Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ghostknight" data-source="post: 3521476" data-attributes="member: 15338">EpilogueOutside in the market, the cries of the hawkers rebounded along walls, penetrating into windows covered with thick drapes.  Gerion turned to look at the woman laid out on the floor.  She had been stripped, and was chained, spread-eagled across the floor.  Red welts were raised across her body, forming arcane symbols which flowed as she writhed in pain. He watched as his minions worked on the intricate carvings in her flesh, and he compared the scarred, weathered flesh, to the voluptuous flesh that Sianar had possessed when she had been ordered to bed his son.  The years of punishment, of working in painful conditions, had damaged her, and left her with none of her previous beauty.  Once Jeria had escaped, all around him had been punished- from guards to slave girls.  Truthfully, Gerion had been surprised to find her still alive.  Well, that would change soon enough, and hopefully her death would give him the information they sought.One of those that had been carving up her flesh stood and came up to Gerion.“Master, the work is complete.  The ritual may start.”Gerion nodded, ‘Very well, every one leave this room.Silence descended, except for the moans that came from the mutilated woman.  Soft moangroans that came from a mouth without a tongue or lips, from a body rapidly losing strength as her blood flowed, pooling on the floor beneath her.  Gerion moved around her, his feet beating out a pattern, his lips moving in a silent chant.  The woman convulsed, her back arching in pain, her mutilated torso pushing into the sky.  Still Gerion chanted, his feet beating in a rhythmic dance, his hands etching arcane symbols, bewildering motions too fast for a mortal hand to make, a mortal eye to follow.  He continued as the woman’s gurgling sounds, the piercing, shrill cries of pain from a mouth unable to form anything articulate burned out, the magic sustaining her, preventing unconsciousness, her pain fuelling the spell, until a small blue wisp detached itself from her body, floated into the air, landed in a specially prepared bowl.  Smiling, Gerion stepped forward and crushed her head in his hands.  Licking the remnants from his fingers, he took the bowl, and the wisp of Jeria’s essence that had remained on the woman, and left the room.***Aliat paced around the tower, waiting.  He peered out over the ramparts into the nothingness of the other-worldy realm into which it projected.  He awaited the return of Grix; of the news of the death of the hated scion of Gerion, of the death of Jeria.  If he could not have revenge on the murderer of his kin, he would have his satisfaction in the death of his son.The return of Grix was accompanied with the sudden feeling of constriction, of his arms being bound to his sides.  His eyes burning, Aliat turned to face Grix.“What is the meaning of this?  You are bound to obey!”Grix laughed, running a sharp claw down the side of Aliat’s face, leaving a line of blood.  Aliat screamed, his face burning from pain as the poisin from Grix’s claws burned into his face.“Whoever taught you the rites with which to summon me, sabotaged you.  They only taught you enough to compel me to service, but once that was complete, I was free to do as I wished.  And that was to return here to gain my own revenge.”Horrified, Aliat watched as Grix approached.  As Grix reached out to him, he snapped out of his fear induced paralysis, and pronounced a word, filled with arcane energy.  Grix merely smiled as the arcane energy rolled over him.  The word had been imbued with more than just the power to dispel him, it freed Aliat from the magic the bound his arms, freeing them to move, to surreptitiously begin the movements to call even more powerful magics.Grix’s hand closed over Aliat’s head, and started squeezing.  Pain filled Aliat, but through it he managed to concentrate, his tongue twisting through words that burned his throat, that were never meant for a mere mortal’s mouth, his fingers flying, dancing as they shaped, manipulated the energies only one as well versed in the arcane as he could sense.  Within seconds his hands were limned in burning black energy, sinking into the body of the fiend, ripping into Grix’s very essence, cutting him off from his own plane of existence before shredding, dissipating him emptiness, destroyed forever.  Staggering up, he felt the blood flowing down his face.He stared at the empty space in which Grix had been standing, his eyes alight with delight, and madness.“Farewell Grix, named in truth as As’lik’Gerit’Derito’ulk.  Did you really think me so unprepared as to not know your true name and how to destroy you forever?  Did you think I would let you survive to exact revenge upon me?’  He laughed; a mad laugh that would have chilled any who heard it, if any had been there to hear him.  “The question is, how far did you pervert your orders before returning to me?”***Rage, anger, a red plane filled with spikes.  Blades diving through red air trailing blood, slashing into the intruding mind.  Mekior plunged on, trying to penetrate into the mind of his friend.  His mind, under attack. dived in, trying to understand what kept Jeria in his comatose state.  Three weeks had passed, and still Jeria languished in the coma.  No clues had been found that gave an indication as to his strange behaviour before he had been subdued.  As time passed, Mekior had grown ever more desperate to find what ailed his friend, until he had decided to try this desperate course.  Pain filling him, every breathe an effort, Mekior sat by Jeria, foul smelling sweat dripping off his brow, cheeks and chin onto Jeria’s face.  Mekior remained unaware of the sweat that dripped down, his entire being subsumed in the struggle to penetrate the psyche of his friend.  Pain assailed him, the psychic pain of the mind he invaded defending itself.  