Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions (final update posted 02.14.10)

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #476] The Waiting is the Hardest Part

"The next time you want to initiate a fight, give me some warning!" Saelus was shouting from his cell somewhere to the right of Morier's. "The element of surprise is a sound tactic against one's enemies, but surprising your allies is utterly useless!"

Morier sighed and slumped back against the rear wall of his cell, doing his best to block out the colonel's tirade. Not that the wizard's venom was entirely without warrant, Morier knew; he'd been ready to leave the man to seek freedom on his own. But knowing that in some part he deserved the diatribe did not make enduring it any easier.

At least Akerman had the decency to keep his mouth shut.

He cursed the wizard again for drawing him and Saelus into this situation. Part of him hoped that he'd be paired up to fight Akerman when the time came, despite the fact that he knew hastening the start of the duel would lead inevitably to a conclusion in which only one of the three combatants would be left alive. He wanted to make damned sure that it wasn't Akerman who walked away from this, but moreover he needed to make certain that he survived. Not for his own sake, of course. He'd long ago reconciled himself with the likelihood of his own death, but the quest complicated things. What would happen to Dridana if he were killed while bearing her Heart? He didn't suppose it would be good. At the very least it would put the Heart into unsympathetic hands. And how long then would it be before actively hostile hands got hold of it?

The more he thought about it the more likely it seemed that his own death would, in due course, mean death for Orune.

He sighed again, feeling very small and very alone beneath the weight of his responsibility. He wished that Huzair was here with him; he'd likely be able to bluff his way out of the cell right before he set their jailers on fire. The thought brought a wan smile to the eldritch warrior's lips, but it lingered there for only a moment before a voice shattered his reverie.

"Again, Morier, I am sorry that it came to this," Akerman said from the other side of the bars on the front of Morier's cell. The doctor was still battered and was being escorted by two githyanki, but he wasn't manacled and the warriors didn't have their hands on him. "It was not my wish to see you imprisoned."

"Is it time for us to fight, Akerman?" the albino hissed, glowering up at the wizard from the corner of his cell. "Are you hoping that your contrition will spare you from my wrath?" Doctor Akerman snorted and raised his head so that he looked down his nose at Morier.

"As a matter of fact, elf, I've been freed," he said, smiling as Morier jerked involuntarily at that news.

"What?!" Saelus bellowed from own cell. "How did you talk your way out of the trial?" Akerman made a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I didn't. your Grandfather Plaque did," he called to Saelus, smiling again at the expression on Morier's face. "He agreed to guard the gates of Akiv-tchai in exchange for one of us being set free. He just wasn't specific enough about which one. And, as I said, Memento Mori has enjoyed a long trade relationship with the githyanki." He grinned smugly, but backed away sharply as Morier curled his feet beneath himself and lunged cat-like at the wizard. The albino impacted the bars and clawed futilely at Akerman's coat.

"Save your aggression for tomorrow, Morier," the mage said as he turned to leave. "You'll need your strength to fight. I daresay you won't be preparing any spells in those magic-proof cells."

"You had better hope that it isn't I who wins out tomorrow, Akerman," Morier said. "A warning - as one 'reasonable man' to another. I'll be coming for you if I survive." Akerman said nothing as he exited the dungeon on his way to freedom.

Despite his unwillingness to admit it, Morier knew that Akerman was right. The eldritch warrior had felt his inner energy fade as soon as he entered the holding cell and knew instantly that his plans to use Dridana's 'gifts' to avoid battle would have to be amended. Any possibility of escape would have to be put aside, and he would most certainly have to face Saelus in the sentenced fight to the death. Until then, no healing, no transformation, nothing. Another roadblock in what was turning out to be one giant mess that somehow seemed to get worse at every turn.

He sat back against the wall of his cramped cell once more and contemplated the strange sense of calm that had settled over him. Even in the midst of the madness he was embroiled in and with the highest stakes imagineable on the line in a matter of moments, the chance to sit in silence and collect his thoughts was a welcome one for the eldritch warrior. Initially he didn't fear a battle with Saelius, but he knew that was a dangerous and foolhardy stance. He absently traced the outline of the gemstone with his finger while he pondered the circumstances, and slowly the gravity of it all worked its way into his thoughts. Why shouldn't he fear Saelus? Surely he had killed or ordered the killing of dozens like him, fighting for what he believed to be the right cause; why was Morier any different? He seemed a skilled warrior and a knowledgeable tactician, and he would be fighting after all, for his life. Treating it any differently could be a serious mistake.



The night - such as it was - passed without further interruption. Morier never actually became tired, so he did little more than sit in his cell and stare at the bars ruminating on his predicament. Saelus’ diatribes sputtered out at some point for which the albino was grateful although he wondered if perhaps the war mage was using the silence to settle into the unpleasant business of planning a method for killing Morier in the upcoming trial. Probably. It would make sense and the colonel seemed a pragmatic fellow. He was the sort of man that, under different circumstances, Morier would have considered a valuable ally. But the circumstances were not different and so rather than a comrade in arms Saelus was an obstacle standing between the eldritch warrior and what he’d come to think of as his destiny. A destiny that would doom the whole of Orune if he failed to achieve it. Weighed against that, the loss of the colonel’s life seemed a tolerable choice to make – not a welcome one, but one that Morier was prepared to endure.

He too was a pragmatic fellow.

Life had become cheap. It was little more than a macabre form of currency to be spent in purchasing another foothold from which to fight Aphyx. But this was different, he was being asked to take a life from one who would fight alongside him on any other day. He wasn't sure he could do it... but was there an alternative? He had tried every angle and it seemed he was cornered. He would have to satisfy the githyanki bloodlust in order to walk out alive. The day he grabbed the gemstone (A day ago? A week? A year? It seemed impossible to tell now) the stakes were raised beyond his imagination, he had an obligation to survive. Taking Saelus' life wouldn't be easy, but it would be necessary and perhaps it could even be simple and painless for him. He felt as though if he could access the deepest part of his connection with Dridana, there was something there that could help him fulfill what had become his obligation. His conscience would let him take the most grave of actions for that reason only... to survive.



So it was that when a cadre of githyanki came to escort him and Saelus to the trial Morier had already devised his own plan of attack - one that he hoped would end the trial swiftly and decisively with as little suffering for the colonel as he could manage.

The rattling of swords outside his cell made him sit up with a start. He and Saelus were led out into a large anteroom and stood facing one another for a moment before Morier spoke in a confident and resolved tone, "I'm sorry. Goodbye Saelus."

"Wha... You're Sorry? Why you arrogant bastard, I'll dismember you before you even know what hit you..." The colonel continued his incoherent diatribe as he was dragged off by a team of githyanki soldiers. It didn't make what Morier was about to do any easier, but he was satisfied that he had made his apologies and said his farewell.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #477] Trial by Sword and Spell

"The rules of the trial are simple," Perragourp sneered at Morier and Saelus. "The fight is to the death. The survivor goes free with all his possessions. You may use any means within your power, but if any githyanki are harmed during this trial then you will feel the full weight of our power and both of your lives are forfeit."

As the githyanki commander drifted out of the arena, Morier looked over at Saelus and saw the curious mix of emotions that he himself felt reflected in his one-time companion's face. A sort of grim resolve predominated, but conflicting glimpses of uncertainty and anger flickered briefly in the man's mustachioed features. The albino was about to offer some words of understanding when the Gisir barked out a command of some sort in his harsh, alien tongue and a roar of approval went up from the assembled githyanki. They began to clash their weapons together in a cacophonous rhythm that both urged the two combatants to fight and spoke of the fate that awaited them if they did anything but.

Morier looked up at the warriors lining the walls of this spherical chamber and grimaced; there were dozens of them, perhaps as many as a hundred. If the Gisir didn't honor his end of this arrangement, whoever was left after the trial would most certainly be killed here. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he missed the fact that the trial had started until Saelus hit him with a Quickened Rainbow Blast.

The waves of energy struck him square in the chest, sizzling with destructive power. But the albino's innate spell resistance saved him from damage; the beam struck him and dissipated harmlessly. Morier looked over at the war mage as the man followed up his first spell with one that Morier recognized at once: True Strike. That meant that Saelus was going to go hand-to-hand and the eldritch warrior again cursed Akerman for the theft of his bastard sword.

Morier called on the Heart, imbuing himself with Owl's Wisdom as he watched the colonel charge forward quick-drawing the Unity Blade as he came. The albino tried to avoid the attack, but guided by magic, Colonel Saelus Struck True, opening a wound in Morier's left arm. The Heart protected him not at all from the blow, and he felt his limb go numb as the sabre bit through his flesh and into the bone of his upper arm. The pain and shock of it was enough to break his concentration and he felt the Sunbeam spell he'd been coaxing out of the Heart go awry, fizzling out before it could fully coalesce. Dimly, from a long way off it seemed, he could hear the githyanki cheering their approval as his blood erupted around him in a cloud.

Even without the benefit of magic Saelus was a skilled swordsman, and he pressed his momentary advantage with a blow to Morier's midsection. The impact drove the albino back, but failed to cause any damage as Morier's mail protected him from injury. Saelus withdrew from the melee, then, setting himself up for another devastating charge attack if Morier didn't prevent it.

