STUFF...
Sometimes I hate my players.
I mean, the DAY AFTER I make the announcement on these boards that we're taking a break from the game, they arrive at my house (and I'm thinking that we're going to play the alternative campaign), and say that they're all suffering from with withdrawal symptoms.
I was going to hold off this post (there is a lot of background info that they didn't know about), but now there is no need.
I am only 2 sessions behind now in the updates. We're slated to play again tonight. It will not run away with me, this time.
*****
Feezuu brooded in the shadows of the ancient necropolis of Khu, near the cursed city of Siir Traag. Dead things surrounded her.
Over a period of two weeks, she had been far from idle. Her raids upon the caravans, owned mainly by affluent silk merchants, had provided her with a considerable sum of disposable wealth, and already given rise to stories of a demoness riding a hell-horse who plundered and slew without mercy in the desert.
She had seduced a Necromancer named Chorze – a mage of moderate power –– and taken up residence with him in a mausoleum, where she experimented with blood and entrails. After quickly growing bored of their ghastly couplings, the Cambion slew Chorze and inherited his paltry collection of spellbooks, a few minor dweomered items, and a square mile of sand-worn buildings above vaults, crypts and sepulchers.
It was better than nothing, she’d reflected.
How to proceed, she had mused. She had considered Ainhorr and other powerful Demons at Graz’zt’s court with suspicion – had one of the Balors or Mariliths slain her in order to further its own aims? Had Ainhorr or even Graz’zt himself been instrumental in her death? Had celestials or some other force intervened? Whoever or whatever had killed her must have been either very potent, or very lucky, or both.
She must locate her books and items, but how? Now that her highest valences were denied to her, the ‘Discern Location’ dweomer was beyond her abilities – and she would have to acquire the spell in any case..
A vague deja-vu had flitted through her consciousness.
She needed allies. Her thoughts had drifted idly from Limbo, through the Abyss, across unnamed regions to Hell, and back again. The slaadi were unreliable, and hated her. Devils would be disinclined to do her bidding, and were too well organized and dangerous in any case. Yugoloths, demodands, and other creatures for whom Feezuu knew the names but few others did.
Demons. It would have to be demons. They might be fickle, perverse and depraved, but at least the Cambion knew what she was dealing with. But nothing too powerful, nothing that would threaten her own ascendancy – at least, not yet.
She had taken out her glass tube, and looked at the one hundred and nineteen motes of light which danced in it. One hundred and nineteen souls. Larvae in miniaturized form.
They wouldn’t buy her much – all were of a poor quality. She had sighed wistfully. The essence of a single paladin or virgin would fetch her so much more.
Feezuu had buffed herself, mounted her nightmare, and ‘Plane Shifted’ to the Plain of Infinite Portals. She had compacted with a goristro, two bar-lgura, fourteen dretch, two quasits and a succubus named Kalkja. None were minions of Graz’zt – at least to Feezuu’s knowledge – and that was the way she was going to keep things, until she gained a clearer perspective on matters.
After, over a period of three days, she had conjured them to the Prime, the Cambion instructed the dretch to bring her fresh body parts from the outlying encampments of nomads, which she needed for her work. The quasits were detailed with gathering information, both about her immediate vicinity and the world at large – she was woefully out of touch with recent events. The bar-lgura she kept close to her, and the goristro was appointed the task of guarding the entrance to the mausoleum – not that Feezuu really expected anyone to come within ten miles of the place. The necropolis had an evil reputation long before she had taken up residence.
Kalkja, whom Feezuu naturally distrusted, was appointed counsellor to the Cambion. From her, Feezuu learned much of the current state of Abyssal politics, and in an atmosphere of mutual need, greed and suspicion, they plotted. As part of their compact, Kalkja was given leave to pursue her own devices every ninth day.
**
Eadric was still deathly pale, although his fury had abated. Nwm was exhausted from his long flight, the battle, and the near-total emptying of his powers. He leaned heavily on his staff. Its orb was black, lusterless and dead.
They had been arguing for an hour. Dusk had passed into night. Outside the sparsely furnished chamber in the keep, a storm still raged – Nwm had thought to dismiss it, but decided to let it run its course. It reflected his own, dark mood.
