Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
- Thread starter Shemeska
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Shemeska
Adventurer
Gez said:
*starts casting a bevy of suggestion spells into the ears of the fine folks over at Toy Vault (the makers of the plush Cthulhus etc)*
If the minis can sell like hotcakes, surely plush critters would sell too. I know I'd have a dozen or so critters on my 'want' list, especially a Vrock, just so I can put it running away from a plastic Col. Sanders doll...
*holds up a plush Cthulhu, one of several I have*
Why do I see a new Beanie Baby craze erupting? Centered around the desires of those "wacky and obviously demonic posessed Roleplayers - just LOOK at the horrble looking things they are buying!"
Kidding aside, I'd have to pick up at least a couple ... even if the succubus might be difficult to explain to the wife (whoops, back to kidding!)
Kidding aside, I'd have to pick up at least a couple ... even if the succubus might be difficult to explain to the wife (whoops, back to kidding!)
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Shemeska
Adventurer
A day early this week since I'll be out of town friday
“Everything went all f*cking wrong
Chaos reigns when I’m along” - Courtney Love, ‘Love Despite God’
Fyrehowl looked curiously at the duke as she took a seat across from him and listened intently with perked ears. The golden-maned leonal sighed deeply before he began.
“While none of the celestial races take an active hand in the Blood War between the fiends, all for fear of uniting the lower planes, some of us do take action though it is never large scale or organized. The aasimon and archons learned that terrible lesson for us all…” Jalinon paused at the thought before continuing, “Still, some of us do make forays into the lower planes in the hopes of disrupting the fiends in any action that might involve the prime, or to damage certain factions of the fiendish hierarchies in order to create instability and further infighting amongst their kind. We guardinals are the most noted among the brethren of the upper planes to do such things and succeed; your own kind perhaps foremost among us. You sister indeed as I recall has joined one of the more prestigious bands of lupinals who take to the Waste, as did you previously. The asuras are the only other kind who do the same as we do, but we have done so since nearly the beginning of such things.”
Fyrehowl nodded, understanding such things clearly from her own experiences in the past.
“But sometimes our forays into the depths of the lower planes do not end as we would hope. Sometimes we face death, and we all know that we might die in our cause, but still we continue because it is what we do, because it is good. But once we faced not death at the hands of fiends, something we might have expected, but rather we found something in our travels that we never expected to find. I was there then, as was a young Talisad, and I remember it well.”
The duke paused and seemed almost shaken by the memories of that day and it took him a moment to return to the present as Fyrehowl placed a hand over his.
“What did you find?” The lupinal asked.
“By all that is good and holy, it was titanic in size and terrible to behold. The Mother of Serpents, the paragon and progenitor of every species of hydra and perhaps all scaled beasts that roam the planes and prime itself, all of those with evil in their hearts, they or their ancestors sprung from that beast we found.
“We saw its intellect and we saw its evil that seemed palpable even on the plane we found it on, and we realized that we could not suffer it to live. Had we simply left it where we found it unmolested we would have spared ourselves the bloodshed that followed but we would have risked the fiends finding it and using it. Even if they didn’t use it against some unsuspecting innocents on the prime or another plane, they would have used it against each other and it might have tipped the balance of the War Eternal to one side or the other, eventually bringing all of evil under one united banner. We could not risk that, and so we attacked the beast.”
Fyrehowl’s eyes widened at the prospect and she asked a single question, “It’s not dead, is it?”
The duke stared into her eyes and replied, “Oh we tried. We hurled ourselves at it heedless of our own safety and our own lives. The soil of Oinos was turned black from our blood that day and still we sought to kill it, but try as we might, we could not. We lost… our losses were nigh uncountable… but we did not give up despite our own slaughter. We realized that we could not allow it to fall into the hands of the fiends, and so rather than kill what we could not kill, we let it follow after us, hell-bent upon revenge for the pain we had inflicted upon it.”
“It followed us, we led it on, and we brought it here with us. We brought it here to Belarian and here we trapped it for all eternity so that it would never harm any as it might if it were free. We brought the beast here to our least populated layer and let it rage against the bonds we wove into the very fabric of the layer itself. We wrought magic of such potency that it would make the archmages of Celestia and the warlocks of Gehenna weep. The layer is sealed off from without and from within, the only way in or out of Belarian is by way of the great river Oceanus and here at Rubicon we guard the egress of any seeking to travel the plane. For while we know what lurks and rages upon the mainland, others do not and we keep our eternal vigil to prevent their deaths or the release of the creature.”
Fyrehowl was speechless, having never before heard the tale. “We tainted the plane itself. The Mother of Serpents, its presence is corrupting Belarian, isn’t it?”
Jalinon nodded, “And so we have sacrificed of our own blood and sullied our perfect good for the betterment of an ignorant cosmos that knows not what we have done on their behalf. An act of self-sacrifice, or selfless good done in secret where none will know and none will thank you is the greatest act of all. And I am proud of what we have done, and here I have been since then to guard the way to Belarian where the beast waits impotent and trapped.”
“It cannot swim the river?” Fyrehowl asked.
“No, the waters of Oceanus are like acid unto it. The very touch of its currents is repulsive and painful to the creature and it will not cross the river that girds the layer. It is trapped where it is and we gladly tarnish ourselves to keep it there.”
“I understand… thank you for telling me this. You think we’ll find something there on the mainland relating to the serpent?” Fyrehowl asked the duke.
“I cannot say. Since that time we have used Belarian to such a purpose with other beings of evil that were best imprisoned rather than killed, and so fiends on the mainland may have been put there by ourselves, or they may have found a way onto the layer in the hopes of finding those we have exiled to the plane. Even if they did find the Mother of Serpents though, they could not remove it from Elysium even if they tried, the wardings are such that they would have to ferry it down the river and past our very gates.”
“What of Tarnsilver?” The lupinal mused.
