thatdarncat
Overlord of Chat
Found this, thought you guys might be interested
http://www.weebls-shop.co.uk/toys.asp?siteid=100&prodcatid=141
http://www.weebls-shop.co.uk/toys.asp?siteid=100&prodcatid=141
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The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Wizardru's Story Hour (updated 11/21)
- Thread starter Zad
- Start date
- Status
Argent Silvermage
First Post
Now lets be nice Zad. Dravot is like Pelor's left pinky toenail He has holier than thou down to an artform. We mere mortals don't need to SEE the miracle to believe it happened.Zad said:Oh yeah, Mister I'll-just-roll-a-diplomacy-check and look holy in post.
(post = post-production. In this context - when the humble author makes something that happened sound really cool even though it wasn't during the actual game.)
WizarDru
Adventurer
Zad said:Oh yeah, Mister I'll-just-roll-a-diplomacy-check and look holy in post.
(post = post-production. In this context - when the humble author makes something that happened sound really cool even though it wasn't during the actual game.)
I thought it was pretty cool in-game. And I put that potion there.
Scorch
Explorer
LordVyreth said:
I'll let Zad fill you all in on what happened when he posts later but in my opinion it went a little something like this:
http://www.angryflower.com/realas.html
Scorch Out!
LordVyreth
First Post
thatdarncat said:
Oh, I kinda want one of those myself now.
Zad
First Post
Strange Bedfellows - Chapter 2
Strange Bedfellows – Chapter 2
OOC Notes:
Exp is 10,000
This Week’s Adventure:
After the haggling was done, the final force consisted of us, a score of Swords of Heironeous, the Platinar, and six other dragons of varying metals whom I did not know personally. The transportation logistics were a bit of a problem with a force this size, but it seemed everyone was expecting us to handle it somehow. The simplest thing turned out to be to gate to another plane, and then return to the Prime on the coast of Ahlyssa. From there we took to the air and headed towards the Lendores.
It took two hours to reach the area, and the Platinar hardly said a word during the flight. I understood his pain – I was feeling it myself. The best help I could give him was to support him in silence, and that I did. The other dragons were equally terse, but more from respect than grief for what would come.
Even if we didn’t know where the Lendores were, we could just as easily have followed the Judges that were being drawn to the disturbance. In time I could start to make out huge flights of judges in formation moving into a huge cloudbank over the southernmost isle of the three main isles of the Lendores. The Judges were moving like a large storm front swarming around what I can only describe as a soap bubble covering the southern island. On the sea below I could see ships worked like conchshells with complicated sail systems sliding through the water. The winds were gusting and carried about two dozen ships away from the islands.
Activity seemed to revolve around a makeshift camp and port set in the middle island. Flights of Judges would approach a lone Judge (surely Meltorannan) hovering over the tents, then fly off. Below him, the wounded and those tending them moved about with uncanny calm and sense of purpose. The sea elves were coordinating their evacuation here, and as we approached I made out other people we had met on our last, more pleasant trip.
I could also see dozens of scrying sensors in the air. Some few were looking at our approach (so many of us were masked that it surely looked less interesting that it actually was) while most were scanning the ground below.
Our arrival did not cause a great stir, and that made sense given the dire circumstances. But that isn’t to say that the arrival of The Paragon went without notice among the People of the Testing. They were moving with a sense of calmness and purpose, but any small signs of wavering or uncertainty vanished as Aethramyr came among them, replaced by firmness and resolution.
The man we met as the Silverring’s assistant came to speak to us. “Your arrival is most appreciated – things have become somewhat dire. The being known as Zinkman has succeeded in opening a rift to the Far Realms damaging the prime. The stuff of madness pours in like bile, carrying twisted foul creatures with it. As her dying act, the Dreamer Prime put up the bubble barrier, destroying a large part of the temple in the process. The Stone of Testing has been shattered and used as a focal point to power the rift. Many Judges have been banished or destroyed. With the aid of the People of the Testing, the Judges are holding them back but we are losing ground.”
Meltorannan had landed and joined the conversation. “We are but a third of the infinite, while they are infinite. We cannot hold out forever.”
I’m sure that statement made perfect sense if you studied Celestial mechanics or religion, but just left me confused. “So what’s happening inside the bubble?” I asked.
“Any Judge that enters cannot retreat – they are too hard pressed. Our information is limited.”
Aethramyr quietly closed his eyes and slipped into The Dreaming. There he could see the battle on a whole different front. The People of the Testing were doing their best to hold back the nightmares entering from the Far Realms. This is the test that they have been preparing for, and they faced their task with calm and resolve. But on this front too, they were slowly losing.
