Six opens his eyes, stoically ignoring the pain all over his form as he tries to remember what happened.
The battle! The last thing he recalls is being struck by an
acid orb, and as he looks around, the warforged expects to see Nameless reviving him. Instead, what meets his gaze is the wary expression of a stranger with a wand in his hand, who quickly takes a step back as Six sits up with a muffled groan. Behind the man stand four ogres and two trolls, armored in gleaming mail, gnarled hands resting on proportionately large weapons, who all straighten slightly into ready positions as the warforged stirs.
“Don’t worry,” says the stranger quickly, in a soothing voice, waving down his guards, though he steps no closer for the nonce, “You are safe. You are in Droaam now, and your friends will be here shortly.”
“Droaam?” asks Six, uncertain what’s going on, but realizing that making any sudden moves might be a mistake. “How did I get here?”
“I brought you here, actually. But everything will be explained when your friends arrive. Before that, however, I should see to your wounds. Will you let me do so?”
Six nods, and the man approaches and begins to use the wand over and over again to repair the cracks and bruises all over Six’s structure. While he does so, the warforged looks around. As his mechanical eyes adapt to the low illumination, he sees that he is in a huge cavern, lit only by hundreds of what seem like coals set into the far walls, sitting beneath a small grove of mostly leafless, twisted trees growing out of the hard, half-rocky earth beneath him. Beneath him is a large, thick blanket, and around it are a number of others, interspersed with low, thick wooden seats. Near him are his possessions and equipment, folded and placed in neat piles.
The man stops and says, “You should be fine now,” and Six realizes that he has been almost fully returned to health, though the odd wound remains. “Please wait here.” He rises and walks away, followed by the giant guards, pausing only to add, “Don’t try to leave.”
Six watches until they reach the wall of the chamber, nearly a hundred feet away, and knock on a large door. It is opened from the outside by another pair of ogre guards, who let the group through and then shut it again. Once they are gone, Six rises gingerly, moves to his possessions and begins to re-equip himself. Having done so, he glances around the chamber again. By now, his eyes have adapted further, and the warforged finally realizes what the muted illumination here is coming from. Set into cracks in the walls of the chamber are scores, no, hundreds of skulls, each glowing like a dying coal in a fading fire. The macabre light darkly illumines the chamber, creating more shadows than actual light, and for some reason he cannot explain, Six feels as if each skull were somehow aware of his presence. The awareness is not malign nor even truly conscious, he feels, but more a dim, pathetic response to a life – alien as it may be – that resembles what their owners once possessed, and what they are forever bereft of but somehow vaguely bound to.
Though he almost never uses physical gestures as the less-mechanical species do, Six shivers slightly. With nowhere to go, he returns to the blanket and settles down into a comfortable position. Then, with the endless patience of his kind, he waits, wondering how exactly he ended up here. Six also wonders when he will see his friends, and what they might be doing.
* * *
As Sora Maenya moves, Luna unleashes one of her favorite
flame strikes. The column of flames interlaced with holy energy slams down on the hag, but she doesn’t even wince, and as it disappears, there isn’t a mark on her. She laughs and says, “Cute trained bear, but I’ll get to her later. But first – the Flamer!”
Nameless shouts, “Annis hags are resistant to magic!” He rushes through the motions of the
assay resistance that Saala Torrn had taught him, and evokes a
cone of cold, aiming it precisely so as to catch only Maenya. To his surprise, despite the increased ability granted by the former spell, the spray of magical ice simply bounces off the hag’s indigo hide like raindrops on a rock.
How high is her resistance?
The hag only laughs again, and then her long arms shoot out, steel-hard nails ripping through Gareth’s enchanted mail as if it were paper, sinking deep into his flesh, twisting and ripping as she clenches her hands with fiendish glee. Gareth screams in agony as his blood jets out and runs down the hag’s indigo hands, and literally tears himself off her talons, before striking back, calling out to the Silver Flame. The Endless Blade shouts wordlessly too as it blazes in his hands, striking with a force that would cut an ox in half, but here only carving a deep, momentarily argent-flecked, wound across the hag’s shoulder*. Dark blood runs down her arm.
“Korm!
Cocoon me!” pleads Gareth. The Gatekeeper throws Maenya a worried glance, knowing that if he’s protecting Gareth, it leaves her free to attack. But it’s clear that a single blow will kill Gareth, and with a sigh, Korm bravely complies, leaving only himself within arm’s reach of her. Not being completely suicidal, he quickly tries to take cover behind the
cocoon.
