Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
Old Acquaintances Revisited
Baden waited for Poridel’s guardsman to close the door before tossing a large leather sack onto the table in front of the Tower Sage. It landed with a meaty report.
Poridel stared at the unopened bag for some time before looking up to regard each member of the party. “You have done a great and noble service to this Isle, friends. One that may remain unknown and overlooked-”
“I doubt that.” Kellus shot a glance in John’s direction.
“-but, nonetheless, a deed that deserves an entry in the annals of heroes.”
The sage stood up, clasped both hands behind his back, and began to circle the table. He stared at the sack like a child watching a viper. As the party settled into comfortable seats around the trestle, Poridel’s face softened. His tone, when he next spoke, was filled with respect. “And so Ippizicus Child-Eater, bane to ancient Valudia, terror to the peoples north of the Jaspar, now lies slain – banished to his own infernal plane. Within the sack is the great demon-beast’s head, I presume?”
“Breakfast muffins, actually.” John kicked off his boots and crossed his legs upon the table. “Filled with just enough berries to make them crumble when grasped. Annoying, actually – I would have thought the bakers hereabouts were more skilled.”
Poridel arched his brow. “Indeed.” The sage took a moment to gather his thoughts after taking his own seat. He placed both his palms upon the table. “So, friends, what now?”
Kellus rested his elbows upon the table and fixed a hard stare at Poridel. “You mentioned the Twin Prophecies, when we first met. I would know more.”
“Ah, well,” Poridel nodded, “that is a rather confusing tale.” The sage watched as John opened the sack and began to toss muffins to those seated around him. “Hundreds of years ago, after the last Basilican city-state fell to the new Empire of Apia, two monks began to chant.”
“Fascinating,” John quipped, his mouth stuffed with muffin.
“Each monk was of a different church and, though both were within present-day Basilica, they were hundreds of miles apart. Their chants, however, were nearly identical. They were gripped in the throes of prophecy, and their respective abbots recognized oracular words when they heard them. Thus, the chants were recorded by their fellow penitents.”
Kellus nodded. “And these records – they are what you refer to as the Twin Prophecies?”
Poridel nodded. “Nearly identical, but not quite. For one presaged the doom of Ostia Prim-”
“And the other spoke of how Good would triumph. Eh?” John smiled, his lips stained with berry juice. “Seems like the beginning of a cliché. It would make a poor song.”
“No, friend,” Poridel answered, not unkindly. “The second also alluded to Evil overcoming all, in the end – though in a slightly different manner.”
John frowned. “Make that – a very poor song.”
“I do not disagree. The abbots and their brothers were horrified of what the chanting monks foretold. The world, it seemed, would descend into a time of despair. The Lamia Imperator, the demonic ruler of the Rorn who was last seen during the ending of the Sin War, would return to once again seek godhood.”
Baden grimaced. “What does this have to do with us?”
And Raylin: “Sage, do you hold these prophecies to be true?”
Poridel continued. “I believe they hint toward the truth, but – like all prophecies – may be interpreted in a myriad number of ways.” The sage eyed Baden. “As to your question – the Twin Prophecies concern the lot of you because you, friends, set them in motion. Both chants commence with the return of Ippizicus.”
Kellus rolled a berry between thumb and forefinger. “What do the prophecies say shall occur next?”
“A good question, friend.” Poridel leaned back in his chair. “Most scholars – of which I am one – would agree that nothing is certain. The prophecies do not tell how events will unfold, but only that they shall. And even then, the passages are cloaked in riddles and buried beneath enigmas.”
Baden grunted. “There is a clan of my folk not far from Axemarch - the Foxfurs. They kill mountain bears and their runethanes afterward poke about the entrails with stoneshod staves. They mutter prophecies, too, yet none can understand what they mean.” The dwarf plucked a crumb from his beard and tossed it onto the floor. “In the end, I think, they mean nothing. These so-called holy men just bide their time until events unfold and then they marry the truth to what they said previously.”
Kellus spoke before Poridel could reply. “We could debate the validity of prophecies until the end of this Age. What concerns me, however, is what these monks said would occur next. You must have some idea, Master Poriden.”
“I do.” Poridel raised a hand to the party, palm outward. “Pretend that my wrist symbolizes the return of Ippizicus. The prophecies do not state whether he would be slain or not. But they do discuss other names-”
“Other demons?” At Poridel’s nod, John sighed. “Give me a Gordian reaver or Cymerian buccaneer – and I will shower the world with tales of my heroism. But demons…I grow tired of ancient demons and ancient tales.”
