“I must leave.” Vek walked briskly toward the exit and passed through the wall of white light.
“Wait!” Kizzlorn called. “Where are you going?” He didn’t answer… he had left.
“That one is strange,” Broldek said. “I mean, besides being a lich and all.”
Kizz sighed. “He believed there was great power in the Totem pieces. When forged, who knows what he suspected they could do for him?”
Dartan muttered grimly. “A lich with great power. I’m not encouraged.”
They silenced as something began stirring in the space where Ashardalon had stood a moment before. The ashes whipped up into a small dust cloud, and a shape began to form. It was a massive, purple-reddish-black heart. It began to move and change shape, rising from a bent position. It was a demon. The creature’s entire form pulsed with slow, steady evil, as a massive creature’s heart would beat. It stood twelve feet tall and had massive, clawed hands. Wings unfurled, and with an audible whump! the creature burst into flames.
It raised its hands, and screamed “FREE! AMMET RETURNS! MY WEAPONS OF OLD- TO ME!” In answer, the radiance of the pooled soulstuff faded out, plunging the room into darkness for a heartbeat- even Ammet’s flames were dimmed. An instant later, the flames and glow returned. Ammet now held a rune-inscribed greatsword in one hand, and in the other a three-stranded whip. Each strand was composed of a night-dark void.
The bloodied Knights gazed at Ammet, the freed demon. He glared back down at them. “YOU HAVE FREED ME. I DO NOT WISH TO DESTROY YOU AT THIS TIME. I HAVE OTHERS TO SEEK OUT AND PUNISH.” He turned and left, and the Knights did not move to stop him.
Five brilliant points of light appeared in the air. They grew rapidly into five humanoid shapes of light. The peals fo a thousand crystal bells tolled together, forming a single perfect note at the entities’ arrival. The entities exuded a palpable presence of pure, gleaming joy.
“The cycle of life is repaired,” came a voice into the Knights’ heads. “The Ban of the Unborn sleeps, and gods, and yes, all creation, breathes easier. We are the manifestation of the life force of creation. We thank you. Receive our gift and be glad.”
White lightning flashed out and curled around each Knight. Their wounds were healed and cleaned instantaneously. They felt their strength return… and increase. Their bodies and hearts filled with vitality.
The beings spoke again. “With this gift, you shall heal quickly. A sword’s blow may be fully healed within seconds. A near-fatal wound may be healed, without aid, over the course of hours. Should you die… you will be reborn, immediately, at full strength. Then shall the gift be spent, and you will live on.”
“Thank you,” Kizzlorn said somberly.
As they left the soul font to its repair, the soulstuff began flowing properly. All was right on the Plane of Positive Energy. “Too bad Vek missed out on that gift,” Broldek said. “I’d like to see the look on his face if he should be resurrected beyond his control. Would he come back to life?”
Dartan grunted. “We’ll never know, I guess. Vek seemed to think he had more important things to do. I hope
Sir Vek Mormont sailed through the crimson mists on the Plane of Acheron. In the distance, he saw the razor-sharp ice spires of Her palace melt into view. Wee Jas. She would be so pleased with him. Death and magic flowed about him. Doomed souls and dark workings moaned and twisted through the ether under the dark scarlet sky, where bright red lightning forked and shot.
He floated into Her palace and stood at the center of her atrium, where a mosaic pattern of concentric, barbed circles emanated. The tiled spiral beneath his feet crawled and twitched, like a spool of wire that was being jostled.
She appeared before him. Wee Jas, the goddess of death and magic, wearing a blood-red gown. Her pale arms were held before her, palms upward. Her dark hair floated slowly about her, as if she were submerged in water. Her face was like porcelain, save for her dark cherry lips. Her ice-blue eyes opened and settled on him. “Sir Vek. My most valued warrior. You come before me in my own castle. Welcome.”
She was so beautiful. Vek could feel his dried, rotted chest swell with the love he had borne for her all these years. “My lady.”
“You do not kneel before your lady?”
He removed his helmet and kneeled. “I return to you, victorious. I have seen Ashardalon slain.”
“You have won the Soul Totem?”
“Yes.” She smiled, and the sight struck him. He looked away, as a man looks away from the sun because it is so bright that it would blind him. He loved her so much it hurt to see her face. “I have the Totem.”
“Present it to me, then, my love.”
He steeled himself and stood. “I will not.”
Her smile faded, and the blue eyes of the goddess searched his face. At length she said “…What?”
“I only refuse to give it to you knowing you would never take a mere servant by your side. I wish to join you… and rule with you. We would be the King and Queen of death and magic.”
Her face showed hurt and betrayal, and it stung him horribly to know he’d done this to her, but it was the only way. “Vek… give me the Soul Totem.”
“No. Let me serve you as I wish to… not as a servant, but as your lover.”
“Your goddess has commanded you. You defy her?”
“I do. I defy my goddess… as a god.”
She turned her head down, silently. Her milk-white hands fell to her sides. She looked up at him with sadness. “Then… you have failed my final test.”
A cold shock ran through Vek. “I beg your pardon, my lady…”
“The Totem is worthless. It grants you power, but not nearly enough to become a god yourself.” She waved a hand, and the Totem turned to dust that blew away on the wind. “Only by tempting you with power as great as my own could I know the truth of your heart.”
Vek Mormont stood there with his jaw hanging open. He fell to his knees. “No. Please. No, my queen..."
“You have proved yourself unworthy of being my chosen warrior.” She walked to him, bent, and lifted his chin gently. She looked upon his face… a skull covered with dried strips of gray skin and muscle. The empty sockets looked up at her. She kissed him. “Wee Jas grants you the gift of death.”
Sir Vek Mormont screamed as he died, turning to crimson dust and scattering to the winds.
MORE TO COME…
townsperson in the back to first throw a bottle of holy water (then promptly run away) and start a riot. So I'd never have to face thier wrath, unless they can run faster than 120ft.
