Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
Every time he posts, I get the urge to update my own story hour.
__________________ Robert Blezard I write; therefore, I am!
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I cant help but draw a parallel to the Afquitan session we never saw really desribed. Is there any chance you might go back to it now you seem to be well in the writing groove?
I think Tozinak is just being crazy. Mulissu's epic spell Glance of Thunder probably has backlash as a mitigating component, and it seems she rolled a little high on the dice.
From the post "Visuit"
Quote:
"And the predicted length of our tenure in these regions?" Tozinak inquired, sniffling dismally.
"Around thirty minutes, if all goes to plan," Mostin grinned eagerly.
"Alas!" Tozinak wailed. "I may not live to see my egg hatch!"
I guess it is one of Toz's long term 'experiments' with the avian form.
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Apparently Tozinak's paradigm appears more insane to us than does Mostin's
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Hlioth appeared before Nwm. The Preceptor looked haggard.
"Go to Mostin and sort things out," she instructed. "Then start thinking of a way to get rid of that." The witch gestured irritably to a billowing void which absorbed everything in its path.
"I am spent," Nwm shook his head.
"But you cannot be!" Hlioth groaned. "Mostin is missing me from his ritual; I had elected you my substitute."
Nwm glared at her. He was spent; aside from a few restorative spells, he had almost nothing left.
"Work something out," Hlioth said irritably. "Is this all there is?" She glanced around: Lai and her handmaidens, a few Uediian priests and priestesses. Most seemed exhausted; at least Lai retained some of her power.
"You are late to the party," Nwm smiled stonily.
"It will have to do. Give me what you've got."
Hlioth drew on their magic, invoked a powerful ward – on herself alone – and then vanished.
"Charming," Nwm sighed. He looked at Lai.
"I'll go," the goddess said. She vanished into the earth.
*
Eadric was closer to it: an inky darkness which slithered across the ground like malign fog. It emanated terror; those which it touched, it snuffed out. Everything recoiled from it; it seemed bent only on destroying vibrancy and life. The telepathic screams issued by celestials which had encountered it still echoed in the Ahma's mind.
He had no time to muse on such things. Orcus's mace slammed into his buckler, numbing his left arm; a sting like a wyvern's tail punched through a gap in his armor and potent venom threatened to overwhelm him. Horns, a maw, claws. A foul, rank, cloying smell. Aja was a bastion around which all evil things rallied and from which all that was good was moved to flee. Lukarn was impotent against the demon's defenses; the Prince of the Undead had erected a ward of indomitability about himself.
Orcus spoke a dark blasphemy. Eadric endured it; Rede and Tarpion reeled. Others nearby exploded into dust.
Eadric groaned. Balors were now manifesting all around him.
They're on your side, Ortwine's voice echoed in his head.
Your timing is a little tight. Orcus is warded.
Noted.
The dominated balors targeted Aja with dispellings.
**
The stars shone brighter still.
Mesikammi had now waxed to her full power; the spell which she had wrought an hour before came into effect.
Reaching skywards, she plucked a meteor from the heavens and pulled it to the earth; the light as it struck the ground illuminated the countryside for miles around. Its impact vaporized an entire company of undead mercernaries, and left a smoking hole a hundred feet wide.
Nwm glanced upwards. More stars seemed to be shifting.
"How many more do you have?" He asked.
"Three," Mesikammi smiled.
"Make 'em count," Nwm cautioned her.
Mind my balors, Ortwine's voice carried to the shamaness.
**
The Ahma enjoyed a brief lacuna in the combat; everything within a hundred feet was dead. Orcus had fled or obscured himself – a dozen balors was enough to cause even him pause for thought. Prahar had done the same, although Eadric anticipated that either or both would soon reappear.
In their absence, the demons had set upon the enemy knights.
Ortwine became visible and descended to the ground, her hand upon the pommel of her weapon. Eadric leaned heavily on Lukarn, and spat blood.
She gave a cool smile, and bowed. "I should apologize for doubting your capacity to keep me entertained. I have burned all but one of my candles; unfortunately, those fellows cannot linger too long. Still we're not doing so badly."
Eadric gestured with Lukarn towards the consuming Void.
