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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ghostknight" data-source="post: 3493340" data-attributes="member: 15338">Part IV -AFTERMATH Chapter 30Six months laterIn the far north, the snow lay thick on the ground.  The high walls of the compound were unnecessary; nobody lived beyond them in the freezing cold and utter desolation of snow and ice.  The compound itself existed for but one reason, to house the slaves that were used to harvest the crop of snow beetles, thin, long, almost cylindrical insects that lived in just this one location, feeding off the bright blue plants that grew from within the ice, fuelled by the warm water that boiled out from somewhere deep within the ground.The compound was large; in the centre stood four buildings and a large arch, surrounding this were vast fields of the blue plants, some within the walls and some continuing beyond the walls.  The first of the buildings held the rooms in which the slaves slept.  The walls were thin, and only a few embers lay within the massive fireplace, keeping them just warm enough to survive, but never warm enough to be comfortable.  A further level of discomfort was what lay over the barely burning fire- a spit upon which the remains of a person could be seen; the remnants of a feast held by the fiends a few nights before.  The next building on held the fiends and their favoured slaves.  In there, the fires were banked high and the rooms well lit.  Merriment was the order of the day, their sorrow at being assigned to this backward, hostile area being drowned in the bottles of ale and wine that never ceased to flow.  All too often, they found inventive excuses for needing to punish slaves, and often entertained themselves with devising new and imaginative ways of torturing these unfortunates.  Indeed, the expected lifespan of slaves within this outpost was no more than a few months.  For this reason, new arrivals were common, and this day was no different.  Outside, four fiends stood upon black blocks that had been heated, and then magically bound to hold the heat.  To a human (or any others of the mortal races), the heat would have been blistering and almost definitely fatal, but for them it was a balm against the cold.  They watched as the portal was powered from the other end and began to glow just seconds before slaves started being herded through from the other side.  Sighing, they noted that, as usual, those on the other end were too eager to finish their duties and the first slaves were pushed through before the portal was fully ready.  Those unfortunates arrived in a tangled mass of limbs and organs.  Still, that was why there were slaves here with them, who rushed in to remove the mess, even as others were being forced out, often stepping on top of the remains of their fellows.  The new arrivals stood there shivering, their thin, threadbare clothing completely inadequate for the conditions to which they were now subjected.  Other slaves ran forward, throwing old and worn jackets and boots at each person, waiting nearby to help those who were too overcome by the cold to dress themselves.No more than ten minutes had passed before the mass of new arrivals stood there in the snow, dressed and in ranks before their new Masters.  With a shout of command, and the p[rodding of whips and clubs, they started forward, following behind the slaves that led them to their new quarters for however long they remained alive.  If any of them noticed that a few of them seemed too well fed, too unscarred to fit in, nobody said anything- one did not ask about the details of another, after all, everyone here was here in lieu of a death sentence of another kind.For the next two days life continued amongst the slaves.  As was usual, the arrival of the newcomers brought a brief flurry of interest from the other slaves.  Everyone crowded around the newly arrived slaves, hoping that some would come from the same herd or at least the same area as they had.  Each hoped for news of people left behind, of loved ones and friends.  As always, the hope of those first brief moments did not last for long, the despair of their everyday lives, of daily work from before dawn until after dusk wearing them down with exhaustion.One night, after they had been kept in the fields struggling to find the elusive insects in the dark and not being allowed to rest while their quota remained unfilled, the slaves were herded back into their quarters.  Cold supper awaited them, and the fire, even the smallest of the embers in the massive fireplace had died.  Horrified they looked on the dead fire in despair.  They had no means to light another- and many of the weaker ones amongst them feared they would not last the night.One of the newcomers came forward, digging through the remnants.  More than that, he found a broken, unusable chair, and threw it into the fireplace.  He leant over the pile, muttering under his breathe.  Suddenly, there was a bright flare  of heat and light, leaving behind a fire burning brightly and strong.  More than that, the fuel was not visibly being used.“By the Gods, you have saved us!”  