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<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1434235" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 07-11-2004</em></p><p></p><p><strong>AFQITHAN: PROLOGUE (Part 2)</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p><em>At least five infinities clashed in Afqithan. When forces collide in the metaphysical realm, it is only natural that this is reflected in our own.</em></p><p></p><p>- Orolde.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Rhul's case had been delivered with such eloquence and such poignancy that all those who listened to him, excepting perhaps Jetheeg – the lamia <em>cum</em> hag who possessed neither a moral conscience nor artistic sensibilities – had been moved.</p><p></p><p>He had spoken of Sisperi: its clans, and history and traditions; its wide grasslands and virgin forests; its towns and villages; the customs and the temperament of its peoples. He had evoked scenes of soaring mountains riven with deep canyons, and sun shining on a rolling surf, and mists rising over cold, still lakes. His speech had possessed a natural rhythm which made all constructed meter seem crass and childish; his tone was mellifluous and enchanting.</p><p></p><p>And then he had spoken of death, and ruin, and the end of the world. Of the blight which consumed all things and turned them to filth and desolation. Of the razing of civilization, and the final extinction of sapience. Rhul's words had become a soft-spoken lament; there was no compromise in his description of the horror which had occurred, even until the bitter end. He had spoken of Mulhuk, and of Saes, and Lai, and the death of Hodh and other godlings besides. He had spoken of Ninit, and her wild, unquenchable fury.</p><p></p><p>Ortwin had sat silently, his head in his hands. Mostin had stared blankly. Bile and anger had arisen in Eadric's throat.</p><p></p><p>And then Rhul had begged for aid. Eadric had felt as though his soul had been cut in half.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>After he had left – and Rhul's message and entreaty had taken more than two hours to deliver – Eadric resumed his seat uncomfortably. He poured himself a large goblet of wine, and sat back in his chair. The fire in the hearth had dwindled to a dull glow, and moonlight illuminated the Great Hall through the windows high in its south wall. The servants – disturbed by the company which the <em>Ahma</em> chose to keep – had long since retired.</p><p></p><p>"You cannot waver now," Mostin groaned. "We are so close. How many other worlds could tell a similar tale?"</p><p></p><p>"The Wizard is right," Jetheeg scoffed. "Do not let your weakness and susceptibility to a well-spun story dictate your course of action in this. You have taken vows, and made assurances, <em>Ahma</em>. Would you add oathbreaking to your tally of crimes against your deity? The list gets longer every day, I hear." The innuendo was hardly subtle.</p><p></p><p>Eadric sighed. "How many has Nhura gathered?"</p><p></p><p>"A thousand Loquai knights – virtually all of those who were exiled. Some few sidhe. Compactees. More than a few slaadi may involve themselves."</p><p></p><p>"Slaadi?" Shomei gaped. "Is Nhura insane?" She furrowed her brow, and glanced at Mostin – who shrugged and scowled. Neither had foreseen the possibility.</p><p></p><p>"They are not waiting with her in Faerie or Shadow," Jetheeg snapped. "But several Anarchs have become aware of the situation. They have a vested interest, after all."</p><p></p><p>Realization crossed Mostin's face. "<em>Heedless</em>," he said.</p><p></p><p>Jetheeg nodded curtly.</p><p></p><p>Eadric swallowed. "Mostin, you've said many times that this will be no conventional war. That I need to think far beyond anything with which I am familiar. Do you have <em>any</em> idea how long this will take to resolve? Are we talking in terms of days? Weeks?"</p><p></p><p>Mostin laughed. "Eadric, if the situation in Afqithan is not decided within fifteen minutes, I will be surprised."</p><p></p><p>The <em>Ahma</em> nodded grimly. "Then I would ask you to issue a <em>sending</em> to Rhul: if I'm not in Sisperi in two days, it means I'm dead, and I'm not coming."</p><p></p><p>"You mean to go otherwise, then?"</p><p></p><p>"Yes."</p><p></p><p>Mostin turned to Soneillon, who had thus far only observed. "You have been conspicuously silent. I am surprised that you have had nothing to contribute. What of your own force? And what of Rhyxali, Soneillon? What <em>is</em> she sending?"</p><p></p><p>"Demons, dear Mostin. She is sending demons."</p><p></p><p>"How <em>many</em>?" He asked irritably.</p><p></p><p>"Rhyxali is not predisposed to act often," Soneillon smiled, "but when she does, she acts decisively. She is sending nearly all of them, Mostin."</p><p></p><p>Mostin's jaw dropped.</p><p></p><p>Koilimilou smiled.</p><p></p><p>"I smell a rat," Ortwin remarked.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Mostin dreamed of devils.