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Rule of Darkness -Book II Chapter 3 Last Update 19 June 2008- Book I Completed
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<blockquote data-quote="Ghostknight" data-source="post: 3488782" data-attributes="member: 15338"><p><strong>Chapter 29</strong></p><p></p><p>The aftermath of the battle saw a triumphant city celebrating riotously into the night. Not all joined in the party, outside the city groups of soldiers laid out the bodies of their fallen in neat rows; each covered with a plain white shroud bearing the symbol of ultimate death. The bodies of the devils were thrown to one side, piled high in their anonymity. The renegades sorted through them, putting their own to one side for proper burial, leaving the rest for the carrion eaters.</p><p></p><p>In one corner Mekior sat, a scarred face resting upon his knee. He stared ahead, saying nothing, just stroking the hair still matted with the blood and dirt of the battlefield. His eyes were blank, dead. Deep within them, the fire danced. He looked up as Jeria arrived, contemplating the features of the half-breed.</p><p></p><p>"I tried to stop her, she did not hear." Mekior's voice was flat, toneless, devoid of any hint of emotion. "I saw the rune light from his sword and knew she would die if she faced him. But she didn't hear." He continued staring straight ahead, hands mechanically smoothing the hair that fell across his lap.</p><p></p><p>Jeria moved, and came to sit beside him, his gaze lost in the darkness of the cavern. He said nothing, his presence a companion to Mekior's grief. Eventually he reached across, his hand gripping the green scales of Mekior's hand.</p><p></p><p>"It is time to let go of her." Gently he clenched Mekior's hands in his, before moving them the side. Jeria stood, and turned to Mekior. "Help me bring her to the ultimate peace."</p><p></p><p>For a moment Mekior's blank stare didn't change and then he stood. He gently clasped Gyv's head within his cupped hands, as four bearers lifted her body, carrying her within the shroud of a hero laid over her body, an honour guard as she was brought to her final rest amongst the rest of the fallen that day- each name carefully recorded for eternal memorial. In silence they kept vigil, until the funeral pyres were lit and the ashes gathered to be buried in the centre of the city beneath the memorial to those who fought to keep the city free.</p><p></p><p>With the low tones of the funeral dirge still being chanted, those gathered to honour the dead turned as one, to face the city, their refuge from the dark outside. The crowd fell silent, returning in silence and contemplation to the city. For some, it was to return to the council chambers to discuss what next. To plan and to try to dispel the fear that next time Jelial would be successful. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>"Prince D'Fir, your father awaits you." The steward looked over the Prince, noting the battle stained armour, the grimy axe and the dirt of the field stuck to his face and within his beard. He nodded in approval; such was the custom, that when a General returned triumphant, he should come to be honoured by the King still bearing the grime of the battlefield, as the king had been honoured by his actions upon that field.</p><p></p><p>D’Fir marched down the centre of the hall, the stones echoing the footfalls of his iron shod boots. At the throne, King D'Mir stood as his son approached. As D'Fir neared, he sank to his knee, his voice rising over the assembled nobles.</p><p></p><p>"All hail to Prince D'Fir! All laude my General who first won, and then held the Fort of Peaks." Amidst the tumultuous cheering of the assemblage, the King rose, reaching out to grasp his son's shoulder and turned him to face the assemblage, to accept their accolades, and to let him bask in their adoration. Soon the feasting would come, and the celebrations would cross the city. For some, a celebration of victory in a distant fort, for others a celebration of their continued life and the battle that never came; but there were also those that sat quietly upon low benches, with but the flickering of candles for company, mourning those whose funeral pyres had lit the sky in distant peaks.</p><p></p><p>All celebrations have to end, and so it was that three days later the council came together, sitting in session to decide on the future. King D'Mir looked over those present. Aside from the obligatory representatives from the noble families, the assemblage included General D'Haan, Prince D'Fir, Eria, Sister Egrit and Aspith. The King's gaze lingered first upon Eria and then Aspith. He understood Eria; felt comfortable that the devil was as expected, something understandable, but Aspith disturbed him. His angelic appearance at odds with what he knew of him, a powerful devil that had contended for the throne of Hell, and had been only defeated by the combined might of those that ruled.</p><p></p><p>"We stand at a historical cusp. Jelial has been defeated, even as he made a bid for greater power. Lord Aspith, we thank you for your help. Without your timely intervention, we would have been mourning, not celebrating. Ambassador Eria, we thank you and Lord Secheriab for the assistance you rendered. Now we have to decide what happens from this point onward." Silence fell across those present, each looking towards the king.</p><p></p><p>"We won a battle, not the war. Jelial is licking his wounds, for the moment. He will seek revenge. So what do we do?" The King's voice died down, his gaze meeting the eyes of each present. Aspith looked back at him, his head higher than the King's, even while seated, and started speaking.</p><p></p><p>"Jelial will not move quickly. He will spend time consolidating his forces, finding out how things have changed. He knows me, and my history, though he will be wondering what has brought me out of hiding. He will suspect I seek the same as he, a seat at amongst those that rule." Aspith stopped, looking at Eria, a smile playing across his feature. "It's what we all want, what we spend our eternities seeking. Any fiend claiming otherwise is lying. Once I did, and it cost me the life of my love, of many friends. I have lived for millennia since then, in peace, content to rule my domain beneath the earth.” He laughed, “First I warn against fiends claiming they have no interest in the throne of Hell, and then I claim it of myself. I speak truthfully, though. I contended for the throne, and lost. I shall not go down that path again, it can but lead to my doom- none of those in the ruling council would sit still and let me ever return to Hell without being destroyed by their combined might. Even now the Lord of the Eighth will have informed the rest of the Lords of Hell that I yet live. I am content to be left with my kingdom here. Perhaps that will be enough for them .” He paused, looking down the table, his gaze lingering on Eria.