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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
The Mésalliance. Part 1. (Updated 4/18.)
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
Ridley's Cohort
First Post
It is not really necessary to give more than a muddy glimpse into what that kind of intelligence would be like. Int 150 Mostin will have all kinds of insights that Int 22 Mostin would not understand as more than general probabilities of actions & results with random specifics thrown in.
Remember the Star Trek episode when Dr. McCoy was reinstalling Spock's brain?
Mortepierre
First Post
Remember folks that even though Sep's writing skills are incredible, his story still depends on his players' actions (at least in part).
There is a huge difference between creating a novel on your own and telling the story of the adventures of a group of people. Not that I doubt Sep would be able to create his own novel without help but methink we have forgotten a bit his players in this.
So, on behalf of all the other Sep fans, thank you to the players for such high quality role-play. This story hour wouldn't be the same without it
There is a huge difference between creating a novel on your own and telling the story of the adventures of a group of people. Not that I doubt Sep would be able to create his own novel without help but methink we have forgotten a bit his players in this.
So, on behalf of all the other Sep fans, thank you to the players for such high quality role-play. This story hour wouldn't be the same without it
Excellent update. 
I am reminded again how much more of a story this story hour seems rather than just a campaign log. For instance, many of the characters are doing separate things right now; if I were to translate this post to a gaming session, it would be a lot of individual action. Now, the players may be cool/entertaining enough that that doesn't matter, but I suspect it's just the very successful editing Sep does to turn this into a riviting story.
Not to mention, the past post, while excellent and entertaining morsel to read, would probably have taken about 10 minutes in game time. It's amazing how Sep has the patience to realize just how much enjoyment can be gotten out of that, and takes the time to make it so, rather than just trying to cover everything that happened in that session as a record in a vaguely story-like format (like I do with my character journals
).
Thanks, Sep!
I am reminded again how much more of a story this story hour seems rather than just a campaign log. For instance, many of the characters are doing separate things right now; if I were to translate this post to a gaming session, it would be a lot of individual action. Now, the players may be cool/entertaining enough that that doesn't matter, but I suspect it's just the very successful editing Sep does to turn this into a riviting story.Not to mention, the past post, while excellent and entertaining morsel to read, would probably have taken about 10 minutes in game time. It's amazing how Sep has the patience to realize just how much enjoyment can be gotten out of that, and takes the time to make it so, rather than just trying to cover everything that happened in that session as a record in a vaguely story-like format (like I do with my character journals
). Thanks, Sep!
Sepulchrave II
Legend
That depends. Usually, a fair bit. This last post was pretty much unedited though - when I reread it, there were a lot of things that I'd tweak.
Many thanks for your patience and continued support, eveyone. I know it was a long hiatus. I can't promise that it will never happen again, but - for a while at least - posts should be a bit more frequent.
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Untitled Update
[Mostin]: Thus. (Conjure the Horror. Lock area around Irknaan's palace – two mile radius. Simultaneous arrival of Rhyxali's force here. Highest probability of Kostchtchie's appearance here. Portals to Faerie here and here and here will allow Nhura access to Afqithan, although I estimate thirty minutes before she can order her forces. Soneillon variable too complicated to calculate because of events in Throile [diagram].)
[Shomei]: Perhaps this. (Chaltipeluse secured as beach-head: already warded against teleportation. Ytryn ally/eliminated. Ortwin has a high chance of success in this endeavour.)
[Mostin]: But. (A Feint here [Picture: the stronghold of Queen Menicau] will draw out Ainhorr's main force. Then possible to open gates, then lock and assault Irknaan's palace directly.)
[Shomei]: Unlikely. (None will assume that role. Too dangerous. Unless you can persuade a group of demons to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. [Irony])
[Mostin]: We two and Nwm - look. (Shapechange and multiple conjurations can achieve the same effect. If you and I each open two gates…)
[Shomei]: My reservoir is close to empty, Mostin…
[Mostin]: Then this. (We should take a short holiday – In fact, I would suggest Afqithan. Get used to your new form, feel the power course through you again, and wreak some random havoc. And take the airs, of course. Nwm will likely come along – he enjoys flying around and destroying things, however much he denies it. And if we cause enough of a ruckus on our first visit, it will cause an overreaction on the second one – which is precisely what we want. [Diagram])
[Shomei]: [Calculating probabilities]. We must be something terrible, that will give Ainhorr pause for thought. Solars? Klurichirs?
