The Heretic of Wyre
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
Sepulchrave II
Legend
THE DEBACLE
Things are very, very nearly up to date...
**
In the morning, four days after the equinox, Mostin assumed the guise of a Thalassine mercenary swordsman and, using the looking-glass of Urm-Nahat, travelled with Ortwin to the city of Siir Traag. The Alienist selected a quiet alleyway and opened the portal ten feet above the ground, in order to avoid the possibility of casual passers-by suddenly finding themselves transported fifteen hundred miles north. It was sweltering, and the wind which blew in from the erg was hot and brought no relief from the blazing sun.
It was the Bard’s first time in the city, and he was eager for new experience. Mostin had visited Siir Traag on a number of occasions in order to procure rare items for his work, but found the place little to his liking. Besides the heat, the people were universally reserved and uncommunicative, and viewed anyone from further away than Bedesh with open suspicion. Mostin had no friends there, nor even any acquaintances who would remember him, even had he been travelling in his true shape. Still, a Thalassine sellsword was a plausible enough disguise, and would attract little or no attention – mercenaries from the city states were found in every corner of the world.
Feezuu, he knew, was only thirty miles distant, but the Alienist was reluctant to scry her – she would almost certainly detect him. He had decided that, in order to ascertain her reason for being there, a more indirect approach was required. He had briefly considered teleporting directly to her location and opening fire but, recalling the previous attempt to eliminate her that way, opted for caution.
And, he reminded himself, diminished or not, she was still very, very dangerous.
Siir Traag, and Shûth in general, had an evil reputation in Wyre and the north. This was partly out of envy (Shûth boasted a continuity of tradition which predated Wyre by milennia), partly out of ignorance about the cultural differences between the two civilizations, partly out of their ungodliness (the name of Oronthon elicited blank expressions or raised eyebrows), and partly out of the regrettable practice of blood-magic that was still commonplace there.
Attempts by the Mission – the proselytizing arm of the Temple – to gain a foothold in Shûth had been almost universally unsuccessful. The few coastal cities where chapters had been established saw little traffic, and those worshippers who attended Oronthonian ceremonies did so as an adjunct to their older religious practices, rather then in place of them. The gods and goddesses of Shûth were ancient, potent and subtle. Oronthon was an upstart deity with a naïve and simplistic philosophy, and little or no place there, thank-you very much.
Siir Traag, deep in the desert, surrounded by the ruins and graveyards of a hundred dynasties, was perhaps the most traditional of all the cities in Shûth. Its inhabitants displayed the classical virtues of dourness, an obsession with pedigree and lineage, and nihilism. Legend stated that when the First Empire was elevated above the Earth, and received wholesale into the Realm of the Gods, only Siir Traag was left upon the mortal plane. Dozens of theories existed as to why that might be the case, but most of the inhabitants agreed that, whatever the reason, it was a bad thing.
The duo entered a number of establishments – including a number of particularly seedy drug dens – in an effort to garner information that might prove relevant. Ortwin’s easy charm succeeded in loosening the tongues of several locals who, immersed in narcotic reverie, related a number of rumours and stories which were current. The Bard and Alienist retired to a quiet booth in order to discuss how best to proceed. Mostin warned Ortwin against trying the local kschiff, unless he wanted to be incapable of effectively defending himself for several days.
Raids on desert caravans by an all-too familiar sounding demoness, children dragged from tents by bow-legged monsters, and some new foulness – the latest in a long line – taking residence in Khu.
"Why has she left Limbo?" Ortwin asked.
"Who knows?" Mostin replied. "Maybe a political thing. Maybe she’s had some information suggesting that her items are on the Prime, and she’s come to find them. Perhaps we should translate and find out."
Ortwin looked dubious.
"In any case," Mostin said, "the raids on the caravans began three weeks ago. Apparently she came here shortly after I killed her."
"And you didn’t think to look," Ortwin chided.
"Immediately afterwards, yes. Then I kind of, um, let things slip."
"So what now? Do we assail her, or wait until she tracks us down? I’ve grown rather fond of her bow. I’d hate to see it ripped from my dead hands, so to speak."
