First, a few answers, as I'm being conscientious.
Could you post some of those templates for us, please, in the Rogue's Gallery thread?
I'll try and get around to it...
sep: when was the session described played? my guess is december or january.
November, IIRC.
I have a couple of questions that I do not recall you answering previously:
1. Do your players read your story hour?
2. Do you all play at the same time these days?
One reads semi-regularly, one reads very occasionally, and the others don't bother. Sessions are usually split between group time and 1-on-1, but sometimes the other players sit in when I'm running an individual exchange - they're pretty good about ignoring OOC stuff.
So at the beginning of the last thread the group was around an effective level of 19 (Mostin) to 22 (Ortwin including Satyr abilities)...has there been any levelling in the meantime?
Up to this post, no. Up to the present day, yes.
One thing that seems an odd choice - why did Mostin, Eadric, et al, decide to hit Choeth and Djorm rather than Ainhorr?
I think they considered it, but Ainhorr=30HD=too big for a Planar Binding. Gate too risky, because no dimensional anchor.
Note that they were
not summoned to the Prime, but to Mostin's Permanent Magnificent Mansion.
So, an update, then. I'll call this one... er...
Mostly Concerning Mostin
Mostin grumbled.
"What am I supposed to do with it?" The Alienist asked Ortwin, his eyes fixed on the diminutive figure of Orolde. The Sprite seemed a little offended about being referred to as an ‘it’ in the third person.
"You will take him as your aide, and instruct him in the arts of magic." The Bard said regally, mostly for Orolde’s benefit. "He will act as facilitator in your experiments, maintain your house, bring books to you as you need them, and perform other sundry tasks."
"This is inconvenient," Mostin sighed. "It is not as though my manse stays in one place for too long. What happens when I decide to move it? And I don’t want some hanger-on to worry about when I make translations to the insane realms." He peered at the Sprite.
Orolde looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Mostin," the Bard said, assuming his most reasonable demeanour, "Orolde is an innocent victim of an arcanoreligious conflict. But his loyalty to Kothchori was steadfast even to the end. He is efficient, discreet, deft and nimble (despite his one hand), intelligent and small enough to be unobtrusive."
"
Arcanoreligious?" Mostin spat. "What kind of nonsense word is that?"
"One designed to demonstrate the ambiguous nature of the current situation," Ortwin grinned. "Do you have a better one, when Wizards are co-opted by Demon Princes in order to assault members of a church, and when other Wizards need an oracle to consult about their actions?"
"The Claviger is not an oracle," Mostin hissed.
"Semantics," Ortwin waved his hand dismissively. "In any case, Orolde would make an excellent apprentice. He has a grasp of the fundamentals of the practice, and is diligent. You could do much worse."
The Alienist looked again at the Sprite. "Do you know what the
Far Realm is Orolde?"
Orolde looked dubious. "I have a theoretical understanding of the mathematical possibility," he replied.
Mostin cocked his head in surprise at the answer. "I do not deal extensively with Transmutations, as your former master did," he cautioned the Sprite. "I am unsure whether your mind could stand the strain of my work."
Orolde seemed nonplussed. "King Ortwin has recommended you as a potential teacher. I would suggest a probationary period of, say, one year. If things progress to our mutual satisfaction, then perhaps we could extend the agreement?"
"You would receive no stipend."
"Naturally not," Orolde replied.
"The work will be onerous, repetitive and dirty. It will be frustrating and slow to yield results."
"This is not unusual," the Sprite said brightly.
"There is a strong chance that you will lose your sanity – I am quite mad."
"This, also, is not unknown amongst Wizards."
Mostin sighed, and nodded. "After all, if
King Ortwin has given approval, who could deny his royal decree?"
Inwardly, however, despite his apparent reticence, Mostin was immensely excited. As Ortwin had suspected he would be.