"There is that," Ortwine conceded. Her face became deadly serious. "You should consider sounding a general retreat. "
Eadric nodded. He knew it.
**
Hlioth materialized within a translucent jade sphere atop a precipice; below her, waves crashed at its base, the foam catching starlight. The moon was still a rumor on the eastern horizon. Nearby, an iron tower reared high into the sky.
You. Rimilin spoke into her mind.
As demons materialized around her, the Green Witch struck her staff upon the rock, sending forth a massive vibration which caused the ground to heave and ripple. Like a rising bore, it rapidly carried the tower and its contents over the edge of the cliff, toppling it into ocean below. The air around her was suddenly thick with fiends teleporting away from the collapsing structure, hurling magic and bodies against her.
Unperturbed, Hlioth pronounced a swift banishment of great power; green light flashed. Abruptly, all was quiet.
Rimilin arose from the wreck of his abode and alighted on the cliff-top twenty yards away.
"Are you done?" He asked. He struck her with a disjunction and blasted her with arcane fire.
Hlioth smiled. The spell she cast – possessed of immense penetrative power – could not be turned. Rimilin knew that it had been crafted just for him.
A look of mild astonishment crossed his face; he had not expected another of that magnitude. And not this…
Rimilin vanished.
Hlioth sighed. The presence of another. A void with many tendrils. She saw Queen Soneillon quietly walking towards her; an annihilating fire began to consume the witch.
"You have seen too much," Hlioth whispered as she expired.
**
Mostin grumbled. Goristros were hurling themselves at the base of the tower, and palrethees were appearing before him. The threat of the balors had – fortunately – been eliminated in quick measure: Jalael had dominated one and hurled it at another; the two remaining had wisely chosen to avoid the same fate, and vanished.
The Alienist sighed. They were probably loose in the world. Somewhere. Tracking them and dispatching them was not a chore which concerned him.
Mostin invoked a chained polymorph; the demons directly ahead were transformed into trout and dropped to the ground. Those who were fortunate enough to avoid the hooves of the goristros flapped briefly before dying.
Creq was administering some necromantic elixir to Mulissu in order to revive her. Tozinak made encouraging sounds.
"Can't you do something?" Mostin asked of Tozinak, incredulous. "Even Waide is doing something." The other transmuter had reversed gravity, causing three of the enormous demons to bob in the air unceremoniously.
Tozinak pursed his lip – Mostin had no doubt that he had taken genuine offense – and pointed. A goristro began to dance.
Lai sprang out of the ground, assumed the form of a falcon, shot upwards, dived, and landed on the balcony, resuming her normal shape in a single, seamless movement.
Mostin blanched.
"Hlioth indicated that you need another for your spell," Lai explained. She reached down and healed Mulissu, saving her from Creq's dubious ministrations.
Mostin's prolepsis warned him of an impending explosion of planar conduits. Naatha and Rishih, with their allies. Too many; the force previously gathered to assault Fumaril. More teleportation circles began to appear, a quarter-mile to the north. Three gates flashed open. Demons, giants, magi. Immortals. Mostin knew they were loaded with magic. They were coming through fast.
"Sh*t," the Alienist cursed.
"Well?" Mulissu asked groggily.
"We have to," Mostin nodded glumly.
Drawing on the cabal, he invoked a massive Quiescence of the Spheres. The air became still, and all dimensional traffic within ten miles was stifled. Silence.
An acidic storm struck the tower. Orolde, Troap, Creq and Daunton perished.
"That it should come to this," Mulissu erected an antimagic field.
"Deploy the compactees," Mostin screamed, skin hanging from his nose like molten wax.
A portal to the tower – no small postern, but a great gate – was opened. Dozens of compacted daemons, devils, hags and elementals – retained as security against Abyssal entanglements – poured forth. Quasits and mephits bickered in the air above them.
"After we get out of the vacuum, please tell me you can wind walk?" Mostin asked Lai.
"Only to a certain point," Lai said. "Prahar has forbidden flight beyond it."
Mostin groaned.
An old moon – a slender sickle, the colour of deep rust – finally arose from behind distant hills, casting morbid rays across the field.