"I’d really prefer to find out if she has any allies first," Mostin answered. "I don’t want to ‘port in and find another Balor waiting for us. I’d rather not risk that again."
"Here, on the Prime?" Ortwin asked.
"I brought one in, didn’t I? And, let’s face it, she’s more likely to strike an appealing deal than I am. Even my substandard morals bar me from child sacrifice. I would never compact with demons."
"Devils, then?" Ortwin asked wickedly.
"They are more reliable, its true, but the answer is still ‘no.’"
"That’s good," Ortwin said. "Devils are far worse."
"Celestials are scarier," the Alienist replied.
**
Whilst the less serious members of Trempa’s aristocracy held grand feasts in their pavillions and bards sang their praises, mounted archers from Ardan brawled with each other, and the rapidly growing army of camp followers touted their wares, Eadric drilled his knights tirelessly.
The Paladin sighed. He wondered how long he and Soraine could maintain the cohesion of their forces – armies needed to fight, or at the very least move, in order to stay focussed.
Nwm, the hero of the hour, kept himself aloof. He was still digesting the events of the previous few days, and pondering his next move. Periodically, he would allow the Green rapture to overcome him, as he maintained scrutiny on the enemy camps on the far side of the Nund.
The cadres of Temple troops had already dug themselves in to prevent assault from units of skirmishers. There was little they could do against magical assault – or so Nwm guessed – but, at Eadric’s behest, held off from harassing them. Eadric had instructed Tahl to issue sendings to the Curia and to Brey, demanding that they recognize Trempa’s religious autonomy, and had requested that the king reconsider his former proclamation in light of recent events.
Predictably, no-one had responded. It seemed as though they were still formulating policy.
Eadric waited for a sign. The sign that he received, however, was not the one that he expected.
An hour after noon, sixteen knights and thirty men-at-arms rode into the camp from the east: the remnant of the garrison that had been assigned to protect Kyrtill’s Burh. Most were wounded, and all were exhausted. The armour of several knights was blackened and scorched, and their skin blistered. One, called Lome, who had been deputy to Sugis - the warden appointed by Eadric - immediately presented himself to the Duchess, the Paladin and their captains.
"Deorham is fallen," he gasped.
Eadric was dumbstruck. "How?" He asked.
"Templars. Wind-walked in. Seized the Steeple. Flame strikes. Took over the keep in a matter of minutes."
"How many?" Eadric asked, aghast.
"Thirty, maybe. It was difficult to tell."
"Thirty people wind-walked? That is absurd. And only a handful in the Temple can invoke flame strikes. Tahl?"
But the expression of the Ex-Inquisitor indicated that he guessed what had happened. "Were they bearing scrolls, Lome?"
The knight nodded, and Tahl explained.
"Why did you say nothing of this…cache?" Eadric asked Tahl.
"I did not even consider it," Tahl replied. "I have only seen the scroll-room once, after Melion appointed me. It is a repository, and the resources are to be used only in great need. The idea of them being used in this manner is abhorrent to me – most of the clerics will be invoking powers far beyond their ability to comfortably control."
"That should make for some interesting accidents," Nwm said sarcastically. "Come on, we’d better go."
"I have not prepared a ‘wind walk,’" Tahl said.
"I have," Nwm replied. "Eadric?"
"Very well," the Paladin replied. "Although I wonder if the whole episode is a deception in order to draw us away. Tahl, can you send word to Ortwin?"
"It will take a while," Tahl replied.
"Proceed. Nwm, what is the current disposition of the Temple army?"
"Unchanged," the Druid replied.
"And spellcasting clerics?"
Nwm concentrated briefly. "Unchanged," he said again.
Eadric nodded. "Tahl should remain here in any case, in the event of an assault. I will take Iua, if she is willing. How many besides yourself can you accommodate, Nwm?"
"Five."
**
Mostin and Ortwin hovered above the ground in the intense heat of the afternoon sun on the outskirts of the necropolis of Khu. They had, briefly, returned to Wyre through the portal. Mostin had realigned the mirror, and selected a destination less than a mile from where he knew Feezuu to be.
Both were invisible, to protect them from casual observation – although Mostin was under no illusions that he was imperceptible to magical sight.
"What a dreary place," Ortwin remarked.
