Soneillon. Part 1 (Updated 6/15)
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
grodog
Hero
I sent Sep SH compilations off to the following folks:
And, as a general FYI, another Wyre House Rules discussion can be found at http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=52570
- kevin@us...
- bill@ge...
- dennis@fu...
And, as a general FYI, another Wyre House Rules discussion can be found at http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=52570
Sepulchrave II
Legend
It may be quite a while before I update again. Note the imaginative title...
**
The Big Fight: Part 1
Shomei had elected to feeblemind the incoherent Koilimilou, in the event that one of her episodes of clarity returned: a glove stuffed into her mouth and a set of dimensional shackles might be proof against vocalized spells and interplanar escape, but did nothing to restrain the sidhe-cambion from using her arsenal of other powers and abilities.
Whilst watching approvingly, Ortwin idly considered where this creature stood in the grand cosmic scheme. The sidhe were capable of reaching near-godlike power. According to Nwm, in the past, wars had routinely been fought between feys – led by the sidhe and their kin – and various pantheons of minor nature deities with their attendant spirits. This one was less than a goddess, but the gap between her and the mortal race might be larger than that between her and divinity. Feys were strange creatures, seemingly capable of infinitely more variety of manifestation than men. Just so much more interesting, really, Ortwin thought.
His expression changed to one of disappointment when he considered what she had been reduced to. Ortwin wondered what her name was, how she ate, slept, sang, danced, laughed and fornicated. He wondered what her temperament was like – the apathy of the sidhe would be offset by a powerful demonic desire for satiation and experience. Probably a refined sense of the macabre. Intense eroticism. Had she resisted or rejected the umbral taint, or succumbed only to certain aspects of it?
For a perverse instant, Ortwin felt more of a connection with the Cambion than he did with anyone else present.
The party briefly discussed the implications of the sensor which had observed Mostin’s annihilation of Shupthul’s party – exactly what it would have witnessed before it vanished, and what the observer could have inferred from those that he could not directly see. As a precautionary measure, Shomei cast a nondetection upon Koilimilou – in the event that Irknaan attempted to later target her with another scrying. A mind blank would have been preferable, but neither the Infernalist nor Mostin were capable of casting the spell again that day, and Shomei was loath to draw on her bracelet’s power until she had further knowledge of Irknaan’s abilities.
After securing the most valuable items from the vanquished Loquai – including Shupthul’s armour and bow – Koilimilou was trussed across Mostin’s saddle. The delay in action – close to half an hour – would prove decisive.
**
Irknaan – still in a state of concealed shock at the obliteration of his envoy – paced within his dark chambers, waiting for Nhura to return with whatever information she had gleaned about Rhalid and his party.
The King had briefly contemplated an immediate retaliatory demonic assault with those forces still available to him, but quickly dismissed the possibility. Unsupported succubi would be no match for the interlopers if they were mind blanked, and he had no doubt that they would make short work of Nhura’s glabrezu cohorts – assuming that they chose to obey Irknaan at all. Their loyalty to him was, at best, questionable.
King Irknaan was, however, immensely powerful. If need drove him, and he had time to act, he could mobilize an impressive group of allies. When another summoned demon brought him an apologetic message regretting the misunderstanding, and hoping that the King could join Rhalid’s party for a future hunt, Irknaan squinted. If they meant him serious harm, surely they would have pressed on and attacked him in his fortress? What was their agenda? Obviously, they were overconfident, or stupid, or both. Did they think he was toothless? Irknaan snorted, and issued seven sendings in quick succession.
To King Samodoquol, Duke Ytryn and the Wyrm Crosod, he gave instructions not to fly to his demesne, but instead to pursue the rogue party of sidhe. Compacted demons, daemons, and demodands in the service of the other Loquai nobility were also to be sent to Irknaan’s fortress immediately. He recalled Lehurze from her diplomatic efforts with the Devils ensconced only a mile away. He instructed Nhura in straightforward terms to resolve her inquiries in Faerie as hastily as possible: Be quick. We hunt. He alerted Jetheeg – a lamia Sorceress of no mean ability – to the presence of the rival group and instructed her to track them down. He dispatched the ten succubi who remained to locate them, and sent dozens of umbral quicklings in pursuit – they were not to engage the enemy, but to bring back news if they were located. The demons were to coordinate their efforts and stay in contact every ten minutes. His last sending was directed towards Duke Murmuur and the Devils, asking if they would care to join Irknaan in a hunt in one hour.
The King descended into his summoning room, intent on calling yet more demons to aid him. It was utterly black within, and the odour of musty tomes and incense hung in the claustrophobic air. Irknaan lit a single tall taper which emitted a greyish radiance, and purposefully strode to retrieve a book of forbidden names from a gloomy alcove. Suddenly, he was aware of another presence within the chamber. It stretched and challenged his perception of the real, and evoked a mixed feeling of terror and awe: a consciousness that was dark, sinister, and worshipful. Soneillon, he thought. She was a void, who promised either power or annihilation.
"It would appear that my wards did not prohibit your entry," he said without emotion.
"Your insouciance is tedious, Irknaan," the Demoness responded, "and your comprehension of the current situation is feeble and ill-informed. Wheels turn, and you have no conception of them."
"Perhaps you would care to elucidate," the King replied laconically. "Who are these newcomers, and why are there Devils in my realm?"
"That information has a price." She stepped forwards, and the intangibility which surrounded her evaporated. Her assumed form was supple, and her skin was possessed of a dusky, silken quality.
"And what would that be?"
"Throw in your lot wholesale with Rhyxali. I can promise you aid and protection from Graz’zt in your efforts. Instruct your forces to follow my lead and apprehend the sidhe who threaten you, then turn them over to me."