A large burly man, another of the newcomers, came forward to bask in the heat of the blaze.“But how did you do it?  We are grateful, it has been too long since any of us felt warm, but how did you conjure up this fire?”  Askeletal man stood before the fire, his gaunt face smiling as the heat hit him.  Others crowded around, similarly feeling the heat and revelling in the unaccustomed feeling of comfort.  Someone put their cold meal near the flames, and soon everyone had their first hot meal in a long time.The man that had started the blaze was an instant hero, everyone congratulating him.  Over and over the question was raised, “How had he conjured up the fire?”“Enough.  I will not answer this question.  If I told you, you would hate me, perhaps even kill me.”  If the crowd noticed, no one remarked on it, but those others from the newcomers that seemed too well fed crowded closer to him, making sure that no one could get too close.“Tell us”, the clamour of the crowd grew, worry that their benefactor might disappear and they would never feel this comfortable again.  “Tell us and we swear that we will bring no harm to you.” Reluctantly, the man allowed himself to be persuaded and started to speak.“I prayed to Jelial for the fire.  It makes sense, does it not?  In the old days, we prayed to Gods and they used their divine will to give us our needs.  Jelial is a devil, akin to the flames, and one who holds the power of life and death.  It did not seem such a terrible thing the first time I tried, and look, now I can summon fire at will.  Perhaps this explains why the Gods have abandoned us- Jelial has replaced them!”The group looked at him in horror, but some looked thoughtful- a strand in the tapestry that grew as he started to teach others how to summon flame in the name of Jelial.***In summer, in the deserts, the nights were hot and the days even hotter.  In the deepest, driest, hottest areas grew the malinor plant.  Small and hard to find, it survived by living where little else could and being highly poisonous to prevent anything from sampling it.  Its vibrant red, orange and golden leaves was warning enough to the few lizards, snakes and birds to stay away- even merely brushing against it could prove fatal, particularly since its long, thin, needle-like thorns could penetrate most natural armour.  It was well equipped by nature for survival in its ecological niche, until the arrival of the fiends.How the taint entered the area was a matter of conjecture- after all, the rains only fell in those areas once every thirty or forty years; so unlike in most areas the taint could not have been waterborne.  How the taint had arrived was really only of academic interest, it was there, and, as always, it twisted things to be sicker, twisted shadows of their former selves- in the case of the malinor, the taint interacted with the plant’s native poison in an unique way.  The malinor was just as lethal, just as dangerous as before, but now it had an additional property, its leaves, soaked in wine and powdered with other herbs created a hallucinogenic enjoyed by the seniour fiends of the hierarchy (it was too expensive and rare for lesser beings.)To obtain this highly desirable commodity, small camps of slaves could be found dotted through-out this hostile, lethal environment.  Each camp was clustered around a magical font, which produced water at the command of the reigning fiend.  The human slaves drank as much as they needed from this font, the fiends lost enough slaves to the plants that they saw no reason to kill them with thirst.  In order to gather the plants, the slaves ranged widely, while wearing thick leather gloves interwoven with flexible metal fibres.  Even these were not always enough to stop the poison, but trying to collect the leaves without them was certain death.  The camp was lead by a fiend named Virtel, who now stood talking to Lhitek, the master of a convoy that had brought in a fresh load of slaves, and would take the latest harvest back to the cities.“We are to teach them the charm then?”  Virtel looked quizzically at Lhitek.  “It seems strange to do so now.  We never have before, it always seemed risky to let slaves know any magic in case they experimented for themselves and discovered something we would rather they did not know”Lhitek shook his head and stared down at the huddled group of slaves that had been unshackled from behind the pack beasts and were being herded into the massive tent in which the slaves were housed.“I don’t question the orders.  Back in the cities it does not serve to be in disagreement with the high lords.  They have been known to take offence, and that can lead to a slow, painful death.  I find it strange myself, but that is the order.  Perhaps the scroll will make it clearer.”  From an inside pocket Lhitek pulled out a gilded ,and beautifully carved, ivory scroll case which he handed to Virtel.Virtel looked at the case carefully, and, noting certain elements within the design, muttered a phrase before attempting to open it.  From within he extracted a beautiful piece of leather upon which letters of gold shone.  As he read them, the letters disappeared, but his eyebrows raised and a look of fear came across his face.