[Mostin]: Hellfire Wyrms. [Diagram]
[Shomei]: Nice. Very nice, Mostin.
[Mostin]: Why, thank-you.
[Shomei]: But this. (Multiple summonings with multiple empowerments and I can pull around twenty narzugons into the fray and still retain a high enough valence to contribute to the quiescence of the spheres).
[Mostin]: (Nods). That might be preferable. I will gate a couple of pit fiends in, just to be sure we're taken seriously.
[Shomei]: Titivilus, Furcas and Murmuur will likely shoulder the blame.
[Mostin]: Such is life. I believe the augmentation just ended, by the way. My cognitive faculties have resumed their normal ant-like status.
Shomei sighed, a look of profound relief crossing her face. "I'm weary, Mostin. It has been insightful, but I'm glad it's over: my ego was beginning to fray. We should translate in a couple of days. Flex our muscles with an attack on Samodoquol's fortress."
Mostin nodded. "There are three hundred chasme there, and around a dozen glabrezu enforcers as well as other demonic agents. They are commanded by the nalfeshnee Jamua – who is something of a heavy-hitter. Samodoquol is fractious, and Ainhorr needs to keep him in line. But I suggest that we strike some smaller strongholds first – minor Loquai nobility who have capitulated with the current regime. It will send the message that the Balor's grip is less than ironclad, and won't give as much of an opportunity for Ainhorr to react. And when Nhura finally arrives, it may be that she can expect some support."
"Nhura in the capacity of redeemer and liberator?" Shomei asked ironically. "Now that is an amusing prospect."
"It's all relative," Mostin replied. "Still, attacking Samodoquol must be undertaken with the knowledge of the risk involved. Chasme are hardy."
Shomei shrugged. "Let the flies drone. We will burn them from the sky."
"Reinforcements will arrive within thirty seconds of our arrival."
"Then we will depart." Shomei said easily.
Mostin's eyes betrayed an excitement which made the Infernalist slightly nervous. "We could go tomorrow," he said.
"Two days, Mostin," she replied. "Tomorrow, I send the glooms to Azzagrat."
**
The anointment and investiture of Skadding as Duke of Trempa took place on a cold morning in late autumn on the Howe, a green hillock outside of the castle gates reserved for such grand occasions.
In the past, the Abbot of Trempa (or the Bishop of Thahan, had his other duties permitted it) would have performed the ceremony. As it was, the prior incumbents of each position had, in the wake of the Sela's assumption of the Prelacy, opted for a monastic life: both had been conservative in their view, and the Bishop had been one of the Ahma's foremost detractors. Neither position had been since filled, and Tramst was in no hurry to reestablish the episcopacy until the internal revision of the Temple had been completed. It had therefore been assumed that the ascension of Skadding to the Ducal seat would be a secular affair, and, given the disestablishment of the Temple and the general move away from Church infeudation, that seemed appropriate.
During the feast before the investiture, to Foide's horror and dismay, the thane Ekkert – after consuming large quantities of mead – had suggested that Eadric perform the ceremony. The idea had been greeted by rapturous applause by Trempa's assembled aristocracy, despite the fact that it was highly irregular for an Earl to anoint a Duke. Trempa's customs had always been eccentric, but such a notion verged on the insane.
Eadric had politely declined.
"You would be acting in a religious capacity," Ekkert had drawled. "I don't see what the problem is."
"I am not empowered to anoint Dukes," Eadric had said simply. "Besides, a third of Trempa's inhabitants are Uediian. I am not about to begin a new round of disenfranchisement."
"Then ask Nwm to participate," Caur had suggested cannily.
"Regrettably, his whereabouts are unknown to me," Eadric had replied uneasily. It was true – he had no notion of the Druid's location, and no means to contact him.