</p><p></p><p>Powerful devils. Terrible devils. One bore a chain with many barbed hooks which dripped a black venom; another had claws like scythes which clicked together as it flexed its fingers; a third wore a great hood, but Mostin knew that it was faceless beneath its cowl. The fourth devil was still an angel – a Virtue, of sorts. It was tall and beautiful, and wore a breastplate which had been forged before the beginning of time. Strength and power and wisdom were in its hand – but so were lust and greed and evil. It stood beneath a vast banner which depicted a meteor streaking through oblivion.</p><p></p><p>When he awoke, the details eluded him, and he was left with a vague feeling of dread. Dream had claimed his last precognition, and Mostin, who was no Dreamer, could not recall it.</p><p> </p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Magic coursed again through Mostin's veins as he flew. Afqithan was wild, dark and potent.</p><p></p><p><em>This place</em>, he thought. <em>Out of a quintillion possible worlds, why had they chosen this one? What forces had conspired to make this time and place what it was?</em> Mostin was no fatalist, but nor was he quite so arrogant to think that he had entirely mastered the cosmos.</p><p></p><p>He pondered whether Graz'zt would project himself to Afqithan, or whether he would choose to exercise restraint – the latter seemed more likely, according to Mostin's understanding of Graz'zt's paranoia. A combination of the terms <em>silver cord</em> and <em>Heedless</em> had sprung to the Alienist's mind – Graz'zt would not be safe from a <em>vorpal</em> sword, even if he was otherwise warded or fortified. <em>Snip</em>, and it would all be over. Even if Graz'zt knew a spell which specifically protected his cord from dangerous slaadi blades – entirely possible given his age and dedication to sorcery – then it was one less <em>death impulse</em> or <em>desperate summons</em> that he would be casting. And Graz'zt had no doubt considered the unlikely possibility that one of his enemies acquire the sword. Or if Ainhorr lost control…</p><p></p><p><em>Gods,</em> Mostin thought. <em>What happens if Ainhorr loses control of the sword? Who will he chop? What was the </em>Sword's<em> agenda?</em></p><p></p><p>Kostchtchie was already in Afqithan: a 'visiting dignitary' who, in terms of power, was more-or-less matched with Ainhorr – certainly as long as <em>Heedless</em> remained in the Balor's possession. Kostchtchie's entourage was hardly diplomatic, however – armoured fiendish giant huscarls and sorcerers, white wyrms, a winter-wight and countless bar-lgura. Except for the wight, they were, at present, situated some six hundred miles from their current position, near the fortress of Irknaan. But many could also move instantly across any distance, so it barely mattered. The undead monster was harrowing large tracts of forest with no apparent rhyme or reason – the Alienist wondered whether it was even vaguely reliable as an ally of the Demon Lord.</p><p></p><p>According to Jetheeg, who had received news from Nhura, Graz'zt had opened a number of portals – most likely of a limited duration than of permanent nature – between the planes. Afqithan was now linked directly with Azzagrat in at least two other locations besides Irknaan's fortress, and also with the Ice Waste – presumably in the vicinity of Kostchtchie's force. The exact whereabouts of the new <em>gates</em> were uncertain: this was problematic. </p><p></p><p>The Alienist knew that most of Soneillon's faction would arrive the same way: through a portal opened by the demoness from one of Throile's "wrinkles," and assumed that Rhyxali's force would be similarly deployed. The little that Mostin <em>did</em> know about Rhyxali included the importance of the marilith Viractuth within the Shadow Princess's camp. Viractuth was a powerful sorceress who served in the capacity of general and confidante. She would be capable of a magical feat which could transport an army.</p><p></p><p>Mostin fervently hoped that his <em>quiescence of the spheres</em> would not be anticipated. He cursed, because Nwm would have been an invaluable ally. He made a brief, unfelt prayer to any benign deities who might be listening that Shomei should not die today – she was one of the few people with the wit to understand him. And he adjusted his hat – a huge affair, resembling a mortar-board, made from crimson silk, and boasting two-hundred cloth-of-gold tassles.</p><p></p><p>They had made the decision to split into two groups. The first contained Shomei, her conjured minions, Eadric and the succubus Chaya – one of Soneillon's 'handmaidens.' Chaya had a penchant for powerful necromantic spells. The second trio – Ortwin, Koilimilou, and the Alienist himself – was less of a concern for Mostin. As long as Rhyxali was on <em>their</em> side, then Koilimilou was not a tangible threat. If Rhyxali were to become their enemy, however – not entirely impossible, given the whims of powerful demonesses – then Koilimilou would be a dangerous adversary, with considerable tactical information useful to the Princess. Prompt elimination of the sidhe-cambion would be necessary.