Poridel acknowledged John’s complaint with an empathetic nod. “From the return of the Child-Eater, the chants splinter into various threads.” The sage wiggled the fingers of his upraised hand. “Many of these branches are – presently – nonsensical. We do not know to what they refer. But two names are mentioned, as I said, and these names belong to demonic contemporaries of Ippizicus.”
Poridel lowered his hand. He measured each member of the party in turn. “One has been lost, but the other has not. His name is Ral, called Torturer, and he slumbers beneath the Duskingdell Barrows not a tenday from here.”
***
“And why do you tell us this?” Baden shifted uncomfortably.
“Because you are ensnared in the Twin Prophecies,” Poridel quickly answered. “I told you earlier that many know of these Basilican monks and their chants – not just myself. Those who released Ippizicus – that would be the lot of you - have a part to play in the rest of the tale.”
“What part?” Kellus did not appear eager to hear the answer.
“A major one.”
“For good or evil?”
“Forgive me, but I simply do not know.” Poridel patted the back of Kellus’ hand before continuing. “And neither do those who are our enemies. But they are the type to hedge their bets, so to speak. I have little doubt they will endeavor to remove you from contention so as to not worry over your influence upon fate.”
“By that, you mean: they will seek to kill us.”
“Yes, most certainly.” Poridel intertwined his fingers and leaned forward. “But we must not let them-”
“For once,” John declared a trifle too loudly, “I am in agreement with you.”
“Just as the lot of you took the initiative at Olgotha, and later at the church along the Bluehorn, so must you take it now. Strike those beings we know to be evil, before they grow in their knowledge and their power.”
John raised his eyes heavenward. “Why do I feel like an errand boy?”
“I should think you would feel more like a hero.”
“A hero?” John’s face grew dark. “Do you know what we have done these past tendays, sage? Do you?” The bard glowered. “We have killed mercenaries from Tarn Cal – husbands and fathers, most likely, who simply were doing their duty to gather enough coins to put bread upon the table. Then we trekked across this godforsaken land and climbed a mountain to fully gaze upon the evil of the dwem. I went through one pair of breeches from my fear at seeing the wyvern on Borbidan’s crest, and another from having a nightmare about the encounter the following evening.”
“I honor those sacrifices you and your companions have made, John of Pell, but-”
“Ah, yes,” John continued, the bitterness now full in his voice. “Sacrifices. I had the pleasure of watching our half-troll shove his thumb through the neck of a Basilican – little more than a child – while he slept. Let us not forget our sacrifices, eh?”
***
The room was quiet for some time. Poridel appeared uncertain. “Friends – and I call you such because you are friends to all those who would see Good in this world – I know your path has not been easy. This world is more gray than white, and more black than gray. Hopes fade with each setting of the sun. These are bleak times – hard times – and none who walk within this interminable twilight are untouched by sadness.”
“A sermon worthy of Ilmater,” Kellus opined. The former priest wearily rubbed fingers into his bald pate.
“I have nothing.” Kellus looked away from the sage and instead addressed his companions. “My father is gone. My faith spurned. I have no home, no hearth, and no aim. If…if slaying this second demon would somehow give meaning to an otherwise wasted life, then…then I shall do it, or die in the attempt.”
John was quiet.
Raylin spoke after an awkward moment. “Do you have coins to pay us?”
“No.” Poridel shook his head. “I have used what little funds I possessed to learn the scant knowledge I now have. If you do this thing, then your reward will not be in gold.”
When Kellus next spoke, his gaze did not leave the table. “I left the Church of Helm when my father was killed. This is known. But I had begun to doubt long before that tragedy.” The Rhelmsman drummed his fingers on the table. “It is taught in the Helm catechism that the demons and devils fell from the heavens. They were once angels, celestial beings of great power and beauty. They lived within a cosmos that was perfect. But they desired more than their lot, and they reached for it, and they made war amongst the stars. And for that, they were cast down.”
The former priest looked up to regard his companions. “The heavens are perfect, I say. Thus – any change from that pinnacle could only be, by logic, a change for the worse. For how can one achieve greater perfection? Perfection itself is an absolute.”
John rubbed his face, trying and failing to hide his exasperation. “Why this, Kellus? And why now?”
