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<blockquote data-quote="Cheiromancer" data-source="post: 1029422" data-attributes="member: 141"><p><em>Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 04-24-2002</em></p><p></p><p>Here we go again.</p><p></p><p>Of course, the last scene in this post was unknown to the players. It's my own, vague interpretation of events in the Abyss. I thought I'd throw it in for fun.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p></p><p>A roar reminiscent of a cataract filled the cellar of Mostin’s comfortable retreat. Within the diagram, black fire shot forth in columns, merely to dissipate against a barrier which was visible only in relief – it flickered like a void against the shadows beyond it.</p><p>Ortwin looked at Mostin, and saw fear in the Alienist’s eyes. "What the…," the Bard began.</p><p>"WAIT!" Mostin commanded. "He is trying to escape."</p><p>The convulsions within the pentacle lasted only a few moments, before they abruptly ceased. They were replaced by a perfect hemisphere of silent, impenetrable darkness.</p><p>Mostin was shaking, but tried to look relaxed. "We’re safe," he said.</p><p></p><p>"So where is he?" Eadric asked uncertainly. "In there?"</p><p>"Oh yes!" Mostin replied, recovering some of his cockiness. "He’s in there all right. It would seem that he’s reluctant to reveal himself, however." The Alienist turned towards the blackness. "Are you feeling shy, Rurunoth?"</p><p></p><p>Silence.</p><p></p><p>"He’s not very talkative, is he?" Ortwin offered.</p><p></p><p>Silence.</p><p></p><p>"This is freaking me out," moaned Nwm. "He’s safe, right? Let’s go upstairs for a while. I need a drink."</p><p>"For once, I agree," said Eadric. </p><p></p><p>Eadric threw off his armour, and the quartet sat silently for a while in Mostin’s small but comfortable drawing room. Nwm was the first to speak.</p><p>"If I remember aright, we’ve got 24 hours to put an offer on the table. Correct, Mostin?"</p><p>The Alienist nodded. "If we choose to make an offer. And every day we hold him, we can renew our offer, but he has a chance of breaking free."</p><p>"How big a chance?" Ortwin inquired.</p><p>"By my calculations, the odds are only very slightly in our favour."</p><p>Eadric groaned. "I thought this would involve a ‘minimum risk.’ It’s starting to sound even worse than I’d feared."</p><p>"There are other options." Mostin ventured.</p><p>"Go on," sighed the Paladin.</p><p>"We can kill him," said Mostin, flatly.</p><p>"Assuming we CAN, what good will that do?" Ortwin snapped. "We’ll gain no information, and incur his undying enmity – although we’ve probably earned that already. He’ll merely reform in the Abyss."</p><p>"I suggest this course of action only in extremis – for example, if the trap fails and no bargain has been struck. But you are wrong. Rurunoth has been CALLED, not summoned. The distinction is subtle, but important. He is here, fully. If he is slain, he is destroyed. Forever."</p><p>"That would be cutting Graz’zt’s right hand off," Eadric said. "It is tempting."</p><p>"Not really," Mostin smiled.</p><p>Eadric shot a quizzical look towards the Alienist.</p><p>"Prince Graz’zt is served by six Balors, of whom Rurunoth is one," Mostin explained.</p><p>"SIX?" Repeated Nwm. "Sh*t. Why didn’t you mention that already?"</p><p>"I didn’t think it was important," said Mostin blandly. "I could also tell you the military dispositions and allegiances of every Duke of Hell, and the names of a hundred Seraphs, Thrones and Virtues in Oronthon’s host – which is probably more than Eadric here could – but it’s simply not relevant."</p><p></p><p>"Get back to the point, Mostin," Ortwin interrupted. "What other options do we have?"</p><p>"I can trap his soul permanently – or attempt to do so. The chances for this are fairly high, as we know his name. If I can get hold of a certain buffing spell which I don’t currently possess (and have been meaning to acquire for some time), the odds will increase further in our favour."</p><p>"But we need information," Ortwin reminded the Alienist. "Rurunoth is no good to us if we can’t communicate with him."</p><p>"True," Mostin admitted, "but the usual stipulation on the binding spell which now contains him, is one of a kind of ‘reciprocal exchange.’ Normally, the mage offers the bound creature something that it desires, and requests a service in return. I’m not sure whether his simply divulging information deserves a particularly high price – at least from his point of view. Right now, he is silently brooding, wondering what our next move will be. He knows who we are, what motivates us, and how best to reach our innermost needs and desires. His silence is simply his opening move in our negotiations. And he fears us – as much as or more than we fear him. Demons are ruled by fear. He has much to lose in this matter, and risks the ire of his master if he acts prematurely and without thought of the consequences. The scales are delicately balanced."</p><p>"So what exactly ARE you suggesting, Mostin?" Eadric asked.</p><p>"That we open a dialogue, and that our foremost communicator should attempt to sway him," replied the Alienist.</p><p>"SWAY him?" Nwm asked, incredulously.</p><p>Mostin was exasperated. "Get a grip! Rurunoth is not a god! Nor is he a foe beyond our combined resources. He is ancient, cunning and formidable, yes. A fiend of great power. But he is flawed: a slave to greed, lust, and the desire for dominion. Trust me. It is why celestials are MUCH harder to deal with than demons."</p><p>"Then Eadric should undertake the negotiations," Nwm said. "He is the foremost diplomat amongst us, and less likely to be swayed by subtleties which the demon can offer."</p><p>Eadric nodded, resigned to the task.</p><p>"No," said Ortwin. "I’ll go, for precisely the opposite reason. Of all of us present, I’m closest to the daemonic in perspective. I’m vain, lustful, self-centered and arrogant." The Bard grinned broadly. "I am also the best liar in the world." </p><p>"That," agreed Eadric, "may very well be true." The Paladin sighed. "Thank-you, Ortwin."</p><p></p><p>None of the group slept easily that night, and Mostin lamented the fact that he hadn’t prepared ‘Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion.’ An extradimensional pocket would have given them all the feeling of security which was sorely needed. He’d had a fiend or two in his cellar before, of course, not to mention a number of other bizarre extraplanar creatures. But this was something of a different order. </p><p>Before sleeping, poring over his books and looking unhappily at his repertoire, the Alienist knew that it was time to get hold of some dweomers with some serious firepower, as well as some utility spells. He knew a mage or two who might be open to a trade, although he had little to offer them in return. He needed a week, at least, to procure, copy and absorb the spells. There were others, of course, but these struck the Alienist as the most pressing. Mostin made a list.</p><p></p><p>Fox’s Cunning</p><p>Permanency</p><p>Iron Body</p><p>Wall of Force</p><p>Disintegrate</p><p>Symbol</p><p></p><p>Mostin’s eyes glazed over, as a brief vision appeared in his mind of slinging mighty magicks at powerful outsiders. Ahh, this was what it was about. Mostin stroked Mogus, and the hedgehog made sympathetic crooning noises.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>In measureless halls of iron, shaped aeons before from the primal stuff of cursed and violent matter, and since sustained by the merest iota of his great, dark Will, Prince Graz’zt fumed. Damned souls wailed in terror across the abysmal deeps as fires leapt up and acid poured in unbroken sheets from the swagging sky, driven by a wind of hate. The Prince’s own lieutenants and captains feared to approach him, lest they suffer the same fate as the Marilith, Uzmi. She had been too eager to gain his favour, and had misread his mood. For her, death would have been kinder.</p><p></p><p>Not since his own incarceration had Graz’zt been so humiliated. The war with Orcus was quickly forgotten, and his plots and strategies, which spanned half a thousand worlds, were driven from his mind. A thirst for vengeance so profound overcame him that his visage contorted in violent paroxysm. </p><p></p><p>The bitchling, Nehael, on the verge of some perverse atonement. Rurunoth ensnared. And now this.</p><p></p><p>"WHEN?" The question thundered from the Prince.</p><p></p><p>The Balor called Ainhorr, vast and hoary beyond the measure of even his peers, moved forward and then abased himself, pressing his pitted forehead to the ground. </p><p>"Three days hence, Sire. In a neutral place of your choosing."</p><p>Graz’zt’s aspect changed dramatically, and his countenance became beatific and serene.</p><p>"Ainhorr, you will go to meet the embassy," the Prince spoke softly. "Who are they sending?"</p><p>"Enitharmon and Urthoon, Lord," Ainhorr replied.