Wow, six days and another update. I can barely believe it myself.
Since things on the home front have quited down a bit I have held myself to a strict 1000 words a day policy. So far I have stuck to it and I am actually ahead, instead of way way behind, in my writing. What does this mean to you, my dear reader? Well it means that updates will come far more frequently, hopefully once a week. I hope.
Anyway, here's the next update. I had to break it into two parts because it got really long (over 7000 words) and I'm not completely happy with part two yet. The installment takes us back to Avernus to see how Pyrak's siege of Karagg'Var is going. Hope you like.
Dirge
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Part IX - Hell's Fury
Pyrak glared up into a sky that had become black with the flight of countless dark fletched arrows. The missiles fell among his horde like jagged rain, each enchanted barb seeking out demonic flesh unerringly. Howls of pain arose from the ragged lines of the horde as scores of minor demons succumbed to the cloud of arrows. In some areas more powerful fiends had erected walls of force or other enchantments to deflect the incoming missiles, but each volley still managed to find many targets.
Pyrak himself stood, statue-like, in front of his army, black-shafted arrows deflecting off his body and littering the ground around him. The demon lord was angry beyond reckoning, for three days the iron tower of Karagg’Var had held his horde at bay. The bearded devils that lined its nigh impregnable walls inflicting heavy casualties with their great black bows and seemingly endless supply of enchanted arrows.
Pyrak had attacked the keep in all the conventional ways. He had first attempted to take it by air, leading his vrocks over the iron walls of the fortress in an attempt to gain purchase behind them, thereby allowing him to attack the fortification from within and without. To his dismay Pyrak found that his vrocks made excellent targets for the barbazu archers and had lost dozens of his favored demons before turning back in utter defeat.
Storming the keep using his ground forces proved no better, as once again the barbazu shot his ranks to tatters before he could get close enough to begin a proper siege. In addition more powerful devils lobbed balls of fire or great gouts of electricity into his advancing horde, slaying his demons in droves and engineering complete and total confusion.
Pyrak was now locked in a deadly stalemate, unable to break the tower’s defenses but unwilling to admit defeat. Along the great ragged line of his horde the air shimmered beneath the strain of hundreds of spells completed in unison. Between the volleys of arrows from the keep, Pyrak’s demons returned fire with all manner of offensive magic. Fire, ice and acid all rained down upon the keep. But all of this considerable arcane might had little effect beyond slaying a few of the barbazu archers and scarring the already battle worn walls of Karagg’Var.
Pyrak leaned upon his greatsword
Fiendbleeder brooding and watching his horde dwindle around him with each passing minute. His marilith general, Heskara lay coiled behind him beneath the protection of a transparent magical barrier. She feared to approach him, but had little choice as one of their vrock scouts had brought back news of great importance.
Heskara uncoiled from where her serpentine body had lain wound in a low, tight circle, and slithered up to her liege. She moved cautiously, slowly like a hunter approaching a wounded, but still dangerous beast. Her form was slightly blurred thanks to the magical barrier she had erected which moved with her.
“My lord!” Heskara was forced to yell thanks to the ungodly din of thousands upon thousands of demons and the unrelenting noise of the battle itself.
Pyrak swiveled his head with a snap, his burning red orbs finding his general’s face with the unerring accuracy of a great hunting bird. Heskara cowered reflexively as Pyrak stared at her and found that she could not keep her gaze from the great naked sword that the demon lord clutched in his massive taloned hands.
“What is it, Heskara?” Pyrak hissed. His voice barely above a whisper, but it struck the marilith like a thunderclap despite the noise. “I hope you have something pleasant to report.”
Heskara swallowed a venomous squirt of bile that had suddenly arisen in her throat, and prepared herself for the worst. “No, my liege. I do not. An army of baatezu numbering at least one hundred thousand is on the march from the Bronze Citadel.” Heskara managed to keep her head up and meet her lord’s gaze after delivering her news, a feat of will that had the powerful demoness literally shaking with effort.
Relief flooded through Heskara as the familiar brooding anger suddenly fled Pyrak’s eyes leaving in its stead a cold, and vastly calculating stare that she new instantly as the mind of
Fiendbleeder. The sword seemed to subsume Pyrak’s will at leisure and Heskara often wondered just who she was addressing when she spoke to her master.