For a second, Maenya ignores him, actually looking surprised as she gazes at the wound Gareth inflicted. As she begins to look up, eight thousand pounds of charging bear hits her. Luna shoves the hag backwards with sheer weight and momentum, growling and clawing, but even her huge claws barely graze Maenya’s rock-hard skin. With an angry snarl, the druid rears up and wraps both forepaws around Maenya, trying to squeeze her into submission. But even as she tries to bite down on the hag’s unarmored head, an elbow smashes into Luna’s throat with stunning force, causing her to gag momentarily. Muscles like ironwood flex as Maenya forces Luna’s muzzle back with one hand, while her other hand reaches up and frees her axe, its dark blade seeming to draw in rather than reflect the firelight. “No more playing!” the hag says, her smile now more of a snarl.
Her brow furrows as she concentrates, and the Angels (except Gareth, safe inside the
cocoon) convulse in agony as an invisible magical assault rips into them. It feels as if the moisture within their bodies were being momentarily vaporized, sending searing pangs throughout them, leaving them feeling desiccated and painfully dried out from the inside. Nameless’ eyes go wide in shock.
Horrid Wilting! A dweomer of the eighth valence!** And then his eyes widen as everything falls into place. The hag’s unnatural resistance to magic, far beyond what even a particularly powerful annis should have. The gleam of red in her eyes. Her ability to use a
horrid wilting without pronouncing a word or making a gesture. “Son of a bitch! She’s a half-fiend!”
The hag smiles at the words. “How clever!”
With no time for discussing this revelation, Korm rushes in too, trying to take advantage of Luna’s attempts, however abortive, to wrestle the hag to the ground. As with the bear’s claws, even the blade of his meteoric sword only inflicts a series of shallow wounds on her. Sora Maenya does not have the same problem. Shoving Luna’s bulk away, she takes her axe in both hands and swings it in mighty arcs, depicting gigantic figures of eight, each one ending with a blow at Korm or Luna. Despite their skill and multiple protective dweomers, the two druids can barely withstand the slashing strokes, each of which cracks bone and rends flesh, threatening to drop them at any instant.
Nameless, not wanting to risk failing to penetrate the hag’s resistance, casts his most powerful conjuration, and then swears loudly as he only
summons one creature, instead of the three he could have. Nevertheless, his pseudonatural stag beetle buys the others some time, rearing up to drive its giant mandibles into the hag’s back. For the first time in the battle, Sora Maenya cries out at the blow, dark blood running down her tunic to join that dripping from the myriad small wounds she already carries, and the emboldened druids rush back in, desperately trying to hold her until a fully healed Gareth is able to rejoin the fight. They, and Nameless, hear a momentary commotion at the door, but there is no time to worry about that.
Korm sees an opportunity as he comes in, as the hag launches a low, sweeping blow at his knees. The Gatekeeper bounds forward and up, rising high above the axe, bringing down his sword in a powerful two-handed chop that would cut most enemies in half, but only deeply gashes his foe’s chest. Though blood pours out, Sora Maenya only smiles, and Korm realizes a second too late that it was a feint. The hag’s axe changes direction at incredible speed, sweeping up instead of around, and meeting Korm as he comes down. The adamantine blade rips through the orc’s
stoneskin and lays open his belly from navel to breastbone. Too hurt to even cry out, Korm falls in a heap, dropping his sword and curling up in agony to reflexively try and hold back the guts spilling out of the wound.
Sora Maenya doesn’t pause to celebrate but continues around, her axe splashing Korm’s blood into Luna’s eyes. The momentarily blinded bear swings wildly at her, only to scream as a slash almost severs a paw, and desperately swings her head back and forth to clear her vision. Success, and a cry of “Look out, Luna!” from Nameless, comes a split second too late. Her eyes clear just in time to see the axe come down right between them. There is the tortured crunch of splitting bone and an accompanying spurt of crimson fluid from Luna’s nostrils, and she collapses***. Sora Maenya grins triumphantly at Nameless, who has backed up as far as he can against the wall, and rips the axe free, before casually leaning sideways to bury her fangs into Korm’s defenseless back. The Gatekeeper drops too, blood pooling around him.
