Need_A_Life
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You've definitely got talent!
I am so subscribing to this thread!
I am so subscribing to this thread!
Rule of Darkness -Book II Chapter 3 Last Update 19 June 2008- Book I Completed
Ghostknight
First Post
Need_A_Life said:
Always nice to have someone new onboard! Enjoy the tale, and feel free to comment.
Ghostknight
First Post
Chapter 8
Five days. It had been five days of sweat, of running non-stop with stolen, quick snatches of rest between hours of movement. Jeria stopped and wiped sweat from his forehead, sweat that flowed down his face and stung his eyes even in the cool weather. The trees loomed large around him, their tops shrouded in the early morning mist. He moved forward, stumbling in exhaustion, five days of travel taking their toll. He was exhausted when he stumbled out of the forest, and looked up at the mountain before him. He sank to his knees, home and the protection of the deep caverns, almost within reach.
Jeria walked through the maze; dazed, his parched mouth dry from having only a few sips of water when he could find some on his journey. The path down to the city gate passed in a blur, he didn't know how long it took, he just felt himself sinking, falling into the arms of a guard, whispering "Delire, get Delire."
Jeria awoke in a simple room. The light from the floaters shone through the window whose lace curtains were open to the outside. At his bed sat Delire, her face stoic, eyes sunken deep and surrounded by black rings. She looked at Jeria and noted the time he moved from asleep to awake. She leaned forward, her small childlike hands coming to cover his.
"Gruzz is dead, isn't he?" Her voice was soft, lifeless. "Tell me what happened, how it happened." Her face turned to look at Jeria with dull eyes, an expression on her face that froze Jeria's blood.
Gruzz and Delire? How?!! She is a halfling; he was a half-ogre. Jeria stared at the halfling, fearing her expression, recalling the stories of her legendary martial prowess, lethality hidden in a body whose childlike appearance disarmed a foe who did not know better. "They're coming Delire. The devils are coming." His voice was low, intense. He tried to keep it unemotional; he did not want to start a spiral into depression that would prevent both of them from being effective.
"Gyv. She was controlled, they saw through her eyes, heard as we spoke. We led them straight to the House of Souls safe house from which Gyv had operated." He stopped, seeing the look of horror in Delire's eyes.
"How did they do it? Mekior examined her, declared her clean, free of taint". She stood up, pacing, "How long, how long before they get here?" She came to an abrupt halt, looking straight at Jeria, "and how did you get away?"
Jeria closed his eyes, knowing that he was going to have to tell her all of it, tell her of his father. "General Gerion was the mastermind behind the whole thing. It was he that controlled Gyv, set us up." He stopped, looked at Delire, took a deep breathe, blurting the last bit out. "He's my father, Delire. In the end it was how we got away. It seems he had plans for his son. He was grooming me, trying to get me to defect to their side. My whole life I always wondered what fiend, what monster, was my father. Now I know, and the truth is far worse than I could have imagined. The monster that is renowned for his genocidal rampages, his excesses, the one who started the slave farms for meat, the..."
Unexpectedly, his head exploded in pain; he had not seen the fist coming, could not believe the power, and speed in that small fist.
"Shut up!" Delire's face was almost as red as his, her mouth bent into a snarl. "More than any the halflings have suffered at Gerion’s accursed hand! You don't know much about me, I wasn't born into this city. I was one of those rescued from the farms by the House of Souls. I have seen brothers, sisters, cousins, gutted and treated like cattle and placed on the table to satisfy the accursed hunger of the fiends and their minions. I have never seen Gerion, many of the powerful fiends have copied his camps of meat slaves, seen his ways as being worthy of emulation."
She walked away, her back turned. "Come to my office as soon as you can. I have to go tell the others, tell the powers-that-be to start evacuating. Maybe we can save some of our people, who knows how far away they are?" She walked out, not seeing how Jeria sank back into the cushions, covered his face with an arm, hiding his face from the world around him.
***
Gyv woke to sunlight streaming down onto her face. She looked around and saw the forest edge behind and the cliff, with waves crashing below, in front. She sat up, pulling the ravaged edges of her shirt together. She stopped, her hand exploring her shoulder. It bit me, I felt it eating me! Is Mekior a healer as well as warrior? He has never hinted at such powers. She looked to her other side, to the sleeping form of Mekior. What are you hiding, Mekior? What are you? Who are you?
They moved on, sticking to the ocean's edge and staying near to the eaves of the forest. They travelled on, Gyv taking the lead, her knowledge of the outdoors, of how to move through the wilds essential. Slowly they turned to the north, their travels a massive arc that would slowly take them back towards the city.
They sat together at night, huddled next to each other, trying to warm each other in clothing inadequate for the weather that was turning, from the cool freshness of autumn, to the true cold of the winter winds. Gyv seemed to feel the bite of the cold worse than Mekior and shuffled her body closer to Mekior, feeling the heat of his body against hers.
"Why are we heading to Weald Hall? We have no hope of reaching there before Gerion's army." She turned; her face against his where they huddled under a tree. "It will be gone; abandoned if Jeria got their in time, a charnel house if he did not. We can continue along the coast. It will take time but we could make our way to Fort Livian, seek refuge with the dwarfs."
"I must know, Gyv. I need to know if Jeria was successful, if the people I loved are still living, enslaved, dead or worse. And there is a promise to be filled, a duty I cannot deny or abandon." His fingers reached out, stroking her cheeks, pulling her face towards his. They came together, two lone humans beneath a tree seeking comfort; the tension, the stress, the close proximity of the last few weeks enough to dissolve the barriers between the two. The kiss was sweet, the actions afterwards frenetic, almost desperate; they slept soundly, the night passing peaceably around them. It was a moment of idyllic peace, the world seemed to stop let nothing come to destroy the perfect moment, a momentary pause in the pain of existence for those caught in the world created by Jelial.
The morning sun woke them, and they moved forward. The silence between them a connection as meaningful as a full conversation could have been. The days of travel had created a familiarity, an understanding, between the two. It took them close to a month to get home, to traverse the long, indirect route they followed. To get to the entrance beneath the mountain from which they had emerged so long ago.
Mekior stood before the entrance. The ground showed sides of battle, stained with blood soaked deeply into the loose soil. Skeletons, pecked clean by the vultures and other scavengers lay scattered about. He wandered through the remains and identified the remains of both human and devil littered the ground.
"What do you make of it Gyv? To me it seems that a battle must have been fought, and if so the city must have had time to prepare, the number of dead here is too many for a rushed deployment."
Gyv wandered through the area, up the sides of the mountain, finding bodies, burnt and blackened, behind any shred of cover. The remains of a massive catapult, its remnants charcoal from the fierce blaze that had engulfed it. A short distance away its operators lay dead next to a large pile of massive rocks, made her mind up.
"They knew the devils were coming. This ambush was exceptionally well planned and organized. I would say they lost anyway, the bodies go all the way to the entrance, and only a few fiendish bones are mixed in with the human ones." She clambered down, coming to stand by Mekior. "I think the battle is still raging inside. They didn't come out to clear away their dead since they obviously cannot spare the manpower." She looked at Mekior, her face triumphant. "The city is fighting, they must be!" Gyv headed for the entrance. "Come on, maybe we can do something from behind them to aid the city.
The two entered the cavern, which would lead them back to the city, the stalactite and stalagmite maze destroyed before them. Piles of bodies lay before them, rats and other cave dwellers scurrying for cover as they entered. They walked through, holding their noses, the smell of decaying flesh still strong within the cavern though the bodies had been stripped clean by the cavern scavengers. They started down the pathway to the city, picking their way carefully, until they came to a dead end. Overhead the roof had collapsed; piles of rock lay across their path, cutting off any travel.
"This is why they did not come back this way. The city must have activated this trap as their last defence. Come, I know another way in, though it is not a route I would have chosen, or used." Mekior laughed at the end, attracting a curious glance from Gyv. "It is nothing, really. I was just thinking of my initial fear, the way the outdoors seemed so much worse than many of the enemies I have faced. It seems I forgot my fear, and I wonder if this is the reason the other entrance is abandoned, too open, the outside too close and painful for many."
Mekior turned, headed back up the passage, leaving the massive pile of rocks and the bodies of uncounted devils and their minions to rot behind them. He wondered how many, if any of the more powerful devils lay within, trapped and destroyed beneath tons of rubble. He grieved for those who had defended the city; fighting, falling slowly back, making the trap look too good to resist, giving their lives to make sure the bait would be taken. Behind, Gyv followed, her thoughts in the same pattern as Mekior's, her guilt gnawing at her, almost a physical pain as she looked at the effects her betrayal had wrought. She knew that the General was not there. Somehow, she felt connected to him, that if he were to die she would know it. One day there would be a reckoning. I will face you again you slimy, fiendish bastard. Face you and kill you. But not yet! That day will only come when destroying you will be eternal, not just an empty act rectified by some coddled mageling who can summon you back.
***
Deep under the ground, Delire and Jeria huddled together. They watched the march of the people through the underground tunnels, massive wagons pulled by cave beasts that bellowed their protest at the load. The wagons were loaded down with food; enough to feed every refugee for another week. Around the refugees, pairs of guards and scouts kept a lookout for danger.
Two weeks had passed since the city had been abandoned, Delire still mourned for the many Outwalkers and soldiers that had stayed behind to fight the devils, to lure them into the trap that would destroy their army and block them from following the column of refugees. She spoke little these days. She gave orders, taking command and ignoring the city leaders who now walked below amongst the commoners. All had been brought low. All were now equal in their poverty and destitution. When the city was abandoned, so was everything else, each person carried only their clothes and two blankets.
"Jeria, go out wide, find the next guard pair and bring them back here. You and I are going forward. The next lake should be coming up soon and I want to see who is in possession."
Jeria scurried forward; eager to follow her orders and prove himself worthy of the badge of the Outwalkers he had been given. He still remembered the ceremony, taking place as the first of the refugees stepped out of the back gate, herded in the direction they hoped refuge would lie: Gunder's Hall.
Five Outwalkers stood before him, each in full regalia. Delire stood up, pulling his head down to her level, affixing the badge to his cloak with a pin. She stepped back, turned to the other five present. "In the absence of his Master, Gruzz, killed mercilessly in action by a devil, I stand and present the apprentice Jeria. I recognize he has passed the solitary vigil, survived three days on his own on the outside and passed the test of necessity, returning with information essential to us all. Does anyone challenge my right to recognize him as an Outwalker?" One by one each of the masters stepped forward, proclaimed him acceptable; each affixed their own mark to the badge he wore. Then they left, the city needed them and there was no time available for celebration. Delire simply looked at him; nodded and walked away.
***
Delire and Jeria lay hidden behind a pillar, peering down at the lake before them. The entrance in would be large enough for the food and water wagons, just. What worried them was the checkpoint set across it. They looked, Delire cursing the distance to see them better.
"We're going to have to go forward, and they WILL see us approaching. It doesn't look like devils or their stooges, but this deep there are plenty of others to worry about. Best case it will be some of the blasted dark dwarves, worst case we will have to deal with the slaves of those ruddy grey faced, blood sucking crabs." She saw Jeria's look and added, "Right, they're not crabs, but those mouths always remind me of a crab. I'm talking about the Aeliogh. You've probably never met one; we didn't allow them in the city for all the peace that prevails down here. Nobody trusts them, who can trust a brain eating creature that uses the rest of the body like a zombie when it has finished?"
The two stood up, heading down the passage, sticking to the sides to try to avoid being seen for as long as possible. Uselessly, as it turned out. As they passed a black crystal globe set in the wall it flared up, bathing them in a strange purple light, Jeria's skin shining oddly beneath it. From the barricade, a man stepped forward, coming into the light himself. He looked at them, and at this distance his black skin, grey eyes and pointy ears gave some comfort, that and the badge of the trading house of Serlius.
"I am Keral, commander of this post and watcher of the gate. What brings you two here?" He examined them, noting the badges they wore. "You are from Weald hall, or so your insignia mark you? Have you heard what has happened? Rumours have come down but not much more."
Delire stood where she was, looking the Dark Paeon in the eyes, "I am Delire, Chief of the Outwalkers of the by now destroyed Weald Hall. I lead the refugees. They follow behind me. Three thousand people will be coming through here within eight hours. Is the lake area clear?"
Keral stared at her, taking in her face, her badge and her claim. "Your reputation is known. My men will move the barrier and make the path easier for those behind you. No doubt, many of them will be tired, worn out from their journey. I will send word ahead. The lake has a trading post but they will need to send out for a lot more provisions than they normally have."
***
Gerion stood within the encampment, fuming. Gibbets stood in lines, the bodies of his pathetic officers strung up by their arms. He walked down the line, disembowelling some of them; his choice at random, seeming a chaotic pattern, known only to him and not to those forced to observe.. He came to the end of the line and looked back at the gibbets, at those pathetic ones that screamed, staring down at the loops of their intestines hanging the ground.
"Release those I spared; bring Khiss to me."
Soldiers hurried to carry out his bidding, knowing that those officers freed would look kindly on them and reward them, if they did the job quickly and efficiently. One of them went running into the camp, into the centre where a small tent sat surrounded by pickets and the tents of the most powerful devils. The creature that emerged from the tent was no devil though. It was small, its features those of a bipedal lizard, arms in place of the upper set of legs. Khiss approached Gerion and bowed.
"Summon Ber'lia back. I want to know what happened to him and his hounds." Gerion's voice was soft, but everyone nearby recognised the muted fury it contained. Khiss wasted no time, thankful that Ber'lia was but a minor devil and the toll exacted on his power would leave him bedridden and in pain for no more than a few days.
Those around Gerion and Khiss watched as Khiss started his summoning; dancing and chanting in the sibilant language his kind used. Faster he spun, his feet falling in a set pattern, the ground slowly brightening, the summoning pattern burning into the rock. Eventually he dropped, his feet worn raw, his blood imparting power to the pattern. The brightness rose and heat washed across those that stood nearby. The devil slain by Mekior stood within the circle.
