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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ghostknight" data-source="post: 3456113" data-attributes="member: 15338">Chapter 23Jelial sat in darkness.  The table before him was empty; scraps of paper littered the floor, shreds of despatches bearing the bad news, the same message within them all: Defeat.  It had been over two thousand years since the last time the pathetic, soft, fit-for-nothing but the table inhabitants of this world had launched an attack.  He fumed in the darkness, the heat of his anger finding its way into his skin, scorching the wood of the table.  The smell of the burnt and smouldering wood brought him to his senses. Where is that imbecile Hilo?  When he appears, he will tell me everything, including why he decided to betray me to the dwarves!  He stood and moved from his study into the neighbouring bedroom, his thoughts on betrayal and treachery.  The Fort of Peaks had fallen, Priet was missing, Redili had yet to appear and Gerion remained obedient, but, as always, hidden and enigmatic, his mind too powerful for him to pick at like he did with so many of his other powerful servitors.   He mused on Gerion, on his loyalty, or probable lack thereof.  His mind turned to Ger City, the temple turned to Gerion’s use, and the fact that there was a font within, combined with the additional issue that Gerion had the arcane knowledge and power to not just use the font, but to manipulate it.  I should never have allowed it to be built, never allowed Gerion access to such power. *** Redili was an oxymoron, defying all expectations that people thought of when they thought of the devils that ruled the world.  His appearance was that of a handsome man.  Jet-black hair cascaded down over his shoulders; deep blue eyes peered out of a face, which appeared kind, rounded cheeks defining a benevolent look.  The sole indication of his fiendish nature- his pupils that blazed and set the centre of those delicate blue orbs aflame, bright enough to glow in the dark. His benign appearance belied his deadly nature.  Since he had not been blessed with the deadly weapons and form of his fellow fiends, he had mastered every kind of weapon known, and some that were unknown to all save a few.  His fiendish blood had not left him bereft of all defences; his reflexes and speed were unbelievable, even to other fiends.  He sat drinking an exquisite wine, the vintage fruity and flavourful.  He leaned back, wondering when next he would receive a summons from his Master, when next his skills would be called on. "Redili."  The voice was soft, but deep and hoarse, reminding him of the sounds of rock grating beneath the earth.  He turned to contemplate the speaker, a large fiend, evidently bred as a warrior. "Ahh, welcome.  You are not Jelial's normal messenger.  Where's Priet?"  Redili stood, making sure the twin blades on his back could move easily.  He did not know if the fiend before him meant him ill, but millennia as an assassin for Jelial bred caution. "I was Priet, but no longer.  Gerion requests your presence."  Ger'liek stood before Redili, enjoying the look of shock on his face. "Does Jelial know of this?"  Redili spoke, looking at the changed Priet before him.  He stepped back, hands on the hilts of his swords. "Redili, you know better.  Jelial liked me as a powerless little pawn.  I had no desire to be so for all eternity.  Gerion is a far better Master.  Now, come, he wants you to visit.”  He paused, “Alive or dead." Redili moved.  The blades were a blur, a hum accompanying their movement through the air.  Ger'liek started in amazement as he moved back, bringing his arms up defensively.  The blades slid off his arm's blade and the two fiends stood looking at each other for a moment.  Ger'liek smiled and moved forward, leaning into the blades, bringing his superior weight and power to bear. Redili showed no sign of emotion, merely moving in such a manner that Ger'liek, suddenly off balance, fell forward and his head parted company with his body as the blades spun in the air. Redili looked at the body and shook his head.  Somebody is going to have to tell Jelial he needs a new messenger.   *** Mekior, Gyv and Jeria followed the fiend through the cavernous complex.  The passages were built on a massive scale, the reason for that apparent when a pair of fiends of immense size passed them, filling even the giant sized passage with their presence.  The size of the complex left them bewildered, as did the obvious homogenous nature of the inhabitants.  They saw thousands of fiends, yet they were all of but a few different forms. "I've heard of this kind of fiendish set-up."  Mekior talked low, hoping not to be overheard.  "Fiendish armies bred for war.  Each one is bred with abilities for a specific purpose.  They are fanatical followers of their Master, the transformation controlled by the fiend that does it, their minds warped to undying loyalty at the same time.  None but the Lords of Hell are meant to know how to do it." Jeria looked at Mekior, thinking back to what Secheriab had told them. "It's them, isn't it?  We're amongst the Fallen.  What I don't get is this; if they are all so fanatically loyal, what is the talk of a triumvirate?  What has happened to Aspith?" Mekior remained silent, his silent glance at Jeria enough to convey his surprise at Jeria's suggestion.  "I have no idea.  Honestly, I had not made the leap you had.  Its obvious once you consider it."   Their guide halted before two immense doors.  Easily fifty feet high, and as least twice that wide, their surface of burnished copper gleamed; lines of precious gems producing scintillating bands of light.  Their guide stepped up, banging on the doors twice with each hand.  Silently the doors swung open, and a smoke filled hall was revealed beyond.  The smoke carried scents of perfumes and burning herbs, the thin reedy sounds of some unknown musical instrument producing atonal notes that hurt their ears. "Go within.  