Nameless’
summoned stag beetle continues to attack, but having used its one magically imbued attack, it has no success. Neither does Nameless, hurling another abortive spell, before clawing quickly at his belt. As Korm’s
cocoon falls apart and Gareth steps out, sword raised, to see the scene of carnage, the alienist hurriedly produces a sheet of paper and waves it. “Did I mention that we have a letter from your sister?”
Sora Maenya, in the process of stepping towards Gareth, frowns slightly at the unexpected words. At the same moment, all of them hear the sound of spellcasting beyond the
acid fog and it disappears, revealing a few ogres and trolls looking around the sides of the open doorway. Between the doors stands the slightly hunched figure of the spellcaster. She wears a long cloak with the hood pushed back, revealing the face of a crone, covered in shriveled orange skin like weathered parchment, framed in long wispy gray hair. Her eyes are milky white and apparently blind, but she is evidently aware of what is occurring, since she speaks sharply. “Maenya – stop it! What are you doing?” The annis makes no reply but does step back and lower her axe, the fiercely amused expression being replaced by one that can only be described as embarrassingly sullen, like that of a naughty child caught red-handed.
The crone, whom Nameless recognizes as a dusk hag, hurries forward to Korm. As Gareth protectively steps forward, Nameless quickly calls a command to his beetle and says, “Gareth, stop! Check on Luna!” before adding to her, “Sora Teraza, I presume?”
“Yes,” she says, leaning over Korm. With one hand, she pushes Korm’s viscera back into his ripped stomach, and gestures with the other as she casts. Nameless and Gareth both recognize it as a
heal, and as the powerful conjuration instantly seals Korm’s wounds, the Gatekeeper begins to stir. As his eyes open and he looks up in confusion at the dusk hag, Nameless quickly says, “It’s all right, Korm!” Gareth, having hurried across to Luna and cast a couple of healing spells, also hurriedly explains to her what has happened, or at least as much of it as he can understand.
Now that they are all out of danger, Sora Teraza ignores the Angels, rounding on her much larger sister. Striding up to Sora Maenya, she says sternly, “Why did you have the warforged moved, Maenya? You could have ruined everything!” The object of the scolding grumbles, “I was just getting some exercise,” drawing a heartfelt comment of “And very impressive exercise it was too!” from Nameless. Maenya grins at him and then quickly looks back to Teraza. “The warforged is safe. I just wanted to see what’s so special about this bunch. They’re pretty good, I must say. They also managed to take out some of the new lycanthropes. I’d figured I’d test them that way as well. Katra will be a little unhappy, but we can make more.” Teraza stares up at her with the sightless eyes for a long moment, and then turns away to address the Angels. “Forgive my sister’s behavior. And the manner in which I had to bring you here. Unfortunately, there was extreme urgency, and I didn’t think you’d come under any other circumstances. Please follow me and I’ll explain everything. Do not worry. You are our guests, and safe here.” She bestows a withering frown on Maenya and turns away.
The annis follows, and after a couple of seconds, so do the Angels. As they pass out of the chamber, the ogres and trolls fall in behind them. Gareth throws them a wary look and then leans over to whisper to Nameless, “I think we could have taken her, don’t you?” The look the alienist responds with makes Teraza’s last one to Maenya seem remarkably friendly. “You,” he says succinctly, “Are an
idiot!”
Nameless then turns to study the area they are passing through, as the others are doing. The Angels and their hosts/guards are passing along a gigantic verandah, with chambers and tunnels to their right, while gigantic windows behind thick stone pillars to their left look out over a large city. The city, from what they can see of it, extends from the side of a vast mountain, into which the building they are in is set, which looks out over a huge, fertile plain. Though hardly as large (even two-dimensionally) as Sharn, the city is quite large and evidently still growing, with hundreds of tents and huts extending in a thick arc around the central area of stone buildings, many of which are ruinous and under reconstruction. One side of the city is taken up by what looks like a large and well-organized barracks, and a gigantic arena dominates another part. It is populous as it is sizeable, clearly holding tens of thousands of creatures. Nameless recognizes the place as the Great Crag, taking its name from the mountain above, capital and stronghold of the Daughters of Sora Kell, where the monstrous denizens of Droaam gather to pay tribute.