With little else to know, we were ready to move on. The Swords were unhappy at this. They wanted more reconnaissance and a carefully considered plan before entering the barrier. They didn’t understand that the madness within would tolerate no plan, and that while a part of me shared their feelings, I knew that no amount of planning would help, so we may as well get to it before things get worse. Meltorannan would join us for this assault but the rest of the Judges would fight to hold the line.
We entered the bubble. There was no physical effect but there was a strange chill and an almost electrical tingle. I did not feel any kind of impedance, but two of the Swords were unable to pass through. They may have been better off. Within, everything was changed. Swirls of madness danced at the edge of vision, but when you turned, there was nothing to see. The land was blighted, blasted, cracked and corrupt. Above the village, the sky was broken like a pane of glass. Through the cracks poured liquid nightmare. The tide of madness poured in and crashed over the village like a slick oil, flowing and chattering with glee. As it flowed up the sides of the barrier like water in a bowl, I could see the Judges in the ethereal holding back the tide of creatures with only their sheer physical presence. On the ground, creatures hacked and cut at the Judges unanswered. They looked to be People of the Testing, but they had been corrupted and their bodies were covered with parasites and jelly-like creatures and they moved like clumsy puppets flailing away with blades of blue energy.
A dozen of them were in our immediate path, and I would just as easily have gone over them, but as one they turned and shambled towards us.
“Fine,” I thought. I fired a volley. The creature took the full brunt of it, and was hurt but still standing. That in itself was indication that these would be more than a momentary distraction. As the arrows hit, a blue fire coruscated over its body and the fire light the other creatures with the same blaze.
And then they came at us. Rather quickly I might add. These things were not inconsequential but neither were they going to stop us. They released a volley of caustic attacks which caused the Platinar some pain, but its main result was just to enrage him. The blue flame surrounding the creatures was problematic for melee attacks, but it didn’t stop me, and while a creature could survive one volley, it couldn’t survive two. With the addition of words of holy power from Dravot and Bolo, we swept through them quickly and moved to the center of the maelstrom.
The closer we drew to the inevitable final battleground, the more disturbing things became. Buildings were covered in slime and parasites attached themselves to fallen defenders. Bodies formed out of the miasma then were dragged back down with silent screams. The madness was forming, churning and worst - growing. The scene was a pale imitation of the Far Realms itself, and had little effect on those who had seen the true thing, but it was a testament to the courage of the Swords of Heironeous that none of them broke when faced with the insanity of it all.
Most of the flow of the madness crashed and flowed over a cupola in the middle of the village. Beneath it was the Silverring, who body looked like mercury streaked with dark bile. Floating near his shoulder, no longer directly attached, was Zinkman, a man with muted features plated in silver. Parasites crawled on the Silverring’s body, feeding on him. Whether the ancient wyrm was alive in any conventional sense was debatable.
Zinkman floated in front of the Silverring. “It begins again Slerotin! This time we won’t fail. Let them tremble before our power. At last you have returned so that we can do the Devastation once more. This time we shall become as gods!”
Scorch was unimpressed. “I like the Prime the way it is now. Can’t we just put this off? Maybe some other Prime?”
Zinkman pouted, disappointed. “Oh, Slerotin. Don’t tell me you’ve joined with the mad one like your brothers? I would be sore displeased if you, the last remaining free Slerotin, were to turn against me. After all, what is it you think you can accomplish here that legions of these creatures cannot?”
Scorch considered this more carefully than I might have thought. “Actually I’d like to live long enough to prove that free will is possible.”
“Free will?” Zinkman scoffed. “An illusion. You are here as you were planned to be. I felt you destroy the binders, severing us finally.”
Scorch furrowed his brow. “Wait – me and you, or me and the other you at Ru’un Khazai?” I’m not sure why it was important but any information about the other Zinkman could be useful.
“My madness and I are separated and I am in control once more,” Zinkman crowed.
“So what happens after we destroy the Prime?” Scorch asked.
“We give it to our ultimate master, the Lord of Madness himself. We were unsuccessful in completely destroying the rainbow realm but my master holds a fortress there.”
Scorch had continued the conversation further than I would have guessed, but suddenly he got bored. “Let me tell you how it’s going to go: First we’re going to kick your sorry, shiny ass back to the Far Realms, then your buddy in Ru’un Khazai, and then we’re going to lock up Therizdun so tight he’ll still be around to watch the heat death of the universe.”
[OOC: Followed by Scorch saying “Initiative, bitch.”]