Irknaan sneered. "You ask a great deal for a few tidbits of gossip. Since when did Soneillon act as a broker for Rhyxali? And what interest does this group hold for you?"
"They may be useful to me."
"Then deal with them yourself, if it is not beyond you!" Irknaan snapped. "I have no interest in your wider schemes: do not embroil me in them."
Soneillon smiled darkly. "It was you who contacted me, Irknaan. What did you expect? An exchange which cost you nothing?"
"Ten thousand souls is my offer."
The Demoness threw back her head and laughed – a disturbingly genuine and heartfelt display of mirth. "That is a trifling, Loquai, which I have no use for. Listen to me: Afqithan is less secure than you might think. You juggle two Abyssal magnates as your sponsors. Your subjects are recalcitrant and imperfectly subdued. And if Graz’zt discovers your duplicity, then you will find that the gate to Zelatar is no longer the boon that it has proven to be in the past."
"My grip is tight enough. And do not think to threaten me with passing news to Graz’zt – he despises you more than he mistrusts me. What does he care if, out of the five hundred worlds he lays claim to, the King of Afqithan entertains fiends who are not his own slaves? If you were to betray me to him, then I would willingly abase myself before him, for the chance to bring him your head on a spit. My offer stands – your aid would be welcomed, but only a fool would let this group fall into your hands without knowing more."
"I have no designs on your dismal little realm, Irknaan," Soneillon was becoming impatient, "but I recognize your potential as an ally. There is much that I can teach you. With my aid you could quickly beat down any resistance that remains to your regime. I can ensure the permanent destruction of the gate to Azzagrat. Even if Graz’zt were to translate here himself with his most powerful servants – which he would not – he would be hard pressed to assail you."
"I think you underestimate Ainhorr and his ilk."
Soneillon gave a wry smile. "And I think you are somewhat behind in events. Ainhorr’s sword is shivered. Choeth, Djorm, Uruum and Rurunoth are no more. Only Irzho remains – and he is hiding. Both from his peers’ assassins and, I suspect, from Graz’zt himself."
"This was not known to me."
"They are not facts about which Graz’zt encourages speculation. His position is the most insecure that it has been since his return. His efforts at consolidation have received a serious setback – and you must know that you were not the only one of his thralls to seek new patronage in his absence." Her last words hung in the air temptingly – it was not a fact that Irknaan had previously considered. The Loquai were insular, at best.
Sensing doubt, Soneillon pressed on. "I can contrive a spell which would alert you to any incursions into your realm, Irknaan. No gate could open, no translation could occur into Afqithan without your knowledge. There could be no quiet assembly of demons poised to exact revenge on you. And as to your compactees…"
Irknaan feigned disinterest.
"…I can ensure servants who are more powerful and more versatile than succubi – although I have enough of those to spare as well."
"I have no interest in Rhyxali’s shades," Irknaan answered, "if you are indeed acting as a go-between."
"I am not. But she and I are on favourable terms – our spheres of interest do not overlap. Not shadow demons. I have descended into the deepest abysm, Irknaan. There are things in the uncharted regions, whose names are long forgotten. They would be yours in blood and spirit. Even a balor would pause and take thought before it confronted one – or would shrink from it in fear."
Irknaan wavered.
"And you may keep Lehurze," Soneillon added. "She is mine to give."
The King scowled. From his perspective, at least, the succubus was already his. Still, a formal compact could do no harm.
Soneillon stepped forwards, and her very being seemed to flicker on the edge of consciousness, a dark vision, the existence of which Irknaan half doubted. "Irknaan, if Graz’zt falls, his wealth will be free to all comers. Ainhorr cannot hold Azzagrat, and neither can Kostchtchie."
"Now you lie, even if you did not before."
"No." Soneillon was emphatic. "I have perceived the burgeoning tendril of possibility. It must not be allowed to perish."
"I have no faith in your auguries," Irknaan said derisively. "Nonetheless, your argument deserves consideration. What aid would you give me? I do not speak of temporary allies. They must be compacted, and they must be mine."
"That is negotiable," Soneillon smiled, content that she had won a victory. "But it will be enough. First, we must secure the weapon. Command your minions to help me restrain the sidhe who currently vex you, and I will speak with them."
"They have knowledge of this weapon?"
"They are the weapon. They are not what they appear to be."
The King’s eyes narrowed. That much, he had already guessed. But now he also knew that Soneillon feared to deal with them alone – that they were very dangerous – and that Graz’zt had not sent them to deal with him. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Give me a sign of your commitment," Irknaan said, "and I will consider your proposal."
Before she left him, the Demoness gave Irknaan a single name – a token of her good will, she claimed, and the first of many to follow. He conjured the creature to whom it belonged, and when the King ascended from his sanctum into his throne room, it accompanied him. Lehurze and an assortment of other monsters waited for him.
The Succubus saw what towered behind Irknaan and smiled quietly: she knew that Soneillon had come and gone. Nhura’s glabrezu cohorts were filled with doubt.
"Ready the hounds," Irknaan commanded.
**
The armour which Eadric wore was marvelously light – constructed of a Fae metal of unknown type. It barely inhibited his movement, and its smooth contours – at first glance a seamless, absorptive sable – were, in fact, graven with exquisite cunning and subtlety. When the dim light caught it, shades of indigo and vermillion almost appeared, as if his mind wanted to perceive them, but his eyes would not cooperate. The casque which complemented the breastplate bore a crest which resembled some primordial bird, and a half-visor, covering the eyes and upper face, was formed by the creature’s cradled wings.
Ortwin, flying next to the Paladin, eyed the armour jealously.
"You can have it, if you want," Eadric said openly.
"It is too restrictive," Ortwin grumbled.
