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The Rape of Morne [Final Update]
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
tleilaxu
First Post
...and the other thing i thought was cool about the past post is "hey, nwm has some awakened eagles. eagles are the symbol of Big O (or O-Dog as we like to call him down in HK). I wonder what role these play in the future? I hope it is cooler than Tostig the absent bear was 
. Nwm being the lowest level character, it kind of sucked for him that his animal companion was of little use. Hopefully these eagles will be able to travel faster.
Also, what classes are the eagles taking Sep? Fighter? Druid? Ranger? Barbarian Eagles?! A sneak attacking rogue eagle flanking while the barbarian eagle soaks up the damage?
aND second: What do we know about Kothchori? No one has expressed an interest in him so far, but i for one think that he will play an interesting role soon in the (bum bum buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmm):: nodality
. Nwm being the lowest level character, it kind of sucked for him that his animal companion was of little use. Hopefully these eagles will be able to travel faster. Also, what classes are the eagles taking Sep? Fighter? Druid? Ranger? Barbarian Eagles?! A sneak attacking rogue eagle flanking while the barbarian eagle soaks up the damage?
aND second: What do we know about Kothchori? No one has expressed an interest in him so far, but i for one think that he will play an interesting role soon in the (bum bum buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmm):: nodality
BiggusGeekus@Work
Community Supporter
(bump)
I WANT a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I 'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan-
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time
-- Lord Byron, from Don Juan, canto the first
I WANT a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I 'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan-
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time
-- Lord Byron, from Don Juan, canto the first
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Needless to say, things get more complicated. Mostin finally takes an ethical stance - but it is not what the other characters expect. Nwm is confronted with a moral dilemma about whether to heal or not. Mesikammi pulls out all the stops, and the sh*t clogs the fan up a little more.
Morne: Part 2
“Er, so what do we do, Ed?” Ortwin asked, looking into the mirror. The scenes that played across it were horrific and brutal. “We can’t just let that happen, can we?”
“No,” Eadric replied. “Buff up. We’re going through.”
Abruptly, Mostin waved his hand. The looking-glass of Urm-Nahat became a simple reflective surface. “You’ll need to find another way.”
“Mostin…” Eadric began.
“No.” He was adamant. “Bailing you out at Deorham, I used it. Getting Ortwin to the crossings on the Nund, I used it. Getting Nwm to mess with the weather at Jiuhu, I used it. Gods, I even used it just now to get Nwm from some mountain in who-knows-where. I have a suggestion, Eadric: would you like me to use the mirror to get your whole army into Morne?”
“Well, no,” Eadric replied.
“Why not?”
“Because it would be a violation…”
“…of the Injunction,” Mostin finished for him. “Correct. Is there any difference? Do you see how it starts, now? This has got nothing to do with me being caught and tried by the other Wizards: frankly, I don’t think they’d even bother at this stage. This is about why there is an Injunction in the first place. You know, I think I actually have an ethical position on this. I know it’s hard to believe. Hell, we might even have an Injunction so that the little guy – you know, ‘Uediian farmer X’ or ‘Oronthonian Lard Merchant Y’ can lead a happier, less stressful life.”
“It is,” Ortwin agreed.
Mostin looked puzzled.
“Hard to believe that you have an ethical position on something,” the Bard explained.
“We’re wasting time,” Eadric moaned. “How long to Wind Walk there, Nwm?”
“Ten minutes. But it doesn’t matter – I’ve not got one prepared.”
“Perhaps Tahl…”
“I’ll go to Hullu,” the Druid sighed, “it’s sort of my responsibility, anyway.” He sank into the ground.
“Find Tahl,” Eadric yelled at Tatterbrand. The squire ran off to comply.
The Paladin glowered at Mostin, who refocused. Nwm appeared upon the face of the mirror.
Before the Alienist could even open his mouth in disbelief, Ortwin had leapt through.
“Dammit,” Mostin said. “That’s it. Nobody pays a damn word to what I say. I quit. Find yourself another diviner.” The Alienist dropped the looking-glass into his Portable Hole.
“Mostin…”
“No,” he replied. “The line is drawn, Eadric. You have presumed on our friendship too much – all of you. I’m pissed off. No-one seems to respect my position in this. They think: ‘Oh, it’s just Mostin being cranky, he’ll come around.’” The Alienist was ranting as he stormed out of the tent.
Eadric looked at Nehael.
“He’s got a point,” the Succubus said.
Moments later Tahl, accompanied by Tatterbrand, entered. The Inquisitor looked groggy and bewildered.
“Can you Wind-Walk us to Morne?” Eadric asked.
Tahl shook his head. “No, Ahma. I didn’t expect it would be needed. Is it important?”
“Yes,” Eadric thundered.
“There is always Zhuel,” Tahl suggested.
Zhuel, the Paladin thought. Of course. He motioned in the air, and the celestial manifested.
“I need you to get me to Morne,” Eadric said desperately.
“You are the Ahma,” Zhuel replied. “Your word is law. However, I have one thing to ask: should you jeopardize your own life in this manner?”
Eadric’s mind reeled, as arguments cascaded through his brain. His duty to those who followed him. His duty to Wyre. His duty to posterity. His duty to Oronthon. His duty to his friends. His duty to protect the innocent.
Nehael slapped him, eliciting looks of horror from Tahl and Tatterbrand. “You’re thinking too much again,” she said.
“We go,” Eadric said.
“Best speed?” Nehael asked.
Eadric nodded.
She smiled and vanished. Moments later, Eadric, Tahl, Iua and Tatterbrand assumed nebulous forms. But before they sped westwards, Eadric spoke to Zhuel.
“Go straight to Nwm and Ortwin and Nehael,” the Paladin commanded.
“I am charged with guarding you,” Zhuel replied.
“You can guard me again in ten minutes,” Eadric said. “Go.”
Zhuel bowed, and disappeared.
**
In his rented chambers in Morne’s most prestigious district – the Bevel – near the outwalls of the gardens of the Royal Palace, Rimilin’s mind and body span with the immense power which coursed through him, before manifesting within the magical diagram which he had constructed.
