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.. he traded his hedgehog? how Could he?
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Naahhh....the Pseudonatural Helper was a magical gadget invented by Mostin. It had arms, tentacles etc. and aided the Alienist in his work.
Bluff vs Sense Motive, then Will Save.
Ho, hum. Here we go...
Predictably, the demon Rurunoth did not hum in unison with Ortwin’s songs. The bard’s plan – to irk the Balor to such an extent that he might in a moment of frenzied anger divulge something of value to the party – in fact proved to be an effective tactic. Unfortunately, the revelation was lost on Ortwin. He was enjoying baiting the fiend too much to pay proper attention.
"Come on Ruru, don’t be a party-pooper. Sing along! Perhaps you’ve got some old favourites that we can sing together?"
The darkness remained unbroken, but the voice of the Balor echoed in Ortwin’s mind.
I WILL STRIP AWAY YOUR BODY AND PEEL YOUR SOUL. YOUR ESSENCE WILL EXPERIENCE SUCH UNENDING PAIN THAT YOU WILL BEG FOR RELEASE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY LAYERS A SOUL POSSESSES, MORTAL?
"Ooh, I don’t think I know that one. Sing the first couple of lines, and I’m sure I’ll pick it up, though." Ortwin retorted.
YOU, AND THE NATURE-PRIEST, AND THE FILTHY PALADIN, AND HIS ACCURSED TURNCOAT WHORE. THAT PRETENTIOUS SCOFFING LITTLE WIZARD. I KNOW YOU ALL. AND YOU HAVE OVERSTEPPED YOUR POWERS AND UNDERESTIMATED MINE. SOON YOU WILL ALL BURN.
"You," sang Ortwin, "and-the-nature-priest…hum…de…dum…"
**
Mostin made two more short journeys that same morning. The first was to visit a wizard called Idro, who dwelt deep within the forest of Nizkur which lay to the west of Ortwin’s home town of Jiuhu. Idro, an old mage of small powers, had a reputation for pettiness and pedantry. He lived comfortably in his secluded tower, where, attended by numerous enchanted creatures, he still dreamed of possessing a greater influence beyond bullying the local population of feys. After his admission by two charmed Ettins, Mostin struck a deal with the wizard which secured a number of minor spells including the "Fox’s Cunning" dweomer – two copies, in fact – as well as several potions, and three Beads of Force.
Mostin reluctantly surrendered his Unsavoury Oracle – a diminutive magical statue which cryptically answered questions put to it – in exchange for the items. Despite its flaws, the Unsavoury Oracle, like the Pseudonatural Helper and the Metamorphic Apparatus, had been created by Mostin. The Alienist sadly stroked Mogus as he lamented the loss of his unique and colourful inventions.
Ahh, well, he thought. There would always be time to make more.
Mostin’s final journey – a mundane chore in comparison – was to Morne. There, the bulk of his considerable monetary resources were exchanged for a single, huge, lusterless black pearl. Mostin grinned wickedly at the sight of it.
Mogus gave a small, distraught squeak.
**
Lunch, for which Mostin had promised to return, proved to be at four o’clock as a result. The Alienist arrived to find Eadric, Ortwin and Nwm sitting on his terrace discussing the Bard’s experiences with the captive demon, and wondering how to proceed.
"What did you learn?" Mostin asked.
"Very little," Ortwin confessed. "I attempted to goad and rile him into some kind of disclosure, but it proved ineffective. He threatened me repeatedly, and then fell silent again. Even my most annoying songs failed to elicit any further response from him." The Bard neglected to mention his nearly falling off of the stool.
"We should think about making an offer – if that’s how we plan to proceed," said Nwm. "We need to decide what we want, and what he’s likely to demand in return."
"We don’t want anything, except information," Eadric sighed. "What is his plan? His master’s plan? Where is Despina’s virtue, if she has any? Is she genuine?"
"He says he’s going to burn her, as well," said Ortwin. "We’re all going to burn. He’s going to peel my soul. You’re filthy and Mostin’s pretentious."
Eadric raised an eyebrow. "What exactly DID he say, Ortwin?"
So Ortwin repeated the conversation, word for word.
"You dummy," said Mostin. "If he called the succubus a ‘Turncoat Whore’ what does that suggest to you?"
"He might be bluffing," Nwm pointed out. "There’s so much BS flying around these days, that I’ve really lost the plot."
"He was really mad," said Ortwin.
"He’s also a very accomplished liar," Eadric groaned, "and he’s had aeons to perfect his art. And you’re hardly a paragon of insight, Ortwin, when it comes to reading others’ motives."
"But you weren’t there," the Bard complained. "I was really, really annoying. I could’ve pissed a Solar off. I think if he’d been trying to fool me, he’d have been more subtle about it."
"Maybe he was being SO subtle, that you mistakenly thought he was being blatant," Nwm suggested mysteriously.
Eadric put his head in his hands.
"I think it’s time I inquired of Oronthon again," Mostin announced.
"Er…we still don’t know if it was reliable last time," Nwm reminded the Alienist. "What makes you think that another attempt will be any less fallible?"
"Well of course it’s fallible." Mostin snapped. "I’m not a damn cleric am I? The point is we need some kind of direction. Also, I might point out that the main suspect in the previous casting’s ‘fallibility’ is currently contained in a pentacle in my cellar."
"Mostin," Nwm persisted calmly, "we don’t know if other agents of Graz’zt are lurking nearby, and even if they’re not, why should Oronthon be particularly disposed to talk to you? Your actions so far are hardly likely to have endeared him to you – to any of us, in fact." Nwm held Eadric in his gaze whilst he spoke.
No," said the Paladin. "This time I agree with Mostin. I am denied the correct channels through my choices thus far, but I desperately need some kind of guidance. But how about contacting an intermediary, rather than Lord Oronthon himself? An angel of the host - perhaps Urthoon, who acts as conduit?"
Mostin sighed in an exasperated fashion. "Angels and demipowers are less reliable. They don’t know the full story, and are more apt to dissemble. Direct communication with the Godhead is most likely to produce the truth, which, I assume, is what we are still looking for here?"
"Do it," Eadric commanded.
Had Mostin attempted to reach Urthoon, his attempt would, in fact, have failed. The planetar, along with his celestial superior and the greatest of Oronthon’s generals – the solar Enitharmon – had been dispatched on a mission of utmost urgency. Surrounded by a phalanx of devas and archons, the pair sped across the outer reaches towards their appointed meeting with the agents of Prince Graz’zt. The rumour of their passing caused essences of less than perfect purity to flee in terror, whilst those few who were worthy were drawn towards the light and basked. In their wake, the astral mists were suffused by a colourless radiance.
The celestials did not speak with their silver voices, or even converse in thought, one to another. Their aspects serene and impassive, they moved and acted in consummate harmony. A single organic Mind, driven by the purpose instilled by the beloved Lord whose spark dwelled in them.
Redemption.
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