I will go no further."   The three companions stepped into the dimly lit hall.  A thick, blue carpet led down the centre.  Nothing was visible to them in the murky, smoke filled interior, save the tall, copper braziers from which the pungent smoke poured.  They walked down the aisle, sensing, rather than seeing, the hidden inhabitants that watched, evaluated and judged them.   As they marched down the aisle, a large, raised dais came into view.  Three thrones sat upon it, but only one was occupied.  The stairs up to the dais were lined with devils, each wearing armour with red glowing runes upon them, the armour having the unmistakeable shine of silver-steel.  The three approached the dais, bowing in greeting as they reached its bottom. The seated figure stood.  He was a work of art; skin the colour of alabaster, his body a work of perfection in tone and shape.  His eyes were golden, his hair the colour of the sun.  Massive, majestic white wings came from his back.  His legs were clothed in a rich, shimmering metallic pants, and his feet sheathed in slippers of gold and silver, the thread reflecting the light that fell upon him, as if a single beam from the roof highlighted his figure. Only when he descended did his size become obvious; this angelic being stood at least fifteen feet tall.  His voice came out, musical and entrancing in its very utterance. "I greet you all and welcome you to my home.  I, Aspith, master of the three, bid you welcome."  With a simple gesture the oppressive dimness of the hall lifted as torches flared into life around him.  The player of the unknown instrument was revealed, sitting on a cushion behind the throne, a long, tall contraption with multiple strings and buttons before him.  From the sides, dozens of courtiers came forward, fiendish features garbed and hidden within richly styled garments, their flowing nature hiding much of the forms of the wearers. This is Aspith?  He appears as an Angel of legend, hardly what one would think of a devil that had challenged one of the Lords of Hell!   Jeria regarded the figure before him, silent in his contemplation.  Amidst the inaction of Mekior and Jeria, it was Gyv who took upon herself the role of diplomat and stepped forward and bowed yet again. "We bring word and greeting from the Free cities of the North.  As their representatives, we beg your recognition of our embassy."  As she finished speaking, she sank to one knee, as did Mekior and Jeria.  Aspith looked at the three before him a smile upon his face. "Indeed.  I recognise your embassy.  It is past time that your cities learnt of me.  But you make for a strange group:  A fiend, a half fiend and one that has been misused by fiends.  One hopes that you are not truly representative of your home."   Jeria looked up at Aspith, at that strangely angelic face upon the devil lord."No, your lordship.  We are a strange group even for our homes.  I am one of but a rare few half-fiends that survive the tribulations of childhood, and until recently we were not aware of our friend's true blood." Aspith laughed, its musical sound uplifting the spirits of all lucky enough to hear it.  "Truly, I had heard as much.  Never fear, but know that you are welcomed guests at my court."  He winked at them, "I don't know if you remember the millennia old custom of harbouring guests, but within this court such customs are remembered and followed.   You need fear no attack, no harm, for such would be dishonourable and is forbidden by the code.  For now, court will be adjourned for the day, and you three shall retire with me to my private suites where we can talk at our leisure.  Come now; stand up, all three of you. Be welcomed and make merry. " The three stood, watching as Aspith turned, making a quick sign with his hand.  Quickly the music changed to a brisk march, and hidden trumpeters joined in.   Moving silently, those courtiers that had made themselves known left, the torches dimming and the braziers of smoke falling into quiescence as the hall emptied.  The smiling Aspith turned away from the companions, heading to the side of the hall and a set of smaller doors.  Made of iron, these doors were still tall enough for him to pass through.  The room beyond was lit by floating globes of light, the walls adorned with brightly painted scenes of the outside world.  Where the paint had worn thin, the hint of the underlying iron and lead were visible.  Around the edges stood relief maps, in the centre a small table laden with foodstuffs and surrounded by eight chairs, high-backed and padded. Aspith moved ahead and took a seat at the table, choosing a chair in the centre, rather than the one at the head.  He settled in, waiting for the others to take their seats.  When they did so, they noticed the size of the chairs for the first time; it had not been apparent from the outset, as everything in the room seemed similarly sized.  As they sat, their feet did not touch the floor, they felt as children at play at their parent's table.   "I am sure you have many questions for me.  Ask as we eat.  It is not the custom here to avoid serious conversation during meals, not as is the custom within my cousin's court.  I am sure that Secheriab kept you well entertained during meals, but frustrated!  Speak.  Ask what you will, I am hard to insult and will answer what you ask." Jeria took a seat to the right of Aspith, wondering at the casual, friendly attitude of the fiendish lord and his knowledge that they had been sent by Secheriab.  Gyv sat to his left and Mekior took a seat opposite him.  As they took their places, a servant appeared from a hidden niche, filling their glasses with a clear, amber liquid. "Your Majesty, if I may ask.  Your servants refer to a triumvirate, and there were three thrones in your court, yet you sit alone and seem ready to treat with us alone.  Are you ruler here or not?" Gyv gave Jeria a sharp look and Mekior's sharp intake of breath told Jeria what they thought of his audacity.  