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Tales of Wyre
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<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1029801" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 02-10-2003</em></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>The Rape</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>Wyrt, a cloth-merchant of considerable financial means, lived in a large, comfortable manse in the Temple district of Morne. His home – constructed on a single level in the antique style – was maintained to immaculate standards. Pristine whitewashed walls, a red clay pan-tiled roof, and a neat, formal garden were looked after by Wyrt’s small but diligent retinue of indentured servants.</p><p></p><p>Wyrt – a member of Morne’s influential middle class – enjoyed his life, although of late the war had taken a toll on his income. His wife, Qéma, was a younger daughter of the Silubrein household – relatives of the incumbent Earl of Scir Cellod in the south of Wyre. The marriage had been a favorable one, elevating Wyrt to quasi-noble status, and benefiting the Silubreins with a much-needed boost to their near-empty coffers. Wyrt was a <em>Gilded Thane</em>, in the popular parlance – regarded with disdain by those of established pedigree, but nonetheless one who wielded as much power as many of those who could trace their lineage back twenty generations.</p><p></p><p>An hour before sunset, as clouds were gathering again in the sky above Morne, and many wondered what new sorcery was at work, Wyrt suddenly paused above his ledgers and accounts, his quill pen twitching nervously in his hand. He swallowed, and his hackles rose. Blood thundered in his temples as he thought of Qéma, and he wondered what folly had led him to marry her in the first place. He glanced around his study, selected a sturdy marble book-end, and went in search of his wife.</p><p></p><p>Wyrt never had a chance to smash her skull, however, because as he exited a small drawing-room, Qéma stood in wait for him. She pushed a long larding needle into his throat, and Wyrt fell over, gurgled briefly, and died.</p><p></p><p>In a red haze, Qéma walked outside and went to look for the gardener, who had annoyed her earlier that day by what she perceived as his mismanagement of the shrubbery. </p><p></p><p>Across Morne, with minor variations, the pattern was repeated a thousand times.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>"The Goddess is angry," Nwm said with startling certainty, as his torc relayed a variety of natural grumblings to his mind.</p><p></p><p>"Graz’zt has come?" Eadric asked anxiously. "Can you determine his whereabouts?"</p><p></p><p>"I cannot," Nwm answered. "And Graz’zt is merely the latest in a succession of aliens who <em>should not be here.</em>" The Druid’s disdain towards demons, devils, celestials and incarnate deities alike was barely concealed. His perceptions shifted repeatedly as he tried to focus on something tangible in his consciousness. Half a minute passed.</p><p></p><p>Across his field of inner vision, tiny points of light – sentient beings – appeared. All of those within nine miles, in fact. There were eighty-four thousand three hundred and nineteen of them. In the Temple district of Morne, many flared rapidly – enjoying a brief moment of intensity – before they disappeared permanently. He watched in morbid fascination as lives were snuffed out.</p><p></p><p>Death – unnatural - violence – the desire to do great violence – fear – <em>hatred</em>.</p><p></p><p>Nwm vomited, as his groping mind resonated with the emotional reality of what was transpiring within the city.</p><p></p><p>"Hatred," he gasped.</p><p></p><p>"Enchantment?" Mostin asked cannily.</p><p></p><p>"Yes. YES."</p><p></p><p>"Intriguing," the Alienist observed.</p><p></p><p>"Is it permanent?" the Paladin asked. "Are those who enter likely to feel its effects?"</p><p></p><p>"No, and no," Mostin answered. "Unless Graz’zt’s stature has somehow grown tenfold."</p><p></p><p>"Do we really know how powerful he is?" Ortwin asked nervously.</p><p></p><p>"Not <em>that</em> powerful," Mostin assured him.</p><p></p><p>"Er, so remind me why exactly Oronthon’s avatar isn’t doing anything about this," Ortwin said sarcastically.</p><p></p><p>"I am in no mood for a Theological debate," Eadric snapped.</p><p></p><p>"Nwm would say Thealogical," Mostin quipped.</p><p></p><p>The Druid groaned, and abruptly turned into an eagle. He exited the tent, screeched, and was quickly joined by two more – Sem and Gheim. The three flew towards Morne. Eadric, Ortwin and Mostin followed him out, to be greeted by a riot of colour – Templars, aristocrats, soldiers and mercenaries – all of whom had expectant looks upon their faces.</p><p></p><p><em>Ahma</em>, they cried with one voice. </p><p></p><p><em>Oh, Sh*t</em>, thought the Paladin. The damn army wanted someone to tell them what to do. He motioned to Brey and Sercion, who approached expectantly.</p><p></p><p>"Assemble every anointed Templar*," Eadric instructed his captains. "We are going into Morne."</p><p></p><p>A wide grin appeared on Brey’s face. "That is a wise choice, <em>Ahma</em>. Our holiness alone will prevail. We have no need of foreign mercenaries."</p><p></p><p>The Paladin smiled grimly. "You misunderstand, Brey. We are not going in to fight. I require swords to remain in their scabbards."</p><p></p><p>Tramst had told him that he would know what to do. He hoped he was doing the right thing.