"Not at all," Eadric replied.
"For me it would be too restrictive," Ortwin sighed. The Bard fell back and hovered alongside Nwm, who sat awkwardly upon his ecalypse – the umbral steed moved with a disconcertingly smooth gait through the air.
"Haven’t you found anything yet?" Ortwin asked excitedly.
"No."
"There must be something out there."
"I’m sure there probably is," Nwm said irritably. "Can’t you be patient for once?"
"No," Ortwin replied. "Aren’t there more chimerae? Manticores, maybe?"
"If you think that a single Redcap is worthy of your attention, then I can direct you to it. We are in a sparsely populated area. Frankly, Ortwin, I find your enthusiasm for hunting sentients – of whatever persuasion – rather distasteful. I have no particular moral compunctions, and I appreciate the need for the ruse to appear genuine, but do you really have to enjoy it quite so much?"
"Hunting is an agreeable pastime," the Bard retorted.
"Hunting deer is an agreeable pastime, Ortwin. Hunting umbral fiendish whatever-they-ares is tricky and – as we have already discovered – potentially lethal."
"Pah! This time, we’re prepared. I’ve got more wards on me than I can count. And…."
Nwm closed his ears to the Bard’s ramblings and focussed on his torc again, his perception stretching outwards, and sifting through the vast quantities of information which flooded his consciousness. Ten minutes passed. The Druid gave a quizzical look.
"…despite the fact that she was naked," Ortwin concluded. "What do you think, Nwm?"
"I think you did the right thing," Nwm replied. "By the way, there is a dragon around eight miles behind us. It is following us. It has probably caught our scent. It is heavily tainted – I suspect it is the wyrm that Nufrut mentioned."
"Crosod," Mostin said. "Is he closing?"
"Oh, yes. He will reach us," Nwm made a quick calculation, and his jaw dropped, "in a little over four minutes."
"Is he wind-walking?" Ortwin asked.
"I don’t think so," the Druid answered, somewhat amazed. "He is just flying…very fast. There is another…"
[Execration. Abomination. Anathema.]
Nwm shook, and resisted the urge to vomit. "There is something terrible with him."
"Should we turn and engage him?" Eadric asked. "Or try to flee? If Iua…"
"I cannot summon a wind to move us that fast," the Duelist replied.
But the blood drained from Nwm’s face as his inner vision perceived demons manifesting ahead of them and around them – they blinked in and out of his sight, successively teleporting to effortlessly pace the party, and remaining out of the reach of even their furthest-reaching spells.
"There is more bad news," Nwm said, and explained. "They are medium-order: probably succubi or vrocks."
Eadric immediately invoked a zone of revelation, and realities overlapped around them. To his partial relief, nothing was stalking them through the coexistent Shadow. At least, not yet.
"I don’t like this at all," Mostin mumbled. "We should be ready to flee back to the Prime if necessary."
Shomei cast a mass haste and transformed herself into an erinyes devil, causing Eadric to splutter and Ortwin to grin eagerly.
Nwm scowled. "Crosod is still closing."
Gheim squawked irritably. "How high up is he?"
"Only three hundred feet." Nwm answered.
"Well, I can’t see him," the eagle muttered.
"Nor I," Sem added. "He must be invisible"
"This is a trap," Eadric groaned. "They are probably waiting for reinforcements."
"They are coming," Nwm said. "Goddess. What is happening out there?" Powerful extraplanar entities were manifesting across his psychic landscape.
"I suspect that they do not know that we know of their presence," Shomei said. "We may still have something of an advantage. I will deal with the Dragon – it will even the odds somewhat. Mostin, for what I am about to do, I sincerely apologize."
Drawing upon the power of the arcane bracelet that Jovol had bequeathed her, Shomei quickly opened two gates. Eadric clenched his teeth in trepidation.
Light flooded through. Two Solars appeared.
Mostin screamed at her. "No! Not again! Not you as well!"
"Do you know who I am?" Shomei asked the celestials.
"You are a devil," one of them replied. "Why have you called us?"
"I am Shomei the Infernal. You cannot perceive my form because I am mind blanked. The sidhe with the winged helmet is Eadric of Deorham, the Ahma. Do you believe me?"
But Eadric had already reached out with his mind and reassured them.
"Do whatever he tells you to do," Shomei instructed the celestials. She turned to the Alienist. "Be very sure that you know what you are doing if you open another gate Mostin. You know what I’m speaking of."
Mostin gurgled incoherently.
"How far back is the Dragon, Nwm?" Shomei asked.
"Twelve thousand feet or so."
She tested the direction of the wind and vanished, leaving her steed riderless.
A look of amazement still sat upon Eadric’s face at the Infernalist’s choice of allies. Catching it, and regaining his composure a little, Mostin spoke shakily.
"They are tools to her, Eadric. Nothing else."
**
Crosod and Threxu, upon receiving Irknaan’s sending, had sped their way to the scene of Shupthul’s disintegration and Koilimilou’s capture. The Dragon had launched into a furious pursuit of ‘Rhalid’ and his party – his speed augmented by a spell, and rendered invulnerable to death magic and any elemental assault by the Wasted Nymph’s power.
Crosod had issued a sending of his own to Irknaan upon catching the party’s scent, and sneered in contempt when he received the return message:
Do not attack. I want them alive. Coordinate fully with the demons.
What game was the fool playing now? A sensor appeared nearby, and the Wyrm’s lidless eyes glistened with anger. As much as he resented the Loquai King, he was wise enough not to defy him. Within a matter of seconds, ten succubi appeared in the air nearby. Lehurze was with them.
"Where is he?" Crosod growled.
"He is on his way," Lehurze replied. "I have instructions for you."