“So that is the game that is afoot.  Lhitek, forget what you told me this day, and never mention your orders to another.  If you disobey they will destroy you, and not just on this world.”  He looked down at the slaves and shook his head.  “Who knows if the plan has any chance of working?”Amongst the new arrivals were Ferio and Sherik, two slaves from the herds of the southern lords.  Both had known each other for years, growing up in the same litter.  They were closer than brothers were; after all, brothers often never met their entire lives whereas they had grown up in the same litter with the same parent-teachers.  Together they had worked and studied, becoming strong and serving their masters well.   So when they had been removed from their trusted roles within their masters house they had been confused- both their backs were bare of the tell tale marks of the disobedient slave- the welts and scars from whips and torture implements used to instill discipline.  What was more confusing was that the other slaves that had been shipped here with them were from similar situations- all were intimate or friendly with at least one other slave, and all had been in trusted positions.As former favoured slaves, they suffered from the hard work, heat and dry conditions.  They fatigued easily and luck kept alone them going, and alive even as the sun sapped their strength and caution.On their fourth day, Sherik’s luck ran out, and his carelessness resulted in the inevitable.  Bending down to pluck the leaves from a plant, he failed to notice that another plant, contrary to the norm, was growing just to the right of the one from which he was picking leaves.  As he reached down, the second plants thorns scraped along his arm.  Instantly, fire exploded along his arm, shooting through his body, wracking him with convulsions.  His screams were heard, and Ferio, quickly running to his friend’s aid, was forced to watch in despair, as already Sherik's arm was grossly deformed and swelling up.  He could but mourn and grieve as the swelling migrated across his body, a preface to the rotting that would lead to death.The screams were noted by others, including the fiends that were overseers, who had been waiting for just such an occurrence amongst the new arrivals, and who hastened to inform Virtel of what was happening.  When Ferio looked up, he saw the fiend that was master of this place standing above him.  He dropped to his knees, eyes staring at the ground, trembling with fear as he realised he had abandoned his own work to rush to his friend’s side.“Speak, slave.  Why are you here?”Swallowing his fear, Ferio answered, as he knew he must, though he knew his words might earn him a slow death.  “Master, I heard the screams and came to aid him.”Virtel looked down at the slave, stopping his near instinctive reaction to punish the disobedient slave; he had his orders.  “Human.  Know that our divine ruler Jelial has decreed that humans who call on him for help shall receive aid.  In order to save your friend, call on his name.”  Outwardly Virtel smiled, while inwardly he cringed at the magnitude of what Jelial attempted. “I know you were a house slave and can thus read.  Save your friend by memorising the phrase upon this parchment and then calling on Jelial’s name, begging of him divine favour.”Unbelieving, Ferio knelt by his friend, read the parchment and called out to Jelial, invoking his divine will to cure his friend.  It worked, and more, the phrase remained embedded within his mind.  What a boon to them all, a way to survive the plants that had killed so many!  So he became a disciple, teaching the phrase and its intonation to the others that laboured in the sun.  Another thread woven into the tapestry, another weave in Jelial’s plan that was slowly growing to fruition.***Firevale was a minor city with perhaps three thousand inhabitants, of which two thousand were slaves serving the fiends and their allies.  Most of the remaining thousand were fiend blooded, with a few in whom the blood ran strong enough to make them akin to their masters.  The reason for the cities existence was threefold; the fertile plains outside of the vale, the comfortable conditions within the vale for the fiend and fiend blooded (neither of which cared about the comfort of the slaves) and the presence of the open veins of magma.  The open veins of magma were caused by the nearby rift within a volcano and kept the temperatures high and the air filled with the smell of burning.  Daily trips by slaves to the veins of magma, armed with long tongs to retrieve pieces of purified elemental earth that flowed within the magma, served as the cities main source of income.  The slaves only recovered 2 or 3 kilograms of the precious material a month, the danger involved meant that slaves that had become experts in its retrieval were highly prized.  The recovered material was fashioned into armour and weaponry, then treated and enhanced by the magicians within the city.  Only the wealthiest and most powerful of the fiends could afford even a simple dagger of the substance- and full suits of armour were owned only be Jelial and his generals, and then only used on ceremonial occasions.  