</p><p></p><p>“Jelial will not leave me be. He cannot afford to ignore my existence, he knows from my actions that I will oppose turning this world into a reflection of Hell. He knows that I will not allow him to turn this world into his personal demesne.” </p><p></p><p>“Then there are the Renegades that attacked his forces at Harmony Hall; yet another group of fiends that opposes his rule. Most of the renegades have never seen Hell; they regard this world as their home. So, Jelial has gone from having a world he thought he had under control, to one filled with enemies, powerful enemies. Do not underestimate him; he gained control of this world through careful planning, and he will use every bit of knowledge and power available to him to hang onto it."</p><p></p><p>Aspith looked around the table, and held up his hand as Eria started to speak, silencing him. "We have a far mightier alliance to stand up to Jelial than at any other time. But this is just one corner of the world; there are other hidden cities, other communities and races that lie in hiding. Who knows how many of those, faced with Jelial's ultimatum, decided to succumb? We cannot know how much closer Jelial has come to his ultimate aim. Now is not the time for complacency, now is the time to build our alliance, to find more of those that might add to our strength as the war progresses."</p><p></p><p>Those at the table did not look pleased at what Aspith had said, but none moved to gainsay it. No one challenged it, in their hearts they knew he spoke the truth. They had hoped to continue celebrating the victories they had achieved; they had not truly wanted to contemplate happenings outside of their ken. Silence reigned for a few moments more, and then D'Fir spoke up. His voice was clear and firm, as he addressed the council.</p><p></p><p>"I have to agree with what Lord Aspith has said. Many of you do not trust him; after all, he once sought to rule over Hell. It is strange times we find ourselves in; for so long we have fought and hated the evil ones that came from planes and realities beyond our own, outsiders that have come to rule our world and dominate our lives. Now I have fought alongside the Gir'Thia, devils considered deadly and violent even by the standards of their own kind,sent by Secheriab to aid us, and I HAVE seen that they, too, have a nobility of purpose. True, some would say that they deserted us before the end," and here his glance shifted quickly to Sister Egrit, "but they were never promised to us as troops, only as a means of moving our own soldiers into the conflict. They fought well, and without them we would not have lasted until Lord Aspith and his force arrived.</p><p></p><p>We have built a strange fellowship indeed. Eria the Red, Ambassador of Secheriab, represents a fiendish power that once sought to destroy Lord Aspith. The Renegades, now encamped at Harmony Hall, represent a fiendish contingent that owes loyalty to no Lord, whether in Hell or otherwise. Then, to complete the otherworldly aspect of our alliance, we have the angels, the representatives of the celestial spheres, whom have long been foes of all the fiends. Standing betwixt these conflicting ethos are those of us native to this world, hoping that one day we will again breathe the air of the world above as free beings and not as slaves.</p><p></p><p>I find myself trusting all these allies, as strange as that may seem. Each has their own reasons for aiding us, and, in those private motives I find reason to trust, and because I trust, I bow to the wisdom of Aspith."</p><p>He stood and walked to his father's side, to kneel at his side.</p><p></p><p>"I beg you, Lord D'Mir, king, liege lord and father, to give me permission to seek out those whom we could add to the roster of allies."</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Kint walked through the quiet streets of Gunder's Hall, flanked by two fiends sent by Aspith. They were both thin and moved with the agility of dancers, or trained martial artists. Simple white robes covered their bodies, long billowy sleeves showing only their wrists and six fingered hands. Their heads were featureless ovals, their blankness disconcerting to all who had to deal with them. Where did you look when no eyes could be met? From where did the sound, and rose scented breath, come when they spoke? How did they hear when they had no ears? Yet those six-fingered hands, with silver nails and golden scales that disappeared into the dark, billowing sleeves, healed any wound, any sickness upon which they fell.</p><p></p><p>"I will call together what remains of the council for your Master's visit. Unfortunately, many have died in the plague, including Vixel, once the chief councillor that dealt with those from outside the city. Gebril still lives, but Seridi, mistress of the city, fled when you arrived. A search of her quarters has not revealed anything."</p><p></p><p>One of the fiends chuckled, that strangely aromatic breath wafting over Kint.</p><p></p><p>"Take us to her quarters. I have many suspicions as to why she would have fled. If my suspicions are correct, it would explain the origin of this plague."</p><p></p><p>With a nod, Kint changed direction, and headed into one of the more constricted side tunnels. The way was brightly lit, and many survivors stuck their heads out to peer at Kint, and the fiends, as they passed by. Fully half of the populace had died, and most of the rest had been healed at the hands of the fiends, but most had been too sick, and the fiends too rushed, for them to have satisfied their curiosity.</p><p></p><p>The three walked down the tunnel, until they reached a dead-end. In front of them was a massive door, flanked by two guards in the cities livery. They opened the door when they saw Kint, known to them as the head of the Healer's Guild, and stared unashamedly at the two fiends that entered with him.