Chapter 26
The night was dark. No moon lit the sky, and what light might have filtered down from the stars above, was hidden by the thick clouds which seemed to be outlined with a malevolent red glow. Upon the ramparts of the Fort of Peaks, D'Fir looked out. Dwarven eyes pierced the dark, seeing the stark features of the surrounding rock and stone, noting the complete absence of movement. He was flanked by Sister Egrit on one side, Commander Hulia on the other.
"They come. They are out there." D'Fir's voice was hard, its tone was one of certainty. "Make sure that all are prepared, get the pots of oil over the fires and make sure the ballistae and catapults stand ready." A dwarf standing behind him nodded, moving off to make sure that all those on watch received the message, and that those that rested within did so with weapons nearby.
Hulia sniffed the air, his emaciated form towering over the dwarf. His eyes met those of Sister Egrit. "The air stinks of magic this night. I will make sure those under my command stand ready." He smiled; no warmth, but pure malice coming to the fore. "I am sure that Sister Egrit will do likewise for those that report to her. No doubt their patience wears thin awaiting the opportunity to remove the heads of fiends."
Sister Egrit did not look at the taunting devil, gazing out across the bare stone instead. She raised her arms, before quietly chanting the words of power, investing her eyes with a blue glow.
"Nothing is out there, not now. But like you, fiend, I feel it. Something will happen this night."
***
Beneath the earth, King D'Mier stood upon his walls. He walked their circuit, the broad path behind the battlements wide enough for him, General D'Haan and Eria the Red to walk abreast. The frenetic activity of the last few days had died down. The wagon trains were gone, the workmen now garbed in the armour of the city's militia.
D'Mier examined the troops as he passed them by; the professional soldiers with their scars and warrior's queue a marked contrast to the fear-struck militia that had trained, but never been in a major battle. The faces of the aged veterans reflected their belief that they would not see out their battle. He saw many that had been comrades in arms, many that bore scars of battles past.
"D'Haan, what do you think? Will Jelial strike this night?"
The General stopped walking, moving to gaze out across the open killing ground before the city's walls. He gazed at the cavern roof, at the massive nets which held rocks to drop upon the foe below, at the areas which he knew contained stake lined pits, cunningly covered so as to be undetectable, and to not give way until a large number of the enemy passed over them.
"They will come, cousin. But we will prevail. Never fear that! Our defences are strong, our men well armed. The least of our soldiers bear cold iron weapons, and some even wield ones enhanced by the enchantments of the mages from the Tower Arcane."
Eria laughed; his face the blank, polite facade of the trained diplomat.
"When Jelial comes, it will be with an army the likes of which you have never seen. My Master stands ready, but don't think your alchemist's tricks in making weapons deadly to us, or a handful of enchanted blades will be enough this time. I seek the blessing of the Lords that I will survive this night, or at worst, find myself banished from this plane."
The three stood in silence, wandering what manner of messenger would be sent this night.
Many miles away, the tight corridors of Gunder's Hall carried the stench of death. White robed men pulled carts through the streets, entering houses to find abandoned corpses. Unlike Fort Livian, or Harmony Hall, Gunder's Hall was carved entirely into the rocks. Passages, barely the height of man, wound throughout the structure, connecting homes to farms and the city, in which the politicians, judges and lawyers gathered. Handcarts of bodies trundled across rough stone floors, to a crack, through which the lava flowing below could be seen. The bodies were stripped, and then consigned to the fiery depths below. There were too many dead; too many that would never wake up for it to seem real.
Through these passages Kint wandered, despair written into his exhausted features. His white tunic, emblazoned with the symbol of the healer's guild, brought many to their doors. Always he went within, only to find more struck down by the plague, their faces swollen, their bodies covered with the pus-encrusted, open lesions that seemed to appear from nowhere. Like the others within the guild, he had but one thought:
We shall all die! Keep our gates closed, hide the ways, let the disease remain trapped within, let us be the only victims.
Without a battle being fought, the city was dying.
***
The beating of drums reverberated across the city. Fiends wound through the streets, dancing, singing, fighting and
ing. No holds were barred as the wine flowed, the merriment reaching its pitch as midnight approached. Massive processions of fiends snaked through the city, each fiend dragging a terrified slave through the streets. Some had collars around the necks of slaves, and used chains attached to the collars. Others used crueller devices: barbed hooks sunk into ears, loosing tears of blood as they led their slaves; others used hooks through other parts of the slave's body, genitalia being favoured by many. One devil received much praise from his fellows for his inventiveness in piercing a hook through both eyes of his victim.
The procession flowed past a massive altar, and as each devil came before that altar, the slave's heart was ripped from his chest, the blood spraying upon the ground as the heart was tossed into the fire at the base of the massive statue of Jelial that overlooked the debauchery. And the chants and dedications to Jelial rose in the night, as fiend and fiend-born celebrated their master.