“Who leads this army of devils?” The voice that issued from Pyrak’s throat was not his own, sounding hollow and flat as if it were being relayed across a great distance
“Bel himself leads them.” Heskara answered instantly, hoping the news of one of Pyrak’s greatest rivals would shift the attention away from her. Oddly she felt much safer in
Fiendbleeder’s presence than Pyrak’s. The sword lacked the erratic and explosive anger that was ever present in its demonic wielder, and could at least be counted on not to kill anything that displeased it.
“There is more…my lord.” Heskara continued hesitantly, she was never sure if Pyrak’s honorifics were appropriate when
Fiendbleeder was in control. “Bel has with him a wing of Nycaloths, surely loaned to him from Anthraxus himself.”
Pyrak’s eyes suddenly flashed crimson as he fought to regain control of his own body. The demon lord shuddered as he achieved his victory or perhaps because
Fiendbleeder had simply finished with him and had willingly withdrawn. Whatever the case Pyrak was once again in control and he slammed the point of
Fiendbleeder deep into the hard packed soil and loomed over his general, talons opening and closing spasmodically. “
When.” The demon lord hissed, his rage held in check by a colossal feat of self-control.
Heskara shrank back, her hands gliding down to the hilts of her long swords, a reflexive action that would be ultimately useless if Pyrak chose to attack. But he merely waited for her answer, the tide of his anger sufficiently subdued to allow rational thought and action
The demon lord’s anger was not a mystery to Heskara. The most lopsided defeat Pyrak had ever suffered throughout his many years of raiding in Avernus had come at the hands of Bel, who had been aided by a wing of Nycaloths, just as he was aided now. Nycaloths were neither devil nor demon, but belonged to a wholly different race of fiends known as Yugoloths. Hailing from the burning peaks of Gehenna, a plane fraught with fire and never ending night; Yugoloths were mercenaries supreme and often served both demon and devil in their perpetual conflict.
The great pit fiend Bel was fond of using Nycaloths, a common form of Yugoloth, to bolster the ranks of his armies and to serve in a very specialized role his own forces sorely lacked. Great gargoyle-like fiends, Nycaloths were masters of the air dominating the skies on massive bat wings and providing the much-needed aerial support for Bel’s armies. In combat they were unmatched in their element, with four powerful arms ending in long grasping talons and a true love of carnage that rivaled that of the most depraved demon. They were easily a match for Pyrak’s vrocks and - although he would never admit it - usually emerged victorious in conflicts between the two fiends.
“They will be here in less than a day.” Heskara said, answering her liege with a bow of her head.
Pyrak did not answer instead he turned abruptly and snatched
Fiendbleeder from its earthy interment, sheathing the sword in one fluid motion in the scabbard that hung from his back. Arrows still fell about the two fiends, deflecting from Heskara’s magical barrier or from Pyrak’s near impregnable hide. The demon lord was oblivious to the rain of missiles as he looked down the lines of his horde, his eye distant, as if he were deep in thought, but Heskara knew better.
The marilith waited patiently for Pyrak’s orders, arms folded across her chest. She feared that in his obsession to take Karagg’Var Pyrak would not order a retreat and they would face Bel’s army pinned between the fortress and its archers. She quickly decided that if that were her lord’s orders she would not remain for such a slaughter, no matter what the consequences.
“So close, so close…” Pyrak’s voice drifted over the din as he stood surveying the destruction that was being wrought upon his horde. He turned slowly to his general, and odd look filling his bestial features. Heskara was taken aback by the obvious presence of palpable regret on the face of her master.
“In two thousand years, I have never been so close as now.” Pyrak’s voice wavered as he spoke. “I am so tired of failure, Heskara, so tired of leading armies into this stinking plane, only to be pushed back to start the whole damn process over again.” An incalculable depth of sorrow sprang to life behind the demon lord’s eyes, and his voice rose with its power. “But I cannot stop! “ He threw his head back and bellowed. “She wont let me stop…” Pyrak suddenly trailed off, and Heskara saw that
Fiendbleeder had taken her lord’s mind again, quelling whatever rebellion had arisen within the powerful fiend. When Pyrak spoke again, it was the sword’s words that issued from his mouth.
“Take the horde and lead them back through the gate.” Pyrak who was
Fiendbleeder commanded. “Leave me my Dreadwings and I will halt Bel’s advance so that you may escape with most of the horde intact.”