“His presence here is what worries me for he knew of the beast and also of a great many other of the beings that we have locked away on the mainland, and he saw it not as a willing self sacrifice, but a shame that we kept locked away and buried away from the rest of the planes. However he knew nothing of the magics that kept the plane isolated, and the ursinals and vulpinals both have made it clear to me that the wardings on Belarian have not waned in the slightest in the eons since we laid them down originally. Those are sacrosanct and we could tell if any fiends were attempting to unravel them to release the greatest of those bottled upon Belarian.”
“However you and your companions will soon discover the true nature of what is occurring upon the mainland. We avoid the plane itself largely, leaving the imprisoned to their exile, and we cannot divine or scry upon them as a byproduct of our own magics that block such attempts from the multiverse at large. Not even Primus of the Modrons can view the interior of Belarian, not even from his great orrery.”
Fyrehowl nodded, “May I discuss this with my companions? The Mother of Serpents and what other things you’ve told me? They will need to know much of it for their own safety.”
“I leave that to you to judge. Speak to them if you wish, but have them pledge to never speak of it elsewhere. The plane will hold them to their word if spoken in honesty, and you will know if they hold back on their oaths. But, having met them, I do not doubt their honesty in the matter if you wish to tell them.”
“Thank you for telling me. When we leave in the morning I’ll tell them and we’ll find out what’s going on. When we are certain we’ll either take action, or barring that, we will inform you if we cannot handle what we find on our own.” Fyrehowl said with a bow as she stood and smiled with honor at the leonal.
“I have nothing more to say, but you will find that a room has been prepared for you and your fellows. Sleep well and good luck in the morning.” Jalinon said as he laid a hand on the lupinals shoulder and led her back out of his audience room to rejoin her friends.
The Oinoloth, Mydianchlarus stood at he summit of Khin-Oin and paused, awestruck by his own array and display of power. Yugoloths in the millions sprawled in formation and entrenchments for miles surrounding the base of the Wasting Tower. All of them were loyal to him, and all of them were willing to die to support his claim to the throne of the Tower against the traitors in league with the one he had deposed.
“Oinoloth Mydianchlarus,” the rough and dull witted voice of Typhus the mercenary lord broke the still of the air atop the tower.
The Oinoloth turned and nodded to the Altraloth, a squat and twisted figure in patchwork armor and tattered black cloak, all emblazoned with the symbol of his personal army, the Infernal Front.
“Your forces are arrayed and ready to receive the armies of the fallen lord. My own forces have now fully joined with yours, the Tower in Gehenna and those loyal to you there have begun to funnel their own forces as well and they should be here by the end of the day.” Typhus said, pointing out each of the various companies by their own specific heraldry.
As much of an idiot as the fiend was in comparison to many of the Ultroloths and Arcanaloths who served under him, he had an instinctual grasp of tactics upon a battlefield that made him invaluable. His own tendency to plan far in advance of his own troops capabilities would have to be tempered, but in the coming battle he was a subordinate general and not the marshal of it all. That belonged to Mydianchlarus the Ultroloth Prince and Oinoloth.
“What of the Carcerian forces? I know they will be diminished from their maximum due to the threat of the Gehreleths on the tower of that over glorified arcanaloth, but how many has he sent?” The Oinoloth asked, his voice carrying out onto the winds of the void, twenty miles above the dust and blood of the Waste where his forces awaited the word to kill in his name.
“They have begun to arrive as well, and in larger numbers than the Ebon originally projected, you will be pleased at the increase. I had not expected it either, and it will be needed with the claimed joining of Xenghara with your unworthy predecessor. He and Anthraxus, my brothers, they are idiots. I would ask to be granted the honor of executing Xenghara after you have taken the head of Anthraxus.” Typhus said with a bow.
“I will consider it. Have you word of Taba, your other… sibling…?” Mydianchlarus asked.
“No. Taba has been absent for some time, roughly since we were aware of the growing silence of The General. Several of the Ultroloths under my banner have made their own inquiries and searches, and I know that The Ebon has been doing the same with even more fervor than myself. I’ve found nothing, nor has he discovered anything when I asked him.” Typhus answered.
“Very well. Let Anthraxus come hurrying to his own death. I spared him oblivion before, but a second time I will not allow him to live. Go and see to your own troops and send in the heralds that the Keeper of the Tower Arcane has sent, I have plans to discuss with them for their part in the battle ahead.”
Typhus nodded and bowed low before his master who turned away, absorbed in his own thoughts, before the Altraloth had descended the stairwell to the halls below. Mydianchlarus was worried, something not right for a being of his stupendous power. Perhaps not so much worried as he was perplexed by certain facts. The General and his city had vanished, the Baern were vacant or unresponsive, even to him. And while he referred to the Overlord of Carceri as an arcanaloth reaching beyond his station, it was true that The Ebon had been the one to point him towards the information that had been instrumental in his own toppling of Anthraxus. That alone had solidified the lesser fiend’s claims to his tower after the deaths of Bubonix and Cholerix when a hundred or more Ultroloths had been clamoring and petitioning for the title and position the Ebon now held.
Given the information passed on by way of the Keeper of the Tower and the Oinoloth’s own informants in Carceri, the arcanaloth was loyal and keen to capitalize on the continued success of the Oinoloth. It stood to reason since Anthraxus would have him killed on the spot if he was aware of his role in his original fall. The Ebon had hitched his future existence on his loyalty to the Oinoloth and so he at least was not held suspect for the moment, though of course if his ambitions ever stretched too high, he would need to be suitably checked; such was the fate of any below the gaze of Khin-Oin’s dread king.
The morning rays of sunlight broke across Fyrehowl’s face and she stretched lazily before hopping up from her bed to look out of the window at the sparkling waters of Oceanus. She had been up late into the night simply pondering over what Jalinon had told her, and simply to sit next to the window and revel in the view.