With an apology in his own heart, the eldritch warrior cast Finger of Death and with a gesture caused Saelus to jerk backward, his face twisted in a rictus of agony as tendrils of negative energy worked their way through his body. Although the spell failed to kill him outright, the damage done to his already weakened body by the sudden influx of negative energy did. He sagged backward, his limp body gone ashen from Morier's attack.

Another cheer went up all around him as soon as Saelus' death became evident, but Morier felt no elation at his victory, only a moment's relief that he might well be able to achieve his destiny after all. It didn't last long, because in the next moment the cheering stopped as all eyes turned to the door leading toward the exit of Avik-tchai. Hovering there with feathered pinions spread was an angelic figure dressed in glittering green plate mail. In one hand it bore a sword and in the other a mirrored shield and when it spoke, its voice was full of commanding bravado.

"I am Ayremac, holy warrior of the goddess Umba," he shouted, leveling his weapon dramatically at the Gisir. "And I challenge you to a duel!"



Ixin nudged Ayremac's wing and whispered, "We're too late." She pointed over at Morier hovering beside the limp corpse of a man in polished hide armor. "The trial's already over."

"If that's your boy, then this is a bad call. We should turn and run," Cerrakean growled in the holy warrior's other ear. "I specialize in fighting groups, but even at my best I couldn't take this many."

Ayremac looked again at the jaundiced humanoids arrayed around the perimeter of the spherical room. He supposed them to be githyanki without bothering to ask. They were all of them arrayed for war, with oversized weaponry and ornate armor of a variety lighter than he wore himself. And near a large doorway on the left was a singular specimen with a massive, club-like scepter in one hand and a magnificent greatsword strapped across his back. His armor was a filigree of gold and on his head burned a crown of fire.

This then was the Gisir.

"This is who we came to rescue?" Maleko asked from the rear of the group. His voice was filled with shock and more than a bit of disdain. "But he's... he's a drow." Sensing the swell of racial enmity rising in the elf, Del jumped in to discourage Maleko from doing anything rash.

"Look around you, my friend," the marshall said, laying a reassuring hand on the elf's thin shoulder. "We know very little of the men involved here and I've seen many a desperate man. Let's not judge him based on his will to survive alone."

Maleko grimaced, but nodded at his friend although it was clear that the elf held little hope that anything positive would come from an association with a degenerate fae of the night below.

"And anyway," Del added, pointing at Morier's bleeding arm. "Look at him. He could use your healing right now, not your prejudgement."

"I have to touch him to do that," Maleko replied, barely containing his contempt for such a proposition. But before he could say more one of the githyanki near the Gisir detached himself from the throng and drifted confidently forward, sword-in-hand.

"The mighty Gisir of Avik-tchai, Okemocik accepts your challenge," the lone githyanki relayed. "He wishes to know what you offer beside your head as trophy of his victory and what you demand of him in the unlikely event that you prove triumphant?"

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #478] And Now... the Main Event!

Ayremac delivered his reply to the whole of the room, voice booming. "If I win, I ask for my choice of weapon in this stronghold."

The githyanki representative turned to the Gisir and conveyed the response and after a moment, the ruler inclined his head. Several of those assembled made a show of hoisting their own swords, suggesting they were in possession of the desireable blade. Even Maleko, who knew less about swords than he did about a great many other things had to admit that there were some magnificent examples of the weaponsmith's art amongst the assemblage.

Ayremac seemed unimpressed with the bravado shown by the spectators. His eyes never left the githyanki who spoke for the Gisir as he continued dramatically, "And if you win, I will carry out a quest of your choosing. I make this oath to you under the judicious eyes of Umba. You will note… our fight will not be to death, but to submission or unconsciousness."

The room erupted into a sudden rage of protest at that and it took a barked command from the Gisir to silence the crowd.

"Bah!" the githyanki messenger spat once the room had settled. "Your terms are unacceptable. Only a game involving real risk is worth playing! The duel is to the death or not at all." He eyed Ayremac eagerly, "Or do you withdraw your challenge?"

Del felt the air crackle with anticipation. It was clear that these people thrived on aggression and battle. As such, he suspected that it would be difficult to rescind the challenge. And he knew they would be unable to assist Ayremac in this fight - either by sword or by magic.

He took a moment to consider the man who had drawn them to this place. Both Ixin and Ayremac had identified him as Morier, and Maleko had further identified him as a drow, which seemed at odds with the figure floating somewhat dazedly in the center of the spherical chamber. For one thing, Del had always heard that drow were black-skinned, but this elf was white as paper with hair to match. His eyes were the same color as the blood that tattooed his left arm and hand: ruby. He wore a chain shirt of gleaming mithril and carried a gleaming Valiant Vessel bag across his torso. He had a baldric that held an empty sheath, but carried no obvious weapons. Still there was a something dangerous in the way he held himself - something that spoke of a capability belied by the uncertain expression on his face.

Morier's wound continued to bleed openly, but the albino too seemed to be waiting for Ayremac's decision. Del was eager to learn what he could from the keeper of the Grey House coins, but he knew that would have to wait until they were safely away.

"I will fight by your side, celestial, if that will hasten our departure from this place," he said in a low voice.

"And I," Ixin announced firmly.

Ayremac raised his hand only slightly and declined with a respectful nod. "We shouldn't risk more lives."

Maleko pushed forward, discreetly offering his spellsink scarab. The holy warrior glanced down at the device and shook his head.

"We do not want to enflame this situation further," Ayremac hissed. "There are too many swords here to see them all turn against us."

"From what I know of githyanki, the Girsir is the only one you have to worry about. Ask no quarter and give none. Other than that... anything goes," Maleko reassured him. "Githyanki are cruel and sadistic, but they follow their oaths absolutely."



"Well, angel!?" the githyanki who spoke for the Gisir demanded, managing to make the word 'angel' sound like a curse."Do you forfeit your challenge or is the duel to be to the death?"

Ayremac turned once more to the messenger and announced with steel in his voice, "I do not withdraw, Gisir. We will fight, and to the death." There were encouraging shouts from the assembly. "Who will oversee this duel?" The messenger laughed thinly at that and raised his sword. indicating the whole of the room with a single, dramatic flourish of the blade.

"All those assembled here will oversee the challenge," he told Ayremac. "We are githyanki. Secrets do not become us!"

"Then lay out your rules for this fight, and let us get to it," the holy warrior replied earning a sneer and a nod of deference from the messenger.

"The rules of the challenge are simple," the githyanki told him. "The fight is to the death. The survivor claims the head and weapon of the loser as trophies. You may conduct the challenge using any means within your power, but if any other than your opponent are harmed by you during this trial then your life is forfeit."

Morier, who had only minutes before heard the nearly the same speech, raised his good hand, attracting Perragourp's attention. "Ummm... can I? Am I, uhhh... Can I... go... now?" the albino stammered and Perragourp sneered at him and nodded once.

"The call of githyanki blood has been answered by the justice you have done here. Your name is cleared of all charges and you are free to leave," the commander told him. Then he pointed at Ayremac and added, "But do you not wish to stay and witness the Gisir behead this fool?" Morier looked briefly at Ayremac and the cadre of strangers he'd surrounded himself with then shook his head.

"I've had enough of bloodbaths for the time being," he said. "I'd really just like to get out." Perragrourp seemed disgusted by the eldritch warrior's lack of vision and raised his sword to indicate the door by which Ayremac had entered. Without a word Morier turned and willed himself in that direction.

As he drifted, stone-faced, passed Ayremac, Maleko held up a hand. "Hold one minute, Mori'Quessir," he said, producing his glowing bracelet. It was glowing like Orin's Shield now and Morier, Ixin and Cerrakean all winced away from it, shielding their eyes. "This device says that you have possession of the coins belonging to Grey House. I am looking for an explanation as to what happened to them!"

Del looked with bewilderment at Maleko. His mind reached back to the details of the elf's past, wondering when the seeds of this undisguised contempt had been sown. At the moment it did not matter - they were in enough of a fix. "Not here," he implored his friend quietly.

"Listen to your friend, Darthiir'waela," Morier said wearily and fixing his gaze pointedly on the hall beyond, moved out of the arena.

"We have followed your law and custom, challenging you in an open forum," Ayremac said after Morier had gone on. "Gisir... as a warrior, I trust you will return the honor by allowing my commrades to leave unaccosted, win or lose."

"We will not speak yet of terms," the githyanki speaker, Perragrourp, growled, "You have yet to offer anything of value to the almighty Okemocik."

Again Ayremac's voice rang out. "I put my armor and shield against my choice of weapon from Avik-tchai." The githyanki buzzed amongst themselves approvingly, recognizing the quality and craftmanship of Ayremac's gear.

"It is done," the githyanki spokesman confirmed after a moment's consultation with the Gisir. "Prepare yourself." He drifted back as both the Gisir and Ayremac drifted forward.

"Their eyes are on me," the holy warrior hissed over his shoulder as he went. "Now is the time to leave."