</p><p>"Aah," said the Prince. And the briefest look of melancholy passed over his face.</p><p>And then Graz’zt laughed lightly. "Take one whom you distrust the least, Ainhorr."</p><p>"Sire."</p><p>"And see that you observe the correct forms."</p><p>"Yes, Lord."</p><p>"Do not fail me." His mood was poison again.</p><p>Ainhorr bowed deeply, and departed in terror.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cheiromancer, post: 1029422, member: 141"] [i]Originally posted by Sepulchrave II on 04-24-2002[/i] Here we go again. Of course, the last scene in this post was unknown to the players. It's my own, vague interpretation of events in the Abyss. I thought I'd throw it in for fun. *** A roar reminiscent of a cataract filled the cellar of Mostin’s comfortable retreat. Within the diagram, black fire shot forth in columns, merely to dissipate against a barrier which was visible only in relief – it flickered like a void against the shadows beyond it. Ortwin looked at Mostin, and saw fear in the Alienist’s eyes. "What the…," the Bard began. "WAIT!" Mostin commanded. "He is trying to escape." The convulsions within the pentacle lasted only a few moments, before they abruptly ceased. They were replaced by a perfect hemisphere of silent, impenetrable darkness. Mostin was shaking, but tried to look relaxed. "We’re safe," he said. "So where is he?" Eadric asked uncertainly. "In there?" "Oh yes!" Mostin replied, recovering some of his cockiness. "He’s in there all right. It would seem that he’s reluctant to reveal himself, however." The Alienist turned towards the blackness. "Are you feeling shy, Rurunoth?" Silence. "He’s not very talkative, is he?" Ortwin offered. Silence. "This is freaking me out," moaned Nwm. "He’s safe, right? Let’s go upstairs for a while. I need a drink." "For once, I agree," said Eadric. Eadric threw off his armour, and the quartet sat silently for a while in Mostin’s small but comfortable drawing room. Nwm was the first to speak. "If I remember aright, we’ve got 24 hours to put an offer on the table. Correct, Mostin?" The Alienist nodded. "If we choose to make an offer. And every day we hold him, we can renew our offer, but he has a chance of breaking free." "How big a chance?" Ortwin inquired. "By my calculations, the odds are only very slightly in our favour." Eadric groaned. "I thought this would involve a ‘minimum risk.’ It’s starting to sound even worse than I’d feared." "There are other options." Mostin ventured. "Go on," sighed the Paladin. "We can kill him," said Mostin, flatly. "Assuming we CAN, what good will that do?" Ortwin snapped. "We’ll gain no information, and incur his undying enmity – although we’ve probably earned that already. He’ll merely reform in the Abyss." "I suggest this course of action only in extremis – for example, if the trap fails and no bargain has been struck. But you are wrong. Rurunoth has been CALLED, not summoned. The distinction is subtle, but important. He is here, fully. If he is slain, he is destroyed. Forever." "That would be cutting Graz’zt’s right hand off," Eadric said. "It is tempting." "Not really," Mostin smiled. Eadric shot a quizzical look towards the Alienist. "Prince Graz’zt is served by six Balors, of whom Rurunoth is one," Mostin explained. "SIX?" Repeated Nwm. "Sh*t. Why didn’t you mention that already?" "I didn’t think it was important," said Mostin blandly. "I could also tell you the military dispositions and allegiances of every Duke of Hell, and the names of a hundred Seraphs, Thrones and Virtues in Oronthon’s host – which is probably more than Eadric here could – but it’s simply not relevant." "Get back to the point, Mostin," Ortwin interrupted. "What other options do we have?" "I can trap his soul permanently – or attempt to do so. The chances for this are fairly high, as we know his name. If I can get hold of a certain buffing spell which I don’t currently possess (and have been meaning to acquire for some time), the odds will increase further in our favour." "But we need information," Ortwin reminded the Alienist. "Rurunoth is no good to us if we can’t communicate with him." "True," Mostin admitted, "but the usual stipulation on the binding spell which now contains him, is one of a kind of ‘reciprocal exchange.’ Normally, the mage offers the bound creature something that it desires, and requests a service in return. I’m not sure whether his simply divulging information deserves a particularly high price – at least from his point of view. Right now, he is silently brooding, wondering what our next move will be. He knows who we are, what motivates us, and how best to reach our innermost needs and desires. His silence is simply his opening move in our negotiations. And he fears us – as much as or more than we fear him. Demons are ruled by fear. He has much to lose in this matter, and risks the ire of his master if he acts prematurely and without thought of the consequences. The scales are delicately balanced." "So what exactly ARE you suggesting, Mostin?" Eadric asked. "That we open a dialogue, and that our foremost communicator should attempt to sway him," replied the Alienist. "SWAY him?" Nwm asked, incredulously. Mostin was exasperated. "Get a grip! Rurunoth is not a god! Nor is he a foe beyond our combined resources. He is ancient, cunning and formidable, yes. A fiend of great power. But he is flawed: a slave to greed, lust, and the desire for dominion. Trust me. It is why celestials are MUCH harder to deal with than demons." "Then Eadric should undertake the negotiations," Nwm said. "He is the foremost diplomat amongst us, and less likely to be swayed by subtleties which the demon can offer." Eadric nodded, resigned to the task. "No," said Ortwin. "I’ll go, for precisely the opposite reason. Of all of us present, I’m closest to the daemonic in perspective. I’m vain, lustful, self-centered and arrogant." The Bard grinned broadly. "I am also the best liar in the world." "That," agreed Eadric, "may very well be true." The Paladin sighed. "Thank-you, Ortwin." None of the group slept easily that night, and Mostin lamented the fact that he hadn’t prepared ‘Mordenkainen’s Magnificent Mansion.’ An extradimensional pocket would have given them all the feeling of security which was sorely needed. He’d had a fiend or two in his cellar before, of course, not to mention a number of other bizarre extraplanar creatures. But this was something of a different order. Before sleeping, poring over his books and looking unhappily at his repertoire, the Alienist knew that it was time to get hold of some dweomers with some serious firepower, as well as some utility spells. He knew a mage or two who might be open to a trade, although he had little to offer them in return. He needed a week, at least, to procure, copy and absorb the spells. There were others, of course, but these struck the Alienist as the most pressing. Mostin made a list. Fox’s Cunning Permanency Iron Body Wall of Force Disintegrate Symbol Mostin’s eyes glazed over, as a brief vision appeared in his mind of slinging mighty magicks at powerful outsiders. Ahh, this was what it was about. Mostin stroked Mogus, and the hedgehog made sympathetic crooning noises. In measureless halls of iron, shaped aeons before from the primal stuff of cursed and violent matter, and since sustained by the merest iota of his great, dark Will, Prince Graz’zt fumed. Damned souls wailed in terror across the abysmal deeps as fires leapt up and acid poured in unbroken sheets from the swagging sky, driven by a wind of hate. The Prince’s own lieutenants and captains feared to approach him, lest they suffer the same fate as the Marilith, Uzmi. She had been too eager to gain his favour, and had misread his mood. For her, death would have been kinder. Not since his own incarceration had Graz’zt been so humiliated. The war with Orcus was quickly forgotten, and his plots and strategies, which spanned half a thousand worlds, were driven from his mind. A thirst for vengeance so profound overcame him that his visage contorted in violent paroxysm. The bitchling, Nehael, on the verge of some perverse atonement. Rurunoth ensnared. And now this. "WHEN?" The question thundered from the Prince. The Balor called Ainhorr, vast and hoary beyond the measure of even his peers, moved forward and then abased himself, pressing his pitted forehead to the ground. "Three days hence, Sire. In a neutral place of your choosing." Graz’zt’s aspect changed dramatically, and his countenance became beatific and serene. "Ainhorr, you will go to meet the embassy," the Prince spoke softly. "Who are they sending?" "Enitharmon and Urthoon, Lord," Ainhorr replied. "Aah," said the Prince. And the briefest look of melancholy passed over his face. And then Graz’zt laughed lightly. "Take one whom you distrust the least, Ainhorr." "Sire." "And see that you observe the correct forms." "Yes, Lord." "Do not fail me." His mood was poison again. Ainhorr bowed deeply, and departed in terror. [/QUOTE]
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