"Many of them were innocent, Nwm."
"Innocence or guilt is YOUR construct, from YOUR religion. Do not sully mine with those ideas."
"Most were merely following orders…"
"Then they should open their eyes," Nwm snapped. "I am not responsible for the fact that people who attack my faith do so because they are ill-informed. Ignorance is no excuse."
"And the camp followers? The vendors and tradesmen? What of them?"
"Ah, yes," Nwm said sarcastically. "Because making a living from war is such a noble enterprise."
"I would have tried to spare the innocent," Eadric said. "And those who sought to flee. You butchered them."
"So others would not die in their place," Nwm retorted. "Might I remind you that your celestial mentor informed you that many who were ‘innocent’ would perish? Although none of those who died today were peace-loving farmers, were they? The persecutions have already begun, Eadric. I buried twelve Uediians on my journey from Morne. How many more have to die?"
"Twelve is less than a thousand," Eadric observed.
"Twelve is the beginning. I mean to ensure that it never gets much past that."
"You cannot make that kind of judgement," Eadric sighed. "You cannot foresee all eventualities."
"I accept full responsibility for my own actions," Nwm replied. "Which is more than you do, Eadric. You are a pawn in the hand of a deity with a personality disorder. You understand only one facet of his warped sense of morality, and you are playing out one of his psychotic episodes in the world of men, drawing the ‘innocent’ into the fray."
"Do you believe that?" The Paladin asked.
"No," Nwm confessed. "But none of this makes sense to me."
"What will you do now?"
Nwm collapsed into a hard wooden chair. "I don’t know," he said. "Wait and see what happens, I suppose. This should send a pretty unequivocal message to the Temple. But then again, I thought that my attack on Brey when he first issued the threat would do the same."
"Mostin?" Eadric asked. The Alienist had been silent, waiting for the exchange between the Druid and the Paladin to run its course.
"I am no tactician," Mostin replied. "But a demonstration of magical power of the magnitude that Nwm evinced would give me pause for thought. They cannot use arcanists in retaliation – no wizard would defy the Injunction, no matter what the incentive, and few are sympathetic to Orthodoxy in any case. Also note that by taking you to stop Nwm, I may have been technically in breach, so I must tread carefully from now on.
"Their most potent spellcaster was slain in the first few seconds of the combat," he continued, "although he was old, he had enormous powers at his command, but no time to actualize them. As we left, my robe of eyes revealed another cleric who had called a celestial – a deva, I think, although it was hard to be sure from that distance." Mostin shuddered.
"That would be either Tramst or Asser," Eadric said. "Both are high in the Temple hierarchy. Both are also relatively young and healthy, and fit enough to bear arms. Both are good men." The last words were spoken sadly.
Mostin shrugged. "They cannot match a Druid of Nwm’s power in the open without calling supernatural allies. How many are capable of ‘Planar Callings?’"
"In the whole Temple, half a dozen at most," Eadric replied, "but I am not perturbed. Tahl tells me that no celestial will raise a weapon against us."
"There are other things besides celestials whom they may call upon," Mostin said.
Eadric shook his head. "Doing so would be an implicit admission that they had lost Oronthon’s grace. If a celestial has been called, and it refused to act, then this will send shockwaves through the Temple. They will be hard-pressed to explain it."
The Druid snorted. "I’m sure there is a perfectly plausible doctrinal explanation, if you interpret certain words a certain way. Zeal blinds people to the truth."
In the event, both Eadric and Nwm were only partially incorrect. Mostin was closer to the mark.
**
Lord Brey ordered that the Temple troops withdraw from the river front, and disperse into the countryside west of the Nund but still within its watershed. Under no circumstances were so many soldiers again to be concentrated in a single encampment. He formed them into cadres of between two and three hundred, each under the command of a seasoned knight or Templar, and scattered them over an area of around fifty square miles. All were well-provisioned, and Brey knew that they could stay in the field for at least two weeks before he needed to think about reprovisioning them. He pitched his own tents six miles northwest of the crossings, near the village of Langdair.