Foide, thinking that the Ahma had closed the subject, had breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Later that night, however, as Eadric had strolled in the gardens in an attempt to aid his digestion (he seldom ate rich food, and boar did not agree with him), the soil between two rose bushes had begun to warp and ripple. Nwm had appeared, rising from the ground in the shape of a pillar of earth which had rapidly assumed a more recognizable, human form.
The druid had shaken his head, and dirt had fallen out of his tangled hair.
"I understand that I am to officiate at Skadding's investiture tomorrow," he had said in a matter-of-fact way.
"How did Caur contact you?" Eadric had asked, sighing.
"He didn't," Nwm had answered.
"Then how do you know?"
"At this present moment, I know pretty much everything," Nwm had replied. It was true – the Druid had been buoyed by the cycle of augmentations devised by Mostin, and in which he had taken part. "Although, actually, a wizard of our mutual acquaintance informed me of the probability that you would be asked to anoint the new Duke, and that you would refuse on the grounds that it would alienate the Uediian faction."
"I assume that the interpretation of the web of motes is passing according to plan, then?"
Nwm had shrugged. "I'm leaving it to Mostin to work out."
"And what have you been doing?"
"Watching birds, mainly," Nwm had answered.
"And you have discovered…?"
"Nothing that I didn't already know," Nwm had admitted. "I'm telling you, Ed: omniscience isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Eadric guffawed.
"In any case, we'll both perform the ceremony tomorrow."
"I don't think so…" Eadric had begun.
"There is actually an eighty-eight percent chance that I will change your mind in that regard," Nwm had grinned, "so you may as well just throw in the towel now, and save yourself the argument."
Eadric had sighed. "Skadding will…"
"He'll agree too," Nwm had interrupted.
"But Foide…"
"Will come around. What choice does he have, Eadric? Vox populi and all that: he is nothing, if not politically astute. He won't want his son to begin his tenure in a climate of apathy and indifference. You'll be doing the boy a favour. Trust me, Ed. Press this point now, and save yourself some grief down the road. Now, I'm hungry. Is there any food left?"
So it was that Nwm the Preceptor placed the coronet – a twisted wreath of ivy, mistletoe and oak-leaves – upon the head of Skadding, and Eadric anointed him with holy water.
The company – over a hundred noble families – made a slow procession from the Howe to the Hall of the Seat, which had stood empty since Soraine's death at the hands of Rimilin five months before. Skadding assumed his place amidst much panoply, and began his large – and depressingly administrative – set of duties. He had a huge backlog to contend with. Aristocrats bickered about land ownership, hunting rights, debts, impending marriages and when the next tourney should be held. Commoners waited outside in droves to voice their complaints regarding the bread dole, the theft of pigs, taxes on beer, and the quantity of devalued coinage in circulation. Several sought recompense from soldiers for unwanted pregnancies in indiscreet daughters. Representatives from the Guild of Clockmakers preened themselves in anticipation of an audience. Entertainers seeking employment breathed fire, sang ditties or performed minor tricks of prestidigitation.
Eadric looked at Nwm. "And you wanted me to do this job?" He said in a low voice.
"On reflection, I think maybe you were right."
As the Ahma took his leave of the new Duke, he bowed, placed his hand upon the marble floor, incanted, and touched his eagle pendant in what most there assumed was a final blessing. A feeling of indescribable calm descended upon the Hall of the Seat. Nwm felt a frisson of power and suppressed a look of astonishment, and questioned Eadric as soon as they were outside again.
"Did you just do what I think you did?" The Druid asked.
"That is entirely possible," Eadric nodded.
"And since when could you just do that?"
"I don't know," Eadric shrugged. "I've never really tried before."
Nwm nodded. "Good," he said. "This may save me considerable effort and labour in the future."
With a passing thought, Eadric had hallowed the hall, and with his brief invocation had laid a zone of truth upon the place. No fiend – openly or in possession of another – could enter there, and, for a year at least, no lie could be spoken there without considerable effort.
Skadding was young and inexperienced, and already had enough to contend with without falling prey to the scheming mendacity of vassals, peers, ambassadors, and family. Or demons, for that matter.
**
Ortwin sang. Purportedly, a composition in Ytryn's honour, commissioned by Nhura as a gift to the Duke.