The Gisir had left his heavy rod behind, but he held his elaborate greatsword and it danced and flashed like quicksilver in his hands as he spoke in a harsh, alien language to the assemblage. They listened and as they had done before during the trial they clashed their weapons together in an approving and at the same time threatening manner. The Gisir spread his ropy arms, drinking in his people's enthusiasm and then he looked at Ayremac with a predatory smile on his emaciated lips. The light from his glowing crown caught pricks of red in his otherwise jet-black eyes. He nodded.

And the duel was begun.



"Angel Eyes has got a pair, that's for sure," Cerrakean muttered as she turned away from the duel. "But he's right. We should get the hell out while we have the chance." Maleko nodded, casting one last look at the holy warrior as he squared off against the githyanki commander.

"Good luck, Ayremac," he sighed. "May the gods be with you."

Dell put a hand on Ixin's arm and she shook it off with a single violent motion. "We should go, Ixin," the marshall assured her. "There's nothing more we can do for him now."

"I'm staying," she said without looking at him. Her jaw clenched with restrained fury as she watched the Officer of Umba go to his fate. He recalled what she had told them about the circumstances surrounding her recent rebirth and Ayremac's part in it. In her mind, Ayremac had saved her life. Del thought of being bitten by an adder half-a-lifetime ago and of the young janissary-in-training who had saved his life and he knew at once that Ixin would not be persuaded.

"We'll wait for you outside," he told her and then he too left the chamber and the bloodthirsty roar of the githyanki spectators.



Ayremac regarded the Gisir and steeled himself. Then he spoke a word in the tongue of the angels and called down a Holy Smite on the githyanki. A burst of divine power exploded around the commander and Ayremac watched without pleasure as the energies wracked the githyanki's frame. When they subsided the Gisir looked up at the holy warrior, his cracked lips pulled back from blood-slicked teeth. He spoke a litany of syllables and drew the palm of his hand along the blade of his greatsword, drawing blood and infusing the weapon with dark magic. Then Ayremac saw the Gisir smile and narrow his eyes slightly an instant before he felt an unseen force press in all around him.

The Officer of Umba struggled, but couldn't escape the telekinetic assault. He watched the Gisir's smile broaden as it became obvious that Ayremac was caught. The Gisir slid closer and Ayremac felt the unseen force press in on him from every direction, grinding armor plates against one another, flattening his wings and sword and shield uselessly against his immobilized body.

This was it, he thought. He'd been presented with a simple choice: succeed or fail... live or die. And he'd failed. He was going to die.

The Gisir approached slowly... gloating... drawing out his victory for the enjoyment of his people... making an example of Ayremac to those who would challenge his rule. Ayremac roared an animal cry born of frustration that tore his throat raw and flecked his lips with foam.

Then he activated his Shield of Blinding.

The Gisir, caught totally unaware, let out his own cry then as the startlingly bright light burned his eyes and broke his concentration. Ayremac felt the telekinetic grip on his body drop away and he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he hefted his longsword and came at the blinded githyanki from the side Smiting the Evil creature. His longsword came down on the Gisir's right shoulder, opening the joint to the bone and cutting away a messy slab of meat. A mist of blood spread in the air, peppering the celestial's armor and dotting his wings.

Somehow, despite being blinded and enduring the grievous wound to his left arm the Gisir still clung to the belief that he could best the Officer of Umba. He swung his greatsword around clumsily, and Ayremac batted it away almost casually with his shield.

He would not be denied.

He raised his sword and brought it down across the githyanki's back again, hard enough to nearly make the Gisir drop his weapon. The githyanki yelped in pain and fear, his blind face stricken suddenly by the realization that after untold decades of rule he might not survive this latest challenge to his authority. Fear touched his soul.

His greatsword whistled uselessly, desperately, through the air above Ayremac's head. The holy warrior ducked to the side and thrust upward with his own sword driving a foot of steel into the flesh beneath the Gisir's armpit. Blood sprayed outward under brief pressure as the blade pierced the githyanki's black heart, ending Gisir Ocemocik's life and the duel in one decisive blow.


---------------

OOC- The Gisir rolled a natural 1 for his saving throw to avoid being blinded by Ayremac's shield. Ayremac then did a Smite Evil on the githyanki and rolled a critical hit in the process. At that point, blind and crippled, the outcome for the Gisir was destined not to be a happy one.

Ultimately, I wasted my time statting up the dreaded Gisir of Avik-tchai. Ayremac didn't end up taking a single point of damage in the duel.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #479] Fedifensor

"I believe our goals are one, Mori'Quessir... uh... Morier," Maleko said as he caught up with the albino in the port at the entrance to Avik-tchai. "We do need to discuss our situation with you and, as a representative of Grey House, I need some information from you as well." Morier sighed and stopped. He touched his chest and Maleko saw gold-green light - like sunshine striking a forest floor - spread beneath the drow's fingers. Then Morier looked up at Maleko.

"Look, elf. I don't know what Ayremac told you about me, but I've never been to Grey House," he said. "And I've got a lot on my own plate at the moment so you'll forgive me if I'm not overly keen on hearing about 'your situation'." Maleko could not have looked more shocked if Morier had actually reached out and slapped him, but he recovered quickly.

"As I mentioned before," he began, "I have a device which points the way toward certain mithral coins and-" Morier held out his arms wide.

"I don't have any money... mithral or otherwise," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. Then an expression of realization blossomed on his features. He patted his traveler's purse and nodded. "Maybe in the bag. It's a Valiant Vessel bag - a Handy Haversack. There's a lot of stuff in there that I haven't even looked at yet. Your coins might be in there, but I don't have the time to look right now." Cerrakean snorted in disgust nearby.

"I thought Ixin said this guy was an honorable man," the hobgoblin scoffed. "Isn't that what she said, Del?" Morier looked critically at Cerrakean and then at Del.

"Ixin?" the eldritch warrior asked. "How do you know Ixin?"

"We met her when we met Ayremac," Del explained, pointing back the way they'd come. "I tried to convince her to leave with us, but she's determined to stay and watch the duel." Morier nodded.

"Different Ixin," he said. "I knew a woman by that name, but-"

"She was reincarnated, genius," Cerrakean interjected waving her fingers in front of her face. "Comin' back from the dead tends to change folk. Or so I hear."

"Speaking of hearing," Maleko said, looking back down the hall toward the spherical arena. "Does it sound awfully quiet back there, or is it just me?"

The stunned silence of the githyanki stopped Morier in his tracks. Had Ayremac actually...? He paused for a moment at the oversized doors that were about to swing open for him and headed back in the direction of the imposing hush. His own speed outpaced Maleko and Cerrakean quickly and he slowed just a fraction in order to remain a measured distance behind.



Ayremac hovered for a moment, sword in hand, other hand on the Gisir. There was no sound in the chamber apart from his own breathing; the githyanki seemed stunned into silence at their commander's death. Silently, and without moving his lips, the holy warrior prayed for his opponent to have an uninterrupted Walk of 100 Days and to ultimately stand before Umba for the true judgment that only she could provide.

Ayremac thought briefly, as he often did when facing death - be it among friends or enemies - how much he doubted his own judgment of others. Could he truly know if the Gisir was evil, leading his people in their own customs? Certainly it was not the life that Ayremac had chosen, but who knew what path had led the githyanki to his current place? Of course, judgment was his duty and he upheld it to the best of his ability and without letting others know of his secret self-doubt.

Quickly, Ayremac withdrew his sword and held it above his head, not avoiding the blood floating in the air as it painted his armor and splattered where it chose. He thought for a moment that the bloodier he looked the more respect he might actually find amongst this warrior clan. He circled slowly in place, meeting every githyanki stare.

Ayremac then pulled the head of the Gisir back, and with one solid and passionate motion removed the head and pushed the body away. It tumbled off, leaking blood as it drifted.

The chamber erupted in violent cheers and the clashing of weapons as the Officer's actions further inflamed the githyanki bloodlust.



Indeed, Ayremac had triumphed and the group came upon the scene just as the Gisir's head was being mercifully and swiftly removed from his body. Morier knew that the Gisir would not have had the same compassion, but watching Ayremac take the high road was nothing new. That fact could be frustrating, but it was hard to fault his devotion. He could make a valuable ally.



Standing solemnly, blood-stained, his own head held high and the head of the Gisir by his side, Ayremac waited for the crowd to settle. Then he addressed the githyanki. “I will claim my weapon but I offer this head to you, if you wish to honor your dead.”

"If you do not wish the trophy then we will send the head back to Tu'narath, as is our custom," the githyanki translator spoke, gliding forward to swoop up the Gisir's sword, which had fallen free of his nerveless fingers. With the weapon in hand, he looked at Ayremac for what seemed to the holy warrior to be a moment too long. Ayremac stared back at him and the githyanki looked away, offering up the silver sword in to hands. He released his grip on the Gisir's topknot and took the blade, eager not to offend them by refusing it.

"I will take the additional sword of my choice and you can be rid of me," Ayremac said and the githyanki nodded deferentially.

"Of course. A bargain struck is a bargain honored," he said. "You may, of course, examine any of the weapons in Avik-tchai, but the Gisir's private collection contains the most impressive items." Ayremac nodded.

