Soneillon. Part 1 (Updated 6/15)
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
Sepulchrave II
Legend
I had hoped for time to write a longer update. The next week is likely to be a tad hectic. Oh well...
**
They had chosen a small hillock with a flat top, covered with short, springy grass, some sixty miles from Irknaan’s fortified palace – technically beyond his immediate hegemony, or so Nufrut had told them. It had once been the abode of sprites according to Nwm, although none now lived there. It was an isolated area, and their nearest neighbours were a bevy of Nereids who dwelt in a small lake three miles distant, and a solitary Redcap – perhaps the most unpleasant and disagreeable of all feys – who had taken up residence in a crumbling structure that may once have been a tower. None represented a threat to the party, although the Redcap had succumbed to – or willingly embraced – the mixture of umbral bleed and Abyssal taint that seeped into Afqithan.
At Ortwin’s request – and in keeping with the Bard’s general scheme to exhibit as much blustering grandiosity as possible – Mostin summoned a group of Djinn and had them erect a modestly-sized pavillion and several smaller tents on top of the hill, complete with banners and pennants which fluttered in the gentle breeze. Ortwin had chosen the device of a scarlet basilisk surrounded by nineteen oriels, which, although promising some esoteric heraldic significance, was in fact as vacuous as his own claim to nobility. Lorochtoh’s dragon-head sat upon a pike: the grim trophy of a hunt successfully – albeit painfully – executed. Presently, however, the camp was blanketed by a screen cast by Shomei, until their defenses were established. All, with the exception of Iua, maintained their respective disguises.
The group discussed the peculiar traits of Afqithan – notably its enhanced magic, and the implications of the shadowstuff which seemed to exist in varying concentrations. The demiplane was anomalous: according to Shomei, there were portals which linked it to Faerie proper, and at certain times sympathetic resonances would allow passage between the worlds. But, excepting powerful magic, there was no way of accessing the Prime other than through Shadow – which was an uncharted and likely perilous route.
"Shadow and Faerie are not mutually coextant," the Infernalist explained. "Afqithan should be seen as a threshold between two realities which do not normally interact."
"And the taint?" Eadric asked, sighing.
"I suspect that that was here long before Graz’zt took an interest in the place. Perhaps other fiends have had connections here in the past. Perhaps a legion or two of damned spirits fell through here on their way to Hell, and the gravity of their passing caused a bubble to break away from Faerie. I have no idea. As I have said, within Irknaan’s palace there may be a Gate to the Abyss. But this combination of shadow and taint has been owned by the Loquai, and others – such as the Redcap who lives four miles yonder."
"And the chimera," Mostin rasped, still suffering from dehydration. "As I see it, we are dealing with a notoriously tricky group of creatures who have been rendered even trickier by the local conditions. They will be difficult, at best. How many of them can invoke horrid wiltings, for example? Shomei indicated that their leaders may possess as much magical potency as she and I. If one factors in control of the umbral and demonic energies, we may be heavily outmatched in terms of sheer power, although not in utility and versatility. And there is another question – the passage of time here is altered, so do we retreat to Wyre in order to prepare, or do we take advantage of the natural empowerment of magic that Afqithan offers? We need to weigh the benefits of the two options."
"We can do both," Shomei said. "I will return to the Prime – although not to Wyre – and perform my conjurations. A day here is a week there – and I can accomplish a great deal in a week. I assume that areas of Shadow which are coterminous with Afqithan also suffer from the temporal dilation – Shadow will reflect the local conditions on any plane it touches. As far as the power of the Loquai is concerned, I agree that we must tread carefully: the one thing to remember is that many Sidhe focus on enchantments – the mind blanks are likely to prove useful in that regard."
Mostin grumbled, and shook his head. "All it takes is for each of them to know just one evocation, and we’re in trouble. They’re bards and sorcerers, and they can drop as many empowered maximized whatevers on us as they like. And there is no spell that effectively protects against horrid wilting without negating our own effectiveness."
Shomei nodded. "It was never going to be easy. And it’s enervations that I’m afraid of."