Aspith, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the question. "It's historical.  I have no way of knowing how much you have been told, but from what you said on your way here, it would appear you know something of my rebellion.  It is sad, really.  If I had won, I would not have ruled alone.  My consort would have sat at my side, my brother ruling alongside us.  Sadly, they both fell as we fled.  I choose to revere their memories in this fashion."  He paused to drink from his wine, watching for a reaction.  He continued speaking.  "Let me answer a question you all want to ask, but do not want to venture for fear of causing offence.   I see your looks and your wonder.  How does a fiend bear the appearance and the voice of an angel?" He stood, pacing the room, stopping behind each chair on his circuit before turning to face them. "I presume you have all heard of Gerogh.  Few know much of him, but Gerogh is still alive.  He is probably the singularly most powerful half-fiend outside of the Hells; not too surprising, considering the fact that his mother was one of the most powerful angels to ever live.  For an age, his parents, a redeemed devil and an angel, upset the plans of the Lords of Hell, until the Lords tired of them and sent an army to destroy them.  In the ensuing war, both his parents and all his siblings were destroyed.  Gerogh escaped, hiding somewhere within the different planes of reality.  Somewhere, somehow, he sired children; my brother and I.  I returned to Hell, seeking to avenge my grandparents.  Only a portion of his power was passed down to me, but it was enough for me to be able to establish my presence within the hierarchy of the Nine, and eventually challenge them for their power."   "Gerogh is your father?  The same Gerogh whose prophesies have come down through the years?"  Jeria's voice was clearly disbelieving, his tone one of derision.  "You, a fiend, wish us to believe that not only does Gerogh carry the blood of fiends, but that you are his son?  What proof do you offer of this remarkable claim?" "None that would have any meaning to anyone, half-fiend.  I ask you to believe your eyes.  My grandmother was an angel, my father a half-angel and my mother an angel.  It shows, does it not?  Yet the mix of fiendish blood enhances me beyond the might of most angels.  The angelic blood lifts me up beyond the power of most fiends.  Just as your fiendish blood lifts you beyond the power of mere mortals, and your mortal blood gives you power that fiends cannot match."  He smiled, his eyes appraising Jeria.  "There is untapped power within you.  If you live long enough you may even learn how to use it.  No matter, on to more important matters." "You came here seeking me, seeking hidden cities.  You found both, but in essence they are the same.  I have long ruled these cities below.  All six of them are under my control; the moment you entered that marketplace and were placed within their dungeons, I knew of you and started researching you, and why you might be here.   I can guess at much, but would rather hear it from you." Jeria started to speak, but was restrained by Gyv.  "We believe you, your Lordship.  We came seeking you, seeking an ally.  We hope that we can come to an agreement.  The time has come to strike back at Jelial, to take back this world before there is nothing left to take back." Jeria spoke up, not letting Gyv restrain him, "You have knowledge that would be welcomed, forces that would aid immensely in the coming battles.  If you are truly in control of the cities within these wards, then you have access to even greater resources than we knew."  He paused, looking at Aspith, sizing him up. "Your knowledge of Gerogh may aid us in deciphering his prophecies, and that knowledge may even help us to win this war." "Never trust in prophecies.  They are fickle, subject to change if some key player knows too much and acts in conflict with them.  I acted myself while believing in prophecies, believing that one day I was destined to rule, to dethrone the nine that hold Hell in their grasp.  You can see what that brought for me!  No, prophecies are best left alone, events will happen as predicted, or they will not.  Either way we must continue on our journey." "But can we trust one such as you?"  Mekior's musing tone broke into the conversation, his forked tongue creating strange sounds as he spoke.  "Jeria is honest in his looks; his heritage can be seen plainly, he wears it on the outside.  On the inside he is true." "Meaning that he is foul to look at but fair within and I am fair without, and foul within?  A fair concern, Renegade.  You are just going to have to trust me if I am to be your ally.  Think on this Renegade.  I have lived on this planet for longer than most human civilisations existed, before the coming of Jelial.  I have no desire to see a tenth Lord of Hell ruling from this place.  I will tell you what I want in return for my help." He paused, aware of the dramatic effect of his words. "I want my own kingdom.  I want recognition as a ruler and a place on this world where I, and my followers, can live without the hostility of every surrounding kingdom and race.  I want my people to be accepted as just another group in the multitudinous mix that makes up this world.  Do you think that would be possible?  Don't answer now, but take this offer back to your council.  Let me know what their decision is.  Either way your status as Ambassadors will remain intact.  You need not fear returning here." Conversation continued, but there did not seem much more to be say after the revelations of Aspith.  They ate the food and drank the wine.  In the end, the companions were escorted to their quarters for the night.  Again they were faced with the dilemma, to believe or to disbelieve, and yet again the choice was put in front of them by a being of immeasurable power from Hell.</blockquote>

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