"A good place to start," he said and the githyanki gestured toward an opening in the side of chamber.

"Right this way," he said and led the way into a ten-sided chamber dominated by an enormous bat-winged throne on the far wall. The throne itself was flanked by a pair of intricately-worked columns. Each arm of the massive chair was carved into the shape of a snarling dragon, and a king's ransom in jewels glittered on the back of the throne. All this grandeur held Ayremac's attention for only a few moment's before he looked at the wall behind the throne.

It was decorated by weapons of nearly every type Ayremac had ever seen and several that he couldn't identify. They were all arrayed in orderly racks and at a glance he guessed there to be a hundred weapons there. Maybe more.

Nodding he turned the Ixin and handed her the Gisir's greatsword.

"I think we're going to need Maleko's help with this," he said.



Morier floated with the group back to the throne room, surprised at the relative calm of the githyanki who had, after all, just watched thier leader's beheadding. "A strange people, to be sure" he thought to himself.



"The Bards of Brogine could not create words to adequately describe the glory you have achieved today," Maleko said, patting Ayremac approvingly on the shoulder. "Praise Umba for giving you the strength to achieve your goal."

Del smiled and offered Ayremac his flask in admiration. "Such a battle has earned you this much," the marshall said, but the holy warrior refused.

"Offer again when we are through with this place," he said with a thin smile. Del considered, shrugged and took a long draw himself before slipping it back into its pocket. Maleko watched his friend critically and quickly changed the subject.

"So... one of these is your sword, is it?" the elf asked and Ayremac nodded.

"I was hoping that between you and Ixin, you might be able to narrow down the choices a bit," the holy warrior said and Maleko nodded back.

"I should be able to narrow down the choices to magical and non-magical with little trouble," Maleko said. "If we could wait until tomorrow I could pray for the ability to Detect Good. Surely a Holy sword would radiate that in abundance."

"We haven't that kind of time," Ayremac cautioned, looking meaningfully at the armed contingent of githyanki waiting by the room's entrance. Mleko nodded.

"I see what you mean," he said and turned to Ixin. "I'll start on the left."



The task was not as difficult as it first seemed. Most of the displayed weapons were not magical - which made sense given the nature of the githyanki. The most powerful weapons would be better served in the hands of able-bodied warriors rather than languishing unused in a wall-mount. And that was true here. There was a scattering of magic weapons - most of them sized inappropriately for use by githyanki - but of those that were the right size one was a sword.

It was mounted high up on the wall, barely visible from the floor of the chamber. But once spotted, it was obviously the object of Ayremac's quest for it was etched in along the fuller with runes that spelled out its name in Celestial: FEDIFENSOR.

Ayremac reached for the weapon when Ixin laid a hand on his arm. "Does that look familiar?" she asked, indicating an axe that hung on the wall nearby.

"What?!" Ayremac snapped, dragging his eyes away from the Holy sword with difficulty. He looked where his protege was pointing and his jaw dropped open in surprise. "It can't be!" he coughed.

But it was.

Hanging on the wall a few feet away from Fedifensor was another Holy weapon - one that Ayremac himself had had a hand in enchanting: Karak's waraxe.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #480] Holy Sword!

"Can't be what?" Maleko asked quickly, but Ayremac did not hear him. Instead, he went over to the axe, emotions stirring again, his mind instantly racing to what improbable events could have led the axe to hang on this wall. He had always assumed that Karak had just chosen to move on... into the winter land, even though it was quite unlikely he would have left the party that way.

"It's Karak's axe," Ixin answered the elf, giving Ayremac a chance to examine the weapon.

"Who's Karak?" Maleko asked next, his voice hushed.

"A dwarf who traveled with us for a time," the sorceress told him, her own voice lowered to a whisper as she explained. "Ayremac told me that he disappeared the same night that I was killed."

Maleko looked at her with surprise on his face. Reference to her deaths and subsequent reincarnations was shocking to him and it seemed to stir something unwelcome in Ixin as well. Her lips were set in a tight line and she did not meet his eye.

"Can any of you tell me how this waraxe came to be here?" Ayremac asked as he turned to the group of githyanki. Several of them looked at one another and muttered in their own tongue, but Perragourp, standing a few paces distant from the band shook his head.

"No," the translator replied. "This collection is... was the Gisir's obsession alone. Perhaps it was recovered from a raid. Perhaps it was purchased from a trader. Only the Gisir would know for sure."

"Do you have any dwarven prisoners here?" Maleko asked, earning a glare from Perragrourp.

"No," the githyanki answered. "In warfare, the githyanki ask no quarter and grant none. In matters of law, Githyanki justice is swift. We have no need to keep prisoners for long."

“Does anyone know where this weapon came from?” Ayremac asked, managing to sound casual despite his curiosity. He looked at the githyanki arrayed behind Perragourp as he pointed at the dwarven axe. The warriors looked at one another and then at Perragourp, speaking in their native language with confused tones.

"My warriors do not speak your tongue, celestial," Perragourp told him, his own tone one of restrained anger. "If it will hasten your departure, I will circulate the question among the troops. Then you can take the axe and be gone from Avik-tchai."

“I have made my choice,” Ayremac stated plainly although he was careful not to indicate which weapon might be his choice. “But I believe I recognize this waraxe from a previous battle. I would like to know if one of your warriors can tell me the tale of the one who carried it.” They could almost hear Perragourp's teeth grinding from across the chamber.

"Your stalling tactics try my patience, celestial," the githyanki growled, his grip tightening noticeably on the handle of his sword.

“Tell me that story, and it will hasten my departure,” Ayremac said with amicable gentility. Without another word to the outsiders, Perragourp turned, barked some orders at his men and flew from the throne-room



Ayremac and Ixin went back to speculating on the axe and the whereabouts of the dwarf who had owned it. As Del did not know Karak, he just watched and listened to the theories as they were bandied about. Maleko seemed quite interested in their musing and he was devoting his attention to the pair as they conversed. Cerrakean was splitting her own time between watching Morier and the githyanki guards left at the door. For his part, the marshall was suitably impressed by the Gisir's weapon collection, and he found himself sipping from his flask and admiring the gleaming display. Here was a maul big enough for no one smaller than a storm giant to use. Beside it was a double scimitar such as he had seen used by certain weaponmasters in Hule, but this one was suitably sized for an ogre. He briefly considered the damage one of the Iron Gut ogres who defended the Borderlands could do with a double scimitar of such proportion and shuddered at the image his mind created.

"We need to be away from this place," Morier said to him, his voice low but not quite a whisper. "The githyanki make me uneasy, and I would just as soon be away from them as soon as possible." Del tore his eyes away from the weaponry and glanced over at the posted guards. They were staring back with open animosity on their faces and Del could well imagine the zeal with which warriors would lay into them were Perragourp to give such an order.

"I'm not one to run from a fight," Cerrakean offered, "but in this case I think we're pushin' our luck hangin' around here. If it comes to crossed swords, I think we'll be in real trouble." Del looked at the hobgoblin and nodded.

"Let's make sure it doesn't come to that," he said.



Perragourp returned not too much later and began speaking at once, eager to be rid of these interlopers.

"The axe was recovered from an illithid nautiloid that was seized by a githyanki boarding squad near the Chain of Tears," the commander relayed. "There were no dwarves aboard the vessel and no indication of how the axe came to be in the illithid's possession."

"Illithid?" Ixin muttered, confused. Maleko leaned in to her ear and whispered two words that sent a chill up her spine.

"Mind Flayers."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #481] This is Why We Fight!

Stopping for a breath, allowing the many possible stories of Karak to play one last time through his mind before settling on the most hopeful option, Ayremac turned to Fedifensor and lifted the weapon from its display mounts. Holding the blade briefly, turning it, and then finding an appropriate place on his belt to store it, he turned to Perragourp.

“I have chosen my pride and will be on my way,” he said with a nod.

"So be it," Perragourp hissed, eager to be rid of these outsiders.

Ayremac motioned for the group to follow and then began to move towards the exit. As he approached the githyankis, he stopped and spoke.

“Perragourp, I know you are ready to be rid of us, and we will hasten our departure… but would you be willing to part with the axe?" he asked, casually, as if it were an afterthought. "It looks like a holy weapon of a god you and your warriors do not worship. You could honor the weapon by allowing it to be wielded in the hands of someone who knows that god, and reveres them.” The githyanki's face screwed up in disgust as if Ayremac had offered to feed him a spoonful of troll excrement.

"You show your ignorance of our ways, angel," Perragourp sneered. "The githyanki have no god. The githyanki need no god. We serve the lich-queen and she has guided us to greatness these past hundred generations! That a weapon would be honored by dedication to a god means nothing to me... No. It means less than nothing! It is an insult to an instrument whose only honor is in glorious battle."

Ayremac opened his mouth to apologize, but Perragourp went on quickly.

"But that being said, you are correct that the weapon holds little value for us," the githyanki continued. "Its magic runs counter to our philosophy which is why it was relegated to the Gisir's collection rather than seeing use in the hands of an able-bodied warrior. What would you offer in trade for it?"