"Appropriately enough," Mostin replied. "Just a quick reconnoitre. Get the lay of the land, and all that. See what’s out there."
The Bard looked perplexed as a message suddenly impinged on his consciousness from a great distance.
ORTWIN. URGENT ASSISTANCE REQUIRED. TEMPLARS IN DEORHAM. RETURN TO HARTHA KEEP. EADRIC AWAITS YOU. ASK MOSTIN ALSO. –TAHL.
Okay, Ortwin replied. He related the message to Mostin.
"How inopportune," the Alienist said. "I will remain here, and sniff around a little. Can you find the portal?"
Ortwin nodded, and after a few moments, his invisible form vanished from Mostin’s perception. The Alienist grumbled to himself, and became incorporeal as an added precaution.
Mostin spent only another fifteen minutes there, but his ‘Prying Eyes’ relayed a wealth of interesting – and rather disturbing – information.
**
Nwm, Eadric, Ortwin, Tatterbrand, Iua and Nehael ‘Wind-Walked’ to Deorham. Although the Paladin had been reluctant for the demoness to accompany them – although he wasn’t sure for what reason – she would act as the relay between them, staying within telepathic communication and coordinating their efforts if necessary. Her ability to effortlessly teleport would also prove useful – she could be anywhere she needed to be within a matter of seconds. It was a ten minute journey, during which Eadric apprised those who didn’t already know of the situation.
"How many scrolls?" Ortwin asked the Paladin.
"Hundreds, according to Tahl."
"And you knew nothing of it?"
"I’ve never entered the vault," Eadric replied. "Generally, only the Lord Exchequer and his deputies go in. I’ve no idea what’s down there."
"How do we know that there aren’t other, more powerful objects in circulation now?" Ortwin asked worriedly. "Relics of Saints, that kind of thing."
"Tahl said that he knows of none – he is one of only a handful who’ve entered the scroll room. I suspect even the Exchequer don’t know about it."
"I don’t like this one bit, Ed. It puts a whole different slant on things."
Iua shot Ortwin a meaningful glance which nobody but the Bard saw.
"We are being scried," Nwm said. "They know we’re coming." He concentrated again briefly. "There are thirty-nine people in the keep but…no wait. There are thirty-three loci of steel that correspond to heavy armour, and sixteen much larger loci…wait…no…wait…automata of some kind…wait…wait…unnatural…wait…constructs-outsiders." Nwm’s perceptions rapidly cascaded, as a dozen facets of the Green presented themselves to him.
"On, sh*t, not inevitables," Ortwin said gloomily. "Unless the Temple is going in for retrievers these days."
"There are six people in the cells beneath the main building," Nwm said.
Only six? Eadric thought.
As they approached, the party saw a plume of smoke rising from the keep – not from the buildings, but from the courtyard. Nwm suspended the spell upon himself and his material body gradually reformed. The Druid immediately shifted into the form of a small eagle. His eyes looked into the courtyard, and saw the charred remains of soldiers and servants smoldering at stakes.
"What do you see?" Eadric yelled over the rush of wind.
Nwm screeched incomprehensibly.
"Most of your servants and the remainder of the garrison are dead," Nehael said. "They were burned – presumably for heresy."
They didn’t waste much time, Eadric thought grimly. He remembered his librarian, his stablehands, his groundskeepers, his cooks. Anger rose swiftly in him.
"We cannot afford to rematerialize in the keep – we will be too vulnerable during the process." Eadric yelled.
Nwm screeched again.
"He says that he can end the spell instantly," Nehael said "but we will not be able to resume this form."
"That’s fine by me," Eadric said. "We’ll start on the Steeple and cut our way down if necessary. Nwm should provide covering fire – I suggest we make for that copse, rematerialize, buff, dematerialize, wind-walk to the tower and start chopping up whatever is in there."
"That’s not very imaginative," Iua said sardonically.
**
As they closed on the Steeple, Templars were standing on the curtain wall and tower in readiness.
A number of things happened in quick succession:
A cleric, standing on the Steeple suddenly spontaneously combusted as he read from a scroll, a backsurge of energy overwhelming him.