</p><p></p><p>Chaya, however, was a completely unknown factor. She was wild, bloodthirsty and crazy – <em>even for a demon</em>, Mostin ruefully considered. She had been instructed by Soneillon to guard the Queen of Throile's current favourite – namely, Eadric – and to make her reservoir available to Shomei on demand. Chaya was less than pleased. But she feared Soneillon.</p><p></p><p>A third group would consist of Soneillon herself (she <em>had</em> elected to become personally involved), the balor Irzho (who, by Soneillon's magic, would be augmented to terrifying power), and Rimilin (<em>won't it be delightful to see him again</em>, Mostin thought caustically). Rimilin's craft had reportedly increased to the extent that Mostin wondered if he might be on the verge of transvalency, or even if he had already achieved it. Rimilin had mastered Irzho. <em>How?</em> Mostin thought. Irzho had a <em>mind blanking</em> ring. How does one master a <em>mind blanked</em> balor?* The price for their involvement? For Irzho, <em>Heedless</em> – what balor wouldn't like a huge, intelligent <em>anarchic vorpal</em> sword? For Rimilin, sinister pacts struck with Soneillon, and possibly Rhyxali. Mostin shuddered. The direct sponsorship of a wizard of Rimilin's prestige by a demoness of Rhyxali's power would place him on a par with Shomei in terms of fiendish clout. And Rimilin lacked Shomei's – admittedly idiosyncratic – principles.</p><p></p><p>The Alienist smiled. Despite his loathing of the Acolyte of the Skin, it was not without a certain degree of pride that he recognized that Rimilin was part of one of the most formidable generation of spellcasters that Wyre had yet produced. <em>Although, for a golden age of magic, it seems strangely dark and bleak.</em></p><p></p><p>Mostin, Shomei, Ortwin and Eadric were all <em>telepathically bonded</em>, magically bolstered, and smothered with various wards. The Alienist lamented Nwm's absence again: more would have been better. Mostin was charged up with <em>reality maelstroms</em> as well as various sonics, conjurations and auxiliary spells. Shomei was loaded with necromancies, enchantments and conjurations. </p><p></p><p>Their greatest assets, however, were two spells: a protective dweomer devised by Shomei, and an abjuration invoked by Soneillon herself prior to their arrival in Afqithan – Mostin had later learned that Rimilin, Irzho, Nhura and several others had been similarly warded by the Queen of Throile. They were virtually invulnerable to magic, and unless struck by multiple <em>disjunctions</em>, or unless Graz'zt himself were to come and target them with his <em>superb dispelling</em>, all were safe from an unfortunate evaporation of magical protections at the hands of other spellcasters. Mostin knew that the succubus Adyell was capable of bringing down their wards, and hoped that Soneillon was correct in her assertion that her former handmaiden would not be present. </p><p></p><p>The Alienist circled nervously, and glanced downwards towards Shomei. He sighed. <em>She is glorious</em>, he had to admit to himself.</p><p></p><p>The Infernalist was flanked by four pit fiends, conjured via <em>planar bindings</em> and then subjected to the power of her Will, focused through her rod. And they were <em>Belial's</em> pit fiends – bound in deliberate defiance of the Lord of Hell's Fourth Circle. She was clad in her <em>robe of stars</em>, and while – as always – she bore her rod, a globe now hung from her belt: a sphere of transparent adamant from which Nufrut's head leered. The marilith had passed into Shomei's possession, as previously agreed with Mostin.</p><p></p><p>Eadric sat nearby upon Contundor, and both steed and rider appeared impassive. The celestial charger had acquired a pair of huge <em>feathery</em> wings, which caused Mostin to feel nauseous every time he saw them: Mostin was profoundly thankful that he and the <em>Ahma</em> were not in the same team. Next to Eadric, in dark antiparallel, the succubus Chaya waited with her mount – a foul-tempered cauchemar which champed restlessly. Mostin studied her briefly: the demoness was naked and scarred, almost bestial in appearance. She bore no weapon, and carried but a single item – a smoking black diamond the size of a fist which oozed necromantic power.</p><p></p><p>Somewhat removed, displaying his characteristic nonchalance, Ortwin laughed and twirled his scimitar confidently. Koilimilou, perched upon an ecalypse and surrounded by jariliths, ignored him. She seemed even more introspective than normal, and Mostin watched her nervously: was she privy to Rhyxali's plans (which were certain to be other than had been revealed)? Did she possess a measure of genuine affection for Ortwin? It seemed unlikely – neither demons nor sidhe were renowned for warmth in their relations. Could Ortwin be trusted, anyway?