Ayremac reached to his belt and pulled his morningstar from its place in a non-threatening way. He cradled it up and looked hopefully at the githyanki.

“This weapon is well-tested in battle, and although I have always wielded it in the name of my god, it bears no dedication. It is infused with inner magic, and sheds light when grasped.” He clutched its haft, displaying the lit affect.

“Would this be of sufficient value to close the trade?” The githyanki snorted in response.

"You insult me!" Perragourp spat. "You claim the axe has import and then offer this... toy in exchange? I would sooner see it safely out of the hands of god-headed fools than accept such an offer!" Ayremac lowered the morningstar at once, nodding sagely.

"Ah, take no insult. I offered and you did not accept," the holy warrior replied as he busily returned the morningstar to its place on his belt. "The weapon was of only trivial interest and I cannot afford to spend more than this on such frivolity."

Ayremac looked back at the waraxe, sad he could not reclaim it... feeling as if possessing it might have brought him closure... or at least given him something to mourn. He looked at Ixin and she held out her empty hands, shaking her head slowly.

"We will take our leave," Ayremac said to Perragourp. "You have been more than hospitable and I don't wish to wear our welcome." The githyanki's lip curled back from his jagged teeth.

"You mistake adherence to custom for hospitality and tolerance for welcome," the githyanki corrected. "And know this: if our paths cross again what tolerance we have shown will be at an end. You will be met with steel and steel alone." Ayremac nodded as if such a statement was a perfectly natural one to make.

“So be it then," he said. "We will be on our way."

And they were, heads held high, not looking back.



They traveled in silence for some time. Ixin was the slowest flier and so they maintained her pace as they went, unwilling to string their ranks out too thin, but when they spotted a bit of floating detritus off to their right, they veered off their more-or-less random course to assess their situation.

Ayremac was blunt with the group, asking, "Del, Maleko, Cerrakean... if you would be so kind as to allow Morier and I a moment." Ixin moved to join the two but the Officer held up one gauntleted hand. "Ixin, bear with me," he said with an apologetic smile. "Let me help Morier adjust."

She struggled not to look hurt and nodded her understanding. "As you wish."



Once Ayremac and Morier were some distance away - though only far enough to give their conversation some privacy - Ayremac grabbed Morier's shoulders, grinning.

"Men-at-arms are not know for sentiment... and you and I especially so...but I must," he said before embracing Morier joyfully.

"It's good to see you, friend," the holy warrior beamed, releasing the albino. "I did not expect to find you here, but the gods are good, and they have brought us together. For you to be in the same place as my quest... it's unbelievable! Only the fates could be responsible."

Morier listened intently as Ayremac detailed the events on the path that had led the celestial to Akiv-tchai and somehow back to standing in front of him now. However it happened, it couldn't have been more fortuitous and thus, Morier thought, the gods surely had a hand in it. The eldritch warrior noted that he had recently found his mind wandering from time to time into a spiritual area he had not inhabited quite so fully in the past. His hand crept unconsciously to the protrusion on his chest, reassuringly tracing its contours.

"What is that on your chest?" Ayremac asked, noting the motion.

In response to the question, Morier began to peel away enough of his armor to reveal the spot in his chest where the gemstone had implanted itself. "She is with me," he said, knowing that the celestial knew enough of the situation that he would fully understand the meaning of those words.

And he did, instantly noting the symbolic placement of the gem for which they had so long been questing.

"The Heart," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Morier nodded and quickly closed up his armor.

"I never imagined that I could harbor her essence and I'm wary of revealing this situation to anyone," he told his companion. "But I have always believed your motives to be pure. You are one of the only people I feel I can fully trust now."

Ayremac nodded, considering. Then he pointed at the others. "I will also vouche for Del and Maleko and Cerrakean," he said. "I have not traveled with them long, but they helped Ixin and me out of a tight spot when they could have turned on us and saved themselves. Not saying they are saints, but I would trust them with to guard my back at this point."

Morier looked over and saw that the others had noticed he and Ayremac looking and gesturing at them and were moving toward them. Del was fastest and he spoke as he came.

"Keeping counsel with oneself is wise indeed," he said. "But let me share something first with you: this is not about the coins in your satchel. I know next to nothing of their history and even less of yours. You are struggling to some kind of end against an insurmountable force, and of that I do know a little. Enough to be certain that your cause is dangerous... and compelling. Enough to know that one does not walk away from it but becomes swallowed up by it." Morier nodded, impressed by the half-elf's words.

"You do seem to know more than most," he said. "From where does this knowledge come?" Shifting a bit, uncomfortably aware that he was going to have to go down an unpleasant road in order to be level with Morier, and knowing what such a journey would involve, Del broke out his flask again. He took in a burning mouthful of courage.

"Grey House is the origin of the investigation," Maleko said before Del was forced to speak and Morier nodded.

"So you have said," the eldritch warrior replied. "But as I told you, I have never been to Grey House."

"I was trained within the janissary ranks of Barnacus," Del blurted, looking hopefully at Morier. He futilely willed understanding into the albino and waited for that to be enough. It wasn't and Morier simply raised one prompting eyebrow in response.

"Your quest has claimed a life which I would give anything to have back," Del confided, shakily, "but whose allegiance to that very cause supersedes even death."

"Indeed it has consumed countless lives, including a great (and seemingly ever-growing) number who have fought beside me," Morier admitted. "Mercenaries in search of one self-serving prize or another come and go, with names I sometimes cannot recall after the fog of war sets in. But only a small handful have come here out of a sense of duty toward a cause. Which claimed life has brought you here?"

"My comrade was Janissary Ledare Eelsof'faw." He said the name as if its syllables were jagged and might cut his tongue if he lingered too long on them. "She spoke of an effort to prevent the return of Aphyx to this world... of armies mobilizing in anticipation of that day. Indeed, I had some dealings with this myself along the borderlands. Strange creatures... not wholly one beast or another but some twisted, dark combination. She... she insisted that Aphyx was seeking a vessel... a body..." Del shook his head, as if to jar his memory.

"I will admit that my recollection is more bits and pieces of fact," the marshall continued. "But I can tell you: she was changed by this. And her spirit was wholeheartedly pledged to this cause; that I can remember as if it were yesterday."

Morier heard little of the words that followed the name. He pushed back the sudden rush of memory, reaching out involuntarily to grasp the janissary hard just above the elbow. "You know Led... knew... Ledare?"

As dark and solitary as his thoughts had seemed earlier that day, the sudden reappearance of Ayremac and now a contemporary of Ledare seemed to bring light. Two who had truly understood, who had come not for gain but out of service, were suddenly among him; even if it was in combination of spirit and form. Although he was sure that she never knew it, it had been Ledare who unwittingly turned him from a lone warrior searching for little more than solace in battle, into a torchbearer for this fight against Aphyx. It seemed impossible that others could be around her and not be driven by her sense of devotion and service. It was following the loss of Ledare that Morier felt compelled to pick up her mantle of leadership, but he had never felt a cohesive group available to follow his lead.

Perhaps now...

"Yes!" Del said, smiling nervously at the albino's sudden enthusiasm. "We... trained together at the academy." He down-played their involvement for some reason, not ready as yet to detail the true depths of their relationship.

"You could hardly have spoken a name for which I have greater reverence, Janissary," Morier told the half-elf "Ledare Eelsof'faw is the very reason I stand here today having been bound by the essence of a goddess who will rise to fight Aphyx." Del listened intently, willing his face to reveal nothing of the emotional surge inside him. A dozen questions boiled their way to the surface of his thoughts - things he had wondered in the cold stillness of long nights awake. But he checked them carefully.

"She is why I am here as well," Del told him. "But know that I have come willingly; no gods have summoned nor kings commanded me. I am here to do what I can to aid in your quest. That is what she would have wanted."

"She was very inspirational," Morier began. "Her dedication to-" Del held up an unsteady hand, his expression forestalling any further discussion on the topic.

"I do not need to know the details now, maybe never... But if you are willing I should like to know more when there is time," he said, his voice measured and controlled. The flask shook ever-so slightly in his hand as he lifted it once again. Maleko noticed the flask and the tremor and concern bled into the elf's eyes.

"Now about this shifty elf who seems to want to pick my pocket for spare coins..." Morier mused, looking at Maleko. The elf's eyes widened in shock at the suggestion and he puffed up his chest proudly. A thought and a small gesture transformed his clothes into clerical robes.

"I apologize if I appear like I want your money. Nothing could be further from the truth," he said. "The coins are tokens to signify membership in the Grey Company. Possession allows membership. It appears from what I have heard that you would be one whom Grey House would be proud to have as a member. Am I correct Cerrakean?" The hobgoblin sniffed.

"I reckon," she said blandly. "If there were still a Grey House to be a member of. The more I think about it, the more I think that the Grey Company's pretty well through." She shrugged and scratched at one hairy armpit.

"So long as you live, Cerrakean, there is a Grey Company," Maleko assured her. "You're a Grey Lord are you not?" She shrugged again.

"That doesn't really mean much any more, elf," she sighed. "One Lord doesn't really make a Company, now does it?"

