Deicide: DnD 3.5 Epic - The Slaying of Cyric

[Myth and Legend]

The minute Molak crosses over the dirt road and enters the lavish red and gold tents of the Thayvians he is confronted by two pale men with red eyes, one wielding a greatsword with the steel bared and glowing with the colour of embers, and the other one holding a pair of longswords, one in each hand. Several silent figures emerge from the ground around Molak - spirits of some sort with malevolent auras around them.

"State your business human!" the one with the greatsword speaks. His voice is cold and distant, and he stands perfectly still. The air brings a faint smell of rotting flesh from further inside the camp, but it seems not to bother the guards.

***
​

The Qeen of Evermeet smiles and fixes her shining black hair in place as she leans forward. "It is a complex matter, and as much as I respect the sages of Druidism this is... difficult to explain to those who do not practice the Art in it's final form. Neither myself nor Elminster nor anyone else will be drained so much as a good night's rest cannot repair us. The Red Wizards and the Hathrans have ensured that trough their legions of followers and their unique Circle Magic, we will posses enough of the raw Weave energy to form and meld into Mythals."

The head of the Emeral Enclave makes a face when the Queen begins her explanation but quickly returns to her usual serene expression. The Elf continues with a calm and pleasant voice:

"The problem is more... political. We cannot send anyone of the highest circles of power due to the balance that has been achieved. We are in a deadlock so to speak - none of us would risk sending someone from the opposing camp back. The problem lies with the foreknowledge, it has already been predicted that the process of regressive time travel does not create multiple instances of oneself, but rather merges one with oneself in that particular point in the timesteram. So there won't be two of myself or two Elminsters, there will be one but with what level of power it remains to be seen. However the knowledge of what is about to happen, even before the Gods and Goddesses have it, could be used by one of us to further our own goals."

The blond haired druid interjects abruptly with a stern voice. "Basically they are bickering that no one can be trusted with the knowledge of how Mystra will die in the following months, and they do not trust each other enough to actually carry out the mission."

The Queen nods and leans back once more. "Precicely. Although I would still be in Evermeet and Elminster and the others would still be about Toril. Whomever we send could potentially sway us to help although i find it hard to believe i could be convinced without proof, and an event of cosmic magnitude requires cosmic amounts of proof which sadly cannot be reliably entrusted on any emissary we send back. As far as the actual assassination - there are several suggestions floating by, although we are yet to reach a consensus." the Queen finishes that last part with some dismay visible in her expression.

 

[Voda Vosa]

"Boy that stinks! You can ask me what you want, just don't fart in my face! I'm Molak, great master of Chaos, and I want to speak with whoever is in charge, I'm assuming you are just raw meat shields, right? Right, now take me with the red wizard in charge immediately!" As his demands are quite aggressive, Molak is ready for anything. Namely blast his way out of a death trap.

 

[Shayuri]

Grandfather's brow wrinkled with an echo of the Queen's dismay.

"Without a means to kill a god, this entire endeavor is moot," he points out. "I expect even Cyric, a god himself, had to take special measures. It's pointless to bicker over who will go, before you've even determined if you have a workable plan."

He grimaced and rubbed at his beard.

"Then again, perhaps killing isn't necessary. If you know what the plot was, perhaps it can be spoiled in other ways."

 

[Myth and Legend]

The man looks at Molak with an expressionless face. He eyes him from head to toe, possibly judging how dangerous he is. In the end, he decides on something and waves his hand. "You are either very powerful or very stupid to ask for an audience with one of the Great Masters. There is protocol to be followed anyway. Go to that tent - he points to a lower crimson one some thirty feet from the Warlock, with a long line of various people standing on the side - explain your reasoning to the counselor, he will address your case."

***
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Queen Amlaruil shakes her head in denial and tucks a silver hairpin in the hair on her left temple as she speaks. "There is great confusion in the heavens and the exact details are hard to come by. Shar in particualr, is still free and will go to great lengths to stop our endeavor if we attempted to discover more. Some have proposed warning Mystra herself, while others have suggested seeking aid form questionable beings with great magical powers. I... I myself lack the power to assault a Deity single handed, although perhaps with enough of the Magelords and other potent spellcasters we could accomplish a spell of such magnitude. This would ultimately draw the focus to ourselves long before it has been completed and Mystra would not let such a spell be developed even if it would ultimately serve the purpose of saving her existence."