</p><p></p><p><em>Except for Eadric, we are a gruesome, conceited and selfish bunch. Perhaps he is the moral glue which binds the feys, sociopaths and fiends together.</em></p><p></p><p>The Alienist shrugged, and descended. His thoughts reached out to Shomei.</p><p></p><p>[Mostin]: My fingers itch! How much longer?</p><p>[Shomei]: Three minutes, by my reckoning.</p><p>[Mostin]: Aren't your bodyguards restless?</p><p>[Shomei]: Devils are notoriously patient.</p><p>[Mostin]: I am having reservations.</p><p>[Shomei]: Good. Apparently your psychosis has limits.</p><p>[Mostin]: I am dubious about the <em>quiescence of the spheres</em>. I like retaining the option of instantaneous retreat.</p><p>[Shomei]: Mostin…</p><p>[Mostin]: Don't worry. I still intend to cast it.</p><p>[Shomei]: You'd damn well better, Mostin. Quite a lot hinges upon it. Still, you may have been better contriving the spell with yourself as a mobile locus, rather than designating a static one.</p><p>[Mostin]: And lose the opportunity to invoke <em>reality maelstroms</em>? Not bloody likely.</p><p>[Shomei]: I suspect that you won't get the chance in any case – you need to physically remove yourself two miles from your casting point.</p><p>[Mostin] (Grins): I've already thought of that. I will <em>summon</em> a pseudodjinn. We will <em>wind walk</em> together.</p><p></p><p>Shomei laughed. "You are ingenious." Then her manner suddenly became serious. "If I should die, Mostin…"</p><p></p><p>[Mostin]: Do <em>not</em> start this again.</p><p>[Shomei]: There are two <em>simulacra</em> at my mansion…</p><p>[Mostin]: !</p><p>[Shomei]: Together, they comprise most of what I am.</p><p>[Mostin]: They are lumps of ice, Shomei.</p><p>[Shomei]: You will need to find a way to reify them.</p><p>[Mostin]: That is not possible.</p><p>[Shomei]: Nonsense. It has merely never been accomplished before. It will be a task commensurate with your ability. </p><p>[Mostin]: They lack a Self, Shomei.</p><p>[Shomei]: I didn't say it would be easy. One is of me as I was – before Nwm <em>reincarnated</em> me. The other is of me as I am now. (Ironically) They are called <em>Sho</em> and <em>Mei</em>. You will tell them apart by their hair colour. </p><p>[Mostin]: This is distasteful!</p><p>[Shomei]: It will be your <em>magnum opus</em>, Mostin. The last challenge I set you. I would not leave the world bereft of my acquired knowledge.</p><p>[Mostin]: You are more than the sum of your learning. I wish you'd said something about this before. </p><p>[Shomei]: Do all creatures have multiple pseudonatural analogues, Mostin? If so, I would start with that premise.</p><p>[Mostin]: (Astonishment).</p><p>[Shomei]: I have left each with two contradictory impulses: <em>preserve thyself</em> and <em>transcend thyself</em>. Hopefully, the seeds of dialectical consciousness have already been sown. They will aid you in your research – both are familiar with my library. Everything I have is yours, Mostin.</p><p>[Mostin]: (Utter amazement). Shomei…</p><p>[Shomei]: Sho possesses the key to my astral retreat. I have not used it in some time, for fear of assault. If the current crisis is resolved favorably, it should be safe again. And try to establish a second Triune: three is a good number for productive magical inquiry. Consider Rimilin…</p><p>[Mostin]: You cannot be serious!</p><p>[Shomei]: You are the most powerful living wizard in Wyre, Mostin. You have a responsibility to act as a check on him.</p><p>[Mostin]: That is the Claviger's purpose.</p><p>[Shomei]: The Claviger acts within its own circumscribed limits.</p><p>[Mostin]: Mulissu…</p><p>[Shomei] (Sadly): Look no more to Mulissu for aid.</p><p></p><p><strong>[SONEILLON]: NOW</strong></p><p></p><p>Shomei smiled, unrolled a scroll, and opened a <em>teleportation circle</em> to a location previously <em>scried</em>. </p><p></p><p>Beneath a <em>screen</em>, in a small glade within sight of both the steep tor upon which Irknaan's palace stood, and of Murmuur's diabolic tower, Mostin – together with Shomei and Koilimilou – began to invoke the <em>quiescence of the spheres</em>.</p><p></p><p>A thought flickered through Mostin's mind: <em>Murmuur's tower is outside of the quiescence.</em> Had it moved? He couldn't recall its exact previous location.</p><p></p><p>Mere seconds before the spell was completed, tens of thousands of shadow demons began to manifest as Viractuth – Rhyxali's lieutenant – folded a huge area of a distant Abyssal layer, and brought it into vibrational congruence with Afqithan; a massive <em>gate</em> opened to a demiplane abutting Throile, spewing forth Soneillon's horde; and Nhura and her knights and sorcerers – along with compactees and sidhe mercenaries – simultaneously translated <em>en masse</em> from the Plane of Shadow.</p><p></p><p>The keen-eyed spined devils who circled Murmuur's tower relayed the information to Azazel – their commander-in-chief. Hell's standard-bearer issued an immediate telepathic command to Murmuur: <em>Open the gates</em>.