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Inside the audience chamber of the Royal Palace – the ceiling of which still dripped slowly from the torrential rains of the previous night – Prince Tagur was finally received by King Tiuhan and the remainder of the Small Council. He limped, his arms were burned and painful from the exchange with Rimilin and the Demons outside of the gates, and he was still bloody and bruised from his escape from Hullu’s encampment.</p><p></p><p>Foide, who had privately hoped for Tagur’s demise, feigned relief at his appearance. The Prince of Einir, who seldom misread others’ motives, scowled briefly.</p><p></p><p>"So who had the bright idea of employing the Demonist as an ambassador?" He spat sarcastically.</p><p></p><p>"His Majesty," the Chamberlain replied loftily. "And you should speak with more respect, although we are glad to find you alive and well."</p><p></p><p>Tagur gave an icy stare. "Foide, shut up." He bowed to the Boy-King. "I fear that you may have made an error of judgement, your Highness.** It is a hard lesson – but you should learn from it. Where is Rimilin now?"</p><p></p><p>"No longer here," Sihu answered. "The Bishop of Gibilrazen says that he and the Heretic are most likely engaged in some diabolic feud, where they are arguing about who claims the spoils after the world ends."</p><p></p><p>"Where is that fat oaf, anyway?" Tagur asked irreverently, causing Tiuhan to snicker.</p><p></p><p>"He has returned to the Temple," Sihu replied with earnest piety. "He left abruptly, and did not explain why."</p><p></p><p>The Prince grunted. From Eadric’s words, he had an inkling of the reasons for the Bishop’s sudden departure, but felt no urge to share them with the others present. Damned religious nonsense. Why couldn’t people just get by without it?</p><p></p><p>After an hour of wrangling about how best to deal with the ongoing crisis in Wyre – half a dozen armies in the area, all but their own respective troops of dubious loyalty to each of the magnates present – Attar, the Warden of the North returned to the chamber. His normally taciturn manner had been replaced by something which Tagur perceived to be close to panic.</p><p></p><p>"Riots have broken out in the Temple Quarter," he panted.</p><p></p><p>"What now," Foide sighed drily, "another doctrinal dispute?"</p><p></p><p>"If it is, I’ve never seen anything like it before," Attar replied. "It’s some kind of hysteria. They’re killing each other in the streets. Templars, soldiers who were stationed on the West Wall, old women, toddlers, everyone."</p><p></p><p>Tagur groaned. The Demonist probably had a hand in this new mischief. And with the Heretic outside of the city, they could hardly draw soldiers away from the walls to contain it. He motioned to Attar, winced in pain as he hurried out of the audience room, and made his way to the tall West Tower of the palace.</p><p></p><p><em>Sh*t</em>, he thought as he looked out at the scene. They were butchering each other by the hundred out there, and new fires were starting – their smoke rising to join the smoldering remnants of those which had burned the night before. A lot had happened in a day. And now the Fane itself was burning.</p><p></p><p>In disbelief, Prince Tagur watched as the Temple’s south transept, wracked by earthquake, wind, torrential rain, and now, fire, teetered and cracked. Immense butresses and pilons snapped like straws, and the edifice collapsed in a ruin, briefly exposing a light in the nave beyond, before it was obscured by smoke and dust. </p><p></p><p>From inside the Temple, something reached out and gently touched his mind. Tagur suddenly <em>saw</em>. The cosmos melted, and was made whole again in an instant. Moments later, Eadric’s trumpets sounded beyond the city walls.</p><p></p><p>Tagur turned to Attar. "Let him in," he said. "Before its too late."</p><p></p><p>The Warden’s jaw dropped. "Your Highness…" he began.</p><p></p><p>"Do it. Open the South Gate."</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>"It is only a technical violation," Mulissu complained. "I don’t see what all the fuss is about." She lounged in one of the huge leather chairs in Shomei’s study.</p><p></p><p>Jovol sighed. "If you don’t have the stomach for this, Mulissu…"</p><p></p><p>"Don’t be so damned condescending. I admire the principle. I agreed to listen to you, didn’t I?" Her memory flashed back to her own fears of assault from Feezuu – although the Ogre’s proposition would have done little to protect her.</p><p></p><p>"Under much duress," Shomei said snidely. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the scars from her exchange with Titivilus still apparent. "Besides, its not as though <em>you</em> will be the one to suffer the consequences of it."</p><p></p><p>"It is a tedious waste," the Savant answered. "And I still don’t understand why we can’t perform the ritual afterwards. Or why the clauses regarding summoning and wizards assailing other wizards can’t simply be dropped. There will always be extenuating circumstances."</p><p></p><p>"Not any more," the Ogre replied. "The Injunction will now be watertight." </p><p></p><p>"<em>Nothing</em> is ever watertight. Mostin won’t like this." Mulissu sighed.</p><p></p><p>Shomei laughed. "If there are any loopholes, he will find them."</p><p></p><p>"Mostin has hardly been an exemplar in observing the Injunction," Jovol agreed wrily. "Which is why I have decided to include him. I’d rather have him in on it, than trying to wriggle around it. Besides, we need his input to fuel the spell. I have already sent written copies of the proposal to Waide, Tozinack, Daunton and Hlioth – a quorum is desirable."