The Queen pauses an turns towards Grandfather, resuming her casual pose on the pillows. "I also must warn you not to speak a God's name outside this camp. They can and will immediately hear what you are saying if you do that. Now then Grandfather, you know the brunt of our predicament. What is your counsel on the matter?"

 

[Shayuri]

"Mmm." He glanced at the tent flap, at the maelstrom outside. "Abandon your course of action. Redirect your efforts to cushioning the impact of these changes as best you can. Accept that the world tomorrow will not be the same as the world yesterday. Such things have happened before...and they will again."

He cleared his throat and held up a finger to forestall the reaction he expected from that advice.

"But. If that is impossible for you to consider, then I propose that you select independent parties that care little for the causes of wizards in the world. People who will seek only to complete the task at hand, and with a minimum of disruption or alteraton in the established history of events. I would represent one such party, for example. You may need to look outside this camp for others."

With a sigh he went on, "As for how to do the deed...that may have to rest on the shoulders of those who go. Be sure to send them far enough back that they'll have time to discover the secret before it's too late."

 

[Myth and Legend]

Shinthala nods at Grandfather's words and retorts with a calm voice: "That would normally be the case. But Harluaa has been wiped off the face of Toril completely, as well as Mullhorand. And this storm has raged on for a twelve day already with no end in sight. As much as your advice is sound, this abomination against the very nature of this realm is far too unpredictable to be waved off as something that will definitely pass."

Meanwhile the Elven Queen regards the the humans with quiet contemplation written on her timeless face.

 

[Voda Vosa]

"Alright, thanks stiffy." says Molak, and as he walks towards the pointed tent he waves over his shoulder. "Take a bath, I'll suit my nose well."
Molak peeks his head inside the tent and greets. "Helluuuuw"

 

[Myth and Legend]

The man snarls at Molak and follows him with his eyes, but does not move from his spot. However all the people waiting to gain entry start yelling at him.

"Hey there are rules here!" Yells an overly plump and rose cheeked fellow with brown hair and round, pig-like eyes. He is dressed in a lavish garment and wears heavy golden rings on each of his fingers. He seems to be alone, but behind him others scream out in protest. There are some twenty people in line.

For the brief moment the Warlock had peeked inside, he could see a man in black and purple clothing sitting behind a desk, writing down something while a dark skinned Dwarf in front of him is unloading some goods from a chest.

 

[Voda Vosa]

Molak turns to the fat man. His face turns from the jovial senile expression to an utterly dread and frightening face, as he utters "Shut up meatball, before I turn your insides out and use your skin to make another tent. Defying me would certainly send your soul to the elemental chaos, you are lucky I'm a guest here. Now step aside, you have just lend me your spot in the line."

Intimidate: 1d20+35= 51

 

[Myth and Legend]

The man's expression pales as blood drains from his wobbly round cheeks. His eyes widen as he steps back and with a wheezing sound inhales sharply. "Of course sir." he mumbles as he goes to the back of the line. The others look at Molak angrily, but no one says a word.

In a few minutes, in which the two armed guards walk back and forth with unnatural, cat-like grace, and throw occasional evil eyes at Molak, the Dwarf comes outside and a long and slow "Neext!" comes from inside.

As the Warlock steps in, the man behind the desk raises his eyes and adjust a pair of golden framed glasses on his nose. "Azar Anskuld, counselor for the Great Masters and head clerk for this temporary enclave. How may I serve you today?"

Azar's voice is pleasant, if a bit greasy to the ear. He is very polite and well mannered, and dressed in clean and fashionable clothing. The man signals a slave girl, completely naked but for the silken shoal covering the place where her legs meet. Her hair is very long, almost reaching the ground, and black as night. Her eyes are black as well, and her skin is the colour of peaches mixed with lemons.

She bows, her stare exploring the mysteries of the wooden floor below, and brings a chair for Molak, as well as a goblet of water and a piece of bread. It seems the Red Wizards enjoy their comfort even when forced to operate in a hastily constructed camp.