</p><p></p><p>Titivilus – whose presence never failed to irk Azazel – now stood nearby. Dispater's Nuncio betrayed no sign of emotion</p><p></p><p>Azazel scowled, and his knights and captains quailed before him. He entered a brief, silent reverie, and <em>communed</em> with his master. He did not doubt that all contingencies had been anticipated.</p><p></p><p>[Azazel]: What is your command?</p><p>[………..]: We will not intervene yet: a measure of uncertainty still exists. Wait. Hold your position until instructed otherwise.</p><p>[Azazel]: Yes, Majesty.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>*Mostin had originally assumed that Rimilin was Irzho's slave, rather than vice-versa.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 1434235, member: 141"] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 07-11-2004[/i] [B]AFQITHAN: PROLOGUE (Part 2)[/B] [I]At least five infinities clashed in Afqithan. When forces collide in the metaphysical realm, it is only natural that this is reflected in our own.[/I] - Orolde. Rhul's case had been delivered with such eloquence and such poignancy that all those who listened to him, excepting perhaps Jetheeg – the lamia [I]cum[/I] hag who possessed neither a moral conscience nor artistic sensibilities – had been moved. He had spoken of Sisperi: its clans, and history and traditions; its wide grasslands and virgin forests; its towns and villages; the customs and the temperament of its peoples. He had evoked scenes of soaring mountains riven with deep canyons, and sun shining on a rolling surf, and mists rising over cold, still lakes. His speech had possessed a natural rhythm which made all constructed meter seem crass and childish; his tone was mellifluous and enchanting. And then he had spoken of death, and ruin, and the end of the world. Of the blight which consumed all things and turned them to filth and desolation. Of the razing of civilization, and the final extinction of sapience. Rhul's words had become a soft-spoken lament; there was no compromise in his description of the horror which had occurred, even until the bitter end. He had spoken of Mulhuk, and of Saes, and Lai, and the death of Hodh and other godlings besides. He had spoken of Ninit, and her wild, unquenchable fury. Ortwin had sat silently, his head in his hands. Mostin had stared blankly. Bile and anger had arisen in Eadric's throat. And then Rhul had begged for aid. Eadric had felt as though his soul had been cut in half. * After he had left – and Rhul's message and entreaty had taken more than two hours to deliver – Eadric resumed his seat uncomfortably. He poured himself a large goblet of wine, and sat back in his chair. The fire in the hearth had dwindled to a dull glow, and moonlight illuminated the Great Hall through the windows high in its south wall. The servants – disturbed by the company which the [I]Ahma[/I] chose to keep – had long since retired. "You cannot waver now," Mostin groaned. "We are so close. How many other worlds could tell a similar tale?" "The Wizard is right," Jetheeg scoffed. "Do not let your weakness and susceptibility to a well-spun story dictate your course of action in this. You have taken vows, and made assurances, [I]Ahma[/I]. Would you add oathbreaking to your tally of crimes against your deity? The list gets longer every day, I hear." The innuendo was hardly subtle. Eadric sighed. "How many has Nhura gathered?" "A thousand Loquai knights – virtually all of those who were exiled. Some few sidhe. Compactees. More than a few slaadi may involve themselves." "Slaadi?" Shomei gaped. "Is Nhura insane?" She furrowed her brow, and glanced at Mostin – who shrugged and scowled. Neither had foreseen the possibility. "They are not waiting with her in Faerie or Shadow," Jetheeg snapped. "But several Anarchs have become aware of the situation. They have a vested interest, after all." Realization crossed Mostin's face. "[I]Heedless[/I]," he said. Jetheeg nodded curtly. Eadric swallowed. "Mostin, you've said many times that this will be no conventional war. That I need to think far beyond anything with which I am familiar. Do you have [I]any[/I] idea how long this will take to resolve? Are we talking in terms of days? Weeks?" Mostin laughed. "Eadric, if the situation in Afqithan is not decided within fifteen minutes, I will be surprised." The [I]Ahma[/I] nodded grimly. "Then I would ask you to issue a [I]sending[/I] to Rhul: if I'm not in Sisperi in two days, it means I'm dead, and I'm not coming." "You mean to go otherwise, then?" "Yes." Mostin turned to Soneillon, who had thus far only observed. "You have been conspicuously silent. I am surprised that you have had nothing to contribute. What of your own force? And what of Rhyxali, Soneillon? What [I]is[/I] she sending?" "Demons, dear Mostin. She is sending demons." "How [I]many[/I]?" He asked irritably. "Rhyxali is not predisposed to act often," Soneillon smiled, "but when she does, she acts decisively. She is sending nearly all of