Zinkman was suffused with a pale yellow glow, and having no idea what we were facing we tread very carefully. Dravot cast an exploratory implosion but it was reflected back at him. Meltorannan struck with his staff, but was repelled backwards with a peal of thunder. He was badly hurt and his mask cracked. I’m not clear if he hoped to damage Zinkman was simply willing to sacrifice himself to prevent that from happening to one of us. I fired a single arrow at Zinkman, but almost predictably it was reflected back at me and I held my fire.
Scorch put a force cage around Zinkman. With spells reflecting, our best option was to delay him for a bit. Dravot turned his attention towards the rift, and tried to block the tear in reality. His spell stemmed most of the tide but it was not enough on its own.
The cage was a nuisance, but Zinkman had another tool to express his anger. The Silverring lurched towards the grounded Meltorannan and unleashed a fury of tooth and claw. Meltorannan would have been surely destroyed but for the sudden appearance of several solars who intercepted different attacks, taking the blow for Meltorannan. Many of them were badly injured but not fatally.
Zinkman looked over at the Judge, miffed that he still survived. I was looking at the solars – they were solars, not Judges. It was only when I realized they bore no mark of faith that I knew they were the Forsaken – the solars that had guarded Brindinford and were neither of Pelor nor of Ralishaz. They were orphaned celestials, which is a perilous state for such beings. Why they were here, I was not sure, and why they were defending Meltorannan I had even less notion.
But their presence was problematic. The Judges, now perceiving them, acted. I could not believe they could be so narrow-minded as that, with the world in danger that they would abandon their post to banish a few inconsequential creatures. But their duty was clear and it was beyond their ability to exercise discretion. But the Judges could not actually banish them; these creatures were no longer divine agents, and no longer had a home outside the Prime. If the Judges tried to banish the solars, they would instead be destroyed, having nowhere to go. Dravot yelled to Meltorannan to stop the Judges.
Meltorannan said “I cannot. They have their duty. But you can save them. You have the power now. Please save them.”
Zinkman appeared outside the force cage with a pop, cackling and considering his next target. Zinkman was too powerful, even without the binders helping him. But we knew he drew power from three sources – the binders, the Far Realms, and the Silverring. Without any discussion, we all knew we had to weaken him further before he could be destroyed. So Scorch acted. His spell was… wrong. It was not blasphemous, or evil, or even insane, but its words had a fundamental wrongness I can’t describe. It was an unbinding of the highest magnitude, and the mere words made the air shake and magic quiver. He focused the un-doing at the Silverring, and the spells around him suddenly unraveled. They were not dispelled, nor suppressed, nor broken in any usual sense – they were unraveled into component pieces and, like a torn up scroll, the phrases and incantations could not support each other, and the magic fell to pieces on the broken land. The Silverring crashed to the ground in a heap, the parasites falling away shriveled and inert. He wasn’t dead, but nor would he live much longer.
Scorch giggled. “I didn’t think that would work.”
Zinkman shrieked “You killed my pet dragon! I’ll snap your neck for that.”
Bolo piped up “Not just yet, you won’t.” And massive hands of stone rose up from the earth and clasped tight around Zinkman. Nature itself was angry at the atrocity happening here and readily answered Bolo’s call to arms.
The Judges had almost reached the solars. The solars looked sad, but they were resigned to their fate, and seemed to take at least small comfort in having done something worthwhile before their end. But before the Judges could raise their staves, Dravot called out in a clear voice.
“You shall not harm My host.”
There was a ripple in the air. The solars shifted, their aspect changing. They seemed almost eager for it. They took on Dravot’s aspect, and smiled. The Judges stopped and bowed, and returned to their place in the line. There was now no doubt that Dravot was not simply touched by the divine – he was divine. And as a diety, however strong, of the Prime, his host was allowed to be on the Prime by the terms of the agreement. The loophole was fairly straightforward, if hard to qualify for.
I wonder now if that was what the solars were hoping for, as their love for Dravot was what led them to save Brindinford in the first place.
Dravot had thought ahead though. He turned to the nearest solar and said “I need a miracle to expand the dimensional barrier and plug the rift.”
The solar bowed and “Your will be done.” The flow of madness nearly stopped.
Aethramyr ran to the fallen Silverring and spoke softly. “Any sins you feel you committed have long since been atoned for, and your guilt has no more hold. Is it time?”
The wyrm could barely move, but with what strength he had, he nodded, and closed his eyes. Aethramyr focused himself, and gave to the dragon a last, perfect dream. And in that dream, the oldest living dragon let go, and passed away.
Zinkman exploded out from the stone hands. His bravado was gone, and his face now held something sterner, and perhaps with some mix of fear as well. He was now cut off from that which strengthened him, and I fired another shot to test his power. The shot was not reflected but nor did it have any effect. As I fired I felt the Mark of Power burn in hunger, but its power alone was not enough to overcome Zinkman.