</p><p></p><p>"Mostin means well," Mulissu sighed. "But will be reluctant to surrender his sovereignty to an abstraction." A worried look crossed her face. "You’ve made a powerful case, Jovol, but I fear that what you suggest will rip the heart out of magic in Wyre."</p><p></p><p>"It will merely relocate a certain aspect of it."</p><p></p><p>"And Hlioth? She is hardly reliable."</p><p></p><p>"You do not know her as I do. I’ve shown you the Web of Motes."</p><p></p><p>"It is indecipherable to me," the Witch said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I must take your word for it. And what happens if you receive a blanket refusal from all of those whom you have asked?" Mulissu probed.</p><p></p><p>"Then I will <em>Gate</em> in half a dozen Solars and they will help me instead," Jovol grumbled. "One way or another, <em>this will happen</em>." </p><p></p><p>"Have you decided upon the Enforcer?" Shomei asked. "One of the <em>Akesoli</em>*** could be bound with this spell."</p><p></p><p>Jovol shook his head. "They are too political," he said. "And to co-opt them would cause too many ripples. But I concur with your reasoning – something Diabolic would seem to fit the bill, but something outside of the established order – I am leaning towards Gihaahia." </p><p></p><p>"That is certainly a terrifying prospect for potential violators," Shomei nodded.</p><p></p><p>"An infernal magnate?" Mulissu asked, uninformed about the nuances of the Diabolic hierarchy.</p><p></p><p>"An <em>Infernal</em>," Shomei replied. "The offspring of Prince Astaroth and the dead Goddess, Cheshne."</p><p></p><p>"She is not dead," Jovol smiled. "She dreams with the others."</p><p></p><p>"In any case, Gihaahia is an abhorrence. An atavism from a previous reality."</p><p></p><p>"Your concept of reality is quaintly rational," Jovol chided.</p><p></p><p>"And yours is numinous bunkum," Shomei retorted. "But I am not here to argue metaphysics – or transmetaphysics, before you say anything."</p><p></p><p>Mulissu groaned and looked bored. This was precisely why she had isolated herself for so long. "I will fetch Mostin," she said, and vanished.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>The Alienist seethed, looking at the huge, carved marble slab.</p><p></p><p>"You have <em>no</em> right to do this," he snapped.</p><p></p><p>"I have the power," Jovol replied calmly. "And the foresight. And a responsibility to the future. That is enough."</p><p></p><p>"And <em>you?</em>" Mostin looked incredulously at both Mulissu and Shomei. "Have you lost your wits? You of all people, Shomei. You live for this. You cannot <em>ban</em> an entire subschool of magic."</p><p></p><p>"I accept the limitations as part of a larger set of rules, Mostin. Jovol will not move on any of them. Besides, it will only affect those who cannot perform their summonings elsewhere."</p><p></p><p>"That is precisely why it won’t work," Mostin sighed. "Those who wish to will simply go elsewhere in order to do it, and then order their creatures into Wyre."</p><p></p><p>Jovol touched the slab. In response to his words, a minute paragraph carved upon the huge tablet glowed, and seemed to grow in size. Luminous runes hung in the air.</p><p></p><p><strong>33.6(e)</strong><em>…this prohibition extends to the calling or summoning of creatures outside of the excluded area, and their subsequent deployment within it. Such violators will also be subject to the Enforcer.</em></p><p></p><p>"Pah!" The Alienist snorted. "What about the didactic implications? To remove summoning from a mage’s repertoire will impact the understanding of magic in general."</p><p></p><p>"I have the same concern," Mulissu nodded.</p><p></p><p>"And I am concerned about <em>defense</em>," Mostin said. "What happens if a Wizard is magically attacked, and his or her specialty is conjuration? He can no longer summon creatures to protect him."</p><p></p><p>Jovol smiled, and touched the tablet. "Observe…"</p><p></p><p><strong>5.0</strong> <em>No Wizard shall, at any time or in any way, assail another Wizard by magical means…</em></p><p></p><p>"That’s pretty radical," Mostin said.</p><p></p><p>"The <em>theory</em> of summoning is not banned, nor is the practice beyond Wyre’s boundaries. Please, Mostin, do not get stuck on this one point. Read the tablet in its entirety. There are clauses to cover every contingency, and even an appeal clause in the case of possible miscarriage."</p><p></p><p>"Appeal? Appeal to whom? To you?"</p><p></p><p>"To the Claviger." Jovol replied.</p><p></p><p>"What the Hell is the <em>Claviger</em>?" Mostin asked.</p><p></p><p>"You are looking at it," Jovol said, a wide grin appearing on his huge face, and exposing rows of enormous fangs, "at least, in a manner of speaking. The Claviger inhabits the tablet upon which the Injunction has been scribed."</p><p></p><p>"The tablet is <em>sapient</em>?" The Alienist asked in disbelief.</p><p></p><p>"Profoundly so," Jovol nodded. "It can also independently manifest itself. The Enforcer will be bound to the Claviger, and will act as directed by it."</p><p></p><p>"What is this ‘intelligence?’" Mostin asked. "Where did it originate?"</p><p></p><p>Jovol laughed. "Dream," he said.</p><p></p><p>Mostin raised an eyebrow. "What is its order – in the sense of its size, rather than its genus? Its inclination? Its motivations?"