Examples of the inhabitants are quickly encountered as the group proceeds past the verandah and further into the complex they are in. Most of the creatures they pass are gnolls, but its busy chambers and passageways hold orcs, goblinoids, ogres, and trolls, as well as a few minotaurs, many of whom stop to stare at the group or respond to a word or two from the hags. Though none are present nearby, the Angels see a flight of harpies rising above them through a window, heading towards what look like numerous roosts in the cliffs above. As the Angels pass, a couple of burly hill giants pause in their labor, lowering a gigantic block of stone that they are pushing into place in a ruined hall of the palace, which resembles the city in undergoing – and clearly needing – significant reconstruction. In places its origins are evident to the trained eye, the faded abstractions of Dhakaani architecture blending with the duller and blocky construction that has been more recently added.
Eventually, the Angels come to a large pair of doors, guarded by four ogres, who turn and push them open as the group approaches. Teraza stops and gestures at the dark, torchlit cavern within. “Enter freely. Your friend is waiting.”
* * *
A few minutes later, the Angels – including Six – are seated on mats or low stools with the two hags beneath the grove of twisted darkwood trees, digging into a hearty meal while Sora Teraza explains why she brought them here.
Though listening intently, Nameless gazes at the skulls decorating the walls of the chamber, thinking of a legend he had once heard. The tale said that one of Sora Maenya’s unique abilities is to bind a creature’s soul into its skull, by feasting on the body and performing a particular ritual, making it impossible to ever return the victim to life through any means as long as the skull remains unbroken. Nameless’ permanent
arcane sight has already told him that every skull in the chamber reeks of strong necromantic magic, and he puts this down as one of the various legends that his experiences have served to corroborate. As he turns back to the conversation, Maenya catches his eye and smiles, tongue sliding wetly and lasciviously over her pointed teeth, as if she knew what he was thinking.
Ignoring her, Nameless addresses Teraza. “So you do know that the original vision or prophecy you had regarding us was a fake?”
“Yes,” she nods, pale white orbs bent on him, “I realized that only a fortnight later. I attempted to contact you, but by that point you had already departed for Xen’drik.” She shakes her head slowly. “I still do not know how that rakshasa Zathara did it.”
“Nor do we, but we know he had a lot of resources. And was
very powerful.”
“Not enough to survive meeting you all,” adds Maenya. “From what Teraza described to us, it was a good battle.” Her sister explains, “I had a vision of what was happening when you finally fought him. It is a good thing for all of Eberron that you won.”
“Yes,” nods Korm. “What he was trying was … well, not likely to improve anyone’s future. But you have not yet told us what the urgency of this meeting was.”
“Yes,” says Teraza. “Let me do so.” Her gaze, such as it is, returns to Nameless. “Right after you returned from the Wastes, I had a vision of something dire to happen to you, which might have a bearing for all of us. I sent an agent – the one who brought you here, Six – to watch and wait until I knew what to do. Again, only weeks ago, I had a second vision, and the day of your temporary demise, one more, which told me much more. I had learned that my agent was among those contacted to participate in an attack on your group, and it seemed the perfect opportunity. So I took it.”
She raises a gnarled and wrinkled hand to point at Nameless’ chest. “Do you know what you carry there now?”
“No, but …” begins Nameless, pausing to glare when Gareth interrupts, “We know that it’s evil and strongly magical. Do you know what it is?”
“No.” Teraza shakes her head. “But what my visions told me is that though whatever it is may be quiescent now, it can be brought to life, and what it will birth would threaten all of Khorvaire and reshape the world as we know it.”
As she is speaking, Gareth surreptitiously begins to use his newly regained ability to
detect evil in the area, finding its presence. As he does, Nameless realizes what he is doing, due to the permanent
arcane sight, and elbows Gareth violently in the ribs. Gareth shoves him back, trying to concentrate on the aura, and manages to find one aura (though he is focusing on the two hags), an overwhelmingly powerful one. Despite the jostling, he manages to pinpoint it as emanating from Sora Maenya.
“Is there a problem?” asks Teraza, while Maenya growls and reaches for her axe, which she has placed nearby.
“Forgive my associate,” says Nameless, “But he persists in being rude by attempting to gather information that never helps us and thinks he’s being subtle, no matter how transparent he is. He was trying to
detect if any of you are evil.” Teraza doesn’t respond, but Maenya begins to chuckle at the news, while Gareth rounds angrily on Nameless. “If you didn’t tell people about it, they’d never know!” Korm puts in, with a deep chuckle too, “And then we know who to trust and who to give a survey to.” Gareth shakes his head and subsides, muttering, “Next time, I
will smack you. Hard!” Nameless ignores him and says, “Please, continue.”