Whatever else he does, Iua mused to herself as she listened, lying aside, Ortwin does this best. He was an arrogant, self-indulgent, narcissistic erotomaniac – to be sure – but he had an uncanny ability to tap into the aesthetic sensibilities of his audience. His song was dark, brooding, and melancholic. It conveyed a lust for blood, it exalted pain, and suggested the promise of a grim satiation which would be all-fulfilling but transient; and then the birth of the next desire, which would, in turn, be pursued to its empty and bitter conclusion. Ennui. Psychosis and apathy. The fleeting release from the curse of immortality.
Iua didn't even understand the words: Ortwin sang in an archaic dialect of Sylvan.
The duelist watched Koilimilou carefully, but if the cambion was moved by the Bard's performance, she displayed no outward sign of it. But neither Iua, nor Koilimilou, nor the marilith Sethee were alerted to Ortwin's true message – directed at Ytryn alone, and concealed within the song.
[Make no response to this communication – I suspect you lack the subtlety possessed by yonder demoness, and she would quickly realize your intention.
Graz'zt's hegemony here will shortly end. His enemies already mobilize themselves. Nhura is returning, and her allies will crush Ainhorr. Rhyxali – your other patroness – is poised to retake her rightful property. Soneillon craves vengeance, and her designs will soon bear fruit.
Where will your loyalties lie, Duke Ytryn? To whom will you pledge your treacherous sword? Listen well, and you will survive the orgy of death and prosper in the aftermath. When the gates to the other worlds open, and the demons at Chaltipeluse are recalled to the battle before the walls of Irknaan's palace, you will slay those that remain here. You will mobilize your army, and join Queen Nhura in the fray.
In payment, Nhura will grant you Someranth: Menicau will likely not survive the upcoming conflict and if, by some strange chance she does, she will not survive long after it. If you fail, then Nhura's ire will turn towards you, and like those others who betray her, you will die painfully.
And Ytryn, in case you forget, I am an ambassador from Faerie and you will guarantee my safe passage and lend me such aid as custom dictates. Koilimilou and the slaad Qhrsjh are under my protection. Do not underestimate my influence or my reach. If I am assailed, then the Hunters will descend upon you, and drag you to a doom which even you cannot imagine.]
…and of frost
and unrelenting pursuit
and jealous death.
Ortwin finished his song. His innuendo had conveyed information which was – to his knowledge – at least partially accurate. Admittedly, he might have been a little liberal with his interpretation of the facts, and his promises might not have been sanctioned by Nhura. No matter. He had no doubt that Ytryn believed him – it was merely a question of how the Duke would react to what he had heard.*
**
There had been two of them. They had been fast: faster than he was. Their motion was precise, calculated and deadly. He had been taking his pleasure when they struck.
His feeling had been one of outrage, coupled with incredulity. How had they reached him here? There were precious few areas in Zelatar where it was possible to teleport or open a gate. Places which – by necessity – were not dimensionally locked, and he knew them all intimately. Most of them were known only to him.
He had been alerted by a blur of shadowy motion, and a feeling of pain which ripped through his shoulder, piercing demonic flesh and sinew and spilling his ichor upon the floor of his own harem. He had been stabbed nine times more before he had reacted.**
Fearing for his very existence, Graz'zt had emanated a shroud of death and destruction which had instantly annihilated his assailants, together with three succubi and the marilith Chuschi – his current favorite.
The glooms had evaporated, returning to whatever shady realm they had issued from. They had been summoned creatures, and possessed no final reality.
Immediately afterwards, Graz'zt had locked the whole of Zelatar, except for the gate room – where the guard was quadrupled. Brutal interrogations of scores of demons – mainly nalfeshnees in possession of cubic gates who presided over various conquered worlds – ensued. A wave of tortures, mutilations and assassinations flooded through the citadel and city as the Prince's paranoia asserted itself, and his demonic servitors found an opportunity to settle old scores.
Graz'zt retreated to his sanctum, rapidly healed his wounds, and gave thought to revenge.