Eadric groaned. "This place is rapidly beginning to lose its charm. And if a week in Wyre passes for every day that we spend here, that is doubly concerning. And you speak of conjurations, Shomei. Why does this give me a bad feeling, I wonder?"
"I admit that there may be a certain moral ambiguity – from your perspective, at least."
"It’s not that I dislike you. It’s just that I don’t entirely trust you," Eadric explained.
"Ahma, I am returning to the Prime. If you wish, you may accompany me, and we can visit Morne, and you may confer with the Sela. If he instructs you to discontinue our acquaintance…"
"He will not," Eadric smiled grimly, "as you well know. I am both sanctioned and expected to exercise my own judgement. Which is difficult," he added wrily, "when I lack the clarity of vision possessed by Oronthon’s proxy."
Shomei laughed. "Saizhan requires a great deal from its practitioners. It is ruthless and uncompromising in its demand for self-perfection."
"Your view is partially correct, but…" Eadric began.
Ortwin held up his hand. "No philosophy," he demanded. "It will only lead to unhappiness, and one or both of you will end up upset or frustrated. We need to concentrate on the matter in hand."
"That sentiment is always true," Nwm added wrily.
"We need to think to defense. Can we be attacked from Shadow?" Ortwin asked.
Mostin swallowed. "Probably," he nodded.
"Can we do anything about it?" The Bard pressed.
"I need to think about that," the Alienist sighed. "It depends on how accessible the Plane is to the locals."
"Very accessible," Shomei said, looking slightly apologetic.
"Can they teleport in?" Ortwin asked.
Mostin grimaced. "When they have determined our position – which shouldn’t be too long, when we reveal our gaudy tents – that will be a possibility, I suppose."
"I will hallow this area," Nwm said, "and will tie it to a dimensional anchor that Mostin will cast. We have done something similar before, if you recall. We will designate those currently present as being unaffected by the anchor. Hallowed ground will also allow me to repair the long-term damage from the chimera’s attack."
"Very inventive," Shomei nodded approvingly.
"In which case," Mostin grumbled, "someone will need to procure the relevant herbs and oils. Which means I need to return to Morne, I suppose."
"I will go to Magathei," Iua offered. "You can buy anything and everything there."
"Hallowed ground here will be rather a giveaway, don’t you think?" Ortwin asked.
"Only if they think to look for it," Nwm replied. "And, let’s face it, would you?"
Ortwin grinned.
Eadric sighed. "If. If. If. There are too many ifs for my liking."
"Relax, Ed," Ortwin said. "I’ve pulled off bigger lies than this one before."
"Have you?" Eadric asked. "Which ones?"
"My memory fails me," Ortwin replied.
**
After Shomei had departed and Iua had returned from a brief excursion to Magathei on the Plane of Air, Nwm hallowed the hilltop in a long rite, until it became an island of brighter Green amidst a sea of long shadows.
"Where is Ortwin?" Iua asked Mostin, as the Alienist sat outside one of the smaller tents. Half of his attention was directed to Nufrut, whose disembodied head leered from out of her crystal prison, and half was focused on Nwm, who had begun to pace in a circle, mumbling the spell.
"He is reconnoitering," Mostin said distractedly. "He is invisible and flying, so he will be quite safe from casual observation. Sem has accompanied him – hopefully the avian’s eyes should see anything before it or they see him. Barring sidhe hunting parties, of course." The word avian was spoken with ill-concealed loathing.
Iua raised an eyebrow, and made an educated guess as to where Ortwin’s ‘reconnoitering’ had taken him.
Mostin ignored her and returned his attention to Nufrut, whose face seemed to be caught in a continual scowl.
"What can you tell me of Irknaan, o happy one?" Mostin asked drily.
"What do you wish to know?" The Marilith pouted.
"The means by which his connection with your master is maintained; the number and disposition of his forces; the extent of his personal magical power; his resources – does he, for example, possess any rarities which might interest me? Any information, in fact, that I might have overlooked which may prove useful."