Pure rage swept over him, a physical force in the psychic realm.  Heedless of the damage to himself Mekior pressed onwards deeper and deeper into the torment.  Those watching saw his body start to reflect the damage his mind was taking.  Large gashes appeared in his skin, leaking foul smelling, greenish ichor which marred the stone of the floor.  A healer stepped forward, her hands limned in pure, holy light.  As she reached forward, Sister Egrit’s fist shot out, knocking her away.“FOOL!  He is a fiend, a full blooded one, the holy energy will harm, not heal!”  She looked at the fiend, obviously dying from the battle he fought within the mind of Jeria.  “Long have I held this, and long ago I swore never to use it.  Is it not strange how the profane can suddenly be holy?”  Her hand reached into a small bag she carried.  It was a strange bag, covered with runes denoting the holy sphere, mixed with runes of binding and hiding.  From within, she withdrew a small vial.  Its very look was disturbing; A small black skull, the holes blocked with a red veined black stone.  The skull bore five horns, each with razor sharp edges, in a crown atop of three empty chambers which had once held eyes, the jaw was filled with sharp incisors.  Carefully she lifted the crown of horns from atop the skull, revealing a spout.  The smell of rotting corpses filled the room, and got stronger as Sister Egrit poured a thick, black liquid down Mekior’s throat.  Even as most of those in the room gagged, the gashes on Mekior’s body flowed together, leaving his skin healthy.Inside Jeria’s mind, Mekior had felt his strength ebbing.  Surrounded by the shards and cutting, flaying blades, he had tried to flee, only to be blocked in all directions.  Now, strength filled him, and hope, fuelled by desperation led him to take one last desperate gamble, to put all his remaining strength into one last probe, a beam of pure darkness that cut through the blades and shards, that paved the way for him to find the core of Jeria that did not rage, and bring that up to the light.  And with that last push, he left Jeria’s mind, back to the room of healers.“North.  We go north.”  Jeria’s voice was low, weak.  He coughed, and a healer leaned forward to dribble water into his mouth.“Hush, Jeria.  You have been ill.  Rest and then we shall talk.”  Sister Egrit’s hand caressed his brow, pouring holy energy into him, thankful that Jeria was merely fiend blooded and thus not opposed to her powers.  “Ahh, that feels better.  But we cannot wait.  I don’t know how long I have raged.  I faced a fiend, perhaps the most powerful I have ever faced outside of my father.  He did not attack.  He just warned me against my allies, spreading dissension and lies as is the wont of fiends.  He said to go north, to beyond the limits of sanity.  It did not make sense then, but in my rage my mind was freed, and I discovered that I could walk certain paths to discover the truth.  In the north there is a discontinuity, a crack in reality, and that is where the Jelial’s trap for the celestial spheres lie.  Break that, and the celestial spheres will be able to descend and help us in our battle against Jelial.”He sighed.  “But with a return to sanity I cannot walk the paths, and the way is no longer clear.  There is also danger, not just from Jelial and his hordes, but from what creates the discontinuity and maintains it.  They are not fiends; I do not know what manner of entities they are, nor how Jelial attracted them to his service.”Sister Egrit’s eyes were alight with hope- at last, an end to the trap that had destroyed so many of her kin.“By the light of the celestial spheres, who cares what the beings are that stand in our way.  Get rid of the infernal trap, and we can have allies we trust, not emissaries from the Lords of Hell or exiled rebels who aspired to the throne of Hell.”  She started pacing, but a few paces taking her from one end of the room to the other.  ‘We must go, we must find those who block the celestial spheres.  With the help that could be drawn from there, we could mount a proper defence against Jelial, without risking the souls of all those below by consorting with devils.’***The small group moved into the light of day.  Jeria led the group, Sister Egrit close behind, her eyes alight with hope and enthusiasm.  Mekior trailed behind, in close discussion with D;Fir, granted leave by his father in an attempt to find a lasting solution to the world’s travails.  The last member of the group was new to them all, sent by Aspith as his emissary and aid In the quest.  Dialre was tall, her musles well defined.  She wore finly crafted chainmail, each link a blend of silversteel and cold iron, the padding underneath replete with enchantments of protection- detectable by those attuned to the arcane.Unexpectedly, Mekior turned to her.  D’Fir stood behind, and to her left, his axe held ready, Mekior in front.“Tell me, now.  Is there anything we need to know about you?”  Up front, Jeria and Sister Egrit came to halt, watching the scene behind them.“What do you mean?  What do you need to know?”  Dialre licked her lips clearly nervous.Mekior’s form blurred, his natural form coming to the fore.  “Its quite simple, really.  Are you what you seem or do you hide your true self?  Secrets can but harm us as we move forward.  If you hide something, tell us now.”“I know of you, and Sister Egrit.  I have nothing to hide.  I am human, and nothing more.  Test me, if you will, I am not possessed, tainted or hiding any other form.  I am just as I appear.”Mekior peered at her, and Sister Egrit’s eyes glowed briefly, with her giving a brief nod to Mekior.  “My apologies then, let this be an end to the matter.”  Mekior bowed quickly to the Dialre, before turning to move forward once more.  The group moved forward, heading into the far north, heading into the unknown, into realms that no one had trodden in millennia.</blockquote>

Verification