At least three of us said at once “Together!”
A moment later, Zinkman was being attacked from all sides with our coordinated fury. It still did nothing. It may have been coordinated, but it needed to be combined. We knew. We all just knew.
Zinkman was hissing in fury, but was running out of choices. He tried to take over Scorch’s mind, but it just washed off him – Scorch was firmly in the habit of being mind blank-ed and Zinkman was in too much of a hurry to have broken it first. And Zinkman knew his end was near.
The power swelled on all sides, circling around us. Black energy flowed from Scorch and Valanthe, circling through us and into Aethramyr. Dravot and I focused and warm yellow energy erupted, and from Bolo, green swelling mana poured out. The energies combined in Aethramyr, twisting, combining, fusing into one single perfect stroke of white hot light.
Shatterspike fell, and Zinkman was split asunder before our combined power. The white light met his silver body and was split down the middle. He shrieked and the two halves of his body fell to the ground, worms of madness and corruption wriggling and burning into ash. As the sword continued downward, it tore into reality striking the burned earth. The impact sent an explosion outward radiating across the islands. As the shockwave erupted, it burned away the plagues from the Far Realms, at last crashing into the barrier and popping it like a bubble. As the echo died, the rift was erased from existence, and reality was restored to the Prime.
There was a giant collective sigh, which was followed by a sharp breath. The madness was gone, but the devastation was not. The island was burned, twisted and corrupted, and would be forever scarred.
Or perhaps not. “This… this is for me to heal,” Bolo said. He removed a ring from his hand – I recall that it was a divine gift but one who’s purpose he had never determined. But he knew now. He walked to the half-broken remains of the stone hands, and placed the ring in one of the palms. The hands slowly closed and drew the ring into the ground. The earth shuddered and the land began to renew itself, healing as if seasons were passing in the blink of an eye. In minutes, the land was rich as it once had been. The buildings were still shattered, but they were never the important thing here.
There was a hum in my mind as the scales seemed to reactivate. Then we heard a voice over the link.
“Shhhh! Meepo think they talking.”
“Meepo?” Scorch said.
“Oh!” the voice said. “They talking about Meepo. Meepo thinks he can hear them when they talk about him.”
“Meepo, we can hear you,” Scorch said patiently. “What’s happening out there?”
“Meepo has killed Zinkman!” he proudly declared.
“You killed him?” Valanthe said skeptically.
“Yes, Meepo did. About two minutes ago.”
We all just rolled our eyes. The other Zinkman must have been destroyed with this one. “That’s great Meepo. Good work.” Scorch said, not wanting to explain it.
Since the scales were active, I reached out for Lord Gelban, emotion and realization starting to overwhelm me slowly. “We’re done here,” I said tersely.
“We know,” was his only reply.
The dragons were starting to array themselves protectively around the Silverring’s form. Even now, I can’t bring myself to write the word “body”. His face had a peace on his face I had seldom seen. The People of the Testing were meditating quietly near him. I walked up to him, and didn’t know what to do. The Platinar – no – Platinar no longer, now he was The Silverring – stood next to me and gently put the tip of his tail on my shoulder. And I fell against him.
And I cried for a long time.
The dragons would see to the final rest of the oldest of their kind. But before they did, Aethramyr took up the People of the Testing and marshaled their will. They created a monument – an ethereal statue almost. An enduring image of the Silverring, formed in the Dreaming but visible in the waking world. Anyone sleeping there would dream the noble dragon’s last dream and share in what he was.
In time, more dragons came. Many more. Dragons of all metals and colors came to pay their respects. There was no mention of truce – there did not need to be. This was a day of mourning and no one would dare disrespect it.
Dravot and Aethramyr circulated among the dragons and forged an impromptu summit. In time, the Scaled Council would be reformed – the Dragon War had proved too costly to all sides. This much was apparent to all but it took someone like the Paragon to start the wheels turning. It will take years before the discussions are concluded but at least they had begun, which was the hardest part.
Infernus was of course party to this. To my slight surprise, he was not entirely rude. He clearly has no love for us, and bears us significant ill will, but he made it clear the Reds saw little profit in antagonizing us further. He was quite liberal with information about Ashardalon (as well as making it very clear what level of regard he has for his sire.)
“Ashardalon has fled to the Shadow Plane, being a coward of the most base and venal kind,” he said. “You may not understand it of us, but wee respected the Silverring that he died when he chose to die and lived when he chose to live. Ashardalon failed in that and shamed every Red. He grasped at any thread of life like a mewling coward. Ashardalon has fled along with the pit fiend that acts as his new heart, but he is diminished.”
