Sepulchrave II
Legend
The Mésalliance. Part 1. (Updated 4/18.)
Time for a new thread, I think. Updates will continue to be slow - the house-hunting continues in earnest!
****
The Parley - Part 1
The meeting took place in early autumn at dusk, three days after the full moon, in a glade deep within the woods of Hethio. Mid-way – Nwm remarked ironically to himself – between Groba, where the Uediian rebellion had begun, and the eaves where Hullu’s last encampment of Bagaudas had been set. With the Tunthi tribesman’s abdication of leadership, the focussed organization of the Uediian uprising had rapidly degenerated into a motley rabble of outlaws and bandits, who now prowled the farmlands of Wyre’s richest province in gangs of twenty or more.
But not near here. All shunned this spot. Fear had descended upon the woods.
The Umbral Lillend, Nhura, was coiled in a posture which suggested both calm and confidence. To her left, mounted upon a griffon of singular size and evil disposition, Jetheeg – in her hag-form – sat impatiently, a look of cynicism and contempt upon her hideous face. Around them were arrayed Loquai knights of varying stature and reputation, who appeared as numinous shades from whom darkness flowed. To the right of Nhura, standing impassively below the Lillend’s standard – a hanging sable pennant upon which the device was utterly obscured – was Koilimilou the sidhe-cambion. All the company were surrounded by compacted demons – a score of jariliths which prowled and circled ceaselessly.
Sh*t, Ortwin thought to himself. This better be for real, or we’re all dead meat. Despite Eadric’s assurances to the contrary, the Satyr felt less than confident in the motives of the recently styled – and now exiled – Queen of Afqithan or her entourage.
Ortwin glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Mostin, Shomei and Nwm stood silently; telepathically bonded and buoyed by potent wards and augmentations, and ready to unleash a devastating magical attack if things went awry. Iua raised her eyebrows in a gesture which combined reassurance with a sense of deeply appreciative irony.
Ortwin grinned, and trotted forwards.
"Beautiful ladies," he bowed, causing Jetheeg to scowl yet further. "Elevated Triptych of incomparable grace and poise. I am King Ortwin – welcome to my realm."
Jetheeg snarled.
The Satyr smiled appreciatively before continuing. "I believe that, in our haste to create a favourable impression with one another, we may have overstepped the normal bounds of propriety and – inadvertently – caused each other mutual inconvenience."
"Must we endure this fool’s prattling?" Jetheeg snapped, at no-one in particular. "Get to the point, Satyr. Bring out the box, bow and armour. And the other treasures which you have looted. And then we’ll speak."
"My apologies," Ortwin bowed again. "In a previous parley we may have acted somewhat precipitously, and this time I wanted to be sure to observe the formal niceties." The Satyr gave Koilimilou a sideways glance. "Believe me, I share your impatience."
He strode forward five paces, and unslung a heavy sack from his back. As he hurled it to the ground, it opened. Armour, a slender sword, a buckler, a compound bow, and several other enchanted objects of enormous power spilled forth. The box of shades fell upon the moss, and the Cambion inhaled sharply.
Nhura gestured, and two of her knights approached Ortwin with a black canvas held between them. It sagged with the weight of gear won from the Satyr and the Infernalist.
Nhura smiled. "I regret that, at this time, it is impossible for me to return your stone of sendings. It remains in Afqithan in the hands of one of my servants."
Inwardly, Shomei groaned. For her, it was a particularly useful item.
Ortwin licked his lips, and prepared to engage in more small-talk, but from behind him he heard Nwm – who appeared wilder and more unkempt than ever before – grunt disapprovingly.
"They are here."
**
Eadric’s return, some days before, had been a solemn event. The Ahma had seemed weighed down with concern, and his eyes had conveyed a sense of pain and horror. He had witnessed near infinite brutality and suffering. The brief ecstasies enjoyed by demons – at the expense of naked souls, whose eternal lot was perdition within Soneillon’s Abyssal demesne – coupled with Throile’s madness-inducing warp of dimension and time, had left a knot of sickness and loathing in his gut.
Upon his arrival at Deorham, at the climax of a furious storm of Nwm’s devising, his heart had sunk yet further. The courtyard of Kyrtill’s Burh had been spattered with celestial and demonic ichor; human entrails lay strewn about, and the doors to the chapel were smashed against the base of the Steeple.
Outside of the entranceway to the sanctum, a great blackthorn reared, its sudden growth demonstrated by the shattered cobblestones nearby. Several of its branches were like huge, barbed lances, upon which the stricken forms of demons hung motionless, pierced and raised skywards as if in dreadful sacrifice to the storm and the Goddess.
Eadric had barely glanced at the tree as he walked into the chapel. Inside, his servants sat quietly in a small group whilst Iua had stood guard over them. Mostin and Shomei had been close in whispered conversation, and Nwm had appeared catatonic and wrapped in a heavy cloak.