Gerion turned to two devils who stood ready, their forms the same as the unlucky Ber'lia. "Strap him up and get the torturers to work on him, I will be there shortly." He turned to Ber'lia
"You lost me my prisoners and my son. You will pay." The smile on Gerion's face was cold, bringing fear into the eyes of a devil that had never before contemplated such an emotion, "For a very long time."
Five days. It had been five days of sweat, of running non-stop with stolen, quick snatches of rest between hours of movement. Jeria stopped and wiped sweat from his forehead, sweat that flowed down his face and stung his eyes even in the cool weather. The trees loomed large around him, their tops shrouded in the early morning mist. He moved forward, stumbling in exhaustion, five days of travel taking their toll. He was exhausted when he stumbled out of the forest, and looked up at the mountain before him. He sank to his knees, home and the protection of the deep caverns, almost within reach.
Jeria walked through the maze; dazed, his parched mouth dry from having only a few sips of water when he could find some on his journey. The path down to the city gate passed in a blur, he didn't know how long it took, he just felt himself sinking, falling into the arms of a guard, whispering "Delire, get Delire."
Jeria awoke in a simple room. The light from the floaters shone through the window whose lace curtains were open to the outside. At his bed sat Delire, her face stoic, eyes sunken deep and surrounded by black rings. She looked at Jeria and noted the time he moved from asleep to awake. She leaned forward, her small childlike hands coming to cover his.
"Gruzz is dead, isn't he?" Her voice was soft, lifeless. "Tell me what happened, how it happened." Her face turned to look at Jeria with dull eyes, an expression on her face that froze Jeria's blood.
Gruzz and Delire? How?!! She is a halfling; he was a half-ogre. Jeria stared at the halfling, fearing her expression, recalling the stories of her legendary martial prowess, lethality hidden in a body whose childlike appearance disarmed a foe who did not know better. "They're coming Delire. The devils are coming." His voice was low, intense. He tried to keep it unemotional; he did not want to start a spiral into depression that would prevent both of them from being effective.
"Gyv. She was controlled, they saw through her eyes, heard as we spoke. We led them straight to the House of Souls safe house from which Gyv had operated." He stopped, seeing the look of horror in Delire's eyes.
"How did they do it? Mekior examined her, declared her clean, free of taint". She stood up, pacing, "How long, how long before they get here?" She came to an abrupt halt, looking straight at Jeria, "and how did you get away?"
Jeria closed his eyes, knowing that he was going to have to tell her all of it, tell her of his father. "General Gerion was the mastermind behind the whole thing. It was he that controlled Gyv, set us up." He stopped, looked at Delire, took a deep breathe, blurting the last bit out. "He's my father, Delire. In the end it was how we got away. It seems he had plans for his son. He was grooming me, trying to get me to defect to their side. My whole life I always wondered what fiend, what monster, was my father. Now I know, and the truth is far worse than I could have imagined. The monster that is renowned for his genocidal rampages, his excesses, the one who started the slave farms for meat, the..."
Unexpectedly, his head exploded in pain; he had not seen the fist coming, could not believe the power, and speed in that small fist.
"Shut up!" Delire's face was almost as red as his, her mouth bent into a snarl. "More than any the halflings have suffered at Gerion’s accursed hand! You don't know much about me, I wasn't born into this city. I was one of those rescued from the farms by the House of Souls. I have seen brothers, sisters, cousins, gutted and treated like cattle and placed on the table to satisfy the accursed hunger of the fiends and their minions. I have never seen Gerion, many of the powerful fiends have copied his camps of meat slaves, seen his ways as being worthy of emulation."
She walked away, her back turned. "Come to my office as soon as you can. I have to go tell the others, tell the powers-that-be to start evacuating. Maybe we can save some of our people, who knows how far away they are?" She walked out, not seeing how Jeria sank back into the cushions, covered his face with an arm, hiding his face from the world around him.
***
Gyv woke to sunlight streaming down onto her face. She looked around and saw the forest edge behind and the cliff, with waves crashing below, in front. She sat up, pulling the ravaged edges of her shirt together. She stopped, her hand exploring her shoulder. It bit me, I felt it eating me! Is Mekior a healer as well as warrior? He has never hinted at such powers. She looked to her other side, to the sleeping form of Mekior. What are you hiding, Mekior? What are you? Who are you?
They moved on, sticking to the ocean's edge and staying near to the eaves of the forest. They travelled on, Gyv taking the lead, her knowledge of the outdoors, of how to move through the wilds essential. Slowly they turned to the north, their travels a massive arc that would slowly take them back towards the city.
They sat together at night, huddled next to each other, trying to warm each other in clothing inadequate for the weather that was turning, from the cool freshness of autumn, to the true cold of the winter winds. Gyv seemed to feel the bite of the cold worse than Mekior and shuffled her body closer to Mekior, feeling the heat of his body against hers.
"Why are we heading to Weald Hall? We have no hope of reaching there before Gerion's army." She turned; her face against his where they huddled under a tree. "It will be gone; abandoned if Jeria got their in time, a charnel house if he did not. We can continue along the coast. It will take time but we could make our way to Fort Livian, seek refuge with the dwarfs."
"I must know, Gyv. I need to know if Jeria was successful, if the people I loved are still living, enslaved, dead or worse. And there is a promise to be filled, a duty I cannot deny or abandon." His fingers reached out, stroking her cheeks, pulling her face towards his. They came together, two lone humans beneath a tree seeking comfort; the tension, the stress, the close proximity of the last few weeks enough to dissolve the barriers between the two. The kiss was sweet, the actions afterwards frenetic, almost desperate; they slept soundly, the night passing peaceably around them. It was a moment of idyllic peace, the world seemed to stop let nothing come to destroy the perfect moment, a momentary pause in the pain of existence for those caught in the world created by Jelial.
The morning sun woke them, and they moved forward. The silence between them a connection as meaningful as a full conversation could have been. The days of travel had created a familiarity, an understanding, between the two. It took them close to a month to get home, to traverse the long, indirect route they followed. To get to the entrance beneath the mountain from which they had emerged so long ago.
Mekior stood before the entrance. The ground showed sides of battle, stained with blood soaked deeply into the loose soil. Skeletons, pecked clean by the vultures and other scavengers lay scattered about. He wandered through the remains and identified the remains of both human and devil littered the ground.
"What do you make of it Gyv? To me it seems that a battle must have been fought, and if so the city must have had time to prepare, the number of dead here is too many for a rushed deployment."
Gyv wandered through the area, up the sides of the mountain, finding bodies, burnt and blackened, behind any shred of cover. The remains of a massive catapult, its remnants charcoal from the fierce blaze that had engulfed it. A short distance away its operators lay dead next to a large pile of massive rocks, made her mind up.
"They knew the devils were coming. This ambush was exceptionally well planned and organized. I would say they lost anyway, the bodies go all the way to the entrance, and only a few fiendish bones are mixed in with the human ones." She clambered down, coming to stand by Mekior. "I think the battle is still raging inside. They didn't come out to clear away their dead since they obviously cannot spare the manpower." She looked at Mekior, her face triumphant. "The city is fighting, they must be!" Gyv headed for the entrance. "Come on, maybe we can do something from behind them to aid the city.
The two entered the cavern, which would lead them back to the city, the stalactite and stalagmite maze destroyed before them. Piles of bodies lay before them, rats and other cave dwellers scurrying for cover as they entered. They walked through, holding their noses, the smell of decaying flesh still strong within the cavern though the bodies had been stripped clean by the cavern scavengers. They started down the pathway to the city, picking their way carefully, until they came to a dead end. Overhead the roof had collapsed; piles of rock lay across their path, cutting off any travel.
"This is why they did not come back this way. The city must have activated this trap as their last defence. Come, I know another way in, though it is not a route I would have chosen, or used." Mekior laughed at the end, attracting a curious glance from Gyv. "It is nothing, really. I was just thinking of my initial fear, the way the outdoors seemed so much worse than many of the enemies I have faced. It seems I forgot my fear, and I wonder if this is the reason the other entrance is abandoned, too open, the outside too close and painful for many."
Mekior turned, headed back up the passage, leaving the massive pile of rocks and the bodies of uncounted devils and their minions to rot behind them. He wondered how many, if any of the more powerful devils lay within, trapped and destroyed beneath tons of rubble. He grieved for those who had defended the city; fighting, falling slowly back, making the trap look too good to resist, giving their lives to make sure the bait would be taken. Behind, Gyv followed, her thoughts in the same pattern as Mekior's, her guilt gnawing at her, almost a physical pain as she looked at the effects her betrayal had wrought. She knew that the General was not there. Somehow, she felt connected to him, that if he were to die she would know it. One day there would be a reckoning. I will face you again you slimy, fiendish bastard. Face you and kill you. But not yet! That day will only come when destroying you will be eternal, not just an empty act rectified by some coddled mageling who can summon you back.
***
Deep under the ground, Delire and Jeria huddled together. They watched the march of the people through the underground tunnels, massive wagons pulled by cave beasts that bellowed their protest at the load. The wagons were loaded down with food; enough to feed every refugee for another week. Around the refugees, pairs of guards and scouts kept a lookout for danger.
Two weeks had passed since the city had been abandoned, Delire still mourned for the many Outwalkers and soldiers that had stayed behind to fight the devils, to lure them into the trap that would destroy their army and block them from following the column of refugees. She spoke little these days. She gave orders, taking command and ignoring the city leaders who now walked below amongst the commoners. All had been brought low. All were now equal in their poverty and destitution. When the city was abandoned, so was everything else, each person carried only their clothes and two blankets.
"Jeria, go out wide, find the next guard pair and bring them back here. You and I are going forward. The next lake should be coming up soon and I want to see who is in possession."
Jeria scurried forward; eager to follow her orders and prove himself worthy of the badge of the Outwalkers he had been given. He still remembered the ceremony, taking place as the first of the refugees stepped out of the back gate, herded in the direction they hoped refuge would lie: Gunder's Hall.
Five Outwalkers stood before him, each in full regalia. Delire stood up, pulling his head down to her level, affixing the badge to his cloak with a pin. She stepped back, turned to the other five present. "In the absence of his Master, Gruzz, killed mercilessly in action by a devil, I stand and present the apprentice Jeria. I recognize he has passed the solitary vigil, survived three days on his own on the outside and passed the test of necessity, returning with information essential to us all. Does anyone challenge my right to recognize him as an Outwalker?" One by one each of the masters stepped forward, proclaimed him acceptable; each affixed their own mark to the badge he wore. Then they left, the city needed them and there was no time available for celebration. Delire simply looked at him; nodded and walked away.
***
Delire and Jeria lay hidden behind a pillar, peering down at the lake before them. The entrance in would be large enough for the food and water wagons, just. What worried them was the checkpoint set across it. They looked, Delire cursing the distance to see them better.
"We're going to have to go forward, and they WILL see us approaching. It doesn't look like devils or their stooges, but this deep there are plenty of others to worry about. Best case it will be some of the blasted dark dwarves, worst case we will have to deal with the slaves of those ruddy grey faced, blood sucking crabs." She saw Jeria's look and added, "Right, they're not crabs, but those mouths always remind me of a crab. I'm talking about the Aeliogh. You've probably never met one; we didn't allow them in the city for all the peace that prevails down here. Nobody trusts them, who can trust a brain eating creature that uses the rest of the body like a zombie when it has finished?"
The two stood up, heading down the passage, sticking to the sides to try to avoid being seen for as long as possible. Uselessly, as it turned out. As they passed a black crystal globe set in the wall it flared up, bathing them in a strange purple light, Jeria's skin shining oddly beneath it. From the barricade, a man stepped forward, coming into the light himself. He looked at them, and at this distance his black skin, grey eyes and pointy ears gave some comfort, that and the badge of the trading house of Serlius.
"I am Keral, commander of this post and watcher of the gate. What brings you two here?" He examined them, noting the badges they wore. "You are from Weald hall, or so your insignia mark you? Have you heard what has happened? Rumours have come down but not much more."
Delire stood where she was, looking the Dark Paeon in the eyes, "I am Delire, Chief of the Outwalkers of the by now destroyed Weald Hall. I lead the refugees. They follow behind me. Three thousand people will be coming through here within eight hours. Is the lake area clear?"
Keral stared at her, taking in her face, her badge and her claim. "Your reputation is known. My men will move the barrier and make the path easier for those behind you. No doubt, many of them will be tired, worn out from their journey. I will send word ahead. The lake has a trading post but they will need to send out for a lot more provisions than they normally have."
***
Gerion stood within the encampment, fuming. Gibbets stood in lines, the bodies of his pathetic officers strung up by their arms. He walked down the line, disembowelling some of them; his choice at random, seeming a chaotic pattern, known only to him and not to those forced to observe.. He came to the end of the line and looked back at the gibbets, at those pathetic ones that screamed, staring down at the loops of their intestines hanging the ground.
"Release those I spared; bring Khiss to me."
Soldiers hurried to carry out his bidding, knowing that those officers freed would look kindly on them and reward them, if they did the job quickly and efficiently. One of them went running into the camp, into the centre where a small tent sat surrounded by pickets and the tents of the most powerful devils. The creature that emerged from the tent was no devil though. It was small, its features those of a bipedal lizard, arms in place of the upper set of legs. Khiss approached Gerion and bowed.
"Summon Ber'lia back. I want to know what happened to him and his hounds." Gerion's voice was soft, but everyone nearby recognised the muted fury it contained. Khiss wasted no time, thankful that Ber'lia was but a minor devil and the toll exacted on his power would leave him bedridden and in pain for no more than a few days.