Brey summoned Tramst – who had become sullen and uncommunicative – and detailed him to act as a messenger as soon as morning came and the storm broke. Most of the minor clerics remained in the vicinity of the stricken camp, tending to the wounded and performing rites on those hundreds who were less fortunate. All through the night, as the storm raged, engineers and soldiers hewed trees and dragged them into a great pyre. Kegs of oil were set in it, and the corpses – except for Melion – were drenched with it. The Inquisitor General’s body was sent in state back to Morne.
When the rains finally abated, an hour before dawn, the fire was lit. It burned for days, carrying the stench of death eastwards over the river towards Eadric’s camp.
Although none were privy to the exchange between Tramst and the Deva, Mostin had not been the only one to witness the celestial. Rumours circulated wildly amongst the Temple troops as to its meaning: whether it was a favourable or inauspicious omen, a promise of victory or defeat, a warning, a punishment or some other sign. When Brey finally heard of it, he ordered Tramst to appear before him.
"Why was this information withheld?" The Templar fumed.
Tramst considered carefully before answering. "It is sensitive. I will speak only to the Curia of it."
"I would remind you that I am now in command of this mission," Brey replied. "You will relate what happened."
"I will not," Tramst said simply. "Feel free to arrest me if you feel the need. You will need to elect another messenger."
Brey was livid, but had no choice but to concede. After dawn broke, Tramst wind-walked northwards to speak with Eisarn, the commander of the smaller force advancing from Tomur. He was instructed to halt his march and disperse into the countryside until orders were received to the contrary.
Tramst then sped to Morne, and related events to the Curia. An emergency audience was called, and the cleric described what had transpired in great detail. Although he mourned the death of Melion, and the loss of so many devout Oronthonians, it was the exchange with the celestial which caused him greatest concern.
The Curial meeting which followed afterwards was held behind closed doors, and Tramst was not present to hear their counsels.
**
Within three days Tahl, Soraine, Nehael and the assembled thanes and knights of Trempa arrived at the Crossings of the Nund. The Duchess rode in a large bier, borne by warhorses, from which she barked orders at her captains, and terrified her troops. Retinues of squires, menservants, provisioners, smiths, tailors and members of a dozen other professions accompanied the armoured aristocracy, and gaudy pavillions jostled for space and preeminence on the Blackwater meadow.
Inevitable bickering followed.
Many of Soraine’s subjects – powerful landed gentry in their own right – were eager to press onwards across the river, and rout the pockets of Temple soldiers who were entrenched in and around the villages there. The Ardanese mercenaries – always happy to wage war – were sympathetic to the demands of the secular knights. Eadric’s paladins were insistent that divine authorization be issued before any further steps were taken. The few Uediians amongst those gathered there (most were in the north of Trempa with Ryth), although anxious to engage the enemy, were so awestruck by Nwm’s actions that they refused to act without his consent, a fact which irritated the Druid to the extent that he refused to speak with any of them. His reticence did nothing to dispel their adoration, however, and merely added to the aura of mystery which surrounded him.
The exact strengths and dispositions of the Temple troops were known to Eadric and his allies, not through Mostin’s scrying – in fact the Alienist had kept to himself since the "Night of the Storm," as it soon became known – but through the medium of Nwm’s torc. All the Druid had to do was concentrate for a brief moment, the Green communion would absorb him, and, like blotches on his consciousness, the enemy appeared to his inner sight. Where permanent buildings appeared as voids, tents and temporary shelters manifested as a localized diminishment of the Green. Or he could shift the focus of his perception, and apprehend spellcasters, concentrations of iron, or whatever else struck him as pertinent. The information gleaned was pieced into a very coherent picture of Temple strength and deployment.
Eadric persuaded Nwm not to travel north. The Druid’s original intent had been to succour Ryth and eliminate the army from Tomur. But news of their arrested advance and redeployment of forces spoke volumes to Eadric.
"The Curia will be in debate. Give them the chance of making a move towards ending this," the Paladin said.
"They will not take it," Nwm replied.
"Probably not," Eadric sighed, "but at least give them a chance, Nwm."
Nwm nodded. Inwardly, he was relieved.