</p><p></p><p>The fiend that had spoken previously or at least Kint thought it to be the same one, stepped out of his white robe. Kint saw that the golden scales covered the entirety of its body, no patches or wrinkles marking the golden perfection. It stood there, any genitalia hidden away and not visible. The fiend started to dance, the light reflecting off its scale, reflected light bouncing off the walls, ceiling and floor. The dance was a whirlwind of motion, stunningly beautiful in its execution, and frightening in its unearthly nature. It seemed an eternity, but the unwavering intensity of the unnatural light from the tunnel showed it to be but a few minutes, before the dance concluded. </p><p></p><p>The fiend said nothing, made no sound, but simply turned and walked to a spot on the wall. It stood with both feet wide apart and rested its hands on the wall before it. A shriek seemed to rip from its throat, syllables in the dark tongue of the fiends rippling forth, taunting the ear of the human that heard them. The wall disappeared, revealing a large room with unadorned stonewalls. The walls were lined with shelves, all stood empty except for a few near the doors. The fiend reached out and took a small vial in which the remnant of a thin, red liquid coated the bottom.</p><p></p><p>"Here is the disease that attacked your city. And this one," he picked up a slightly larger vial which was filled with a blue liquid, "is the antidote. No doubt, Jelial would have offered to spare the remnants of the city in return for your worship."</p><p></p><p>Kint looked at the two vials, a gut twisting sense of betrayal rushing through him. "So, the one person we relied on to protect us from Jelial was the greatest traitor of all."</p><p></p><p>The fiend placed its hand upon Kint's shoulder. "My Master seeks an end to this. Make sure the council knows of this betrayal, and of my master's works in helping first to save those fighting at the Fort of Peaks, and then his sending of us to do the healing. My Master can be trusted, but you will find it hard to get most of your fellows to place their trust in him."</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The three days of the revel had ended and Jelial stood before his court. The massed nobility of the fiends gathered, as was their norm, to pay homage to the one that had conquered this world on their behalf. Few were truly loyal; amongst fiends loyalty was not an emotion often found, but they all followed the one they thought would increase their personal power. In his moment of glory in the wake of the revel, Jelial stepped off his throne and walked down through those gathered at his feet. As he did so, he singled out part of their number.</p><p></p><p>"Those I have chosen today go forth as my governors to rule over those cities that have bent their heads in supplication. Let it be seen that those who are loyal to me shall be rewarded!" He smiled, turning around to allow all present to bask in the warmth of his victory. He stopped turning, facing a small devil whose grey skin seemed to soak in the light.</p><p></p><p>He smiled as those features began to boil, the acrid, nose burning smell of acid thick in the hall. He watched as the devil, screaming in agony, collapsed to the ground, the ooze leaving its body pitting the floor below. Jelial's smile did not waver as he watched, and his voice, though soft, carried over the pain-filled screams.</p><p></p><p>"Remember what happens to those that betray me. Next time, I won't be so merciful." He stomped on the remnants of the body, grinding it into the floor and emphasising, at the same time, his immunity to many of those things deadly to others.</p><p></p><p>Jelial left the hall, stopping before he left to turn and call out, “Ceriask, Gerion, Ahrith, Shinfe and Breth join me in the Chamber, NOW!” </p><p></p><p>Those hearing the command could feel the magic in it, the call reaching out to those who were not present, a compulsion that forced them back to Jelial’s court. Only Jelial knew the gamble he took- in his moment of defeat if even one of his generals chose this moment to stand against him, it could well rend the entire empire he was trying to build- and at least two, and perhaps even three, of those named had the power to resist the compulsion! </p><p></p><p>Showing none of his inner misgivings, he turned and stalked off, out of the sight of those within the court. Once out of their sight, he stood still for a while, gathering energy, before disappearing with none of the obvious chanting or waving of hands that lesser magi were forced to use in their channelling and directing of arcane magical energy. He reappeared before what appeared to be a single massive block of stone, its dark black sides drinking the light that fell upon them, igniting flecks of light that glittered within. </p><p></p><p>It stood within the centre of the market place, perhaps twice the height of Jelial and eighty paces long. No doors could be seen, and neither did openings of any kind grace its smooth black sides. All in the market place avoided coming near, assiduously making sure they stayed as far from it as they could. </p><p></p><p>Jelial’s appearance caused a panic within the market; instantly, all activity stopped as all those present dropped to their faces, avoiding the gaze of their lord and master. Seemingly at random, Jelial pointed within the crowd, and someone would be flung out- their body flailing through the air- their heads smashed open upon the block of stone. After, perhaps, the fiftieth such victim a red-limned doorway appeared. Smiling, ignoring the cobbles made slippery by the gore and ichor of those killed to open the doorway, Jelial stepped inside to await the arrival of his chief generals.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Gerion received the summons, even as he prepared to leave to deliver his report on the defeat at the Fort of Peaks. Briefly he contemplated ignoring it, sending out his own summons and seeing how many would gather under his banner, but then decided against it- he had lost too many battles recently to be seen as deserving of the support of the others. Still, it seemed that others might be vying for Jelial’s position, for even as the sound of Jelial’s voice was dimming in his ears, another voice reached him, low, sibilant, and filled with all the malice its owner possessed.</p><p></p><p>“Gerion, attend me. We need to talk before we confront Jelial.”</p><p></p><p>Gerion closed his eyes, following the thin arcane thread that Ceriask had left. It was tiring, but he compelled his sight out of his body, sending it ranging across the miles, inspecting the place at which it terminated. Once satisfied that the area was free of traps, he raised a portal and stepped through, leaving it open in case he needed to get away quickly.