**
Prahar had invoked a pitch darkness which defied all attempts to dispel it. It encapsulated an area of fierce combat, where a great mob of undead horsemen were attempting to push through to a heavily defended Temple centre. Within the shadow, the void – famished and profane – rolled forward and consumed. Hysteria descended on the Wyrish forces. Their enemy – seemingly unaffected – struck at them ruthlessly. Tahl, separated from the others and finally surrounded and overwhelmed, self-immolated in a swirling column of fire and vanished, burning the enemy in a wide circle.
Nwm stumbled blindly toward the Sela's redoubt, where he knew many of the hardiest knights were stationed; even his supernatural vision had been subdued. He cursed himself, assumed the shape of a wolf, and sniffed his way forwards. More than a few hacked at him in panic as he moved, mistaking him for the enemy; he shrugged off their blows.
Behind him, it was coming. He could feel it; Green was buckling like a warped plank to accommodate it.
*
Shvar Choryati encroached. Now it phased nearby in contempt of the Quiescence of the Spheres, first here and then there, slaying hundreds each time it appeared; half at random, but always closer, as if some instinct drew it obliquely inwards.
Nwm stilled his thought and considered his options. He observed its pattern, and pondered.
"You will not escape it," Nwm spoke to the Sela. "No magic can speed you fast enough now; all has been stilled. It hungers for you, albeit circuitously; it is does not perceive the route to you in linear fashion. Many are dying as it seeks you; we may never recover them. It will eat everything near you. Will you trust me and do as I say?" Nwm asked.
"Yes," Tramst replied. Even in the darkness, Nwm knew that his expression was open.
Nwm reached out and felt the Sela's helm, and placed a hand on either side.
"Invoke her," the Preceptor said.
"Nehael," Tramst whispered. A supplication.
"Rest until the morning. I will wake you at sunrise." With a strong twist, Nwm snapped the Sela's neck.
His death passed unnoticed by all except the Darkness.
Become an enormous hunting cat, Nwm bounded north and west. Two minutes later, beyond the range of Prahar's invocation, he assumed the form of a great eagle, and powered his way away, in search of a likely refuge.
Meanwhile, the void turned its attention to the brightest remaining source of light.
**
Lai led six wizards – Mostin, Mulissu, Jalael, Tozinak, Waide, and Droom – north and west across the battlefield in vaporous form. Sho and Muthollo had retreated into the Tower, in the event that one amongst the Cheshnite immortals was to prove intent upon – and capable of – breaching it. Disjoining the wards upon the solar in the vestibule had been the Alienist's suggestion as to their first line of defense.
As Mostin sped away from his fortress, he noticed that a number of large nozzles had emerged at intervals around the tower, and were projecting some kind of hellfire at the advancing demons.
Evidently, Sho had been referencing more obscure tomes than he; this function was unknown to him.
To hasten their passage, Mulissu had evoked a roaring wind which verged on agonizing to ride. Only moments later, Naatha, Guho and a group of Kesha-Dirghaa theurges were in swift pursuit, employing similar tactics. The savant immediately conjured elementals to delay them.
Below, isolated skirmishes persisted between death knights and paladins; ahead, a blank hemisphere a half-mile in diameter had sprung up. Around it – and presumably within it – the main conflict surged to and fro.
[Mostin]: What is your evacuation plan?
[Mulissu]: I?
[Jalael]: He means any but he.
[Mostin]: I am not equipped to move large numbers of mundanes. What do we have left?
(Tally of spells).
[Jalael]: Were that we were better configured for offense.
[Mostin]: We will be next time.
[Waide]: There will be no 'next time.' I might also observe that the stress of our current predicament is having a deleterious effect upon Tozinak's delicate psyche.
[Tozinak]: Do not speak of me as though I am not here!
[Jalael]: The fat transmuter fears stress, Tozinak. Pay him no heed. Somehow, you have stumbled your way into transvalency.
[Tozinak] (emboldened): Quite so!
[Mostin]: A month previous would have been preferable.
[Tozinak]: I have a spell already at hand!
[Waide]: He is clearly deranged.
[Tozinak]: Preparation will take only a few moments. I must corporeate and study my petroglyphs.
[Mostin + Mulissu]: What do you speak of?
[Tozinak]: My slab, bequeathed by Jovol. His last work.