The smiths capable of working with the material were a special class within the slaves, well treated, fed and looked after.  No more than three within the family were ever trained at a time, and only their children were allowed to stay with them, the rest were sent back to live with the rest of the slave population.So it was that one day these elite slaves, the miners and smiths, were brought into the grand hall of the city.  Before them stood Rioner, Master of the Guild of Crafting Magicians, and Hernet, Master of the Rites.  Both were half-fiends, yet their innate power, combined with their studies of magic, placed them at the top of the hierarchy, their power surpassing that of most of their full-blooded cousins.  They cast their eyes over the group, and then conferred.“Sind, Deri, Vishnu and Hokli of the miners, as well as Rory the smith and Jecklith the apprentice stay where you are.  The rest of you, leave!”The abrupt command, emanating from Hernet, was rapidly obeyed.  Unlike normal slaves, those told to remain behind did not feel apprehensive, after all, they were members of the elite and had done nothing wrong, but they felt curious as to why they had been singled out.  They stood facing the two Guildmasters, awaiting their fate.  Rioner wandered amongst them, touching a face here, an arm there.  He seemed satisfied and nodded to Hernet.“You have all been chosen for a new project.  Until now, you have mined the elemental earth and crafted the basic items, leaving it as a mundane object, until it was given first to the Guild of Crafting Magicians and then to the Hall of Rites to be enchanted.  It has been decided that since you have come from families in which the loyalty to our lord and Master, Jelial, runs deep, you can be entrusted with some of the secrets of imbuing enchantments first within the mined earth, and then within the completed item.”He smiled, his red features with long, golden fangs looking at the five slaves before him benignly.  “You will form new families within the miners and smiths, new dynasties that shall work for the glory of Jelial’s rule.”The assembled slaves looked at one another in delight.  New duties and new dynasties meant they would receive even more comfort and luxury, perhaps even equal to that of some of the lower castes of nobility.  As one they sank to their knees, their heads bowed, their voices reciting the required formulae, “We hear and obey, Oh Master.  Order us, guide us with your wisdom so that we may serve you well.”Blue clad members of Magicians Guild stepped forward, lifting them to their feet and hustling them out of the hall.  They were led into the massive spire of the Guild’s Halls, never before entered by slaves.  They were robed in the blue and black, the blue of the magicians subservient to the black of the slave, but still present, and still demanding of respect by the casteless and those unfortunate enough to be neither noble nor affiliated to a guild.  Around each neck was placed a silver chain, upon which hung a medallion of silver and gold bearing Jelial’s symbol.“Remember, the symbol of our Lord and Master will bring you luck.  Kiss it each morning and night.  Call on it for help and perfection in all things you do.  Know this, without it none of the magic we teach you will work.  Only through the gifts of Jelial can you perform this mighty work.”If the slaves wondered at the orders or thought them strange, none spoke of it.  They were used to relying on the fiends for all elements of their existence.  That it was only possible through the intercession of a fiend that they could perform magic seemed natural to them.  So they learnt, and so they prayed and called on the name of Jelial, another thread in the tapestry that Jelial wove.  Jelial may have lost the battle, but he planned on winning the war.***Aliat paced his chambers.  The archmagus was disturbed by the sign she could read, and by recent events.  As he completed each circuit of his chambers, he passed the aeliogh who served as confidant and spymaster.  “Fiesch, I don’t like the fact that we find ourselves in such a predicament.  Half-fiends hailed as heroes, fiends hailed as allies.  And worse of all, the half-fiend is the son of Gerion, cursed be his name.”The aeliogh noticed the signs of mania within Aliat’s eyes, could read within his mind the coming insanity that it presaged, but held his tongue.  Few trusted him, and few would tolerate him without the support of the archmagus.  He looked at Aliat, sending his thoughts to him, communicating without words.“Archmagus, he is seen as a saviour, as are the other fiends.  They have engineered a victory over Jelial, something that has been unknown for so long that they are almost seen as gods.  Do not speak out against them, it would reflect badly on you, perhaps even cost you your seat on the Council of Magi, regardless of your personal power and knowledge.”  He moved forward, his face hidden by the cowl of his robe.  “Leave them be, Archmagus.  In time, all will see the fiends and half-fiend for what they are.  When it becomes apparent that this victory is, ultimately, valueless, they will loose the respect and veneration of the masses.  