*Ortwin – benefitting from a multiply empowered eagle's splendour comfortably made a DC 50 Bluff check – enough to 1) convey his innuendo successfully without alerting the others present; and 2) simultaneously lie sufficiently well to convince Ytryn that he was an important sidhe of powerful connections, and crossing him would result in the Duke's rapid demise. All was hidden within the context of a song which rivalled those composed by the most accomplished of faerie bards and minstrels.
**Graz'zt's DR – 20/Cold Iron and Epic and Good – actually saved his bacon. Still, the +10 keen daggers used by the glooms filled him full of holes.
[Mostin]: Thus. (Conjure the Horror. Lock area around Irknaan's palace – two mile radius. Simultaneous arrival of Rhyxali's force here. Highest probability of Kostchtchie's appearance here. Portals to Faerie here and here and here will allow Nhura access to Afqithan, although I estimate thirty minutes before she can order her forces. Soneillon variable too complicated to calculate because of events in Throile [diagram].)
[Shomei]: Perhaps this. (Chaltipeluse secured as beach-head: already warded against teleportation. Ytryn ally/eliminated. Ortwin has a high chance of success in this endeavour.)
[Mostin]: But. (A Feint here [Picture: the stronghold of Queen Menicau] will draw out Ainhorr's main force. Then possible to open gates, then lock and assault Irknaan's palace directly.)
[Shomei]: Unlikely. (None will assume that role. Too dangerous. Unless you can persuade a group of demons to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. [Irony])
[Mostin]: We two and Nwm - look. (Shapechange and multiple conjurations can achieve the same effect. If you and I each open two gates…)
[Shomei]: My reservoir is close to empty, Mostin…
[Mostin]: Then this. (We should take a short holiday – In fact, I would suggest Afqithan. Get used to your new form, feel the power course through you again, and wreak some random havoc. And take the airs, of course. Nwm will likely come along – he enjoys flying around and destroying things, however much he denies it. And if we cause enough of a ruckus on our first visit, it will cause an overreaction on the second one – which is precisely what we want. [Diagram])
[Shomei]: [Calculating probabilities]. We must be something terrible, that will give Ainhorr pause for thought. Solars? Klurichirs?
[Mostin]: Hellfire Wyrms. [Diagram]
[Shomei]: Nice. Very nice, Mostin.
[Mostin]: Why, thank-you.
[Shomei]: But this. (Multiple summonings with multiple empowerments and I can pull around twenty narzugons into the fray and still retain a high enough valence to contribute to the quiescence of the spheres).
[Mostin]: (Nods). That might be preferable. I will gate a couple of pit fiends in, just to be sure we're taken seriously.
[Shomei]: Titivilus, Furcas and Murmuur will likely shoulder the blame.
[Mostin]: Such is life. I believe the augmentation just ended, by the way. My cognitive faculties have resumed their normal ant-like status.
Shomei sighed, a look of profound relief crossing her face. "I'm weary, Mostin. It has been insightful, but I'm glad it's over: my ego was beginning to fray. We should translate in a couple of days. Flex our muscles with an attack on Samodoquol's fortress."
Mostin nodded. "There are three hundred chasme there, and around a dozen glabrezu enforcers as well as other demonic agents. They are commanded by the nalfeshnee Jamua – who is something of a heavy-hitter. Samodoquol is fractious, and Ainhorr needs to keep him in line. But I suggest that we strike some smaller strongholds first – minor Loquai nobility who have capitulated with the current regime. It will send the message that the Balor's grip is less than ironclad, and won't give as much of an opportunity for Ainhorr to react. And when Nhura finally arrives, it may be that she can expect some support."
"Nhura in the capacity of redeemer and liberator?" Shomei asked ironically. "Now that is an amusing prospect."
"It's all relative," Mostin replied. "Still, attacking Samodoquol must be undertaken with the knowledge of the risk involved. Chasme are hardy."
Shomei shrugged. "Let the flies drone. We will burn them from the sky."
"Reinforcements will arrive within thirty seconds of our arrival."
"Then we will depart." Shomei said easily.
Mostin's eyes betrayed an excitement which made the Infernalist slightly nervous. "We could go tomorrow," he said.
"Two days, Mostin," she replied. "Tomorrow, I send the glooms to Azzagrat."