Night had never fully come to the layer, and it had been brief when the sun dipped below the horizon in a storm of brilliant colors reflected on the distant clouds. The twilight had been lit by a moon in brilliant intensity, and in the distance the sky above the mainland of Belarian had been aglow in the flickering, phosphorescent fires of an aurora that danced across the skies like an Eladrin prince and princess clad in rainbows.
Fyrehowl gathered her things and stretched before collecting her other companions, most of whom had already risen and eaten breakfast. Toras and Skalliska were sitting and chatting with an ursinal who bore an expression of avid curiosity in marked contrast to the skepticism of the kobold.
“They’re constructs! Just how in all the hells would they… mate? The logistics are just…” Skalliska shook her head, “It’s just not possible.”
“I didn’t say it happened like that. I’m not really even sure if they have… well if they’re even capable of that.” Toras explained.
“They aren’t.” The ursinal interjected.
“See? It’s not possible, you have to be mistaken.” Skalliska said.
“My deity was involved, that’s all I’ll say. Deific caveat to trump your logic, haha!” Toras said with a smirk.
“In any event, you may actually wander across a quasar during your time on the mainland. If you do simply treat them as you would one of us. They may be overly curious, but unless you’re a being bent on doing evil you have nothing to fear whatsoever. The homelands of that race are fairly far from the areas that you indicated to Jalinon that you would be traveling towards, but still, it’s something to pay attention to.” The ursinal said with a scholarly nod. “And your own heritage Toras of Andros, it is… unique. I’ll certainly grant you that.”
Tristol sat on a bench next two a mated pair of vulpinal wizards who sat curled on the floor with their spellbooks open before the aasimar mage who bore an obvious line of descent from one of their kind. They were happily chatting with the prime about some manner of abjuration spell, and Fyrehowl found it both comical and adorable to watch all three of the wizards’ tails twitch in synchronicity like celestial clock pendulums as they discussed arcane matters.
Off to the side, Florian was sitting by himself and trying very hard not to chuckle at the antics going on between Tristol and the guardinal mages. Fyrehowl walked over and sat down next to the cleric. “It is rather amusing, I’ll grant you that.”
“True, that it is. So, that’s all of us now. Shall we be headed off, or is there anything else you need to see to before we leave?” Florian asked.
“No, I’m ready. More than ready actually. I want to see this through, even if there’s nothing there to be found, it’s something we need to settle for certain.” Fyrehowl replied.
They all walked to the western edge of the island that Rubicon occupied and glanced back at the cathedral-fortress one last time before departing off towards the mainland. Rather than travel by boat or teleportation, since the first was impractical and the latter more or less impossible given the magical restrictions in place on the layer, they each quaffed a draught of a flying potion that the guardinals of Rubicon had given them to aid their travels.
Soaring up into the air they quickly flew towards the distant shores of the mainland that graced the distant horizon like a dark green line to contrast with the sparkling blue of Oceanus. In truth their transit took barely a fraction of the time it might have normally taken them to fly or swim the same distance as it seemed. Perhaps the plane itself sensed their urgency and sped their transit in its own sublime way.
Two hours later they hovered over that distant shore, more a swamp that flowed into the sea than a true beach. The plane seemed different there than at Rubicon. Gone was the stoic passion and selflessness that was carried in the very area the guardinal stronghold, and in its place was a sense of innocence lost, and the deep-rooted corruption of what was once pure and untainted. Fyrehowl seemed slightly uncomfortable in the change of feeling the surroundings gave them, and the others could tell.
“Are you alright Fyrehowl?” Florian asked.
The lupinal shrugged, “Just a bad feeling is all. The plane feels different here than it has anywhere else in Elysium. It’s like looking a pure white cloth and then looking at one that’s been bled upon and trampled in the mud.”
“It’s that different here?” Tristol asked.
“Yes… it’s that different here…” Fyrehowl said with a mild shiver as they flew out over the mud choked and drowned cypress forests that lined the coastline.
The next hour or so was spent in silent observation of the land below as the skimmed the treetops. Things lurked down below the thick cover of the forests and marshlands as they withdrew from the touch of Oceanus, and several times they stopped to ascertain just what might be down below and gazing upwards at them. Most of the time it was simply animals, though more often than not the normal fauna was altered or twisted in one way or another, almost by a fiendish influence or touch of evil that had warped their physical forms.
“Fyrehowl, this is really disturbing. This is a celestial plane, a layer of the plane of pure good for Mystra’s sake… why do half of the animals that we’ve seen look like they should belong on the lower planes?” Tristol asked as they passed the rotting corpse of some animal and watched a pack of scavengers scatter back out into the swamp, their eyes tinted red and their howls and barking filled with malice.
“There’s things here on Belarian that have been purposefully put here over the eons in order to shelter the planes from them. Belarian is a bit of Elysium sacrificed for the rest of the planes, that’s the best way of putting it. The presence of some of the things that have been locked away here, they sully the land and they’ve slowly corrupted the native life of the forests.” Fyrehowl replied.
“Wish we’d known this before for a fact. I’d heard rumor, sure, but it was just that. But…” Skalliska’s comment was cut off by the sudden rustle and beating of leathery wings from the forest below them.
“Watch out!” Toras shouted as a vaguely draconic form burst from the trees below and shrieked past him, followed by two more of its kind.
With snarls, flashing fangs, and whip-like stinger wielding tails, the bulk of three twisted and sickly looking wyverns rushed to attack the party, seeing them as nothing more than food. The combat was over fairly quickly though, despite the near ambush, and before it was over one of the beasts was nearly frozen solid by the lupinal, and another was dying on the forest floor below where it was burned and scorched by a series of spells from Tristol and Florian. The third wyvern escaped, but it trailed a dribble of blood in its wake from a number of slashes from Toras and a series of Skalliska’s crossbow bolts that peppered its chest, embedded to their fletches.
