The Rape of Morne - Part 2 (Updated 2/26)

[Lela]

Not many leave me speachless. You do it every time. Amazing. Impossibly amazing.

 

[Darklone]

Let's create a god of magic...

Love it.

 

[tleilaxu]

 

[Mytholder]

*Massive, sustained applause*

No-one does it like Sep.

 

[Azure Trance]

Poor Jovol ...

 

[Lazybones]

As always, excellent.

I am eagerly awaiting the tale of the confrontation on the outer planes, as my story hour is approaching a similar event and I'd like to see how you handle it.

 

[dpdx]

The way I understand it, Jovol's demise wasn't ironic to me. It was a sacrifice, willingly made. He knew that killing Kothchori would bring this type of 'rebuke', and he even foreshadowed it when he spoke to the other mages about the binding being 'at greatest cost to me,' etc.

Of course, my favorite part was when Ed brought Hethio to justice. It's nice to see old wrongs righted.

 

[Sepulchrave II]

that's not an end is it?

No.

This is an end (but not the end). I tied things up more quickly in writing than I had anticipated for the 'Rape of Morne.' I must admit, I'm kind of relieved that it's over.

BTW, the final posts only take us to October 2002 - game-wise. Yes, there is more coming (sigh). I suppose I'll have to start another thread. Oh well...

So I guess this is an epilogue, of sorts...




Epilogue. Of Sorts.


When dawn broke, and the rains abated, Eadric stood upon the cracked roof of the Fane, looked out, and inspected the damage. He grimaced. The swathe of ruin which emanated from the Temple encompassed a fifth part of the city. And still, although with increasingly less regularity, Templars and city guardsmen reported capturing those who suffered from the madness engendered by the Wave of Hate.

Nearly ten thousand dead, in all, if Nwm’s figures were correct. Material damage that would run to more than a hundred tons of silver. A wound in the collective psyche that would probably never heal.

And, ironically, neither new Temple taxes to pay for the rebuilding of the Fane, nor sufficient in the coffers to both recompense the Uediians and begin repairs. He sighed. The price of success.

To the south, beyond the walls of the city, neat rows of Temple tents – interspersed with a disordered riot of gaudy aristocratic pavillions – were plainly visible. His banners floated in the morning wind.

"They’ll want paying, you know," Ortwin said, fluttering down behind him in his winged boots. "At least the Ardanese. The Aristocracy will expect land-grants and tax breaks. The Uediians will want…"

"I know, I know," the Paladin grumbled.

"If you claim the Duchy…"

"I will not," Eadric snapped.

"You might have to, Ed. Even Tramst said you might have to. You don’t have to govern it directly – appoint a steward or something."

"Ryth would have made a good Duke."

"Ryth got burned up with the Duchess, if you recall. I doubt Soraine would have favoured him, in any case. Did she leave any clues to who she felt was suitable? Other than yourself, of course." Ortwin couldn’t resist the final jibe.

The Paladin shook his head.

"Who’s the technical heir?"

"Probably Skadding. But Trempa has always held with the bestowal of favour, combined with lineage. At one point, it advocated ultimageniture. It’s eccentric like that. Too close to Ardan."

"What’s Skadding like?"

"Young. Inexperienced." Eadric groaned. "And Foide’s son."

"Ahh," Ortwin said.


**


The Devil’s eyes narrowed when he learned of the news.

You sneaky old bastard, he thought, as he considered Oronthon. You keep changing the damn rules. Where’s the fun in that?

Gihaahia! He wondered who amongst the Infernal hierarchy had been privy to the likely course of events – or rather who the Adversary had deigned to inform for his own, inscrutable ends. Titivilus scowled, and wondered why he had not been one of them.

The sweet promise that the Accord had been relaxed for him – in order to facilitate the ongoing temptation of Eadric – was now sullied by the countermeasures set in place by Fillein, or Jovol, or whatever he called himself these days.