"There's still Abernathy, don't forget. And Ocif. And the House itself," Maleko went on. "I have a coin. And Morier has more." Cerrakean's expression darkened and she turned away, muttering, "I reckon," one last time.

"Regardless, Morier, I would be honored for you to keep one of the coins," the elf said, nonplussed by the hobgoblin's attitude. "I believe you have ones in your possession that once belonged to Ledare Eelsof'faw, Finian Telteppe, Kirnoth Val Satha, and Draelond Khemir. They were the last recorded members to possess these items."

"Of those you named, I only ever knew Ledare," Morier said and Ixin nodded.

"Finian and Draelond both fell before Morier joined," she told them. "Finian died days prior, but Draelond was killed the very day we first met Morier. In fact if Draelond had not fallen in battle, we might not have been so quick to welcome Morier into our group."

"It's strange to hear you speak so knowledgeably of such things," Morier admitted to her. "You look so different from the Ixin I knew." The woman's eyes flashed at the albino and then she looked away.

"I AM different, Morier," she said. "When one falls so many times into its embrace, the grave eventually leaves its mark on you."

"What of Kirnoth?" Maleko asked, hoping to take the focus off Ixin's deaths and rebirths for a moment. Morier and Ayremac exchanged glances, remembering their battle after securing the Keys.

"That's complicated," the sorceress said her eyes downcast. "We think that he's been turned to Aphyx."

"That's horrible!" Maleko exclaimed. "All the more reason to repopulate the Grey Company with honorable souls. If you were to give them to me, Morier, I would be honored to offer one to Del, Ixin and Ayremac."

Morier looked around at them and shrugged. He opened the Valiant Vessel bag and found the mithril coins on top as if they were the last items placed within although he was sure that he hadn't seen them on previous inspections of Huzair's things. He held them up and Maleko took three and distributed them around.

"We would be honored if you accepted these symbols of our order and continue to fight for our cause," Maleko said once he'd passed them out. "They also would work as a wonderful tracking device should we be separated if that is all you wish them to be. I believe in your heart, each of you know this is the right thing to do."

Morier looked at the coin in his hand and wondered whose it had been previously. It didn't really matter. It was only a symbol. He wondered if Ixin remembered the tiny pin he'd given her and the others in Hillville Junction. That too had been a symbol. The VQS... Vla'rinnyn Quarth Sila... Brotherhood of the Order Bringers... He laughed at himself and slipped the coin around his neck.

Ayremac, for the first time since... well, since a long time ago, felt the seeds of cooperation, comradre, and fellowship being sowed. It brought a smile to his face. As much as skulking around the temple, safe, warm, and well-fed, was a welcome break from time on the trail, it was nice to be back in the thick of things and to be back with a face he recognized.

"Morier, do you know which direction we should go?" he asked, expecting an immediate: yes. Instead, Morier just looked at him seriously.

"We must find her body, Ayremac, and we cannot afford delay," the eldritch warrior said, turning that serious look on each of his companions. "I may harbor the essence of a goddess, but my body is decidedly mortal. The stakes are suddenly unimagineably high, and I hope that may go some way in explaining why I had to dispatch Saelus in the manner that I did just before you arrived."

"It does," Ayremac nodded. "And I can well understand your desire for haste. I believe that we are all behind you on this. So which way do we go?" Morier sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know," he said and Ayremac looked shocked.

"But you always know where to go." he exclaimed. "What about the Pull?"

"Gone once I found the Heart," the eldritch warrior told him, apologetically.

"So... what? We just pick a direction and take off blindly?" Ixin scoffed.

"That would be unwise," Maleko cautioned. "The Astral Plane is vast. Infinitely so, in fact. Drifting around aimlessly will accomplish little."

"Well I wouldn't suggest heading back toward Akiv-tchai," a familiar voice chirped. They turned and saw Grandfather Plaque hovering behind the group. He smiled back at them sheepishly. "I sort of... abandoned my post... Can I come with you?"

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #482] Along Came a Spider

"You are welcome to join us, Grandfather Plaque," Ayremac told him.

"Not that we know where we're going," Ixin added and the construct raised a stony eyebrow.

"Oh?" he quipped. "At loose ends are we?"

"Something like that," Maleko nodded. "Do you know anything about the astral plane?" The wizened face pondered that question for a moment.

"No. My field of knowledge is actually limited more or less to doors," he admitted at last, adding, "But I can speak Terran!"

"I'll remember that if we meet any earth elementals," the mage-priest replied glumly.

"Well we can't just drift around without a heading," Del said. "That much is clear."

"Right," Maleko said with a firm nod. "And from what you've told us, Morier, we need to find the God Islands. That's the only thing that I can think of that comes close to what you're describing."

"So where's that, fancy pants?" Cerrakean asked and Maleko shrugged.

"I have no idea," he said. "I've read little on the astral plane and even less on the subject of dead gods. But if we're going to find Dridana's body, the God Islands is the logical place to start." Cerrakean snorted.

"Yeah!" she groused. "If we knew where that was!"

"I could pray for some guidance," Maleko suggested, indicating the holy symbol he wore. "Nethlar is all-knowing..." Cerrakean threw up her red hands.

"All we do is sit around and fret and pray and get nowhere!" the hobgoblin cursed. "We need to act!"

"Cerrakean, your attitude is not helping the situation," Del interceded. "If you have nothing constructive to add-"

"What about J'inn and J'ann?" Ixin interrupted.

"What about 'em?" Cerrakean snapped, but Ayremac smiled broadly at the sorcerer.

"Ixin, you're a genius!" he beamed. "That's a fantastic idea." The mage blushed and for a moment, her red face was visible even through her ceremonial face-paint.

"Who or what are J'inn and J'ann?" Morier asked.

"They're natives of the astral plane," Ayremac told him. "If anyone can act as guides for us, it's them."

"Fine," Morier nodded. "But let's not divulge too much to them or anyone else regarding what we're up to. The success of our quest might depend on our discretion."



The group conferred, using Ayremac's touchstone to establish the direction that lead to Avik-tchai, and determining through consensus the route by which they'd approached the citadel from the deathspider. Once they had that fixed in their minds, they estimated the proper vector that would take them back there from their present location.

It was at best a rough estimate, but it was better than nothing.



The astral plane was barren.

They all knew that, of course, but it was truly hammered home after they'd been flying for what seemed like a long time without any change in their surroundings. They saw twinkling motes of color flickering in the distance and enormous clouds of far off luminescence that billowed up and swirled through the action of unfelt currents. But they saw nothing solid or living in all the time they travelled... how ever long that actually was.

Eventually, they saw a shadow in the distance ahead of them and a bit below, and as they approached it resolved itself into a vast cloud of stones and rocks that stretched off into the silver twilight, growing denser as it went. Most of the stones were small, the size of a thumb or fist. But some were as big as heads or whole torsos, and at the limits of visibility they could see ones that were larger still.

"The Chain of Tears," Ayremac said, gesturing to the drifting mass of stones. "J'inn and J'ann live somewhere in there."

"Somewhere?" Cerrakean scoffed. "And just how are we supposed to find 'em in there? There isn't a door to knock on!"

"Last time, Ixin and I just waited," Ayremac explained. "Eventually, they found us."

"Eventually?" the hobgoblin sneered and Ayremac nodded sagely.

"Crap," she spat and grabbed one of the drifting rocks, hurling it into the cloud. It struck one of its fellows and ricocheted setting off a satisfying chain reaction of clattering stones. The hobgoblin grinned and grabbed another.



They passed the time like that for a while, but eventually they tired of the game and contented themselves with other tasks as they waited, swapping stories, resting and keeping watch. Eventually, Del pointed at a shape coming toward them from the expanse of the astral sea bordering the Chain of Tears.

"What's that?" he asked warily as he squinted at the shape. Ayremac looked where the half-elf was pointing and his face grew pale.

"It's a retriever," he said grimly and immediately set about readying himself for combat.

"A what?" Morier asked, squinting at the shape as it drew inexorably closer.

"A sort of demonic golem," Maleko explained. "They're created through foul sorceries to serve powerful demons as warriors and servants. Most texts speculate that their overall design emulates the corporeal appearance of the bebelith in-"

"Maleko!" Ixin snapped, drawing the elf out of his recitation. "Can you tell us anything useful?" Maleko nodded, his eyes fixed on the retriever. It looked like an enormous spider, and while it was difficult to tell for sure at this distance, it seemed to be big - twice the size of a man, maybe more. Its four front limbs ended in wicked black cleavers, each like the blade of a massive scythe. A cluster of multi-colord eyes glowed atop its small head.

"It's a construct, not a demon, so it won't be hurt by any magic that targets a living creature. Necromantic effects, and the like will be useless. As will mind-effecting spells," he said. "It's very singular in its purpose; it was sent for a reason and it won't stop until it's dead or it's retrieved what it's after." The elf looked from the approaching thing to Morier's chest and realization flooded his features.

"Oh!" he said and met the albino's eyes.