Following their encounter they moved more cautiously and slower, taking keen interest in the lay of the ground below them. They managed to avoid any further combat, aside from a swarm of stirges, but those were dealt with in short order by a fireball from Tristol. Still, their close attention to the terrain did prove advantageous as they neared the regions that had been originally marked on their maps that they had taken from the Imshenviir mercane.
“Whoa whoa whoa, stop. Take a look down there.” Toras said as he pointed his sword down towards a patch of forest that was open to the sky. From their position high above they could barely make out a set of furrows in the earth that looked unmistakably like the muddy tracks of a series of heavy wagons or other such trade vehicles.
They turned as a group and descended down into the forest and alighted on the muddy earth near the tracks that ran nearly due west and to the southeast. The tracks looked old, a few weeks at least judging by the condition of the ground and the intervening rainfall and passage of animals.
“I think this is where our dearly departed mercane friends passed by recently.” Florian said as he looked at the line of tracks.
“Sad to say that they’ll be missing their next scheduled deliveries. Hope they didn’t get paid by cash.” Toras quipped with a smirk and a grin.
They followed the tracks to the west slowly and pondered at the size and depth of the muddy furrows, commenting on how it had to have been several wagons at a time, and they had all been loaded down very heavily to create the depth of tracks that they now found and followed.
“To alleviate hunger… I wonder what they’re feeding…” Tristol openly mused.
Fyrehowl opened her mouth and was ready to answer his question, or at least speculate on what she worried they might find being fed in the interior of the layer. The lupinal never spoke however as they all first heard, and then saw, something that made them dash for cover in the trees.
A fluid and rhythmic flapping of heavy wings cut the air as a dark, flat shape, cut across the sky overhead in the clear sky over the mercane trade route. Several miles off to the west still and moving perpendicular to their westward trek, it was obvious that neither the creature, nor the rider perched upon its back, belonged there on the plane.
“What the hell…” Florian whispered as Skalliska blinked and Fyrehowl grimaced nearly in pain.
Flying above, and moving across their field of view, was the manta shaped profile of a Slasrath, a creature native to Gehenna, most often used as mounts for Yugoloth scouts and aerial cavalry or living siege platforms. The slasrath might have been an aberration, some fluke of the corruption of the planar layer, but the being seated within the saddle on its spine, the winged form of a Nycaloth, was not. The greater Yugoloth slowly swung its mount towards the southwest with a single gesture and seemed to be deliberately scouting the area.
“Yeah… we have problems…” Fyrehowl whispered as they watched the ‘loth and its flying mount vanish towards the southwest.
Anthraxus the Decayed lifted his arm and gestured to one of his attendant Ultroloths, nearly thirty of whom clustered around their past and current master. They and their master alike were anxious and the air itself seemed to hum with the building tension as their plans, plots and rebellion drew towards its ultimate culmination.
“Speak and be done, for bloodshed calls to us on wings of retribution but quickly now. What has the General said of our conflict?” The former Oinoloth said with a hint of anticipation and certainty as it sat upon a throne cobbled together from the skulls and ribcages of a dozen Shator Gehreleths.
The purple robed Ultroloth approached and bowed low before its lord and hesitated before speaking, seemingly at a loss for words. Its hesitation was removed as the massive Altraloth it knelt before placed the burning tip of the Staff of the Lower Planes at the juncture of its head and neck.
“Speak… bother not with dressing your words. I would know what position the General of Gehenna takes on the soon to break conflict between my usurper and myself. Speak now before my patience stretches to amusement at your pain…”
The Ultroloth’s eye’s dimmed and flickered a pale shade of green with sparks of subdued lavender. It voice was thin and uncertain as it answered the Decayed, “We could not find the Crawling Citadel…”
A steady static hum rose from the chatter of the other Ultroloths before Anthraxus’s withering gaze silenced them. “What do you mean, you couldn’t find the General’s city upon the fourfold furnace?”
“Lord of Agony… the city is no longer there. We found where the city had been. We followed its path across the slopes of Khalas but we did not find the city itself. It was gone. Vanished without a trace.” The Ultroloth answered.
“What?!” The former Oinoloth bellowed with rage and leapt to his feet to begin pacing around the still kneeling Ultroloth, his terrible shadow casting a pale over the smaller fiend.
“What do you mean that it’s gone? You cannot simply lose a citadel that measures five miles across and nearly two miles high at the tallest spires. Do you expect me to believe that the city is either destroyed or invisible? Ah, perhaps it simply jumped off into the void between the mounts. Did you look there you fool?” Anthraxus said with incredulity as he towered over the bearer of puzzling news.
Perhaps out of daring, or perhaps because it had nothing to lose, the Ultroloth looked up at the Decayed. “The depressions from the city’s footfalls simply ended halfway up a massive cliff on Khalas and the city was nowhere to be found in the vicinity. There were no signs of battle, nor lingering traces of divine magic. Not that one of the powers would be capable of such a feat. The city is simply gone my lord, and I do not know where it was gone. The General has removed himself from us while we squabble like children…”
Bloodshot eyes narrowed and Anthraxus flicked his lips clear of spit turned to foam as his staff glowed and slammed into the Ultroloth’s head. There was no sound of a blow, nor a splatter of blood or brains, but only the squealing agony of a larvae pinned beneath the tip of the staff where the Ultroloth had stood but a moment before.
Turning to his other, competent generals and marshals, the once and future Oinoloth snarled and slammed his staff into the bulk of his throne. Standing amid the burning and shattered fragments of the ‘leth skulls that he had sat upon at the apex of the Hill of Bone he spoke the words his supplicants had been eagerly awaiting.
“Marshall my armies and call upon our allies, for we march to Oinos and there we lay siege to Khin-Oin. I shall drink from the hollowed out skull of Mydianchlarus as I sit again upon my throne. What was once shall be so again.”