Ortwin had grinned, and tossed him his weapon. "Glad you could make it. Better late than never, I suppose."
"I have struck a deal with Soneillon," Eadric had said.
Shomei had looked up with an expression which combined awe with profound concern.
"Welcome to the Path Sinister," she had sighed. "May your progress be as traumatic and as bewildering as mine."
"There are no paths, nor were there ever any. I act from instinct now."
"You are an adept already," she had smiled.
*
It had happened as the Ahma had predicted. The next morning, a summoned succubus had arrived in order to impart a message from Nhura: a parley in five days, if all were willing. An exchange of captured goods was to take place. Eadric had explained that it was part of the agreement reached with the Queen of Throile.
Nwm had groaned loudly. "She has maneuvered everyone into this situation. Irknaan and Crosod are conveniently eliminated – no doubt Soneillon doubted their tractability. Has it occurred to you that she may herself have had a hand in betraying Nhura to Graz’zt?"
Eadric had nodded.
Shomei had shrugged. "Such is the nature of demonic alliances – they shift from hour to hour. It requires considerable will and insight for a leader to maintain any kind of cohesion. We should not even begin to think that we understand her true purpose, however. It will remain hidden for some time yet."
Eadric had mentioned that the demoness wanted something ‘returned to her.’
Mostin had tutted and shaken his head. "I don’t suppose that she mentioned – in passing – what this ‘thing’ was?"
"No."
"I thought not," the Alienist had sighed. "You are perceptive, Eadric – that much I reluctantly concede. But surely you cannot actually trust this creature?"
"I trust her to do that which is in her own best interest," Eadric had answered. "I think it is up to us to try to determine exactly what that is. I don’t pretend that it will be easy. We have little other choice. Afqithan is an obvious locale for a confrontation – and neither you nor Shomei will be bound by the Injunction there. You may conjure hideous entities to your heart’s content."
"I fully intend to," Mostin had replied casually. "But why five days? Why not today?"
"I need time for reflection," Eadric had said simply.
Four days later, he had returned to Throile again, to the dismay of Nwm. He would meet them at the appointed time and place.
"Is he ensorcelled?" The Druid had asked Mostin.
"Not to my knowledge," the Alienist had answered. "But I make no claim to omniscience."
**
Within the glade, Ortwin took several hasty steps back again as the Void began to manifest. Fear spilled from it – dream-phantoms which lingered in the waking world, before evaporating in the ruddy sunset.
Eadric’s form materialized. Next to him, almost as though she were a ward in his care – or his lover, the Satyr wrily observed – was a slender girl clad in a traditional folk dress.
So that is her, Ortwin thought. Intriguing. Less compelling than I had imagined.
As if in response, her eyes brushed over him for the briefest moment. The Satyr immediately felt desire of a magnitude he had never before experienced. His stomach twisted into a knot, and his head span.* He was thankful that he was mind blanked and he knew instantly that, without protective magic, had she laid even the simplest enchantment upon him, he would have been utterly incapable of resisting.
Under the watchful eyes of Nhura, Jetheeg and Koilimilou – suspicious that the Alienist might attempt a time stop and attack – Shomei erected a screen and Mostin fabricated a large, circular table and thirteen chairs from an oak tree, together with a wooden awning supported by slender pillars.
"Not bad," Shomei remarked nonchalantly, and immediately sat down. Eadric watched her – despite her bravado, he knew that she was tense and nervous. Demons – and their allies – were less predictable than her usual diabolic associates.
Soneillon stepped away from the Ahma and smiled.
"Thank-you all for coming," the Queen of Throile said softly. "As you either know, or have guessed, I am Soneillon. At this moment, we share a common purpose which outweighs any other petty concerns which we might have. How we have arrived here is now irrelevant, and we should put these thoughts behind us. This is a parley and a truce. No weapon will be drawn, and no offensive magic will be invoked on pain of annihilation."
Mostin looked sceptical. "You are powerful, but hardly omnipotent, Soneillon. The same conditions apply to you: I will blast you if I suspect counterfeit or magical manipulation, and if the last act I commit is to have you dragged screaming to Uzzhin then I will die happy – I suspect that your dubious ontological status will prove to be of no importance in that paradigm. You should be aware that you cannot effectively be both an arbiter and an interested party in this matter."
"Graz’zt is your enemy, Mostin, not I."
"That remains to be seen," the Alienist countered. "But as none of us trust each other, I am inclined to proceed with utmost caution. I should like to ask several questions before we go any further."
"Are all Wyrish Wizards so arrogant and disrespectful?" Jetheeg asked incredulously. "And openly insulting a Demon Queen is an act of questionable wisdom."
"Truth – even if presented in a most bombastic way – may be my ally at present. I would be misrepresenting myself if I allowed Soneillon to dictate the terms of this arrangement."
Ortwin’s eyes bulged. Eadric smiled. Nhura said nothing, but her eyes narrowed as she studied the Alienist. Very powerful. Very dangerous, she thought.
