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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 2712274" data-attributes="member: 143">Thanks jonny, glad to hear from you. I've been sitting on an outline for Shrine of the Eth'barat 2 for quite a while now; it's my goal to have that be my first module in NWN2 when the new game comes out. June 2006, I hope...Since I'm heading out for a mini-vacation right after work, I'll post the next Interlude now.  Enjoy, and see everyone on Monday!LB* * * * * INTERLUDE Chapter 489Benzan ran through a tortured iron landscape, his breath searing his lungs, his heart pounding angrily in his chest.  Above him stretched a wild gray sky, occasionally populated by distant blockish objects that were just slightly too misshapen to be moons or planets, but were too indistinct to clearly identify.  Around him the ground was the same dull metallic gray of old swords and battered shields, a comparison reinforced by the actual presence of old broken weapons found in ugly heaps with more than casual frequency.  Occasionally a bone could be seen to accompany the discards, but for the most part it was as if the landscape were the dumping ground of some mad blacksmith who produced enough excess for a hundred armies. The ground was uneven, and frequently erupted in jagged openings rimmed by razor-sharp projections of rough raw iron.  There were forests, too, leaning shafts of metal rising up out of the plain before sprouting into dozens of branches that likewise often culminated in a dangerously sharp point that seemed poised to impale the unwary traveler. In all, it was a landscape of peril and threat, devoid of color and life. The tiefling came to a halt before a wall of the uneven iron trees, blocking his path.  As he fought for regain his breath he glanced back over his shoulder.  He was fleeing… what?  He felt disoriented.  He knew that something was chasing him, had been pursuing him, and if it caught him, he would be dead.  He had to keep running…Yet he hesitated, for a moment.  He glanced down, lifted his arms to examine the familiar bracers, the heavy leather gloves, the shimmering links of his mithral armor.  He felt a familiar presence at his hip, and ran the fingers of his left hand along the hilt of his sword, the old familiar weapon, its bronze blade crafted in an archaic style on another world, but empowered with a magic that had saved his life more than once…Benzan frowned.  Something… wasn’t right.  The sword was familiar, but there was something… missing.  He tried to remember what it was, tried to concentrate, but the effort only created a buzzing in his head that quickly threatened to explode into a full-out headache. In any case, the effort was interrupted by a familiar sound behind him.  Instinct overcame his confusion, and he hurled himself aside just as the familiar rush of noise and heat from a fireball blossomed near the point where he had been standing.  Danger overcame prudence, and he rushed forward, into the thicket of iron trees.  Deadly spikes passed inches from his body as he negotiated the initial boundary at a speed that was purely reckless, but the risk proved valuable as a second blast sounded behind him among the trees.  This one erupted not in orange flame, but a thunderous pulse of sonic energy that tore through the trees mercilessly, filling the air with fragments that formed deadly projectiles.  One stabbed deep into his shoulder, and the tiefling bit back a cry of pain as he staggered and nearly fell into a thicket of needle-like spikes that rose up into his path as if it had been waiting for him to falter.  He leapt over the obstacle, and kept running, his head ringing from the vibrations of the blast.He plunged recklessly forward, and saw that the forest began to thin out ahead.  He emerged from the thicket and stopped, his breath rasping in his chest, the pain in his shoulder stabbing deeper with each gasp of precious air. Ahead of him the ground dropped off abruptly, a cliff that formed a precise line exactly perpendicular to his direction of travel.  Warily he came forward, until he could see that the drop was a sheer one descending as far as he could see, until a flash of vertigo drew him back.  It was as if the world had suddenly just… ended, here. A preternatural whisper of danger drew his attention around, to the threat that would have him ended, as well. He saw the figure approaching, flying over the forest of iron trees.  He started to rush for cover, but his hunter already had his arms extended, and as Benzan ran he unleashed a blast of focused sonic energy that impacted Benzan high upon his right shoulder.  The tiefling screamed at the pulsing wave tore pounded through his body, ripping and tearing at the tissues beneath the flesh as it passed.  Nearly blinded by the intensity of the pain, he staggered forward back into the thicket of iron spikes and twisted forms, disappearing from view. Malad dropped easily down to the ground, the shifting black aura of death armor enfolding his body, augmented by the translucent field of a shield spell.  As his bare feet touched upon the rough iron, he conjured a thunderlance that shone in his hand like a wedge of white flame.  He held the magical weapon with easy familiarity, born of over a decade of constant struggle against demons, devils, and other unholy monstrosities in the gore-filled trenches of the Blood War.  The light flickered dully on the hard iron shells that surrounded him, casting menacing shadows through the area.   As he finished his casting, the skirt of shimmering metallic scales drawn around his hips swelled and grew across his torso, spreading out across his upper arms until he was clad in a form-fitting hauberk that moved with his easy motions, like a second skin or a dragon’s scaly hide. The corrupted sorcerer moved forward, the burning lance probing ahead.  As he moved into the outer edges of the forest, however, darkness seemed to gather around him, as though the iron trees themselves were calling forth night in this place without sun, moons, or stars. “Darkness will not conceal you from me, Benzan,” Malad said, his senses fully alert to the hunt.  “You are my final test, and I will not be denied the power that is rightfully mine.”He saw the shadows shift slightly ahead and to his left, and drew upon his magic.  But Synesyx sensed the trap before he did, caught the faint scrape of leather upon the ground that betrayed his quarry.  Malad spun, but before he could hurl another sonically-substituted fireball a sharp pain tore into his right side.  