**
"It’s very simple," Mostin explained logically. "We cannot hope to overcome
Him in open conflict, therefore we need to cheat. His position in the Abyss has been weakened thus far by our actions, and he needs to turn his attention to internal matters or risk his rivals gaining ascendancy in the wars that he is currently engaged in. His political situation is immensely complex, and he can’t afford for his vendetta against you to cripple his other schemes."
"I think you ascribe too much wisdom to him in these matters," Eadric sighed.
"And I think that you overestimate your own importance in his larger reality. He has suffered several setbacks and defeats – he needs to woo his vassals and allies and to reassure them. Do not underestimate the precarious nature of Demonic politics – it lacks the ability to resist upset, which either the Celestial or Infernal hierarchies demonstrate."
"And how did you come to this conclusion?" The Paladin asked.
"My discourses with Shomei have been productive, as always. But she advises a change of tactics on our part."
Eadric grimaced at the mention of the Infernalist, whose relationship with Mostin he still eyed dubiously. "And what new approach does she recommend?"
"To strike
Him on a number of different fronts simultaneously. She draws attention to our mobility, and the fact that Wyre is now – to a large extent, and thanks to the Claviger – a ‘safe’ zone. Assault from conjured Demons is less of a risk."
"He’s got a good point, Ed," Ortwin chimed in. "We can find all kinds of other ways to piss off Gra…"
"
Hup!" Mostin interjected, before Ortwin could finish the word.
"Although I do think he’s being overly paranoid about that," the Bard continued.
"I don’t want to just annoy him," Eadric explained. "Any actions that we take need to have strategic value."
"And Nehael?" Nwm asked. "For every act that weakens or undermines him, she will suffer."
"We cannot attempt a rescue," Eadric sighed. "It is not a realistic proposal."
"If we push him too far, he may annihilate her," the Druid continued. "That is what concerns me."
"Perhaps," Mostin said carefully, "although inflicting pain is his forté. I suspect that he will be reluctant to prematurely end that pleasure. Besides, he may yet view her as a bargaining piece. He is supremely paranoid, like all Demons. And he is not blind to the fact that we can threaten and hurt him. Although I think the letter that was dispatched may have been too much, I think the premise that we are operating under has merit. But we cannot bring up the matter of Nehael with him – I guess that he does not fully understand our motives in acting. He is depraved, power-hungry, hateful and vindictive – he may assume that it is
simply out of a desire for revenge that we have targeted the Balors and Griel."
"You do not
know that," Nwm groaned. "You are speculating."
"Well, of course I’m speculating," Mostin snapped. "I am not privy to his counsels. But we cannot deal with him openly – at least, not entirely openly. At the same time, his capacity for subterfuge far outshines ours – he has had a lot of practice, after all. I think we need to keep him guessing, at present."
"For how long?" Nwm inquired, exasperated.
"Until I master the spell," Mostin said simply. "It is our best option. In complete honesty, I think the question should be
how can we all contribute to the empowerment of Mostin, so that he can cast this spell?"
Ortwin laughed. "How convenient," he said drily.
"Don’t be so blind," Mostin hissed. "There is a great deal hanging in the balance. Yes, I crave power. Yes, I wish to blaze a name for myself in the annals of magical history. Yes, I am vain and self-centered. This does not detract from the fact that it
is our best option."
"And how do you reconcile this with your opinion that we need to ‘change tact?’" Eadric asked.
"The cosmos is infinite," Mostin replied. "The Demon has his fingers in many pies, of which Wyre is only one. Let’s start sh*tting in a few of them."
"Which pies did you have in mind?" Ortwin asked.
"Some regions where he holds sway…" Mostin began.
Eadric groaned.
"No, listen," the Alienist continued. "Some are much less dangerous than others. I have asked Shomei to do some research for me…"
Eadric spluttered.
"
Listen. It is not just Demonic abodes where his influence is felt," Mostin persisted. "There are some worlds which suffer from his interference. Others where his dominion is entrenched. Yet more that he would try to subdue. He is active in many spheres. And we have more potential allies than perhaps you might guess."