**
The anointment and investiture of Skadding as Duke of Trempa took place on a cold morning in late autumn on the Howe, a green hillock outside of the castle gates reserved for such grand occasions.
In the past, the Abbot of Trempa (or the Bishop of Thahan, had his other duties permitted it) would have performed the ceremony. As it was, the prior incumbents of each position had, in the wake of the Sela's assumption of the Prelacy, opted for a monastic life: both had been conservative in their view, and the Bishop had been one of the Ahma's foremost detractors. Neither position had been since filled, and Tramst was in no hurry to reestablish the episcopacy until the internal revision of the Temple had been completed. It had therefore been assumed that the ascension of Skadding to the Ducal seat would be a secular affair, and, given the disestablishment of the Temple and the general move away from Church infeudation, that seemed appropriate.
During the feast before the investiture, to Foide's horror and dismay, the thane Ekkert – after consuming large quantities of mead – had suggested that Eadric perform the ceremony. The idea had been greeted by rapturous applause by Trempa's assembled aristocracy, despite the fact that it was highly irregular for an Earl to anoint a Duke. Trempa's customs had always been eccentric, but such a notion verged on the insane.
Eadric had politely declined.
"You would be acting in a religious capacity," Ekkert had drawled. "I don't see what the problem is."
"I am not empowered to anoint Dukes," Eadric had said simply. "Besides, a third of Trempa's inhabitants are Uediian. I am not about to begin a new round of disenfranchisement."
"Then ask Nwm to participate," Caur had suggested cannily.
"Regrettably, his whereabouts are unknown to me," Eadric had replied uneasily. It was true – he had no notion of the Druid's location, and no means to contact him.
Foide, thinking that the Ahma had closed the subject, had breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Later that night, however, as Eadric had strolled in the gardens in an attempt to aid his digestion (he seldom ate rich food, and boar did not agree with him), the soil between two rose bushes had begun to warp and ripple. Nwm had appeared, rising from the ground in the shape of a pillar of earth which had rapidly assumed a more recognizable, human form.
The druid had shaken his head, and dirt had fallen out of his tangled hair.
"I understand that I am to officiate at Skadding's investiture tomorrow," he had said in a matter-of-fact way.
"How did Caur contact you?" Eadric had asked, sighing.
"He didn't," Nwm had answered.
"Then how do you know?"
"At this present moment, I know pretty much everything," Nwm had replied. It was true – the Druid had been buoyed by the cycle of augmentations devised by Mostin, and in which he had taken part. "Although, actually, a wizard of our mutual acquaintance informed me of the probability that you would be asked to anoint the new Duke, and that you would refuse on the grounds that it would alienate the Uediian faction."
"I assume that the interpretation of the web of motes is passing according to plan, then?"
Nwm had shrugged. "I'm leaving it to Mostin to work out."
"And what have you been doing?"
"Watching birds, mainly," Nwm had answered.
"And you have discovered…?"
"Nothing that I didn't already know," Nwm had admitted. "I'm telling you, Ed: omniscience isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Eadric guffawed.
"In any case, we'll both perform the ceremony tomorrow."
"I don't think so…" Eadric had begun.
"There is actually an eighty-eight percent chance that I will change your mind in that regard," Nwm had grinned, "so you may as well just throw in the towel now, and save yourself the argument."
Eadric had sighed. "Skadding will…"
"He'll agree too," Nwm had interrupted.
"But Foide…"
"Will come around. What choice does he have, Eadric? Vox populi and all that: he is nothing, if not politically astute. He won't want his son to begin his tenure in a climate of apathy and indifference. You'll be doing the boy a favour. Trust me, Ed. Press this point now, and save yourself some grief down the road. Now, I'm hungry. Is there any food left?"
So it was that Nwm the Preceptor placed the coronet – a twisted wreath of ivy, mistletoe and oak-leaves – upon the head of Skadding, and Eadric anointed him with holy water.