[Mostin]: What is it titled, idiot?
[Tozinak]: There is no need for rudeness, Mostin.
[Mostin]: Its name!
[Tozinak]: A Flame Precedes the Aeon
[Mulissu] (exasperated): Just show us the pattern.
(A pause for inspection)
[Mostin]: A Grand Enochia? A conjuration, or a transmutation? It makes no sense. The spell is scribed in terms of Urgic Altitudes. It needs thirteen…
[Jalael]: Tozinak! You imbecile!
Mostin groaned as he saw. The focus required was Pharamne's Urn.
Ortwine's voice suddenly echoed in his head. Mostin! You made it! How delightful!
As they began to descend, Mostin looked down and sighed. The sidhe was waltzing with a balor upon a heap of the slain.
From without the magical darkness, the insatiable void now lurched uncertainly; but away from the conflict, south and east towards Jompa.
Ahead of it, drawing it onwards, a streak of brilliant light; Eadric brandishing Lukarn and riding upon Narh.
**
In Nizkur, the appeal reached her.
Teppu immediately stopped time.
"Thank-you," Nehael acknowledged. A moment to reflect was never a bad thing.
"It is an eventful night," Teppu observed. "And I am losing track. Has Nwm overstepped the mark, I wonder?"
"Frankly, I find Hlioth's play more outrageous."
"Enitharmon will be in flap," Teppu pointed out.
Nehael nodded. "I anticipate he will send episemes to penetrate the Hahio. I might need to have words with them."
"Be gentle with them," Teppu said wrily.
"I will invite them to stay," Nehael smiled. "I can be very accommodating. If you would…"
Time resumed its normal flow.
The goddess reached out to Tramst; Her grace enfolded his spirit, and kept him safe.
** **
By the light of a dim oil lamp, the Adversary relaxed in the study of Mostin's manse, sipping firewine and playing a game of chance with Mei.
"Alas," he remarked wrily to the simulacrum. "I fear that you have no ego and I have no name. We should each borrow a little from the other."
Mei was confused. She still didn't know why this sprite was here. He seemed pleasant enough, and his manners were always impeccable; although she could never tell if he was being serious.
"No, thank-you. I await my pseudogenesis," she answered, playing a red token with three sphinxes graven on it.
"Might I inquire why?" The Adversary asked.
"I must weigh transcendence against preservation; I favor a high ratio of the former to the latter."
"Your sister seems content enough." The Adversary carefully placed two white tokens – each bearing a yellow trifoil – on the table. "Hers is a rapid path."
"I wish for a greater leap," Mei shrugged.
"Ahh," the Adversary nodded. "I face a similar dilemma. Although mine is rather the reverse."
"I do not comprehend."
"The certitude of diminishment, or the high likelihood of extinction. You may remove that token from beneath your hand; you must learn more finesse if you are going to cheat at this game." He played another yellow trifoil.
"And if you choose to risk extinction, and yet persist?" Mei inquired, unabashed that her subterfuge was revealed.
"I fear I might be forgiven. From my perspective, this is the worst possible outcome."
"Diminishment is so untenable a proposition?"
"My circumstances are rather unique," the Adversary smiled.
"And extinction?"
"I speak metaphorically, of course."
Mei gave a puzzled look. "I can no longer follow this argument."
The Adversary sighed. "It is complex. I also regret to inform you that I have won the game."
He placed a blue tile bearing a pomegranate before him.
"You already played that token!" Mei objected.
"I'm sure I didn't. Perhaps you are mistaking the previous game with this."
"This game bores me," Mei remarked. "I never win."
"I have another," the Adversary suggested. "If you would prefer. It is called Requite."
"Are there more tokens?"
"Of a sort," the Adversary admitted. "But of a more abstract kind. We pretend to dispense judgement upon our devilish minions, pronouncing terrible dooms; their humiliation and subjugation serves to magnify us. We must maneuver our pieces cunningly; our minions are apt to squabble amongst themselves."
"It sounds involved."
"It is," the Adversary nodded. "But I am well-practiced, and I can teach you. Would you care to learn?"
Mei shrugged. It was something to pass the time.
Last edited by Sepulchrave II; 31st May 2009 at 08:46 PM..