"These questions are late in coming," Nufrut observed.
"I know or can guess the answers to most in broad terms, but now is the time for specifics," Mostin replied. "Is there an Abyssal gate within his fortress?"
"Yes," Nufrut answered grumpily.
"If you are more forthcoming, your incarceration will be briefer!"
"That is not in our agreement," the Marilith objected.
"Nor is your reticence or dissembling," Mostin replied. "I assume that the gate is a permanent, two-way portal?"
"It is periodic."
"And the length and regularity of its period?"
"This information is not known to me," Nufrut replied.
"I should remind you that even a single lie will render our agreement void, and you will remain in your sphere for the rest of your days. Do I need to ask the Ahma over? The Eye of Palamabron penetrates all counterfeits, they say."
"A period of twenty-four hours springs to mind for some reason," Nufrut said. "Although I may be thinking of another gate entirely."
"Would that be twenty-four hours here, or in the Abyss?" Mostin asked archly.
"I suppose it would be here," the Marilith said sourly.
"And it opens in Zelatar, I expect."
"That would certainly be logical," Nufrut conceded.
"Does it open in Zelatar, Nufrut?"
"Yes," the Demoness answered.
"Just making sure," Mostin said acidly. "How long does the portal remain open, in local time, Nufrut. Try to be precise."
"Three hours, twenty-five minutes and forty-two seconds," the Demoness said sarcastically.
"Thank-you," Mostin said with dry condescension. "That wasn’t so hard, was it? Are there other gates, other than the one within Irknaan’s stronghold?"
"There are many gates in Afqithan to many worlds," Nufrut answered.
"Are there others to Zelatar?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"To other regions of the Abyss?"
"Perhaps. If there are, I am not privy to them."
"Good," Mostin sighed, finally feeling that he was making headway. "Now let’s speak of Irknaan himself. He reveres your master, as do many of the Loquai. What does he gain in reward for his loyalty?"
"Power, you fool," Nufrut sneered.
"More specifically, please. And you may dispense with the insults, they do not make me sympathetic to your plight."
"Prince Gra…."
"Hup!" Mostin interrupted. "You will henceforth refer to him as my master, if you please."
Nufrut raised an eyebrow in an expression of amusement. "If you are concerned about him hearing his name, bear in mind how many billions say it every day in a billion worlds."
"Nonetheless, I would prefer not to take the risk. Most of those billions are not high on his list of ‘people to be dealt with.’ As I was asking, what does Irknaan receive as a boon from your master?"
"Irknaan is particularly favoured. The Loquai in general enjoy the attentions of succubi – or incubi – depending on their gender and preference. They have learned the secret language. They have demonic allies and servants. My master and his minions have taught them many arts – Irknaan most of all."
"And they crave erotic sensation above all else?"
"All sensation is erotic if you learn how to experience it," Nufrut answered.
"We can engage in such philosophical speculation at another time, Nufrut. For the time being, let us confine ourselves to Irknaan. Which arts do you speak of?"
"Efficacious magic, Mostin. Violated magic."
"And in return, what has the Prince received? How far does Irknaan’s loyalty extend? Are there Loquai within the Lord of Azzagrat’s retinue? Do they pay him tribute?"
"There are sidhe within his armies, yes. Many are capable warriors. Your encounter with Xerulko* is testament to my master’s eclecticism."
"How many Loquai dwell within Irknaan’s fortress?" Mostin persisted.
"Perhaps two hundred."
Inwardly, Mostin groaned. "And the location and disposition of his principal vassals within Afqithan?"
"They are numerous," Nufrut answered.
"Other fortresses of Loquai, or other creatures who support him," Mostin said, somewhat exasperated.
"Yytryn, a powerful Duke, two hundred miles to the northeast of here; the Queen Menicau; the Lamia Jetheeg; Threxu, the Wasted Nymph; King Samodoquol; the Wyrm Crosod…"
"A Wyrm? Of what kind?"
"A black one. He often flies to converse with Irknaan."