</p><p></p><p>"It is the Claviger," Jovol said simply. "And it has agreed to my suggestion."</p><p></p><p>"To inhabit this piece of rock? It must be crazy. I am disinclined to trust it."</p><p></p><p>"Trust is inconsequential," Jovol sighed. "It is not in the nature of the Claviger to manipulate others for its own ends. It does not have an ego or a personality, in the conventional sense. As to its order – <em>deific</em> would be an understatement. It perceives the magical continuum at all times. It will instantly know of any violation."</p><p></p><p>The Alienist’s jaw dropped. "This is outrageous," he said. </p><p></p><p>"I told you he wouldn’t like it," Mulissu groaned. "Perhaps we should have asked Jalael and Troap."</p><p></p><p>"To do what?" Mostin inquired suspiciously.</p><p></p><p>"To help us bind the Enforcer," Shomei answered.</p><p></p><p>"And what will the Enforcer be?"</p><p></p><p>"I am leaning towards Gihaahia at present," Jovol answered. </p><p></p><p>Mostin wracked his memory, until he recalled the name. The blood drained from his face. "Please wait for a while."</p><p></p><p>He scanned the tablet minutely for one hour.</p><p></p><p>"You’re all cracked," he said, and then laughed loudly, as an epiphany struck him. "But count me in. I’ve a feeling you’re going to do it anyway, and if there will be no more summonings, I’d like my last one in Wyre to be a big one."</p><p></p><p>"I was hoping you’d feel that way," Jovol nodded. "But we are not <em>calling</em> Gihaahia. We will be going <em>to</em> her, in order to bind her."</p><p></p><p>"That would be less arduous in terms of the magic required," Mostin nodded. "Are co-operative spells a particular specialty of yours, Jovol?" He asked archly.</p><p></p><p>"They were once," the Ogre nodded, seeing the knowing look upon the Alienist’s face.</p><p></p><p>"Thought so," Mostin said. "One last thing," he asked, "I was planning on <em>calling</em> two Balors tomorrow…"</p><p></p><p>"My Web of Motes indicated the possibility," Jovol answered. "If you proceed, you should make sure that you are outside of Wyre, and do not force them to act as your agents within it."</p><p></p><p>"I assume that extradimensional spaces are not excluded?"</p><p></p><p>"Of course not," Shomei replied. "You see? It will have little impact on you and I, so long as we exercise prudence."</p><p></p><p>"When do you propose to bind the Infernal?" Mostin asked.</p><p></p><p>"Is your highest valence available to you?" Jovol asked.</p><p></p><p>The Alienist puffed out his cheeks, and nodded.</p><p></p><p>"Then now is as good a time as any. I will contact Waide and the others. Mulissu?"</p><p></p><p>The Elementalist agreed, and looked sadly at Jovol. Here was one whom she had barely begun to know, the passing of whose friendship she already lamented. The Ogre had indicated that there was a ninety-six percent chance that he would be dead within two days.</p><p></p><p>Jovol smiled quietly to himself. His prescience had seldom failed him. </p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Nwm circled overhead, ready to conjure elementals in order to tear down Morne’s South Gate if necessary. Below him, Eadric sat upon Contundor amid three hundred Templars – those of particular holiness and devotion who acted as channels for their deity’s power.</p><p></p><p>A deity whose proxy was within the Temple walls, Eadric thought to himself. </p><p></p><p>At that moment, a roaring noise – masonry cracking and falling – echoed across the city and to the gates. In the sky, Nwm screeched at Gheim, and the eagle plummeted downwards, broke its dive, and alighted upon the pommel of Eadric’s saddle.</p><p></p><p>"Part of the Temple just collapsed," Gheim said in a matter-of-fact way. "It is on fire. There are other fires within. Men, women and children are murdering each other on the streets."</p><p></p><p>Eadric felt sick, and motioned to Jorde, who bore the horn of the recently burned Hyne around his neck. It rang out, to be quickly followed by several more amongst the Templars.</p><p></p><p>Perhaps a dozen arrows and bolts issued from the towers above the gate, and clattered off of armour and barding. A rather half-hearted response, Eadric mused to himself. Perhaps the others were being deployed inside the walls. He waited. Within the walls, another horn sounded. Moments later, the gates opened.</p><p></p><p>The Paladin, half-expecting a charge directed at him from within, braced himself for the assault. Instead, numbers of Morne’s inhabitants surged outwards, carrying children too young to walk, and those few possessions which they felt worth saving. Most simply fled. Others seemed to be randomly killing those attempting to escape, or each other. It was impossible to determine who were the victims, and who the attackers. Who was enchanted, and who was not.</p><p></p><p>"Apprehend anyone behaving aggressively," Eadric’s voice boomed out. "Knock them out and tie them up. We can decide what to do with them when we’ve subdued them." He prayed that it would be enough. Motioning to Brey, Sercion, Jorde and a dozen others, he rode through the gate and headed for the Temple.</p><p></p><p>The scene which greeted him on his procession was more barbaric, more obscene, and more painful than anything he had ever before encountered. Mutilated corpses were strewn around. Burned. Impaled. Dismembered. Screams of pain echoed across the dust and smoke-filled streets.