"So where does your Diabolist friend suggest we act?" Eadric asked.
"She is making inquiries," Mostin answered haughtily. "And she is not a Diabolist – Shomei would be most offended if you referred to her as such. And if consorting with Devils is such a problem, then you’d better look to your own house first – unless you have forgotten who you were chatting with yesterday afternoon."
The Paladin opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again. Mostin had a point.
"And Irzho?" Ortwin asked. "There is still a Balor loose somewhere. He needs to be dealt with."
"That had been my plan today," the Alienist nodded. "It shouldn’t take too long. But we need to maintain the initiative. Keep the ball rolling. Give
Him no chance to act, or to second guess us." Mostin grinned wildly.
Eadric squinted, and chastised himself. So much had happened, that it was sometimes easy to forget that
Mostin was completely crazy.
"Well, we aren’t going anywhere yet," the Paladin said. "I need to go back to Morne, bury Tahl and Soraine and too many others. And then there is the matter of my troops. And…"
"You would honour their memory best by avenging them," Mostin said.
"Don’t push it, Wizard," Eadric replied.
"Ed," Nwm said, "go and meditate, or pray, or whatever it is that you do. You need to find some perspective before you commit to this course of action. I will support your decision - I’m not necessarily saying that this is the
wrong thing to do, merely that you should be fully conscious of your motivation before you act. I would hate to see your desire to hurt the Demon outweigh your duty to help Nehael."
"As would I," the Paladin agreed.
**
Five days passed.
Mostin’s efforts to find Irzho were unsuccessful, indicating that the Balor was
mind blanked – either by spell or device. If the former, then Irzho may have returned to the Abyss, and be under Graz’zt’s protection. If the latter – and that seemed more likely, as whatever means Kothchori had used to conceal himself was still unaccounted for – then the Balor could be anywhere.
Mostin brooded upon the name that he had gleaned from the writings of the unknown Alienist – the name of the Pseudonatural Daemon who was, in all likelihood, responsible for the demise of his former mentor, Vhorze. Binding the creature seemed conceivable, but controlling it – or even communicating with it – seemed unlikely, if not altogether impossible. And there remained the problem of not being able to
dismiss it, even if it were successfully contained. No doubt it would merely wait until the wards upon it expired, and then rip off the head of its captor, and drag the remains off to whatever insane realm that it had issued from.
Shomei visited Mostin at his retreat in the woodland meadow southwest of Deorham, interested in the progress of the Alienist’s plans regarding Graz’zt. It was a balmy afternoon, and bees droned in the warm summer air as they sat on the porch and drank chilled firewine. The Infernalist had opted to forego her normal purple attire for a simple, light robe of purest white silk, gathered in around her slim waist. It seemed to soften her pointed features, and made her look more Celestial than Diabolic. As always, she carried her intricate iron rod in her left hand, and was accompanied by the faintest hint of cinnamon. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Orolde, and her mouth dropped when Mostin told her about the Sprite’s position.
"An apprentice? How intriguing! Is he any good?"
Orolde sighed – apparently, being talked about as though he were not present was something he would have to adjust to. And it seemed as though Mostin was far less reclusive than Kothchori had been.
"He has marked potential," Mostin nodded.
"I have a favour to ask, and information to impart," Shomei said carefully.
"What is the favour?"
"I will reserve my request until we have spoken more," the Infernalist replied. "Before you ask, you are under no obligation to honour it, and what I am about to tell you implies no contractual exchange."
"I am glad to hear it!" Mostin said. "Although now my curiosity is piqued."
"I have been most active on your behalf, Mostin. The containment or overthrow of, well, You-Know-Who – I will humour your caution on that count…"
"It is paranoia, not caution," Mostin corrected her.