</p><p></p><p>Gerion arrived in a small room. It was bare, but for a small chair upon which Ceriask sat. No chair was available for him. Inwardly Gerion smiled; Ceriask was too sure of himself, too sure of his own power. He examined the seated figure whose bottom two arms lay calmly upon the seats armrests, his middle arms and top arms folded across his chest. His powerful legs were garbed in a shimmering purple garb, his chest covered in alternating bands of leather and gold. To Gerion’s vision, the whole shone with the power of the enchantments embedded within. Once again his inner voice chuckled- Ceriask was too dependant on the enchantment upon his garb, and the weapons he thought were invisible against his sides.</p><p></p><p>“You invited me here, Ceraisk. Speak quickly, Jelial awaits our presence!”</p><p></p><p>“Gerion.” The voice was low, smooth, controlled in its power. “Shall we play games, or are you ready to get right to the point? Come, old friend, old adversary, old acquaintance. We have known each other for aeons, sparred against one another, and been allies when it suited us. Surely we can dispense with the games and pretences and speak plainly.”</p><p></p><p>Gerion listened to the voice, easily filtering out the compulsion built into the words.</p><p></p><p>“You always did like to control those you considered your lesser. Do you think so little of me, Ceriask? Now speak, why did you summons me here when our Lord and Master awaits us”</p><p></p><p>Ceriask stood, his face not reflecting his disappointment at the failure of his magic. </p><p></p><p>“The time has come, Gerion. Jelial has overplayed his hand and is ripe for a fall. I have allies, powerful allies, allies from home that will welcome us back if we dispose of Jelial. I know that I cannot confront him by myself, but together we can overcome and destroy him!”</p><p></p><p>“You act as a mere pawn of another and wish me to do likewise? You are a fool, Ceriask! You always have been foolish, but to try and ensnare me within your crass attempt at assassination is a level of foolishness and stupidityyou have never displayed before!”</p><p></p><p>Ceriask looked at Gerion, his red face swelling, his hands unfolding, hovering near the blades of his swords. Gerion watched as Ceriask brought himself back under control, and turned away, only to quickly swing around, his words hissing through his lips as he confronted Gerion.</p><p></p><p>“I tire of this place, Gerion. I know you must too. Surely you cannot like this world and its puny creatures that we twist to our wills! I do not believe the stories of your ‘son’ that has become our foe; it must surely be no more than another of your plots. If you will not follow me, then tell me what your plans are, and maybe I shall follow you!”</p><p></p><p>Gerion laughed, throwing his rejection of Ceriask straight at him.</p><p></p><p>“No, Ceriask, I will not be joining you and neither will you be joining me! He leapt back, arcane bolts flying from the ground by his feet straight into the face of Ceriask. Silently he had sent the power out, and he watched as Ceriask’s defences dealt with the assault. </p><p></p><p>With a cry, Ceriask drew his swords, the blades almost leaping into his outstretched arms as he charged at Gerion. For his part, Gerion stood where he was, concentrating his power on defusing the arcane protection that was embedded within the clothing that Ceriask wore. He saw Ceriask coming, and at the last second spun on his feet, his hand slapping down on Ceriask as he passed by. A loud “crack” could be heard as his palm smashed into the back of Ceriask, and dull silver light surrounded him, causing him to stumble and pause, horrified, as he felt the magic leeched out of his clothing and weapons.</p><p></p><p>With glee, Gerion drew his own weapons, charging forward, letting his bloodlust overcome him. His sword clashed against the swords of his foe, easily sweeping through them, the magic in his blade reducing his opponent’s swords to mere stubs in their wielder’s hands. He spun round, kicking out with his legs, caving Ceriask’s face, making a pulp of Ceriask’s nose and mouth. His motion continued, his sword sweeping through the air, trailing light and then blood as it cut through first Ceriask’s upraised arms, and then his neck, leaving his head to drop to the ground and bounce off his knees. In his bloodlust, Gerion barely noticed and hacked at the corpse, leaving nothing identifiable, just a bloody mass upon the ground. Eventually, the bloodlust left him and he came to his senses. He calmly walked to the patch of ground upon which Ceriask’s head lay, picked it up and cradled it under his arm. With a few whispered words he faded from sight.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Jelial stood within the chamber fuming as he looked at only three of the five that sat there. His anger was fuelled by fear; Ceriask and Gerion were his two most powerful generals. One missing would be bad enough, both missing raised the spectre of them working together. He had long feared that Gerion, as his second-in-command , might rebel, but he had never considered Ceriask a likely rebel- he was too cowardly, too careful about losing his position and life though he was clearly one of the senior devils within the hierarchy.</p><p></p><p>The other three around the table shifted uneasily- unlike their more powerful brethren, they had been compelled to be there, to make there way with as much haste as was feasible. They understood the implications of the two missing fiends and worried at their positions, and continued existence should open war breakout. Thus they were as relieved as Jelial when the chamber resounded to the single note of the gong that indicated that someone had entered the door for which so many had been killed to open.</p><p></p><p>Gerion strode into the room, aware of the impression he made with the coating of fresh fiendish blood that covered his armour and the head of Ceriask cradled under one arm. As he entered, he tossed the head so it hit the table and rolled until it came to rest just before Jelial. With a flourish he bowed before Jelial.</p><p></p><p>“I give you the head of a traitor! Alas, he did not reveal to me just who it was that had commissioned him to try and kill you, my Lord, just that they were from ‘Home’. It seems the poor lad had gotten confused and failed to remember that this was home now.”</p><p></p><p>Gingerly Jelial reached out, his long nails turning the head till the eyes stared out at him All watched as blue flame leapt between him and severed head, drilling into the eye sockets. Above the head formed a picture, a replay of the events as they had transpired. He grunted, and knocked the head off the table onto the floor, casually kicking it into a corner where strange green and purple beetles swarmed out of a nearby hole and began to feast upon it.