Eight Zelekhuts – winged, metallic, centauroid inevitables – launched themselves into the air from the battlements.
Two Templars, bearing greatswords, ‘air-walked’ towards the party at an uncanny speed – winds were blowing them onwards from behind.
A celestial with a greatsword appeared on the curtain wall. When the Templar who summoned it pointed it towards the group in the air, it wept.*
Even as Nwm was closing to within range of casting a ‘Fire Storm,’ a globe of coruscating colour enveloped the top of the Steeple, and flashed brilliantly: a ‘Prismatic Sphere.’
Finally, Ortwin exclaimed, "Holy sh*t! End the Wind-Walk on Nehael and me, Nwm, we can both fly."
Nwm complied.
"No, dammit, break away," Eadric shouted. "Disperse. Rendezvous at Nwm’s glade. We need to reconsider our tactics." A fraction of a second after he spoke, the eladrin materialized directly in front of him.
Nwm kept flying onwards, but changed his course towards the inevitables. He invoked a ‘Fire Storm,’ which blazed green for a moment, dropping one from the sky, injuring two others, but failing to even blacken two more who were caught within the conflagration. As he banked away, he was struck by three rays of enervation which sprang from the walltops – simultaneously, four more inevitables appeared as the invisibility evaporated from them. Another black bolt crackled past him.**
The celestial’s sword ripped into Eadric’s semi-corporeal form before he could turn away and flee. It bit hard. Three times. There was nothing he could do in retaliation, except see the look of anguish in the Eladrin’s face.
"I forgive you," Eadric spoke wordlessly into its mind.
Ortwin, supported by his winged boots, appeared suddenly to its flank, his scimitar and pick whistling with magically enhanced speed. The pick was ineffectual but Githla, as Ortwin knew, would penetrate anything. Celestial ichor, bright and warm, sprayed over the Bard and Paladin.
Eadric moved away.
The eladrin, despite its wounds, maneuvered effortlessly backwards in the air and Ortwin was struck by an intense bolt of electricity. His preternatural reflexes failed him, and secondary bolts arced out, striking both Nwm and Nehael – now winged – and the only other two targets still in range. Nehael, immune to electricity, was unfazed. Nwm, already weakened, was almost killed. But the ‘wind-walk’ was still active upon him. As he flew, he slowly began to resume his vaporous form.
Ortwin urged his boots to top speed and charged at the eladrin, his blade slicing through angelic flesh and sinew. A look of profound release crossed its face as its brief tenure on the mortal plane ended.
He looked behind him, and saw that the winged inevitables were closing fast. Four were doggedly pursuing Eadric, despite the fact that he was moving away from them at incredible speed. Three were pacing Nwm, and that worried the Bard. Both of the ‘Air-Walking’ Templars were making for Nehael, but Ortwin guessed that she could look after herself.
But, before she could ‘Teleport,’ she was struck by a ‘Banishment’ spell.
‘No!’ she screamed. She vanished.
The Templars shifted course and rapidly began to close on Nwm.
**
Mostin had been observing events through the looking-glass of Urm-Nahat.
What a c*ck-up, he thought.
"Dammit," the Alienist said. He cast 'fly' upon himself, stepped through the mirror, and acted in contempt of the Great Injunction.
*As a summoned (rather than called) creature, the eladrin was forced to comply. Note that any celestials can be LG in the Wyre campaign.
**Nwm (in small, eagle form) was particularly unfortunate to be struck by three out of four of these. He suffered 8 negative levels
Things are very, very nearly up to date...
**
In the morning, four days after the equinox, Mostin assumed the guise of a Thalassine mercenary swordsman and, using the looking-glass of Urm-Nahat, travelled with Ortwin to the city of Siir Traag. The Alienist selected a quiet alleyway and opened the portal ten feet above the ground, in order to avoid the possibility of casual passers-by suddenly finding themselves transported fifteen hundred miles north. It was sweltering, and the wind which blew in from the erg was hot and brought no relief from the blazing sun.