them, Mostin." Mostin's jaw dropped. Koilimilou smiled. "I smell a rat," Ortwin remarked. ** Mostin dreamed of devils. Powerful devils. Terrible devils. One bore a chain with many barbed hooks which dripped a black venom; another had claws like scythes which clicked together as it flexed its fingers; a third wore a great hood, but Mostin knew that it was faceless beneath its cowl. The fourth devil was still an angel – a Virtue, of sorts. It was tall and beautiful, and wore a breastplate which had been forged before the beginning of time. Strength and power and wisdom were in its hand – but so were lust and greed and evil. It stood beneath a vast banner which depicted a meteor streaking through oblivion. When he awoke, the details eluded him, and he was left with a vague feeling of dread. Dream had claimed his last precognition, and Mostin, who was no Dreamer, could not recall it. ** Magic coursed again through Mostin's veins as he flew. Afqithan was wild, dark and potent. [I]This place[/I], he thought. [I]Out of a quintillion possible worlds, why had they chosen this one? What forces had conspired to make this time and place what it was?[/I] Mostin was no fatalist, but nor was he quite so arrogant to think that he had entirely mastered the cosmos. He pondered whether Graz'zt would project himself to Afqithan, or whether he would choose to exercise restraint – the latter seemed more likely, according to Mostin's understanding of Graz'zt's paranoia. A combination of the terms [I]silver cord[/I] and [I]Heedless[/I] had sprung to the Alienist's mind – Graz'zt would not be safe from a [I]vorpal[/I] sword, even if he was otherwise warded or fortified. [I]Snip[/I], and it would all be over. Even if Graz'zt knew a spell which specifically protected his cord from dangerous slaadi blades – entirely possible given his age and dedication to sorcery – then it was one less [I]death impulse[/I] or [I]desperate summons[/I] that he would be casting. And Graz'zt had no doubt considered the unlikely possibility that one of his enemies acquire the sword. Or if Ainhorr lost control… [I]Gods,[/I] Mostin thought. [I]What happens if Ainhorr loses control of the sword? Who will he chop? What was the [/I]Sword's[I] agenda?[/I] Kostchtchie was already in Afqithan: a 'visiting dignitary' who, in terms of power, was more-or-less matched with Ainhorr – certainly as long as [I]Heedless[/I] remained in the Balor's possession. Kostchtchie's entourage was hardly diplomatic, however – armoured fiendish giant huscarls and sorcerers, white wyrms, a winter-wight and countless bar-lgura. Except for the wight, they were, at present, situated some six hundred miles from their current position, near the fortress of Irknaan. But many could also move instantly across any distance, so it barely mattered. The undead monster was harrowing large tracts of forest with no apparent rhyme or reason – the Alienist wondered whether it was even vaguely reliable as an ally of the Demon Lord. According to Jetheeg, who had received news from Nhura, Graz'zt had opened a number of portals – most likely of a limited duration than of permanent nature – between the planes. Afqithan was now linked directly with Azzagrat in at least two other locations besides Irknaan's fortress, and also with the Ice Waste – presumably in the vicinity of Kostchtchie's force. The exact whereabouts of the new [I]gates[/I] were uncertain: this was problematic. The Alienist knew that most of Soneillon's faction would arrive the same way: through a portal opened by the demoness from one of Throile's "wrinkles," and assumed that Rhyxali's force would be similarly deployed. The little that Mostin [I]did[/I] know about Rhyxali included the importance of the marilith Viractuth within the Shadow Princess's camp. Viractuth was a powerful sorceress who served in the capacity of general and confidante. She would be capable of a magical feat which could transport an army. Mostin fervently hoped that his [I]quiescence of the spheres[/I] would not be anticipated. He cursed, because Nwm would have been an invaluable ally. He made a brief, unfelt prayer to any benign deities who might be listening that Shomei should not die today – she was one of the few people with the wit to understand him. And he adjusted his hat – a huge affair, resembling a mortar-board, made from crimson silk, and boasting two-hundred cloth-of-gold tassles. They had made the decision to split into two groups. The first contained Shomei, her conjured minions, Eadric and the succubus Chaya – one of Soneillon's 'handmaidens.' Chaya had a penchant for powerful necromantic spells. The second trio – Ortwin, Koilimilou, and the Alienist himself – was less of a concern for Mostin. As long as Rhyxali was on [I]their[/I] side, then Koilimilou was not a tangible threat. If Rhyxali were to become their enemy, however – not entirely impossible, given the whims of powerful demonesses – then Koilimilou would be a dangerous adversary, with considerable tactical information useful to the