</p><p></p><p>“Many thanks, Gerion. It is always comforting to know that my subjects are loyal.” Jelial looked at Gerion, waving him to the seat to his right, the seat of honour next to the head of the table. Smirking, Gerion took the indicated seat and looked at the others present. After this, none would dare to mention his defeat at the Fort of peaks again.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Ghostknight, post: 3488782, member: 15338"] [b]Chapter 29[/b] The aftermath of the battle saw a triumphant city celebrating riotously into the night. Not all joined in the party, outside the city groups of soldiers laid out the bodies of their fallen in neat rows; each covered with a plain white shroud bearing the symbol of ultimate death. The bodies of the devils were thrown to one side, piled high in their anonymity. The renegades sorted through them, putting their own to one side for proper burial, leaving the rest for the carrion eaters. In one corner Mekior sat, a scarred face resting upon his knee. He stared ahead, saying nothing, just stroking the hair still matted with the blood and dirt of the battlefield. His eyes were blank, dead. Deep within them, the fire danced. He looked up as Jeria arrived, contemplating the features of the half-breed. "I tried to stop her, she did not hear." Mekior's voice was flat, toneless, devoid of any hint of emotion. "I saw the rune light from his sword and knew she would die if she faced him. But she didn't hear." He continued staring straight ahead, hands mechanically smoothing the hair that fell across his lap. Jeria moved, and came to sit beside him, his gaze lost in the darkness of the cavern. He said nothing, his presence a companion to Mekior's grief. Eventually he reached across, his hand gripping the green scales of Mekior's hand. "It is time to let go of her." Gently he clenched Mekior's hands in his, before moving them the side. Jeria stood, and turned to Mekior. "Help me bring her to the ultimate peace." For a moment Mekior's blank stare didn't change and then he stood. He gently clasped Gyv's head within his cupped hands, as four bearers lifted her body, carrying her within the shroud of a hero laid over her body, an honour guard as she was brought to her final rest amongst the rest of the fallen that day- each name carefully recorded for eternal memorial. In silence they kept vigil, until the funeral pyres were lit and the ashes gathered to be buried in the centre of the city beneath the memorial to those who fought to keep the city free. With the low tones of the funeral dirge still being chanted, those gathered to honour the dead turned as one, to face the city, their refuge from the dark outside. The crowd fell silent, returning in silence and contemplation to the city. For some, it was to return to the council chambers to discuss what next. To plan and to try to dispel the fear that next time Jelial would be successful. *** "Prince D'Fir, your father awaits you." The steward looked over the Prince, noting the battle stained armour, the grimy axe and the dirt of the field stuck to his face and within his beard. He nodded in approval; such was the custom, that when a General returned triumphant, he should come to be honoured by the King still bearing the grime of the battlefield, as the king had been honoured by his actions upon that field. D’Fir marched down the centre of the hall, the stones echoing the footfalls of his iron shod boots. At the throne, King D'Mir stood as his son approached. As D'Fir neared, he sank to his knee, his voice rising over the assembled nobles. "All hail to Prince D'Fir! All laude my General who first won, and then held the Fort of Peaks." Amidst the tumultuous cheering of the assemblage, the King rose, reaching out to grasp his son's shoulder and turned him to face the assemblage, to accept their accolades, and to let him bask in their adoration. Soon the feasting would come, and the celebrations would cross the city. For some, a celebration of victory in a distant fort, for others a celebration of their continued life and the battle that never came; but there were also those that sat quietly upon low benches, with but the flickering of candles for company, mourning those whose funeral pyres had lit the sky in distant peaks. All celebrations have to end, and so it was that three days later the council came together, sitting in session to decide on the future. King D'Mir looked over those present. Aside from the obligatory representatives from the noble families, the assemblage included General D'Haan, Prince D'Fir, Eria, Sister Egrit and Aspith. The King's gaze lingered first upon Eria and then Aspith. He understood Eria; felt comfortable that the devil was as expected, something understandable, but Aspith disturbed him. His angelic appearance at odds with what he knew of him, a powerful devil that had contended for the throne of Hell, and had been only defeated by the combined might of those that ruled. "We stand at a historical cusp. Jelial has been defeated, even as he made a bid for greater power. Lord Aspith, we thank you for your help. Without your timely intervention, we would have been mourning, not celebrating. Ambassador Eria, we thank you and Lord Secheriab for the assistance you rendered. Now we have to decide what happens from this point onward." Silence fell across those present, each looking towards the king. "We won a battle, not the war. Jelial is licking his wounds, for the moment. He will seek revenge. So what do we do?" The King's voice died down, his gaze meeting the eyes of each present. Aspith looked back at him, his head higher than the King's, even while seated, and started speaking. "Jelial will not move quickly. He will spend time consolidating his forces, finding out how things have changed. He knows me, and my history, though he will be wondering what has brought me out of hiding. He will suspect I seek the same as he, a seat at amongst those that rule." Aspith stopped, looking at Eria, a smile playing across his feature. "It's what we all want, what we spend our eternities seeking. Any fiend claiming otherwise is lying. Once I did, and it cost me the life of my love, of many friends. I have lived for millennia since then, in peace, content to rule my domain beneath the earth.” He laughed, “First I warn against fiends claiming they have no interest in the throne of Hell, and then I claim it of myself. I speak truthfully, though. I contended