Hlioth sighed. The presence of another. A void with many tendrils. She saw Queen Soneillon quietly walking towards her, even as an annihilating fire consumed her.
"You have seen too much," the witch whispered, as she expired.
Was Soneillon consumed? Did Hlioth expire? Or do I have the wrong antecedents for these pronouns?
Quote:
"Enitharmon will be in flap," Teppu pointed out.
Nehael nodded. "I anticipate he will send episemes to penetrate the Hahio. I might need to have words with them."
Was Soneillon consumed? Did Hlioth expire? Or do I have the wrong antecedents for these pronouns?
Hlioth was both consumed and expired; I have edited the text to read more intelligibly.
Quote:
Is the Hahio another name for Shvar Choryati?
Hahio is the 'Green' matrix of which Tree is an aspect; including a multiplicity of 'Spirit' planes, 'Faerie' planes etc. Tramst enters that reality when he agrees to let Nwm reincarnate him. Enitharmon pushes the panic button and sends exalted celestials in to look for him.
Hahio is the 'Green' matrix of which Tree is an aspect; including a multiplicity of 'Spirit' planes, 'Faerie' planes etc. Tramst enters that reality when he agrees to let Nwm reincarnate him. Enitharmon pushes the panic button and sends exalted celestials in to look for him.
"Hey, quit kill-stealing our incarnate mystagogue, you dirty Green bastards!"
__________________ The purpose if good rules is to remove the necessity of GM fiat as much as is humanly possible.
Rules are required for role-play for the same reason as they are required for combat: to replace the skills of the player with those of the character.
"Rest until the morning. I will wake you at sunrise." With a strong twist, Nwm snapped the Sela's neck.
!!!!
The 'Green' is getting good at stealing Oronthon's followers - now possibly stealing even a part of Oronthon himself!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Sepulchrave II
"The certitude of diminishment, or the high likelihood of extinction. You may remove that token from beneath your hand; you must learn more finesse if you are going to cheat at this game." He played another yellow trifoil.
"And if you choose to risk extinction, and yet persist?" Mei inquired, unabashed that her subterfuge was revealed.
"I fear I might be forgiven. From my perspective, this is the worst possible outcome."
Very interesting, now we are learning more about the Adversary's motivations for his recent actions and disposition.
thanks sep! i hope you don't get burned out on the updates any time soon. i am really enjoying them.
Agreed.
__________________ Robert Blezard I write; therefore, I am!
D&D v.3.5, d20 Modern, OSRIC, Pathfinder, True20... OGL Forever! Walk the Road
Avatar by Sialia
The air rushed past the Ahma as he rode along the sward above the Hynt Coched. As Shvar Choryati had made its first dimensional lurch toward him, Eadric knew that its attention had become focused on him. Having considered that he would be able to draw it away and outpace it, the Ahma had veered sharply south. It quickly became apparent that he had miscalculated.
Some distance away, Mostin turned his arcane sight around him.
Wild magic danced intermittently in the air; auroras generated by the interplay of a half-dozen potent spells. Nearby, the wall of Prahar's Utterdark loomed, impenetrable to his vision; south, the vastness of the Pall of Dhatri was now visible in the moonlight. He gazed west: Naatha, Guho and the hierophants were almost upon them.
Eastward, where the plain rose away, Eadric blazed a path faster than any wind walker, opening a gap of over two miles between himself and the consuming blackness. The phenomenon shuddered forward again – and a little east – ripping the fabric of reality and stretching the Quiescence of the Spheres until it squeezed through, and the dimensional lock snapped back into place.
In an instant, the void sprang forwards almost mile. Mostin's foresight informed him that the Ahma wasn't going to make it. A series of presentiments impacted on his mind.
Mostin cursed, dismissed the Quiescence, and invoked a time stop. He teleported to a point immediately ahead of Eadric, opened a gate, and hopped through. It was a strategy which the Alienist had previously used to extricate Mulissu from Graz'zt's clutches.
Time recommenced.
Eadric blinked, saw Mostin beckoning toward a serene vista, and was instantly transported.