Screaming out orders to their own attendants and subordinates, the Ultroloth generals of Anthraxus the Decayed vanished in the flashes of teleports and the dimension ripping flames of planar gates. The former Oinoloth himself vanished into the largest concentration of his forces encamped at the base of the hill itself, miles upon miles deep of Yugoloths that numbered in the millions at but a glance. And as he vanished the air echoed with the agonized whine of a single wriggling, wounded larva that twitched upon the ground, dimly lamenting its millennia of struggle and triumph now vanished and gone at the whim of the Decayed. It however might have been spared in some fashion the worst of what would soon come.
“Everything went all f*cking wrong
Chaos reigns when I’m along” - Courtney Love, ‘Love Despite God’
****
Fyrehowl looked curiously at the duke as she took a seat across from him and listened intently with perked ears. The golden-maned leonal sighed deeply before he began.
“While none of the celestial races take an active hand in the Blood War between the fiends, all for fear of uniting the lower planes, some of us do take action though it is never large scale or organized. The aasimon and archons learned that terrible lesson for us all…” Jalinon paused at the thought before continuing, “Still, some of us do make forays into the lower planes in the hopes of disrupting the fiends in any action that might involve the prime, or to damage certain factions of the fiendish hierarchies in order to create instability and further infighting amongst their kind. We guardinals are the most noted among the brethren of the upper planes to do such things and succeed; your own kind perhaps foremost among us. You sister indeed as I recall has joined one of the more prestigious bands of lupinals who take to the Waste, as did you previously. The asuras are the only other kind who do the same as we do, but we have done so since nearly the beginning of such things.”
Fyrehowl nodded, understanding such things clearly from her own experiences in the past.
“But sometimes our forays into the depths of the lower planes do not end as we would hope. Sometimes we face death, and we all know that we might die in our cause, but still we continue because it is what we do, because it is good. But once we faced not death at the hands of fiends, something we might have expected, but rather we found something in our travels that we never expected to find. I was there then, as was a young Talisad, and I remember it well.”
The duke paused and seemed almost shaken by the memories of that day and it took him a moment to return to the present as Fyrehowl placed a hand over his.
“What did you find?” The lupinal asked.
“By all that is good and holy, it was titanic in size and terrible to behold. The Mother of Serpents, the paragon and progenitor of every species of hydra and perhaps all scaled beasts that roam the planes and prime itself, all of those with evil in their hearts, they or their ancestors sprung from that beast we found.
“We saw its intellect and we saw its evil that seemed palpable even on the plane we found it on, and we realized that we could not suffer it to live. Had we simply left it where we found it unmolested we would have spared ourselves the bloodshed that followed but we would have risked the fiends finding it and using it. Even if they didn’t use it against some unsuspecting innocents on the prime or another plane, they would have used it against each other and it might have tipped the balance of the War Eternal to one side or the other, eventually bringing all of evil under one united banner. We could not risk that, and so we attacked the beast.”
Fyrehowl’s eyes widened at the prospect and she asked a single question, “It’s not dead, is it?”
The duke stared into her eyes and replied, “Oh we tried. We hurled ourselves at it heedless of our own safety and our own lives. The soil of Oinos was turned black from our blood that day and still we sought to kill it, but try as we might, we could not. We lost… our losses were nigh uncountable… but we did not give up despite our own slaughter. We realized that we could not allow it to fall into the hands of the fiends, and so rather than kill what we could not kill, we let it follow after us, hell-bent upon revenge for the pain we had inflicted upon it.”
“It followed us, we led it on, and we brought it here with us. We brought it here to Belarian and here we trapped it for all eternity so that it would never harm any as it might if it were free. We brought the beast here to our least populated layer and let it rage against the bonds we wove into the very fabric of the layer itself. We wrought magic of such potency that it would make the archmages of Celestia and the warlocks of Gehenna weep. The layer is sealed off from without and from within, the only way in or out of Belarian is by way of the great river Oceanus and here at Rubicon we guard the egress of any seeking to travel the plane. For while we know what lurks and rages upon the mainland, others do not and we keep our eternal vigil to prevent their deaths or the release of the creature.”
Fyrehowl was speechless, having never before heard the tale. “We tainted the plane itself. The Mother of Serpents, its presence is corrupting Belarian, isn’t it?”
Jalinon nodded, “And so we have sacrificed of our own blood and sullied our perfect good for the betterment of an ignorant cosmos that knows not what we have done on their behalf. An act of self-sacrifice, or selfless good done in secret where none will know and none will thank you is the greatest act of all. And I am proud of what we have done, and here I have been since then to guard the way to Belarian where the beast waits impotent and trapped.”
“It cannot swim the river?” Fyrehowl asked.
“No, the waters of Oceanus are like acid unto it. The very touch of its currents is repulsive and painful to the creature and it will not cross the river that girds the layer. It is trapped where it is and we gladly tarnish ourselves to keep it there.”
“I understand… thank you for telling me this. You think we’ll find something there on the mainland relating to the serpent?” Fyrehowl asked the duke.
“I cannot say. Since that time we have used Belarian to such a purpose with other beings of evil that were best imprisoned rather than killed, and so fiends on the mainland may have been put there by ourselves, or they may have found a way onto the layer in the hopes of finding those we have exiled to the plane. Even if they did find the Mother of Serpents though, they could not remove it from Elysium even if they tried, the wardings are such that they would have to ferry it down the river and past our very gates.”
“What of Tarnsilver?” The lupinal mused.
“His presence here is what worries me for he knew of the beast and also of a great many other of the beings that we have locked away on the mainland, and he saw it not as a willing self sacrifice, but a shame that we kept locked away and buried away from the rest of the planes. However he knew nothing of the magics that kept the plane isolated, and the ursinals and vulpinals both have made it clear to me that the wardings on Belarian have not waned in the slightest in the eons since we laid them down originally. Those are sacrosanct and we could tell if any fiends were attempting to unravel them to release the greatest of those bottled upon Belarian.”