Resentfully, the dragon formed a series of mental bonds with all of those present and rendered them invisible. They teleported away and, within five minutes, visual contact had been made with the intruders. The succubi and the dragon – now in common telepathic rapport – acted with a frightening focus and purpose.*
Meanwhile, Irknaan cursed. Events were moving faster than he had anticipated: Nhura and the remaining succubus, returning to Afqithan, had appeared over a hundred miles distant from his own palace and eighty miles from where Crosod now tracked Rhalid’s party. It would take her nearly two hours to reach the area where events were unfolding, even if she magically sped her passage.
The king gritted his teeth. He needed her there, and the only way to accomplish it was to draw heavily on his own reservoir of power. He instructed the forty Loquai who accompanied him to return to the fortress: at their speed, they had no hope of intercepting the intruders now. Irknaan lamented the loss of Koilimilou and her box of shadows – now it would have proven most useful. Reality bent around him as he cast two powerful spells, and made his way first to Nhura and then returned with her to where the other fiends were assembling.**
When he arrived, as instructed, the creature that he had compacted less than an hour before was waiting for him.
Irknaan issued yet another sending: this time to Soneillon.
**
The erinyes appeared three hundred yards behind Crosod, down-wind of him, invisible, and out of the range of his blindsight.
Unfortunately, the dragon was also hidden from her mundane vision, and out of the range of her perception – save for the gale and reek created by his passing.
Shomei opened another gate, exhausting her bracelet’s power. She waited nervously – somewhat longer than she was accustomed to. Finally, after what seemed an age – although it was less than five seconds – another solar appeared.
"I am Zhorion," the Cherub announced.
"I am not interested in your name, celestial," Shomei said irascibly. "I have a task for you."
The Solar ignored her. "Oronthon is curious why Shomei the Infernal has elected to open three gates to the Divine Sphere in less than a minute."
Shomei gaped.
"And do not think to use your association with the Ahma as an excuse for your actions. Reciprocity is required."
Shomei was flabbergasted. "I have no time for this," she snapped. "You are under compulsion by both magical law and divine mandate!"
"When you return to Morne," Zhorion continued, "you will seek out the Sela. He will instruct you in the correct application of the dialectic."
"How can there be a ‘correct…’" She began. "Oh, forget it. I probably understand saizhan better than you ever will. Alright. Whatever. Just help me kill the damn dragon."
Shomei sighed. Meaningful philosophical discourse with most solars was impossible. They were stubborn, unyielding and – ultimately – intellectually incapable.
She teleported two thousand feet ahead of where she suspected the dragon to be, and invoked an effulgent epuration – the silvery motes which hovered around her instantly betraying her location to Crosod’s remarkable eyesight. Shomei felt as though a gale was approaching as, invisible, he powered his way towards her at uncanny speed, and banked away before coming within range of her own magical sight. As his head turned and he finally became visible, he discharged an immense gout of corrupted acid and struck her with a horrid wilting. Simultaneously, from the slender shadow perched on his foreleg, yet another wilting struck her, and in the air palrethee demons began manifesting, summoned by both the Nymph and the Dragon. Evidently, Crosod was taking no chances. An effulgent epuration meant a very powerful spellcaster. He called mentally to the ten succubi with whom he was telepathically bonded.
Sh*t, Shomei thought. The acid burned her despite her diabolic resistance, and most of her epuration had already been denuded in the initial assault. She wondered wrily if she had bitten off more than she could chew. She flew rapidly forwards, gripped her rod, and struck Crosod with a potent enervation: twice empowered, magnified through her rod, and then twisted and amplified yet further by Afqithan’s magical trait. He reeled under the assault, but still survived the disintegration which followed.
Succubi were beginning to manifest all around Shomei as Zhorion descended and engaged with Crosod – a bright speck in the sky, dwarfed by the Dragon’s dark, titanic form, his slender brand flashing rapidly in his hands. Crosod screamed as the blade bit into him, and ichor poured from the wounds that the Solar delivered to his neck.
The Wyrm’s head stayed firmly attached to his body, however, and he gave a hideous grin. He said nothing, but brought his terrible will to bear upon the celestial.
A look of horrified fascination crossed Shomei’s face as, despite the palrethees who were now around her and hacking with their flaming swords, she watched black fire first kindle, and then cascade over Zhorion.
The Solar, dignified by Oronthon’s grace since before time began, perished in an unholy nimbus which consumed all trace of his existence. For the merest moment, the skies of Afqithan seemed to darken yet further, and swag with agony and wrath. Pain exploded over Shomei as Crosod thundered back towards her, calling forth an acid storm, heedless of his own summoned minions. Two flame strikes, evoked by Threxu, struck the Infernalist in series.
Before the succubi could descend upon her and tear her to pieces, Shomei teleported away.
She reappeared, burned and blasted, at the spot where she had left the others, only to find that the real battle was about to begin.
* Crosod used three castings of Rary’s telepathic bond with the succubi, acting as ‘anchor-man’ in their efforts to pinpoint Ortwin and the others. The succubi made multiple teleportations until one located the party, the news was passed to Crosod, and the Dragon related it to the rest of the demonesses. One of them teleported back to Irknaan’s fortress to inform the king of their exact whereabouts.
**Irknaan used two limited wishes: one to teleport to Nhura’s location, and another to bring them both to the vicinity of Crosod. Neither Irknaan nor Nhura were capable of instantaneous transport using more ‘conventional’ means. Six more succubi, a palrethee, two vrocks and a shator – compactees of the other Loquai nobility – had also now joined the pursuit. The shator – Ghuluk – was King Samodoquol’s majordomo.
**This was another nasty combo. The enervation – quadruply empowered and maximized – resulted in nine negative levels for Crosod. Luckily (from his perspective) he made the subsequent saving throw against the triply heightened disintegrate.