Those around Gerion and Khiss watched as Khiss started his summoning; dancing and chanting in the sibilant language his kind used. Faster he spun, his feet falling in a set pattern, the ground slowly brightening, the summoning pattern burning into the rock. Eventually he dropped, his feet worn raw, his blood imparting power to the pattern. The brightness rose and heat washed across those that stood nearby. The devil slain by Mekior stood within the circle.
Gerion turned to two devils who stood ready, their forms the same as the unlucky Ber'lia. "Strap him up and get the torturers to work on him, I will be there shortly." He turned to Ber'lia
"You lost me my prisoners and my son. You will pay." The smile on Gerion's face was cold, bringing fear into the eyes of a devil that had never before contemplated such an emotion, "For a very long time."
Ghostknight
First Post
Chapter 9
The mass of refugees moved through the gap, heading towards the Outpost by the lake. Delire stood with Jeria and watched the weary trudge of the tired, worn out, ragged refugees. Many of the wealthier citizens struggled with bruised, bloodied feet, the more sturdy work boots of the working classes lasting, and protecting, better. Delire gestured to Jeria; they moved forward, and once again, they left the column of people and wagons behind.
Delire noted happily that the path down to the lake was an easy one, the refugees would appreciate the water smoothed rock, worn enough that it was no longer slippery but containing no major obstacles. The trip took the two of them two days, the massive caverns walls fading from sight. When they reached the Outpost, they were amazed at the activity. Scores of masons and builders were building an outer wall and lines of carts bearing food were coming in; large tents were blooming near the lake, creating a city of their own.
They wandered nearer and sharp-eyed sentries spotted them as they neared and sent horse mounted troops out to meet them. The troops arrived quickly with two spare horses in tow.
"Word of your expected arrival was sent. Welcome." They were helped onto the horses, the seasoned horsemen around them steadying them and helping them to remain mounted as they cantered towards the city. After but a short distance, Delire was quickly dismounted and placed in front of another rider to share a horse. Her short stature left her unable to gain a decent grip on the massive beast. At the city a man stood; his armour of a finer quality than his men's, a sword with a jewelled pommel at his waist.
"Welcome, Delire and Jeria. Our advance units reported your journey and we have prepared as best we could. Come, there is much to talk about and you will need water and food after your long trip." The man led them through the outpost, into the main keep and a large office. One of the Dark Paeons sat behind a large desk, rising as Delire and Jeria entered. He was tall for his kind, wearing long, flowing, grey robes with a badge in the shape of a harp over his left breast.
"Greetings unto you; May the music of the Gods flower in your ears. You are welcomed to Lake Harmony. I am the Master Harpist Darid, the commander of the keep and of those that dwell within. Let us retire to my private dining area so you may refresh yourselves and rest weary legs, I will tell you what is proposed and the message I would like you to convey to your people."
Darid bowed, steeped forward and opened a door set into the far wall, leading them into a smaller room, containing little but a table carved from some dark wood, its surface filigreed with lines of an unusual purple rock. Darid took a seat at the head of the table and gestured for Delire to take the place of honour to his left. Everyone seated himself or herself, and servants dressed in the grey livery matching that of Darid’s colours quickly brought in food. No conversation began, Darid remained silent until all had food and had started to eat.
"The destruction of your city is known to us. We mourn its loss, deeply. The actions of Weald Hall created a symphony that was enjoyed by all. You and your fellow travellers are welcome to rest in our care, but in these unfortunate events I see an opportunity." He hesitated, trying to mask the excitement he obviously felt might manifest, and would be inappropriate in front of those that had been dispossessed and suffered a grievous loss.
"This cavern is large; there is space here to build a city larger and better protected than Weald Hall ever was. In time, we could grow to be one of the most powerful and prosperous cities within the network, that is the reality of our life underground. The lake supplies fish and ample drinking water for a multitude. The area is a crossroads, though only three paths lead into the cavern, multiple areas joins into those three paths and trade will automatically arrive and help to build up the city." He looked at the two Outwalkers, trying to gauge their reaction. Both sat there, evidently interested but neither looked like they were completely enamoured with his idea.
"Think of this. We will take all your people in as citizens. Help to build them homes, make sure they receive food, provide them with clothes and integrate them into our community. In return we will receive the expertise and wealth of experience for which Weald Hall was renowned; a corps of Outwalkers that was famous, fiend hunters that guarded your gates and kept the immediate area secure and alchemists who knew the secret of cold iron, and produced enough of it that no gate guard was armed without it." Darid leaned back, hoping he had sold the two on his idea.
Delire looked at Jeria and then pulled herself forward, a smile on her face. "Who is going to rule? You, Master Harpist? Forgive me for being blunt, but your race is not known for its love of others, and its rulers are noted more for their cruelty than their love of sharing power. You have been most gracious, and your offer is more than fair, but the reputation of your kind makes me reluctant to place our future within your hands. Indeed, this is not my decision to make; you should have made it to those who have authority."
If Delire had expected anything, it was not laughter. The Master Harpist's laughter was clear, musical and accompanied by a smile.
"I appreciate your candour, Delire. Indeed my race is, as you said, noted more for its cruelty than its altruism. Truly, our reputation often does us justice, too many of our kind are adept at cruelty and are truly vain. That is not so for those within this outpost. We are outcasts amongst our own, worshippers of the wind, the whistle and music of its passage. We share much with our brethren, but not their worship of the dark Gods and their love of cruelty, nor their disdain for others. In the past, our brethren would have destroyed us without compunction, used us as sacrifices upon their altars, and as commodities to be traded with those that rule above. Time and necessity has changed them. They no longer hunt and destroy outcasts like ourselves, but use us to expand their territory. Small outposts like this are given the bare necessities to survive. If we make it, they will use us as a conduit to other races, a means of facilitating trade and dialogue, knowing that few will trade with them and none will enter their cities."
He sipped at the goblet of white wine before him. "As for presenting this to those that have authority, you evidently have not taken in the state of your refugees. How many of your previous councillors and ministers retain any power? Without their wealth and their holdings, how many of them will be able to muster any respect? No, Delire. It is you, the heads of the guards that protect the refugees, the men in charge of the food that wield the power. If you speak, they will listen."
The three continued their meal, conversation drifting from the serious to the mundane. At the end, Delire and Jeria left, happy with what was to come and bearing an invitation to a new future and the chance to be part of something new; not just refugees assigned to the slums of Gunder's Hall.
***
Gyv and Mekior worked their way round the mountain. For four days, they searched for the hidden entrance, finally finding it concealed behind a copse of trees. The hidden entrance was a dank hole that was filled with the droppings and the smell of some predatory beast. They descended carefully, Gyv looking for clues as to what beast was responsible; scared they might meet it within. Only once at the bottom did she see it was a ruse, the small chamber's walls not the dank earth from above, but carefully worked rock. In the rear of the room, they wormed through a small hole, and were grasped by hands as they started through, hands that pulled them roughly through the hidden gap. They looked up to find themselves facing a group of dwarves.
"What have we here? Outsiders; question is, who do you work for?" A dwarf stepped up, his armour dulled by black paint, a large bladed axe strapped to his back. The others stood watching them, their weapons at the ready, their faces hidden by full faced helms, visors drawn closed. "No, don't get up. If you satisfy us that you are allies and not foes, we will allow you up, if not, it will be easier for us to drag your bodies away."
The two relaxed, knowing that they stood no chance from this prone position.
"Now, care to tell me who you are, where you are going and why I shouldn't just have your heads removed from your shoulders as a precautionary measure?"
Mekior looked at him, and spoke, his voice clear, but no louder than necessary to carry to the dwarf that questioned them.
"I am Mekior, a fiend Hunter from Weald Hall. My companion is Gyv, late of the House of Souls. We have lost our companions, been attacked by fiends and worked our way through the wilds for close to a month. Just tell me what has happened to Weald Hall before you chop of my head, so that I can at least die with my curiosity satisfied."
The dwarf looked at the two, their scruffy, damaged clothes, dishevelled, dirty appearances and their gaunt bodies and faces. He held his hand out, pulling first Mekior and then Gyv to their feet. "Welcome home. Come share a mug of ale and rest by our hearth, and I will tell you what I know. Then you must decide what you wish to do." The group moved back, fading into an opening in the rocks, invisible from the construction of the passageway.
The room beyond was just a murder hole, beyond that lay a comfortable encampment, a hearth with a roaring fire heating and lighting the room. The dwarf led them to a table, pulling up a chair as he sat, and watching as two of the dwarves mounted some stairs and took up their watch positions on the entrance below.
He pulled out a large ale skin, filling three mugs to their brims, a welcoming froth on top. Mekior took a long draught, surprised to find it pleasingly warm, a slight taste of cinnamon coming through. Gyv was more circumspect, not fully trusting the dwarves and not wanting to impair her facilities should they need to escape.
"Well, Mekior of Weald Hall and Gyv of the House of Souls, I am Fihor, sergeant of the watch and part of the Gunder's Hall army. On my word, what I say and what I tell will be only the truth, as I know it.” He paused, the opening formulae completed. “An army of fiends came through. Obviously someone had informed on the city since they headed straight for the gate." The dwarf, busy with his ale, never the less noticed the slight start Gyv made at these words, watching her surreptitiously he continued, "The city had been warned by one of their Outwalkers, a half-fiend by the stories, but who could believe one of those bastards would turn on their own? Anyways, the city set-up a welcoming committee, they held that army up for days, while the evacuation took place. It was the only solution really, once the devils knew where it was, it became merely a matter of time, there was no way to preserve it indefinitely. It was a good battle; the humans on both sides fought well. The magic of the defenders easily the equal of the devils, at least until that blasted Gerion and his entourage arrived. Seems he was delayed with Disciplinary matters, never did find out exactly what that meant."
The dwarf paused to drain his mug, refilling it from the ale skin which seemed to never empty. "Anyways, Gerion and his entourage blasted the defenders, forcing them to retreat within. Our spies lost track of the battle once it went underground, but it seems apparent that the defenders were a suicide force. Once they had a significant portion of the devil's forces in there with them, they dropped the mountain on the lot of them. Weald Hall is now solidly encased in rock, the paths from there into the network blocked and rendered useless.”
“Gerion was furious; he ordered his forces home, not even allowing them to recover their dead to bury of burn." He chuckled, raising his glass, "A toast to those brave souls who gave their lives to score a blow and save their fellow citizens." They all drank in silence, their thoughts on those who had died to make the ruse successful.
After a suitable time Mekior spoke up. "Tell me, Fihor, where did the refugees from Weald Hall go?" Fihor stood, pacing, coming to rest behind Gyv's chair. His hands shot out, grabbing her hair, pulling her tight head back over the top of the chair, exposing her neck.
"How much do you know of your companion Mekior? Did you not see her guilt when I spoke of a traitor, an informer?" The dwarf's voice a low growl, the fury and pain within obvious. "Her kind, the lowly, traitorous scum, have led us into the trouble we have these days. I give you your informer. Take your revenge; strike her down, in memory of your city."
Mekior stood slowly, seeing the fear in Gyv's eyes, the way she let her hands hang down; she knew that to reach for a weapon was instant death. He looked at her wondering how much to say, how much of the truth was needed to convince the dwarf to let her go.
"Fihor, my friend, she is no traitor. No more than any other who has been controlled by devils against their will. She bears no guilt. Her actions were the ones that led to the cities destruction. Gerion himself rode her consciousness, controlled her. More than my city was lost to the wiles of Gerion; she was forced to kill her own husband, betray her own people and strung up to be a mere pawn for Gerion when he no longer needed her." He stopped, looked at the dwarf, and knelt down. "Kill her, and then me, if you must; though it will not change what has happened. I will not strike at you or your fellow sentries, but if you kill her then you must kill me as well." He bowed his head; not daring to look up until a soft hand took his chin, lifted it and placed a kiss upon his lips.
He turned and saw that Fihor watched them.
"Make your way to Lake Harmony. A new city is under construction there. The Dark Paeons and the refugees corroborate to build a new city, a new society. A strange mix, but it seems that much is happening within the realms of the Dark Paeons and they, too, produce outcasts. We will give you provisions for your way. Go well and in peace."
The two rested, sleeping that night in the comfort of the dwarven outpost. The trip to the lake took them another week, but they moved quickly, eagerly, the journey a happy one now that they knew most of the city had been saved. Gyv and Mekior talked often, rejoicing in their new found love, the fact that Jeria lived and the city, though destroyed, lived on in a new place. They were awe-struck when they entered, amazed at the cavern's size and the massive wall that enclosed much of it, nothing visible beyond its high ramparts. They gazed in wonder, and followed the guards that arrived happily, into what they hoped would be a better future.
The mass of refugees moved through the gap, heading towards the Outpost by the lake. Delire stood with Jeria and watched the weary trudge of the tired, worn out, ragged refugees. Many of the wealthier citizens struggled with bruised, bloodied feet, the more sturdy work boots of the working classes lasting, and protecting, better. Delire gestured to Jeria; they moved forward, and once again, they left the column of people and wagons behind.
Delire noted happily that the path down to the lake was an easy one, the refugees would appreciate the water smoothed rock, worn enough that it was no longer slippery but containing no major obstacles. The trip took the two of them two days, the massive caverns walls fading from sight. When they reached the Outpost, they were amazed at the activity. Scores of masons and builders were building an outer wall and lines of carts bearing food were coming in; large tents were blooming near the lake, creating a city of their own.
They wandered nearer and sharp-eyed sentries spotted them as they neared and sent horse mounted troops out to meet them. The troops arrived quickly with two spare horses in tow.
"Word of your expected arrival was sent. Welcome." They were helped onto the horses, the seasoned horsemen around them steadying them and helping them to remain mounted as they cantered towards the city. After but a short distance, Delire was quickly dismounted and placed in front of another rider to share a horse. Her short stature left her unable to gain a decent grip on the massive beast. At the city a man stood; his armour of a finer quality than his men's, a sword with a jewelled pommel at his waist.