*
The Ahma, sat astride Narh, was high on a mountain; a narrow path wound downwards and away from him. Monasteries clung to the wooded lower slopes; isolated hermitages were perched on bare, snowy shoulders higher up. Below, wide vistas stretched to blue. It was an idyll, as if stolen from a dream he had once had in an innocent youth: a view of the Blessed Plain from the Beatitudes. Now, he seemed to be awakening from a nightmare; he removed his battered helm and breathed. The air was sweet and sharp and full with energy. All was pristine. The sky seemed composed of tiny motes which danced before his eyes, until he focused his sight.
High above, uncounted myriads of archons and devas whirled in the sky. Spheres of increasing brilliance seemed to issue up and away from him, defying laws of distance and perception. Beyond, the Magnitudes pulsed. The light – refracted through the planes of four interposing heavens – was still too overwhelming to gaze upon.
Ahma, the celestials sighed into his mind with one voice.
The massive vibration made Eadric shake.
Mostin stood looking back through the gate into the darkness of Shvar Choryati as it oozed around the portal, unable to penetrate. His pseudopod flexed nervously.
"Mostin…"
"I know they're above me," the Alienist said through gritted teeth. "That's why I'm not turning around and looking up. "
"No. How did you..."
"We had to come a long way in. It might have followed you anywhere else. Believe me when I say I can think of more agreeable locales."
"I need to get back to the fight."
Mostin sighed. "That's precisely what you don't want to do, Eadric. It wants to eat your 'soul' – or whatever you term it. You need Nwm. This is out of your league."
"But the Sela…"
Sela! A pulse which made the mountain tremble.
"Tramst is dead," a familiar voice said.
Eadric turned to face Rintrah, Oronthon's Messenger. He was clad in a simple white gown.
"For the time being," the celestial added. "He is in transit, under Nehael's protection. There is some disagreement amongst the Host whether he is safe or not."
"Disagreement?" Mostin asked, averting his eyes. The notion amongst celestials was a novel one.
"Do you believe him safe?" The Ahma asked directly.
"Yes. But I am in the minority, and my opinion matters little."
"Ah, a demonstration of Empyreal initiative," Mostin sneered. He continued to look through the gate; the blackness had passed over, and was gravitating back to a more reliable source of light. There seemed to be no activity in the immediate vicinity; Shvar Choryati had scoured all bare. A ruddy moonlight had returned to the battlefield.
"I am fallible," Rintrah answered, unfazed. "Enitharmon, less so. How could I deny this basic fact?"
Mostin groaned, and turned to face the celestial, his expression one of nausea. "You are trite. You appeal to hierarchy to avoid responsibility: you are fundamentally disingenuous."
"I wish you were capable of understanding otherwise, Mostin…"
The Alienist became red and twitched. "Would it avoid the World being wracked because Oronthogorgon is having another existential crisis?"
"Enough!" Eadric's eyes flashed. "You forget where you are."
Wrath! Thunder echoed in the spheres above.
Mostin quailed – an expression which quickly became a pout – and turned back to look through the gate, positioning himself again so as not to observe Rintrah directly. Evidently, Eadric possessed some kind of home ground advantage.
Things seemed to be quiet through the portal.
"I'm done here," Mostin announced. "I'm going back through. As you're staying for a while, Eadric, maybe you can ask..."
"I can tell you nothing of the Aeon," Rintrah anticipated him.
"Whatever," Mostin grumbled. "I'm assuming you can figure out a way back. Mulissu was just as appreciative when I did the same for her."
Mostin vanished and the gate snapped shut.
"We should go this way," Rintrah smiled to Eadric. "The view is good."
"Rintrah, I cannot stay…"
"Certainly, you can – for a while. Mostin is correct in one thing; you can no longer meaningfully influence the outcome of this battle."
Gone.
"Gone? Who is gone?" Eadric asked.
Rintrah raised an eyebrow. Evidently, this was also news to the Messenger. "The seven seraphs who entered Viridescence."
"Seraphim?" Aside from Enitharmon, none among the highest choir had left their Altitude since the Fall.
"These are eventful times," Rintrah nodded. "It would appear that Nehael has appropriated them."
(A Migration of Light).
Eadric was dumbfounded. Apparently, others amongst the Host were inclined to join them. A few – perhaps too eager – fell catastrophically, striking the plains below and vanishing.