“Because, should I fall, I would have this known.” Kellus challenged John with a stare before once again addressing the entire party. “The reason why I first doubted Helm is rather simple: if these demons and devils once basked within absolute perfection, then – why did they have any need for more? In a state of perfect bliss, there should be no need.”
Poridel opened his mouth to respond, but Kellus held up a hand. “I do not want answers, less so debate. I only know this – I need to rid the world of those that do not belong here. I do not know why. These demons, these devils, they are not of this plane. They are abominations. They stained the very heavens with their cloven passage, and I would not have them make this shadowy world any more grim than it need be.”
Kellus sat his mace upon the table. “Sage, I would go to find this Ral the Torturer. Alone, if need be. And I need no payment other than knowing I have done what I could. But…but when will this end? Will it end?”
Poridel looked upon the Rhelmsman like father to son. “No, friend. I do not think it will end. We must do what we can in the time allotted to us, in the hopes the great darkness will be delayed.”
Vath spoke for the first time since entering the chambers. “Then both prophecies have this creature – this Lamia Imperator of whom you spoke – being victorious?”
“I am afraid so,” Poridel answered. “He can be delayed, harried, injured, and weakened. But not destroyed.”
“I will pretend I did not hear your last comment,” John muttered, “else I would think myself twice the fool I already am for agreeing to this second quest.”
Poridel smiled, though without humor. “Then you, too, will seek the death of Ral?”
“I will.” John looked about at the faces of his companions. “And since my friends are, on the whole, less intelligent than myself, I have little doubt they will go on this fool’s errand as well.”
Amelyssan gave his assent with a slight nod. “Master Poriden, one last question – you mentioned two demons, yes? The first is Ral, and we know he resides within the Duskingdell. Yet you did not elaborate on the second.”
“Ah, yes,” Poridel sighed, “the second was a man, at one time, and was granted his demonhood by the Lamia Imperator himself. I do not know where he now is, though I am rather certain he is upon this plane.”
John felt his stomach sink. “His name?”
“Baphtemet.”
“Baphtemet?” The entire party echoed the sage as one.
“Aye, Baphtemet.” Poridel appeared confused. “Do you know of him?”
“Aye,” John answered, his voice hoarse, “you could say that.”
Baden waited for Poridel’s guardsman to close the door before tossing a large leather sack onto the table in front of the Tower Sage. It landed with a meaty report.
Poridel stared at the unopened bag for some time before looking up to regard each member of the party. “You have done a great and noble service to this Isle, friends. One that may remain unknown and overlooked-”
“I doubt that.” Kellus shot a glance in John’s direction.
“-but, nonetheless, a deed that deserves an entry in the annals of heroes.”
The sage stood up, clasped both hands behind his back, and began to circle the table. He stared at the sack like a child watching a viper. As the party settled into comfortable seats around the trestle, Poridel’s face softened. His tone, when he next spoke, was filled with respect. “And so Ippizicus Child-Eater, bane to ancient Valudia, terror to the peoples north of the Jaspar, now lies slain – banished to his own infernal plane. Within the sack is the great demon-beast’s head, I presume?”
“Breakfast muffins, actually.” John kicked off his boots and crossed his legs upon the table. “Filled with just enough berries to make them crumble when grasped. Annoying, actually – I would have thought the bakers hereabouts were more skilled.”
Poridel arched his brow. “Indeed.” The sage took a moment to gather his thoughts after taking his own seat. He placed both his palms upon the table. “So, friends, what now?”
Kellus rested his elbows upon the table and fixed a hard stare at Poridel. “You mentioned the Twin Prophecies, when we first met. I would know more.”
“Ah, well,” Poridel nodded, “that is a rather confusing tale.” The sage watched as John opened the sack and began to toss muffins to those seated around him. “Hundreds of years ago, after the last Basilican city-state fell to the new Empire of Apia, two monks began to chant.”
“Fascinating,” John quipped, his mouth stuffed with muffin.
“Each monk was of a different church and, though both were within present-day Basilica, they were hundreds of miles apart. Their chants, however, were nearly identical. They were gripped in the throes of prophecy, and their respective abbots recognized oracular words when they heard them. Thus, the chants were recorded by their fellow penitents.”
Kellus nodded. “And these records – they are what you refer to as the Twin Prophecies?”
Poridel nodded. “Nearly identical, but not quite. For one presaged the doom of Ostia Prim-”
“And the other spoke of how Good would triumph. Eh?” John smiled, his lips stained with berry juice. “Seems like the beginning of a cliché. It would make a poor song.”