"Welcome, Delire and Jeria. Our advance units reported your journey and we have prepared as best we could. Come, there is much to talk about and you will need water and food after your long trip." The man led them through the outpost, into the main keep and a large office. One of the Dark Paeons sat behind a large desk, rising as Delire and Jeria entered. He was tall for his kind, wearing long, flowing, grey robes with a badge in the shape of a harp over his left breast.
"Greetings unto you; May the music of the Gods flower in your ears. You are welcomed to Lake Harmony. I am the Master Harpist Darid, the commander of the keep and of those that dwell within. Let us retire to my private dining area so you may refresh yourselves and rest weary legs, I will tell you what is proposed and the message I would like you to convey to your people."
Darid bowed, steeped forward and opened a door set into the far wall, leading them into a smaller room, containing little but a table carved from some dark wood, its surface filigreed with lines of an unusual purple rock. Darid took a seat at the head of the table and gestured for Delire to take the place of honour to his left. Everyone seated himself or herself, and servants dressed in the grey livery matching that of Darid’s colours quickly brought in food. No conversation began, Darid remained silent until all had food and had started to eat.
"The destruction of your city is known to us. We mourn its loss, deeply. The actions of Weald Hall created a symphony that was enjoyed by all. You and your fellow travellers are welcome to rest in our care, but in these unfortunate events I see an opportunity." He hesitated, trying to mask the excitement he obviously felt might manifest, and would be inappropriate in front of those that had been dispossessed and suffered a grievous loss.
"This cavern is large; there is space here to build a city larger and better protected than Weald Hall ever was. In time, we could grow to be one of the most powerful and prosperous cities within the network, that is the reality of our life underground. The lake supplies fish and ample drinking water for a multitude. The area is a crossroads, though only three paths lead into the cavern, multiple areas joins into those three paths and trade will automatically arrive and help to build up the city." He looked at the two Outwalkers, trying to gauge their reaction. Both sat there, evidently interested but neither looked like they were completely enamoured with his idea.
"Think of this. We will take all your people in as citizens. Help to build them homes, make sure they receive food, provide them with clothes and integrate them into our community. In return we will receive the expertise and wealth of experience for which Weald Hall was renowned; a corps of Outwalkers that was famous, fiend hunters that guarded your gates and kept the immediate area secure and alchemists who knew the secret of cold iron, and produced enough of it that no gate guard was armed without it." Darid leaned back, hoping he had sold the two on his idea.
Delire looked at Jeria and then pulled herself forward, a smile on her face. "Who is going to rule? You, Master Harpist? Forgive me for being blunt, but your race is not known for its love of others, and its rulers are noted more for their cruelty than their love of sharing power. You have been most gracious, and your offer is more than fair, but the reputation of your kind makes me reluctant to place our future within your hands. Indeed, this is not my decision to make; you should have made it to those who have authority."
If Delire had expected anything, it was not laughter. The Master Harpist's laughter was clear, musical and accompanied by a smile.
"I appreciate your candour, Delire. Indeed my race is, as you said, noted more for its cruelty than its altruism. Truly, our reputation often does us justice, too many of our kind are adept at cruelty and are truly vain. That is not so for those within this outpost. We are outcasts amongst our own, worshippers of the wind, the whistle and music of its passage. We share much with our brethren, but not their worship of the dark Gods and their love of cruelty, nor their disdain for others. In the past, our brethren would have destroyed us without compunction, used us as sacrifices upon their altars, and as commodities to be traded with those that rule above. Time and necessity has changed them. They no longer hunt and destroy outcasts like ourselves, but use us to expand their territory. Small outposts like this are given the bare necessities to survive. If we make it, they will use us as a conduit to other races, a means of facilitating trade and dialogue, knowing that few will trade with them and none will enter their cities."
He sipped at the goblet of white wine before him. "As for presenting this to those that have authority, you evidently have not taken in the state of your refugees. How many of your previous councillors and ministers retain any power? Without their wealth and their holdings, how many of them will be able to muster any respect? No, Delire. It is you, the heads of the guards that protect the refugees, the men in charge of the food that wield the power. If you speak, they will listen."
The three continued their meal, conversation drifting from the serious to the mundane. At the end, Delire and Jeria left, happy with what was to come and bearing an invitation to a new future and the chance to be part of something new; not just refugees assigned to the slums of Gunder's Hall.
***
Gyv and Mekior worked their way round the mountain. For four days, they searched for the hidden entrance, finally finding it concealed behind a copse of trees. The hidden entrance was a dank hole that was filled with the droppings and the smell of some predatory beast. They descended carefully, Gyv looking for clues as to what beast was responsible; scared they might meet it within. Only once at the bottom did she see it was a ruse, the small chamber's walls not the dank earth from above, but carefully worked rock. In the rear of the room, they wormed through a small hole, and were grasped by hands as they started through, hands that pulled them roughly through the hidden gap. They looked up to find themselves facing a group of dwarves.
"What have we here? Outsiders; question is, who do you work for?" A dwarf stepped up, his armour dulled by black paint, a large bladed axe strapped to his back. The others stood watching them, their weapons at the ready, their faces hidden by full faced helms, visors drawn closed. "No, don't get up. If you satisfy us that you are allies and not foes, we will allow you up, if not, it will be easier for us to drag your bodies away."
The two relaxed, knowing that they stood no chance from this prone position.
"Now, care to tell me who you are, where you are going and why I shouldn't just have your heads removed from your shoulders as a precautionary measure?"
Mekior looked at him, and spoke, his voice clear, but no louder than necessary to carry to the dwarf that questioned them.
"I am Mekior, a fiend Hunter from Weald Hall. My companion is Gyv, late of the House of Souls. We have lost our companions, been attacked by fiends and worked our way through the wilds for close to a month. Just tell me what has happened to Weald Hall before you chop of my head, so that I can at least die with my curiosity satisfied."
The dwarf looked at the two, their scruffy, damaged clothes, dishevelled, dirty appearances and their gaunt bodies and faces. He held his hand out, pulling first Mekior and then Gyv to their feet. "Welcome home. Come share a mug of ale and rest by our hearth, and I will tell you what I know. Then you must decide what you wish to do." The group moved back, fading into an opening in the rocks, invisible from the construction of the passageway.
The room beyond was just a murder hole, beyond that lay a comfortable encampment, a hearth with a roaring fire heating and lighting the room. The dwarf led them to a table, pulling up a chair as he sat, and watching as two of the dwarves mounted some stairs and took up their watch positions on the entrance below.
He pulled out a large ale skin, filling three mugs to their brims, a welcoming froth on top. Mekior took a long draught, surprised to find it pleasingly warm, a slight taste of cinnamon coming through. Gyv was more circumspect, not fully trusting the dwarves and not wanting to impair her facilities should they need to escape.
"Well, Mekior of Weald Hall and Gyv of the House of Souls, I am Fihor, sergeant of the watch and part of the Gunder's Hall army. On my word, what I say and what I tell will be only the truth, as I know it.” He paused, the opening formulae completed. “An army of fiends came through. Obviously someone had informed on the city since they headed straight for the gate." The dwarf, busy with his ale, never the less noticed the slight start Gyv made at these words, watching her surreptitiously he continued, "The city had been warned by one of their Outwalkers, a half-fiend by the stories, but who could believe one of those bastards would turn on their own? Anyways, the city set-up a welcoming committee, they held that army up for days, while the evacuation took place. It was the only solution really, once the devils knew where it was, it became merely a matter of time, there was no way to preserve it indefinitely. It was a good battle; the humans on both sides fought well. The magic of the defenders easily the equal of the devils, at least until that blasted Gerion and his entourage arrived. Seems he was delayed with Disciplinary matters, never did find out exactly what that meant."
The dwarf paused to drain his mug, refilling it from the ale skin which seemed to never empty. "Anyways, Gerion and his entourage blasted the defenders, forcing them to retreat within. Our spies lost track of the battle once it went underground, but it seems apparent that the defenders were a suicide force. Once they had a significant portion of the devil's forces in there with them, they dropped the mountain on the lot of them. Weald Hall is now solidly encased in rock, the paths from there into the network blocked and rendered useless.”
“Gerion was furious; he ordered his forces home, not even allowing them to recover their dead to bury of burn." He chuckled, raising his glass, "A toast to those brave souls who gave their lives to score a blow and save their fellow citizens." They all drank in silence, their thoughts on those who had died to make the ruse successful.
After a suitable time Mekior spoke up. "Tell me, Fihor, where did the refugees from Weald Hall go?" Fihor stood, pacing, coming to rest behind Gyv's chair. His hands shot out, grabbing her hair, pulling her tight head back over the top of the chair, exposing her neck.
"How much do you know of your companion Mekior? Did you not see her guilt when I spoke of a traitor, an informer?" The dwarf's voice a low growl, the fury and pain within obvious. "Her kind, the lowly, traitorous scum, have led us into the trouble we have these days. I give you your informer. Take your revenge; strike her down, in memory of your city."
Mekior stood slowly, seeing the fear in Gyv's eyes, the way she let her hands hang down; she knew that to reach for a weapon was instant death. He looked at her wondering how much to say, how much of the truth was needed to convince the dwarf to let her go.
"Fihor, my friend, she is no traitor. No more than any other who has been controlled by devils against their will. She bears no guilt. Her actions were the ones that led to the cities destruction. Gerion himself rode her consciousness, controlled her. More than my city was lost to the wiles of Gerion; she was forced to kill her own husband, betray her own people and strung up to be a mere pawn for Gerion when he no longer needed her." He stopped, looked at the dwarf, and knelt down. "Kill her, and then me, if you must; though it will not change what has happened. I will not strike at you or your fellow sentries, but if you kill her then you must kill me as well." He bowed his head; not daring to look up until a soft hand took his chin, lifted it and placed a kiss upon his lips.
He turned and saw that Fihor watched them.
"Make your way to Lake Harmony. A new city is under construction there. The Dark Paeons and the refugees corroborate to build a new city, a new society. A strange mix, but it seems that much is happening within the realms of the Dark Paeons and they, too, produce outcasts. We will give you provisions for your way. Go well and in peace."
The two rested, sleeping that night in the comfort of the dwarven outpost. The trip to the lake took them another week, but they moved quickly, eagerly, the journey a happy one now that they knew most of the city had been saved. Gyv and Mekior talked often, rejoicing in their new found love, the fact that Jeria lived and the city, though destroyed, lived on in a new place. They were awe-struck when they entered, amazed at the cavern's size and the massive wall that enclosed much of it, nothing visible beyond its high ramparts. They gazed in wonder, and followed the guards that arrived happily, into what they hoped would be a better future.
Ghostknight
First Post
Neurotic said:
Mekior- nope, not yet, the reason for that will become clear later. I'll put up the Fiend slayer prestige class though, and stats for Gyv- who is a typical ranger with bow focus. Gerion: I haven't stated him out- he is a target for characters in an epic campaign I'm running (the campaign is set as the invasion is starting- rather than at this point. ) so he's going to be between CR30-32. Todays inmstallment will be posted shortly.
Ghostknight
First Post
Part Ii- Chapter 10
Five years later…
Jeria ran his fingers through the loose earth. The sand was dry, fine particles and bits of leaves and mulch could be felt, moisture still evident within. He looked back at the squad lined up behind him, the trader looking nervous despite his guards, and the squad that the leaders from Harmony Lake had sent with him. Jeria stood, loosening his axe that hung down his back.
"We have visitors from the surface somewhere ahead, probably two or three days ahead of us." Jeria looked directly at the merchant who sat fidgeting, panic on his face. "I advise you to still your fear, Radogoff. We will move ahead slowly, carefully. Hopefully we will avoid whoever has preceded us within this passage." He waved the group forward, waiting till the sergeant in charge of the squad drew level and he could talk to him quietly. "Keep the men alert, whoever made these tracks tried to hide them, and I don't like them, they feel wrong..."
The sergeant clapped him on his back, nodded, and moved forward to his team. The soldiers all seem to sit tighter and surreptitiously checked their weapons. The traders bodyguards, not told directly, were professional enough to notice the increased tension and they, too, noticeably upped their level alertness.
It took another three hours before Jeria called another halt, unhappy with the path and the markings he was picking up as they travelled. Simple hand movements communicated enough that the soldiers contracted, forming a tight defensive perimeter, the bodyguards forming a solid wall of flesh between their client and any hostile creatures nearby. Silence fell across the group, the heavy breathing and a sudden snort from the cave beasts pulling the carts the only sounds.
Jeria pulled his axe loose, hefting it in his hand, feeling its strength, its cold solidity a comfort. The tunnel ahead was dark, their lanterns and torches lighting it only slightly. The deep darkness swallowed the light and the dull rock walls, devoid of any moisture or vegetation, seemed to absorb the light that fell upon them. He crept forward, his footfalls measured, their placement exact. Jeria moved beyond the radius of the light and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness and let his fiendish ancestry resolve the darkness. Ahead the passage narrowed and a deeper darkness lay ahead; darkness so deep even his magically enhanced vision was unable to penetrate. As carefully as he had moved forward, he moved back, knowing the danger that lay ahead.
He moved back to the group, all the time keeping his eyes on the darkness, fearing what might appear from within.
"Start moving back, there's an ambush ahead." Jeria took a deep breath and looked at the whole group. "Whoever the group is that awaits us, at least one is either a mage or a fiend."
Silently they retreated, struggling to get the carts to move, the beasts to remain silent while being manhandled. The face of the trader was white, even whiter than it normally was considering he had never seen the sun. Jeria, at the rear with his squad of six, watching out for any pursuit, began to feel they had avoided the trap when a laugh broke out. From within the darkness, the voice carried no mirth, the very sound of it chilling to the humans that heard it.