***
The city rang with the sound of metal upon metal. Across the city the smithies rang with the beat of the weapon-smith and armourer. Fletchers worked their trade, and the piles of arrows grew, only to shrink as young boys with push carts moved them to the men upon the walls. Robed men poured over stacks of iron ore, overseeing its smelting, and subsequent mixing with those elements needed to transform it into the cold iron deadly to the invading fiends.
Within the central citadel, a group stood around a table, discussing preparations and plans for what they knew lay ahead. "Another group has been arrested." Keral entered the room, and contemplated those that stood around the table: Delire, Darid, Jeria, Mekior, Gyv, and Gattoup.
Delire looked at the Captain of the City guard, his features unchanged from the time he had greeted her and Jeria, and the column of the refugees from Weald Hall.
"What was it this time?" Jeria's voice contained barely restrained anger, "Another group of rich dilettantes ready to kill some innocent victim in the hopes that it will save them?"
Keral sighed. He had been waiting for Delire to speak, but Jeria's bitter comment had come before she could. He turned to face the half-fiend, and one of the few Master Outer Walkers within the city.
"They are scared. Most have lived through the destruction of their city of birth; now they fear the same thing may happen again. The idea of subjecting themselves to the rule of Jelial is seen as an acceptable alternative." He fell silent for a while before continuing. "They believe the words of the messenger, that an overlord will be sent there, and that nothing more will happen. They choose to believe that Jelial will not interfere beyond that, they seem to be willing to trust the word of a fiend." He hesitated, his quick glance at Jeria, and then Mekior spoke to them all mentally, his mental voice as loud as any words.
"Fools! Within months this city would be filled with fiends. Let Jelial in, let his Overlord rule within these walls, and very soon they will learn the meaning of suffering. They think their money will save them; they think they will somehow buy safety." He looked at the others gathered round. "I suggest we execute them, publicly. Let the fear of our retribution if they attempt to placate Jelial with sacrifices be greater than their fear of the coming war!"
The Master Harpist, and city ruler, turned to Keral. "The fiend speaks my mind. Kill them. Hang them where the bodies will be seen. Let none move the bodies till the battle begins."
Keral looked at Darid, "Master, they say they follow the example of the Council. They point to the trust placed in the word of a half-fiend and fiend. Is it necessary to kill them for misplaced trust?"
The Master Harpist broke away from the table, striding towards Keral. For all his years of battle training, for all his knowledge, and skill, of fighting, Keral still did not see the drawing, raising and thrust of the dirk. He looked at the dirk of the Master harpist, the sharp edge which lay tight against his throat,
Darid leaned in close, his face against that of Keral. "I am not one of our brethren to kill unnecessarily. Unlike those of us who hide in the dark, who make enemies of all, I do not kill unnecessarily. War is upon us, there is no time for the questioning of orders." He stepped back, leaving Keral with a thin line of red under his chin. "Understood?"
Keral nodded, bowed and walked out, leaving the cut to ooze blood as he went to hang a group of frightened, despairing teenagers.
***
Jelial looked over the square, over the writhing snake of the dancing devils, the screams of slaves being slowly tortured, their pain, suffering and deaths dedicated to him. He smiled. Just one unholy revel would not serve to elevate him; but over time, when people whispered his name, in either curse or prayer, it would occur. He would have his place at the table.
He turned, facing Redili, who stood in his armour, weapons at his sides.
"You want to drink from the font? Why, Redili, you are so much more than most of the peons out there, who knows what drinking from the font will do?"
"Revenge, Jelial. I can never revenge my defeat of Gerion while I remain in this form. Physically, he is too strong, too fast, more than a match for me. Magically, his inherent power is unsurpassed except by the most powerful of magi. I know I risk much when I say it, but he is probably a match for you, both physically and magically."
Jelial laughed, and looked at the assassin. "Redili, if I were to make you powerful enough to defeat Gerion, you would be powerful enough to defeat me. If your supposition that Gerion is my near equal in power, do you think I am foolish enough to create one that could be my undoing?" He walked over to Redili, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It shone white, melting through the armour, melting into his shoulder, almost to the centre of his chest.
Redili fell and, before consciousness left him, saw the grinning face of Jelial bending down, heard him whisper in his ear. "I will keep you alive, let you heal, slowly. When my ascension is complete and you can no longer threaten me, you will have your revenge." Redili felt himself fade into blackness, but etched across his mind was the thought, REVENGE, but even he could not say to whom it should be directed.
***
Delire stood with the Master Harpist, watching the passage down which the messengers said the devil came. This time, the mission of the gold armoured messenger was known, but that made the tension all the worse.
"Will they attack tonight?" Gattoup's voice came from behind the two senior figures in the city.