Aethramyr extended the olive branch. “Should you seek to destroy him we will be there to support you.”
Infernus arched an eyebrow. “In truth, I think the opposite will be true and you will find him in your path before he is in ours. And we will help you if we can. As a sign of our good faith, we will abandon Bissel. We really only went there to annoy you.” Infernus continued in an amused, almost instructional tone of voice. “If you wanted to make amends, and realize we really don’t care either way, you can tell the people of Bissel that you aren’t planning on killing them all. While you see yourselves as heroes, they see you as potential conquerors, or they would not have turned to us. Consider that when you look in the mirror.”
The dragons held a formal service of sorts, but creatures would be arriving for weeks to come to pay their respects to the oldest dragon and the unique monument that was created in his name.
Strange Bedfellows – Chapter 2
OOC Notes:
Exp is 10,000
This Week’s Adventure:
After the haggling was done, the final force consisted of us, a score of Swords of Heironeous, the Platinar, and six other dragons of varying metals whom I did not know personally. The transportation logistics were a bit of a problem with a force this size, but it seemed everyone was expecting us to handle it somehow. The simplest thing turned out to be to gate to another plane, and then return to the Prime on the coast of Ahlyssa. From there we took to the air and headed towards the Lendores.
It took two hours to reach the area, and the Platinar hardly said a word during the flight. I understood his pain – I was feeling it myself. The best help I could give him was to support him in silence, and that I did. The other dragons were equally terse, but more from respect than grief for what would come.
Even if we didn’t know where the Lendores were, we could just as easily have followed the Judges that were being drawn to the disturbance. In time I could start to make out huge flights of judges in formation moving into a huge cloudbank over the southernmost isle of the three main isles of the Lendores. The Judges were moving like a large storm front swarming around what I can only describe as a soap bubble covering the southern island. On the sea below I could see ships worked like conchshells with complicated sail systems sliding through the water. The winds were gusting and carried about two dozen ships away from the islands.
Activity seemed to revolve around a makeshift camp and port set in the middle island. Flights of Judges would approach a lone Judge (surely Meltorannan) hovering over the tents, then fly off. Below him, the wounded and those tending them moved about with uncanny calm and sense of purpose. The sea elves were coordinating their evacuation here, and as we approached I made out other people we had met on our last, more pleasant trip.
I could also see dozens of scrying sensors in the air. Some few were looking at our approach (so many of us were masked that it surely looked less interesting that it actually was) while most were scanning the ground below.
Our arrival did not cause a great stir, and that made sense given the dire circumstances. But that isn’t to say that the arrival of The Paragon went without notice among the People of the Testing. They were moving with a sense of calmness and purpose, but any small signs of wavering or uncertainty vanished as Aethramyr came among them, replaced by firmness and resolution.
The man we met as the Silverring’s assistant came to speak to us. “Your arrival is most appreciated – things have become somewhat dire. The being known as Zinkman has succeeded in opening a rift to the Far Realms damaging the prime. The stuff of madness pours in like bile, carrying twisted foul creatures with it. As her dying act, the Dreamer Prime put up the bubble barrier, destroying a large part of the temple in the process. The Stone of Testing has been shattered and used as a focal point to power the rift. Many Judges have been banished or destroyed. With the aid of the People of the Testing, the Judges are holding them back but we are losing ground.”
Meltorannan had landed and joined the conversation. “We are but a third of the infinite, while they are infinite. We cannot hold out forever.”
I’m sure that statement made perfect sense if you studied Celestial mechanics or religion, but just left me confused. “So what’s happening inside the bubble?” I asked.
“Any Judge that enters cannot retreat – they are too hard pressed. Our information is limited.”
Aethramyr quietly closed his eyes and slipped into The Dreaming. There he could see the battle on a whole different front. The People of the Testing were doing their best to hold back the nightmares entering from the Far Realms. This is the test that they have been preparing for, and they faced their task with calm and resolve. But on this front too, they were slowly losing.
With little else to know, we were ready to move on. The Swords were unhappy at this. They wanted more reconnaissance and a carefully considered plan before entering the barrier. They didn’t understand that the madness within would tolerate no plan, and that while a part of me shared their feelings, I knew that no amount of planning would help, so we may as well get to it before things get worse. Meltorannan would join us for this assault but the rest of the Judges would fight to hold the line.