The Balor’s name was Uruum* – of less stature than Ainhorr, but a potent Demon nonetheless. One of the five (previously, six) who served Graz’zt, Uruum possessed a particular talent for subtlety and guile – qualities which, while present in Balors, had a tendency to be overshadowed by the urge to maim and kill.
Rimilin quickly stepped forwards and broke the binding circle, in the event that the Demon misinterpret his intentions. Disturbingly, Uruum had adopted the guise of a small child – a girl with wide eyes and an endearing smile. The Acolyte straightaway reasoned that the Demon must have some kind of device to have achieved this transformation: Balors were not natural shape-shifters. The Succubus, Kalkja, who stood nearby, immediately abased herself before the child, conscious of the fact that she could be extinguished by a single thought.
Rimilin, possessed of an arrogant and haughty attitude, but at the same time pragmatic and aware of the Demon’s power, gave a deferential nod.
Uruum promptly stepped out of the thaumaturgic diagram and vanished.
One, the Acolyte of the Skin thought to himself.
**
Nwm arrived near the breached walls of the city, in a dimly-lit alleyway. The narrow street was littered with bodies – some still breathing – and blood soaked the cobblestones. Nearby, in the main thoroughfare, the inhabitants of the city were in the streets, dragging children and belongings behind them in an effort to escape the chaos. Fires burned – some started by spells, others by flasks of oil hurled by Hullu’s men. They illuminated the scene with a ruddy glow.
He cursed, as he knew the delay that it would entail, but he had no choice. He knelt down beside the nearest living form – an aging woman, who bled from a wound to the stomach - muttered briefly, and touched her upon the torso.
Instantly, the wound closed, and her breathing became more regular.
Nwm stood again, and moved quickly towards the next figure. As if from nowhere, Ortwin suddenly appeared.
“What the hell are you doing?” The Bard asked. “We need to find Hullu.”
Nwm scowled, and said nothing.
“Nwm…”
“Ortwin – let’s just worry about the present situation for the moment.”
Others would probably die because of it, but what else could the Druid do? These people were here and they needed help now. To act in any other way would have been a betrayal of his most closely held principles.
Ortwin considered pointing out the inconsistency of his position, and the fact he had killed a thousand people only three months before, and he was probably feeling guilt and remorse, and…
The Bard nodded, sighed, and waited.
Nehael appeared. “Eadric is on his way,” she said. “He’ll be a while, though – he’s Wind-Walking with Iua, Tahl and Tatterbrand. Mostin’s throwing a tantrum.”
Nwm nodded, and invoked the last of his healing magic upon a bloody child, close to death, before standing again.
His perceptions stretched out, and through his torc he apprehended Morne as a vast blot, a scar on the face of the Green continuum. Ugh. Large areas were devoid of trees and natural life. Quickly, he scanned for knots of magical and supernatural power.
Half a dozen powerful spellcasters – although no time to further refine the search. Outsiders: one (Nehael) – two – three (a big one) – four – five – six (very close – what the…)
Nwm turned abruptly, and then relaxed. Zhuel floated silently behind him.
Twenty-one major fires burning, dozens of smaller ones. Mostly in the nearby Temple district.
Easier to find than Hullu, the sword. Melancholy = steel + supernatural + extraplanar combination. There she is. Outsider and spellcaster also nearby.
“Around three hundred yards away,” the Druid said, pointing towards the northeast. “But they are moving out of the city wall. We need to intercept them.”
In the flash of an eye, both Nehael and Zhuel vanished. Nwm looked around desperately for a plant of sufficient size, but there was nothing close. He grunted, and assumed the form of an Air Elemental, before shooting off at incredible speed.
Ortwin sighed, urged his winged boots to action, and followed. He adjusted his collar as he flew, and hoped that his new shirt – of finest Djinn silk – wouldn’t get ruined.
**
Hullu – now feeling lucid and in control again – quickly ordered the withdrawal of his Bagaudas. The raid had been an overwhelming success, but he had no doubts that hundreds of watchmen and townsfolk would descend upon him in short order if he tarried too long.
He also felt sick to his stomach, disgusted by his own enjoyment of the brutality. He turned to the sorceresses as they approached a section of the city wall.
“I think that a further display is unnecessary,” Hullu said.
The younger witch – the one from the Linna – replied. In their association, Hullu had heard her speak fewer than a dozen times. But there was something about her which was both reassuringly and uncomfortably familiar.
“It’s too late,” she said. “The Earth-Spirit has already done my bidding. Soon, the Air-Spirit will make his presence known.”
Hullu swallowed. It seemed that they were responsible for the Earthquake, at least. “And the rain of fire?” He asked.
“Was not my doing,” she replied. “You need to get your men out of the city now. We have only a few minutes.”
“Call off your Allies, Witch. Enough is enough.”
But she shook her head. “Oaths have been taken. I cannot renege. When the winds blow, a firestorm will likely begin.”
Hullu cursed as he drew Melancholy from its scabbard, and opened another rift in the curtain wall of Morne.
“Get out,” he barked at the Bagaudas who accompanied him, ushering them through. “Go to ground.”
“You must flee, Hullu,” the Sorceress said desperately.
“My men go first,” he replied simply.
**
Shomei sank into a huge leather chair in one of the numerous parlours at her manse, outside of Morne and sighed. She threw the red velvet cloth back over her Crystal Ball and drank deeply from a glass of firewine.
Whoever had struck at Jiuhu, had done so again only fifteen minutes previously at Morne – although it appeared that this time, he or she (or they?) had been less restrained. And the Earthquake implied either an innovative Transmuter or a Divine caster of considerable power.
Waide was the only one to possess that kind of clout, and he was far too staid to be a suspect.
She brooded.
A knot suddenly tightened in the Infernalist’s stomach. Moments later, an intricate brass bell, suspended on a metal stand nearby, rang once. She almost heaved. No, not now, she thought. It’s too damned complicated.
Groaning, Shomei stood and swallowed. The last time, she reminded herself. She grasped her rod and spoke a single syllable.
Instantly, a Chain Contingency sprang into effect, rendering her immune to fire and Hasting her. Her skin toughened to the hardness of stone. Swiftly, she invoked another ward: Mind Blank. She didn’t trust him, this time.
She breathed deeply and opened a Gate.