**
The Big Fight: Part 1
Shomei had elected to feeblemind the incoherent Koilimilou, in the event that one of her episodes of clarity returned: a glove stuffed into her mouth and a set of dimensional shackles might be proof against vocalized spells and interplanar escape, but did nothing to restrain the sidhe-cambion from using her arsenal of other powers and abilities.
Whilst watching approvingly, Ortwin idly considered where this creature stood in the grand cosmic scheme. The sidhe were capable of reaching near-godlike power. According to Nwm, in the past, wars had routinely been fought between feys – led by the sidhe and their kin – and various pantheons of minor nature deities with their attendant spirits. This one was less than a goddess, but the gap between her and the mortal race might be larger than that between her and divinity. Feys were strange creatures, seemingly capable of infinitely more variety of manifestation than men. Just so much more interesting, really, Ortwin thought.
His expression changed to one of disappointment when he considered what she had been reduced to. Ortwin wondered what her name was, how she ate, slept, sang, danced, laughed and fornicated. He wondered what her temperament was like – the apathy of the sidhe would be offset by a powerful demonic desire for satiation and experience. Probably a refined sense of the macabre. Intense eroticism. Had she resisted or rejected the umbral taint, or succumbed only to certain aspects of it?
For a perverse instant, Ortwin felt more of a connection with the Cambion than he did with anyone else present.
The party briefly discussed the implications of the sensor which had observed Mostin’s annihilation of Shupthul’s party – exactly what it would have witnessed before it vanished, and what the observer could have inferred from those that he could not directly see. As a precautionary measure, Shomei cast a nondetection upon Koilimilou – in the event that Irknaan attempted to later target her with another scrying. A mind blank would have been preferable, but neither the Infernalist nor Mostin were capable of casting the spell again that day, and Shomei was loath to draw on her bracelet’s power until she had further knowledge of Irknaan’s abilities.
After securing the most valuable items from the vanquished Loquai – including Shupthul’s armour and bow – Koilimilou was trussed across Mostin’s saddle. The delay in action – close to half an hour – would prove decisive.
**
Irknaan – still in a state of concealed shock at the obliteration of his envoy – paced within his dark chambers, waiting for Nhura to return with whatever information she had gleaned about Rhalid and his party.
The King had briefly contemplated an immediate retaliatory demonic assault with those forces still available to him, but quickly dismissed the possibility. Unsupported succubi would be no match for the interlopers if they were mind blanked, and he had no doubt that they would make short work of Nhura’s glabrezu cohorts – assuming that they chose to obey Irknaan at all. Their loyalty to him was, at best, questionable.
King Irknaan was, however, immensely powerful. If need drove him, and he had time to act, he could mobilize an impressive group of allies. When another summoned demon brought him an apologetic message regretting the misunderstanding, and hoping that the King could join Rhalid’s party for a future hunt, Irknaan squinted. If they meant him serious harm, surely they would have pressed on and attacked him in his fortress? What was their agenda? Obviously, they were overconfident, or stupid, or both. Did they think he was toothless? Irknaan snorted, and issued seven sendings in quick succession.
To King Samodoquol, Duke Ytryn and the Wyrm Crosod, he gave instructions not to fly to his demesne, but instead to pursue the rogue party of sidhe. Compacted demons, daemons, and demodands in the service of the other Loquai nobility were also to be sent to Irknaan’s fortress immediately. He recalled Lehurze from her diplomatic efforts with the Devils ensconced only a mile away. He instructed Nhura in straightforward terms to resolve her inquiries in Faerie as hastily as possible: Be quick. We hunt. He alerted Jetheeg – a lamia Sorceress of no mean ability – to the presence of the rival group and instructed her to track them down. He dispatched the ten succubi who remained to locate them, and sent dozens of umbral quicklings in pursuit – they were not to engage the enemy, but to bring back news if they were located. The demons were to coordinate their efforts and stay in contact every ten minutes. His last sending was directed towards Duke Murmuur and the Devils, asking if they would care to join Irknaan in a hunt in one hour.
The King descended into his summoning room, intent on calling yet more demons to aid him. It was utterly black within, and the odour of musty tomes and incense hung in the claustrophobic air. Irknaan lit a single tall taper which emitted a greyish radiance, and purposefully strode to retrieve a book of forbidden names from a gloomy alcove. Suddenly, he was aware of another presence within the chamber. It stretched and challenged his perception of the real, and evoked a mixed feeling of terror and awe: a consciousness that was dark, sinister, and worshipful. Soneillon, he thought. She was a void, who promised either power or annihilation.
"It would appear that my wards did not prohibit your entry," he said without emotion.
"Your insouciance is tedious, Irknaan," the Demoness responded, "and your comprehension of the current situation is feeble and ill-informed. Wheels turn, and you have no conception of them."
"Perhaps you would care to elucidate," the King replied laconically. "Who are these newcomers, and why are there Devils in my realm?"
"That information has a price." She stepped forwards, and the intangibility which surrounded her evaporated. Her assumed form was supple, and her skin was possessed of a dusky, silken quality.
"And what would that be?"
"Throw in your lot wholesale with Rhyxali. I can promise you aid and protection from Graz’zt in your efforts. Instruct your forces to follow my lead and apprehend the sidhe who threaten you, then turn them over to me."
Irknaan sneered. "You ask a great deal for a few tidbits of gossip. Since when did Soneillon act as a broker for Rhyxali? And what interest does this group hold for you?"
"They may be useful to me."
"Then deal with them yourself, if it is not beyond you!" Irknaan snapped. "I have no interest in your wider schemes: do not embroil me in them."