Soneillon seemed unfazed, and opened her palm, indicating that Mostin should proceed.
"What is this thing that you desire to repossess from the Prince of Azzagrat, and what is Rhyxali’s role in this? What becomes of his sanctum if he is eliminated: can another demon – magnate or no – benefit from its power, or is it attuned only to him? How many succubi within your retinue are sorceresses, and what is their relative power? And what is your defense in Throile against assault from Azzagrat? I assume that, on that count, there is some kind of ongoing spell or magical protection in effect – or the Prince would have overwhelmed you long ago. Finally, I would be grateful if you enlightened me with regard to Pazuzu’s involvement – if any – and, out of intellectual curiosity, any information regarding the entity Carasch would be much appreciated."
Eadric glanced over the Loquai. Despite their practiced hauteur, he detected discomfort among several of them when the name of Rhyxali was mentioned. Nhura’s emotion, if she experienced any, was unreadable.
[Shomei]: ?
[Mostin]: There are hidden fingers in this pie. I am merely informing her that I have considered the possibilities of who they might be.
Soneillon gave a wry smile and leaned forwards towards Mostin. "Your speculation is insightful. Have you heard of Pharamne’s Urn?"
Mostin wracked his brains. "I confess that I have not."
"This is the item that I wish returned to me," the Succubus said simply.
"Evidently, it is not yours by right, else it would be called Soneillon’s Urn. What is its function, and who is – or was – Pharamne?"
"An Aeon**," Soneillon answered.
Mostin looked dumbfounded and stared at the Ahma.
Eadric groaned. "Please, Mostin, explanations surrounding these matters may take all night. Since I last mentioned this item, I have made inquiries and Soneillon has been forthcoming – I will explain later. Rhyxali’s involvement will also become clear in due course."
"Then she is implicated?"
"She is the heretofore secret co-sponsor of the Loquai. Koilimilou is her chief representative."
The Cambion tilted her head, and stared venomously at Eadric. The air seethed with unmanifest arcane power. Nearby, the jariliths began to bay and snarl.
"Stay your temper, Koi," Nhura said drily. "It would appear that Queen Soneillon has thoroughly instructed the Ahma – for reasons I’m sure she will divulge presently."
"Rhyxali will lend aid in any effort to retake Afqithan," Soneillon explained.
"I would have been informed," Koilimilou hissed.
"You are a thrall, nothing more," Soneillon said lightly. "Do not overestimate your importance."
**
The two kelvezu, Cociz and Dramalaz – erstwhile servants of Prince Socothbenoth, but lately retained by Graz’zt – took due pleasure and satisfaction in the task appointed to them in Afqithan. As Ainhorr’s chief inquisitors, they left, in a matter of hours, a trail of mangled and mutilated forms which stretched across the breadth of the demiplane. Their retinue – which consisted of a variety of lesser demons – soon found that the fear evoked by the rumour of their arrival manifested itself in generous bribes from a number of Loquai nobility.
The information which was relayed back to Ainhorr, and thence to Graz’zt, was of a conflicting nature. A Duke from Faerie – Rhalid – had been in Afqithan with a hunting party. Rhalid or one of his cohorts had, in fact, been the despised Eadric of Deorham. Soneillon was implicated. Irknaan had been involved, but was slain because of an internal feud. Lehurze. The Infernal nobles Murmuur, Titivilus and Furcus were somehow enmeshed in the affair, as were a number of Afqithan’s significant figures who were now, apparently, on the Prime – Nhura, Koilimilou, Jetheeg, Crosod and Threxu.
Graz’zt immediately smelled a plot, retired to his sanctum, and deployed a potent divination.
Upon emerging from his reverie, the Prince of Azzagrat acted swiftly. The periodic portal in Afqithan – upon which Irknaan’s palace had been built – had closed, but Graz’zt opened a series of further gates. He reinforced Ainhorr’s contingent with thirty nalfeshnees and around a hundred glabrezu. He issued orders to the marilith Janiq – one of his most experienced, competent and trusted generals in the field – to vigorously renew her assault within Throile, and bolstered her armies there. For the sake of completeness, the ongoing war against Orcus – which had raged inconclusively for millennia across a dozen planes, and absorbed most of the Prince’s resources – was stepped up a notch.
The succubus, Nehael – by Graz’zt’s arts now stripped of her flesh, rendered insane, and subjected to continual torment – was confined alone within a prison world mere yards across, and warded against location by any form of magic or supernatural power. The only gate to the prison was sealed and similarly hidden, and the key – a silver cylinder some twelve inches long, and carved with indecipherable glyphs – was secreted in a location known only to the Prince himself.