**
No weighty doctrinal explanation was required to explain the celestial’s reluctance to pursue Eadric and Nwm.
It was obvious. Oronthon, perfect in his understanding, was still served by entities who only partially represented his will. Although the godhead possessed a facet which was stern and judgmental, he also embodied compassion and forgiveness.
Clearly, Tramst had erred when he had required a celestial to pursue what was, in effect, an act of righteous vengeance against a mortal. Celestials were concerned primarily with countering the infernal threat, guiding mortals through revelation, and cultivating the nobler faculties of the human mind. For the deva, the task of just retribution was beyond its purview.
If there was any feeling within the Curia that these words, devised by the Bishop of Hethio, were a sophistry designed to extricate the Temple from an unjustifiable position, then none voiced a concern.
Eadric the Heretic. Eadric the Blasphemer. Eadric the Oathbreaker. And his chief accomplice in his attempt to disgrace the Temple, Nwm the Pagan. The conspiracy between the heretics and the heathens was all too clear and, no doubt, the hand of the Adversary manipulated everything from below.
A thousand brave Oronthonians dead, martyrs to the cause, selflessly sacrificing themselves to save the One True Faith from the corruption and seductive lies perpetrated by the Heretic. Melion slain by the Pagan.
The Interim Protector and Grand Master of the Temple, Lord Rede of Dramore, immediately petitioned the King for aid against the threat which he had, previously, grossly underestimated. He requested the assistance of the royal army, and advised that a motion be passed immediately, banning Uedii worship outright, on pain of death. It was an insidious, ungodly cult which had no place in a civilized Wyre. An atavism, through which the Adversary worked his evil.
Entering the vault below the great Fane, bearing their seals, and speaking the correct passwords, Lord Rede and the Bishops of Hethio, Gibilrazen and Mord negotiated the tortuous passageways patrolled by golems, and proceeded to the inner chamber. The quartet held their seals aloft and a door appeared in the north wall. Unbeknownst to Iua - and Amachel the Damned from whom she had received the stolen plans to the vault - there was an eighth demiplane nested within. But Tahl would have known.
The Church Magnates entered a small, dusty room with shelves lined with scrolls. The work of centuries.
"The callings are here, powerful evocations and conjurations here, and so on," Hethio informed the others. He smiled grimly. "There is more than one Storm here. We should begin distributing them. We should give particular thought to the Callings."
"But not celestials?" Gibilrazen queried. "We have decided that it is not their place."
Hethio shook his head.
"Inevitables," he said.
**
Mostin scried. Carefully.
He was already treading a thin line with regards to the Great Injunction, and did not wish to incriminate himself further – hence he restricted his magical eavesdropping largely to minor functionaries within the Temple hierarchy. Many of the great magnates were too aware, too capable of penetrating his sensors.
Nonetheless, a fair amount of information filtered back to the Alienist. The emergency convening of the Curia, the descent of Rede and the three bishops into the Temple vault for an unknown reason, rumours of further anti-Uediian legislation in the pipelines, a general downplaying of the incident with the Deva, brushed aside as a ‘bad judgement call’ by Tramst.
Tramst intrigued Mostin. A man who was unafraid to invoke supernatural allies of the most potent kind, and who had defied Nwm’s storm. In the aftermath of the battle, he had administered aid to stricken soldiers on the field, selflessly exhausting his reservoir of magical energy, had wind-walked to Morne the next day and was now, apparently, in a meditation retreat.
"Do you think he can be persuaded to join us?" He asked Eadric.
The Paladin scratched his head. "If I could speak with him, I might be able to persuade him." He smiled grimly. "But I somehow doubt that he would be open to discussion."
"He is in retreat," Mostin said. "The exchange with the Deva may have given him pause for thought – assuming that he requested aid and was denied it."
"I’ll mull it over," Eadric said. "Keep a tag on him. Let me know when his meditation is done."
Before retiring, Mostin idly wondered about Feezuu. Almost on a whim, he invoked the ‘Discern Location’ spell, expecting to find her in Limbo, Pandaemonium, the Abyss or some equally unpleasant locale.
She was here, on the Prime.
Mostin cursed his own complacency. He had been very, very sloppy.