Titivilus, the nuncio of the Arch-Fiend Dispater, promptly stepped through accompanied by four Erinyes Devils. As usual, his guise was of a man of commanding mien, dressed in unadorned black, who possessed a scholarly air.
Shomei gave a cursory nod. “My Lord.”
“Shomei,” he smiled easily. “Our compact is fulfilled, but I would speak with you at length before we part ways.”
The Infernalist squinted. What was his game? She knew that he knew of her new patronage from Belial – although he had never been so crass as to remark upon it openly.
“I fear that we would have little to say to one another,” she replied. “And I am loathe to take up your valuable time. Perhaps we should simply part – on amicable terms, of course. I would not want to presume upon our association.” Although framed in the first person, Shomei’s remarks were directed at the Duke himself.
“Sit, Shomei,” Titivilus half-suggested and half-commanded.
The Infernalist remained standing, and forced calm upon herself. “I regret that I have much business to attend to, my Lord Duke. Feel free to use my home in my absence – I assume that your stay will be brief?”
The Duke smiled, and relaxed into a chair. He pulled a leather ottoman towards himself with a booted foot, raised his legs, and crossed them in an all-too-human gesture of comfort. He poured himself a glass of firewine.
“I’m in no hurry. We can talk later. When you have time.” Titivilus clicked his fingers and pointed. One of the Erinyes picked up the Crystal Ball and handed it to him. “In the meantime, I might amuse myself with your scrying device. See what Wyre’s marvellous Wizards are doing with themselves in these oh-so-troubled times.”
Shomei nodded, and vanished.
Sh*t sh*t sh*t sh*t sh*t, she thought, appearing seventy miles away in the meadow where Mostin’s retreat still stood. She walked up to the door, and rapped on it. Instantly, a Magic Mouth appeared.
“Begone!” It ordered.
Shomei banged on the door again, this time heavily with her rod.
No response.
Dammit, Mostin, where are you? Quickly, the Infernalist issued a Sending to the Alienist:
Mostin. Tricky situation. Need help and advice. I’m outside your Manse. Don’t scry: Mind Blanked. Prompt response appreciated.
Seconds later, Mostin’s disembodied head appeared nearby through a portal created by the Mirror of Urm-Nahat.
“Where are you?” Shomei asked.
“Near Morne,” the Alienist replied. “In a Secure Shelter. What are you doing?”
“Are you warded from Scrying?” Shomei asked.
“Not presently,” Mostin admitted.
“Do so now,” Shomei instructed. “Use a Mind Blank.”
“I don’t have one prepared,” Mostin grumbled.
Shomei looked astounded. “Mostin, for one so paranoid, you have much to learn. Do you have a spare valence?’
Mostin nodded. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Use a Nondetection in the meantime. Leave the portal open.”
Mostin sighed, and his head disappeared.
Twenty minutes later, the Alienist and Shomei sat in a comfortable but rustic cabin not too far from where Eadric’s army was encamped. A fire burned merrily in the hearth.
“Is this a secret bolt-hole?” The Infernalist asked.
“Hardly,” Mostin replied drily. “It was simply the most convenient thing to do on short notice. Although the idea of a dozen of these, rendered Permanent and scattered around the countryside does have a certain appeal.”
“I have just Gated Titivilus to the Prime, Mostin.”
“Ahh,” the Alienist replied.
“Our contract has expired. All debts are now discharged.”
“Well, that’s good,” Mostin said.
“Except that he is still at my manse,” Shomei answered. “And wants to speak with me: presumably to make me another offer, which it will be very difficult to refuse. He is currently entertaining himself by spying on various Mages. I assume he is here for the Temptation of your Paladin friend.”
“Eadric is not in my good books presently,” Mostin said haughtily. “I have just withdrawn my services from him. I feel exploited.”
“Is there anything to suggest that he is particularly vulnerable at present?”
“I don’t think so,” Mostin replied. “But why should you care?”
“I don’t,” Shomei admitted. “But I like you, Mostin, and I know that you do. And something else occurred to me: if Titivilus is here to tempt Eadric and I called him, have I, by default, just violated the Injunction? Eadric is a political figure, after all. Have I just intervened in temporal politics?”
“Well, technically, I suppose, but…”
“These vagaries of Law are beginning to irritate me, Mostin. We need to formalize the ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ of Injunction protocol. We need a legal framework, written and attested.”
“An interesting notion,” Mostin agreed.
“And we need a group who have the will to carry through the letter of the Law.”
“I think that certain members of the magical community might take issue with that degree of control and centralization,” Mostin said. “Me, for one. Anyway, why exactly are you here, Shomei? You sounded desperate.”
“My compact has expired, Mostin. I am no longer beholden, but neither is Titivilus. I mistrust him.”
“But you are under Belial’s protection. He will not try anything.”
She looked dubious. “Perhaps. Although I am conscious of the possibility that I may not be entirely au fait with the politics of the moment in Hell’s various circles.”
Mostin smiled. “You mean that you distrust those paragons of fair play? I am shocked to think that your allies may be disreputable, Shomei.”
“This is no laughing matter, Mostin. If I get through the next twenty-four hours in one piece, then my life will become much simpler. One less Infernal dignitary to worry about.”
“Forgive me, if I sound unsympathetic Shomei, but this is really all your own doing. If you must insist on making arrangements with Devils…”
She held up her hands. “I am aware of the perils. But I am on the fast, dangerous path Mostin. The ‘Honey on the Razor’s Edge,’ and all that. When a patron outlives his usefulness, I must dispense with him or her. It is the way I am.”
Mostin sighed. “So what’s your point?”
“I need time and space to recuperate. Regain my strength. When I confront him again, I need to be fully warded.”
“Why not just let him be? Wait for a couple of days, and he’ll be gone.”
She shook her head. “We are at a crucial juncture - a defining moment in our relationship, Titivilus and I. I can’t just run away from him. Until this point, I have deferred to his authority. I will do nothing to initiate a struggle with him, but if he tries to coerce me…”
Mostin raised an eyebrow. “You cannot be serious, Shomei. He’d toast you in seconds.”