“However you and your companions will soon discover the true nature of what is occurring upon the mainland. We avoid the plane itself largely, leaving the imprisoned to their exile, and we cannot divine or scry upon them as a byproduct of our own magics that block such attempts from the multiverse at large. Not even Primus of the Modrons can view the interior of Belarian, not even from his great orrery.”
Fyrehowl nodded, “May I discuss this with my companions? The Mother of Serpents and what other things you’ve told me? They will need to know much of it for their own safety.”
“I leave that to you to judge. Speak to them if you wish, but have them pledge to never speak of it elsewhere. The plane will hold them to their word if spoken in honesty, and you will know if they hold back on their oaths. But, having met them, I do not doubt their honesty in the matter if you wish to tell them.”
“Thank you for telling me. When we leave in the morning I’ll tell them and we’ll find out what’s going on. When we are certain we’ll either take action, or barring that, we will inform you if we cannot handle what we find on our own.” Fyrehowl said with a bow as she stood and smiled with honor at the leonal.
“I have nothing more to say, but you will find that a room has been prepared for you and your fellows. Sleep well and good luck in the morning.” Jalinon said as he laid a hand on the lupinals shoulder and led her back out of his audience room to rejoin her friends.
****
The Oinoloth, Mydianchlarus stood at he summit of Khin-Oin and paused, awestruck by his own array and display of power. Yugoloths in the millions sprawled in formation and entrenchments for miles surrounding the base of the Wasting Tower. All of them were loyal to him, and all of them were willing to die to support his claim to the throne of the Tower against the traitors in league with the one he had deposed.
“Oinoloth Mydianchlarus,” the rough and dull witted voice of Typhus the mercenary lord broke the still of the air atop the tower.
The Oinoloth turned and nodded to the Altraloth, a squat and twisted figure in patchwork armor and tattered black cloak, all emblazoned with the symbol of his personal army, the Infernal Front.
“Your forces are arrayed and ready to receive the armies of the fallen lord. My own forces have now fully joined with yours, the Tower in Gehenna and those loyal to you there have begun to funnel their own forces as well and they should be here by the end of the day.” Typhus said, pointing out each of the various companies by their own specific heraldry.
As much of an idiot as the fiend was in comparison to many of the Ultroloths and Arcanaloths who served under him, he had an instinctual grasp of tactics upon a battlefield that made him invaluable. His own tendency to plan far in advance of his own troops capabilities would have to be tempered, but in the coming battle he was a subordinate general and not the marshal of it all. That belonged to Mydianchlarus the Ultroloth Prince and Oinoloth.
“What of the Carcerian forces? I know they will be diminished from their maximum due to the threat of the Gehreleths on the tower of that over glorified arcanaloth, but how many has he sent?” The Oinoloth asked, his voice carrying out onto the winds of the void, twenty miles above the dust and blood of the Waste where his forces awaited the word to kill in his name.
“They have begun to arrive as well, and in larger numbers than the Ebon originally projected, you will be pleased at the increase. I had not expected it either, and it will be needed with the claimed joining of Xenghara with your unworthy predecessor. He and Anthraxus, my brothers, they are idiots. I would ask to be granted the honor of executing Xenghara after you have taken the head of Anthraxus.” Typhus said with a bow.
“I will consider it. Have you word of Taba, your other… sibling…?” Mydianchlarus asked.
“No. Taba has been absent for some time, roughly since we were aware of the growing silence of The General. Several of the Ultroloths under my banner have made their own inquiries and searches, and I know that The Ebon has been doing the same with even more fervor than myself. I’ve found nothing, nor has he discovered anything when I asked him.” Typhus answered.
“Very well. Let Anthraxus come hurrying to his own death. I spared him oblivion before, but a second time I will not allow him to live. Go and see to your own troops and send in the heralds that the Keeper of the Tower Arcane has sent, I have plans to discuss with them for their part in the battle ahead.”
Typhus nodded and bowed low before his master who turned away, absorbed in his own thoughts, before the Altraloth had descended the stairwell to the halls below. Mydianchlarus was worried, something not right for a being of his stupendous power. Perhaps not so much worried as he was perplexed by certain facts. The General and his city had vanished, the Baern were vacant or unresponsive, even to him. And while he referred to the Overlord of Carceri as an arcanaloth reaching beyond his station, it was true that The Ebon had been the one to point him towards the information that had been instrumental in his own toppling of Anthraxus. That alone had solidified the lesser fiend’s claims to his tower after the deaths of Bubonix and Cholerix when a hundred or more Ultroloths had been clamoring and petitioning for the title and position the Ebon now held.
Given the information passed on by way of the Keeper of the Tower and the Oinoloth’s own informants in Carceri, the arcanaloth was loyal and keen to capitalize on the continued success of the Oinoloth. It stood to reason since Anthraxus would have him killed on the spot if he was aware of his role in his original fall. The Ebon had hitched his future existence on his loyalty to the Oinoloth and so he at least was not held suspect for the moment, though of course if his ambitions ever stretched too high, he would need to be suitably checked; such was the fate of any below the gaze of Khin-Oin’s dread king.
****
The morning rays of sunlight broke across Fyrehowl’s face and she stretched lazily before hopping up from her bed to look out of the window at the sparkling waters of Oceanus. She had been up late into the night simply pondering over what Jalinon had told her, and simply to sit next to the window and revel in the view.
Night had never fully come to the layer, and it had been brief when the sun dipped below the horizon in a storm of brilliant colors reflected on the distant clouds. The twilight had been lit by a moon in brilliant intensity, and in the distance the sky above the mainland of Belarian had been aglow in the flickering, phosphorescent fires of an aurora that danced across the skies like an Eladrin prince and princess clad in rainbows.
Fyrehowl gathered her things and stretched before collecting her other companions, most of whom had already risen and eaten breakfast. Toras and Skalliska were sitting and chatting with an ursinal who bore an expression of avid curiosity in marked contrast to the skepticism of the kobold.