Graz’zt turned his mind to the three Infernal Dukes present in Afqithan, and pondered upon Murmuur’s tower and how best to overcome it. The connection between Titivilus and the Ahma was known to him, but Murmuur was a Duke of the Order of the Fly, not a vassal of Dispater. His involvement was a concern, and bespoke the machinations of subtler devils, and tacit agreements between Dis and Malbolge. And Murmuur’s tower was close to impregnable: Graz’zt recalled its deployment upon the Blessed Plain – along with the other contrivances of the Adversary and Belial – in the early stages of the Great Revolt.
For an instant, a feeling of enormous poignancy welled up from within him: a profound melancholy, which consumed him utterly. Ideals and ancient oaths broken, and bright visions of bliss and freedom brought guttering to cold ash.
When it had passed, his brow furrowed in dark reflection. It was becoming hard to recall, and the memories seemed like dreams: divorced and incomplete, as though another, and not he, had taken part in those awful events.
**
"What of the succubus who followed me through the reality maelstrom," Mostin asked. "She is your cohort?"
Soneillon smiled. "Sometimes."
"And presently?" Mostin asked irritably.
"Her name is Lehurze," Nhura answered. "Narab indicated that she disappeared prior to Ainhorr’s attack. She is very slippery. If we meet again, I will likely kill her out of caution. I suspect that she covets Afqithan; Irknaan intended for her to supplant me."
"And where is she?" Mostin asked, exasperated.
Soneillon stared hard at the Alienist: she had no doubt that he could locate Lehurze if he so desired. "She has returned to Azzagrat."
Nhura cursed. "I knew that the whore was a turncoat, but…"
"Graz’zt does not know that she is there," Soneillon interrupted, "although, doubtless, he knows that she is somehow involved in events to date. He probably also guesses that she has Maihodrot’s cubic gate. Before you ask, Mostin, Maihodrot was the demon responsible for overseeing Afqithan. Graz’zt executed him for dereliction."
"That was long overdue," Nhura remarked acidly. "He was an incompetent fool."
"What of the devils?" Shomei asked. "What is their rôle in this?"
"I suspect that they are waiting to see how events unfold before acting." The Succubus answered.
"Ainhorr has more than sufficient strength to force their retreat."
"Not so," Soneillon countered. "He can partially contain them, nothing more. They have erected a tower which is all but impenetrable. It is also a planar nexus, and leads to a number of worlds – including several Hells, no doubt."
"But Graz’zt himself could overcome it?" Mostin asked.
"Yes, given sufficient preparation. As could I. Or you maybe, Mostin; or Shomei. Or the understated Nwm. I know what you did to Hazihe, Druid. It was most impressive."
"I would have done the same to you," Nwm said coolly. "My current concern is to see you – all of you – return to whatever grim, depressing realities that you issued from. Or at least out of mine, in any case. I am hoping that this parley might expedite the process."
"You arrogant bastard," Jetheeg snapped. "As I recall it was first you who trespassed in Afqithan. And now you cry foul at our presence here? Mortals are perpetual hypocrites."
Eadric held up his hand. "The point is well-made. I think, however, we should move on before it becomes a point of contention. What has passed, has passed. The root question, which everyone is carefully avoiding, is this: can Graz’zt be lured to Afqithan and eliminated? Do we have the wherewithal? More importantly, I have yet to be convinced of the authenticity of you, Nhura, and your company: when allegiances change as quickly as yours, you must understand that it is impossible for me to hold even a modicum of trust. I speak the plain truth. What is preventing you from betraying us to Graz’zt?"
The Umbral Lillend laughed. "Nothing at all, Ahma. But Graz’zt is somewhat unforgiving of those that deceive him. And Soneillon would, doubtless, punish me for any transgression against her. And Ainhorr sits on my throne, which irks me more than a little."
Shomei shook her head. "I think that if Eadric of Deorham were delivered into Graz’zt’s hands, then he would forgive more than a little. Perhaps even the Queen of Throile has considered as much. We can, however, assume that this course of action did not appeal to her: she has had the opportunity, and did not act upon it. Here is your answer, Nhura: if you betray us, be sure that we are all dead. Because if either Mostin or I survive, we will find you, and kill you. But first, the glooms will stalk you, and the horrors will tear your mind apart. I am more vindictive than others here."
*It’s worth bearing in mind that Soneillon’s stratospheric Charisma – 50, when buffed – is close to impossible to portray meaningfully in game terms. Given the fact that she is primarily a sexual being (or nonbeing), Ortwin’s response – given his predilections – was natural.
**Aeons are (or were) understood to be cosmic celestial entities; emanations (or possibly avatars) of Oronthon. They are charged with tasks of great magnitude: establishing physical and metaphysical laws; the creation and maintenance of matter, space, energy and time. Orthodox Oronthonianism denies their existence, and long ago branded speculation regarding Aeons as heretical. Both Irrenite and Urgic belief, however, have a place for Aeons within their respective schemas: they are amoral or trans-moral but finite; removed by several degrees from the standard celestial hierarchy, and unconcerned by relative terms such as good and evil. Irrenite belief links them with the Inevitables, who otherwise occupy a very inconsistent place within the Orthodox world-view.