for the throne, and lost. I shall not go down that path again, it can but lead to my doom- none of those in the ruling council would sit still and let me ever return to Hell without being destroyed by their combined might. Even now the Lord of the Eighth will have informed the rest of the Lords of Hell that I yet live. I am content to be left with my kingdom here. Perhaps that will be enough for them .” He paused, looking down the table, his gaze lingering on Eria. “Jelial will not leave me be. He cannot afford to ignore my existence, he knows from my actions that I will oppose turning this world into a reflection of Hell. He knows that I will not allow him to turn this world into his personal demesne.” “Then there are the Renegades that attacked his forces at Harmony Hall; yet another group of fiends that opposes his rule. Most of the renegades have never seen Hell; they regard this world as their home. So, Jelial has gone from having a world he thought he had under control, to one filled with enemies, powerful enemies. Do not underestimate him; he gained control of this world through careful planning, and he will use every bit of knowledge and power available to him to hang onto it." Aspith looked around the table, and held up his hand as Eria started to speak, silencing him. "We have a far mightier alliance to stand up to Jelial than at any other time. But this is just one corner of the world; there are other hidden cities, other communities and races that lie in hiding. Who knows how many of those, faced with Jelial's ultimatum, decided to succumb? We cannot know how much closer Jelial has come to his ultimate aim. Now is not the time for complacency, now is the time to build our alliance, to find more of those that might add to our strength as the war progresses." Those at the table did not look pleased at what Aspith had said, but none moved to gainsay it. No one challenged it, in their hearts they knew he spoke the truth. They had hoped to continue celebrating the victories they had achieved; they had not truly wanted to contemplate happenings outside of their ken. Silence reigned for a few moments more, and then D'Fir spoke up. His voice was clear and firm, as he addressed the council. "I have to agree with what Lord Aspith has said. Many of you do not trust him; after all, he once sought to rule over Hell. It is strange times we find ourselves in; for so long we have fought and hated the evil ones that came from planes and realities beyond our own, outsiders that have come to rule our world and dominate our lives. Now I have fought alongside the Gir'Thia, devils considered deadly and violent even by the standards of their own kind,sent by Secheriab to aid us, and I HAVE seen that they, too, have a nobility of purpose. True, some would say that they deserted us before the end," and here his glance shifted quickly to Sister Egrit, "but they were never promised to us as troops, only as a means of moving our own soldiers into the conflict. They fought well, and without them we would not have lasted until Lord Aspith and his force arrived. We have built a strange fellowship indeed. Eria the Red, Ambassador of Secheriab, represents a fiendish power that once sought to destroy Lord Aspith. The Renegades, now encamped at Harmony Hall, represent a fiendish contingent that owes loyalty to no Lord, whether in Hell or otherwise. Then, to complete the otherworldly aspect of our alliance, we have the angels, the representatives of the celestial spheres, whom have long been foes of all the fiends. Standing betwixt these conflicting ethos are those of us native to this world, hoping that one day we will again breathe the air of the world above as free beings and not as slaves. I find myself trusting all these allies, as strange as that may seem. Each has their own reasons for aiding us, and, in those private motives I find reason to trust, and because I trust, I bow to the wisdom of Aspith." He stood and walked to his father's side, to kneel at his side. "I beg you, Lord D'Mir, king, liege lord and father, to give me permission to seek out those whom we could add to the roster of allies." *** Kint walked through the quiet streets of Gunder's Hall, flanked by two fiends sent by Aspith. They were both thin and moved with the agility of dancers, or trained martial artists. Simple white robes covered their bodies, long billowy sleeves showing only their wrists and six fingered hands. Their heads were featureless ovals, their blankness disconcerting to all who had to deal with them. Where did you look when no eyes could be met? From where did the sound, and rose scented breath, come when they spoke? How did they hear when they had no ears? Yet those six-fingered hands, with silver nails and golden scales that disappeared into the dark, billowing sleeves, healed any wound, any sickness upon which they fell. "I will call together what remains of the council for your Master's visit. Unfortunately, many have died in the plague, including Vixel, once the chief councillor that dealt with those from outside the city. Gebril still lives, but Seridi, mistress of the city, fled when you arrived. A search of her quarters has not revealed anything." One of the fiends chuckled, that strangely aromatic breath wafting over Kint. "Take us to her quarters. I have many suspicions as to why she would have fled. If my suspicions are correct, it would explain the origin of this plague." With a nod, Kint changed direction, and headed into one of the more constricted side tunnels. The way was brightly lit, and many survivors stuck their heads out to peer at Kint, and the fiends, as they passed by. Fully half of the populace had died, and most of the rest had been healed at the hands of the fiends, but most had been too sick, and the fiends too rushed, for them to have satisfied their curiosity. The three walked down the tunnel, until they reached a dead-end. In front of them was a massive door, flanked by two guards in the cities livery. They opened the door when they saw Kint, known to them as the head of the Healer's Guild, and stared unashamedly at the two fiends that entered with him. The fiend that had spoken previously or at least Kint thought it to be the same one, stepped out of his white robe. Kint saw that the golden scales covered the entirety of its body, no patches or wrinkles marking the golden perfection. It stood there, any genitalia hidden away and not visible. The fiend started to dance, the light reflecting off its scale, reflected light bouncing off the walls, ceiling and floor. The dance was a whirlwind of motion, stunningly beautiful