Mostin recalled the very first time that he had looked through his mirror with Shomei into this twisted world. Something huge had passed across the stars in the distance. It could have been a dragon, I suppose, he thought.
"And Crosod has embraced the umbral taint, no doubt?"
"Most certainly," Nufrut smiled.
"And within Irknaan’s fortress: are there other individuals who might pose a particular threat to us, beside the king himself?"
"His queen and consort, Nhura. His captain, Shupthul. He is served by an elite guard who may be more than a match for your puny gang. Fiendish umbral griffons, maybe a dozen succubi and several glabrezu at any one time. Who knows, Mostin – perhaps even a kelvezu or two?"
"You seem to be enjoying this."
"I must take my recreation when it presents itself to me. I am not equipped to go and find it myself."
"Nhura is a succubus, I assume?"
"No, indeed," Nufrut smiled wickedly. "Nhura is a rare creature indeed. She was once a Lillend."
Mostin’s stomach tightened in a knot.
Eadric spent much of the day, if it was a day – there was neither sun nor moon to mark the passage of time – in prayer and contemplation, still unaccustomed to his sidhe form. He meditated upon their current predicament, and the absurdity of it struck him: they were in a foreign world, full of potent magic, where taint was rampant, and with no overarching plan or purpose. As usual, Ortwin didn’t seem to be taking things very seriously, and Shomei was a nagging source of concern. Penetrating her motives was impossible. Mostin seemed to trust her, but Mostin’s perspective was more skewed than anyone else that Eadric knew, and was little cause for comfort.
Thank heaven for Nwm, he thought, as he emerged from his reverie. The Druid still paced, chanting quietly under his breath. Iua practiced impossibly complex maneuvers nearby.
As Mostin approached him, the Paladin resigned himself to the inevitable complications that the Alienist always managed to find. His demonic visage was distinctly unsettling.
"I have good news and bad news: which would you first prefer?" Mostin casually swung the globe containing Nufrut’s head.
"I would rather not hear the bad news at all," Eadric replied.
"Then I will tell you the good news: Nufrut is a veritable mine of information! Shomei was inspired when she suggested her name."
"I was an ambassador to many worlds, you imbecile! What do you expect?" The Demoness snapped from her prison.
Mostin opened his portable hole and dropped her inside. "She is, however, somewhat irascible, and is prone to petulance."
"What other good news is there?" Eadric asked.
"None," Mostin admitted. He proceeded to recount all that he had learned, drinking deeply from a waterskin at regular intervals.
"I do not like umbral fiendish black wyrms," Eadric moaned. "This is a disturbing development."
"I am in agreement," Mostin nodded, "but we can rest assured that such a creature will register in Nwm’s mind long before it finds us."
"If he is looking," Eadric added.
"Nwm immerses himself in the Green on a fairly regular basis, so I have no concerns there. Irknaan sounds well entrenched, however: finding any to oppose him is likely to be difficult."
"This is no revelation," Eadric sighed. "There are those here which the taint has not touched, according to Nwm. They may be potential allies."
"Pixies and Grigs?" Mostin laughed hoarsely. "Dryads? Satyrs? Nymphs and Nereids? Squeakers, Buckawns and Wood Gnomes? You cannot be serious! Even if these were normal Sidhe that we were dealing with, Eadric, that would be an ill-advised course of action. The Loquai are not such easy targets."
"Don’t let Ortwin hear you speaking thus," Iua interrupted, "he is, after all, King of the Feys in Wyre."
"Any fool can make that claim, and I’m sure he’s not the only one to covet that title," Mostin said drily. "Where is he, anyway?"
Iua drew a dagger from her boot. "About now," she said coolly, "I expect he is discovering whether his attempt to seduce one, or perhaps all, of the three Nereids who live yonder has been successful."
Left-handed, she hurled the blade with strength and precision at Lorochtoh’s head, where it sank into the skull between the dead chimera’s glazed draconic eyes.