"Going somewhere? I have been waiting for you and you go off and try to avoid me. If I had any feelings, they would be hurt. Just as well I don't have any!" As it spoke, the voice came nearer, the owner of it eventually entering the light. One look at it and Jeria knew they were in trouble. The owner of the voice was a fiend, as he had suspected from the darkness and the speech, but it was one of the major fiends, high up in the hierarchy and far more powerful than he, even with the combined might of the squad and the trader's bodyguard. The fiend was not that large, the height of an average man with skin the colour of burnished copper and compound eyes that reflected the light in every direction. Sharp, serrated fangs lined its mouth; its chest and four arms were corded with massive muscles. Jeria had heard of this kind of fiend, knew that they were strong, capable with the twin scimitars that were sheathed and hanging from its waist; but he also knew that its sword were not its primary threat, rather they were renowned for their arcane might.
"Ahh, what a group you all make; led by one that is a distant cousin, the rest wielding weapons that would harm my weaker brethren. Question is, what are we going to do now? We could all try to kill each other, or maybe we should have a nice conversation." The fiend smiled, no more good will within its smile than within its laughter, yet Jeria felt relieved that it had not simply blasted them.
"We simply wish to pass. We do not seek confrontation, we do not seek to fight or cause upset." Jeria watched the fiend, wondering when it would tire of this game, when it would strike out, probably in a way against which they would be defenceless.
"Why, Jeria, how impolite, trying to leave so quickly when all I want is to talk."
Jeria stood there, shocked. How does it know me, is it Gerion? Is my father still after me? The silence extended, the group behind him slowly moving off. The fiend seemed not to care about them, their movements and whether they left or remained. The two stood in silence and, finally, stood there alone. Jeria looked at the fiend and spoke, finally breaking the silence.
"Who are you? How do you know of me and what do you want from me?"
"I am the Emissary. I represent a group that could be very useful to you and your city. We heard of you from our spies within Gerion's camp. He seeks you. He is furious at his loss of you five years ago. Our thinking was very simple, if he seeks you for his own reasons, you could be very useful to us, and in return, us to you. I hope we are right, it has taken us a long time to track you down!" The emissary stopped talking, waiting for a reaction, waiting to see what would Jeria would do next.
"An Emissary? From whom and how do I know you can be trusted, that this is not just a trick to capture, get me off guard?"
The fiend laughed, and then, before Jeria could react, pointed at him sending out a green beam that soaked into him, froze his blood, pinned him to the ground. The fiend came up to him, breathing into his paralysed face, filling his nose with the stink of decay and fetid, rotted meat. Another laugh, a quick clap of its hand, and the fiend turned away as, released from the paralysis Jeria crumpled to the ground.
"If I wanted you dead or captured, Jeria, you would be dead or in chains already. Now, I am here to invite you to a meeting, nothing more. Are you going to come? I cleared the path ahead so you can be sure that your companions behind you can go about their journey in peace."
Jeria lay gasping for air, the period of paralysis a period of breathlessness and fear. Gradually he sat up, looked at the Emissary and sighed, "I may as well, seems like you're just being polite in asking me." Slowly he came to his feet and placed his axe back into the loops on his back. The Emissary just smiled, took his elbow and, with a couple of words, the world around them changed, a curtain of blackness fading into a room, with red flames providing a dim flickering light. As he looked around, the flames died down and torches flooded the room with bright light.
***
Mekior paced slowly through the city. His mind wandered, dwelling on Gyv, her disappointment that they had had no children and then her leaving to go to another city to start anew. How do I explain it to her? Can I reveal myself to her; let her know who I really am? He walked on automatic, senses seeking out the wrong, the tainted. In five years, the city of Harmony Lake had grown. The refugees quickly established themselves, gratefully accepting the assistance and ruler ship of the Dark Paeons. They trusted in Delire, who now sat on the ruling council, an advisor to the Master Harpist.
His circuit took him through the great market; crowds thronged its narrow paths, a multitude of scents rising from those who sold food to those who peddled spices brought in by merchants foolish enough to travel just to earn a quick coin. With all the strangers, the market was always an area of concern, an area that could all too easily hide a spy or an informer. Mekior moved through, and would have exited in peace if he had not been knocked to his feet by a child darting between his legs, pursued by a man dressed simply in a leather tunic with pants of similar make. As the man passed, Mekior, even caught up in his reverie, felt a wave of nausea and he turned, sprinting after the man and boy.
"Give it back, boy." The man stood over the prostate form of the child, arms reaching out for him, the threat evident in his movements and his tone of voice.
"What has the boy taken from you, friend?" Mekior's voice penetrated the tableau, the man's head jerked around to look at the newcomer, while the boy using the distraction to scramble away, edge around the two men and run down the alleyway, leaving the two alone.
"What do you want from me? I know you, you don't rule here and I take my orders from another!" The man’s voice was kept soft, he did not want attention now, "That boy stole my seal; if it falls into the wrong hands my cover is blown!"
Mekior laughed at the man, coming forward so he stood before him, but a few feet separating the two.
"I am the wrong hands! I will find the boy after this, but first I will deal with you!" He hefted his sword, stabbing forward suddenly, aiming for the man's stomach.
Deftly, swiftly, the man twisted, the blade passing harmlessly by. He struck back, claws growing from his hands, his whole body shifting, changing, features mutating into those of a nightmare monster.
"Renegade! I will destroy you. Your type fetches a good reward!" Its claws shout out, striking at the sword, driving it to the ground even as it leaped into the air, legs flashing around to try to rip him with their talons.
Now it was Mekior's turn to duck, twist, shift his form into a scaled creature, his arms elongating with razor sharp fins, claws with metallic tips. He moved faster than the eye could follow, his hands shooting out, punching through the fiends chest, ripping out its heart, then its stomach. He stood over the stunned fiend and shifted back to his human form. Mekior knelt down, leaning close to the fiend who, while mortally wounded, remained alive, sustained by another heart that continued to pump within its body.
"Yes, I am a renegade, one of the native born, and I own allegiance to none! I am a creature of this world now; I have lived within these caverns, amongst these humans and their allies for my entire life. You have but seconds to live before I destroy you. You will not live to betray this city or myself." Mekior stood, grabbed his fallen sword, and hacked at the fallen fiend, mutilating it so badly that no evidence remained of the wounds that had led to its death. It was then that he noticed the boy. He must have sneaked back, watched the fight and seen the transformations of both fiends. Mekior walked up to him, hand open and held out.
"Give me what you took from him, boy." He looked down at the boy; saw a scruffy street urchin wearing torn and ragged clothes, a distended stomach visible through a ragged and torn shirt, feet bare on the cold cavern floor.
"Sir, I know you. You are Mekior, the famed fiend hunter! That was amazing! I couldn't believe the fiend's illusion, its ruse to try and make you look like a fiend yourself! I mean if you weren't Mekior, the Fiend Hunter, I would have thought that you might also be a fiend." Awestruck the boy walked forward, and gazed at Mekior. "Here, I stole his purse. I know I shouldn't but I'm very hungry!"
Mekior took the purse from the boy's outstretched hand and smiled. Thank the Gods that this one thinks he only saw an illusion. I have become careless, and I have my answer, I cannot reveal myself to Gyv. "Thank you, boy. Come with me, you will be well rewarded for this. Your actions revealed a traitor and a spy to us!" Mekior opened the purse, the belt pouch heavy in his hands. Inside were two handfuls of gold coins, enough to feed this boy for the next ten years, and a lead seal. Grimly he took the seal and gave the bag to the boy.
"Did you look within this pouch, boy?" Mekior looked at the boy, trying to judge the truthfulness of his response.
"No, Sir. I know it must have lots of coins inside, it is heavy! I think at least ten copper must lie within!"
Mekior's smile broadened. A simple solution then, this boy will not want to explain to the guard how he got the pouch. "Here, take the purse and its contents as a reward. Come, boy, take your reward and then let us go to the guard. They will want to know everything you saw and heard from this man."
The boy took the purse and his eyes widened as he looked inside and saw the glint of gold. He set off with Mekior, keeping a short distance from him until they entered the marketplace. As they did so, the boy darted off, losing himself in the crowds. Mekior smiled, his secret would remain in place for a while yet. No overly inquisitive guard captain would have a chance to question the boy too closely over what he had seen.
***
Jeria looked around the room. A blazing fire warmed it from a massive hearth, large enough to hold the two carcasses of cave beasts slowly roasting over the flames that filled the room with the aroma of cooking meat. Jeria looked around, but saw no one nearby, the torches that lit as he arrived evidently reacting to his presence. He saw two comfortable, high-backed chairs set in front of the fire and tall glasses with some clear liquid and ice floating within. Little rivulets of moisture slowly ebbed down their sides, the whole scene comfortable and inviting.
"Take a seat, make yourself comfortable." The voice was urbane, cultured, as the speaker stepped into the room from a door concealed behind a hanging tapestry. The speaker was short, looked human, and was wearing an outfit that would the envy of a merchant prince. Jeria did not trust appearances; the power of the fiend responsible for bringing him was beyond question. This person was at the top of the food chain, a food chain in which personal power meant as much as power mustered from supporters and factions courted.
Jeria walked to one of the seats and sat down, the plush padding melding to his body, gently massaging him. The man sat down next to him, luxuriating in the heat radiating from the fire, sipping from the glass next to his chair. Jeria followed suite, sipping the liquid and finding it to be sweet, pure, cool spring water. They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the ambience and the healthy smell of the roasting meat.
"You must be wondering who I am, what I want with you? The first question is simple; I am Secheriab, fiend of the first tier and aide to the ruler of the eighth circle. My master has sent me here for a very simple reason- to get rid of Jelial and stop the conversion of this plane into a mirror of hell." He stopped, aware of the effect of his words on Jeria who sat stunned.
"I am sure you wonder why the Lord of the Eighth would want to stop this invasion. Simple really, Jelial was one of his Dukes. The power Jelial has accumulated, the powerful fiends he has suborned into his service has caused my master great distress and concern. He does not like this expansion of realms; it brings an imbalance to a system that has been in balance for longer than the human race has existed." He swivelled his chair, looked at Jeria, and continued. "Your role is simple, put us in contact with the resisting cities. They would never accept our overtures openly and you are probably the sole half-fiend trusted enough to even get an audience with the cities' rulers."
Jeria sat still and let the information be absorbed, filter through his preconceptions and ideas about reality. He thought about how easy it would be for the fiends to have killed him and destroyed the group with whom he had been travelling. This room, the power of the fiends within, his hosts comfort with dealing with him while he was still armed, and with no fear for any action he might take, were all indicative of a casual power that the wielder took for granted. He felt drowned, out of his depth, this situation needed those used to dealing with power to deal with it. He looked at Secheriab.
"What do you need me to do?"
Five years later…
Jeria ran his fingers through the loose earth. The sand was dry, fine particles and bits of leaves and mulch could be felt, moisture still evident within. He looked back at the squad lined up behind him, the trader looking nervous despite his guards, and the squad that the leaders from Harmony Lake had sent with him. Jeria stood, loosening his axe that hung down his back.
"We have visitors from the surface somewhere ahead, probably two or three days ahead of us." Jeria looked directly at the merchant who sat fidgeting, panic on his face. "I advise you to still your fear, Radogoff. We will move ahead slowly, carefully. Hopefully we will avoid whoever has preceded us within this passage." He waved the group forward, waiting till the sergeant in charge of the squad drew level and he could talk to him quietly. "Keep the men alert, whoever made these tracks tried to hide them, and I don't like them, they feel wrong..."
The sergeant clapped him on his back, nodded, and moved forward to his team. The soldiers all seem to sit tighter and surreptitiously checked their weapons. The traders bodyguards, not told directly, were professional enough to notice the increased tension and they, too, noticeably upped their level alertness.
It took another three hours before Jeria called another halt, unhappy with the path and the markings he was picking up as they travelled. Simple hand movements communicated enough that the soldiers contracted, forming a tight defensive perimeter, the bodyguards forming a solid wall of flesh between their client and any hostile creatures nearby. Silence fell across the group, the heavy breathing and a sudden snort from the cave beasts pulling the carts the only sounds.
Jeria pulled his axe loose, hefting it in his hand, feeling its strength, its cold solidity a comfort. The tunnel ahead was dark, their lanterns and torches lighting it only slightly. The deep darkness swallowed the light and the dull rock walls, devoid of any moisture or vegetation, seemed to absorb the light that fell upon them. He crept forward, his footfalls measured, their placement exact. Jeria moved beyond the radius of the light and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness and let his fiendish ancestry resolve the darkness. Ahead the passage narrowed and a deeper darkness lay ahead; darkness so deep even his magically enhanced vision was unable to penetrate. As carefully as he had moved forward, he moved back, knowing the danger that lay ahead.
He moved back to the group, all the time keeping his eyes on the darkness, fearing what might appear from within.
"Start moving back, there's an ambush ahead." Jeria took a deep breath and looked at the whole group. "Whoever the group is that awaits us, at least one is either a mage or a fiend."
Silently they retreated, struggling to get the carts to move, the beasts to remain silent while being manhandled. The face of the trader was white, even whiter than it normally was considering he had never seen the sun. Jeria, at the rear with his squad of six, watching out for any pursuit, began to feel they had avoided the trap when a laugh broke out. From within the darkness, the voice carried no mirth, the very sound of it chilling to the humans that heard it.
"Going somewhere? I have been waiting for you and you go off and try to avoid me. If I had any feelings, they would be hurt. Just as well I don't have any!" As it spoke, the voice came nearer, the owner of it eventually entering the light. One look at it and Jeria knew they were in trouble. The owner of the voice was a fiend, as he had suspected from the darkness and the speech, but it was one of the major fiends, high up in the hierarchy and far more powerful than he, even with the combined might of the squad and the trader's bodyguard. The fiend was not that large, the height of an average man with skin the colour of burnished copper and compound eyes that reflected the light in every direction. Sharp, serrated fangs lined its mouth; its chest and four arms were corded with massive muscles. Jeria had heard of this kind of fiend, knew that they were strong, capable with the twin scimitars that were sheathed and hanging from its waist; but he also knew that its sword were not its primary threat, rather they were renowned for their arcane might.