Rintrah smiled. "Stay focused on the path ahead, and don't be distracted by what transpires above. Do not concern yourself too much; in Consciousness, all events are allegory. Let us walk a little way further; there is a tree I would like you to see."
"In the face of calamity, you seem in no hurry to act."
"I sense no diminishment in the quality of the light," Rintrah said wrily. "It is a prodigal spark which counsels action as the only means to induce motion. I am not here at Enitharmon's behest: I am His Messenger."
"Forgive me," Eadric nodded.
**
As the Quiescence of the Spheres dissolved and Mostin vanished, Ortwine, Lai and the remaining wizards found themselves in something of a predicament. The sidhe had quickly screened them, and Jalael had immediately disjoined Prahar's darkness in order to gain a better appreciation of the tactical situation. It was bad.
Temple units, who had been unable to endure the presence of Shvar Choryati, were routing to the north and west: great, curved swathes of lifeless corpses marked the passage of the Eater of Light.
Prince Tagur, who commanded the rearguard, had deployed a screen of knights to cover the retreat. Prahar led a vicious pursuit. Squadrons of death knights roamed and slew at will, cutting down stragglers and hurling themselves against any remaining pockets of resistance. Three large knots of Templars and their allies remained, but many of the doughtiest warriors – those in whom the light shone brightest – had been greedily devoured by the enemy.
Some distance away, outside of the zone where flight had been dampened, what remained of the Dark Choir – the arch-devas Irel and Shokad – gyred in the sky, locked in furious but inconclusive combat with Prince Orcus and a number of lesser demons.
Ortwine's perception identified Naatha, Guho and their wind-walking cabal half-a-minute distant. A hundred yards away, a demon materialized. And another. Rishih was active, and the teleportation circles were opening again. The consuming darkness – distracted momentarily a mile to the southeast – was moving back towards them. News of the disappearance of both the Ahma and the Sela was beginning to spread.
The sidhe turned to Mulissu.
"Remind me why it is exactly that you're here again?" She asked.
"Hlioth seems to think that some kind of evacuation is both possible and desirable."
Ortwine raised an eyebrow. "The witch?"
Mulissu nodded. "Her foresight is erratic, but occasionally inspired."
"I suppose so. I will negotiate some breathing space." She handed Mulissu her box of shades.
"You seek to parley?" Mulissu was incredulous. "At this juncture? Why would they listen to you? And why do you pay heed to Hlioth, of all people?"
Ortwine laughed.
Prahar, she spoke directly into his mind, but also into the thoughts of those other immortals who were present. I've got Sibud's talisman. Call off your dogs. I'm willing to make a deal.
[Guho + Rishih + Naatha]: Wait!
**
The Alienist glanced around nervously and licked his lips. He was nearing the point where he was becoming vulnerable; a decidedly undesirable situation. He reached out with his mind to contact Sho.
Moments later, the Infernal Tower appeared immediately before Mostin, rearing above him with its gate facing him.
[Sho]: I recommend that you embark quickly.
Mostin didn't need telling twice.
[Mulissu]: Mostin! Where the hell have you been? Never mind. Get to Kustus and what's left of the Flamines. Get them out of here.
[Mostin]: Why the hiatus?
[Jalael]: Ortwine is ceding the field and negotiating the safe recovery of casualties.
[Mostin] (Mad Laughter): Safe? I notice a certain chthonic void seems undistracted by any diplomatic protocols. And since when did Ortwine become the chief ambassador of Wyre?
[Mulissu] (Irritated): Since she could lie better than anyone else! Now make haste!
**
"A weregild, so to speak," Ortwine smiled easily. "Or reparations if you prefer. Or simply bribery, if we can speak more directly."
Her apparent nonchalance belied her caution, and she was ready to sidestep into Faerie at the first sign of treachery, or if any magical energies were suddenly gathered. Before her, four great Cheshnite immortals – Prahar, Guho, Rishih and Naatha – were arrayed, surrounded by dozens of undead and demonic retainers.
Ortwine was alone. She was also surprised to find that Sibud's token was attracting this much attention, and lamented the fact that she might be grossly underestimating its value. The sidhe scanned the opposition.