It was the Bard’s first time in the city, and he was eager for new experience. Mostin had visited Siir Traag on a number of occasions in order to procure rare items for his work, but found the place little to his liking. Besides the heat, the people were universally reserved and uncommunicative, and viewed anyone from further away than Bedesh with open suspicion. Mostin had no friends there, nor even any acquaintances who would remember him, even had he been travelling in his true shape. Still, a Thalassine sellsword was a plausible enough disguise, and would attract little or no attention – mercenaries from the city states were found in every corner of the world.
Feezuu, he knew, was only thirty miles distant, but the Alienist was reluctant to scry her – she would almost certainly detect him. He had decided that, in order to ascertain her reason for being there, a more indirect approach was required. He had briefly considered teleporting directly to her location and opening fire but, recalling the previous attempt to eliminate her that way, opted for caution.
And, he reminded himself, diminished or not, she was still very, very dangerous.
Siir Traag, and Shûth in general, had an evil reputation in Wyre and the north. This was partly out of envy (Shûth boasted a continuity of tradition which predated Wyre by milennia), partly out of ignorance about the cultural differences between the two civilizations, partly out of their ungodliness (the name of Oronthon elicited blank expressions or raised eyebrows), and partly out of the regrettable practice of blood-magic that was still commonplace there.
Attempts by the Mission – the proselytizing arm of the Temple – to gain a foothold in Shûth had been almost universally unsuccessful. The few coastal cities where chapters had been established saw little traffic, and those worshippers who attended Oronthonian ceremonies did so as an adjunct to their older religious practices, rather then in place of them. The gods and goddesses of Shûth were ancient, potent and subtle. Oronthon was an upstart deity with a naïve and simplistic philosophy, and little or no place there, thank-you very much.
Siir Traag, deep in the desert, surrounded by the ruins and graveyards of a hundred dynasties, was perhaps the most traditional of all the cities in Shûth. Its inhabitants displayed the classical virtues of dourness, an obsession with pedigree and lineage, and nihilism. Legend stated that when the First Empire was elevated above the Earth, and received wholesale into the Realm of the Gods, only Siir Traag was left upon the mortal plane. Dozens of theories existed as to why that might be the case, but most of the inhabitants agreed that, whatever the reason, it was a bad thing.
The duo entered a number of establishments – including a number of particularly seedy drug dens – in an effort to garner information that might prove relevant. Ortwin’s easy charm succeeded in loosening the tongues of several locals who, immersed in narcotic reverie, related a number of rumours and stories which were current. The Bard and Alienist retired to a quiet booth in order to discuss how best to proceed. Mostin warned Ortwin against trying the local kschiff, unless he wanted to be incapable of effectively defending himself for several days.
Raids on desert caravans by an all-too familiar sounding demoness, children dragged from tents by bow-legged monsters, and some new foulness – the latest in a long line – taking residence in Khu.
"Why has she left Limbo?" Ortwin asked.
"Who knows?" Mostin replied. "Maybe a political thing. Maybe she’s had some information suggesting that her items are on the Prime, and she’s come to find them. Perhaps we should translate and find out."
Ortwin looked dubious.
"In any case," Mostin said, "the raids on the caravans began three weeks ago. Apparently she came here shortly after I killed her."
"And you didn’t think to look," Ortwin chided.
"Immediately afterwards, yes. Then I kind of, um, let things slip."
"So what now? Do we assail her, or wait until she tracks us down? I’ve grown rather fond of her bow. I’d hate to see it ripped from my dead hands, so to speak."
"I’d really prefer to find out if she has any allies first," Mostin answered. "I don’t want to ‘port in and find another Balor waiting for us. I’d rather not risk that again."
"Here, on the Prime?" Ortwin asked.
"I brought one in, didn’t I? And, let’s face it, she’s more likely to strike an appealing deal than I am. Even my substandard morals bar me from child sacrifice. I would never compact with demons."
"Devils, then?" Ortwin asked wickedly.
"They are more reliable, its true, but the answer is still ‘no.’"
"That’s good," Ortwin said. "Devils are far worse."
"Celestials are scarier," the Alienist replied.
**
Whilst the less serious members of Trempa’s aristocracy held grand feasts in their pavillions and bards sang their praises, mounted archers from Ardan brawled with each other, and the rapidly growing army of camp followers touted their wares, Eadric drilled his knights tirelessly.