Time for a new thread, I think. Updates will continue to be slow - the house-hunting continues in earnest!
****
The Parley - Part 1
The meeting took place in early autumn at dusk, three days after the full moon, in a glade deep within the woods of Hethio. Mid-way – Nwm remarked ironically to himself – between Groba, where the Uediian rebellion had begun, and the eaves where Hullu’s last encampment of Bagaudas had been set. With the Tunthi tribesman’s abdication of leadership, the focussed organization of the Uediian uprising had rapidly degenerated into a motley rabble of outlaws and bandits, who now prowled the farmlands of Wyre’s richest province in gangs of twenty or more.
But not near here. All shunned this spot. Fear had descended upon the woods.
The Umbral Lillend, Nhura, was coiled in a posture which suggested both calm and confidence. To her left, mounted upon a griffon of singular size and evil disposition, Jetheeg – in her hag-form – sat impatiently, a look of cynicism and contempt upon her hideous face. Around them were arrayed Loquai knights of varying stature and reputation, who appeared as numinous shades from whom darkness flowed. To the right of Nhura, standing impassively below the Lillend’s standard – a hanging sable pennant upon which the device was utterly obscured – was Koilimilou the sidhe-cambion. All the company were surrounded by compacted demons – a score of jariliths which prowled and circled ceaselessly.
Sh*t, Ortwin thought to himself. This better be for real, or we’re all dead meat. Despite Eadric’s assurances to the contrary, the Satyr felt less than confident in the motives of the recently styled – and now exiled – Queen of Afqithan or her entourage.
Ortwin glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Mostin, Shomei and Nwm stood silently; telepathically bonded and buoyed by potent wards and augmentations, and ready to unleash a devastating magical attack if things went awry. Iua raised her eyebrows in a gesture which combined reassurance with a sense of deeply appreciative irony.
Ortwin grinned, and trotted forwards.
"Beautiful ladies," he bowed, causing Jetheeg to scowl yet further. "Elevated Triptych of incomparable grace and poise. I am King Ortwin – welcome to my realm."
Jetheeg snarled.
The Satyr smiled appreciatively before continuing. "I believe that, in our haste to create a favourable impression with one another, we may have overstepped the normal bounds of propriety and – inadvertently – caused each other mutual inconvenience."
"Must we endure this fool’s prattling?" Jetheeg snapped, at no-one in particular. "Get to the point, Satyr. Bring out the box, bow and armour. And the other treasures which you have looted. And then we’ll speak."
"My apologies," Ortwin bowed again. "In a previous parley we may have acted somewhat precipitously, and this time I wanted to be sure to observe the formal niceties." The Satyr gave Koilimilou a sideways glance. "Believe me, I share your impatience."
He strode forward five paces, and unslung a heavy sack from his back. As he hurled it to the ground, it opened. Armour, a slender sword, a buckler, a compound bow, and several other enchanted objects of enormous power spilled forth. The box of shades fell upon the moss, and the Cambion inhaled sharply.
Nhura gestured, and two of her knights approached Ortwin with a black canvas held between them. It sagged with the weight of gear won from the Satyr and the Infernalist.
Nhura smiled. "I regret that, at this time, it is impossible for me to return your stone of sendings. It remains in Afqithan in the hands of one of my servants."
Inwardly, Shomei groaned. For her, it was a particularly useful item.
Ortwin licked his lips, and prepared to engage in more small-talk, but from behind him he heard Nwm – who appeared wilder and more unkempt than ever before – grunt disapprovingly.
"They are here."
**
Eadric’s return, some days before, had been a solemn event. The Ahma had seemed weighed down with concern, and his eyes had conveyed a sense of pain and horror. He had witnessed near infinite brutality and suffering. The brief ecstasies enjoyed by demons – at the expense of naked souls, whose eternal lot was perdition within Soneillon’s Abyssal demesne – coupled with Throile’s madness-inducing warp of dimension and time, had left a knot of sickness and loathing in his gut.
Upon his arrival at Deorham, at the climax of a furious storm of Nwm’s devising, his heart had sunk yet further. The courtyard of Kyrtill’s Burh had been spattered with celestial and demonic ichor; human entrails lay strewn about, and the doors to the chapel were smashed against the base of the Steeple.
Outside of the entranceway to the sanctum, a great blackthorn reared, its sudden growth demonstrated by the shattered cobblestones nearby. Several of its branches were like huge, barbed lances, upon which the stricken forms of demons hung motionless, pierced and raised skywards as if in dreadful sacrifice to the storm and the Goddess.
Eadric had barely glanced at the tree as he walked into the chapel. Inside, his servants sat quietly in a small group whilst Iua had stood guard over them. Mostin and Shomei had been close in whispered conversation, and Nwm had appeared catatonic and wrapped in a heavy cloak.
Ortwin had grinned, and tossed him his weapon. "Glad you could make it. Better late than never, I suppose."