We entered the bubble. There was no physical effect but there was a strange chill and an almost electrical tingle. I did not feel any kind of impedance, but two of the Swords were unable to pass through. They may have been better off. Within, everything was changed. Swirls of madness danced at the edge of vision, but when you turned, there was nothing to see. The land was blighted, blasted, cracked and corrupt. Above the village, the sky was broken like a pane of glass. Through the cracks poured liquid nightmare. The tide of madness poured in and crashed over the village like a slick oil, flowing and chattering with glee. As it flowed up the sides of the barrier like water in a bowl, I could see the Judges in the ethereal holding back the tide of creatures with only their sheer physical presence. On the ground, creatures hacked and cut at the Judges unanswered. They looked to be People of the Testing, but they had been corrupted and their bodies were covered with parasites and jelly-like creatures and they moved like clumsy puppets flailing away with blades of blue energy.
A dozen of them were in our immediate path, and I would just as easily have gone over them, but as one they turned and shambled towards us.
“Fine,” I thought. I fired a volley. The creature took the full brunt of it, and was hurt but still standing. That in itself was indication that these would be more than a momentary distraction. As the arrows hit, a blue fire coruscated over its body and the fire light the other creatures with the same blaze.
And then they came at us. Rather quickly I might add. These things were not inconsequential but neither were they going to stop us. They released a volley of caustic attacks which caused the Platinar some pain, but its main result was just to enrage him. The blue flame surrounding the creatures was problematic for melee attacks, but it didn’t stop me, and while a creature could survive one volley, it couldn’t survive two. With the addition of words of holy power from Dravot and Bolo, we swept through them quickly and moved to the center of the maelstrom.
The closer we drew to the inevitable final battleground, the more disturbing things became. Buildings were covered in slime and parasites attached themselves to fallen defenders. Bodies formed out of the miasma then were dragged back down with silent screams. The madness was forming, churning and worst - growing. The scene was a pale imitation of the Far Realms itself, and had little effect on those who had seen the true thing, but it was a testament to the courage of the Swords of Heironeous that none of them broke when faced with the insanity of it all.
Most of the flow of the madness crashed and flowed over a cupola in the middle of the village. Beneath it was the Silverring, who body looked like mercury streaked with dark bile. Floating near his shoulder, no longer directly attached, was Zinkman, a man with muted features plated in silver. Parasites crawled on the Silverring’s body, feeding on him. Whether the ancient wyrm was alive in any conventional sense was debatable.
Zinkman floated in front of the Silverring. “It begins again Slerotin! This time we won’t fail. Let them tremble before our power. At last you have returned so that we can do the Devastation once more. This time we shall become as gods!”
Scorch was unimpressed. “I like the Prime the way it is now. Can’t we just put this off? Maybe some other Prime?”
Zinkman pouted, disappointed. “Oh, Slerotin. Don’t tell me you’ve joined with the mad one like your brothers? I would be sore displeased if you, the last remaining free Slerotin, were to turn against me. After all, what is it you think you can accomplish here that legions of these creatures cannot?”
Scorch considered this more carefully than I might have thought. “Actually I’d like to live long enough to prove that free will is possible.”
“Free will?” Zinkman scoffed. “An illusion. You are here as you were planned to be. I felt you destroy the binders, severing us finally.”
Scorch furrowed his brow. “Wait – me and you, or me and the other you at Ru’un Khazai?” I’m not sure why it was important but any information about the other Zinkman could be useful.
“My madness and I are separated and I am in control once more,” Zinkman crowed.
“So what happens after we destroy the Prime?” Scorch asked.
“We give it to our ultimate master, the Lord of Madness himself. We were unsuccessful in completely destroying the rainbow realm but my master holds a fortress there.”
Scorch had continued the conversation further than I would have guessed, but suddenly he got bored. “Let me tell you how it’s going to go: First we’re going to kick your sorry, shiny ass back to the Far Realms, then your buddy in Ru’un Khazai, and then we’re going to lock up Therizdun so tight he’ll still be around to watch the heat death of the universe.”
[OOC: Followed by Scorch saying “Initiative, bitch.”]
Zinkman was suffused with a pale yellow glow, and having no idea what we were facing we tread very carefully. Dravot cast an exploratory implosion but it was reflected back at him. Meltorannan struck with his staff, but was repelled backwards with a peal of thunder. He was badly hurt and his mask cracked. I’m not clear if he hoped to damage Zinkman was simply willing to sacrifice himself to prevent that from happening to one of us. I fired a single arrow at Zinkman, but almost predictably it was reflected back at me and I held my fire.
Scorch put a force cage around Zinkman. With spells reflecting, our best option was to delay him for a bit. Dravot turned his attention towards the rift, and tried to block the tear in reality. His spell stemmed most of the tide but it was not enough on its own.
The cage was a nuisance, but Zinkman had another tool to express his anger. The Silverring lurched towards the grounded Meltorannan and unleashed a fury of tooth and claw. Meltorannan would have been surely destroyed but for the sudden appearance of several solars who intercepted different attacks, taking the blow for Meltorannan. Many of them were badly injured but not fatally.