Soneillon smiled darkly. "It was you who contacted me, Irknaan. What did you expect? An exchange which cost you nothing?"
"Ten thousand souls is my offer."
The Demoness threw back her head and laughed – a disturbingly genuine and heartfelt display of mirth. "That is a trifling, Loquai, which I have no use for. Listen to me: Afqithan is less secure than you might think. You juggle two Abyssal magnates as your sponsors. Your subjects are recalcitrant and imperfectly subdued. And if Graz’zt discovers your duplicity, then you will find that the gate to Zelatar is no longer the boon that it has proven to be in the past."
"My grip is tight enough. And do not think to threaten me with passing news to Graz’zt – he despises you more than he mistrusts me. What does he care if, out of the five hundred worlds he lays claim to, the King of Afqithan entertains fiends who are not his own slaves? If you were to betray me to him, then I would willingly abase myself before him, for the chance to bring him your head on a spit. My offer stands – your aid would be welcomed, but only a fool would let this group fall into your hands without knowing more."
"I have no designs on your dismal little realm, Irknaan," Soneillon was becoming impatient, "but I recognize your potential as an ally. There is much that I can teach you. With my aid you could quickly beat down any resistance that remains to your regime. I can ensure the permanent destruction of the gate to Azzagrat. Even if Graz’zt were to translate here himself with his most powerful servants – which he would not – he would be hard pressed to assail you."
"I think you underestimate Ainhorr and his ilk."
Soneillon gave a wry smile. "And I think you are somewhat behind in events. Ainhorr’s sword is shivered. Choeth, Djorm, Uruum and Rurunoth are no more. Only Irzho remains – and he is hiding. Both from his peers’ assassins and, I suspect, from Graz’zt himself."
"This was not known to me."
"They are not facts about which Graz’zt encourages speculation. His position is the most insecure that it has been since his return. His efforts at consolidation have received a serious setback – and you must know that you were not the only one of his thralls to seek new patronage in his absence." Her last words hung in the air temptingly – it was not a fact that Irknaan had previously considered. The Loquai were insular, at best.
Sensing doubt, Soneillon pressed on. "I can contrive a spell which would alert you to any incursions into your realm, Irknaan. No gate could open, no translation could occur into Afqithan without your knowledge. There could be no quiet assembly of demons poised to exact revenge on you. And as to your compactees…"
Irknaan feigned disinterest.
"…I can ensure servants who are more powerful and more versatile than succubi – although I have enough of those to spare as well."
"I have no interest in Rhyxali’s shades," Irknaan answered, "if you are indeed acting as a go-between."
"I am not. But she and I are on favourable terms – our spheres of interest do not overlap. Not shadow demons. I have descended into the deepest abysm, Irknaan. There are things in the uncharted regions, whose names are long forgotten. They would be yours in blood and spirit. Even a balor would pause and take thought before it confronted one – or would shrink from it in fear."
Irknaan wavered.
"And you may keep Lehurze," Soneillon added. "She is mine to give."
The King scowled. From his perspective, at least, the succubus was already his. Still, a formal compact could do no harm.
Soneillon stepped forwards, and her very being seemed to flicker on the edge of consciousness, a dark vision, the existence of which Irknaan half doubted. "Irknaan, if Graz’zt falls, his wealth will be free to all comers. Ainhorr cannot hold Azzagrat, and neither can Kostchtchie."
"Now you lie, even if you did not before."
"No." Soneillon was emphatic. "I have perceived the burgeoning tendril of possibility. It must not be allowed to perish."
"I have no faith in your auguries," Irknaan said derisively. "Nonetheless, your argument deserves consideration. What aid would you give me? I do not speak of temporary allies. They must be compacted, and they must be mine."
"That is negotiable," Soneillon smiled, content that she had won a victory. "But it will be enough. First, we must secure the weapon. Command your minions to help me restrain the sidhe who currently vex you, and I will speak with them."
"They have knowledge of this weapon?"
"They are the weapon. They are not what they appear to be."
The King’s eyes narrowed. That much, he had already guessed. But now he also knew that Soneillon feared to deal with them alone – that they were very dangerous – and that Graz’zt had not sent them to deal with him. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Give me a sign of your commitment," Irknaan said, "and I will consider your proposal."
Before she left him, the Demoness gave Irknaan a single name – a token of her good will, she claimed, and the first of many to follow. He conjured the creature to whom it belonged, and when the King ascended from his sanctum into his throne room, it accompanied him. Lehurze and an assortment of other monsters waited for him.
The Succubus saw what towered behind Irknaan and smiled quietly: she knew that Soneillon had come and gone. Nhura’s glabrezu cohorts were filled with doubt.
"Ready the hounds," Irknaan commanded.
**
The armour which Eadric wore was marvelously light – constructed of a Fae metal of unknown type. It barely inhibited his movement, and its smooth contours – at first glance a seamless, absorptive sable – were, in fact, graven with exquisite cunning and subtlety. When the dim light caught it, shades of indigo and vermillion almost appeared, as if his mind wanted to perceive them, but his eyes would not cooperate. The casque which complemented the breastplate bore a crest which resembled some primordial bird, and a half-visor, covering the eyes and upper face, was formed by the creature’s cradled wings.
Ortwin, flying next to the Paladin, eyed the armour jealously.
"You can have it, if you want," Eadric said openly.
"It is too restrictive," Ortwin grumbled.
"Not at all," Eadric replied.
"For me it would be too restrictive," Ortwin sighed. The Bard fell back and hovered alongside Nwm, who sat awkwardly upon his ecalypse – the umbral steed moved with a disconcertingly smooth gait through the air.
"Haven’t you found anything yet?" Ortwin asked excitedly.
"No."
"There must be something out there."