Heskara nodded and slithered away, her own mind awash with what she had just seen. How long had Pyrak been a prisoner in his own body? She wondered. The agony that had shown through in that bare instant when Pyrak had expressed his frustration was enough to shock even her. The marilith had seen and committed all manner of horror’s in her long years, but never had she seen a creature so helpless and in such pain. Pyrak was held in utter impotence by Fiendbleeder incapable of breaking its hold over him despite own formidable power. Heskara, of course felt no sympathy for her master, she was unable to even perceive such a concept, but she did see opportunity in the demon lord’s obvious weakness. The marilith had no idea how she might be able to use what she had learned but it was an important piece of information that might prove useful later on. Such was the way of the abyss; exploit or be exploited.
Heskara moved to the rear of the horde, where the lesser demons had congregated in search of shelter from the bearded devil’s arrows. She would break the horde up in stages, so as not to give away their retreat until the last moment. The marilith slithered over to a babau and relayed her orders. The tall skeletal demons were used as sergeants on the battle fiend, each one controlling over a thousand dretch or rutterkin. The babau she had spoken to began the arduous task of rounding up its near mindless charges and leading them back to the planar gate while Heskara continued down the length of the horde giving the same order to each of the babau she encountered. Soon a large portion of Pyrak’s forces was in full retreat.
Heskara was not idle while the horde broke apart; she cast a powerful illusion spell at varying intervals along the length of the horde. Each spell replaced the fleeing demons she had released with exact illusionary counterparts. This way the devils would not notice the horde’s retreat until it was too late to get word to Bel. In addition the illusion spells would keep the more powerful demons from abandoning the horde prematurely, for once they sensed a lost cause their chaotic natures would drive them to seek better opportunities else where.
The first part of her task done, Heskara moved back to the front lines to aid the siege effort with her own magic and to further reinforce the illusion of a continued campaign. She saw Pyrak standing in the same place she had left him hours ago as she neared the ragged front line. The demon lord had taken
Fiendbleeder from its sheathe again and was leaning on the great blade, his huge feathered wings extended to cover the sword like a mother protecting an infant. What magnificent irony, Heskara mused. The very thing that tormented him was the only thing that granted him the power to rule among his own kind. Heskara could feel the respect she had once carried for her lord suddenly evaporate leaving in its place only the overwhelming need to use Pyrak’s weakness against him.
Soon. She thought as she reached the front line and prepared a lightning spell to launch at the walls of Karagg’Var.
Soon.
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Avernus trembled.
Bel’s army thundered across the flat scorched earth of Baator’s first plane in an avalanche of infernal power, shaking the ground with the tread of thousands. One hundred legions of devils all arrayed in tight battle formation flowed behind the great pit fiend as he - resplendent in scarlet cloak and his own blood red battle armor - led his troops to battle.
They had marched non-stop from Bel’s Bronze Citadel and would reach their destination within the hour. The fortress of Karagg’Var was under siege by a mammoth horde of interloping demons, a horde led by one of Bel’s most hated rivals, the bird-like demon lord Pyrak. Reports from advance scouts had confirmed that Pyrak’s horde had already destroyed one infernal army, led by Madregogg, one of Bel’s most trusted generals. Madregogg himself had been slain in the battle, a blow to Bel’s pride he would not let go unpunished.
Bel doubted that even a demon such as Pyrak would be able to take the fortress of Karagg’Var, for it was heavily defended and near impregnable. Nevertheless, the fact that Pyrak had even dared to strike at such an important fortification was more than enough to rouse Bel’s ire and motivate him to become personally involved.
Bel had battled Pyrak before and had nearly been killed in the melee. If not for his loyal troops dragging him to safety he surely would have. Bel had not expected his demonic foes to be as organized and as effective as they had been under Pyrak’s command. In the centuries that he had ruled Avernus, Bel had crushed hundreds of abyssal hordes beneath the well-oiled discipline of his infernal armies. He had been utterly taken by surprise by Pyrak’s firm grasp of tactics and ability to utilize his chaotic troops to the best of their abilities.
In that first battle, Bel had led his twenty legions of bearded devils, supported by five units of elite barbed devils against a force of demons nearly twice the size of his own army. The fact that he was sorely outnumbered mattered little to the arch devil, he had bested hordes even larger than this one with less troops. But he had never faced Pyrak before, and would soon learn that the demon lord was no rank amateur at planar warfare.