The Paladin sighed. He wondered how long he and Soraine could maintain the cohesion of their forces – armies needed to fight, or at the very least move, in order to stay focussed.
Nwm, the hero of the hour, kept himself aloof. He was still digesting the events of the previous few days, and pondering his next move. Periodically, he would allow the Green rapture to overcome him, as he maintained scrutiny on the enemy camps on the far side of the Nund.
The cadres of Temple troops had already dug themselves in to prevent assault from units of skirmishers. There was little they could do against magical assault – or so Nwm guessed – but, at Eadric’s behest, held off from harassing them. Eadric had instructed Tahl to issue sendings to the Curia and to Brey, demanding that they recognize Trempa’s religious autonomy, and had requested that the king reconsider his former proclamation in light of recent events.
Predictably, no-one had responded. It seemed as though they were still formulating policy.
Eadric waited for a sign. The sign that he received, however, was not the one that he expected.
An hour after noon, sixteen knights and thirty men-at-arms rode into the camp from the east: the remnant of the garrison that had been assigned to protect Kyrtill’s Burh. Most were wounded, and all were exhausted. The armour of several knights was blackened and scorched, and their skin blistered. One, called Lome, who had been deputy to Sugis - the warden appointed by Eadric - immediately presented himself to the Duchess, the Paladin and their captains.
"Deorham is fallen," he gasped.
Eadric was dumbstruck. "How?" He asked.
"Templars. Wind-walked in. Seized the Steeple. Flame strikes. Took over the keep in a matter of minutes."
"How many?" Eadric asked, aghast.
"Thirty, maybe. It was difficult to tell."
"Thirty people wind-walked? That is absurd. And only a handful in the Temple can invoke flame strikes. Tahl?"
But the expression of the Ex-Inquisitor indicated that he guessed what had happened. "Were they bearing scrolls, Lome?"
The knight nodded, and Tahl explained.
"Why did you say nothing of this…cache?" Eadric asked Tahl.
"I did not even consider it," Tahl replied. "I have only seen the scroll-room once, after Melion appointed me. It is a repository, and the resources are to be used only in great need. The idea of them being used in this manner is abhorrent to me – most of the clerics will be invoking powers far beyond their ability to comfortably control."
"That should make for some interesting accidents," Nwm said sarcastically. "Come on, we’d better go."
"I have not prepared a ‘wind walk,’" Tahl said.
"I have," Nwm replied. "Eadric?"
"Very well," the Paladin replied. "Although I wonder if the whole episode is a deception in order to draw us away. Tahl, can you send word to Ortwin?"
"It will take a while," Tahl replied.
"Proceed. Nwm, what is the current disposition of the Temple army?"
"Unchanged," the Druid replied.
"And spellcasting clerics?"
Nwm concentrated briefly. "Unchanged," he said again.
Eadric nodded. "Tahl should remain here in any case, in the event of an assault. I will take Iua, if she is willing. How many besides yourself can you accommodate, Nwm?"
"Five."
**
Mostin and Ortwin hovered above the ground in the intense heat of the afternoon sun on the outskirts of the necropolis of Khu. They had, briefly, returned to Wyre through the portal. Mostin had realigned the mirror, and selected a destination less than a mile from where he knew Feezuu to be.
Both were invisible, to protect them from casual observation – although Mostin was under no illusions that he was imperceptible to magical sight.
"What a dreary place," Ortwin remarked.
"Appropriately enough," Mostin replied. "Just a quick reconnoitre. Get the lay of the land, and all that. See what’s out there."
The Bard looked perplexed as a message suddenly impinged on his consciousness from a great distance.
ORTWIN. URGENT ASSISTANCE REQUIRED. TEMPLARS IN DEORHAM. RETURN TO HARTHA KEEP. EADRIC AWAITS YOU. ASK MOSTIN ALSO. –TAHL.
Okay, Ortwin replied. He related the message to Mostin.
"How inopportune," the Alienist said. "I will remain here, and sniff around a little. Can you find the portal?"
Ortwin nodded, and after a few moments, his invisible form vanished from Mostin’s perception. The Alienist grumbled to himself, and became incorporeal as an added precaution.