THEN you can speak out against them.”Aliat snarled, his eyes blazing with power, his hand clutching his side.  “No!  Get the assassins and kill that half-fiend.  The fiends are too powerful, but the half-fiend does not yet know the extent of the power he has inherited from his father.  Destroy him, now!”The aeliogh bowed, and left the room.  He moved through the keep, passing doors engraved with various arcane marks, all shut and locked, sealed against all but those skilled in arcane magic and with the ear of the Archmagus.  He walked down long halls, circling ever higher, reaching the upper levels of the Tower Arcane.  Here, in heights so extreme that to venture outside would be to die from lack of air, was a small room, furnished with a small table made from crystal, two crystal chairs, a crystal decanter and glasses upon the table.Fiesch sat down; the crystal chair beneath him more comfortable than it had any right to be.   He poured a glass of water, sipping at the ice cold, sweet spring water.  He looked out into thin clear air, and started chanting.  If anyone had been listening, and been able to understand the rarely heard holy language of the Aeliogh, they would have heard something never heard outside of an Aeliogh city- the lay of Gerogh, an addendum to the well known prophecies.  Still chanting, Fiesch stood, stepped through the wall, and dived into the air, his body falling forever, down into the clouds below.Within his chambers, Aliat felt as the link he had long had with Fiesch was snapped, as the aeliogh fell to his death.  Briefly his eyes blazed with fury, but he held his anger in check.  In a cold fury, his mind turned to forbidden rites, to lessons learnt millennia ago from one who spoke as he died for his crimes.  The madness he had long fought off pushed to the fore, the death of his long time servant, combined with his anger and grief sweeping away the barriers.  Long strides took him through the tower, into a chamber shielded from prying eyes, one that admitted only the most powerful of the arcane order.  Working swiftly, but carefully, he inscribes the circle of protection, and the runes of command and control.  He stood within the circle, his arms raised as his throat started the chant, the arcane words familiar, but the gathering energies, the shape of the summoning was new, different.  Unlike the summoning of those from above, or from within his own realm, it seemed that energy flowed into him,as if the denizens of the realms below rewarded him for his opening of the gate.  Grimly he continued, the words flowing out, shaping what he sought, not just any resident of Hell, but one of power, one of singular might, one whom he had defeated in the days before Jelial, when the Elves still lived and reigned supreme within their own abode.  One who had held the power to dare assault their very fortress, and come close to destroying the very symbol of Elven might.  From before him he watched as the energy gathered, watched as air itself began to form, to coalesce into solidity, forming a dark cloud before his eyes.  He chanted, until the dark cloud itself answered, grew and began to feed on itself.   Satisfied, he stopped his own chant, and laughed as the being in front of him strained, tested the strength of the runes entrapping it, and relaxed into quiescence.“I have summoned you Grix of the Nine, once Master of the Hordes of the Fourth, and now no more than another of the failed generals of Hell that seek to remain hidden lest they be destroyed for their failure!  I, Aliat, the one who defeated you, now seek to bargain, power for service.  Do my bidding and I shall grant you the means to once more gain the favour of your master!”The devil moved, its massive bulk flowing, armour reflecting the light of the chamber in coruscating rainbows, its eyes tiny black dots within the light display coming from its helm.  Grix regarded Aliat, the mage by whom he had been defeated.  Millennia had passed, and still he was paying for that defeat.  Yet, if Aliat had been able to defeat him, surely he would have the means to restore him to his former glory, or was he no longer under control?  Had Aliat began the descent into madness that struck the near immortals who survived beyond their times?“Speak, elf.  As last of your kind I am surprised that you have the temerity to use such forbidden magic, and that you would use it to bind me, one who has sworn himself to your destruction.  What bargain would you strike for my service?  And what service could one such as I offer to the Archmagus of the Tower Arcane?”Aliat smiled.  He knew the bargain would be struck, that this mighty devil would destroy the half fiend, the target of his hatred and madness.  Grix, in striking the bargain, laughed inwardly.  It was obvious that the mage had fallen, that his age long grief had finally stripped him of sanity.  Now all that was left was to turn him into a good servant, or a mouldering corpse.  In the summoning the mage had already stepped onto the path that would doom him.  As for the bargain?  Worthless!  Whoever had taught the mage had told him just enough to make sure he doomed himself!</blockquote>

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