“I don’t need to actually assault him - merely let him understand that he can’t f*ck with me, like I’m some novice diabolist. That is the way it works, Mostin. If I can assert my ascendancy over him, I redefine my entire being in one, colossal paradigm shift. The risks are immense, but so are the potential rewards.”
“Well, if you think that I’m going to help you in this insane scheme, then I suggest that you reconsider. I’m not planning on pissing off any more Devils than I already have.”
She smiled. “I never asked for your help, Mostin. I’m just letting you know, in case the worst happens. Now, I need to sleep.”
He sighed and nodded.
**
Zhuel appeared directly above Hullu, Mesikämmi, the Succubus Chr’ri, and the twenty Bagaudas who remained within the walls of Morne. He sounded his trumpet and descended. The instrument that he bore suddenly became a greatsword.
The force of the blast stunned the Shamaness and two thirds of Hullu’s followers. The Tunthi warrior himself was unaffected. Melancholy, still in his hand, screamed for blood. His vision clouded, and the sword took over his mind.
Chr’ri immediately retreated onto the Ethereal Plane. She had not anticipated an Archon. Almost simultaneously, Nehael appeared in the air nearby.
Zhuel flew down to a height of twenty feet and spoke a word of power. Hullu was instantly transfixed, although he remained conscious of his surroundings. The celestial alighted upon the ground and folded his wings behind his back. Nehael promptly followed him. Zhuel observed Hullu’s sword with some concern, and moved forwards to divest the warrior of it.
Groaning, but quickly recovering from the effects of the Archon’s trumpet, Mesikämmi spoke a Word of Chaos, and Zhuel was instantly sent screaming in disbelief back to Oronthon’s heaven. Nehael was catapulted in a daze onto the Astral Plane.
The Shamaness smiled, dispelled the Hold upon Hullu, and invoked a Wind Walk.
“We need to be going now, my pretty boy,” she said to him. “Make haste.”
“Honey-Paw?” He asked.
She smiled, and they both dissolved into mist.
*
By the time that Nwm and Ortwin arrived, Hullu, the two Sorceresses, Zhuel and Nehael were nowhere to be seen. Ortwin scratched his head as the Druid resumed his human form.
Concentrating on his torc, Nwm focussed. Spellcaster – there – moving fast – probably Wind-Walking – one other – with the sword. Beating a hasty retreat.
“They have fled,” Nwm groaned. “We cannot pursue.”
“Sh*t,” Ortwin said. “What about Nehael and Zhuel?”
Nwm looked worried, and raised his palms. “They should be here. They’re not. Assuming they aren’t both dead, it’ll take me an hour at least to scry them.”
“We have to get hold of Mostin,” Ortwin said. “He can do it much faster – and more reliably.”
Nwm sighed. “We can’t. We have no way of getting to him.”
“Then we wait for Ed to arrive,” Ortwin snapped. He was getting irritated. A fresh breeze suddenly sprang up, and Nwm gave a quizzical look. Again, his mind stretched out through his torc.
What in the name of the Goddess was that? Immensely potent, ancient supernatural consciousness. Massive cyclonic wind formation above Morne: well beyond his own power to manifest. Morne – the fires – and Eadric was Wind-Walking into the middle of it. He would be ripped to shreds.
The Orb atop the Druid’s staff crackled, as he commanded the winds to cease. But it would take time – assuming that they would, in fact, obey him. He had his doubts. Wings sprouted from his back.
“What are you doing, Nwm?” Ortwin asked.
“I’m going to try and talk to it,” he replied.
“Talk to what?” Ortwin shouted. The winds were growing stronger.
The Druid pointed up at the sky, but Ortwin saw nothing.
**
The Succubus, Chr’ri, from her Ethereal vantage point, had observed the expulsion of Zhuel and Nehael from the Prime Plane.
The Shamaness certainly had a few tricks up her sleeve, she thought.
Suddenly, it dawned on her that here was an opportunity for great self-advancement.
Chr’ri turned to her contact, a dour Glabrezu called Otarr. She scowled at him, knowing that he had not recognized Nehael, but not wishing him to steal her own glory.
“Relay to his Highness that our secondary mission has been a success,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. “The bitch Nehael is stranded somewhere on another Plane. I await further instructions.”
Otarr, unwilling to admit that he did not know of this ‘Secondary Mission,’ grunted and Plane Shifted back to the Abyss.
Chr’ri grinned. There would be a fat reward for that information.
**
Jovol screwed up his wizened and tattooed face as he attempted to interpret the web of possibilities. The deviation in the main arc remained minimal, and events seemed to be propelling it inexorably towards the asymptote – still twelve days away.
He inspected the Graz’zt mote, which had become more conspicuous in the past few days. Rintrah had been correct in his appraisal of the Demon Prince’s involvement. The agency of both Kothchori and Rimilin, although possessing no mutual vibration – save that offered by the succubi – appeared to possess catenaries which fed directly into the nodality itself. The wizard hypothetically advanced the web over the next few days, and watched the motes blur as probabilities parted and coalesced. As the asymptote began to manifest in the model, tendrils snapped and, as if from nowhere, bright points of light, burning like magnesium, flashed across his view: Gates opening to various other worlds.
Shomei had already opened two to Hell, Mostin one to the Far Realms. Rimilin had compacted with a Balor, and looked set to bring three more onto the Prime at Graz’zt’s instruction – assuming that events followed the most likely course of action. Mesikämmi worried him with her primeval spirits. And Kothchori was another concern – his flux was unstable and could swing either way.
The Dreamer sighed as he weighed his responsibilities in the balance, and a variety of possible scenarios flashed through his head. If and when the time came, he would need to act decisively and without reservation. But of the hundreds of permutations which he contemplated, when his own involvement was added to the mix, he foresaw his own death.
He smiled ironically. If he acted now, then this could probably be prevented with the minimum fuss. But he could not, in all conscience, act now because it was still an ‘if’ and not a ‘when.’ By the time that it became a ‘when,’ it would be too late – for himself, at least.
But the projection of events after his own death held exciting possibilities for the future, and that was a reassuring thought.
Besides, physical death was really nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He would carry on dreaming, and that’s what mattered.