</p><p></p><p>As they proceeded, Eadric recalled the words of Titivilus, his appointed Tempter, at his own insistence that Celestials would not permit something like this to happen: <em>Would they not? Are you confident that you understand the Mind of Oronthon that clearly?</em></p><p></p><p>Apparently, Oronthon <em>had</em> permitted it to happen.</p><p></p><p>He grimaced. The old paradox again. Have I come so far, only to be confronted with that same doubt? Eadric emptied his mind, and allowed his wavering to pass. He recalled the place where all polarities cease, and drew strength from it.</p><p></p><p><em>I will have your head for this, Demon.</em></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>*I.e. Clerics, Paladins and spellcasting Prestige Classes.</p><p></p><p>** As a Prince of the Blood, Tagur is not required to address the King by the honorific ‘Majesty’ – he may use ‘Highness’ instead. By doing so he also asserts his precedence over those others present.</p><p></p><p>***The "Pain-Bringers," a group of nine unique Devils charged with administering Amaimon’s justice. My infernal organization is only loosely based upon official D&D canon – I can include it as an attachment if anyone is interested.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 1029801, member: 141"] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 02-10-2003[/i] *** [B]The Rape[/B] Wyrt, a cloth-merchant of considerable financial means, lived in a large, comfortable manse in the Temple district of Morne. His home – constructed on a single level in the antique style – was maintained to immaculate standards. Pristine whitewashed walls, a red clay pan-tiled roof, and a neat, formal garden were looked after by Wyrt’s small but diligent retinue of indentured servants. Wyrt – a member of Morne’s influential middle class – enjoyed his life, although of late the war had taken a toll on his income. His wife, Qéma, was a younger daughter of the Silubrein household – relatives of the incumbent Earl of Scir Cellod in the south of Wyre. The marriage had been a favorable one, elevating Wyrt to quasi-noble status, and benefiting the Silubreins with a much-needed boost to their near-empty coffers. Wyrt was a [I]Gilded Thane[/I], in the popular parlance – regarded with disdain by those of established pedigree, but nonetheless one who wielded as much power as many of those who could trace their lineage back twenty generations. An hour before sunset, as clouds were gathering again in the sky above Morne, and many wondered what new sorcery was at work, Wyrt suddenly paused above his ledgers and accounts, his quill pen twitching nervously in his hand. He swallowed, and his hackles rose. Blood thundered in his temples as he thought of Qéma, and he wondered what folly had led him to marry her in the first place. He glanced around his study, selected a sturdy marble book-end, and went in search of his wife. Wyrt never had a chance to smash her skull, however, because as he exited a small drawing-room, Qéma stood in wait for him. She pushed a long larding needle into his throat, and Wyrt fell over, gurgled briefly, and died. In a red haze, Qéma walked outside and went to look for the gardener, who had annoyed her earlier that day by what she perceived as his mismanagement of the shrubbery. Across Morne, with minor variations, the pattern was repeated a thousand times. ** "The Goddess is angry," Nwm said with startling certainty, as his torc relayed a variety of natural grumblings to his mind. "Graz’zt has come?" Eadric asked anxiously. "Can you determine his whereabouts?" "I cannot," Nwm answered. "And Graz’zt is merely the latest in a succession of aliens who [I]should not be here.[/I]" The Druid’s disdain towards demons, devils, celestials and incarnate deities alike was barely concealed. His perceptions shifted repeatedly as he tried to focus on something tangible in his consciousness. Half a minute passed. Across his field of inner vision, tiny points of light – sentient beings – appeared. All of those within nine miles, in fact. There were eighty-four thousand three hundred and nineteen of them. In the Temple district of Morne, many flared rapidly – enjoying a brief moment of intensity – before they disappeared permanently. He watched in morbid fascination as lives were snuffed out. Death – unnatural - violence – the desire to do great violence – fear – [I]hatred[/I]. Nwm vomited, as his groping mind resonated with the emotional reality of what was transpiring within the city. "Hatred," he gasped. "Enchantment?" Mostin asked cannily. "Yes. YES." "Intriguing," the Alienist observed. "Is it permanent?" the Paladin asked. "Are those who enter likely to feel its effects?" "No, and no," Mostin answered. "Unless Graz’zt’s stature has somehow grown tenfold." "Do we really know how powerful he is?" Ortwin asked nervously. "Not [I]that[/I] powerful," Mostin assured him. "Er, so remind me why exactly Oronthon’s avatar isn’t doing anything about this," Ortwin said sarcastically. "I am in no mood for a Theological debate," Eadric snapped. "Nwm would say Thealogical," Mostin quipped. The Druid groaned, and abruptly turned into an eagle. He exited the tent, screeched, and was quickly joined by two more – Sem and Gheim. The three flew towards Morne. Eadric, Ortwin and Mostin followed him out, to be greeted by a riot of colour – Templars, aristocrats, soldiers and mercenaries – all of whom had expectant looks upon their faces. [I]Ahma[/I], they cried with one voice. [I]Oh, Sh*t[/I], thought the Paladin. The damn army wanted someone to tell them what to do. He motioned to Brey and