"Quite. In any case, one might say that I am acting out of enlightened self-interest. If he is reduced in power, removed temporarily – albeit only for a few decades – or even, possibly, eliminated, then it would…"
"Be to your advantage, politically speaking," Mostin finished for her.
"Precisely," she flashed her rare smile. "So bearing that in mind, that it is not out of altruism that I have acted…"
"I would never even suggest it," Mostin quipped.
"I should bring a number of
worlds to your attention," Shomei continued. "I will need to use your Mirror, Mostin."
"Very well," he sighed, reaching into his
portable hole. After a few moments of fussing, he had erected the Looking-Glass of Urm Nahat on the porch of his manse.
"This is exciting, isn’t it?" The Infernalist said. "Like opening presents when you were a child."
"I never had presents," Mostin said drily. "Get to the point, Shomei."
"May I? One just
scries normally?"
"It is very fast," Mostin replied. "And also resembles the
clairvoyance spell. And your sensor may rove. You will quickly master it."
She waved her hand, and the mirror rapidly became opaque, and then cleared to show a scene within a gloomy forest composed of trees possessed of colossal girth and height. A thrush sat upon a branch in the canopy, several hundred feet above the forest floor.
Shomei issued a
message. The thrush immediately chirped, and seemed to stand to attention.
"It is a
polymorphed Devil," Shomei explained. "I currently have several compacts still unexpired." The thrush vanished, and when the Infernalist brought it back into view, the scene beyond was fantastic.
The sky was a mixture of indigo and vermilion, and stars faintly glimmered within it. On a rock buttress of considerable size, thrusting above the treetops, an elegant castle sat perched, its lacy towers soaring into the air and defying the laws of both architecture and gravity. Tendrils of steam or smoke clung to the base of the fortress, giving it the appearance of sitting on a cloudtop. Something vast moved across the sky in the distance, temporarily extinguishing stars before they rekindled at its passing.
"Faerie?" Mostin asked.
"No," Shomei replied, "and although it is accessible from Faerie, a good deal of shadowstuff bleeds in as well. It is a demiplane called
Afqithan by its inhabitants who, as you have already guessed, consist mainly of Feys – most notably Sidhe and their ilk."
"And this plane is of particular importance because...?"
"The pre-eminent clan are called the
Loquai," Shomei explained. "They are cultists of the Demon whose name you are reluctant to utter. You are looking at one of their strongholds: that belonging to their most important king, Irknaan."
Mostin’s eyes bulged. "And they are Sidhe?"
Shomei nodded. "Of a particularly degenerate type. The umbral bleed has affected them to a large degree – or rather, as they have recognized it as a means by which their power can be increased, they have embraced and exploited it."
"Intriguing," Mostin said. "How large is Afqithan? What are the numbers of the Loquai? How potent are they? Is their dominance challenged? Are there demons present?"
"It is of moderate size," the Infernalist answered. "It has a virtual diameter of around three thousand miles – although the circular warping begins some distance before that. The Loquai number in the low thousands, although their hegemony extends over most other sentients – tens of thousands of other Feys and fantastic beasts. In terms of potency, their leaders may rival you or I. Dominance is
always challenged, Mostin. And yes, there are demons present – notably Succubi and Glabrezu. The Loquai are intensely erotic, and seem to venerate that particular aspect of the Lord of Zelatar."
"And your Devil has been spying for you?"
"For several days, now. I have attempted scrying within the fortress, but it is warded from both sight and teleportation. There may be a
Gate within its confines linking it directly with Azzagrat. The Devil has been eavesdropping on groups that issue from the walls – the Loquai are obsessive hunters who ride Tenebrous Griffons in pursuit of various other beasts."
"In that regard they differ little from most Sidhe," Mostin observed drily.
"They are crueler," Shomei said.
"Then they must be very cruel indeed," Mostin sighed. "Very well, Shomei. I appreciate the information. What is the favour that you request?"