Glancing down, the sorcerer saw the jagged edge of an old, broken blade jutting from his torso.  And then his prey was upon him, his bronze longsword catching the light from his thunderlance.  Malad darted back, twisting away from the path of the cutting blade.  The edge of the sword caught on the scales protecting his body, but Synesyx easily turned the attack, and Malad felt only a slight sting through the excellent protection provided by his magical armor.  Sneering, the sorcerer lifted his thunderlance, driving it with his magically-enhanced strength deep into his foe’s shoulder—the same one he’d blasted with his sonic ray.  The mithral links of Benzan’s armor parted before the driving power of the energy-lance, and a jet of blood erupted from the vicious wound.  The agonized cry torn from his enemy was quite rewarding. Malad smiled as the two foes broke apart, warily facing each other.  Malad had the advantage of reach with his long weapon, and his adversary was more seriously injured.  But the demonspawn sorcerer seemed to be in little rush, now that he’d brought his enemy to bay.  The wound in his side continued to ooze blood, but Synesyx rippled against the uneven length of the improvised weapon, forcing it out of the wound as the magical armor closed again over Malad’s torso.  The bloody shaft clattered against the ground, splattering droplets of bright red blood around the sorcerer’s feet. “Why are you doing this?” Benzan said, his sword up in a defensive position.  The effort involved in that was instantly obvious in his face.  “Are you another of Graz’zt’s pawns?”“’Thrall’ is the word you are looking for,” Malad replied with a broad smile.  “And I am one of the greatest in His service.”“A slave with special titles and privileges is still a slave,” Benzan spat. “You know nothing, little man,” the sorcerer began, but he was cut off as Benzan suddenly lunged forward, his sword sweeping around in a wide sweep toward Malad’s throat.  Synesyx flared, the metal scales of the sentient suit rising up to protect its master, but Malad reacted faster, his thunderlance flicking almost casually into Benzan’s forehead as the tiefling entered his reach.  Benzan went down, dropping his sword as he clutched at the gaping wound that spurted blood into his eyes, blinding him.  For a long moment Malad merely watched the suffering man, something dark shining in his eyes. “Go ahead, finish it,” Benzan finally said, kneeling, his face a bloody mask as he looked up.  “None of this is real… or if it is, then you have the power to destroy me anyway.  Either way, I am tired of playing Graz’zt’s game.”Malad dipped the end of the thunderlance under Benzan’s chin, forcing the tiefling up with enough pressure to sear the flesh of his jaw, filling the tiny clearing with a sick stench.“Does that feel real?” he asked, chuckling as his foe’s body stiffened.  “Reality is itself an illusion, Benzan.  This place, Acheron, it is real enough, in that it responds to our presence.  These iron trees, if we are careless, they can cut our flesh.  My weapon burns you, my spells can inflict damage and pain.  Yet in the ultimate calculation, this power is but fleeting.”“The torture’s bad enough without the lecture,” Benzan said, spitting a fat gob of blood to the side. Malad smiled.  “You would learn this lesson soon enough, but I will share it with you anyway.”  He came closer, the length of the thunderlance shortening so that its point remained focused upon the tiefling’s throat.  Leaning close, he hissed, “What we perceive is the real reality, Benzan.  And power, real power, is the ability to shape the perceptions of others.  You can force someone to do your will—that is easy enough, especially when you are surrounded by demons your entire life.  Likewise, you can employ magic to cloud an enemy’s mind, bend their will to yours.  That is the track that Athux uses; but that, too, is ultimately just a crude bludgeon.”“No, what power is, that is real control.  Not the simple tools of emotion—fear, lust, greed.  No, the truth of what Graz’zt represents—what all of the great Powers represent—is shaping reality by controlling the very perceptions of us all.”“Have you ever thought about religion, Benzan?  No, I don’t suppose you have, much; you have known clerics, but never really comprehended their dedication to their causes, to their gods.  The truly dedicated, they are the ones who prove the point of my argument.  You and I are much alike, in that we have both been outsiders in our respective societies.”“Your ramblings are getting a trifle hard to follow,” Benzan sneered.  The tip of the thunderlance flickered, slightly, opening a new runnel of red down the tiefling’s throat, but then the iron control returned.  Abruptly, the magical weapon vanished, and Malad kicked Benzan solidly in the chest.  The tiefling fell back, dimly aware of pain in his back as sharp spines of the iron bushes behind him pierced the links of his mail and penetrated his flesh.  He couldn’t move, could only lie there, a red haze settling over his vision.  “I can see why the Prince is so aggravated by you,” the sorcerer said.  “But I am still glad that we met.”“Not… mutual…” “I understand that you any my father had your differences, as well.”Benzan said nothing, but Malad could see that he’d gotten his attention. “Oh, you cannot say you hadn’t wondered,” Malad continued.  “One will produce a scion, that will prove the bane of nations…”“How… do you know… how could you know…”“My father shared everything he knew, in his time with us.”  Malad’s lips twisted in an evil smile.  “Shared rather more than that, indeed.”  He leaned forward so that all Benzan could see was the upper body of the other tiefling, the stark iron branches of the surrounding trees forming a hazy backdrop behind him, out of focus for his fading eyes.  “I know a great deal about you, Benzan.  Know what you desire, what you fear… and what you love.”Benzan lashed out, but the spines piercing his back held him, and he could only manage a feeble grab that ended with his fingers inches from his enemy’s throat.  “You are strong in your passions.  That’s too bad… for you.”He turned away.  All Benzan could see now was the vague outlines of the branches, a gray web that resembled the bars of a prison.  But his other senses could still feel the sorcerer, nearby… and others, now, dark shadows creeping closer.“And now, we begin.”Benzan began to slip away, but the last thing he heard was Malad’s chuckle, and a spoken command. “Bring him.”</blockquote>

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