“No, friend,” Poridel answered, not unkindly. “The second also alluded to Evil overcoming all, in the end – though in a slightly different manner.”
John frowned. “Make that – a very poor song.”
“I do not disagree. The abbots and their brothers were horrified of what the chanting monks foretold. The world, it seemed, would descend into a time of despair. The Lamia Imperator, the demonic ruler of the Rorn who was last seen during the ending of the Sin War, would return to once again seek godhood.”
Baden grimaced. “What does this have to do with us?”
And Raylin: “Sage, do you hold these prophecies to be true?”
Poridel continued. “I believe they hint toward the truth, but – like all prophecies – may be interpreted in a myriad number of ways.” The sage eyed Baden. “As to your question – the Twin Prophecies concern the lot of you because you, friends, set them in motion. Both chants commence with the return of Ippizicus.”
Kellus rolled a berry between thumb and forefinger. “What do the prophecies say shall occur next?”
“A good question, friend.” Poridel leaned back in his chair. “Most scholars – of which I am one – would agree that nothing is certain. The prophecies do not tell how events will unfold, but only that they shall. And even then, the passages are cloaked in riddles and buried beneath enigmas.”
Baden grunted. “There is a clan of my folk not far from Axemarch - the Foxfurs. They kill mountain bears and their runethanes afterward poke about the entrails with stoneshod staves. They mutter prophecies, too, yet none can understand what they mean.” The dwarf plucked a crumb from his beard and tossed it onto the floor. “In the end, I think, they mean nothing. These so-called holy men just bide their time until events unfold and then they marry the truth to what they said previously.”
Kellus spoke before Poridel could reply. “We could debate the validity of prophecies until the end of this Age. What concerns me, however, is what these monks said would occur next. You must have some idea, Master Poriden.”
“I do.” Poridel raised a hand to the party, palm outward. “Pretend that my wrist symbolizes the return of Ippizicus. The prophecies do not state whether he would be slain or not. But they do discuss other names-”
“Other demons?” At Poridel’s nod, John sighed. “Give me a Gordian reaver or Cymerian buccaneer – and I will shower the world with tales of my heroism. But demons…I grow tired of ancient demons and ancient tales.”
Poridel acknowledged John’s complaint with an empathetic nod. “From the return of the Child-Eater, the chants splinter into various threads.” The sage wiggled the fingers of his upraised hand. “Many of these branches are – presently – nonsensical. We do not know to what they refer. But two names are mentioned, as I said, and these names belong to demonic contemporaries of Ippizicus.”
Poridel lowered his hand. He measured each member of the party in turn. “One has been lost, but the other has not. His name is Ral, called Torturer, and he slumbers beneath the Duskingdell Barrows not a tenday from here.”
***
“And why do you tell us this?” Baden shifted uncomfortably.
“Because you are ensnared in the Twin Prophecies,” Poridel quickly answered. “I told you earlier that many know of these Basilican monks and their chants – not just myself. Those who released Ippizicus – that would be the lot of you - have a part to play in the rest of the tale.”
“What part?” Kellus did not appear eager to hear the answer.
“A major one.”
“For good or evil?”
“Forgive me, but I simply do not know.” Poridel patted the back of Kellus’ hand before continuing. “And neither do those who are our enemies. But they are the type to hedge their bets, so to speak. I have little doubt they will endeavor to remove you from contention so as to not worry over your influence upon fate.”
“By that, you mean: they will seek to kill us.”
“Yes, most certainly.” Poridel intertwined his fingers and leaned forward. “But we must not let them-”
“For once,” John declared a trifle too loudly, “I am in agreement with you.”
“Just as the lot of you took the initiative at Olgotha, and later at the church along the Bluehorn, so must you take it now. Strike those beings we know to be evil, before they grow in their knowledge and their power.”
John raised his eyes heavenward. “Why do I feel like an errand boy?”
“I should think you would feel more like a hero.”
“A hero?” John’s face grew dark. “Do you know what we have done these past tendays, sage? Do you?” The bard glowered. “We have killed mercenaries from Tarn Cal – husbands and fathers, most likely, who simply were doing their duty to gather enough coins to put bread upon the table. Then we trekked across this godforsaken land and climbed a mountain to fully gaze upon the evil of the dwem. I went through one pair of breeches from my fear at seeing the wyvern on Borbidan’s crest, and another from having a nightmare about the encounter the following evening.”