"I haven’t finished yet, Mostin," she gave a curious half-smile. She waved her hand, and his mirror went blank for a few seconds. Another scene appeared on its surface.
"This frigid world is called
Saraf," she said, as scenes of mountains, glaciers, and ice fields flashed across the looking-glass. "It has been incompletely subdued by Our-Friend-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless. His tactics here have been less subtle and insidious than in Afqithan, and he has favoured a more direct approach. One of his allies, the Demon Kostchtchie has been instrumental in annexing this plane, primarily through the use of Bar-Lgura and Fiendish Giants – there are probably
Gates to the Ice Wastes in the Abyss. The native inhabitants have been all but eliminated – they exist now only in a few, isolated pockets."
"What are they?" The Alienist asked, fascinated.
"A hirsute race of humanoids whose name I do not know," Shomei answered. "They once possessed a high civilization, although millennia of aggression has removed almost all vestiges of it."
Mostin screwed his face up, as a leaping Demon appeared in the mirror. "Another of your spies?"
Shomei nodded. "Another
polymorphed Devil. I have gleaned some interesting knowledge, regarding Saraf. Observe." The Infernalist sent another
message, and the Devil vanished. When it came into view again, it was standing outside the gates of a city which seemed to have been wholly encased in a glacier.
"I am not sure how this came about," Shomei said. "Whether some sorcery of
His, or a defense of the native inhabitants, or through a natural process, but the city itself seems to have been largely preserved."
"Is it inhabited?"
"Only by ghosts and demons. But secrets reside there, of that I am sure."
"Have you
scried within?"
"Not to any great extent," Shomei responded. "Unlike you, I do not have the leisure to spend hours in casual observation," she remarked acidly, "and my own crystal ball has roamed further afield." She waved her hand, and the mirror became blank again for the briefest moment, until yet another picture showed itself to them. It was a scene from a dark nightmare, in stark contrast to that which had gone before.
Molten waterfalls cascaded over steep lips into basins, where networks of funnels and troughs distributed liquid metal to forges and foundries. The only light present was a reddish glow, issuing from the seething metal, illuminating the faces of thousands of slaves, who toiled ceaselessly. They were watched and bullied by a variety of demons, who took fickle delight in their work.
"Another demiplane. Most of the captives are Azer," Shomei said. "Needless to say, I have an agent placed here also. Below this area, there are mines, and pits, and yet more foundries. And more. The full extent seems to be vast – I haven’t come anywhere close to mapping it all. They are extracting adamantine from other ores: it might interest you to know that after the metal has been purified, it is transported to a system of storage vaults, before passing through a
Gate to Azzagrat, and thus to the Demon’s treasury."
Mostin raised an eyebrow. Shomei had certainly excelled herself. In five days, she had uncovered an extraordinary amount of information. "Is there more to see?"
"Presently, no. I have
plane shifted several other compactees to different locations, however, and they are currently following on leads. More information will doubtless be forthcoming. There are several hundred worlds where the influence of his Highness is felt."
"Hmm, I suppose I should ask you what boon you seek," Mostin grumbled. "It will be hard to deny it, given what you have uncovered."
Shomei bored into him with her violet eyes. "If you engage upon any extraplanar jaunts, I should like to accompany you."
Mostin relaxed. "I would be delighted," he grinned. "Convincing Eadric may be harder, however. He mistrusts your Diabolic connections."
"That is only reasonable," she admitted.
**
Eadric and Nwm returned to Morne, where the Paladin oversaw Tahl’s funeral – a modest affair in light of the events which had transpired after the Inquisitor’s death. He was laid to rest in the Fane’s crypt with little ceremony, and Eadric mourned quietly – part of him lamenting the fact that his most faithful friend received such small recognition.
Until, to the confusion of all, Tramst declared his immediate beatification. Bewildered, Eadric sought out the
Sela.
Why waste time with pomp and ceremony, if death is merely evanescent? Why wait for a cult to grow, or for miracles to manifest? I know the Masters ere they are born.