Mostin spent only another fifteen minutes there, but his ‘Prying Eyes’ relayed a wealth of interesting – and rather disturbing – information.
**
Nwm, Eadric, Ortwin, Tatterbrand, Iua and Nehael ‘Wind-Walked’ to Deorham. Although the Paladin had been reluctant for the demoness to accompany them – although he wasn’t sure for what reason – she would act as the relay between them, staying within telepathic communication and coordinating their efforts if necessary. Her ability to effortlessly teleport would also prove useful – she could be anywhere she needed to be within a matter of seconds. It was a ten minute journey, during which Eadric apprised those who didn’t already know of the situation.
"How many scrolls?" Ortwin asked the Paladin.
"Hundreds, according to Tahl."
"And you knew nothing of it?"
"I’ve never entered the vault," Eadric replied. "Generally, only the Lord Exchequer and his deputies go in. I’ve no idea what’s down there."
"How do we know that there aren’t other, more powerful objects in circulation now?" Ortwin asked worriedly. "Relics of Saints, that kind of thing."
"Tahl said that he knows of none – he is one of only a handful who’ve entered the scroll room. I suspect even the Exchequer don’t know about it."
"I don’t like this one bit, Ed. It puts a whole different slant on things."
Iua shot Ortwin a meaningful glance which nobody but the Bard saw.
"We are being scried," Nwm said. "They know we’re coming." He concentrated again briefly. "There are thirty-nine people in the keep but…no wait. There are thirty-three loci of steel that correspond to heavy armour, and sixteen much larger loci…wait…no…wait…automata of some kind…wait…wait…unnatural…wait…constructs-outsiders." Nwm’s perceptions rapidly cascaded, as a dozen facets of the Green presented themselves to him.
"On, sh*t, not inevitables," Ortwin said gloomily. "Unless the Temple is going in for retrievers these days."
"There are six people in the cells beneath the main building," Nwm said.
Only six? Eadric thought.
As they approached, the party saw a plume of smoke rising from the keep – not from the buildings, but from the courtyard. Nwm suspended the spell upon himself and his material body gradually reformed. The Druid immediately shifted into the form of a small eagle. His eyes looked into the courtyard, and saw the charred remains of soldiers and servants smoldering at stakes.
"What do you see?" Eadric yelled over the rush of wind.
Nwm screeched incomprehensibly.
"Most of your servants and the remainder of the garrison are dead," Nehael said. "They were burned – presumably for heresy."
They didn’t waste much time, Eadric thought grimly. He remembered his librarian, his stablehands, his groundskeepers, his cooks. Anger rose swiftly in him.
"We cannot afford to rematerialize in the keep – we will be too vulnerable during the process." Eadric yelled.
Nwm screeched again.
"He says that he can end the spell instantly," Nehael said "but we will not be able to resume this form."
"That’s fine by me," Eadric said. "We’ll start on the Steeple and cut our way down if necessary. Nwm should provide covering fire – I suggest we make for that copse, rematerialize, buff, dematerialize, wind-walk to the tower and start chopping up whatever is in there."
"That’s not very imaginative," Iua said sardonically.
**
As they closed on the Steeple, Templars were standing on the curtain wall and tower in readiness.
A number of things happened in quick succession:
A cleric, standing on the Steeple suddenly spontaneously combusted as he read from a scroll, a backsurge of energy overwhelming him.
Eight Zelekhuts – winged, metallic, centauroid inevitables – launched themselves into the air from the battlements.
Two Templars, bearing greatswords, ‘air-walked’ towards the party at an uncanny speed – winds were blowing them onwards from behind.
A celestial with a greatsword appeared on the curtain wall. When the Templar who summoned it pointed it towards the group in the air, it wept.*
Even as Nwm was closing to within range of casting a ‘Fire Storm,’ a globe of coruscating colour enveloped the top of the Steeple, and flashed brilliantly: a ‘Prismatic Sphere.’
Finally, Ortwin exclaimed, "Holy sh*t! End the Wind-Walk on Nehael and me, Nwm, we can both fly."
Nwm complied.
"No, dammit, break away," Eadric shouted. "Disperse. Rendezvous at Nwm’s glade. We need to reconsider our tactics." A fraction of a second after he spoke, the eladrin materialized directly in front of him.