Sercion, who approached expectantly. "Assemble every anointed Templar*," Eadric instructed his captains. "We are going into Morne." A wide grin appeared on Brey’s face. "That is a wise choice, [I]Ahma[/I]. Our holiness alone will prevail. We have no need of foreign mercenaries." The Paladin smiled grimly. "You misunderstand, Brey. We are not going in to fight. I require swords to remain in their scabbards." Tramst had told him that he would know what to do. He hoped he was doing the right thing. ** Inside the audience chamber of the Royal Palace – the ceiling of which still dripped slowly from the torrential rains of the previous night – Prince Tagur was finally received by King Tiuhan and the remainder of the Small Council. He limped, his arms were burned and painful from the exchange with Rimilin and the Demons outside of the gates, and he was still bloody and bruised from his escape from Hullu’s encampment. Foide, who had privately hoped for Tagur’s demise, feigned relief at his appearance. The Prince of Einir, who seldom misread others’ motives, scowled briefly. "So who had the bright idea of employing the Demonist as an ambassador?" He spat sarcastically. "His Majesty," the Chamberlain replied loftily. "And you should speak with more respect, although we are glad to find you alive and well." Tagur gave an icy stare. "Foide, shut up." He bowed to the Boy-King. "I fear that you may have made an error of judgement, your Highness.** It is a hard lesson – but you should learn from it. Where is Rimilin now?" "No longer here," Sihu answered. "The Bishop of Gibilrazen says that he and the Heretic are most likely engaged in some diabolic feud, where they are arguing about who claims the spoils after the world ends." "Where is that fat oaf, anyway?" Tagur asked irreverently, causing Tiuhan to snicker. "He has returned to the Temple," Sihu replied with earnest piety. "He left abruptly, and did not explain why." The Prince grunted. From Eadric’s words, he had an inkling of the reasons for the Bishop’s sudden departure, but felt no urge to share them with the others present. Damned religious nonsense. Why couldn’t people just get by without it? After an hour of wrangling about how best to deal with the ongoing crisis in Wyre – half a dozen armies in the area, all but their own respective troops of dubious loyalty to each of the magnates present – Attar, the Warden of the North returned to the chamber. His normally taciturn manner had been replaced by something which Tagur perceived to be close to panic. "Riots have broken out in the Temple Quarter," he panted. "What now," Foide sighed drily, "another doctrinal dispute?" "If it is, I’ve never seen anything like it before," Attar replied. "It’s some kind of hysteria. They’re killing each other in the streets. Templars, soldiers who were stationed on the West Wall, old women, toddlers, everyone." Tagur groaned. The Demonist probably had a hand in this new mischief. And with the Heretic outside of the city, they could hardly draw soldiers away from the walls to contain it. He motioned to Attar, winced in pain as he hurried out of the audience room, and made his way to the tall West Tower of the palace. [I]Sh*t[/I], he thought as he looked out at the scene. They were butchering each other by the hundred out there, and new fires were starting – their smoke rising to join the smoldering remnants of those which had burned the night before. A lot had happened in a day. And now the Fane itself was burning. In disbelief, Prince Tagur watched as the Temple’s south transept, wracked by earthquake, wind, torrential rain, and now, fire, teetered and cracked. Immense butresses and pilons snapped like straws, and the edifice collapsed in a ruin, briefly exposing a light in the nave beyond, before it was obscured by smoke and dust. From inside the Temple, something reached out and gently touched his mind. Tagur suddenly [I]saw[/I]. The cosmos melted, and was made whole again in an instant. Moments later, Eadric’s trumpets sounded beyond the city walls. Tagur turned to Attar. "Let him in," he said. "Before its too late." The Warden’s jaw dropped. "Your Highness…" he began. "Do it. Open the South Gate." ** "It is only a technical violation," Mulissu complained. "I don’t see what all the fuss is about." She lounged in one of the huge leather chairs in Shomei’s study. Jovol sighed. "If you don’t have the stomach for this, Mulissu…" "Don’t be so damned condescending. I admire the principle. I agreed to listen to you, didn’t I?" Her memory flashed back to her own fears of assault from Feezuu – although the Ogre’s proposition would have done little to protect her. "Under much duress," Shomei said snidely. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the scars from her exchange with Titivilus still apparent. "Besides, its not as though [I]you[/I] will be the one to suffer the consequences of it." "It is a tedious waste," the Savant answered. "And I still don’t understand why we can’t perform the ritual afterwards. Or why the clauses regarding summoning and wizards assailing other wizards can’t simply be dropped. There will always be extenuating circumstances." "Not any more," the Ogre replied. "The Injunction will now be watertight." "[I]Nothing[/I] is ever watertight. Mostin won’t like this." Mulissu sighed. Shomei laughed. "If there are any loopholes, he will find them." "Mostin has hardly been an exemplar in observing the Injunction," Jovol agreed wrily. "Which is why I have decided to include him. I’d rather have him in