The company – over a hundred noble families – made a slow procession from the Howe to the Hall of the Seat, which had stood empty since Soraine's death at the hands of Rimilin five months before. Skadding assumed his place amidst much panoply, and began his large – and depressingly administrative – set of duties. He had a huge backlog to contend with. Aristocrats bickered about land ownership, hunting rights, debts, impending marriages and when the next tourney should be held. Commoners waited outside in droves to voice their complaints regarding the bread dole, the theft of pigs, taxes on beer, and the quantity of devalued coinage in circulation. Several sought recompense from soldiers for unwanted pregnancies in indiscreet daughters. Representatives from the Guild of Clockmakers preened themselves in anticipation of an audience. Entertainers seeking employment breathed fire, sang ditties or performed minor tricks of prestidigitation.
Eadric looked at Nwm. "And you wanted me to do this job?" He said in a low voice.
"On reflection, I think maybe you were right."
As the Ahma took his leave of the new Duke, he bowed, placed his hand upon the marble floor, incanted, and touched his eagle pendant in what most there assumed was a final blessing. A feeling of indescribable calm descended upon the Hall of the Seat. Nwm felt a frisson of power and suppressed a look of astonishment, and questioned Eadric as soon as they were outside again.
"Did you just do what I think you did?" The Druid asked.
"That is entirely possible," Eadric nodded.
"And since when could you just do that?"
"I don't know," Eadric shrugged. "I've never really tried before."
Nwm nodded. "Good," he said. "This may save me considerable effort and labour in the future."
With a passing thought, Eadric had hallowed the hall, and with his brief invocation had laid a zone of truth upon the place. No fiend – openly or in possession of another – could enter there, and, for a year at least, no lie could be spoken there without considerable effort.
Skadding was young and inexperienced, and already had enough to contend with without falling prey to the scheming mendacity of vassals, peers, ambassadors, and family. Or demons, for that matter.
**
Ortwin sang. Purportedly, a composition in Ytryn's honour, commissioned by Nhura as a gift to the Duke.
Whatever else he does, Iua mused to herself as she listened, lying aside, Ortwin does this best. He was an arrogant, self-indulgent, narcissistic erotomaniac – to be sure – but he had an uncanny ability to tap into the aesthetic sensibilities of his audience. His song was dark, brooding, and melancholic. It conveyed a lust for blood, it exalted pain, and suggested the promise of a grim satiation which would be all-fulfilling but transient; and then the birth of the next desire, which would, in turn, be pursued to its empty and bitter conclusion. Ennui. Psychosis and apathy. The fleeting release from the curse of immortality.
Iua didn't even understand the words: Ortwin sang in an archaic dialect of Sylvan.
The duelist watched Koilimilou carefully, but if the cambion was moved by the Bard's performance, she displayed no outward sign of it. But neither Iua, nor Koilimilou, nor the marilith Sethee were alerted to Ortwin's true message – directed at Ytryn alone, and concealed within the song.
[Make no response to this communication – I suspect you lack the subtlety possessed by yonder demoness, and she would quickly realize your intention.
Graz'zt's hegemony here will shortly end. His enemies already mobilize themselves. Nhura is returning, and her allies will crush Ainhorr. Rhyxali – your other patroness – is poised to retake her rightful property. Soneillon craves vengeance, and her designs will soon bear fruit.
Where will your loyalties lie, Duke Ytryn? To whom will you pledge your treacherous sword? Listen well, and you will survive the orgy of death and prosper in the aftermath. When the gates to the other worlds open, and the demons at Chaltipeluse are recalled to the battle before the walls of Irknaan's palace, you will slay those that remain here. You will mobilize your army, and join Queen Nhura in the fray.
In payment, Nhura will grant you Someranth: Menicau will likely not survive the upcoming conflict and if, by some strange chance she does, she will not survive long after it. If you fail, then Nhura's ire will turn towards you, and like those others who betray her, you will die painfully.
And Ytryn, in case you forget, I am an ambassador from Faerie and you will guarantee my safe passage and lend me such aid as custom dictates. Koilimilou and the slaad Qhrsjh are under my protection. Do not underestimate my influence or my reach. If I am assailed, then the Hunters will descend upon you, and drag you to a doom which even you cannot imagine.]
…and of frost
and unrelenting pursuit
and jealous death.