Before Teraza can do so, Maenya interrupts. “If he’s walking around with something so dangerous in his chest, why not just kill him?” She grins and says, “I could use a new skull.”
“NO!” Teraza’s reply is loud and firm. “He must
not be harmed!” Apparently seeing the slightly surprised looks on not just Maenya’s but the Angels’ faces, she turns and explains. “I only have a couple of details, but there’s one thing my visions make me certain of. Nameless’ death would release or activate whatever it is he carries within him. He must not be slain.”
“That is a problem, with our line of work and lifestyle,” says Korm.
“Precisely. That’s why I wished to contact and warn you as soon as possible. You need to be as careful as you can, and hopefully find out exactly what is the situation with you. I would like to help you as much as I can.”
“I mean no offense,” says Gareth, trying to sound as polite as he can, “But why should we trust you? We have been fooled before. And while you have been helpful, your sister is overwhelmingly evil.” Sora Maenya simply grins at the comment, but Sora Teraza replies seriously, “True, but this is not a matter of good or evil. There are many powers and groups in our world who would be very interested in Nameless’ condition and be hardly helpful or forthcoming as I am being, whether they are good or evil. The Blood of Vol, the Lords of Dust, the Gatekeepers, the Church of the Silver Flame, the Dragonmarked Houses – they all have personal agendas and desires, and a serious danger to Khorvaire puts them at risk.” She pauses for a moment, and then asks, “What do you think the Church of the Silver Flame would do if they knew what I have told you?”
“Probably lock Nameless away somewhere and study him,” replies Gareth instantly. He looks at Nameless and continues, “Which is not a bad idea. As Korm said, with our lifestyle, you’re always in danger of getting killed, and if –
if – you are infected with something so dangerous, keeping you safe and looking for a cure or solution is the best option, I think. Few organizations have the Church’s options in that area.”
Before anyone else can put in, Teraza turns quickly to Korm. “And what do you think? How would the Gatekeepers react? They have always been more concerned about Xoriat than any others.”
Korm frowns slightly and then replies, more slowly than Gareth, “This time I think Gareth is right. If Nameless’ death would release such danger on the world, then he should be kept safe somewhere, preferably where few would know of and be able to find him.” He looks at the alienist and shrugs. “Sorry.”
“Well,” adds Six, who has been listening silently for the most part, “If Nameless’ death would release this … whatever it is, locking him in a room doesn’t seem like much of a solution. Does it improve anything if a gate to Xoriat pops out of his chest forty years later?”
“Yes,” argues Gareth. “That’s better than risking it being released tomorrow. And forty years is a long time, which might allow the discovery of a solution.”
“But for a solution,” persists Six, “You’re probably going to need a powerful mage who’s especially well-informed about Xoriat, and Nameless is one of the most powerful of those around. Even if you did find one knowledgeable enough to help, how do you know they will, or even that something similar might not have happened to them?”
Before Gareth can respond, Sora Teraza turns back to Nameless and says, “You see what I mean.” The alienist nods and then looks around and says flatly, “Nobody’s locking me up anywhere,” before addressing her. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“Perhaps, but I would like a little more precise information, since what I know of it are from my visions. Could you tell me what happened?”
“Certainly.” Nameless proceeds on a description of what he experienced while on Xoriat, again making sure to leave out any details that might have to do with the imprint in his head or link back to his experience in the Mournland.
Once he finishes, Sora Teraza says, “Thank you. That may help if and when I have another vision, since I am not an expert on either the daelkyr or Xoriat. Which is why I have considered a possible source that is much more knowledgeable on the subject, and who might be able to help with learning more about your condition. Tell me – have you heard of Mordain the Fleshweaver?”
There is a moment of silence while the other Angels look blank and Nameless furrows his brow in thought. And then Sora Maenya begins to giggle.
* He criticaled her for 80+ pts or so
** This is where Rackhir went, “Jesus Christ! That’s
9th level!” and I corrected him that it was only eighth
*** I think she got dropped to -30 or something like that
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Six had predicted that they'd have trouble with the remaining twin because of killing his brother, and turned out to be right.
