talien
Community Supporter
Drinking Deeply from the Chalice of Midnight - Part 2: Bearding the Lion in its Den
Traveling through the portal was not nearly as electrifying as a Gate of Anshar, but they were disoriented nevertheless.
“Well, at least we can breathe,” said Ilmarė, rubbing her nose. “But the air tastes wrong.”
“Metallic,” said Quintus, “like blood.”
They stood on a stone balcony, the third floor of a keep. It seemed to be daytime, but there was no sun to cast a shadow. The clouds whisked by at a furious rate despite the lack of wind.
“Interesting weather.” Vlad shielded his eyes as he looked up.
A large tower spiraled above them for another fifty feet out of the center of the keep. A glowing orb, burning with a terrible light, capped the tower. The light extended for many miles, its long cone centered on the keep, perfect in its circumference except for the area above the tower.
“What is that black cloud?” asked Quintus.
A dark cloud sliced through the cone of light, roiling with conflict. Within, hordes of Infernal beings were locked in a war with dark, unseen things that flashed in and out of the cloud.
“There are…things in the clouds,” said Ilmarė, squinting. “Bronze razor-edged arms and claws. The Infernals are fighting them. They are led by…well that must be our unwitting host.” A giant being, beautiful in his battle raiment, terrible in his wrath, struck down all who opposed him.
There was a harsh command from below them. A vast courtyard that adjoined the keep was filled with powerful devils, cracking whips over the heads of newly arrived Infernals. More and more arrived through portals, large and brutish, short and vicious, all of them in horrible pain from the mark of Sarish that branded each of their brows.
“Slaves?” Vlad exclaimed. “They’re fighting a war with slaves?”
“Infernals,” said Quintus, “summoned by Sarishans. Let there be no doubt, the Infernals would kill you if they had the chance.”
Three identical bald, ageless Vals were adorned in sigils and glyphs from shoulder to palm. Their steady chanting ensured a steady flow of Infernals from three summoning circles that were herded out into the conflict beyond.
“Perhaps we should focus on the mission,” said Ilmarė, taking a step back towards double doors that led into the tower, “before one of those things decides to focus on us.”
Traveling through the portal was not nearly as electrifying as a Gate of Anshar, but they were disoriented nevertheless.
“Well, at least we can breathe,” said Ilmarė, rubbing her nose. “But the air tastes wrong.”
“Metallic,” said Quintus, “like blood.”
They stood on a stone balcony, the third floor of a keep. It seemed to be daytime, but there was no sun to cast a shadow. The clouds whisked by at a furious rate despite the lack of wind.
“Interesting weather.” Vlad shielded his eyes as he looked up.
A large tower spiraled above them for another fifty feet out of the center of the keep. A glowing orb, burning with a terrible light, capped the tower. The light extended for many miles, its long cone centered on the keep, perfect in its circumference except for the area above the tower.
“What is that black cloud?” asked Quintus.
A dark cloud sliced through the cone of light, roiling with conflict. Within, hordes of Infernal beings were locked in a war with dark, unseen things that flashed in and out of the cloud.
“There are…things in the clouds,” said Ilmarė, squinting. “Bronze razor-edged arms and claws. The Infernals are fighting them. They are led by…well that must be our unwitting host.” A giant being, beautiful in his battle raiment, terrible in his wrath, struck down all who opposed him.
There was a harsh command from below them. A vast courtyard that adjoined the keep was filled with powerful devils, cracking whips over the heads of newly arrived Infernals. More and more arrived through portals, large and brutish, short and vicious, all of them in horrible pain from the mark of Sarish that branded each of their brows.
“Slaves?” Vlad exclaimed. “They’re fighting a war with slaves?”
“Infernals,” said Quintus, “summoned by Sarishans. Let there be no doubt, the Infernals would kill you if they had the chance.”
Three identical bald, ageless Vals were adorned in sigils and glyphs from shoulder to palm. Their steady chanting ensured a steady flow of Infernals from three summoning circles that were herded out into the conflict beyond.
“Perhaps we should focus on the mission,” said Ilmarė, taking a step back towards double doors that led into the tower, “before one of those things decides to focus on us.”