"I fear so. I doubt he expected us to comply; their army will be ready. But they will have to march here, the ore encrusted walls of the outer caverns will stop them teleporting too close." Delire peered into the mirrors that showed the outside wall, and she whispered into the speaking tube nearby. "Do not shoot the messenger; he is protected for the moment. If he should return once battle is engaged, riddle him with every arrow you can find!"
Behind Delire, Mekior laughed.
"You play at war as if the rules must be adhered to! Do you think Jelial will obey the rules of war? Let him know it will be war, by the simple expedient of sending back the tongue of the messenger, on a platter next to his head."
Darid regarded Mekior. "You have hardened since you chose to wear only your true form. You used to display some elements of the human form you wore; now you come to resemble your brethren out there. 'Ware the change Mekior; watch you do not loose that which makes you more than just another fiend."
Silence descended over the group, and the stress of the wait for the messenger to appear was almost a solid weight hanging over their heads. When he did appear, his golden armour and red skin obvious to the watchers, their relief at the confrontation was almost physical, now there was at least a target for their attention.
The messenger turned his head, surveying the buttressed wall and the rows of archers.
"Greetings, oh loyal citizens of Jelial; I have come for the heart of your first sacrificial victim. Open the gates so I may enter and claim the heart of your first offering to our mighty king." He stood, expectantly in the silence, then shook his head and spoke, his tone mocking.
"You have forgotten that tonight is the night for your declaration of loyalty? Or have you mislaid your offering? Oh, my Master will be most saddened by this. I will have to hurry to inform him. Be sure that he will send further messengers, perhaps you will have found the offering by the time they arrive!" He turned, marching back down the passage, awaiting no answer.
"Gattoup, they will come this night. Make sure all entrances are being watched." Delire looked out once again. "I will go and get what rest I can; this night will be long."
***
On the mountain peak overlooking the Fort of Peaks, Gerion watched as his force slowly assembled. Giant- sized fiends with long, oversized arms stood ready, each with a bag of boulders by his side. Massive phalanxes of sword wielding, human-sized fiends wearing steel breastplates stood ready to march forward and scramble up the siege ladders borne upon the back of elephant-sized beasts- that sported hard bony carapaces invulnerable to petty missiles; beside them stood rows of devils that resembled the infantry general with voluptuous, feminine bodies, dainty horns upon their heads, but a curved sword in each of their right hands, and a massive shield held by their two left hands.
Behind them, their job but to wait until either the walls were breached or those within came out, sat the fiendish cavalry. Their horses were pitch black, thick snake-like scales covered their bodies. Their heads were crocodilian, sharp teeth clearly visible, their hooves glimmering dully in the night. On each back sat a black devil wearing black plate mail that bore the symbol of Gerion upon its breastplate. Their faces were hidden by black helms with closed visors, but the simmering red of their eyes could be seen glowing within. They wore swords at their sides, but each grasped a lance and shield, ready for the charge, should the need come.
"They are all here, General." The voice of the oval-headed general of the sorcerors was filled with excitement. "Shall we begin?"
Gerion looked up to the sky above, at the red-lined clouds. He felt the slight breeze upon his face, inhaled the last breath of the night that would not be laden with the smell of battle, and answered, "BEGIN!"
A bugle call and a group of sorcerers turned to the walls of the Fort, raised their hands in harmony, and released a salvo of fiery balls that hit the walls and exploded. The battle had begun.
***
The messenger hurried down the passage. The army awaited his return, the signal to march to war. The refusal to bow to the demands had been expected and eagerly awaited. So, he was surprised when the form of the former ruler of K'op D'Regh stepped out before him. He glanced at the figure, encased within red armour, the mottled red and yellow skin of his face uncovered.
"Hilo. Jelial seeks you, he would love to know why you chose to betray him."
Hilo looked over to the messenger, and then, with a nonchalance that belied the speed of his strike, decapitated the messenger with a swipe of his talons. He bent down, pulling the decapitated corpse so the blood squirted into his mouth, sucking it out when it no longer came of its own accord.
"Jelial will just have to hear of this night's doing from another." An evil grin lit his face as he bent down, surrounding the body with a pale orange powder. From another vial he sprinkled sweet-smelling water, ensuring that none of it touched his own skin. He struck a talon against a rock, creating a spark which, in defiance of the laws of nature, remained alight and jumped into the orange powder, creating a burning ring around the body. "Let your body lie here, its soul entrapped for eternity. None will be summoning you, and neither shall you return to th eplains of Hell!"
He turned and walked away, the body disintegrating into ash upon the floor. A thin, grey wisp danced in the air, a thin keening audible to any who approached thereafter.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
. Actually I find it a very rewarding experience, not too mention a good way from my players to remember what they did 