“They’re constructs! Just how in all the hells would they… mate? The logistics are just…” Skalliska shook her head, “It’s just not possible.”
“I didn’t say it happened like that. I’m not really even sure if they have… well if they’re even capable of that.” Toras explained.
“They aren’t.” The ursinal interjected.
“See? It’s not possible, you have to be mistaken.” Skalliska said.
“My deity was involved, that’s all I’ll say. Deific caveat to trump your logic, haha!” Toras said with a smirk.
“In any event, you may actually wander across a quasar during your time on the mainland. If you do simply treat them as you would one of us. They may be overly curious, but unless you’re a being bent on doing evil you have nothing to fear whatsoever. The homelands of that race are fairly far from the areas that you indicated to Jalinon that you would be traveling towards, but still, it’s something to pay attention to.” The ursinal said with a scholarly nod. “And your own heritage Toras of Andros, it is… unique. I’ll certainly grant you that.”
Tristol sat on a bench next two a mated pair of vulpinal wizards who sat curled on the floor with their spellbooks open before the aasimar mage who bore an obvious line of descent from one of their kind. They were happily chatting with the prime about some manner of abjuration spell, and Fyrehowl found it both comical and adorable to watch all three of the wizards’ tails twitch in synchronicity like celestial clock pendulums as they discussed arcane matters.
Off to the side, Florian was sitting by himself and trying very hard not to chuckle at the antics going on between Tristol and the guardinal mages. Fyrehowl walked over and sat down next to the cleric. “It is rather amusing, I’ll grant you that.”
“True, that it is. So, that’s all of us now. Shall we be headed off, or is there anything else you need to see to before we leave?” Florian asked.
“No, I’m ready. More than ready actually. I want to see this through, even if there’s nothing there to be found, it’s something we need to settle for certain.” Fyrehowl replied.
They all walked to the western edge of the island that Rubicon occupied and glanced back at the cathedral-fortress one last time before departing off towards the mainland. Rather than travel by boat or teleportation, since the first was impractical and the latter more or less impossible given the magical restrictions in place on the layer, they each quaffed a draught of a flying potion that the guardinals of Rubicon had given them to aid their travels.
Soaring up into the air they quickly flew towards the distant shores of the mainland that graced the distant horizon like a dark green line to contrast with the sparkling blue of Oceanus. In truth their transit took barely a fraction of the time it might have normally taken them to fly or swim the same distance as it seemed. Perhaps the plane itself sensed their urgency and sped their transit in its own sublime way.
Two hours later they hovered over that distant shore, more a swamp that flowed into the sea than a true beach. The plane seemed different there than at Rubicon. Gone was the stoic passion and selflessness that was carried in the very area the guardinal stronghold, and in its place was a sense of innocence lost, and the deep-rooted corruption of what was once pure and untainted. Fyrehowl seemed slightly uncomfortable in the change of feeling the surroundings gave them, and the others could tell.
“Are you alright Fyrehowl?” Florian asked.
The lupinal shrugged, “Just a bad feeling is all. The plane feels different here than it has anywhere else in Elysium. It’s like looking a pure white cloth and then looking at one that’s been bled upon and trampled in the mud.”
“It’s that different here?” Tristol asked.
“Yes… it’s that different here…” Fyrehowl said with a mild shiver as they flew out over the mud choked and drowned cypress forests that lined the coastline.
The next hour or so was spent in silent observation of the land below as the skimmed the treetops. Things lurked down below the thick cover of the forests and marshlands as they withdrew from the touch of Oceanus, and several times they stopped to ascertain just what might be down below and gazing upwards at them. Most of the time it was simply animals, though more often than not the normal fauna was altered or twisted in one way or another, almost by a fiendish influence or touch of evil that had warped their physical forms.
“Fyrehowl, this is really disturbing. This is a celestial plane, a layer of the plane of pure good for Mystra’s sake… why do half of the animals that we’ve seen look like they should belong on the lower planes?” Tristol asked as they passed the rotting corpse of some animal and watched a pack of scavengers scatter back out into the swamp, their eyes tinted red and their howls and barking filled with malice.
“There’s things here on Belarian that have been purposefully put here over the eons in order to shelter the planes from them. Belarian is a bit of Elysium sacrificed for the rest of the planes, that’s the best way of putting it. The presence of some of the things that have been locked away here, they sully the land and they’ve slowly corrupted the native life of the forests.” Fyrehowl replied.
“Wish we’d known this before for a fact. I’d heard rumor, sure, but it was just that. But…” Skalliska’s comment was cut off by the sudden rustle and beating of leathery wings from the forest below them.
“Watch out!” Toras shouted as a vaguely draconic form burst from the trees below and shrieked past him, followed by two more of its kind.
With snarls, flashing fangs, and whip-like stinger wielding tails, the bulk of three twisted and sickly looking wyverns rushed to attack the party, seeing them as nothing more than food. The combat was over fairly quickly though, despite the near ambush, and before it was over one of the beasts was nearly frozen solid by the lupinal, and another was dying on the forest floor below where it was burned and scorched by a series of spells from Tristol and Florian. The third wyvern escaped, but it trailed a dribble of blood in its wake from a number of slashes from Toras and a series of Skalliska’s crossbow bolts that peppered its chest, embedded to their fletches.
Following their encounter they moved more cautiously and slower, taking keen interest in the lay of the ground below them. They managed to avoid any further combat, aside from a swarm of stirges, but those were dealt with in short order by a fireball from Tristol. Still, their close attention to the terrain did prove advantageous as they neared the regions that had been originally marked on their maps that they had taken from the Imshenviir mercane.
“Whoa whoa whoa, stop. Take a look down there.” Toras said as he pointed his sword down towards a patch of forest that was open to the sky. From their position high above they could barely make out a set of furrows in the earth that looked unmistakably like the muddy tracks of a series of heavy wagons or other such trade vehicles.
