out any leaders, and make a show of them. Let them live and die in pain and terror. That is the only way. Bu even then, there are more, and behind them the secret cabals plotting against me, and behind them more circles. Circles within circles within circles. Only my will and intellect can keep me safe. I need Ermenia, I need an arm to hold me, and an arm to hold a sword. I need her, my sweet bringer of death. It hurts to not have her by my side. But I have to preserve her, I have to preserve myself to preserve her.

I see the writing in blood, it seems almost prophetic, clearly a sign of the strength of my enemies. They are here. I know it. But it will not affect me, I have seen more of that, always meant to terrify. But I won't falter. I keep going, shining my cold light on the room that was yes never was. And I see a circle. But within the circle is the most peculiar thing, darkness, a fiend. Infinite circles within the circle. But what is it? And why is it here? Is it my inheritance, or is it a weapon. Those circles lock them, I know that much, I never learned that magic, no, but I do have my library, and there was a tome about it, which I had thrown into the sea because the edges of the pages were coated in poison, to cut me when I turned them. Such a clever trick. But I was better than that, and that warlock found out what it means to oppose me. He was drawn and quartered, as he should be, and gave many of his accomplices to me.

But for now, I must focus on the present, the strange fiend, with its strange proposal. It will seek out lies, it must escape. Unless it only lies. But I have my mind, the greatest of all. It is my curse to be human, and like all living things, I am surrounded by enemies. But this here, this monster, it might give me what I need, knowledge.

“Many truths reside within these walls, within this world. But these are those that are foremost in my mind”, she speaks, before finally asking her first questions: “First of all when were you summoned? I realize that it is a trivial question, but it is good to start that way. And what is your name?”

But there are so many things more that I need to know, but at the same time, they could betray me. Provide openings for new plots and schemes. But I must, even while I wonder if I could tear this foul creature from existence. I would not know, fiends vary greatly in power, there are those who I can easily extinguish, but there also are those with truly great power. “And do you know the fiend named Achamai? How powerful is she?”

[Dorizzit]

The Plane of Fire

Korram braces himself after Calcifer's warning. The pain is intense; enough to obliterate consciousness in a lesser man. Fortunately for Korram, he is more than used to being burned by this point, and although he grits his teeth in undeniable agony, he has learned to cope with the pain far better than any ordinary human should be able to. He does not even cry out before the process finally settles and Calcifer merges into his body.

Ignoring the elementals (it wasn't him they were bowing to, after all) Korram strides confidently from the portal and extends twin wings of flame from his shoulders, launching from the ground with a motion fusing a flap of the new appendages with an explosion.

Hrmm . . . you feel different, Korram. What has happened to you in my absence? I noticed that you managed to regrow your arm that you lost returning me home. You have my gratitude for keeping your promise to me still. While we are together to bring Infernas’s threat to an end, you have access to all of my power. Use it as you see fit.

Thanks, I appreciate it. As for my arm, Purifier tried to use me to kill the Baron. See for yourself.

Using the link, Korram goes through the now-familiar process of sharing memories with his old companion, giving Calcifer a run-through of the events that took place while merged with Purifier.

When Korram comes to Amaranth, his feelings on seeing the city are mixed; it's good that the siege has broken, but the absence of Infernas is not, inherently, a good thing. The elemental could just as easily have escaped as been banished. Deciding that time is of the essence, Korram follows the scar of destruction all the way to the end, landing on the ground in an attempt to determine what happened.

[GuyFawkes]

Noctis

Noctis' brows, or what represents brows for him, creased as he saw that his attack was still not able to finish the elemental.

How troublesome.

He scanned the battlefield. As he looked at the elves, he caught the moment the elven leader getting struck by the human's arrow, with his subordinates hurrying to catch his limp figure and taking him somewhere safe. Without any other threat in sight, Noctis does not wait for the human and the wolf-man to act. He ran forward and jumped into the air as he drew his spear. Reaching the peak of his jump, he hurls the spear at Infernas, targeting his torso and hit the ground with a resounding thud. Not pausing even slightly, he continued to dash towards the elemental lord while drawing two warhammers.

Wham!

A warhammer swung up towards Infernas' head, followed by another, with the goal of prying him up and away from the countess. While continuing the attack, Noctis began to collect the last of his energies, inhaling air and letting his chest expand to its utmost. As soon as he was able to put a good distance between Infernas and Amelia, an icy breath blasted against the elemental lord, wrapping it with ice. After a few moments, his spell finished. What was left of Infernas was encased in ice, but not for long, as twin hammers whistled towards it, resulting in an explosion, scattering icy shards all around.

Noctis pressed down on his knees to support himself. He had exhausted his magical energies and he could only shake his head at the level he has fallen to.

I am spent, and I could barely defeat that elemental. How pathetic.

He breathed in deeply for a few moments, before standing up again and storing his weapons. Turning towards Amelia, he extended a hand.

"Can you stand?"