"I’m sure there probably is," Nwm said irritably. "Can’t you be patient for once?"
"No," Ortwin replied. "Aren’t there more chimerae? Manticores, maybe?"
"If you think that a single Redcap is worthy of your attention, then I can direct you to it. We are in a sparsely populated area. Frankly, Ortwin, I find your enthusiasm for hunting sentients – of whatever persuasion – rather distasteful. I have no particular moral compunctions, and I appreciate the need for the ruse to appear genuine, but do you really have to enjoy it quite so much?"
"Hunting is an agreeable pastime," the Bard retorted.
"Hunting deer is an agreeable pastime, Ortwin. Hunting umbral fiendish whatever-they-ares is tricky and – as we have already discovered – potentially lethal."
"Pah! This time, we’re prepared. I’ve got more wards on me than I can count. And…."
Nwm closed his ears to the Bard’s ramblings and focussed on his torc again, his perception stretching outwards, and sifting through the vast quantities of information which flooded his consciousness. Ten minutes passed. The Druid gave a quizzical look.
"…despite the fact that she was naked," Ortwin concluded. "What do you think, Nwm?"
"I think you did the right thing," Nwm replied. "By the way, there is a dragon around eight miles behind us. It is following us. It has probably caught our scent. It is heavily tainted – I suspect it is the wyrm that Nufrut mentioned."
"Crosod," Mostin said. "Is he closing?"
"Oh, yes. He will reach us," Nwm made a quick calculation, and his jaw dropped, "in a little over four minutes."
"Is he wind-walking?" Ortwin asked.
"I don’t think so," the Druid answered, somewhat amazed. "He is just flying…very fast. There is another…"
[Execration. Abomination. Anathema.]
Nwm shook, and resisted the urge to vomit. "There is something terrible with him."
"Should we turn and engage him?" Eadric asked. "Or try to flee? If Iua…"
"I cannot summon a wind to move us that fast," the Duelist replied.
But the blood drained from Nwm’s face as his inner vision perceived demons manifesting ahead of them and around them – they blinked in and out of his sight, successively teleporting to effortlessly pace the party, and remaining out of the reach of even their furthest-reaching spells.
"There is more bad news," Nwm said, and explained. "They are medium-order: probably succubi or vrocks."
Eadric immediately invoked a zone of revelation, and realities overlapped around them. To his partial relief, nothing was stalking them through the coexistent Shadow. At least, not yet.
"I don’t like this at all," Mostin mumbled. "We should be ready to flee back to the Prime if necessary."
Shomei cast a mass haste and transformed herself into an erinyes devil, causing Eadric to splutter and Ortwin to grin eagerly.
Nwm scowled. "Crosod is still closing."
Gheim squawked irritably. "How high up is he?"
"Only three hundred feet." Nwm answered.
"Well, I can’t see him," the eagle muttered.
"Nor I," Sem added. "He must be invisible"
"This is a trap," Eadric groaned. "They are probably waiting for reinforcements."
"They are coming," Nwm said. "Goddess. What is happening out there?" Powerful extraplanar entities were manifesting across his psychic landscape.
"I suspect that they do not know that we know of their presence," Shomei said. "We may still have something of an advantage. I will deal with the Dragon – it will even the odds somewhat. Mostin, for what I am about to do, I sincerely apologize."
Drawing upon the power of the arcane bracelet that Jovol had bequeathed her, Shomei quickly opened two gates. Eadric clenched his teeth in trepidation.
Light flooded through. Two Solars appeared.
Mostin screamed at her. "No! Not again! Not you as well!"
"Do you know who I am?" Shomei asked the celestials.
"You are a devil," one of them replied. "Why have you called us?"
"I am Shomei the Infernal. You cannot perceive my form because I am mind blanked. The sidhe with the winged helmet is Eadric of Deorham, the Ahma. Do you believe me?"
But Eadric had already reached out with his mind and reassured them.
"Do whatever he tells you to do," Shomei instructed the celestials. She turned to the Alienist. "Be very sure that you know what you are doing if you open another gate Mostin. You know what I’m speaking of."
Mostin gurgled incoherently.
"How far back is the Dragon, Nwm?" Shomei asked.
"Twelve thousand feet or so."
She tested the direction of the wind and vanished, leaving her steed riderless.
A look of amazement still sat upon Eadric’s face at the Infernalist’s choice of allies. Catching it, and regaining his composure a little, Mostin spoke shakily.
"They are tools to her, Eadric. Nothing else."
**
Crosod and Threxu, upon receiving Irknaan’s sending, had sped their way to the scene of Shupthul’s disintegration and Koilimilou’s capture. The Dragon had launched into a furious pursuit of ‘Rhalid’ and his party – his speed augmented by a spell, and rendered invulnerable to death magic and any elemental assault by the Wasted Nymph’s power.
Crosod had issued a sending of his own to Irknaan upon catching the party’s scent, and sneered in contempt when he received the return message:
Do not attack. I want them alive. Coordinate fully with the demons.
What game was the fool playing now? A sensor appeared nearby, and the Wyrm’s lidless eyes glistened with anger. As much as he resented the Loquai King, he was wise enough not to defy him. Within a matter of seconds, ten succubi appeared in the air nearby. Lehurze was with them.
"Where is he?" Crosod growled.
"He is on his way," Lehurze replied. "I have instructions for you."
Resentfully, the dragon formed a series of mental bonds with all of those present and rendered them invisible. They teleported away and, within five minutes, visual contact had been made with the intruders. The succubi and the dragon – now in common telepathic rapport – acted with a frightening focus and purpose.*
Meanwhile, Irknaan cursed. Events were moving faster than he had anticipated: Nhura and the remaining succubus, returning to Afqithan, had appeared over a hundred miles distant from his own palace and eighty miles from where Crosod now tracked Rhalid’s party. It would take her nearly two hours to reach the area where events were unfolding, even if she magically sped her passage.