"Ahh, what a group you all make; led by one that is a distant cousin, the rest wielding weapons that would harm my weaker brethren. Question is, what are we going to do now? We could all try to kill each other, or maybe we should have a nice conversation." The fiend smiled, no more good will within its smile than within its laughter, yet Jeria felt relieved that it had not simply blasted them.
"We simply wish to pass. We do not seek confrontation, we do not seek to fight or cause upset." Jeria watched the fiend, wondering when it would tire of this game, when it would strike out, probably in a way against which they would be defenceless.
"Why, Jeria, how impolite, trying to leave so quickly when all I want is to talk."
Jeria stood there, shocked. How does it know me, is it Gerion? Is my father still after me? The silence extended, the group behind him slowly moving off. The fiend seemed not to care about them, their movements and whether they left or remained. The two stood in silence and, finally, stood there alone. Jeria looked at the fiend and spoke, finally breaking the silence.
"Who are you? How do you know of me and what do you want from me?"
"I am the Emissary. I represent a group that could be very useful to you and your city. We heard of you from our spies within Gerion's camp. He seeks you. He is furious at his loss of you five years ago. Our thinking was very simple, if he seeks you for his own reasons, you could be very useful to us, and in return, us to you. I hope we are right, it has taken us a long time to track you down!" The emissary stopped talking, waiting for a reaction, waiting to see what would Jeria would do next.
"An Emissary? From whom and how do I know you can be trusted, that this is not just a trick to capture, get me off guard?"
The fiend laughed, and then, before Jeria could react, pointed at him sending out a green beam that soaked into him, froze his blood, pinned him to the ground. The fiend came up to him, breathing into his paralysed face, filling his nose with the stink of decay and fetid, rotted meat. Another laugh, a quick clap of its hand, and the fiend turned away as, released from the paralysis Jeria crumpled to the ground.
"If I wanted you dead or captured, Jeria, you would be dead or in chains already. Now, I am here to invite you to a meeting, nothing more. Are you going to come? I cleared the path ahead so you can be sure that your companions behind you can go about their journey in peace."
Jeria lay gasping for air, the period of paralysis a period of breathlessness and fear. Gradually he sat up, looked at the Emissary and sighed, "I may as well, seems like you're just being polite in asking me." Slowly he came to his feet and placed his axe back into the loops on his back. The Emissary just smiled, took his elbow and, with a couple of words, the world around them changed, a curtain of blackness fading into a room, with red flames providing a dim flickering light. As he looked around, the flames died down and torches flooded the room with bright light.
***
Mekior paced slowly through the city. His mind wandered, dwelling on Gyv, her disappointment that they had had no children and then her leaving to go to another city to start anew. How do I explain it to her? Can I reveal myself to her; let her know who I really am? He walked on automatic, senses seeking out the wrong, the tainted. In five years, the city of Harmony Lake had grown. The refugees quickly established themselves, gratefully accepting the assistance and ruler ship of the Dark Paeons. They trusted in Delire, who now sat on the ruling council, an advisor to the Master Harpist.
His circuit took him through the great market; crowds thronged its narrow paths, a multitude of scents rising from those who sold food to those who peddled spices brought in by merchants foolish enough to travel just to earn a quick coin. With all the strangers, the market was always an area of concern, an area that could all too easily hide a spy or an informer. Mekior moved through, and would have exited in peace if he had not been knocked to his feet by a child darting between his legs, pursued by a man dressed simply in a leather tunic with pants of similar make. As the man passed, Mekior, even caught up in his reverie, felt a wave of nausea and he turned, sprinting after the man and boy.
"Give it back, boy." The man stood over the prostate form of the child, arms reaching out for him, the threat evident in his movements and his tone of voice.
"What has the boy taken from you, friend?" Mekior's voice penetrated the tableau, the man's head jerked around to look at the newcomer, while the boy using the distraction to scramble away, edge around the two men and run down the alleyway, leaving the two alone.
"What do you want from me? I know you, you don't rule here and I take my orders from another!" The man’s voice was kept soft, he did not want attention now, "That boy stole my seal; if it falls into the wrong hands my cover is blown!"
Mekior laughed at the man, coming forward so he stood before him, but a few feet separating the two.
"I am the wrong hands! I will find the boy after this, but first I will deal with you!" He hefted his sword, stabbing forward suddenly, aiming for the man's stomach.
Deftly, swiftly, the man twisted, the blade passing harmlessly by. He struck back, claws growing from his hands, his whole body shifting, changing, features mutating into those of a nightmare monster.
"Renegade! I will destroy you. Your type fetches a good reward!" Its claws shout out, striking at the sword, driving it to the ground even as it leaped into the air, legs flashing around to try to rip him with their talons.
Now it was Mekior's turn to duck, twist, shift his form into a scaled creature, his arms elongating with razor sharp fins, claws with metallic tips. He moved faster than the eye could follow, his hands shooting out, punching through the fiends chest, ripping out its heart, then its stomach. He stood over the stunned fiend and shifted back to his human form. Mekior knelt down, leaning close to the fiend who, while mortally wounded, remained alive, sustained by another heart that continued to pump within its body.
"Yes, I am a renegade, one of the native born, and I own allegiance to none! I am a creature of this world now; I have lived within these caverns, amongst these humans and their allies for my entire life. You have but seconds to live before I destroy you. You will not live to betray this city or myself." Mekior stood, grabbed his fallen sword, and hacked at the fallen fiend, mutilating it so badly that no evidence remained of the wounds that had led to its death. It was then that he noticed the boy. He must have sneaked back, watched the fight and seen the transformations of both fiends. Mekior walked up to him, hand open and held out.
"Give me what you took from him, boy." He looked down at the boy; saw a scruffy street urchin wearing torn and ragged clothes, a distended stomach visible through a ragged and torn shirt, feet bare on the cold cavern floor.
"Sir, I know you. You are Mekior, the famed fiend hunter! That was amazing! I couldn't believe the fiend's illusion, its ruse to try and make you look like a fiend yourself! I mean if you weren't Mekior, the Fiend Hunter, I would have thought that you might also be a fiend." Awestruck the boy walked forward, and gazed at Mekior. "Here, I stole his purse. I know I shouldn't but I'm very hungry!"
Mekior took the purse from the boy's outstretched hand and smiled. Thank the Gods that this one thinks he only saw an illusion. I have become careless, and I have my answer, I cannot reveal myself to Gyv. "Thank you, boy. Come with me, you will be well rewarded for this. Your actions revealed a traitor and a spy to us!" Mekior opened the purse, the belt pouch heavy in his hands. Inside were two handfuls of gold coins, enough to feed this boy for the next ten years, and a lead seal. Grimly he took the seal and gave the bag to the boy.
"Did you look within this pouch, boy?" Mekior looked at the boy, trying to judge the truthfulness of his response.
"No, Sir. I know it must have lots of coins inside, it is heavy! I think at least ten copper must lie within!"
Mekior's smile broadened. A simple solution then, this boy will not want to explain to the guard how he got the pouch. "Here, take the purse and its contents as a reward. Come, boy, take your reward and then let us go to the guard. They will want to know everything you saw and heard from this man."
The boy took the purse and his eyes widened as he looked inside and saw the glint of gold. He set off with Mekior, keeping a short distance from him until they entered the marketplace. As they did so, the boy darted off, losing himself in the crowds. Mekior smiled, his secret would remain in place for a while yet. No overly inquisitive guard captain would have a chance to question the boy too closely over what he had seen.
***
Jeria looked around the room. A blazing fire warmed it from a massive hearth, large enough to hold the two carcasses of cave beasts slowly roasting over the flames that filled the room with the aroma of cooking meat. Jeria looked around, but saw no one nearby, the torches that lit as he arrived evidently reacting to his presence. He saw two comfortable, high-backed chairs set in front of the fire and tall glasses with some clear liquid and ice floating within. Little rivulets of moisture slowly ebbed down their sides, the whole scene comfortable and inviting.
"Take a seat, make yourself comfortable." The voice was urbane, cultured, as the speaker stepped into the room from a door concealed behind a hanging tapestry. The speaker was short, looked human, and was wearing an outfit that would the envy of a merchant prince. Jeria did not trust appearances; the power of the fiend responsible for bringing him was beyond question. This person was at the top of the food chain, a food chain in which personal power meant as much as power mustered from supporters and factions courted.
Jeria walked to one of the seats and sat down, the plush padding melding to his body, gently massaging him. The man sat down next to him, luxuriating in the heat radiating from the fire, sipping from the glass next to his chair. Jeria followed suite, sipping the liquid and finding it to be sweet, pure, cool spring water. They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the ambience and the healthy smell of the roasting meat.
"You must be wondering who I am, what I want with you? The first question is simple; I am Secheriab, fiend of the first tier and aide to the ruler of the eighth circle. My master has sent me here for a very simple reason- to get rid of Jelial and stop the conversion of this plane into a mirror of hell." He stopped, aware of the effect of his words on Jeria who sat stunned.
"I am sure you wonder why the Lord of the Eighth would want to stop this invasion. Simple really, Jelial was one of his Dukes. The power Jelial has accumulated, the powerful fiends he has suborned into his service has caused my master great distress and concern. He does not like this expansion of realms; it brings an imbalance to a system that has been in balance for longer than the human race has existed." He swivelled his chair, looked at Jeria, and continued. "Your role is simple, put us in contact with the resisting cities. They would never accept our overtures openly and you are probably the sole half-fiend trusted enough to even get an audience with the cities' rulers."
Jeria sat still and let the information be absorbed, filter through his preconceptions and ideas about reality. He thought about how easy it would be for the fiends to have killed him and destroyed the group with whom he had been travelling. This room, the power of the fiends within, his hosts comfort with dealing with him while he was still armed, and with no fear for any action he might take, were all indicative of a casual power that the wielder took for granted. He felt drowned, out of his depth, this situation needed those used to dealing with power to deal with it. He looked at Secheriab.
"What do you need me to do?"
Ghostknight
First Post
Chapter 11
The small cavern was full. Representatives from all the major settlements had arrived, complete with bodyguards, assistants and camp followers. Delire who was assisted by Gattoup, the Dark Paeon captain that led the city militia, led the contingent from Lake Harmony. Their security contingent was led by Keral, promoted in the five years since the refugees had met him commanding the forward watch post. They had also brought Mekior, Delire trusted his judgement and he was there as an additional bodyguard as well as being an advisor.
Sitting next to Delire and Gattoup was Vixel, a senior councillor from Gunder's Hall, and Geril, Commander of Gunder's Hall scouts and intelligence network; the two were a strange pair coming from Gunder's hall, as they were both human, though that settlement was mainly populated by dwarves and goblins, the two races that found they had much in common once they stopped trying to kill each other. Next around the table was D'Wiglo, a prince of the noble dwarven house that ruled Fort Livian with his brother D'Fir sitting next to him. As with all nobles of their house, they were unusually tall for dwarves, nearly the height of a man but with all the muscles and girth typical of dwarves. Both these princes were renowned for their strength. Songs were already being sung of the defence of Firegulf Bridge; of how Prince D'Wiglo had held off an invading army until relief had arrived. His twin battle-axes described as co-ordinated blurs that hacked the invading kobolds into piles of dead bodies.
Along the other side of the table sat one of the very rare elves that had survived the purges. Aliat Forest Mourner was in his traditional black, a sign of his mourning, seemingly an eternal mourning since nobody alive could remember him wearing anything else. As usual, he was representing the Tower Arcane, the simple silver band around his head all that was necessary to show his status as an Archmagus, and one of the Tower's ruling caste. Whom, or what was seated next to him nobody knew as the being remained silent, cowl drawn over its head. Evidently, the two communicated via arcane means. The creature next to the hooded mage was a Dark Paeon, but clearly of a different mold to Gattoup. Where Gattoup's armour was functional, his face and skin an unmarred, clear obsidian colour, General Ferilice's armour had much decoration, most of it designed to invoke fear and cause distress to those viewing the wearer. The General's face was also carefully marked; scars and tattoos formed symbols and enhanced the cruelty within his visage. Some, particularly the mages from the Arcane Tower, had raised their eyebrows when they saw the marks; their subtle meaning and nuance understood by them, their meaning a mystery to the rest gathered around the table. General Ferilice sat alone, the sole representative of his the city-state of the Hooded Vale, though his security personnel were the most numerous.
The last three at the table were all dwarves, dressed in the brown and grey of the priesthood of the Forge father. Their leader, Kier, had renounced his royal blood, foregoing the kingship and rule of Fort Livian to rule the powerful Church of the Forge Father instead. The three had come to observe record and, if necessary, arbitrate between the factions represented. So Kier stood, his open palms, held above his head then brought down gently to the table, invoked silence, causing all, high-born and low-born both, to fall silent.
"By the power of the Forge Father this cavern has been protected. None outside this room can seek it out; no magic can pierce its veil’s of secrecy unless I allow it. By the divine righteousness of the Forge Father I call upon the light of truth to shine upon all present, let no lie be spoken, let no deceit go unveiled." Kier bowed his head and set a simple silver bowl of water in the center of the table. As he sat, the silversteel mail visible beneath his robes reflected the light across the room. A blue light starting from the bowl in the centre of the table and, flowing out, bathed all within the room in its divine glow
The silence remained long enough for the light to envelop all and then D'Wiglo stood.
"We have all heard the proposal that the contingent from Harmony Lake have brought before us. Delire is known to us by reputation, and we respect her judgement, but Captain Gattoup is unknown to us, and not even trusted by those of his own people that we have long held dealings with." At these words, there was a slight stir around the table; a rumour confirmed, but other rumours long dismissed now open to review. How far did Fort Livian go in their cooperation with the Dark Paeons?