"I have struck a deal with Soneillon," Eadric had said.
Shomei had looked up with an expression which combined awe with profound concern.
"Welcome to the Path Sinister," she had sighed. "May your progress be as traumatic and as bewildering as mine."
"There are no paths, nor were there ever any. I act from instinct now."
"You are an adept already," she had smiled.
*
It had happened as the Ahma had predicted. The next morning, a summoned succubus had arrived in order to impart a message from Nhura: a parley in five days, if all were willing. An exchange of captured goods was to take place. Eadric had explained that it was part of the agreement reached with the Queen of Throile.
Nwm had groaned loudly. "She has maneuvered everyone into this situation. Irknaan and Crosod are conveniently eliminated – no doubt Soneillon doubted their tractability. Has it occurred to you that she may herself have had a hand in betraying Nhura to Graz’zt?"
Eadric had nodded.
Shomei had shrugged. "Such is the nature of demonic alliances – they shift from hour to hour. It requires considerable will and insight for a leader to maintain any kind of cohesion. We should not even begin to think that we understand her true purpose, however. It will remain hidden for some time yet."
Eadric had mentioned that the demoness wanted something ‘returned to her.’
Mostin had tutted and shaken his head. "I don’t suppose that she mentioned – in passing – what this ‘thing’ was?"
"No."
"I thought not," the Alienist had sighed. "You are perceptive, Eadric – that much I reluctantly concede. But surely you cannot actually trust this creature?"
"I trust her to do that which is in her own best interest," Eadric had answered. "I think it is up to us to try to determine exactly what that is. I don’t pretend that it will be easy. We have little other choice. Afqithan is an obvious locale for a confrontation – and neither you nor Shomei will be bound by the Injunction there. You may conjure hideous entities to your heart’s content."
"I fully intend to," Mostin had replied casually. "But why five days? Why not today?"
"I need time for reflection," Eadric had said simply.
Four days later, he had returned to Throile again, to the dismay of Nwm. He would meet them at the appointed time and place.
"Is he ensorcelled?" The Druid had asked Mostin.
"Not to my knowledge," the Alienist had answered. "But I make no claim to omniscience."
**
Within the glade, Ortwin took several hasty steps back again as the Void began to manifest. Fear spilled from it – dream-phantoms which lingered in the waking world, before evaporating in the ruddy sunset.
Eadric’s form materialized. Next to him, almost as though she were a ward in his care – or his lover, the Satyr wrily observed – was a slender girl clad in a traditional folk dress.
So that is her, Ortwin thought. Intriguing. Less compelling than I had imagined.
As if in response, her eyes brushed over him for the briefest moment. The Satyr immediately felt desire of a magnitude he had never before experienced. His stomach twisted into a knot, and his head span.* He was thankful that he was mind blanked and he knew instantly that, without protective magic, had she laid even the simplest enchantment upon him, he would have been utterly incapable of resisting.
Under the watchful eyes of Nhura, Jetheeg and Koilimilou – suspicious that the Alienist might attempt a time stop and attack – Shomei erected a screen and Mostin fabricated a large, circular table and thirteen chairs from an oak tree, together with a wooden awning supported by slender pillars.
"Not bad," Shomei remarked nonchalantly, and immediately sat down. Eadric watched her – despite her bravado, he knew that she was tense and nervous. Demons – and their allies – were less predictable than her usual diabolic associates.
Soneillon stepped away from the Ahma and smiled.
"Thank-you all for coming," the Queen of Throile said softly. "As you either know, or have guessed, I am Soneillon. At this moment, we share a common purpose which outweighs any other petty concerns which we might have. How we have arrived here is now irrelevant, and we should put these thoughts behind us. This is a parley and a truce. No weapon will be drawn, and no offensive magic will be invoked on pain of annihilation."
Mostin looked sceptical. "You are powerful, but hardly omnipotent, Soneillon. The same conditions apply to you: I will blast you if I suspect counterfeit or magical manipulation, and if the last act I commit is to have you dragged screaming to Uzzhin then I will die happy – I suspect that your dubious ontological status will prove to be of no importance in that paradigm. You should be aware that you cannot effectively be both an arbiter and an interested party in this matter."
"Graz’zt is your enemy, Mostin, not I."
"That remains to be seen," the Alienist countered. "But as none of us trust each other, I am inclined to proceed with utmost caution. I should like to ask several questions before we go any further."
"Are all Wyrish Wizards so arrogant and disrespectful?" Jetheeg asked incredulously. "And openly insulting a Demon Queen is an act of questionable wisdom."
"Truth – even if presented in a most bombastic way – may be my ally at present. I would be misrepresenting myself if I allowed Soneillon to dictate the terms of this arrangement."
Ortwin’s eyes bulged. Eadric smiled. Nhura said nothing, but her eyes narrowed as she studied the Alienist. Very powerful. Very dangerous, she thought.