An Injunction carved in stone was no bad thing – those Wyrish dilettantes needed a measure of discipline in their lives. But a ban on summoning? He sensed the Bright God’s meddling hand in events, and wondered what deal had been struck between the Ogre and Rintrah. He also wondered who of the Wizards in Wyre might draw the same conclusion. But Oronthon’s interdict extended to the Infernal as well – at least in theory. And now she was the helot of some damned Dream-thing. Damn celestial double standards.

Titivilus recalled the deal that Shomei had forced upon him. It, also, was not to the Duke’s liking. Sneaky bitch.

He fumed silently.

He had thought that he’d had her cornered, that she had been foolish enough to return to him openly. And despite her rod, and the numerous wards that sat on her, he should have finished her there and then. It had been the first time that he’d used his sword in almost two hundred years, and had caught her off-guard. But she weathered the assault and vanished.

Fifteen minutes later, Titivilus had been dragged into a pocket dimension and trapped within a thaumaturgic diagram. At that moment, both of them had known that she could ask for anything and he would be forced to yield: to miss his appointment with the Ahma would have been inexcusable.

The Devil relaxed, and smiled. She was audacious. He couldn’t help but admire her.

Not that that will stop me from killing her, when the time comes, he thought.


**


"What do you mean, he’s dead?" Mostin was livid. "That’s impossible. He was a little shaken up yesterday, but that’s hardly surprising given the magic that he harnessed."

Mulissu shrugged. "He knew he would die. He merely needed to choose the way in which it occurred – to maximize the potential for order, and to maintain the Injunction."

The Alienist blustered briefly. "Well, what happened? Was it the backlash?"

"Oh, no. He’d fully recovered by about midnight. He killed Kothchori, and the Enforcer annihilated him."

Mostin’s jaw dropped. "But…"

"Kothchori was about to open a second Gate. Jovol’s prognostications revealed that had he done so, even the death of the other mage at the hands of the Enforcer would have come too late – Graz’zt would have made a second transit and…done something which Jovol felt was unacceptable, I suppose. Rimilin was present also, and Griel, but Jovol didn’t kill them."

"Griel? What the…? How did he find them?"

"I guess Griel was not Mind Blanked and he inferred their location through his Web of Motes."

"But I wanted to talk to him! I never had the chance to speak with him, to question him. Jovol was Fillein, you know."

"Fillein? Mostin, you need a drink. Fillein has been dead for…"

Mostin waved his hand. "He had some kind of…self-incarnating thing…or something. Titivilus intimated as much to Eadric. In which case, death may only be a temporary inconvenience for him."

"One would certainly hope so," Mulissu said optimistically, although somewhat disbelieving. "He left me his Web of Motes, although I cannot penetrate its mysteries – yet. I believe that he passed something along to Shomei as well, and maybe others."

Mostin sniffed, feeling rather snubbed.

"And, yes, he left something for you, Mostin. It is very heavy." The Witch snapped her gloved fingers, and an ornate box of carved wood appeared beneath her arm.

The Alienist raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I don’t know. It seemed a little rude to sneak a look."

"I’d have looked," Mostin said honestly, unlocking the silver clasps. The lid opened smoothly, to reveal a stone tablet wrapped within red silks.

"I hope it’s not a copy of the Injunction," Mulissu sighed. "That would be rather tedious."

The Alienist pulled the fabrics aside and swallowed. The tablet was weathered and cracked, but still quite readable. "It’s a spell."

"Mmm?" The Savant said in a distracted voice, attempting to sound disinterested. "What’s it called?"

"Graz’zt," Mostin replied, shaking.

 

[Greg Dickens]

Now that is a cliffhanger.

 

[Seule]

"Graz’zt," Mostin replied, shaking.

I'm caught between horrified laughter and frightened admiration. That may be the single best moment in any story hour I have read, and I regularly read about 6 (including this one, of course). I assume that's an Epic Spell, graven so there's no cost to learn it, and I can only imagine what it might do. Knowing Sep, I'm probably nowhere near the actual effect.
Wow. An Epic Spell named after the Lord of Demons. From Jovol, which means it's probably something he'll need. I fear the possibilities of that spell.

--Seule