Zinkman looked over at the Judge, miffed that he still survived. I was looking at the solars – they were solars, not Judges. It was only when I realized they bore no mark of faith that I knew they were the Forsaken – the solars that had guarded Brindinford and were neither of Pelor nor of Ralishaz. They were orphaned celestials, which is a perilous state for such beings. Why they were here, I was not sure, and why they were defending Meltorannan I had even less notion.
But their presence was problematic. The Judges, now perceiving them, acted. I could not believe they could be so narrow-minded as that, with the world in danger that they would abandon their post to banish a few inconsequential creatures. But their duty was clear and it was beyond their ability to exercise discretion. But the Judges could not actually banish them; these creatures were no longer divine agents, and no longer had a home outside the Prime. If the Judges tried to banish the solars, they would instead be destroyed, having nowhere to go. Dravot yelled to Meltorannan to stop the Judges.
Meltorannan said “I cannot. They have their duty. But you can save them. You have the power now. Please save them.”
Zinkman appeared outside the force cage with a pop, cackling and considering his next target. Zinkman was too powerful, even without the binders helping him. But we knew he drew power from three sources – the binders, the Far Realms, and the Silverring. Without any discussion, we all knew we had to weaken him further before he could be destroyed. So Scorch acted. His spell was… wrong. It was not blasphemous, or evil, or even insane, but its words had a fundamental wrongness I can’t describe. It was an unbinding of the highest magnitude, and the mere words made the air shake and magic quiver. He focused the un-doing at the Silverring, and the spells around him suddenly unraveled. They were not dispelled, nor suppressed, nor broken in any usual sense – they were unraveled into component pieces and, like a torn up scroll, the phrases and incantations could not support each other, and the magic fell to pieces on the broken land. The Silverring crashed to the ground in a heap, the parasites falling away shriveled and inert. He wasn’t dead, but nor would he live much longer.
Scorch giggled. “I didn’t think that would work.”
Zinkman shrieked “You killed my pet dragon! I’ll snap your neck for that.”
Bolo piped up “Not just yet, you won’t.” And massive hands of stone rose up from the earth and clasped tight around Zinkman. Nature itself was angry at the atrocity happening here and readily answered Bolo’s call to arms.
The Judges had almost reached the solars. The solars looked sad, but they were resigned to their fate, and seemed to take at least small comfort in having done something worthwhile before their end. But before the Judges could raise their staves, Dravot called out in a clear voice.
“You shall not harm My host.”
There was a ripple in the air. The solars shifted, their aspect changing. They seemed almost eager for it. They took on Dravot’s aspect, and smiled. The Judges stopped and bowed, and returned to their place in the line. There was now no doubt that Dravot was not simply touched by the divine – he was divine. And as a diety, however strong, of the Prime, his host was allowed to be on the Prime by the terms of the agreement. The loophole was fairly straightforward, if hard to qualify for.
I wonder now if that was what the solars were hoping for, as their love for Dravot was what led them to save Brindinford in the first place.
Dravot had thought ahead though. He turned to the nearest solar and said “I need a miracle to expand the dimensional barrier and plug the rift.”
The solar bowed and “Your will be done.” The flow of madness nearly stopped.
Aethramyr ran to the fallen Silverring and spoke softly. “Any sins you feel you committed have long since been atoned for, and your guilt has no more hold. Is it time?”
The wyrm could barely move, but with what strength he had, he nodded, and closed his eyes. Aethramyr focused himself, and gave to the dragon a last, perfect dream. And in that dream, the oldest living dragon let go, and passed away.
Zinkman exploded out from the stone hands. His bravado was gone, and his face now held something sterner, and perhaps with some mix of fear as well. He was now cut off from that which strengthened him, and I fired another shot to test his power. The shot was not reflected but nor did it have any effect. As I fired I felt the Mark of Power burn in hunger, but its power alone was not enough to overcome Zinkman.
At least three of us said at once “Together!”
A moment later, Zinkman was being attacked from all sides with our coordinated fury. It still did nothing. It may have been coordinated, but it needed to be combined. We knew. We all just knew.
Zinkman was hissing in fury, but was running out of choices. He tried to take over Scorch’s mind, but it just washed off him – Scorch was firmly in the habit of being mind blank-ed and Zinkman was in too much of a hurry to have broken it first. And Zinkman knew his end was near.
The power swelled on all sides, circling around us. Black energy flowed from Scorch and Valanthe, circling through us and into Aethramyr. Dravot and I focused and warm yellow energy erupted, and from Bolo, green swelling mana poured out. The energies combined in Aethramyr, twisting, combining, fusing into one single perfect stroke of white hot light.