The sea of motes vanished, and under the force of his will, dreamscapes around Jovol flashed by – half remembered visions and insights of entities long passed away. Immense turbulence surrounded him briefly, but he passed through, and latched onto an idle half-thought entertained by a beautiful woman who dozed beneath a pomegranate tree with a quill pen in her hand.
Effortlessly, the Ogre-Mage corporeated next to her.
Mulissu stirred, raised an eyebrow, and looked up. “Jovol, I assume?”
*Uruum was also the Balor summoned by Ainhorr at Khu, who caused Ortwin to implode.
Morne: Part 2
“Er, so what do we do, Ed?” Ortwin asked, looking into the mirror. The scenes that played across it were horrific and brutal. “We can’t just let that happen, can we?”
“No,” Eadric replied. “Buff up. We’re going through.”
Abruptly, Mostin waved his hand. The looking-glass of Urm-Nahat became a simple reflective surface. “You’ll need to find another way.”
“Mostin…” Eadric began.
“No.” He was adamant. “Bailing you out at Deorham, I used it. Getting Ortwin to the crossings on the Nund, I used it. Getting Nwm to mess with the weather at Jiuhu, I used it. Gods, I even used it just now to get Nwm from some mountain in who-knows-where. I have a suggestion, Eadric: would you like me to use the mirror to get your whole army into Morne?”
“Well, no,” Eadric replied.
“Why not?”
“Because it would be a violation…”
“…of the Injunction,” Mostin finished for him. “Correct. Is there any difference? Do you see how it starts, now? This has got nothing to do with me being caught and tried by the other Wizards: frankly, I don’t think they’d even bother at this stage. This is about why there is an Injunction in the first place. You know, I think I actually have an ethical position on this. I know it’s hard to believe. Hell, we might even have an Injunction so that the little guy – you know, ‘Uediian farmer X’ or ‘Oronthonian Lard Merchant Y’ can lead a happier, less stressful life.”
“It is,” Ortwin agreed.
Mostin looked puzzled.
“Hard to believe that you have an ethical position on something,” the Bard explained.
“We’re wasting time,” Eadric moaned. “How long to Wind Walk there, Nwm?”
“Ten minutes. But it doesn’t matter – I’ve not got one prepared.”
“Perhaps Tahl…”
“I’ll go to Hullu,” the Druid sighed, “it’s sort of my responsibility, anyway.” He sank into the ground.
“Find Tahl,” Eadric yelled at Tatterbrand. The squire ran off to comply.
The Paladin glowered at Mostin, who refocused. Nwm appeared upon the face of the mirror.
Before the Alienist could even open his mouth in disbelief, Ortwin had leapt through.
“Dammit,” Mostin said. “That’s it. Nobody pays a damn word to what I say. I quit. Find yourself another diviner.” The Alienist dropped the looking-glass into his Portable Hole.
“Mostin…”
“No,” he replied. “The line is drawn, Eadric. You have presumed on our friendship too much – all of you. I’m pissed off. No-one seems to respect my position in this. They think: ‘Oh, it’s just Mostin being cranky, he’ll come around.’” The Alienist was ranting as he stormed out of the tent.
Eadric looked at Nehael.
“He’s got a point,” the Succubus said.
Moments later Tahl, accompanied by Tatterbrand, entered. The Inquisitor looked groggy and bewildered.
“Can you Wind-Walk us to Morne?” Eadric asked.
Tahl shook his head. “No, Ahma. I didn’t expect it would be needed. Is it important?”
“Yes,” Eadric thundered.
“There is always Zhuel,” Tahl suggested.
Zhuel, the Paladin thought. Of course. He motioned in the air, and the celestial manifested.
“I need you to get me to Morne,” Eadric said desperately.
“You are the Ahma,” Zhuel replied. “Your word is law. However, I have one thing to ask: should you jeopardize your own life in this manner?”
Eadric’s mind reeled, as arguments cascaded through his brain. His duty to those who followed him. His duty to Wyre. His duty to posterity. His duty to Oronthon. His duty to his friends. His duty to protect the innocent.
Nehael slapped him, eliciting looks of horror from Tahl and Tatterbrand. “You’re thinking too much again,” she said.
“We go,” Eadric said.
“Best speed?” Nehael asked.
Eadric nodded.
She smiled and vanished. Moments later, Eadric, Tahl, Iua and Tatterbrand assumed nebulous forms. But before they sped westwards, Eadric spoke to Zhuel.
“Go straight to Nwm and Ortwin and Nehael,” the Paladin commanded.
“I am charged with guarding you,” Zhuel replied.
“You can guard me again in ten minutes,” Eadric said. “Go.”
Zhuel bowed, and disappeared.
**
In his rented chambers in Morne’s most prestigious district – the Bevel – near the outwalls of the gardens of the Royal Palace, Rimilin’s mind and body span with the immense power which coursed through him, before manifesting within the magical diagram which he had constructed.
The Balor’s name was Uruum* – of less stature than Ainhorr, but a potent Demon nonetheless. One of the five (previously, six) who served Graz’zt, Uruum possessed a particular talent for subtlety and guile – qualities which, while present in Balors, had a tendency to be overshadowed by the urge to maim and kill.
Rimilin quickly stepped forwards and broke the binding circle, in the event that the Demon misinterpret his intentions. Disturbingly, Uruum had adopted the guise of a small child – a girl with wide eyes and an endearing smile. The Acolyte straightaway reasoned that the Demon must have some kind of device to have achieved this transformation: Balors were not natural shape-shifters. The Succubus, Kalkja, who stood nearby, immediately abased herself before the child, conscious of the fact that she could be extinguished by a single thought.
Rimilin, possessed of an arrogant and haughty attitude, but at the same time pragmatic and aware of the Demon’s power, gave a deferential nod.
Uruum promptly stepped out of the thaumaturgic diagram and vanished.
One, the Acolyte of the Skin thought to himself.
**
Nwm arrived near the breached walls of the city, in a dimly-lit alleyway. The narrow street was littered with bodies – some still breathing – and blood soaked the cobblestones. Nearby, in the main thoroughfare, the inhabitants of the city were in the streets, dragging children and belongings behind them in an effort to escape the chaos. Fires burned – some started by spells, others by flasks of oil hurled by Hullu’s men. They illuminated the scene with a ruddy glow.