Naatha, she had encountered before, but the others were new to her. Guho writhed, a festering heap of corruption; larvae – which seemed to comprise her entirety – shifted and flowed in shapes which paused at times to resemble that of a mortal visage.
Prahar was mounted on a black monster of approximately equine shape; he was clad in full harness, but his raised visor displayed a shrivelled countenance; one which indicated both a malice and a madness of unguessable depth. From his jaws – punctuated by rows of razor-sharp teeth – a sticky secretion dripped. He raved and slavered, and seemed barely in control of his faculties.
Rishih – who stood slightly to one side, with obvious distaste for his peers – appeared human; albeit one ancient and wicked. A weight of being afflicted him, as though he craved annihilation; he wore only an ascetic's garb, but bore a staff of tremendous power.
Before them all stood Anumid, grudgingly invoked by the immortals as arbiter. His veneer of civility was thin.
"But to which oaths can I bind you?" Ortwine continued. "I suspect that each of you is as inclined to malfeasance as I in contractual matters. The answer is none, of course; hence I continue to speak."
"We give you one hour," Anumid spat. "I do not speak for Shvar Choryati. Give me the talisman. There are no assurances."
"Prahar should first dismiss his spell," Ortwine said reasonably. Within range of her deific sight, Mostin's tower had materialized again. "It will expedite our retreat."
Naatha, also sensing the relocation of the infernal device, immediately assumed treachery and targeted Ortwine with chains of antimagic.
The sidhe had vanished before she had even raised her hand.
Too bad, Ortwine's voice echoed in their minds, moments later.
Prahar became enraged. The others withdrew from him.
"Fortify your position before sunrise," Anumid hissed to Rishih and Naatha. "Let the maniac be concerned with any pursuit. Consolidate. The field is ours."
Anumid scowled, but felt an inward relief that Sibud's token was not in Prahar's hands. At least his own presence had averted the immortals coming to blows with one another. That had to be worth something. For the moment, at least.
*
Jalael had conjured a teleportation circle – the only one available to any of the remaining collegiate mages – through which the remnants of the Temple centre were fleeing. Tozinak had opened a gate; Mulissu a shadow avenue. Temple scrollbearers and flamines were being ushered into the Infernal Tower against their better judgement. At Mostin's suggestion, egress from the battlefield was being offered first to spellcasters; others – who weren't as strategically important – would have to make their own arrangements.
Demons harried them in droves; banishments were discharged.
**
As the very first light of dawn stole over the battlefield, a pillar of flame appeared amid the slaughter, at the same spot where Saint Tahl the Incorruptible had self-immolated. Fiery wings – briefly appearing and then vanishing – cradled Tahl as he corporeated again.
Looking around him, he wept.
"Come," Hlioth said, appearing from nowhere. "Before they do. We have lost much tonight."
In her hand, she held Drengh, Ninit's spear.
*
Eighty miles to the north, perched on a rocky crag, Nwm – in the form of an eagle with a battered aspect – awoke and screeched. His head hurt. He remembered little of his exhausted journey to his roost.
As he stretched his wings, he started. Squatting motionless on her haunches above him, perched upon an outcrop and staring southwards at the Pall of Dhatri, a lean figure; sable-clad, with scarlet hair flapping in the wind. She said nothing.
In his mind, another voice.
[Nehael]: About time. You have a busy day ahead.
Nwm groaned.
**
Temenun relaxed in his suites at Jashat. A victory, to be certain. He apprised a Naztharune servant that he had a visitor, and to admit Yeshe the Binder. She entered calmly.
"What do you know of the Urn?" She asked.
"It reaches beyond the Veils," he replied.
"You incited Visuit to interrupt my meditation?"
"Her instinct for war needs no prompting," Temenun purred.
"And the Urn?"
"Is safely buried in the deep again. Gu-Kaama has recovered it. Mostin inadvertently empowered her."
"Shvar Choryati is out of control. It drives northwards now toward Wyre. The Enforcer will eliminate the Anantam who are implicated in its conjuration if it passes her threshold. I assume that you have some contingency in mind?"
"I have a while yet to consider," the Tiger said smoothly. "And always time to indulge your curiosity, Yeshe."
"You are most gracious, brother," Yeshe smiled insincerely.
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