**
They had chosen a small hillock with a flat top, covered with short, springy grass, some sixty miles from Irknaan’s fortified palace – technically beyond his immediate hegemony, or so Nufrut had told them. It had once been the abode of sprites according to Nwm, although none now lived there. It was an isolated area, and their nearest neighbours were a bevy of Nereids who dwelt in a small lake three miles distant, and a solitary Redcap – perhaps the most unpleasant and disagreeable of all feys – who had taken up residence in a crumbling structure that may once have been a tower. None represented a threat to the party, although the Redcap had succumbed to – or willingly embraced – the mixture of umbral bleed and Abyssal taint that seeped into Afqithan.
At Ortwin’s request – and in keeping with the Bard’s general scheme to exhibit as much blustering grandiosity as possible – Mostin summoned a group of Djinn and had them erect a modestly-sized pavillion and several smaller tents on top of the hill, complete with banners and pennants which fluttered in the gentle breeze. Ortwin had chosen the device of a scarlet basilisk surrounded by nineteen oriels, which, although promising some esoteric heraldic significance, was in fact as vacuous as his own claim to nobility. Lorochtoh’s dragon-head sat upon a pike: the grim trophy of a hunt successfully – albeit painfully – executed. Presently, however, the camp was blanketed by a screen cast by Shomei, until their defenses were established. All, with the exception of Iua, maintained their respective disguises.
The group discussed the peculiar traits of Afqithan – notably its enhanced magic, and the implications of the shadowstuff which seemed to exist in varying concentrations. The demiplane was anomalous: according to Shomei, there were portals which linked it to Faerie proper, and at certain times sympathetic resonances would allow passage between the worlds. But, excepting powerful magic, there was no way of accessing the Prime other than through Shadow – which was an uncharted and likely perilous route.
"Shadow and Faerie are not mutually coextant," the Infernalist explained. "Afqithan should be seen as a threshold between two realities which do not normally interact."
"And the taint?" Eadric asked, sighing.
"I suspect that that was here long before Graz’zt took an interest in the place. Perhaps other fiends have had connections here in the past. Perhaps a legion or two of damned spirits fell through here on their way to Hell, and the gravity of their passing caused a bubble to break away from Faerie. I have no idea. As I have said, within Irknaan’s palace there may be a Gate to the Abyss. But this combination of shadow and taint has been owned by the Loquai, and others – such as the Redcap who lives four miles yonder."
"And the chimera," Mostin rasped, still suffering from dehydration. "As I see it, we are dealing with a notoriously tricky group of creatures who have been rendered even trickier by the local conditions. They will be difficult, at best. How many of them can invoke horrid wiltings, for example? Shomei indicated that their leaders may possess as much magical potency as she and I. If one factors in control of the umbral and demonic energies, we may be heavily outmatched in terms of sheer power, although not in utility and versatility. And there is another question – the passage of time here is altered, so do we retreat to Wyre in order to prepare, or do we take advantage of the natural empowerment of magic that Afqithan offers? We need to weigh the benefits of the two options."
"We can do both," Shomei said. "I will return to the Prime – although not to Wyre – and perform my conjurations. A day here is a week there – and I can accomplish a great deal in a week. I assume that areas of Shadow which are coterminous with Afqithan also suffer from the temporal dilation – Shadow will reflect the local conditions on any plane it touches. As far as the power of the Loquai is concerned, I agree that we must tread carefully: the one thing to remember is that many Sidhe focus on enchantments – the mind blanks are likely to prove useful in that regard."
Mostin grumbled, and shook his head. "All it takes is for each of them to know just one evocation, and we’re in trouble. They’re bards and sorcerers, and they can drop as many empowered maximized whatevers on us as they like. And there is no spell that effectively protects against horrid wilting without negating our own effectiveness."
Shomei nodded. "It was never going to be easy. And it’s enervations that I’m afraid of."
Eadric groaned. "This place is rapidly beginning to lose its charm. And if a week in Wyre passes for every day that we spend here, that is doubly concerning. And you speak of conjurations, Shomei. Why does this give me a bad feeling, I wonder?"