"Oh," Morier agreed.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #483] This Spider's Got a Bite

Maleko looked abashed, surprised that he hadn't more quickly put together the retriever's presence and Morier's desire to keep a low profile. "Quickly, let's fall back into the debris and we can tangle it in my Web," the elf suggested, pointing at the cloud of rocks at their backs. "It may buy us time against its blades and other attacks."

"Right," Cerrakean agreed, her voice full of uncertainty. "I'm more used to fighting people, not big bugs!" Ixin snorted at the hobgoblin's reticence and stood defiantly at Ayremac's side.

“Morier, you at least should move back into the debris field. If this thing is as powerful as it looks you may need to make a run for it," the Officer of Umba told him, while never taking his eyes off the construct as it moved slowly toward them. "We will hold it here, and if you think we can take it down, then come out and join us… if not…” Ayremac fixed his eyes on Morier’s, pausing for only the briefest moment, but conveying in that span all the things that warriors could in such a moment.

“You run…" the celestial said, gravely. "Your mission - your cargo - is too precious.” Morier sighed.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Ayremac," the albino said, pausing for a breath to cast a Quickened Bull's Strength on himself. "But if it gets passed you, then what? It'll leave me all alone with this thing on my trail. The best bet is to stand here and face it together. The more force we can bring to bear on it now the better chance we have of ending it."

"Well spoken," Grandfather Plaque said, hovering near Morier's shoulder. "You can certainly count on what meager powers I have." Morier smiled and nodded then reached for his empty scabbard.

He paused, nonplussed.

"Here you go," Maleko said, unsheathing his longsword. "I do not know how to use it well, anyway." He tossed the brilliantly-decorated sword to the albino who deftly caught in in one hand. It was a far lighter weapon than he was used to, but its craftsmanship was obvious at a glance.

"Bhaal's balls!" Cerrakean cursed, unsheathing her black scimitars with a dangerous hiss. "If everybody else is gonna line up to get killed, I reckon I can take my turn in the queue!"

"That's the spirit!" Del said adjusting the bolts in his repeating hand-crossbow. "Together we can win out!" Cerrakean sneered at the half elf and twirled her scimitars with deadly precision.

"Save your pep talk, brown eyes!" she grumbled. "You'll need that breath to give your condolences to the survivors... If there are any."

"Maleko?" Ixin asked without taking her eyes off the retriever as it drew slowly closer. "Do you suppose that thing is in Magic Missile range?"

"I think it is," Maleko said, brandishing his wand.

"Let us find out!" Grandfather Plaque added with a wink.



And so the battle was enjoined at range. Ixin, Maleko and Grandfather Plaque unleashed a salvo of Magic Missiles that peppered the Retriever mercilessly. It absorbed the eleven bolts of force and kept on coming. Ixin's spellcasting was Quickened by the very nature of the Astral Plane and she found herself able at once to cast Magic Missile again, so she hit the construct with another three for good measure.

One of the Retriever's eyes flared red in response and a crimson ray lanced out at Ixin, striking the sorceress before she could move to avoid it. She managed to invoke a spell shield which abrogated some of the damage, but all it really did was prevent her from being immolated at once. She still suffered greatly, screaming out as flames danced over her shoulders charring the flesh on her face and neck and searing the hair from the side of her skull.

Morier darted forward, slipping an arm through the crook of the woman's elbow in an effort to haul her away from the front line, but she shook him off.

"Le' me go!" she growled, her words barely intelligible since her lips were split and swelling. Her left eye was a blackened horror, but a fierce determination shone in the other. "I can do this!"

Del raised his hand crossbow and squeezed off a couple of shots. The first struck amidst the cluster of eyes on the Retriever's head, but the second was wide and the bolt sailed off into the silver void, disappearing rapidly from sight.

The construct absorbed the damage and kept on coming.

"Fall back into the rocks!" Ayremac commanded. "Now!"

Morier, Del and Cerrakean started in that direction, but Ixin paused long enough to cast a Quickened Magic Missile, working the enhanced magic despite her devastating injuries. Three Missiles impacted the Retriever but it came on, undaunted. Grandfather Plaque spat four Missiles of his own at the thing.

It absorbed the damage and kept on coming.

Rather than add his wand to the attack, Maleko moved toward Ixin, spontaneously channeling the energy from a second spell valance into a Cure Moderate Wounds spell. "Ixin, wait," he ordered. As the woman turned Maleko placed his hands gently on her head, praying, "May Nethlar give you the strength to continue your quest for the knowledge to save our world from the plague that has befallen it."

At his touch, the worst of the blackened char flaked off, revealing angry red skin beneath. Ixin looked at him gratefully, her green eyes swimming with relief. She felt the pain from her burned head subside and a warm wave went through her body as the healing took place.

"Thank you," Ixin said kindly. Then she quickly turned to reface the menace that approached with a sneer of hated.

"Maleko, if we're going to try trapping it with your Web spell, then we need to fall back!" Ayremac said again and the elf nodded his understanding as he hurried off into the field of stones. "That goes for you too, Ixin. I'd rather not usher any more friends so soon to Umba's judgement."

As the sorcerer complied with his order, Ayremac spared a look back at the Retriever. It had closed half the distance, and as he watched, he saw another of the construct's eyes flare like a star. Before he could do more than register what he'd seen, a ray of brilliant white struck him in the breastplate, riming his armor with hoarfrost and chilling him savagely. Despite his innate Celestial resistance to both magic and cold, being struck by the ray felt like having a red hot poker driven into his chest. He activated his Sacred Healing ability and felt his injuries begin to ease as he moved off into the cloud of stones.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #484] The Final Messenger

It was slower going within the drifting mass of rocks, all it took was Cerrakean suffering a stout blow to the head for them to realize the folly of moving through the unpredictable cloud with haste. The Retriever was only mildly inconvenienced by the stones, it seemed. It came on with the ting-ta-ting-ting of stones on its armored carapace heralding it.

The construct aimed another ray at Ayremac - this one a brilliant blue color - but a largish stone drifted between him and the Retriever, and the Officer of Umba was spared its effects as a cloud of sparks exploded around the stone. Ayremac hastily called on his divine heritage and invoked a Cure Serious Wounds spell, channelling the power into his own frostbitten body.

"Is this far enough to enact your plan, Maleko?" the holy warrior called and the elf surveyed the surroundings.

"I'm not sure how effective this is going to be," Maleko admitted. "I've never cast Web in such an environment nor read of any mage who has. I could see the spell slowing it down, or at least tangling its legs and requiring it to take time to cut its way out. But-"

"But it's our best shot right now," Ayremac interjected. Maleko nodded his understanding and began to cast.

That's all the farther he got before the Quickened Web went off, filling the area around the Retriever with a many-layered mass of sticky strands. The construct was surprisingly agile for something so huge, and aided, as Ayremac had been, by the intervention of a drifting rock, so it wasn't immobilized by the Web. But it still plowed straight forward through it, entangling itself rather badly as a result.

Another of the Retriever's eyes winked, and a sickly gray beam lanced out at the elf who had impeded it. Maleko tried to dodge, but despite the intervening rocks and stones, the ray struck him in the leg and he felt the limb grow heavy. A strange sensation spread through his body and he recognized it from descriptions he'd read in the memoirs of adventurers and explorers who had survived encounters with medusae. He very nearly succumbed, but he was able to resist the Petrification attack by the slimmest of margins and looked up in time to see another bolt from Del's crossbow clatter across the construct's hull.

“Keep its attention on us…” Ayremac directed and maneuvered closer to the thing. At a command, his Shield of Blinding flashed dazzlingly catching the entangled Retriever full in its array of eyes. It thrashed around, obviously blind.

Ixin urged herself forward casting a Quickened Scorching Ray at the disoriented Retriever. Somehow she managed to miss, despite her target's size and relative helplessness. She followed that spell up with another Scorching Ray that sent fire washing over the Retriever. The Webs entangling it began to go up as well, but that only served to burn the thing further.

Grandfather Plaque, flew between Ixin and Ayremac, coming closer than the others and opened his mouth to deliver a vicious Shout. The sonic attack struck the Retriever solidly and sent a network of hairline cracks across its body.

Maleko drew his wand and sent a quartet of Magic Missiles into the Retriever, which did little now besides thrash amidst the burning webs. It lurched forward toward the last opponent it had seen nearby, a cleaver the size of a greatsword reaching out blindly toward the Officer of Umba. The claw slammed down on a rock nearby causing the stone to explode in a hail of gravel. The strength behind that blow was titanic, and Ayremac did not wish to be on the receiving end of such if he could avoid it.

As another pair of bolts from Del's crossbow stabbed down into the Retriever, the holy warrior raised Fedifensor. He could sense the evil that had created the construct; it radiated from the thing like a palpable field of malevolence. The sword was eager to destroy it and so was he.

He Smote it, driving the longsword into the twisted mess of blades and eyes that served as the construct's head, and the Retriever fell beneath the blade. The twin purities of Law and Good stabbed deeply at the malignant auras of Chaos and Evil that drove the thing, disrupting it. For a moment it shuddered and twitched, but then it belched a cloud of abyssal smoke and came apart, bleeding tarnished cogs and rusty springs.