in its execution, and frightening in its unearthly nature. It seemed an eternity, but the unwavering intensity of the unnatural light from the tunnel showed it to be but a few minutes, before the dance concluded. The fiend said nothing, made no sound, but simply turned and walked to a spot on the wall. It stood with both feet wide apart and rested its hands on the wall before it. A shriek seemed to rip from its throat, syllables in the dark tongue of the fiends rippling forth, taunting the ear of the human that heard them. The wall disappeared, revealing a large room with unadorned stonewalls. The walls were lined with shelves, all stood empty except for a few near the doors. The fiend reached out and took a small vial in which the remnant of a thin, red liquid coated the bottom. "Here is the disease that attacked your city. And this one," he picked up a slightly larger vial which was filled with a blue liquid, "is the antidote. No doubt, Jelial would have offered to spare the remnants of the city in return for your worship." Kint looked at the two vials, a gut twisting sense of betrayal rushing through him. "So, the one person we relied on to protect us from Jelial was the greatest traitor of all." The fiend placed its hand upon Kint's shoulder. "My Master seeks an end to this. Make sure the council knows of this betrayal, and of my master's works in helping first to save those fighting at the Fort of Peaks, and then his sending of us to do the healing. My Master can be trusted, but you will find it hard to get most of your fellows to place their trust in him." *** The three days of the revel had ended and Jelial stood before his court. The massed nobility of the fiends gathered, as was their norm, to pay homage to the one that had conquered this world on their behalf. Few were truly loyal; amongst fiends loyalty was not an emotion often found, but they all followed the one they thought would increase their personal power. In his moment of glory in the wake of the revel, Jelial stepped off his throne and walked down through those gathered at his feet. As he did so, he singled out part of their number. "Those I have chosen today go forth as my governors to rule over those cities that have bent their heads in supplication. Let it be seen that those who are loyal to me shall be rewarded!" He smiled, turning around to allow all present to bask in the warmth of his victory. He stopped turning, facing a small devil whose grey skin seemed to soak in the light. He smiled as those features began to boil, the acrid, nose burning smell of acid thick in the hall. He watched as the devil, screaming in agony, collapsed to the ground, the ooze leaving its body pitting the floor below. Jelial's smile did not waver as he watched, and his voice, though soft, carried over the pain-filled screams. "Remember what happens to those that betray me. Next time, I won't be so merciful." He stomped on the remnants of the body, grinding it into the floor and emphasising, at the same time, his immunity to many of those things deadly to others. Jelial left the hall, stopping before he left to turn and call out, “Ceriask, Gerion, Ahrith, Shinfe and Breth join me in the Chamber, NOW!” Those hearing the command could feel the magic in it, the call reaching out to those who were not present, a compulsion that forced them back to Jelial’s court. Only Jelial knew the gamble he took- in his moment of defeat if even one of his generals chose this moment to stand against him, it could well rend the entire empire he was trying to build- and at least two, and perhaps even three, of those named had the power to resist the compulsion! Showing none of his inner misgivings, he turned and stalked off, out of the sight of those within the court. Once out of their sight, he stood still for a while, gathering energy, before disappearing with none of the obvious chanting or waving of hands that lesser magi were forced to use in their channelling and directing of arcane magical energy. He reappeared before what appeared to be a single massive block of stone, its dark black sides drinking the light that fell upon them, igniting flecks of light that glittered within. It stood within the centre of the market place, perhaps twice the height of Jelial and eighty paces long. No doors could be seen, and neither did openings of any kind grace its smooth black sides. All in the market place avoided coming near, assiduously making sure they stayed as far from it as they could. Jelial’s appearance caused a panic within the market; instantly, all activity stopped as all those present dropped to their faces, avoiding the gaze of their lord and master. Seemingly at random, Jelial pointed within the crowd, and someone would be flung out- their body flailing through the air- their heads smashed open upon the block of stone. After, perhaps, the fiftieth such victim a red-limned doorway appeared. Smiling, ignoring the cobbles made slippery by the gore and ichor of those killed to open the doorway, Jelial stepped inside to await the arrival of his chief generals. *** Gerion received the summons, even as he prepared to leave to deliver his report on the defeat at the Fort of Peaks. Briefly he contemplated ignoring it, sending out his own summons and seeing how many would gather under his banner, but then decided against it- he had lost too many battles recently to be seen as deserving of the support of the others. Still, it seemed that others might be vying for Jelial’s position, for even as the sound of Jelial’s voice was dimming in his ears, another voice reached him, low, sibilant, and filled with all the malice its owner possessed. “Gerion, attend me. We need to talk before we confront Jelial.” Gerion closed his eyes, following the thin arcane thread that Ceriask had left. It was tiring, but he compelled his sight out of his body, sending it ranging across the miles, inspecting the place at which it terminated. Once satisfied that the area was free of traps, he raised a portal and stepped through, leaving it open in case he needed to get away quickly. Gerion arrived in a small room. It was bare, but for a small chair upon which Ceriask sat. No chair was available for him. Inwardly Gerion smiled; Ceriask was too sure of himself, too sure of his own power. He examined the seated figure whose bottom two arms lay calmly upon the seats armrests, his middle arms and top arms folded across his chest. His powerful legs were garbed in a shimmering purple garb, his chest covered in alternating bands of leather and gold. To Gerion’s vision, the whole shone with the power of the enchantments