Nwm kept flying onwards, but changed his course towards the inevitables. He invoked a ‘Fire Storm,’ which blazed green for a moment, dropping one from the sky, injuring two others, but failing to even blacken two more who were caught within the conflagration. As he banked away, he was struck by three rays of enervation which sprang from the walltops – simultaneously, four more inevitables appeared as the invisibility evaporated from them. Another black bolt crackled past him.**
The celestial’s sword ripped into Eadric’s semi-corporeal form before he could turn away and flee. It bit hard. Three times. There was nothing he could do in retaliation, except see the look of anguish in the Eladrin’s face.
"I forgive you," Eadric spoke wordlessly into its mind.
Ortwin, supported by his winged boots, appeared suddenly to its flank, his scimitar and pick whistling with magically enhanced speed. The pick was ineffectual but Githla, as Ortwin knew, would penetrate anything. Celestial ichor, bright and warm, sprayed over the Bard and Paladin.
Eadric moved away.
The eladrin, despite its wounds, maneuvered effortlessly backwards in the air and Ortwin was struck by an intense bolt of electricity. His preternatural reflexes failed him, and secondary bolts arced out, striking both Nwm and Nehael – now winged – and the only other two targets still in range. Nehael, immune to electricity, was unfazed. Nwm, already weakened, was almost killed. But the ‘wind-walk’ was still active upon him. As he flew, he slowly began to resume his vaporous form.
Ortwin urged his boots to top speed and charged at the eladrin, his blade slicing through angelic flesh and sinew. A look of profound release crossed its face as its brief tenure on the mortal plane ended.
He looked behind him, and saw that the winged inevitables were closing fast. Four were doggedly pursuing Eadric, despite the fact that he was moving away from them at incredible speed. Three were pacing Nwm, and that worried the Bard. Both of the ‘Air-Walking’ Templars were making for Nehael, but Ortwin guessed that she could look after herself.
But, before she could ‘Teleport,’ she was struck by a ‘Banishment’ spell.
‘No!’ she screamed. She vanished.
The Templars shifted course and rapidly began to close on Nwm.
**
Mostin had been observing events through the looking-glass of Urm-Nahat.
What a c*ck-up, he thought.
"Dammit," the Alienist said. He cast 'fly' upon himself, stepped through the mirror, and acted in contempt of the Great Injunction.
*As a summoned (rather than called) creature, the eladrin was forced to comply. Note that any celestials can be LG in the Wyre campaign.
**Nwm (in small, eagle form) was particularly unfortunate to be struck by three out of four of these. He suffered 8 negative levels
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Hammerhead
Explorer
Amazing once again. I have only one comment: ouch!
TheWiseWarlord
First Post
NOOOOOOOOOO! Damn. Damn. Damn. Nehaels going to perish when she goes back to the hells. 
Maybe Nwm can reincarnate her, and she'll come back as a human. Gods I hope she stays alive in some way. Kill them all, Mostin, kill them all.
PS
Great Story Hour, I'm a long time lurker. Looking forward to more.
Maybe Nwm can reincarnate her, and she'll come back as a human. Gods I hope she stays alive in some way. Kill them all, Mostin, kill them all.
PS
Great Story Hour, I'm a long time lurker. Looking forward to more.
starwolf
First Post
TheWiseWarlord said:NOOOOOOOOOO! Damn. Damn. Damn. Nehaels going to perish when she goes back to the hells.
.
Methinks the Hells are no longer her home plane........
After all she's no longer "fallen" per se.
It should be interesting to see to where exactly she is banished.
And I love the fact that Mostin has finally decided his friends are more important than the Great Injunction.
Now we get to see some Wizardly A** Kickin' !
P.S. After posting it suddenly occured to me.....If Mostin has "transcended" that would mean he is now an "outsider".
Does the Great Injunction still hold true for him then?
Hmmmmm.
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WOW!
You are truely the master of the cliff hanger.
I love this story hour. Every update has me digging through the PHB, going "Wow, never noticed that spell before"
You are truely the master of the cliff hanger.
I love this story hour. Every update has me digging through the PHB, going "Wow, never noticed that spell before"
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