Princess. Prompt elimination of the sidhe-cambion would be necessary. Chaya, however, was a completely unknown factor. She was wild, bloodthirsty and crazy – [I]even for a demon[/I], Mostin ruefully considered. She had been instructed by Soneillon to guard the Queen of Throile's current favourite – namely, Eadric – and to make her reservoir available to Shomei on demand. Chaya was less than pleased. But she feared Soneillon. A third group would consist of Soneillon herself (she [I]had[/I] elected to become personally involved), the balor Irzho (who, by Soneillon's magic, would be augmented to terrifying power), and Rimilin ([I]won't it be delightful to see him again[/I], Mostin thought caustically). Rimilin's craft had reportedly increased to the extent that Mostin wondered if he might be on the verge of transvalency, or even if he had already achieved it. Rimilin had mastered Irzho. [I]How?[/I] Mostin thought. Irzho had a [I]mind blanking[/I] ring. How does one master a [I]mind blanked[/I] balor?* The price for their involvement? For Irzho, [I]Heedless[/I] – what balor wouldn't like a huge, intelligent [I]anarchic vorpal[/I] sword? For Rimilin, sinister pacts struck with Soneillon, and possibly Rhyxali. Mostin shuddered. The direct sponsorship of a wizard of Rimilin's prestige by a demoness of Rhyxali's power would place him on a par with Shomei in terms of fiendish clout. And Rimilin lacked Shomei's – admittedly idiosyncratic – principles. The Alienist smiled. Despite his loathing of the Acolyte of the Skin, it was not without a certain degree of pride that he recognized that Rimilin was part of one of the most formidable generation of spellcasters that Wyre had yet produced. [I]Although, for a golden age of magic, it seems strangely dark and bleak.[/I] Mostin, Shomei, Ortwin and Eadric were all [I]telepathically bonded[/I], magically bolstered, and smothered with various wards. The Alienist lamented Nwm's absence again: more would have been better. Mostin was charged up with [I]reality maelstroms[/I] as well as various sonics, conjurations and auxiliary spells. Shomei was loaded with necromancies, enchantments and conjurations. Their greatest assets, however, were two spells: a protective dweomer devised by Shomei, and an abjuration invoked by Soneillon herself prior to their arrival in Afqithan – Mostin had later learned that Rimilin, Irzho, Nhura and several others had been similarly warded by the Queen of Throile. They were virtually invulnerable to magic, and unless struck by multiple [I]disjunctions[/I], or unless Graz'zt himself were to come and target them with his [I]superb dispelling[/I], all were safe from an unfortunate evaporation of magical protections at the hands of other spellcasters. Mostin knew that the succubus Adyell was capable of bringing down their wards, and hoped that Soneillon was correct in her assertion that her former handmaiden would not be present. The Alienist circled nervously, and glanced downwards towards Shomei. He sighed. [I]She is glorious[/I], he had to admit to himself. The Infernalist was flanked by four pit fiends, conjured via [I]planar bindings[/I] and then subjected to the power of her Will, focused through her rod. And they were [I]Belial's[/I] pit fiends – bound in deliberate defiance of the Lord of Hell's Fourth Circle. She was clad in her [I]robe of stars[/I], and while – as always – she bore her rod, a globe now hung from her belt: a sphere of transparent adamant from which Nufrut's head leered. The marilith had passed into Shomei's possession, as previously agreed with Mostin. Eadric sat nearby upon Contundor, and both steed and rider appeared impassive. The celestial charger had acquired a pair of huge [I]feathery[/I] wings, which caused Mostin to feel nauseous every time he saw them: Mostin was profoundly thankful that he and the [I]Ahma[/I] were not in the same team. Next to Eadric, in dark antiparallel, the succubus Chaya waited with her mount – a foul-tempered cauchemar which champed restlessly. Mostin studied her briefly: the demoness was naked and scarred, almost bestial in appearance. She bore no weapon, and carried but a single item – a smoking black diamond the size of a fist which oozed necromantic power. Somewhat removed, displaying his characteristic nonchalance, Ortwin laughed and twirled his scimitar confidently. Koilimilou, perched upon an ecalypse and surrounded by jariliths, ignored him. She seemed even more introspective than normal, and Mostin watched her nervously: was she privy to Rhyxali's plans (which were certain to be other than had been revealed)? Did she possess a measure of genuine affection for Ortwin? It seemed unlikely – neither demons nor sidhe were renowned for warmth in their relations. Could Ortwin be trusted, anyway? [I]Except for Eadric, we are a gruesome, conceited and selfish bunch. Perhaps he is the moral glue which binds the feys, sociopaths and fiends together.