They turned as a group and descended down into the forest and alighted on the muddy earth near the tracks that ran nearly due west and to the southeast. The tracks looked old, a few weeks at least judging by the condition of the ground and the intervening rainfall and passage of animals.
“I think this is where our dearly departed mercane friends passed by recently.” Florian said as he looked at the line of tracks.
“Sad to say that they’ll be missing their next scheduled deliveries. Hope they didn’t get paid by cash.” Toras quipped with a smirk and a grin.
They followed the tracks to the west slowly and pondered at the size and depth of the muddy furrows, commenting on how it had to have been several wagons at a time, and they had all been loaded down very heavily to create the depth of tracks that they now found and followed.
“To alleviate hunger… I wonder what they’re feeding…” Tristol openly mused.
Fyrehowl opened her mouth and was ready to answer his question, or at least speculate on what she worried they might find being fed in the interior of the layer. The lupinal never spoke however as they all first heard, and then saw, something that made them dash for cover in the trees.
A fluid and rhythmic flapping of heavy wings cut the air as a dark, flat shape, cut across the sky overhead in the clear sky over the mercane trade route. Several miles off to the west still and moving perpendicular to their westward trek, it was obvious that neither the creature, nor the rider perched upon its back, belonged there on the plane.
“What the hell…” Florian whispered as Skalliska blinked and Fyrehowl grimaced nearly in pain.
Flying above, and moving across their field of view, was the manta shaped profile of a Slasrath, a creature native to Gehenna, most often used as mounts for Yugoloth scouts and aerial cavalry or living siege platforms. The slasrath might have been an aberration, some fluke of the corruption of the planar layer, but the being seated within the saddle on its spine, the winged form of a Nycaloth, was not. The greater Yugoloth slowly swung its mount towards the southwest with a single gesture and seemed to be deliberately scouting the area.
“Yeah… we have problems…” Fyrehowl whispered as they watched the ‘loth and its flying mount vanish towards the southwest.
****
Anthraxus the Decayed lifted his arm and gestured to one of his attendant Ultroloths, nearly thirty of whom clustered around their past and current master. They and their master alike were anxious and the air itself seemed to hum with the building tension as their plans, plots and rebellion drew towards its ultimate culmination.
“Speak and be done, for bloodshed calls to us on wings of retribution but quickly now. What has the General said of our conflict?” The former Oinoloth said with a hint of anticipation and certainty as it sat upon a throne cobbled together from the skulls and ribcages of a dozen Shator Gehreleths.
The purple robed Ultroloth approached and bowed low before its lord and hesitated before speaking, seemingly at a loss for words. Its hesitation was removed as the massive Altraloth it knelt before placed the burning tip of the Staff of the Lower Planes at the juncture of its head and neck.
“Speak… bother not with dressing your words. I would know what position the General of Gehenna takes on the soon to break conflict between my usurper and myself. Speak now before my patience stretches to amusement at your pain…”
The Ultroloth’s eye’s dimmed and flickered a pale shade of green with sparks of subdued lavender. It voice was thin and uncertain as it answered the Decayed, “We could not find the Crawling Citadel…”
A steady static hum rose from the chatter of the other Ultroloths before Anthraxus’s withering gaze silenced them. “What do you mean, you couldn’t find the General’s city upon the fourfold furnace?”
“Lord of Agony… the city is no longer there. We found where the city had been. We followed its path across the slopes of Khalas but we did not find the city itself. It was gone. Vanished without a trace.” The Ultroloth answered.
“What?!” The former Oinoloth bellowed with rage and leapt to his feet to begin pacing around the still kneeling Ultroloth, his terrible shadow casting a pale over the smaller fiend.
“What do you mean that it’s gone? You cannot simply lose a citadel that measures five miles across and nearly two miles high at the tallest spires. Do you expect me to believe that the city is either destroyed or invisible? Ah, perhaps it simply jumped off into the void between the mounts. Did you look there you fool?” Anthraxus said with incredulity as he towered over the bearer of puzzling news.
Perhaps out of daring, or perhaps because it had nothing to lose, the Ultroloth looked up at the Decayed. “The depressions from the city’s footfalls simply ended halfway up a massive cliff on Khalas and the city was nowhere to be found in the vicinity. There were no signs of battle, nor lingering traces of divine magic. Not that one of the powers would be capable of such a feat. The city is simply gone my lord, and I do not know where it was gone. The General has removed himself from us while we squabble like children…”
Bloodshot eyes narrowed and Anthraxus flicked his lips clear of spit turned to foam as his staff glowed and slammed into the Ultroloth’s head. There was no sound of a blow, nor a splatter of blood or brains, but only the squealing agony of a larvae pinned beneath the tip of the staff where the Ultroloth had stood but a moment before.
Turning to his other, competent generals and marshals, the once and future Oinoloth snarled and slammed his staff into the bulk of his throne. Standing amid the burning and shattered fragments of the ‘leth skulls that he had sat upon at the apex of the Hill of Bone he spoke the words his supplicants had been eagerly awaiting.
“Marshall my armies and call upon our allies, for we march to Oinos and there we lay siege to Khin-Oin. I shall drink from the hollowed out skull of Mydianchlarus as I sit again upon my throne. What was once shall be so again.”
Screaming out orders to their own attendants and subordinates, the Ultroloth generals of Anthraxus the Decayed vanished in the flashes of teleports and the dimension ripping flames of planar gates. The former Oinoloth himself vanished into the largest concentration of his forces encamped at the base of the hill itself, miles upon miles deep of Yugoloths that numbered in the millions at but a glance. And as he vanished the air echoed with the agonized whine of a single wriggling, wounded larva that twitched upon the ground, dimly lamenting its millennia of struggle and triumph now vanished and gone at the whim of the Decayed. It however might have been spared in some fashion the worst of what would soon come.
bluegodjanus
Explorer
Oh, I have a question for the furball's players. Is the storyhour the first you guys get to see of these fiendish cut-scenes?
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