"I admit that there may be a certain moral ambiguity – from your perspective, at least."
"It’s not that I dislike you. It’s just that I don’t entirely trust you," Eadric explained.
"Ahma, I am returning to the Prime. If you wish, you may accompany me, and we can visit Morne, and you may confer with the Sela. If he instructs you to discontinue our acquaintance…"
"He will not," Eadric smiled grimly, "as you well know. I am both sanctioned and expected to exercise my own judgement. Which is difficult," he added wrily, "when I lack the clarity of vision possessed by Oronthon’s proxy."
Shomei laughed. "Saizhan requires a great deal from its practitioners. It is ruthless and uncompromising in its demand for self-perfection."
"Your view is partially correct, but…" Eadric began.
Ortwin held up his hand. "No philosophy," he demanded. "It will only lead to unhappiness, and one or both of you will end up upset or frustrated. We need to concentrate on the matter in hand."
"That sentiment is always true," Nwm added wrily.
"We need to think to defense. Can we be attacked from Shadow?" Ortwin asked.
Mostin swallowed. "Probably," he nodded.
"Can we do anything about it?" The Bard pressed.
"I need to think about that," the Alienist sighed. "It depends on how accessible the Plane is to the locals."
"Very accessible," Shomei said, looking slightly apologetic.
"Can they teleport in?" Ortwin asked.
Mostin grimaced. "When they have determined our position – which shouldn’t be too long, when we reveal our gaudy tents – that will be a possibility, I suppose."
"I will hallow this area," Nwm said, "and will tie it to a dimensional anchor that Mostin will cast. We have done something similar before, if you recall. We will designate those currently present as being unaffected by the anchor. Hallowed ground will also allow me to repair the long-term damage from the chimera’s attack."
"Very inventive," Shomei nodded approvingly.
"In which case," Mostin grumbled, "someone will need to procure the relevant herbs and oils. Which means I need to return to Morne, I suppose."
"I will go to Magathei," Iua offered. "You can buy anything and everything there."
"Hallowed ground here will be rather a giveaway, don’t you think?" Ortwin asked.
"Only if they think to look for it," Nwm replied. "And, let’s face it, would you?"
Ortwin grinned.
Eadric sighed. "If. If. If. There are too many ifs for my liking."
"Relax, Ed," Ortwin said. "I’ve pulled off bigger lies than this one before."
"Have you?" Eadric asked. "Which ones?"
"My memory fails me," Ortwin replied.
**
After Shomei had departed and Iua had returned from a brief excursion to Magathei on the Plane of Air, Nwm hallowed the hilltop in a long rite, until it became an island of brighter Green amidst a sea of long shadows.
"Where is Ortwin?" Iua asked Mostin, as the Alienist sat outside one of the smaller tents. Half of his attention was directed to Nufrut, whose disembodied head leered from out of her crystal prison, and half was focused on Nwm, who had begun to pace in a circle, mumbling the spell.
"He is reconnoitering," Mostin said distractedly. "He is invisible and flying, so he will be quite safe from casual observation. Sem has accompanied him – hopefully the avian’s eyes should see anything before it or they see him. Barring sidhe hunting parties, of course." The word avian was spoken with ill-concealed loathing.
Iua raised an eyebrow, and made an educated guess as to where Ortwin’s ‘reconnoitering’ had taken him.
Mostin ignored her and returned his attention to Nufrut, whose face seemed to be caught in a continual scowl.
"What can you tell me of Irknaan, o happy one?" Mostin asked drily.
"What do you wish to know?" The Marilith pouted.
"The means by which his connection with your master is maintained; the number and disposition of his forces; the extent of his personal magical power; his resources – does he, for example, possess any rarities which might interest me? Any information, in fact, that I might have overlooked which may prove useful."
"These questions are late in coming," Nufrut observed.
"I know or can guess the answers to most in broad terms, but now is the time for specifics," Mostin replied. "Is there an Abyssal gate within his fortress?"
"Yes," Nufrut answered grumpily.