Soneillon seemed unfazed, and opened her palm, indicating that Mostin should proceed.
"What is this thing that you desire to repossess from the Prince of Azzagrat, and what is Rhyxali’s role in this? What becomes of his sanctum if he is eliminated: can another demon – magnate or no – benefit from its power, or is it attuned only to him? How many succubi within your retinue are sorceresses, and what is their relative power? And what is your defense in Throile against assault from Azzagrat? I assume that, on that count, there is some kind of ongoing spell or magical protection in effect – or the Prince would have overwhelmed you long ago. Finally, I would be grateful if you enlightened me with regard to Pazuzu’s involvement – if any – and, out of intellectual curiosity, any information regarding the entity Carasch would be much appreciated."
Eadric glanced over the Loquai. Despite their practiced hauteur, he detected discomfort among several of them when the name of Rhyxali was mentioned. Nhura’s emotion, if she experienced any, was unreadable.
[Shomei]: ?
[Mostin]: There are hidden fingers in this pie. I am merely informing her that I have considered the possibilities of who they might be.
Soneillon gave a wry smile and leaned forwards towards Mostin. "Your speculation is insightful. Have you heard of Pharamne’s Urn?"
Mostin wracked his brains. "I confess that I have not."
"This is the item that I wish returned to me," the Succubus said simply.
"Evidently, it is not yours by right, else it would be called Soneillon’s Urn. What is its function, and who is – or was – Pharamne?"
"An Aeon**," Soneillon answered.
Mostin looked dumbfounded and stared at the Ahma.
Eadric groaned. "Please, Mostin, explanations surrounding these matters may take all night. Since I last mentioned this item, I have made inquiries and Soneillon has been forthcoming – I will explain later. Rhyxali’s involvement will also become clear in due course."
"Then she is implicated?"
"She is the heretofore secret co-sponsor of the Loquai. Koilimilou is her chief representative."
The Cambion tilted her head, and stared venomously at Eadric. The air seethed with unmanifest arcane power. Nearby, the jariliths began to bay and snarl.
"Stay your temper, Koi," Nhura said drily. "It would appear that Queen Soneillon has thoroughly instructed the Ahma – for reasons I’m sure she will divulge presently."
"Rhyxali will lend aid in any effort to retake Afqithan," Soneillon explained.
"I would have been informed," Koilimilou hissed.
"You are a thrall, nothing more," Soneillon said lightly. "Do not overestimate your importance."
**
The two kelvezu, Cociz and Dramalaz – erstwhile servants of Prince Socothbenoth, but lately retained by Graz’zt – took due pleasure and satisfaction in the task appointed to them in Afqithan. As Ainhorr’s chief inquisitors, they left, in a matter of hours, a trail of mangled and mutilated forms which stretched across the breadth of the demiplane. Their retinue – which consisted of a variety of lesser demons – soon found that the fear evoked by the rumour of their arrival manifested itself in generous bribes from a number of Loquai nobility.
The information which was relayed back to Ainhorr, and thence to Graz’zt, was of a conflicting nature. A Duke from Faerie – Rhalid – had been in Afqithan with a hunting party. Rhalid or one of his cohorts had, in fact, been the despised Eadric of Deorham. Soneillon was implicated. Irknaan had been involved, but was slain because of an internal feud. Lehurze. The Infernal nobles Murmuur, Titivilus and Furcus were somehow enmeshed in the affair, as were a number of Afqithan’s significant figures who were now, apparently, on the Prime – Nhura, Koilimilou, Jetheeg, Crosod and Threxu.
Graz’zt immediately smelled a plot, retired to his sanctum, and deployed a potent divination.
Upon emerging from his reverie, the Prince of Azzagrat acted swiftly. The periodic portal in Afqithan – upon which Irknaan’s palace had been built – had closed, but Graz’zt opened a series of further gates. He reinforced Ainhorr’s contingent with thirty nalfeshnees and around a hundred glabrezu. He issued orders to the marilith Janiq – one of his most experienced, competent and trusted generals in the field – to vigorously renew her assault within Throile, and bolstered her armies there. For the sake of completeness, the ongoing war against Orcus – which had raged inconclusively for millennia across a dozen planes, and absorbed most of the Prince’s resources – was stepped up a notch.
The succubus, Nehael – by Graz’zt’s arts now stripped of her flesh, rendered insane, and subjected to continual torment – was confined alone within a prison world mere yards across, and warded against location by any form of magic or supernatural power. The only gate to the prison was sealed and similarly hidden, and the key – a silver cylinder some twelve inches long, and carved with indecipherable glyphs – was secreted in a location known only to the Prince himself.
Graz’zt turned his mind to the three Infernal Dukes present in Afqithan, and pondered upon Murmuur’s tower and how best to overcome it. The connection between Titivilus and the Ahma was known to him, but Murmuur was a Duke of the Order of the Fly, not a vassal of Dispater. His involvement was a concern, and bespoke the machinations of subtler devils, and tacit agreements between Dis and Malbolge. And Murmuur’s tower was close to impregnable: Graz’zt recalled its deployment upon the Blessed Plain – along with the other contrivances of the Adversary and Belial – in the early stages of the Great Revolt.