D'Wiglo continued, well aware of the effect of his previous words. "I speak of our agreement with the Dark Paeons for a reason. Everybody has always dismissed them as possible allies, but we know, from experience, they can be good allies. Our invitation to General Ferilice to attend this meeting is proof of our close ties and our history of close cooperation." He paused, and looked around the seated people, "We have heard the proposal that Jeria, the Half-Fiend, brought forward, and the leap of faith it requires. If not for Delire, we would not even be here, but we will listen, with open minds and hope that we can find the safest, wisest course to follow.
Opposite D'Wiglo General Ferilice stood, and D'Wiglo graciously sat, giving him the floor.
"I am new to most of you here, at least as an ally." A wry smile curled his lips, with a quick glance to those representing Gunder's Hall. "I come to listen to this half-fiend, though it will be difficult for such a creature to convince me of anything." His gaze swept the room, "That piece of business may well be the least important to me, here, today. Far more important is the hope that we can forge ties of trade instead of war."
The rush of air as Vixel stood could be felt by those seated nearby, his glare at the General went unreciprocated, but returned with a polite bow as the General took his seat. Vixel's face was blood red, his rage barely controlled. "Had we known you would be here, perhaps we would not have! Never mind, you are here now and the business is too important to let you raping, murdering, slave taking scum disrupt this meeting." He stopped, took a few deep breaths then continued, his diplomatic training taking over. "We are keen to hear more from Jeria. There are stories about him, carried to our city by Gyv, once a travel companion of his and who serves in our city now as a warden that makes us inclined to believe him." He waved his arm, summoning Gyv forward. Mekior saw her now for the first time and gave a guilty start. Their relationship had soured when Gyv had wanted children and he would not tell her the reason for his refusal.
"We are here to listen to Jeria, but are inclined to believe him; his cause is helped mightily by the opposition of that scum invited here by the lords of Fort Livian."
At the head of the table, Kier frowned and banged his hand upon the table, the noise unnaturally loud. "Lord Vixel, you are sworn to peace within this room. Hold your tongue on the matters that exist between you and General Ferilice, this is not the time."
Vixel's face said much, but he sat, silent, his gaze towards General Ferilice no less hate filled than before; but he held his tongue. Aliat took the silence as his cue to stand and address the gathering.
"Greetings to you all, may the Master of the Void bring wisdom and understanding to this meeting."
His pronouncement caused the three priests of the Forge Father to shift in their seats. The Church of the Void and that of the Forge Father were not at odds, but, nevertheless the two had vastly different philosophies.
Aliat continued; the smile on his face evidently at the expense of the Forge Father's priests. "The Tower is not quick to prejudge the situation; we like to take each case, each person on their merits. You ask us to take the word of a half fiend and that is not a minor matter. No matter how some might be inclined to sing his praises, we shall not be convinced so easily. We will listen and judge for ourselves, though out first inclination is to dismiss him and the message he brings."
Silence reigned, them Delire stood. "I have waited, let each of you express your misgivings or support, and now I shall address the issue. Jeria has been an Outwalker for over five years, achieving the rank of master with unprecedented speed merely a year after first being recognised. He grew up in Weald Hall; he is a trusted and well known member of the community of Harmony Lake, and is well known to me personally." She paused, the delay long as she tried to catch the eye of all who sat around the table, lingering on the hooded figure as if she tried to penetrate the material and see what lay hidden in the darkness.
"Jeria has been approached by representatives of the Lord of the Eighth, one of the masters of Hell. It makes sense that those incumbent in the ranks of the Lords of Hell would want to protect their privilege, their seats of power. Jeria is also the logical choice for them to contact. He is trusted in our city, he is the son of a powerful fiend, and has access to those in power." She sat down, waiting for the debate to start.
"Son of a powerful devil? Just who is his father and why should this be of import to us?" The voice was hissing, laboured as if the speaker did not often use such crude means to communicate. Those around the table started, surprised at the voice emanating from the hooded figure, the first words it had spoken that could be heard by all.
"Gerion. General Gerion is his father, and seeks him still. Who knows why Gerion wants him? The fiends are not noted for their parental instinct, and particularly towards those half-breeds they litter the world with, the results of their rape and "fun" activities. But, he wants Jeria, whatever the reason. It is that desire to get Jeria that saved the citizens of Weald Hall, even if we couldn't save the city."
Silence was king as the information was absorbed around the table. Finally Aliat spoke, his voice harsh in the silence. "Bring him in, this scion of one of the most hatred devils, one whose name is cursed more times than even that of his dark overlord." He fell silent, and Delire cursed her quick tongue. Damn the long lives of elves! I forgot Aliat had lived in Green Horn that he would have seen the entire city destroyed at the hands of Gerion.
***
The court of Jelial was an exercise in opulence and decadence. Throngs of devils mingled, conversing in low tones as petitioners approached the Jelial’s throne, made their requests and awaited judgement. The most powerful devils occupied positions near the throne, seldom moving for fear of losing their position near the top of the throng and thus visibility to their fiendish overlord. The ever-present hum of conversation stilled as the twin doors at the far end of the hall opened, admitting the well known, and feared, figure of Gerion into the room. Gerion, was seldom a guest at court and all knew that he would not follow protocol, that he would use the privilege of his position to bypass the queue and ignore his lessers that thronged the hall seeking the favour of Jelial.
Gerion approached the throne, sank briefly to one knee with bowed head and then stood.
"My Lord Jelial, I seek private audience."
Jelial sat up straighter; Gerion in court indicated something of interest, Gerion seeking private audience promised it. A simple nod and guards detached themselves from the walls and swept the courtiers and petitioners alike from the room, leaving Jelial and Gerion alone.
"It's started My Lord. The spies we have back home report that the Lord of the Eighth is moving against us. Rumours say he will try to bolster those cities not yet conquered."
Jelial leaned forward, smiling. "Finally! What lever do you think they will use? We have known they would eventually move against us once it was obvious we were accumulating enough power to demand a seat in the ruling circle."
"My son, if the rumours are to be believed. Seems they'll use him to contact the cities, gain their confidence."
Jelial's laugh was hearty, actually filled with warmth, probably the reason it was only heard every other century or so. "They're going to use a half-fiend to gain them trust? I thought maybe we had cause to worry; it seems they are going to need to learn about the fools that live in this world. We should have a couple of centuries before they learn better and any effective opposition starts." Jelial leaned back, closed his eyes, revelling in the presence of probably the only being he fully trusted, or at least trusted not to attack without good cause.
Gerion looked at Jelial, tempted by the moment of weakness. It is not the time, let him gain the seat in the circle first, then I can unseat him and claim his place. For now let him be the target, let him attract the gaze and the wrath of the powerful.
***
Jeria stood before those seated at the table. For five hours they had talked, questioned him, dissected his story and yet they were still locked; the Dark Paeons and the Arcane Tower arguing against Jeria, Gunder's Hall and Harmony Lake supporting him and Fort Livian neutral. There did not seem to be much chance of any faction changing their stance, and that was when the hooded figure spoke for the second time.
"This just boils down to trust. Those who trust the half-fiend support him, the rest either reject him, and thus his testimony, or refuse to commit." It stopped speaking, the cowl turning in Jeria's direction. "I can enter your mind, confirm or reject your testimony. I know Archmage Aliat will accept my word. The thing is, will you trust me?" Silently the hood was pulled back, the bald headed, earless, head looked almost insectile with two massive dark orbs for eyes, a nose that was merely two slits and a mouth that was a slit below a long trunk, which sported its own set of mandibles. Delires gasp of shock was clearly audible, the reaction of the priests of the Forge Father equally as telling.
"Abomination! Archmage, how could you bring one of these within these walls, into this council?" Kier's voice rang out, loud, booming, the guards scattered around the room tensing, feeling the increase in tension.
"Ever seen an Aeliogh before Jeria?" Delire's soft voice carried through the room. "Knowing what he is, everyone here would accept his word. The risk though... Jeria as easily as he wanders through your mind, sees the reality of what you say, he can eat your thoughts, leave you a mindless husk, an automaton, no more independent than a set of hands."
Silence fell and all eyes were on Jeria. Slowly he walked over to the Aeliogh, catching the eye of Mekior as he passed; the two had become fast friends in the intervening years, and then the eyes of Gyv whom he had not seen for close on three years since she had left for Gunder's hall.
The Aeliogh pulled him down with a clawed had, its trunk and its mandibles resting against his forehead. At first, it felt like a breeze across his mind, a gentle whisper passing through. Then the pain started, and the screaming, but only until he blacked out, oblivious to the world.
***
"He'd best be OK. Your life is forfeit if he is harmed." Mekior's voice entered his consciousness as the darkness lifted. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. Mekior's sword was drawn, the tip against the neck of the Aeliogh. Gyv stood by his back, sword at the ready, protecting Mekior from any that would seek to harm him.
"Sheathe your sword human, he is fine. Observe, even now he awakens." The Aeliogh's thin, sharp tongue swept across its lip, moistening them, evidently nervous in the room full of hostile people, "I did not harm him, not even slightly, but his fiendish blood sought to protect him, I had to use more force than I expected. There would have been pain, lots of it!"
Jeria sat up, "I can vouch for the pain! My head is still pounding! Let him go Mekior, I'm fine."
Mekior lowered his sword, his gaze lingering on the Aeliogh, who replaced his cowl, and spoke again. "The Half-Fiend speaks the truth, at least as far as he knows. Whether or not the fiends deceived him we cannot know, but he, at least, is free of deception." The Aeliogh sank back into its seat, a few beads of sweat dropping onto the table as it lowered its head.
"The tower arcane will move to support meeting with the fiends." The archmages voice was clear, his look at General Ferilice and D'Wiglo, challenging them.
D'Wiglo stood, and bowed to Jeria, "Our apologies Jeria, from this moment on we will not doubt your voice." D'Wiglo sat and looked questioningly at General Ferilice, the sole individual at the table yet to voice their support of Jeria.
"I came here unexpectedly, at the behest of an ally. I will not place my city, my people at risk over the word of a half-fiend. Perhaps one day we will work together, but I cannot put my trust in people that will allow abominations and fiend-spawn to lead us into an alliance with our foes!" He turned and walked out, followed by his guard and followers.
"So, who will carry the message back to the fiends? Jeria, obviously, but who will accompany him into the fiend's den?" Kier started talking from the moment the last of the Dark Paeon's left the room and his wards informed him they could no longer observe or hear what transpired within the room.
D'Wiglo spoke. "Let each faction here send a representative. My brother will accept this honour, this burden, in the name of Fort Livian."
Aliat looked back at his entourage, catching the eye of a middle-aged woman, her face worn with strife, her arms covered in scars. "Sister Egrit shall represent the Tower. She is a mage of some power, as well as having other skills." He looked at the people around the table. "Those who travel with her will learn of them in time." He fell silent, leaving those present to wander at the enigma he raised.
"Gyv will go on behalf of Gunder's Hall. She knows Jeria and we trust her to represent us well." Behind Vixel, Gyv's face registered her surprise. She tugged on Vixel's shirt. He turned, and looked straight at her. "You are sworn to the cities service, Gyv. This is your duty and you shall perform it.
"Guess its Mekior then." Delire's voice was light, jovial. "Gyv, Jeria and Mekior worked well together previously. Any ill effects of that previous journey were not of their making. So if we are all agreed, let the five talk, and decide on their way forward. They will need to plan, and we, to support."
The meeting adjourned, the five chosen to set forth to invite the fiends to parley came together. In mutual agreement, they moved off, finding their own spot to camp; a place to plan and learn what they could about each other before they set out.
The small cavern was full. Representatives from all the major settlements had arrived, complete with bodyguards, assistants and camp followers. Delire who was assisted by Gattoup, the Dark Paeon captain that led the city militia, led the contingent from Lake Harmony. Their security contingent was led by Keral, promoted in the five years since the refugees had met him commanding the forward watch post. They had also brought Mekior, Delire trusted his judgement and he was there as an additional bodyguard as well as being an advisor.
Sitting next to Delire and Gattoup was Vixel, a senior councillor from Gunder's Hall, and Geril, Commander of Gunder's Hall scouts and intelligence network; the two were a strange pair coming from Gunder's hall, as they were both human, though that settlement was mainly populated by dwarves and goblins, the two races that found they had much in common once they stopped trying to kill each other. Next around the table was D'Wiglo, a prince of the noble dwarven house that ruled Fort Livian with his brother D'Fir sitting next to him. As with all nobles of their house, they were unusually tall for dwarves, nearly the height of a man but with all the muscles and girth typical of dwarves. Both these princes were renowned for their strength. Songs were already being sung of the defence of Firegulf Bridge; of how Prince D'Wiglo had held off an invading army until relief had arrived. His twin battle-axes described as co-ordinated blurs that hacked the invading kobolds into piles of dead bodies.
Along the other side of the table sat one of the very rare elves that had survived the purges. Aliat Forest Mourner was in his traditional black, a sign of his mourning, seemingly an eternal mourning since nobody alive could remember him wearing anything else. As usual, he was representing the Tower Arcane, the simple silver band around his head all that was necessary to show his status as an Archmagus, and one of the Tower's ruling caste. Whom, or what was seated next to him nobody knew as the being remained silent, cowl drawn over its head. Evidently, the two communicated via arcane means. The creature next to the hooded mage was a Dark Paeon, but clearly of a different mold to Gattoup. Where Gattoup's armour was functional, his face and skin an unmarred, clear obsidian colour, General Ferilice's armour had much decoration, most of it designed to invoke fear and cause distress to those viewing the wearer. The General's face was also carefully marked; scars and tattoos formed symbols and enhanced the cruelty within his visage. Some, particularly the mages from the Arcane Tower, had raised their eyebrows when they saw the marks; their subtle meaning and nuance understood by them, their meaning a mystery to the rest gathered around the table. General Ferilice sat alone, the sole representative of his the city-state of the Hooded Vale, though his security personnel were the most numerous.