on it, than trying to wriggle around it. Besides, we need his input to fuel the spell. I have already sent written copies of the proposal to Waide, Tozinack, Daunton and Hlioth – a quorum is desirable." "Mostin means well," Mulissu sighed. "But will be reluctant to surrender his sovereignty to an abstraction." A worried look crossed her face. "You’ve made a powerful case, Jovol, but I fear that what you suggest will rip the heart out of magic in Wyre." "It will merely relocate a certain aspect of it." "And Hlioth? She is hardly reliable." "You do not know her as I do. I’ve shown you the Web of Motes." "It is indecipherable to me," the Witch said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I must take your word for it. And what happens if you receive a blanket refusal from all of those whom you have asked?" Mulissu probed. "Then I will [I]Gate[/I] in half a dozen Solars and they will help me instead," Jovol grumbled. "One way or another, [I]this will happen[/I]." "Have you decided upon the Enforcer?" Shomei asked. "One of the [I]Akesoli[/I]*** could be bound with this spell." Jovol shook his head. "They are too political," he said. "And to co-opt them would cause too many ripples. But I concur with your reasoning – something Diabolic would seem to fit the bill, but something outside of the established order – I am leaning towards Gihaahia." "That is certainly a terrifying prospect for potential violators," Shomei nodded. "An infernal magnate?" Mulissu asked, uninformed about the nuances of the Diabolic hierarchy. "An [I]Infernal[/I]," Shomei replied. "The offspring of Prince Astaroth and the dead Goddess, Cheshne." "She is not dead," Jovol smiled. "She dreams with the others." "In any case, Gihaahia is an abhorrence. An atavism from a previous reality." "Your concept of reality is quaintly rational," Jovol chided. "And yours is numinous bunkum," Shomei retorted. "But I am not here to argue metaphysics – or transmetaphysics, before you say anything." Mulissu groaned and looked bored. This was precisely why she had isolated herself for so long. "I will fetch Mostin," she said, and vanished. ** The Alienist seethed, looking at the huge, carved marble slab. "You have [I]no[/I] right to do this," he snapped. "I have the power," Jovol replied calmly. "And the foresight. And a responsibility to the future. That is enough." "And [I]you?[/I]" Mostin looked incredulously at both Mulissu and Shomei. "Have you lost your wits? You of all people, Shomei. You live for this. You cannot [I]ban[/I] an entire subschool of magic." "I accept the limitations as part of a larger set of rules, Mostin. Jovol will not move on any of them. Besides, it will only affect those who cannot perform their summonings elsewhere." "That is precisely why it won’t work," Mostin sighed. "Those who wish to will simply go elsewhere in order to do it, and then order their creatures into Wyre." Jovol touched the slab. In response to his words, a minute paragraph carved upon the huge tablet glowed, and seemed to grow in size. Luminous runes hung in the air. [B]33.6(e)[/B][I]…this prohibition extends to the calling or summoning of creatures outside of the excluded area, and their subsequent deployment within it. Such violators will also be subject to the Enforcer.[/I] "Pah!" The Alienist snorted. "What about the didactic implications? To remove summoning from a mage’s repertoire will impact the understanding of magic in general." "I have the same concern," Mulissu nodded. "And I am concerned about [I]defense[/I]," Mostin said. "What happens if a Wizard is magically attacked, and his or her specialty is conjuration? He can no longer summon creatures to protect him." Jovol smiled, and touched the tablet. "Observe…" [B]5.0[/B] [I]No Wizard shall, at any time or in any way, assail another Wizard by magical means…[/I] "That’s pretty radical," Mostin said. "The [I]theory[/I] of summoning is not banned, nor is the practice beyond Wyre’s boundaries. Please, Mostin, do not get stuck on this one point. Read the tablet in its entirety. There are clauses to cover every contingency, and even an appeal clause in the case of possible miscarriage." "Appeal? Appeal to whom? To you?" "To the Claviger." Jovol replied. "What the Hell is the [I]Claviger[/I]?" Mostin asked. "You are looking at it," Jovol said, a wide grin appearing on his huge face, and exposing rows of enormous fangs, "at least, in a manner of speaking. The Claviger inhabits the tablet upon which the Injunction has been scribed." "The tablet is [I]sapient[/I]?" The Alienist asked in disbelief. "Profoundly so," Jovol nodded. "It can also independently manifest itself. The Enforcer will be bound to the Claviger, and will act as directed by it." "What is this ‘intelligence?’" Mostin asked. "Where did it originate?" Jovol laughed. "Dream," he said. Mostin raised an eyebrow. "What is its order – in the sense of its size, rather than its genus? Its inclination? Its motivations?" "It is the Claviger," Jovol said simply. "And it has agreed to my suggestion." "To inhabit this piece of rock? It must be crazy. I am disinclined to trust it." "Trust is inconsequential," Jovol sighed. "It is not in the nature of the Claviger to manipulate others for its own ends. It does not have an ego or a personality, in the conventional sense. As to its order – [I]deific[/I] would be an understatement. It perceives the magical continuum at all times. It will instantly know of any violation." The Alienist’s jaw dropped. "This is outrageous," he said. "I told you he