He cursed, as he knew the delay that it would entail, but he had no choice. He knelt down beside the nearest living form – an aging woman, who bled from a wound to the stomach - muttered briefly, and touched her upon the torso.
Instantly, the wound closed, and her breathing became more regular.
Nwm stood again, and moved quickly towards the next figure. As if from nowhere, Ortwin suddenly appeared.
“What the hell are you doing?” The Bard asked. “We need to find Hullu.”
Nwm scowled, and said nothing.
“Nwm…”
“Ortwin – let’s just worry about the present situation for the moment.”
Others would probably die because of it, but what else could the Druid do? These people were here and they needed help now. To act in any other way would have been a betrayal of his most closely held principles.
Ortwin considered pointing out the inconsistency of his position, and the fact he had killed a thousand people only three months before, and he was probably feeling guilt and remorse, and…
The Bard nodded, sighed, and waited.
Nehael appeared. “Eadric is on his way,” she said. “He’ll be a while, though – he’s Wind-Walking with Iua, Tahl and Tatterbrand. Mostin’s throwing a tantrum.”
Nwm nodded, and invoked the last of his healing magic upon a bloody child, close to death, before standing again.
His perceptions stretched out, and through his torc he apprehended Morne as a vast blot, a scar on the face of the Green continuum. Ugh. Large areas were devoid of trees and natural life. Quickly, he scanned for knots of magical and supernatural power.
Half a dozen powerful spellcasters – although no time to further refine the search. Outsiders: one (Nehael) – two – three (a big one) – four – five – six (very close – what the…)
Nwm turned abruptly, and then relaxed. Zhuel floated silently behind him.
Twenty-one major fires burning, dozens of smaller ones. Mostly in the nearby Temple district.
Easier to find than Hullu, the sword. Melancholy = steel + supernatural + extraplanar combination. There she is. Outsider and spellcaster also nearby.
“Around three hundred yards away,” the Druid said, pointing towards the northeast. “But they are moving out of the city wall. We need to intercept them.”
In the flash of an eye, both Nehael and Zhuel vanished. Nwm looked around desperately for a plant of sufficient size, but there was nothing close. He grunted, and assumed the form of an Air Elemental, before shooting off at incredible speed.
Ortwin sighed, urged his winged boots to action, and followed. He adjusted his collar as he flew, and hoped that his new shirt – of finest Djinn silk – wouldn’t get ruined.
**
Hullu – now feeling lucid and in control again – quickly ordered the withdrawal of his Bagaudas. The raid had been an overwhelming success, but he had no doubts that hundreds of watchmen and townsfolk would descend upon him in short order if he tarried too long.
He also felt sick to his stomach, disgusted by his own enjoyment of the brutality. He turned to the sorceresses as they approached a section of the city wall.
“I think that a further display is unnecessary,” Hullu said.
The younger witch – the one from the Linna – replied. In their association, Hullu had heard her speak fewer than a dozen times. But there was something about her which was both reassuringly and uncomfortably familiar.
“It’s too late,” she said. “The Earth-Spirit has already done my bidding. Soon, the Air-Spirit will make his presence known.”
Hullu swallowed. It seemed that they were responsible for the Earthquake, at least. “And the rain of fire?” He asked.
“Was not my doing,” she replied. “You need to get your men out of the city now. We have only a few minutes.”
“Call off your Allies, Witch. Enough is enough.”
But she shook her head. “Oaths have been taken. I cannot renege. When the winds blow, a firestorm will likely begin.”
Hullu cursed as he drew Melancholy from its scabbard, and opened another rift in the curtain wall of Morne.
“Get out,” he barked at the Bagaudas who accompanied him, ushering them through. “Go to ground.”
“You must flee, Hullu,” the Sorceress said desperately.
“My men go first,” he replied simply.
**
Shomei sank into a huge leather chair in one of the numerous parlours at her manse, outside of Morne and sighed. She threw the red velvet cloth back over her Crystal Ball and drank deeply from a glass of firewine.
Whoever had struck at Jiuhu, had done so again only fifteen minutes previously at Morne – although it appeared that this time, he or she (or they?) had been less restrained. And the Earthquake implied either an innovative Transmuter or a Divine caster of considerable power.
Waide was the only one to possess that kind of clout, and he was far too staid to be a suspect.
She brooded.
A knot suddenly tightened in the Infernalist’s stomach. Moments later, an intricate brass bell, suspended on a metal stand nearby, rang once. She almost heaved. No, not now, she thought. It’s too damned complicated.
Groaning, Shomei stood and swallowed. The last time, she reminded herself. She grasped her rod and spoke a single syllable.
Instantly, a Chain Contingency sprang into effect, rendering her immune to fire and Hasting her. Her skin toughened to the hardness of stone. Swiftly, she invoked another ward: Mind Blank. She didn’t trust him, this time.
She breathed deeply and opened a Gate.
Titivilus, the nuncio of the Arch-Fiend Dispater, promptly stepped through accompanied by four Erinyes Devils. As usual, his guise was of a man of commanding mien, dressed in unadorned black, who possessed a scholarly air.
Shomei gave a cursory nod. “My Lord.”
“Shomei,” he smiled easily. “Our compact is fulfilled, but I would speak with you at length before we part ways.”
The Infernalist squinted. What was his game? She knew that he knew of her new patronage from Belial – although he had never been so crass as to remark upon it openly.
“I fear that we would have little to say to one another,” she replied. “And I am loathe to take up your valuable time. Perhaps we should simply part – on amicable terms, of course. I would not want to presume upon our association.” Although framed in the first person, Shomei’s remarks were directed at the Duke himself.
“Sit, Shomei,” Titivilus half-suggested and half-commanded.
The Infernalist remained standing, and forced calm upon herself. “I regret that I have much business to attend to, my Lord Duke. Feel free to use my home in my absence – I assume that your stay will be brief?”
The Duke smiled, and relaxed into a chair. He pulled a leather ottoman towards himself with a booted foot, raised his legs, and crossed them in an all-too-human gesture of comfort. He poured himself a glass of firewine.
“I’m in no hurry. We can talk later. When you have time.” Titivilus clicked his fingers and pointed. One of the Erinyes picked up the Crystal Ball and handed it to him. “In the meantime, I might amuse myself with your scrying device. See what Wyre’s marvellous Wizards are doing with themselves in these oh-so-troubled times.”