"Is everyone all right?" Ayremac asked, looking around at his companions. His enquiry was met with nods and calls of assent. "Good," he replied, sheathing Fedifensor. "I think this thing-"

"Bringing your battles to our doorstep, now?" a voice whispered out of the air in their midst. It was J'inn, or J'ann. It was impossible to tell which. "Rather poor form, considering how well we aided you when last we met. Wait. We'll be right there."

"Where are you?" Ayremac asked, looking about for any sign of the Buommans. There was none. "J'inn? J'ann?" Maleko shook his head.

"Don't bother, Ayremac," the elf said "That was a Whispering Wind spell. They probably can't hear you. They could be miles from here."

"They must be close enough to see us," Del observed. "Their timing is too good for them not to have witnessed the Retriever's destruction."

"Good point," Maleko admitted. "I hadn't-"

"What the hell is that?" Cerrakean demanded, pointing with one of her scimitars at the mass of floating debris that had been the Retriever. They followed her blade and saw a darkened metal sphere no bigger than a walnut etched entirely with runes and sigils. It was moving away from the debris with intent on a course that mirrored the construct's initial approach.

"I don't know," Maleko admitted. "I don't think that Retrievers normally do that. At least none of the ones I've ever read about."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #485] The Buommans Return

"I think we should definitely attend to this thing," Del observed. "If the Retriever's sole purpose was to destroy whatever it was after, I am sure it is trying to report back its failure in that regard."

"Actually, a Retriever's sole purpose is to 'retrieve' whatever it is after, not destroy it," Maleko corrected earning himself a disapproving look from Del. The elf quickly added, "I imagine a Web would totally encompass it now. Maybe some of Ayremac's holy magic would do the trick here as well."

"Perhaps," Ayremac said drifting to the fore of the little band and calling down a Holy Smite on the fleeing object. It did not slow down in its course.

"Or perhaps not," Cerrakean smirked and Ixin cast a withering look in her direction.

"Web it is then," Maleko announced and cast a Quickened Web on the thing, entombing it in a net of sticky strands and floating rocks. He followed that up with another Cure Wounds spell that completely erased Ixin's suffering. Only the ruined face paint and the hair burned away from her head on one side remained as a reminder of the Retriever's attack.

"Thank you," Ixin said again and cast a Quickened Magic Missile spell, sending a trio of bolts into the entangled thing. It was still moving so she followed it up with another Magic Missile spell. It seemed unfazed by the attack and Ixin growled lightly and rolled her shoulders, ready to begin another barrage of force on the thing, Ayremac knew that she could cast that spell more than of a dozen times before needing to rest; he had seen her do so back at the Court in Frothingham. But Maleko laid a hand on her arm before she could begin the casting again.

"Don't bother," he told her. "While Magic Missile is a favorite of martial-minded spellcasters everywhere - and rightly so - it does have its limitations. I believe this thing exploits one of those imitations." Grandfather Plaque drifted forward, floating backward so that he could grin at them as he went.

"Allow me to try," he said before turning around and moving close to the entangled thing. He opened his mouth and Shouted at it, pulverizing it utterly with sonic energy. He drifted back with a smug smile on his stony lips.

"Well done," Del said and Grandfather Plaque rolled his eyes in a way that said 'all in a day's work'.

"He seems pleased with himself," Ayremac remarked to Morier, grinning at the construct's self-satisfaction. Morier's face, when the holy warrior turned, however was serious.

"Ayremac, I appreciate the protection, but I am highly unaccustomed to taking a back seat in battle, and it's not something I intend on doing much of going forward," the albino told him. "If I feel as though my life is in danger I will retreat, but I simply can't stand back and let everyone else protect me."

"But the Heart..." Ayremac began and Morier shook his head.

"I understand the sentiment," he countered, "but remember that I have survived this long by fighting where the situation warrants... No need to change that now." Ayremac considered this and then nodded his agreement.

"The heart of a warrior is not easily stilled when battle calls," he said. "I will not stand in your way if you feel that the front lines are where you should be."

Del too registered Morier's desire to be involved in subsequent fights, and realized as Ayremac did, that there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. If the drow wanted to fight then no amount of baby-sitting was going to keep him out of the fray. However, he also knew that there was no denying the importance of the magic Morier bore in his chest, and he made a mental note to adjust his tactical planning to place someone close to the drow at all times.

“Now, what are you comfortable revealing to J'inn and J'ann?" Ayremac asked the eldritch warrior as he sheathed Fedifensor at his hip. "They will want to know why we need access to the God Islands, I'm sure.”

"If you are willing to vouch for the Buommans, as you have, then I am willing to be fairly trusting," Morier replied with a single nod.

"What can we offer J'inn and J'ann for their help?" Del asked and both Morier and Ayremac turned to look at him.

"You don't think that the goodwill of having previous interaction with most of this group, will be enough to get them to help?" Morier asked and Del shrugged.

"I don't know, " he admitted. "I'd like to think so, but I like to be prepared for other eventualities, too."

"I think the time for preparations is passed," Maleko said, pointing. "Here they come."

The Buommans approached from deeper within the Chain of Tears, moving with great speed through the rocks. Their movements were balletic and sinuous, involving a great del of spinning and rolling as they tumbled forward through the roiling cloud of stones. Occasionally they would use a rock as a jumping-off point to propel themselves forward, other times they would clasp hands and wheel one another on through force of limb alone. It was an impressive display of agility and cooperation which, several of the group suspected, was entirely put on to impress them.

"What brings you back so soon, Ayremac?" J'inn called when they got close enough.

"We hardly had time to miss you," J'ann added, spinning through the air to stop at his twin's side. "Did you make it to Akiv-tchai?"

"I did," Ayremac said. "Your help was invaluable."

"And you made it out alive," J'inn observed, elbowing his twin. "I was confident that you would." J'ann scowled and produced a silver piece that he reluctantly handed over to J'inn.

"So what brings you back to the Chain of Tears?" J'ann asked. "This isn't exactly the safest part of the Astral Sea as you can tell." He indicated the remains of the Retriever and swatted a smallish stone away from his face.

"We need to visit the God Islands," the holy warrior said and J'inn and J'ann's faces snapped shut like books.

"That isn't going to happen," J'inn said simply while J'ann sang softly, "Never gonna get it. Never gonna get it. Never gonna get it. You'll never get it."

"It's vitally important," Ixin interjected and J'inn sniffed.

"It always is," J'ann observed gesturing dismissively.

"Good bye," J'inn said, turning to leave. "Don't come back here."

"It's no longer safe for you," J'ann added.

"Wait!" Morier said, drifting forward. "We have been charged to visit the tomb of the goddess Dridana. It may have a crucial bearing on the outcome of a scourge set upon the material plane by Aphyx."

"Then you have been charged falsely," J'inn said. "There is no tomb to visit."

"And any who would charge you thus are fools," J'ann added. "You can go back and tell them I said so."

"Look," Morier snapped. "No one told us where to go. We've been feeling our way through this pretty much in the dark, but we know that we need to reunite Dridana's Heart with her body. And we've got the Heart!" He pulled aside his mail enough for the verdant glow of the gemstone to spill out across his pale features and those of the two Buommans. "We just need to find her body."

J'inn and J'ann turned to look at Morier and wonder began to spread across their faces. J'inn drifted forward slowly, hand outstretched to touch the gem.His pale fingertips brushed its surface and his mouth opened in astonishment. Morier drew back and covered the gemstone once more.

"We can take you as far as Discord," J'ann said, his entire demeanor changed from antagonism to cooperation. "But it's not up to us to take you to the other God Islands."

"That is up to the Threnodies, and ultimately the Guardian himself," J'inn added before looking at his twin and saying, "I imagine that at the very least they'll have to pass through the hall of mirrors."

"But they're not Buommans," J'ann observed and J'inn shrugged.

"Not for us to decide," he replied and beckoned for the group to follow him. "Come on, we'll take you to Discord."



The journey was impossibly fast. They came upon the massive settlement mere moments after setting off after J'inn and J'ann. A largish rock drifted in front of them and when it passed from their field of vision beyond they saw Discord.

And what a sight it was.

A stone head of immense size hung suspended in the silver expanse, its angle in space suggesting repose although its unseeing stone eyes were open and staring off into the void. Its features were unmistakably female and serenely beautiful. The twisted arrow, Chaos symbol of change was worked into the vast otherwise unblemished forehead. The stone neck ended in a jagged break about mid-way down and of the stone body there was no sign. The entire left side of the stone head was covered with buildings like some kind of strange tumorous mass. A large stone keep with crenelated towers rose above the thatched roofs of the smaller buildings, and numerous figures, no bigger than grains of sand to the enormous stone head moved about and between the buildings.

"Relative of yours?" Cerrakean asked, nudging Grandfather Plaque with her elbow. The stone construct said nothing; he was speechless.

"Welcome to Discord," J'ann said, gesturing expansively as they drifted closer and closer to the settlement and the great stone head filled more and more of their field of vision.

"We'll find a place for you to stay until we can speak with the Threnodies on your behalf," J'inn added. "Meantime, feel free to look around."

"Just don't try to leave without an escort," J'ann cautioned. "This part of the Astral is... unforgiving of those unused to it."