Eadric bowed, and left joyfully.
Soraine was to be interred in the cemetery adjoining the Temple compound, along with Hyne and the Penitents who had perished in the ambush outside of Morne’s gates. But Eadric changed his mind – the body of the Duchess would taken in state back to Trempa, accompanied by Ekkert and Streek, her most trusted Thanes. Somehow, it seemed appropriate: Soraine’s religiosity had been too eccentric and individual to be confused with the zealots and martyrs. Likewise, Ryth would be returned to Har Kumil in the north of Trempa. Nwm offered to conduct the ceremony, but Ryth’s son, Caur, politely declined.
"The local priest will serve well enough." Caur was young – maybe sixteen – but already a giant of a man.
Eadric shifted awkwardly, unsure whether his actions would offend, but passed a heavy casket to the boy. "Soraine would have given you more, for your father’s loyalty and friendship. Say nothing. Do not object or refuse: if you have no use for it, distribute it amongst the poor in your Lairdship."
Caur nodded. Eadric could be very persuasive when he turned his mind to it.
"Temple money?" Nwm asked as they departed.
"Hardly," Eadric laughed. "The Fane’s coffers will be empty within a month in any case. No, it was mine."
Nwm raised an eyebrow. "How much did you give him?"
"Five thousand."
Nwm coughed. "That was exceedingly generous."
The Paladin shrugged. "Its all the same to me. And Soraine
would have given him more. Unfortunately, I have to pay nearly a thousand mercenaries."
"Trempa should foot the bill," Nwm said.
"The allocation of Trempa’s finances is not within my purview," Eadric replied.
Nwm stopped in the street, and span the Paladin around. "Don’t be a fool, Ed," He hissed. "You are avoiding the issue. You will have to either let Foide’s boy inherit the Duchy, support a rival candidate, or make a claim yourself. You cannot simply
ignore it, and wait for it to go away. Unless you want your taxes and feudal duties to end up in Foide’s hands. Just how compromised do you think you’d feel then?"
"There is time, yet," Eadric replied patiently. "Let them jostle and maneuver for a while. What if Skadding inherits Soraine’s estates? Who knows? Maybe he’ll throw off his father’s yoke."
"Do you believe that?"
"I am optimistic that given the right guidance, Skadding could be a good Duke."
"And you would provide that guidance?"
"When I could," Eadric replied.
"And in your absence?"
"Then maybe he could make mistakes to learn from," Eadric sighed. "The
Sela told me that I might be forced to intervene. He said nothing about open conflict. Intervention takes many forms, Nwm." Eadric tapped his nose. "And when the boy makes his annual progress around Trempa, I will invite him onto the rampart at Deorham. Devas make effective proctors."
Nwm guffawed.
**
Ortwin preened himself.
"You never cease," Iua observed.
"Perfection requires continual readjustment," he grinned, unsheathing his scimitar with a flourish, and cutting an orange in half. The
sending, issued by Mostin, had seemed urgent. Now, typically, the Alienist was late. Orolde had refused them entry into the manse, apologizing profusely to the self-proclaimed Fey King and his consort, but unwilling to contradict Mostin’s instructions.
"Wizards and their servants are such depressing literalists," Ortwin had remarked, but was content when the Sprite had provided them with refreshments on the porch of the retreat.
Presently, in vaporous form, Nwm and Eadric appeared. As the Druid corporeated, so did his two eagles, who had appeared as nothing more than wisps of smoke attending him.
"Mostin will appreciate
their presence, I’m sure," Ortwin said caustically. "Although, personally, I find them far preferable to that stinking bear."
"You’re in a good mood," Nwm said, "your manners are always impeccable when you’re happy."
After reassuring an increasingly nervous Orolde, waiting for a further half-hour, and depleting Mostin’s supply of beverages, they were finally joined by the Alienist.
"There is much to discuss," he said.