Shatterspike fell, and Zinkman was split asunder before our combined power. The white light met his silver body and was split down the middle. He shrieked and the two halves of his body fell to the ground, worms of madness and corruption wriggling and burning into ash. As the sword continued downward, it tore into reality striking the burned earth. The impact sent an explosion outward radiating across the islands. As the shockwave erupted, it burned away the plagues from the Far Realms, at last crashing into the barrier and popping it like a bubble. As the echo died, the rift was erased from existence, and reality was restored to the Prime.
There was a giant collective sigh, which was followed by a sharp breath. The madness was gone, but the devastation was not. The island was burned, twisted and corrupted, and would be forever scarred.
Or perhaps not. “This… this is for me to heal,” Bolo said. He removed a ring from his hand – I recall that it was a divine gift but one who’s purpose he had never determined. But he knew now. He walked to the half-broken remains of the stone hands, and placed the ring in one of the palms. The hands slowly closed and drew the ring into the ground. The earth shuddered and the land began to renew itself, healing as if seasons were passing in the blink of an eye. In minutes, the land was rich as it once had been. The buildings were still shattered, but they were never the important thing here.
There was a hum in my mind as the scales seemed to reactivate. Then we heard a voice over the link.
“Shhhh! Meepo think they talking.”
“Meepo?” Scorch said.
“Oh!” the voice said. “They talking about Meepo. Meepo thinks he can hear them when they talk about him.”
“Meepo, we can hear you,” Scorch said patiently. “What’s happening out there?”
“Meepo has killed Zinkman!” he proudly declared.
“You killed him?” Valanthe said skeptically.
“Yes, Meepo did. About two minutes ago.”
We all just rolled our eyes. The other Zinkman must have been destroyed with this one. “That’s great Meepo. Good work.” Scorch said, not wanting to explain it.
Since the scales were active, I reached out for Lord Gelban, emotion and realization starting to overwhelm me slowly. “We’re done here,” I said tersely.
“We know,” was his only reply.
The dragons were starting to array themselves protectively around the Silverring’s form. Even now, I can’t bring myself to write the word “body”. His face had a peace on his face I had seldom seen. The People of the Testing were meditating quietly near him. I walked up to him, and didn’t know what to do. The Platinar – no – Platinar no longer, now he was The Silverring – stood next to me and gently put the tip of his tail on my shoulder. And I fell against him.
And I cried for a long time.
The dragons would see to the final rest of the oldest of their kind. But before they did, Aethramyr took up the People of the Testing and marshaled their will. They created a monument – an ethereal statue almost. An enduring image of the Silverring, formed in the Dreaming but visible in the waking world. Anyone sleeping there would dream the noble dragon’s last dream and share in what he was.
In time, more dragons came. Many more. Dragons of all metals and colors came to pay their respects. There was no mention of truce – there did not need to be. This was a day of mourning and no one would dare disrespect it.
Dravot and Aethramyr circulated among the dragons and forged an impromptu summit. In time, the Scaled Council would be reformed – the Dragon War had proved too costly to all sides. This much was apparent to all but it took someone like the Paragon to start the wheels turning. It will take years before the discussions are concluded but at least they had begun, which was the hardest part.
Infernus was of course party to this. To my slight surprise, he was not entirely rude. He clearly has no love for us, and bears us significant ill will, but he made it clear the Reds saw little profit in antagonizing us further. He was quite liberal with information about Ashardalon (as well as making it very clear what level of regard he has for his sire.)
“Ashardalon has fled to the Shadow Plane, being a coward of the most base and venal kind,” he said. “You may not understand it of us, but wee respected the Silverring that he died when he chose to die and lived when he chose to live. Ashardalon failed in that and shamed every Red. He grasped at any thread of life like a mewling coward. Ashardalon has fled along with the pit fiend that acts as his new heart, but he is diminished.”
Aethramyr extended the olive branch. “Should you seek to destroy him we will be there to support you.”
Infernus arched an eyebrow. “In truth, I think the opposite will be true and you will find him in your path before he is in ours. And we will help you if we can. As a sign of our good faith, we will abandon Bissel. We really only went there to annoy you.” Infernus continued in an amused, almost instructional tone of voice. “If you wanted to make amends, and realize we really don’t care either way, you can tell the people of Bissel that you aren’t planning on killing them all. While you see yourselves as heroes, they see you as potential conquerors, or they would not have turned to us. Consider that when you look in the mirror.”
The dragons held a formal service of sorts, but creatures would be arriving for weeks to come to pay their respects to the oldest dragon and the unique monument that was created in his name.
- Status