For an instant, a feeling of enormous poignancy welled up from within him: a profound melancholy, which consumed him utterly. Ideals and ancient oaths broken, and bright visions of bliss and freedom brought guttering to cold ash.
When it had passed, his brow furrowed in dark reflection. It was becoming hard to recall, and the memories seemed like dreams: divorced and incomplete, as though another, and not he, had taken part in those awful events.
**
"What of the succubus who followed me through the reality maelstrom," Mostin asked. "She is your cohort?"
Soneillon smiled. "Sometimes."
"And presently?" Mostin asked irritably.
"Her name is Lehurze," Nhura answered. "Narab indicated that she disappeared prior to Ainhorr’s attack. She is very slippery. If we meet again, I will likely kill her out of caution. I suspect that she covets Afqithan; Irknaan intended for her to supplant me."
"And where is she?" Mostin asked, exasperated.
Soneillon stared hard at the Alienist: she had no doubt that he could locate Lehurze if he so desired. "She has returned to Azzagrat."
Nhura cursed. "I knew that the whore was a turncoat, but…"
"Graz’zt does not know that she is there," Soneillon interrupted, "although, doubtless, he knows that she is somehow involved in events to date. He probably also guesses that she has Maihodrot’s cubic gate. Before you ask, Mostin, Maihodrot was the demon responsible for overseeing Afqithan. Graz’zt executed him for dereliction."
"That was long overdue," Nhura remarked acidly. "He was an incompetent fool."
"What of the devils?" Shomei asked. "What is their rôle in this?"
"I suspect that they are waiting to see how events unfold before acting." The Succubus answered.
"Ainhorr has more than sufficient strength to force their retreat."
"Not so," Soneillon countered. "He can partially contain them, nothing more. They have erected a tower which is all but impenetrable. It is also a planar nexus, and leads to a number of worlds – including several Hells, no doubt."
"But Graz’zt himself could overcome it?" Mostin asked.
"Yes, given sufficient preparation. As could I. Or you maybe, Mostin; or Shomei. Or the understated Nwm. I know what you did to Hazihe, Druid. It was most impressive."
"I would have done the same to you," Nwm said coolly. "My current concern is to see you – all of you – return to whatever grim, depressing realities that you issued from. Or at least out of mine, in any case. I am hoping that this parley might expedite the process."
"You arrogant bastard," Jetheeg snapped. "As I recall it was first you who trespassed in Afqithan. And now you cry foul at our presence here? Mortals are perpetual hypocrites."
Eadric held up his hand. "The point is well-made. I think, however, we should move on before it becomes a point of contention. What has passed, has passed. The root question, which everyone is carefully avoiding, is this: can Graz’zt be lured to Afqithan and eliminated? Do we have the wherewithal? More importantly, I have yet to be convinced of the authenticity of you, Nhura, and your company: when allegiances change as quickly as yours, you must understand that it is impossible for me to hold even a modicum of trust. I speak the plain truth. What is preventing you from betraying us to Graz’zt?"
The Umbral Lillend laughed. "Nothing at all, Ahma. But Graz’zt is somewhat unforgiving of those that deceive him. And Soneillon would, doubtless, punish me for any transgression against her. And Ainhorr sits on my throne, which irks me more than a little."
Shomei shook her head. "I think that if Eadric of Deorham were delivered into Graz’zt’s hands, then he would forgive more than a little. Perhaps even the Queen of Throile has considered as much. We can, however, assume that this course of action did not appeal to her: she has had the opportunity, and did not act upon it. Here is your answer, Nhura: if you betray us, be sure that we are all dead. Because if either Mostin or I survive, we will find you, and kill you. But first, the glooms will stalk you, and the horrors will tear your mind apart. I am more vindictive than others here."
*It’s worth bearing in mind that Soneillon’s stratospheric Charisma – 50, when buffed – is close to impossible to portray meaningfully in game terms. Given the fact that she is primarily a sexual being (or nonbeing), Ortwin’s response – given his predilections – was natural.
**Aeons are (or were) understood to be cosmic celestial entities; emanations (or possibly avatars) of Oronthon. They are charged with tasks of great magnitude: establishing physical and metaphysical laws; the creation and maintenance of matter, space, energy and time. Orthodox Oronthonianism denies their existence, and long ago branded speculation regarding Aeons as heretical. Both Irrenite and Urgic belief, however, have a place for Aeons within their respective schemas: they are amoral or trans-moral but finite; removed by several degrees from the standard celestial hierarchy, and unconcerned by relative terms such as good and evil. Irrenite belief links them with the Inevitables, who otherwise occupy a very inconsistent place within the Orthodox world-view.
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