Ortwin finished his song. His innuendo had conveyed information which was – to his knowledge – at least partially accurate. Admittedly, he might have been a little liberal with his interpretation of the facts, and his promises might not have been sanctioned by Nhura. No matter. He had no doubt that Ytryn believed him – it was merely a question of how the Duke would react to what he had heard.*
**
There had been two of them. They had been fast: faster than he was. Their motion was precise, calculated and deadly. He had been taking his pleasure when they struck.
His feeling had been one of outrage, coupled with incredulity. How had they reached him here? There were precious few areas in Zelatar where it was possible to teleport or open a gate. Places which – by necessity – were not dimensionally locked, and he knew them all intimately. Most of them were known only to him.
He had been alerted by a blur of shadowy motion, and a feeling of pain which ripped through his shoulder, piercing demonic flesh and sinew and spilling his ichor upon the floor of his own harem. He had been stabbed nine times more before he had reacted.**
Fearing for his very existence, Graz'zt had emanated a shroud of death and destruction which had instantly annihilated his assailants, together with three succubi and the marilith Chuschi – his current favorite.
The glooms had evaporated, returning to whatever shady realm they had issued from. They had been summoned creatures, and possessed no final reality.
Immediately afterwards, Graz'zt had locked the whole of Zelatar, except for the gate room – where the guard was quadrupled. Brutal interrogations of scores of demons – mainly nalfeshnees in possession of cubic gates who presided over various conquered worlds – ensued. A wave of tortures, mutilations and assassinations flooded through the citadel and city as the Prince's paranoia asserted itself, and his demonic servitors found an opportunity to settle old scores.
Graz'zt retreated to his sanctum, rapidly healed his wounds, and gave thought to revenge.
*Ortwin – benefitting from a multiply empowered eagle's splendour comfortably made a DC 50 Bluff check – enough to 1) convey his innuendo successfully without alerting the others present; and 2) simultaneously lie sufficiently well to convince Ytryn that he was an important sidhe of powerful connections, and crossing him would result in the Duke's rapid demise. All was hidden within the context of a song which rivalled those composed by the most accomplished of faerie bards and minstrels.
**Graz'zt's DR – 20/Cold Iron and Epic and Good – actually saved his bacon. Still, the +10 keen daggers used by the glooms filled him full of holes.
grodog
Hero
Niiiice work Sep! 
Interesting to see the Ahma sanctioning the use of assassination---at least through his approval of/association with Mostin and Shomei....
Just how many cubic gates does Graz'zt own, btw? It sounds like thousands and thousands---which throws the old 2-3 Miscellaneous Magic Items per campaign world (from the 1e DMG) right out the window
I'm surprised that Mostin, et al, haven't made use of fast-time planes in order to plot/plan their strategies and then assault Afqithan (and Graz'zt) after a relative-year-or-so of tactical- and magical planning conducted under the guidance of the Web of Motes. I suppose they may be safer in Wyre, with the interdict, but I'm sure they could find some backwater in the multiverse where Graz'zt wouldn't be likely to find them.
Speaking of the Web of Motes, Sep, how have the players worked through what they want the PCs to do while under its effects?
Interesting to see the Ahma sanctioning the use of assassination---at least through his approval of/association with Mostin and Shomei....
Just how many cubic gates does Graz'zt own, btw? It sounds like thousands and thousands---which throws the old 2-3 Miscellaneous Magic Items per campaign world (from the 1e DMG) right out the window
I'm surprised that Mostin, et al, haven't made use of fast-time planes in order to plot/plan their strategies and then assault Afqithan (and Graz'zt) after a relative-year-or-so of tactical- and magical planning conducted under the guidance of the Web of Motes. I suppose they may be safer in Wyre, with the interdict, but I'm sure they could find some backwater in the multiverse where Graz'zt wouldn't be likely to find them.
Speaking of the Web of Motes, Sep, how have the players worked through what they want the PCs to do while under its effects?
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
A gloom is a CR25 monster from the Epic Level Handbook, that makes an more than excellent assasain. It has Hide +46, Move Silently +66 and does 13d6 sneak attack damage...no wonder Grazzt got injured!