"If you are more forthcoming, your incarceration will be briefer!"
"That is not in our agreement," the Marilith objected.
"Nor is your reticence or dissembling," Mostin replied. "I assume that the gate is a permanent, two-way portal?"
"It is periodic."
"And the length and regularity of its period?"
"This information is not known to me," Nufrut replied.
"I should remind you that even a single lie will render our agreement void, and you will remain in your sphere for the rest of your days. Do I need to ask the Ahma over? The Eye of Palamabron penetrates all counterfeits, they say."
"A period of twenty-four hours springs to mind for some reason," Nufrut said. "Although I may be thinking of another gate entirely."
"Would that be twenty-four hours here, or in the Abyss?" Mostin asked archly.
"I suppose it would be here," the Marilith said sourly.
"And it opens in Zelatar, I expect."
"That would certainly be logical," Nufrut conceded.
"Does it open in Zelatar, Nufrut?"
"Yes," the Demoness answered.
"Just making sure," Mostin said acidly. "How long does the portal remain open, in local time, Nufrut. Try to be precise."
"Three hours, twenty-five minutes and forty-two seconds," the Demoness said sarcastically.
"Thank-you," Mostin said with dry condescension. "That wasn’t so hard, was it? Are there other gates, other than the one within Irknaan’s stronghold?"
"There are many gates in Afqithan to many worlds," Nufrut answered.
"Are there others to Zelatar?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"To other regions of the Abyss?"
"Perhaps. If there are, I am not privy to them."
"Good," Mostin sighed, finally feeling that he was making headway. "Now let’s speak of Irknaan himself. He reveres your master, as do many of the Loquai. What does he gain in reward for his loyalty?"
"Power, you fool," Nufrut sneered.
"More specifically, please. And you may dispense with the insults, they do not make me sympathetic to your plight."
"Prince Gra…."
"Hup!" Mostin interrupted. "You will henceforth refer to him as my master, if you please."
Nufrut raised an eyebrow in an expression of amusement. "If you are concerned about him hearing his name, bear in mind how many billions say it every day in a billion worlds."
"Nonetheless, I would prefer not to take the risk. Most of those billions are not high on his list of ‘people to be dealt with.’ As I was asking, what does Irknaan receive as a boon from your master?"
"Irknaan is particularly favoured. The Loquai in general enjoy the attentions of succubi – or incubi – depending on their gender and preference. They have learned the secret language. They have demonic allies and servants. My master and his minions have taught them many arts – Irknaan most of all."
"And they crave erotic sensation above all else?"
"All sensation is erotic if you learn how to experience it," Nufrut answered.
"We can engage in such philosophical speculation at another time, Nufrut. For the time being, let us confine ourselves to Irknaan. Which arts do you speak of?"
"Efficacious magic, Mostin. Violated magic."
"And in return, what has the Prince received? How far does Irknaan’s loyalty extend? Are there Loquai within the Lord of Azzagrat’s retinue? Do they pay him tribute?"
"There are sidhe within his armies, yes. Many are capable warriors. Your encounter with Xerulko* is testament to my master’s eclecticism."
"How many Loquai dwell within Irknaan’s fortress?" Mostin persisted.
"Perhaps two hundred."
Inwardly, Mostin groaned. "And the location and disposition of his principal vassals within Afqithan?"
"They are numerous," Nufrut answered.
"Other fortresses of Loquai, or other creatures who support him," Mostin said, somewhat exasperated.
"Yytryn, a powerful Duke, two hundred miles to the northeast of here; the Queen Menicau; the Lamia Jetheeg; Threxu, the Wasted Nymph; King Samodoquol; the Wyrm Crosod…"
"A Wyrm? Of what kind?"
"A black one. He often flies to converse with Irknaan."
Mostin recalled the very first time that he had looked through his mirror with Shomei into this twisted world. Something huge had passed across the stars in the distance. It could have been a dragon, I suppose, he thought.
"And Crosod has embraced the umbral taint, no doubt?"
"Most certainly," Nufrut smiled.