The last three at the table were all dwarves, dressed in the brown and grey of the priesthood of the Forge father. Their leader, Kier, had renounced his royal blood, foregoing the kingship and rule of Fort Livian to rule the powerful Church of the Forge Father instead. The three had come to observe record and, if necessary, arbitrate between the factions represented. So Kier stood, his open palms, held above his head then brought down gently to the table, invoked silence, causing all, high-born and low-born both, to fall silent.
"By the power of the Forge Father this cavern has been protected. None outside this room can seek it out; no magic can pierce its veil’s of secrecy unless I allow it. By the divine righteousness of the Forge Father I call upon the light of truth to shine upon all present, let no lie be spoken, let no deceit go unveiled." Kier bowed his head and set a simple silver bowl of water in the center of the table. As he sat, the silversteel mail visible beneath his robes reflected the light across the room. A blue light starting from the bowl in the centre of the table and, flowing out, bathed all within the room in its divine glow
The silence remained long enough for the light to envelop all and then D'Wiglo stood.
"We have all heard the proposal that the contingent from Harmony Lake have brought before us. Delire is known to us by reputation, and we respect her judgement, but Captain Gattoup is unknown to us, and not even trusted by those of his own people that we have long held dealings with." At these words, there was a slight stir around the table; a rumour confirmed, but other rumours long dismissed now open to review. How far did Fort Livian go in their cooperation with the Dark Paeons?
D'Wiglo continued, well aware of the effect of his previous words. "I speak of our agreement with the Dark Paeons for a reason. Everybody has always dismissed them as possible allies, but we know, from experience, they can be good allies. Our invitation to General Ferilice to attend this meeting is proof of our close ties and our history of close cooperation." He paused, and looked around the seated people, "We have heard the proposal that Jeria, the Half-Fiend, brought forward, and the leap of faith it requires. If not for Delire, we would not even be here, but we will listen, with open minds and hope that we can find the safest, wisest course to follow.
Opposite D'Wiglo General Ferilice stood, and D'Wiglo graciously sat, giving him the floor.
"I am new to most of you here, at least as an ally." A wry smile curled his lips, with a quick glance to those representing Gunder's Hall. "I come to listen to this half-fiend, though it will be difficult for such a creature to convince me of anything." His gaze swept the room, "That piece of business may well be the least important to me, here, today. Far more important is the hope that we can forge ties of trade instead of war."
The rush of air as Vixel stood could be felt by those seated nearby, his glare at the General went unreciprocated, but returned with a polite bow as the General took his seat. Vixel's face was blood red, his rage barely controlled. "Had we known you would be here, perhaps we would not have! Never mind, you are here now and the business is too important to let you raping, murdering, slave taking scum disrupt this meeting." He stopped, took a few deep breaths then continued, his diplomatic training taking over. "We are keen to hear more from Jeria. There are stories about him, carried to our city by Gyv, once a travel companion of his and who serves in our city now as a warden that makes us inclined to believe him." He waved his arm, summoning Gyv forward. Mekior saw her now for the first time and gave a guilty start. Their relationship had soured when Gyv had wanted children and he would not tell her the reason for his refusal.
"We are here to listen to Jeria, but are inclined to believe him; his cause is helped mightily by the opposition of that scum invited here by the lords of Fort Livian."
At the head of the table, Kier frowned and banged his hand upon the table, the noise unnaturally loud. "Lord Vixel, you are sworn to peace within this room. Hold your tongue on the matters that exist between you and General Ferilice, this is not the time."
Vixel's face said much, but he sat, silent, his gaze towards General Ferilice no less hate filled than before; but he held his tongue. Aliat took the silence as his cue to stand and address the gathering.
"Greetings to you all, may the Master of the Void bring wisdom and understanding to this meeting."
His pronouncement caused the three priests of the Forge Father to shift in their seats. The Church of the Void and that of the Forge Father were not at odds, but, nevertheless the two had vastly different philosophies.
Aliat continued; the smile on his face evidently at the expense of the Forge Father's priests. "The Tower is not quick to prejudge the situation; we like to take each case, each person on their merits. You ask us to take the word of a half fiend and that is not a minor matter. No matter how some might be inclined to sing his praises, we shall not be convinced so easily. We will listen and judge for ourselves, though out first inclination is to dismiss him and the message he brings."
Silence reigned, them Delire stood. "I have waited, let each of you express your misgivings or support, and now I shall address the issue. Jeria has been an Outwalker for over five years, achieving the rank of master with unprecedented speed merely a year after first being recognised. He grew up in Weald Hall; he is a trusted and well known member of the community of Harmony Lake, and is well known to me personally." She paused, the delay long as she tried to catch the eye of all who sat around the table, lingering on the hooded figure as if she tried to penetrate the material and see what lay hidden in the darkness.
"Jeria has been approached by representatives of the Lord of the Eighth, one of the masters of Hell. It makes sense that those incumbent in the ranks of the Lords of Hell would want to protect their privilege, their seats of power. Jeria is also the logical choice for them to contact. He is trusted in our city, he is the son of a powerful fiend, and has access to those in power." She sat down, waiting for the debate to start.
"Son of a powerful devil? Just who is his father and why should this be of import to us?" The voice was hissing, laboured as if the speaker did not often use such crude means to communicate. Those around the table started, surprised at the voice emanating from the hooded figure, the first words it had spoken that could be heard by all.
"Gerion. General Gerion is his father, and seeks him still. Who knows why Gerion wants him? The fiends are not noted for their parental instinct, and particularly towards those half-breeds they litter the world with, the results of their rape and "fun" activities. But, he wants Jeria, whatever the reason. It is that desire to get Jeria that saved the citizens of Weald Hall, even if we couldn't save the city."
Silence was king as the information was absorbed around the table. Finally Aliat spoke, his voice harsh in the silence. "Bring him in, this scion of one of the most hatred devils, one whose name is cursed more times than even that of his dark overlord." He fell silent, and Delire cursed her quick tongue. Damn the long lives of elves! I forgot Aliat had lived in Green Horn that he would have seen the entire city destroyed at the hands of Gerion.
***
The court of Jelial was an exercise in opulence and decadence. Throngs of devils mingled, conversing in low tones as petitioners approached the Jelial’s throne, made their requests and awaited judgement. The most powerful devils occupied positions near the throne, seldom moving for fear of losing their position near the top of the throng and thus visibility to their fiendish overlord. The ever-present hum of conversation stilled as the twin doors at the far end of the hall opened, admitting the well known, and feared, figure of Gerion into the room. Gerion, was seldom a guest at court and all knew that he would not follow protocol, that he would use the privilege of his position to bypass the queue and ignore his lessers that thronged the hall seeking the favour of Jelial.
Gerion approached the throne, sank briefly to one knee with bowed head and then stood.
"My Lord Jelial, I seek private audience."
Jelial sat up straighter; Gerion in court indicated something of interest, Gerion seeking private audience promised it. A simple nod and guards detached themselves from the walls and swept the courtiers and petitioners alike from the room, leaving Jelial and Gerion alone.
"It's started My Lord. The spies we have back home report that the Lord of the Eighth is moving against us. Rumours say he will try to bolster those cities not yet conquered."
Jelial leaned forward, smiling. "Finally! What lever do you think they will use? We have known they would eventually move against us once it was obvious we were accumulating enough power to demand a seat in the ruling circle."
"My son, if the rumours are to be believed. Seems they'll use him to contact the cities, gain their confidence."
Jelial's laugh was hearty, actually filled with warmth, probably the reason it was only heard every other century or so. "They're going to use a half-fiend to gain them trust? I thought maybe we had cause to worry; it seems they are going to need to learn about the fools that live in this world. We should have a couple of centuries before they learn better and any effective opposition starts." Jelial leaned back, closed his eyes, revelling in the presence of probably the only being he fully trusted, or at least trusted not to attack without good cause.
Gerion looked at Jelial, tempted by the moment of weakness. It is not the time, let him gain the seat in the circle first, then I can unseat him and claim his place. For now let him be the target, let him attract the gaze and the wrath of the powerful.
***
Jeria stood before those seated at the table. For five hours they had talked, questioned him, dissected his story and yet they were still locked; the Dark Paeons and the Arcane Tower arguing against Jeria, Gunder's Hall and Harmony Lake supporting him and Fort Livian neutral. There did not seem to be much chance of any faction changing their stance, and that was when the hooded figure spoke for the second time.
"This just boils down to trust. Those who trust the half-fiend support him, the rest either reject him, and thus his testimony, or refuse to commit." It stopped speaking, the cowl turning in Jeria's direction. "I can enter your mind, confirm or reject your testimony. I know Archmage Aliat will accept my word. The thing is, will you trust me?" Silently the hood was pulled back, the bald headed, earless, head looked almost insectile with two massive dark orbs for eyes, a nose that was merely two slits and a mouth that was a slit below a long trunk, which sported its own set of mandibles. Delires gasp of shock was clearly audible, the reaction of the priests of the Forge Father equally as telling.
"Abomination! Archmage, how could you bring one of these within these walls, into this council?" Kier's voice rang out, loud, booming, the guards scattered around the room tensing, feeling the increase in tension.
"Ever seen an Aeliogh before Jeria?" Delire's soft voice carried through the room. "Knowing what he is, everyone here would accept his word. The risk though... Jeria as easily as he wanders through your mind, sees the reality of what you say, he can eat your thoughts, leave you a mindless husk, an automaton, no more independent than a set of hands."
Silence fell and all eyes were on Jeria. Slowly he walked over to the Aeliogh, catching the eye of Mekior as he passed; the two had become fast friends in the intervening years, and then the eyes of Gyv whom he had not seen for close on three years since she had left for Gunder's hall.
The Aeliogh pulled him down with a clawed had, its trunk and its mandibles resting against his forehead. At first, it felt like a breeze across his mind, a gentle whisper passing through. Then the pain started, and the screaming, but only until he blacked out, oblivious to the world.
***
"He'd best be OK. Your life is forfeit if he is harmed." Mekior's voice entered his consciousness as the darkness lifted. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. Mekior's sword was drawn, the tip against the neck of the Aeliogh. Gyv stood by his back, sword at the ready, protecting Mekior from any that would seek to harm him.
"Sheathe your sword human, he is fine. Observe, even now he awakens." The Aeliogh's thin, sharp tongue swept across its lip, moistening them, evidently nervous in the room full of hostile people, "I did not harm him, not even slightly, but his fiendish blood sought to protect him, I had to use more force than I expected. There would have been pain, lots of it!"
Jeria sat up, "I can vouch for the pain! My head is still pounding! Let him go Mekior, I'm fine."
Mekior lowered his sword, his gaze lingering on the Aeliogh, who replaced his cowl, and spoke again. "The Half-Fiend speaks the truth, at least as far as he knows. Whether or not the fiends deceived him we cannot know, but he, at least, is free of deception." The Aeliogh sank back into its seat, a few beads of sweat dropping onto the table as it lowered its head.
"The tower arcane will move to support meeting with the fiends." The archmages voice was clear, his look at General Ferilice and D'Wiglo, challenging them.
D'Wiglo stood, and bowed to Jeria, "Our apologies Jeria, from this moment on we will not doubt your voice." D'Wiglo sat and looked questioningly at General Ferilice, the sole individual at the table yet to voice their support of Jeria.
"I came here unexpectedly, at the behest of an ally. I will not place my city, my people at risk over the word of a half-fiend. Perhaps one day we will work together, but I cannot put my trust in people that will allow abominations and fiend-spawn to lead us into an alliance with our foes!" He turned and walked out, followed by his guard and followers.
"So, who will carry the message back to the fiends? Jeria, obviously, but who will accompany him into the fiend's den?" Kier started talking from the moment the last of the Dark Paeon's left the room and his wards informed him they could no longer observe or hear what transpired within the room.
D'Wiglo spoke. "Let each faction here send a representative. My brother will accept this honour, this burden, in the name of Fort Livian."
Aliat looked back at his entourage, catching the eye of a middle-aged woman, her face worn with strife, her arms covered in scars. "Sister Egrit shall represent the Tower. She is a mage of some power, as well as having other skills." He looked at the people around the table. "Those who travel with her will learn of them in time." He fell silent, leaving those present to wander at the enigma he raised.
"Gyv will go on behalf of Gunder's Hall. She knows Jeria and we trust her to represent us well." Behind Vixel, Gyv's face registered her surprise. She tugged on Vixel's shirt. He turned, and looked straight at her. "You are sworn to the cities service, Gyv. This is your duty and you shall perform it.
"Guess its Mekior then." Delire's voice was light, jovial. "Gyv, Jeria and Mekior worked well together previously. Any ill effects of that previous journey were not of their making. So if we are all agreed, let the five talk, and decide on their way forward. They will need to plan, and we, to support."
The meeting adjourned, the five chosen to set forth to invite the fiends to parley came together. In mutual agreement, they moved off, finding their own spot to camp; a place to plan and learn what they could about each other before they set out.
Rikandur Azebol
First Post
Excellent ! 
rathlighthands
First Post
Good Stuff
Great story, it is really developing nicely. I have always found that as a DM stories set in truly evil, or tainted areas if you will, to be a big challenge. Many struggle to run a game in such a setting, but you have a good grip on it. I really buy the desperation of the world in your story, it comes across well.
Keep it coming.
Great story, it is really developing nicely. I have always found that as a DM stories set in truly evil, or tainted areas if you will, to be a big challenge. Many struggle to run a game in such a setting, but you have a good grip on it. I really buy the desperation of the world in your story, it comes across well.
Keep it coming.