wouldn’t like it," Mulissu groaned. "Perhaps we should have asked Jalael and Troap." "To do what?" Mostin inquired suspiciously. "To help us bind the Enforcer," Shomei answered. "And what will the Enforcer be?" "I am leaning towards Gihaahia at present," Jovol answered. Mostin wracked his memory, until he recalled the name. The blood drained from his face. "Please wait for a while." He scanned the tablet minutely for one hour. "You’re all cracked," he said, and then laughed loudly, as an epiphany struck him. "But count me in. I’ve a feeling you’re going to do it anyway, and if there will be no more summonings, I’d like my last one in Wyre to be a big one." "I was hoping you’d feel that way," Jovol nodded. "But we are not [I]calling[/I] Gihaahia. We will be going [I]to[/I] her, in order to bind her." "That would be less arduous in terms of the magic required," Mostin nodded. "Are co-operative spells a particular specialty of yours, Jovol?" He asked archly. "They were once," the Ogre nodded, seeing the knowing look upon the Alienist’s face. "Thought so," Mostin said. "One last thing," he asked, "I was planning on [I]calling[/I] two Balors tomorrow…" "My Web of Motes indicated the possibility," Jovol answered. "If you proceed, you should make sure that you are outside of Wyre, and do not force them to act as your agents within it." "I assume that extradimensional spaces are not excluded?" "Of course not," Shomei replied. "You see? It will have little impact on you and I, so long as we exercise prudence." "When do you propose to bind the Infernal?" Mostin asked. "Is your highest valence available to you?" Jovol asked. The Alienist puffed out his cheeks, and nodded. "Then now is as good a time as any. I will contact Waide and the others. Mulissu?" The Elementalist agreed, and looked sadly at Jovol. Here was one whom she had barely begun to know, the passing of whose friendship she already lamented. The Ogre had indicated that there was a ninety-six percent chance that he would be dead within two days. Jovol smiled quietly to himself. His prescience had seldom failed him. ** Nwm circled overhead, ready to conjure elementals in order to tear down Morne’s South Gate if necessary. Below him, Eadric sat upon Contundor amid three hundred Templars – those of particular holiness and devotion who acted as channels for their deity’s power. A deity whose proxy was within the Temple walls, Eadric thought to himself. At that moment, a roaring noise – masonry cracking and falling – echoed across the city and to the gates. In the sky, Nwm screeched at Gheim, and the eagle plummeted downwards, broke its dive, and alighted upon the pommel of Eadric’s saddle. "Part of the Temple just collapsed," Gheim said in a matter-of-fact way. "It is on fire. There are other fires within. Men, women and children are murdering each other on the streets." Eadric felt sick, and motioned to Jorde, who bore the horn of the recently burned Hyne around his neck. It rang out, to be quickly followed by several more amongst the Templars. Perhaps a dozen arrows and bolts issued from the towers above the gate, and clattered off of armour and barding. A rather half-hearted response, Eadric mused to himself. Perhaps the others were being deployed inside the walls. He waited. Within the walls, another horn sounded. Moments later, the gates opened. The Paladin, half-expecting a charge directed at him from within, braced himself for the assault. Instead, numbers of Morne’s inhabitants surged outwards, carrying children too young to walk, and those few possessions which they felt worth saving. Most simply fled. Others seemed to be randomly killing those attempting to escape, or each other. It was impossible to determine who were the victims, and who the attackers. Who was enchanted, and who was not. "Apprehend anyone behaving aggressively," Eadric’s voice boomed out. "Knock them out and tie them up. We can decide what to do with them when we’ve subdued them." He prayed that it would be enough. Motioning to Brey, Sercion, Jorde and a dozen others, he rode through the gate and headed for the Temple. The scene which greeted him on his procession was more barbaric, more obscene, and more painful than anything he had ever before encountered. Mutilated corpses were strewn around. Burned. Impaled. Dismembered. Screams of pain echoed across the dust and smoke-filled streets. As they proceeded, Eadric recalled the words of Titivilus, his appointed Tempter, at his own insistence that Celestials would not permit something like this to happen: [I]Would they not? Are you confident that you understand the Mind of Oronthon that clearly?[/I] Apparently, Oronthon [I]had[/I] permitted it to happen. He grimaced. The old paradox again. Have I come so far, only to be confronted with that same doubt? Eadric emptied his mind, and allowed his wavering to pass. He recalled the place where all polarities cease, and drew strength from it. [I]I will have your head for this, Demon.[/I] *I.e. Clerics, Paladins and spellcasting Prestige Classes. ** As a Prince of the Blood, Tagur is not required to address the King by the honorific ‘Majesty’ – he may use ‘Highness’ instead. By doing so he also asserts his precedence over those others present. ***The "Pain-Bringers," a group of nine unique Devils charged with administering Amaimon’s justice. My infernal organization is only loosely based upon official D&D canon – I can include it as an attachment if anyone is interested. [/QUOTE]
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