embedded within. Once again his inner voice chuckled- Ceriask was too dependant on the enchantment upon his garb, and the weapons he thought were invisible against his sides. “You invited me here, Ceraisk. Speak quickly, Jelial awaits our presence!” “Gerion.” The voice was low, smooth, controlled in its power. “Shall we play games, or are you ready to get right to the point? Come, old friend, old adversary, old acquaintance. We have known each other for aeons, sparred against one another, and been allies when it suited us. Surely we can dispense with the games and pretences and speak plainly.” Gerion listened to the voice, easily filtering out the compulsion built into the words. “You always did like to control those you considered your lesser. Do you think so little of me, Ceriask? Now speak, why did you summons me here when our Lord and Master awaits us” Ceriask stood, his face not reflecting his disappointment at the failure of his magic. “The time has come, Gerion. Jelial has overplayed his hand and is ripe for a fall. I have allies, powerful allies, allies from home that will welcome us back if we dispose of Jelial. I know that I cannot confront him by myself, but together we can overcome and destroy him!” “You act as a mere pawn of another and wish me to do likewise? You are a fool, Ceriask! You always have been foolish, but to try and ensnare me within your crass attempt at assassination is a level of foolishness and stupidityyou have never displayed before!” Ceriask looked at Gerion, his red face swelling, his hands unfolding, hovering near the blades of his swords. Gerion watched as Ceriask brought himself back under control, and turned away, only to quickly swing around, his words hissing through his lips as he confronted Gerion. “I tire of this place, Gerion. I know you must too. Surely you cannot like this world and its puny creatures that we twist to our wills! I do not believe the stories of your ‘son’ that has become our foe; it must surely be no more than another of your plots. If you will not follow me, then tell me what your plans are, and maybe I shall follow you!” Gerion laughed, throwing his rejection of Ceriask straight at him. “No, Ceriask, I will not be joining you and neither will you be joining me! He leapt back, arcane bolts flying from the ground by his feet straight into the face of Ceriask. Silently he had sent the power out, and he watched as Ceriask’s defences dealt with the assault. With a cry, Ceriask drew his swords, the blades almost leaping into his outstretched arms as he charged at Gerion. For his part, Gerion stood where he was, concentrating his power on defusing the arcane protection that was embedded within the clothing that Ceriask wore. He saw Ceriask coming, and at the last second spun on his feet, his hand slapping down on Ceriask as he passed by. A loud “crack” could be heard as his palm smashed into the back of Ceriask, and dull silver light surrounded him, causing him to stumble and pause, horrified, as he felt the magic leeched out of his clothing and weapons. With glee, Gerion drew his own weapons, charging forward, letting his bloodlust overcome him. His sword clashed against the swords of his foe, easily sweeping through them, the magic in his blade reducing his opponent’s swords to mere stubs in their wielder’s hands. He spun round, kicking out with his legs, caving Ceriask’s face, making a pulp of Ceriask’s nose and mouth. His motion continued, his sword sweeping through the air, trailing light and then blood as it cut through first Ceriask’s upraised arms, and then his neck, leaving his head to drop to the ground and bounce off his knees. In his bloodlust, Gerion barely noticed and hacked at the corpse, leaving nothing identifiable, just a bloody mass upon the ground. Eventually, the bloodlust left him and he came to his senses. He calmly walked to the patch of ground upon which Ceriask’s head lay, picked it up and cradled it under his arm. With a few whispered words he faded from sight. *** Jelial stood within the chamber fuming as he looked at only three of the five that sat there. His anger was fuelled by fear; Ceriask and Gerion were his two most powerful generals. One missing would be bad enough, both missing raised the spectre of them working together. He had long feared that Gerion, as his second-in-command , might rebel, but he had never considered Ceriask a likely rebel- he was too cowardly, too careful about losing his position and life though he was clearly one of the senior devils within the hierarchy. The other three around the table shifted uneasily- unlike their more powerful brethren, they had been compelled to be there, to make there way with as much haste as was feasible. They understood the implications of the two missing fiends and worried at their positions, and continued existence should open war breakout. Thus they were as relieved as Jelial when the chamber resounded to the single note of the gong that indicated that someone had entered the door for which so many had been killed to open. Gerion strode into the room, aware of the impression he made with the coating of fresh fiendish blood that covered his armour and the head of Ceriask cradled under one arm. As he entered, he tossed the head so it hit the table and rolled until it came to rest just before Jelial. With a flourish he bowed before Jelial. “I give you the head of a traitor! Alas, he did not reveal to me just who it was that had commissioned him to try and kill you, my Lord, just that they were from ‘Home’. It seems the poor lad had gotten confused and failed to remember that this was home now.” Gingerly Jelial reached out, his long nails turning the head till the eyes stared out at him All watched as blue flame leapt between him and severed head, drilling into the eye sockets. Above the head formed a picture, a replay of the events as they had transpired. He grunted, and knocked the head off the table onto the floor, casually kicking it into a corner where strange green and purple beetles swarmed out of a nearby hole and began to feast upon it. “Many thanks, Gerion. It is always comforting to know that my subjects are loyal.” Jelial looked at Gerion, waving him to the seat to his right, the seat of honour next to the head of the table. Smirking, Gerion took the indicated seat and looked at the others present. After this, none would dare to mention his defeat at the Fort of peaks again. [/QUOTE]
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Rule of Darkness -Book II Chapter 3 Last Update 19 June 2008- Book I Completed
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