Shomei nodded, and vanished.
Sh*t sh*t sh*t sh*t sh*t, she thought, appearing seventy miles away in the meadow where Mostin’s retreat still stood. She walked up to the door, and rapped on it. Instantly, a Magic Mouth appeared.
“Begone!” It ordered.
Shomei banged on the door again, this time heavily with her rod.
No response.
Dammit, Mostin, where are you? Quickly, the Infernalist issued a Sending to the Alienist:
Mostin. Tricky situation. Need help and advice. I’m outside your Manse. Don’t scry: Mind Blanked. Prompt response appreciated.
Seconds later, Mostin’s disembodied head appeared nearby through a portal created by the Mirror of Urm-Nahat.
“Where are you?” Shomei asked.
“Near Morne,” the Alienist replied. “In a Secure Shelter. What are you doing?”
“Are you warded from Scrying?” Shomei asked.
“Not presently,” Mostin admitted.
“Do so now,” Shomei instructed. “Use a Mind Blank.”
“I don’t have one prepared,” Mostin grumbled.
Shomei looked astounded. “Mostin, for one so paranoid, you have much to learn. Do you have a spare valence?’
Mostin nodded. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Use a Nondetection in the meantime. Leave the portal open.”
Mostin sighed, and his head disappeared.
Twenty minutes later, the Alienist and Shomei sat in a comfortable but rustic cabin not too far from where Eadric’s army was encamped. A fire burned merrily in the hearth.
“Is this a secret bolt-hole?” The Infernalist asked.
“Hardly,” Mostin replied drily. “It was simply the most convenient thing to do on short notice. Although the idea of a dozen of these, rendered Permanent and scattered around the countryside does have a certain appeal.”
“I have just Gated Titivilus to the Prime, Mostin.”
“Ahh,” the Alienist replied.
“Our contract has expired. All debts are now discharged.”
“Well, that’s good,” Mostin said.
“Except that he is still at my manse,” Shomei answered. “And wants to speak with me: presumably to make me another offer, which it will be very difficult to refuse. He is currently entertaining himself by spying on various Mages. I assume he is here for the Temptation of your Paladin friend.”
“Eadric is not in my good books presently,” Mostin said haughtily. “I have just withdrawn my services from him. I feel exploited.”
“Is there anything to suggest that he is particularly vulnerable at present?”
“I don’t think so,” Mostin replied. “But why should you care?”
“I don’t,” Shomei admitted. “But I like you, Mostin, and I know that you do. And something else occurred to me: if Titivilus is here to tempt Eadric and I called him, have I, by default, just violated the Injunction? Eadric is a political figure, after all. Have I just intervened in temporal politics?”
“Well, technically, I suppose, but…”
“These vagaries of Law are beginning to irritate me, Mostin. We need to formalize the ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ of Injunction protocol. We need a legal framework, written and attested.”
“An interesting notion,” Mostin agreed.
“And we need a group who have the will to carry through the letter of the Law.”
“I think that certain members of the magical community might take issue with that degree of control and centralization,” Mostin said. “Me, for one. Anyway, why exactly are you here, Shomei? You sounded desperate.”
“My compact has expired, Mostin. I am no longer beholden, but neither is Titivilus. I mistrust him.”
“But you are under Belial’s protection. He will not try anything.”
She looked dubious. “Perhaps. Although I am conscious of the possibility that I may not be entirely au fait with the politics of the moment in Hell’s various circles.”
Mostin smiled. “You mean that you distrust those paragons of fair play? I am shocked to think that your allies may be disreputable, Shomei.”
“This is no laughing matter, Mostin. If I get through the next twenty-four hours in one piece, then my life will become much simpler. One less Infernal dignitary to worry about.”
“Forgive me, if I sound unsympathetic Shomei, but this is really all your own doing. If you must insist on making arrangements with Devils…”
She held up her hands. “I am aware of the perils. But I am on the fast, dangerous path Mostin. The ‘Honey on the Razor’s Edge,’ and all that. When a patron outlives his usefulness, I must dispense with him or her. It is the way I am.”
Mostin sighed. “So what’s your point?”
“I need time and space to recuperate. Regain my strength. When I confront him again, I need to be fully warded.”
“Why not just let him be? Wait for a couple of days, and he’ll be gone.”
She shook her head. “We are at a crucial juncture - a defining moment in our relationship, Titivilus and I. I can’t just run away from him. Until this point, I have deferred to his authority. I will do nothing to initiate a struggle with him, but if he tries to coerce me…”
Mostin raised an eyebrow. “You cannot be serious, Shomei. He’d toast you in seconds.”
“I don’t need to actually assault him - merely let him understand that he can’t f*ck with me, like I’m some novice diabolist. That is the way it works, Mostin. If I can assert my ascendancy over him, I redefine my entire being in one, colossal paradigm shift. The risks are immense, but so are the potential rewards.”
“Well, if you think that I’m going to help you in this insane scheme, then I suggest that you reconsider. I’m not planning on pissing off any more Devils than I already have.”
She smiled. “I never asked for your help, Mostin. I’m just letting you know, in case the worst happens. Now, I need to sleep.”
He sighed and nodded.
**
Zhuel appeared directly above Hullu, Mesikämmi, the Succubus Chr’ri, and the twenty Bagaudas who remained within the walls of Morne. He sounded his trumpet and descended. The instrument that he bore suddenly became a greatsword.
The force of the blast stunned the Shamaness and two thirds of Hullu’s followers. The Tunthi warrior himself was unaffected. Melancholy, still in his hand, screamed for blood. His vision clouded, and the sword took over his mind.
Chr’ri immediately retreated onto the Ethereal Plane. She had not anticipated an Archon. Almost simultaneously, Nehael appeared in the air nearby.
Zhuel flew down to a height of twenty feet and spoke a word of power. Hullu was instantly transfixed, although he remained conscious of his surroundings. The celestial alighted upon the ground and folded his wings behind his back. Nehael promptly followed him. Zhuel observed Hullu’s sword with some concern, and moved forwards to divest the warrior of it.