The battle had started as Bel had expected with a huge mob of demons charging his arrayed formations. The mob had slammed into his army with little effect, unable to breach the wall of glaives and pikes arrayed before them. But then something had happened that Bel could not have foreseen. The mob of demon’s suddenly split open to reveal a wedge of huge goristroi, massive bull headed fiends standing nearly twenty feet tall and equipped with huge cold iron mauls. The goristroi wedge crushed bel’s lines of bearded devils as it ripped a hole in the left flank of his army. The demonic mob poured in after the goristroi, quickly filling the gap the huge demons had left with battle hungry fiends. The long glaives and pikes of the bearded devils were no good in close combat and they had to abandon their weapons to fight hand to hand with the horde of demons that now ripped and clawed among them. It was a complete slaughter.
Stunned, Bel had begun to sound the retreat, when the sky above his position suddenly darkened and a rain of feathered death fell among his own personal entourage. Pyrak and a wing of his vrocks had managed to sneak over Bel’s position with the aid of a few cunning illusion spells and the distraction of the battle. Bel and his honor guard of horned devils soon found themselves fighting for their lives, completely surrounded by Pyrak and his vrocks. Bel and his entourage fought furiously and had nearly made it through the tangle of feathered demons when Pyrak himself swept down from the sky like a whirling cyclone of steel and blood. With two swipes of Pyrak’s great black blade the horned devils nearest Bel were cut down leaving the arch devil alone to face this awesome foe.
Bel was no coward and took up his own blood red falchion and joined combat with the mighty demon lord. He slashed at Pyrak furiously but found that his blade could not penetrate the weaving net of steel created by the demon’s own jet-black great sword. Bel found himself quickly giving ground to Pyrak as the demon lord took the offensive and began to bat the arch-devils defenses aside with frightening ease. The pain of that first wound, as Pyrak’s blade crashed through his defenses to hammer into his flesh, left a mark upon Bel’s mind that he would never forget. An agony so bright that it blotted out all thought and reason blossomed from that single sword stroke and Bel could hear a thick rasping voice drone horribly within his mind.
Die Baatezu! Die! Die! Die! Bel’s last coherent memory of that battle was Pyrak looming above him, that great black sword growing larger and larger as it descended for the killing strike.
But luck had been with Bel that day; one of his horned devils had managed to fight through the throng of vrocks to reach Pyrak as he prepared to end the life of the Lord of the First. The brave devil had used his own body to deflect that killing blow, slamming into Pyrak so that his blade went awry and struck the ground next to Bel’s head. In addition ten legions of reinforcements had arrived from Karagg’Var to join the battle allowing what remained of Bel’s honor guard to drag him to safety during the ensuing confusion created by the newly arrived devils.
The memory of that day had festered within Bel for decades. Pyrak had eventually been defeated and driven back into the abyss but the fact that he had nearly killed the reigning lord of Avernus had not gone unnoticed. Pyrak had returned a dozen times since than, each time pushing further and further into Avernus. The demon lord had been stopped each time by a superior force of devils, but Bel was never among them. Rumors of the arch devil’s cowardice had sprung up alongside those of Pyrak’s indestructibility and soon the demon lord and his great black blade was infamous among the devils of Avernus. Bel ached for a chance to crush any doubt of his bravery and battle prowess and saw the perfect opportunity to do so during Pyrak’s siege of Karagg’Var.
Bel hoped to catch Pyrak off guard and pin him between his army and the iron walls of the fortress. He had assembled a force of devils that was truly staggering in size but Bel was not one to take unnecessary chances and had taken steps to ensure his victory. The arch devil had made use of an alliance he had forged long ago with Anthraxus, a powerful Yugoloth lord. The mercenary Yugoloths often served in baatezu armies, but Bel could command a far greater number of the neutral fiends than any of his compatriots. Bel had provided Anthraxus a force of elite devils to thwart a coup on the Yugoloths home plane of Gehenna and had gained a unique and powerful ally. Anthraxus had given Bel a wing of Nycaloths to serve him in his upcoming battle with Pyrak. Bel hoped the winged Yugoloths would cancel out Pyrak’s air superiority and bring the battle to the ground where his larger force of devils would decide the battle.
The impending clash with Pyrak was about much more than simple revenge, or even the Bloodwar itself, something far more important hinged upon its outcome. Bel’s position as lord of the first was in dire jeopardy. The arch devil had been losing prestige steadily ever since his first battle with Pyrak and a growing list of dissidents was weighing heavy upon his mind. If Bel did not prove himself here, then there would be little hope of fighting off the waves of would be usurpers looking to take advantage of his weakened status. The reality of the matter was very simple. Either he would return to the bronze Citadel with Pyrak’s head on a pike, or he would not return all.
