Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 3782223" data-attributes="member: 143">Chapter 257A NEW CHAMPIONAs Dar took over the leadership of the Doomed Bastards, the most powerful surviving cleric of Orcus in Rappan Athuk was lying in a plush bed in a fit of delirium.  His name was Hesperix.  It was clear that the man was far from well.  His naked body was covered with the marks of torture, and while most of the wounds had faded to ugly scars, they were fresh enough to indicate that the experience had been relatively recent.  His right hand was just a fleshy knob, the fingers having been removed.  Symbols had been cut into his flesh, and those injuries seemed unwilling to fully heal, leaving garish red marks upon his body. But the torment suffered by the cleric was more spiritual than physical, and terrible noises came from the bed as he clawed at the sheets in the midst of his feverish slumber.  The bed, like the rest of the chamber, had once been opulently furnished, but now old blood and filth marred the linens.  Hesperix’s hair and beard were likewise matted with dirt, and his once powerful body showed clear evidence of ongoing neglect and decay. A large part of the man’s suffering came from reliving the events that had led to his fall.Hesperix had once been a rising star in the hierarchy of the cult of Orcus.  Gifted with considerable personal talents that were married to both a considerable creativity and a suave ruthlessness, he had risen to the rank of priest after a remarkably short time as an acolyte.  Unfortunately for him, that very success had made his superiors uncomfortable, and it took only a very minor political gaffe to draw the ire of Zehn, who had banished him to the Talon.  Technically, it had been an important assignment, and had given Hesperix charge of his own temple.  The Talon of Orcus warded the Bloodways, and its proximity to both Grezneck and an exit to the surface gave the temple a certain strategic importance.  The place had its own complement of priests and acolytes, several potent guardians, and its own fully-stocked torture chamber.  But the Talon was likewise isolated, far from the main temples that were linked to the Master.  Hesperix had been sent to take charge of the Talon, and had been quickly forgotten by most of the followers of Orcus. Forgotten by most, but not all. He’d never liked Theron.  The two of them had served together as acolytes, but Hesperix had never been impressed with the other’s abilities.  Their rivalry had also included a romantic angle, as both men had competed for the affections of Celeen, and in the end the woman had (inexplicably, to Hesperix’s thinking) chosen the other.  He’d always suspected that Theron had been the one who’d reported on his private negotiations with Aldeth’s minions, the indiscretion that had focused Zehn’s ire upon him.So Hesperix had not responded favorably when Theron’s embassy, a hobgoblin fighter-priest accompanied by two guards, had suddenly arrived unannounced at the Talon.  His ire had grown to astonishment when he had been presented with the other cleric’s demands.  Not only was he to turn over all of his prisoners, captives he had personally broken over long and tedious weeks in the torture chamber, but he was also supposed to just give Theron command of all eight of his senior priests!  He’d responded in what he’d judged to be a measured fashion, sending a polite response engraved on the flayed hide of the hobgoblin, in the custody of the two guards.  Between the two of them, he’d left an eye and an ear, surely enough for them to find their way back to the Slave Pits to deliver his reply. He’d expected a response, but when it had come it had taken him completely by surprise.  Theron himself had come, with Celeen at his side, and accompanied by those sycophantic wretches he surrounded himself with, Tibor, Relnek, and Phesor.  They hadn’t even brought any guards with them. As it happened, they’d had no need for them. Hesperix had been astonished by the power wielded by his rival and his followers.  Theron had commanded a power that dwarfed even what Gudmund could muster.  And Orcus had clearly favored him; Hesperix’s undead guards had refused his commands to attack, and even the blood golems had retreated before the might of the dark priest.  Hesperix’s own clerics had obeyed his orders and had attacked, perhaps realizing that they would share in the culpability of their leader.  Their spells and weapons had worked, but they had been utterly outclassed, and had been quickly overcome.  And the Seer, of course, had been worse than useless, retreating to his private sanctum as soon as the intruders had arrived. Theron was grimly thorough in his chastisement of the Talon’s defiant leader.  He’d been forced to watch while his acolytes were violated, put to death in his own torture chamber, and raised as zombies.  His priests were led away in irons to a no doubt unpleasant fate in the Pits, along with all of his hard-won prisoners.  He’d been left one servant, the priest Calexes, but it was doubtful how much utility the man would possess with his fingers, tongue, and manhood removed. Hesperix himself had been left mostly intact.  Theron had taken the fingers of his right hand himself.  He’d taken Dacris, either not knowing or not caring about the weapon’s special property.  But Hesperix hadn’t even bothered to call it back.  The raid had broken him, as neatly and effectively as he had broken the prisoners formerly in his charge.  Theron hadn’t even bothered trying to extract the location of his hidden vault from him, and likewise he hadn’t troubled the Seer.  The clerics had taken their prizes and just left him lying there on the floor of the temple, naked and bleeding.   Since the raid on the Talon, Hesperix had lost track of the passage of time.  On a few occasions he’d become aware of loud noises out in the temple; most likely incursions from the Bloodways that had made it past the wards.  Either the golems had handled them, or not; he’d ceased caring.  He occasionally went out into the temple, but neglected the rites and all of the other duties of the place.  Calexes, if he even still lived, avoided him; the Seer appeared before him once, but had given him nothing but a mocking stare.  He had felt the surges of power that had shaken Rappan Athuk to its core.  But while he had wondered at them, his curiosity had not been enough to shake his apathy.  He had not even prayed for spells since the attack; there seemed to be no point, as he lacked the power to restore his hand.  At some point he stirred.  He pulled himself out of his bed, and almost absently grabbed a soiled cloak to cover himself.  The fallen priest made his way out into the temple.  The place was quiet and empty.  The unchanging permanence of the place was reassuring.  Hesperix shuffled forward, but when he came to the open space in front of the altar and the massive statue behind it, he came to a stop. He stared up at the statue for several minutes.  The black stone was highlighted by a red glow that shone down from the ceiling, as it always had.  Nothing stirred. Finally, Hesperix fell to his knees.  His cloak fell away, forgotten.  A deep croaking sound issued from his body.  The noises only gradually became comprehensible words. “Yes... yes... yes, Master... I serve!”  The cleric looked down at the stump of his right hand.  As his face glowed with a paroxysm of ecstasy, he spoke words of power, and the fingers of the limb regrew, the entire hand becoming intact again within seconds.  Hesperix spoke another word, and Dacris appeared in his hand.  The power of the unholy scythe flowed through him, tendrils of black vapor twisting around the semi-substantial blade of inky darkness. Behind him, the outer doors of the temple swung open.  Hesperix rose, using the long haft of the scythe to help support himself.  He slowly turned to face the creature that entered the place.  Within the basin before the entry, the blood golems stirred, but they did not attack; they recognized the newcomer as one of theirs.  The intruder moved around the pool.  It was carrying something bulky; as it moved deeper into the temple Hesperix recognized it as the corpse of a man.  The body was in fairly good shape; Hesperix had a good eye for such details, and he could tell that it hadn’t been dead long.  The cleric waited until the creature came before him. Zafir Navev dropped the body it carried to the floor.  “The Master has sent me here,” he said.  Hesperix let out an exultant breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “I know,” the cleric said, his soul and his will restored to what they had been... and more.</blockquote>

Verification