The king gritted his teeth. He needed her there, and the only way to accomplish it was to draw heavily on his own reservoir of power. He instructed the forty Loquai who accompanied him to return to the fortress: at their speed, they had no hope of intercepting the intruders now. Irknaan lamented the loss of Koilimilou and her box of shadows – now it would have proven most useful. Reality bent around him as he cast two powerful spells, and made his way first to Nhura and then returned with her to where the other fiends were assembling.**
When he arrived, as instructed, the creature that he had compacted less than an hour before was waiting for him.
Irknaan issued yet another sending: this time to Soneillon.
**
The erinyes appeared three hundred yards behind Crosod, down-wind of him, invisible, and out of the range of his blindsight.
Unfortunately, the dragon was also hidden from her mundane vision, and out of the range of her perception – save for the gale and reek created by his passing.
Shomei opened another gate, exhausting her bracelet’s power. She waited nervously – somewhat longer than she was accustomed to. Finally, after what seemed an age – although it was less than five seconds – another solar appeared.
"I am Zhorion," the Cherub announced.
"I am not interested in your name, celestial," Shomei said irascibly. "I have a task for you."
The Solar ignored her. "Oronthon is curious why Shomei the Infernal has elected to open three gates to the Divine Sphere in less than a minute."
Shomei gaped.
"And do not think to use your association with the Ahma as an excuse for your actions. Reciprocity is required."
Shomei was flabbergasted. "I have no time for this," she snapped. "You are under compulsion by both magical law and divine mandate!"
"When you return to Morne," Zhorion continued, "you will seek out the Sela. He will instruct you in the correct application of the dialectic."
"How can there be a ‘correct…’" She began. "Oh, forget it. I probably understand saizhan better than you ever will. Alright. Whatever. Just help me kill the damn dragon."
Shomei sighed. Meaningful philosophical discourse with most solars was impossible. They were stubborn, unyielding and – ultimately – intellectually incapable.
She teleported two thousand feet ahead of where she suspected the dragon to be, and invoked an effulgent epuration – the silvery motes which hovered around her instantly betraying her location to Crosod’s remarkable eyesight. Shomei felt as though a gale was approaching as, invisible, he powered his way towards her at uncanny speed, and banked away before coming within range of her own magical sight. As his head turned and he finally became visible, he discharged an immense gout of corrupted acid and struck her with a horrid wilting. Simultaneously, from the slender shadow perched on his foreleg, yet another wilting struck her, and in the air palrethee demons began manifesting, summoned by both the Nymph and the Dragon. Evidently, Crosod was taking no chances. An effulgent epuration meant a very powerful spellcaster. He called mentally to the ten succubi with whom he was telepathically bonded.
Sh*t, Shomei thought. The acid burned her despite her diabolic resistance, and most of her epuration had already been denuded in the initial assault. She wondered wrily if she had bitten off more than she could chew. She flew rapidly forwards, gripped her rod, and struck Crosod with a potent enervation: twice empowered, magnified through her rod, and then twisted and amplified yet further by Afqithan’s magical trait. He reeled under the assault, but still survived the disintegration which followed.
Succubi were beginning to manifest all around Shomei as Zhorion descended and engaged with Crosod – a bright speck in the sky, dwarfed by the Dragon’s dark, titanic form, his slender brand flashing rapidly in his hands. Crosod screamed as the blade bit into him, and ichor poured from the wounds that the Solar delivered to his neck.
The Wyrm’s head stayed firmly attached to his body, however, and he gave a hideous grin. He said nothing, but brought his terrible will to bear upon the celestial.
A look of horrified fascination crossed Shomei’s face as, despite the palrethees who were now around her and hacking with their flaming swords, she watched black fire first kindle, and then cascade over Zhorion.
The Solar, dignified by Oronthon’s grace since before time began, perished in an unholy nimbus which consumed all trace of his existence. For the merest moment, the skies of Afqithan seemed to darken yet further, and swag with agony and wrath. Pain exploded over Shomei as Crosod thundered back towards her, calling forth an acid storm, heedless of his own summoned minions. Two flame strikes, evoked by Threxu, struck the Infernalist in series.
Before the succubi could descend upon her and tear her to pieces, Shomei teleported away.
She reappeared, burned and blasted, at the spot where she had left the others, only to find that the real battle was about to begin.
* Crosod used three castings of Rary’s telepathic bond with the succubi, acting as ‘anchor-man’ in their efforts to pinpoint Ortwin and the others. The succubi made multiple teleportations until one located the party, the news was passed to Crosod, and the Dragon related it to the rest of the demonesses. One of them teleported back to Irknaan’s fortress to inform the king of their exact whereabouts.
**Irknaan used two limited wishes: one to teleport to Nhura’s location, and another to bring them both to the vicinity of Crosod. Neither Irknaan nor Nhura were capable of instantaneous transport using more ‘conventional’ means. Six more succubi, a palrethee, two vrocks and a shator – compactees of the other Loquai nobility – had also now joined the pursuit. The shator – Ghuluk – was King Samodoquol’s majordomo.
**This was another nasty combo. The enervation – quadruply empowered and maximized – resulted in nine negative levels for Crosod. Luckily (from his perspective) he made the subsequent saving throw against the triply heightened disintegrate.
Thomas Hobbes
First Post
Huzzah! A post!
That's a cliffhanger... with no completion in sight for "quite a while."
Damn you! Daaaaamn yooooou....
That's a cliffhanger... with no completion in sight for "quite a while."
Damn you! Daaaaamn yooooou....
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