"And within Irknaan’s fortress: are there other individuals who might pose a particular threat to us, beside the king himself?"
"His queen and consort, Nhura. His captain, Shupthul. He is served by an elite guard who may be more than a match for your puny gang. Fiendish umbral griffons, maybe a dozen succubi and several glabrezu at any one time. Who knows, Mostin – perhaps even a kelvezu or two?"
"You seem to be enjoying this."
"I must take my recreation when it presents itself to me. I am not equipped to go and find it myself."
"Nhura is a succubus, I assume?"
"No, indeed," Nufrut smiled wickedly. "Nhura is a rare creature indeed. She was once a Lillend."
Mostin’s stomach tightened in a knot.
Eadric spent much of the day, if it was a day – there was neither sun nor moon to mark the passage of time – in prayer and contemplation, still unaccustomed to his sidhe form. He meditated upon their current predicament, and the absurdity of it struck him: they were in a foreign world, full of potent magic, where taint was rampant, and with no overarching plan or purpose. As usual, Ortwin didn’t seem to be taking things very seriously, and Shomei was a nagging source of concern. Penetrating her motives was impossible. Mostin seemed to trust her, but Mostin’s perspective was more skewed than anyone else that Eadric knew, and was little cause for comfort.
Thank heaven for Nwm, he thought, as he emerged from his reverie. The Druid still paced, chanting quietly under his breath. Iua practiced impossibly complex maneuvers nearby.
As Mostin approached him, the Paladin resigned himself to the inevitable complications that the Alienist always managed to find. His demonic visage was distinctly unsettling.
"I have good news and bad news: which would you first prefer?" Mostin casually swung the globe containing Nufrut’s head.
"I would rather not hear the bad news at all," Eadric replied.
"Then I will tell you the good news: Nufrut is a veritable mine of information! Shomei was inspired when she suggested her name."
"I was an ambassador to many worlds, you imbecile! What do you expect?" The Demoness snapped from her prison.
Mostin opened his portable hole and dropped her inside. "She is, however, somewhat irascible, and is prone to petulance."
"What other good news is there?" Eadric asked.
"None," Mostin admitted. He proceeded to recount all that he had learned, drinking deeply from a waterskin at regular intervals.
"I do not like umbral fiendish black wyrms," Eadric moaned. "This is a disturbing development."
"I am in agreement," Mostin nodded, "but we can rest assured that such a creature will register in Nwm’s mind long before it finds us."
"If he is looking," Eadric added.
"Nwm immerses himself in the Green on a fairly regular basis, so I have no concerns there. Irknaan sounds well entrenched, however: finding any to oppose him is likely to be difficult."
"This is no revelation," Eadric sighed. "There are those here which the taint has not touched, according to Nwm. They may be potential allies."
"Pixies and Grigs?" Mostin laughed hoarsely. "Dryads? Satyrs? Nymphs and Nereids? Squeakers, Buckawns and Wood Gnomes? You cannot be serious! Even if these were normal Sidhe that we were dealing with, Eadric, that would be an ill-advised course of action. The Loquai are not such easy targets."
"Don’t let Ortwin hear you speaking thus," Iua interrupted, "he is, after all, King of the Feys in Wyre."
"Any fool can make that claim, and I’m sure he’s not the only one to covet that title," Mostin said drily. "Where is he, anyway?"
Iua drew a dagger from her boot. "About now," she said coolly, "I expect he is discovering whether his attempt to seduce one, or perhaps all, of the three Nereids who live yonder has been successful."
Left-handed, she hurled the blade with strength and precision at Lorochtoh’s head, where it sank into the skull between the dead chimera’s glazed draconic eyes.
Thomas Hobbes
First Post
Sepulchrave II said:
I could've sworn they had reached an agreement about Ortwin's philandering. Guess not. Poor Ortwin.
Cheiromancer
Adventurer
Xerulko was the arcanodaemon who got locked in Shomei's basement. Around the time that Fezuu's clone returned to the prime and discovered that Mostin had killed her.