Groaning, but quickly recovering from the effects of the Archon’s trumpet, Mesikämmi spoke a Word of Chaos, and Zhuel was instantly sent screaming in disbelief back to Oronthon’s heaven. Nehael was catapulted in a daze onto the Astral Plane.
The Shamaness smiled, dispelled the Hold upon Hullu, and invoked a Wind Walk.
“We need to be going now, my pretty boy,” she said to him. “Make haste.”
“Honey-Paw?” He asked.
She smiled, and they both dissolved into mist.
*
By the time that Nwm and Ortwin arrived, Hullu, the two Sorceresses, Zhuel and Nehael were nowhere to be seen. Ortwin scratched his head as the Druid resumed his human form.
Concentrating on his torc, Nwm focussed. Spellcaster – there – moving fast – probably Wind-Walking – one other – with the sword. Beating a hasty retreat.
“They have fled,” Nwm groaned. “We cannot pursue.”
“Sh*t,” Ortwin said. “What about Nehael and Zhuel?”
Nwm looked worried, and raised his palms. “They should be here. They’re not. Assuming they aren’t both dead, it’ll take me an hour at least to scry them.”
“We have to get hold of Mostin,” Ortwin said. “He can do it much faster – and more reliably.”
Nwm sighed. “We can’t. We have no way of getting to him.”
“Then we wait for Ed to arrive,” Ortwin snapped. He was getting irritated. A fresh breeze suddenly sprang up, and Nwm gave a quizzical look. Again, his mind stretched out through his torc.
What in the name of the Goddess was that? Immensely potent, ancient supernatural consciousness. Massive cyclonic wind formation above Morne: well beyond his own power to manifest. Morne – the fires – and Eadric was Wind-Walking into the middle of it. He would be ripped to shreds.
The Orb atop the Druid’s staff crackled, as he commanded the winds to cease. But it would take time – assuming that they would, in fact, obey him. He had his doubts. Wings sprouted from his back.
“What are you doing, Nwm?” Ortwin asked.
“I’m going to try and talk to it,” he replied.
“Talk to what?” Ortwin shouted. The winds were growing stronger.
The Druid pointed up at the sky, but Ortwin saw nothing.
**
The Succubus, Chr’ri, from her Ethereal vantage point, had observed the expulsion of Zhuel and Nehael from the Prime Plane.
The Shamaness certainly had a few tricks up her sleeve, she thought.
Suddenly, it dawned on her that here was an opportunity for great self-advancement.
Chr’ri turned to her contact, a dour Glabrezu called Otarr. She scowled at him, knowing that he had not recognized Nehael, but not wishing him to steal her own glory.
“Relay to his Highness that our secondary mission has been a success,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. “The bitch Nehael is stranded somewhere on another Plane. I await further instructions.”
Otarr, unwilling to admit that he did not know of this ‘Secondary Mission,’ grunted and Plane Shifted back to the Abyss.
Chr’ri grinned. There would be a fat reward for that information.
**
Jovol screwed up his wizened and tattooed face as he attempted to interpret the web of possibilities. The deviation in the main arc remained minimal, and events seemed to be propelling it inexorably towards the asymptote – still twelve days away.
He inspected the Graz’zt mote, which had become more conspicuous in the past few days. Rintrah had been correct in his appraisal of the Demon Prince’s involvement. The agency of both Kothchori and Rimilin, although possessing no mutual vibration – save that offered by the succubi – appeared to possess catenaries which fed directly into the nodality itself. The wizard hypothetically advanced the web over the next few days, and watched the motes blur as probabilities parted and coalesced. As the asymptote began to manifest in the model, tendrils snapped and, as if from nowhere, bright points of light, burning like magnesium, flashed across his view: Gates opening to various other worlds.
Shomei had already opened two to Hell, Mostin one to the Far Realms. Rimilin had compacted with a Balor, and looked set to bring three more onto the Prime at Graz’zt’s instruction – assuming that events followed the most likely course of action. Mesikämmi worried him with her primeval spirits. And Kothchori was another concern – his flux was unstable and could swing either way.
The Dreamer sighed as he weighed his responsibilities in the balance, and a variety of possible scenarios flashed through his head. If and when the time came, he would need to act decisively and without reservation. But of the hundreds of permutations which he contemplated, when his own involvement was added to the mix, he foresaw his own death.
He smiled ironically. If he acted now, then this could probably be prevented with the minimum fuss. But he could not, in all conscience, act now because it was still an ‘if’ and not a ‘when.’ By the time that it became a ‘when,’ it would be too late – for himself, at least.
But the projection of events after his own death held exciting possibilities for the future, and that was a reassuring thought.
Besides, physical death was really nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He would carry on dreaming, and that’s what mattered.
The sea of motes vanished, and under the force of his will, dreamscapes around Jovol flashed by – half remembered visions and insights of entities long passed away. Immense turbulence surrounded him briefly, but he passed through, and latched onto an idle half-thought entertained by a beautiful woman who dozed beneath a pomegranate tree with a quill pen in her hand.
Effortlessly, the Ogre-Mage corporeated next to her.
Mulissu stirred, raised an eyebrow, and looked up. “Jovol, I assume?”
*Uruum was also the Balor summoned by Ainhorr at Khu, who caused Ortwin to implode.
Malachai_rose
First Post
that was a great post sad to see Mostin feeling used and abused though 
but I can understand his position. Must be hard playing a arcane caster in your world Sep when the caster is bound by the injunction... but I guess thats the price of power 
sad to see Mostin feeling used and abused though but I can understand his position. Must be hard playing a arcane caster in your world Sep when the caster is bound by the injunction... but I guess thats the price of power Guardian Andy
First Post
An update!
All hail Sep! All hail Sep! All hail Sep!
All hail Sep! All hail Sep! All hail Sep!
All hail Sep! All hail Sep! All hail Sep!
Oh, being an outsider sometimes is not that fun... Once in a while, you got sent back to home without warning...
All hail Sep! All hail Sep! All hail Sep!
All hail Sep! All hail Sep! All hail Sep!
All hail Sep! All hail Sep! All hail Sep!
Oh, being an outsider sometimes is not that fun... Once in a while, you got sent back to home without warning...
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