[/I] The Alienist shrugged, and descended. His thoughts reached out to Shomei. [Mostin]: My fingers itch! How much longer? [Shomei]: Three minutes, by my reckoning. [Mostin]: Aren't your bodyguards restless? [Shomei]: Devils are notoriously patient. [Mostin]: I am having reservations. [Shomei]: Good. Apparently your psychosis has limits. [Mostin]: I am dubious about the [I]quiescence of the spheres[/I]. I like retaining the option of instantaneous retreat. [Shomei]: Mostin… [Mostin]: Don't worry. I still intend to cast it. [Shomei]: You'd damn well better, Mostin. Quite a lot hinges upon it. Still, you may have been better contriving the spell with yourself as a mobile locus, rather than designating a static one. [Mostin]: And lose the opportunity to invoke [I]reality maelstroms[/I]? Not bloody likely. [Shomei]: I suspect that you won't get the chance in any case – you need to physically remove yourself two miles from your casting point. [Mostin] (Grins): I've already thought of that. I will [I]summon[/I] a pseudodjinn. We will [I]wind walk[/I] together. Shomei laughed. "You are ingenious." Then her manner suddenly became serious. "If I should die, Mostin…" [Mostin]: Do [I]not[/I] start this again. [Shomei]: There are two [I]simulacra[/I] at my mansion… [Mostin]: ! [Shomei]: Together, they comprise most of what I am. [Mostin]: They are lumps of ice, Shomei. [Shomei]: You will need to find a way to reify them. [Mostin]: That is not possible. [Shomei]: Nonsense. It has merely never been accomplished before. It will be a task commensurate with your ability. [Mostin]: They lack a Self, Shomei. [Shomei]: I didn't say it would be easy. One is of me as I was – before Nwm [I]reincarnated[/I] me. The other is of me as I am now. (Ironically) They are called [I]Sho[/I] and [I]Mei[/I]. You will tell them apart by their hair colour. [Mostin]: This is distasteful! [Shomei]: It will be your [I]magnum opus[/I], Mostin. The last challenge I set you. I would not leave the world bereft of my acquired knowledge. [Mostin]: You are more than the sum of your learning. I wish you'd said something about this before. [Shomei]: Do all creatures have multiple pseudonatural analogues, Mostin? If so, I would start with that premise. [Mostin]: (Astonishment). [Shomei]: I have left each with two contradictory impulses: [I]preserve thyself[/I] and [I]transcend thyself[/I]. Hopefully, the seeds of dialectical consciousness have already been sown. They will aid you in your research – both are familiar with my library. Everything I have is yours, Mostin. [Mostin]: (Utter amazement). Shomei… [Shomei]: Sho possesses the key to my astral retreat. I have not used it in some time, for fear of assault. If the current crisis is resolved favorably, it should be safe again. And try to establish a second Triune: three is a good number for productive magical inquiry. Consider Rimilin… [Mostin]: You cannot be serious! [Shomei]: You are the most powerful living wizard in Wyre, Mostin. You have a responsibility to act as a check on him. [Mostin]: That is the Claviger's purpose. [Shomei]: The Claviger acts within its own circumscribed limits. [Mostin]: Mulissu… [Shomei] (Sadly): Look no more to Mulissu for aid. [B][SONEILLON]: NOW[/B] Shomei smiled, unrolled a scroll, and opened a [I]teleportation circle[/I] to a location previously [I]scried[/I]. Beneath a [I]screen[/I], in a small glade within sight of both the steep tor upon which Irknaan's palace stood, and of Murmuur's diabolic tower, Mostin – together with Shomei and Koilimilou – began to invoke the [I]quiescence of the spheres[/I]. A thought flickered through Mostin's mind: [I]Murmuur's tower is outside of the quiescence.[/I] Had it moved? He couldn't recall its exact previous location. Mere seconds before the spell was completed, tens of thousands of shadow demons began to manifest as Viractuth – Rhyxali's lieutenant – folded a huge area of a distant Abyssal layer, and brought it into vibrational congruence with Afqithan; a massive [I]gate[/I] opened to a demiplane abutting Throile, spewing forth Soneillon's horde; and Nhura and her knights and sorcerers – along with compactees and sidhe mercenaries – simultaneously translated [I]en masse[/I] from the Plane of Shadow. The keen-eyed spined devils who circled Murmuur's tower relayed the information to Azazel – their commander-in-chief. Hell's standard-bearer issued an immediate telepathic command to Murmuur: [I]Open the gates[/I]. Titivilus – whose presence never failed to irk Azazel – now stood nearby. Dispater's Nuncio betrayed no sign of emotion Azazel scowled, and his knights and captains quailed before him. He entered a brief, silent reverie, and [I]communed[/I] with his master. He did not doubt that all contingencies had been anticipated. [Azazel]: What is your command? [………..]: We will not intervene yet: a measure of uncertainty still exists. Wait. Hold your position until instructed otherwise. [Azazel]: Yes, Majesty. *Mostin had originally assumed that Rimilin was Irzho's slave, rather than vice-versa. [/QUOTE]
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