“I honor those sacrifices you and your companions have made, John of Pell, but-”
“Ah, yes,” John continued, the bitterness now full in his voice. “Sacrifices. I had the pleasure of watching our half-troll shove his thumb through the neck of a Basilican – little more than a child – while he slept. Let us not forget our sacrifices, eh?”
***
The room was quiet for some time. Poridel appeared uncertain. “Friends – and I call you such because you are friends to all those who would see Good in this world – I know your path has not been easy. This world is more gray than white, and more black than gray. Hopes fade with each setting of the sun. These are bleak times – hard times – and none who walk within this interminable twilight are untouched by sadness.”
“A sermon worthy of Ilmater,” Kellus opined. The former priest wearily rubbed fingers into his bald pate.
“I have nothing.” Kellus looked away from the sage and instead addressed his companions. “My father is gone. My faith spurned. I have no home, no hearth, and no aim. If…if slaying this second demon would somehow give meaning to an otherwise wasted life, then…then I shall do it, or die in the attempt.”
John was quiet.
Raylin spoke after an awkward moment. “Do you have coins to pay us?”
“No.” Poridel shook his head. “I have used what little funds I possessed to learn the scant knowledge I now have. If you do this thing, then your reward will not be in gold.”
When Kellus next spoke, his gaze did not leave the table. “I left the Church of Helm when my father was killed. This is known. But I had begun to doubt long before that tragedy.” The Rhelmsman drummed his fingers on the table. “It is taught in the Helm catechism that the demons and devils fell from the heavens. They were once angels, celestial beings of great power and beauty. They lived within a cosmos that was perfect. But they desired more than their lot, and they reached for it, and they made war amongst the stars. And for that, they were cast down.”
The former priest looked up to regard his companions. “The heavens are perfect, I say. Thus – any change from that pinnacle could only be, by logic, a change for the worse. For how can one achieve greater perfection? Perfection itself is an absolute.”
John rubbed his face, trying and failing to hide his exasperation. “Why this, Kellus? And why now?”
“Because, should I fall, I would have this known.” Kellus challenged John with a stare before once again addressing the entire party. “The reason why I first doubted Helm is rather simple: if these demons and devils once basked within absolute perfection, then – why did they have any need for more? In a state of perfect bliss, there should be no need.”
Poridel opened his mouth to respond, but Kellus held up a hand. “I do not want answers, less so debate. I only know this – I need to rid the world of those that do not belong here. I do not know why. These demons, these devils, they are not of this plane. They are abominations. They stained the very heavens with their cloven passage, and I would not have them make this shadowy world any more grim than it need be.”
Kellus sat his mace upon the table. “Sage, I would go to find this Ral the Torturer. Alone, if need be. And I need no payment other than knowing I have done what I could. But…but when will this end? Will it end?”
Poridel looked upon the Rhelmsman like father to son. “No, friend. I do not think it will end. We must do what we can in the time allotted to us, in the hopes the great darkness will be delayed.”
Vath spoke for the first time since entering the chambers. “Then both prophecies have this creature – this Lamia Imperator of whom you spoke – being victorious?”
“I am afraid so,” Poridel answered. “He can be delayed, harried, injured, and weakened. But not destroyed.”
“I will pretend I did not hear your last comment,” John muttered, “else I would think myself twice the fool I already am for agreeing to this second quest.”
Poridel smiled, though without humor. “Then you, too, will seek the death of Ral?”
“I will.” John looked about at the faces of his companions. “And since my friends are, on the whole, less intelligent than myself, I have little doubt they will go on this fool’s errand as well.”
Amelyssan gave his assent with a slight nod. “Master Poriden, one last question – you mentioned two demons, yes? The first is Ral, and we know he resides within the Duskingdell. Yet you did not elaborate on the second.”
“Ah, yes,” Poridel sighed, “the second was a man, at one time, and was granted his demonhood by the Lamia Imperator himself. I do not know where he now is, though I am rather certain he is upon this plane.”
John felt his stomach sink. “His name?”
“Baphtemet.”
“Baphtemet?” The entire party echoed the sage as one.
“Aye, Baphtemet.” Poridel appeared confused. “Do you know of him?”
“Aye,” John answered, his voice hoarse, “you could say that.”
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, just simple praise for a job very well done. I sincerely hope that you heed the advice coming from your readers (myself included), that you never manage to catch up with your current story, so we have lots and lots of happy times reading your posts.
